Vauxhall Attractions

It's a pleasure to welcome Nicole Clarkston, who is our guide to a jaunt around Vauxhall Gardens!

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I cannot think of a more fitting way to close out the London Holiday blog tour than by visiting Madame Gilflurt to chat about the attractions available to the Regency reveler at Vauxhall Gardens. Although my lovely hostess has likely forgotten more about London History than I will ever learn, I shall endeavour to bring you some of the most exciting tidbits turned up by my research.

An evening at Vauxhall really got underway at about seven o’clock. However, advertisements from the era indicate that the gates were open well before that for those who wanted to claim early seats, or just to enjoy the scenery. By the early nineteenth century, visitors could now arrive by road via the Westminster Bridge and the Kennington Lane entrance, but those desiring the full experience (and willing to pay for it) would charter a boat to take them across the river. The Vauxhall Bridge, which provided the most direct access to the Gardens, was not opened until 1816.

The first thing that Darcy and Elizabeth would have experienced, stepping off the boat, would have been the Vauxhall Stairs leading up from the river. At the top, they would have seen rows of houses nearest the river, and then a lane leading them to the grand entrance, guarded by a colonnade. 

Beyond the entrance, visitors would have taken one of the covered walks around the main Grove, which housed the Orchestra building. The Orchestra itself, as well as the surrounding trees, would have been decorated with colourful glass lanterns which lit up the evening. Paintings and sketches of this structure abound, indicating what a popular image this was in the public consciousness of the day. The Orchestra was tiered and octagonal in shape, permitting as many people as possible to gather around to see and hear the musicians and singers within.

With the Orchestra on their right, visitors would have also seen the Rotunda Theatre immediately to their left. This was a grand music room where visitors could enjoy indoor performances or dances. Just beyond this, still on the visitors’ left, would have been one of the clusters of supper boxes. The other cluster was on the opposite side of the Grove. 

The design of the supper boxes was perfectly ingenious. They were dished in shape, providing more space for more boxes, yet also creating a courtyard of sorts where visitors could gather and look toward the Orchestra’s entertainment. Here, too, we get a little glimpse of the character of the man behind the design, Jonathan Tyers.

If you were thinking that Vauxhall was a success simply because it was an exciting gathering place you would only be partly correct. There was depth to it, too, and the atmosphere was carefully crafted to lend its visitors a sense they could experience nowhere else. Tyers believed that people from all classes could gather in an egalitarian, genteel manner, regardless of their background. He wished for his guests to behave in a moral way, but, as you can imagine, crowds not accustomed to his ideas might not have cherished them at first. So, it was with his décor that Tyers attempted to sway the masses. 

One example of this balance he struck was the statues at the opposite supper boxes. One side hosted an homage to Comus, the Greek god of revelry, debauchery, and chaos. On the other side could be seen a statue of Handel, whose musical career was inextricably bound to Vauxhall Gardens. Much as we moderns could see a picture of Audrey Hepburn in a restaurant and understand the intrinsic reference to screen idol’s vintage grace and class, Vauxhall’s visitors would have associated Handel’s pastoral statue with restraint, morals, and civility. 

Another example of Tyers’ efforts to “civilise” his visitors was the row of arches along the Italian Walk, which culminated in a classic painting of the ancient ruins at Palmyra. They were so well done, apparently, that guests would claim they looked realistic. Vauxhall, in its best years, was known as a place where true family friendly entertainment could be found, apart from the crueler sports and rougher entertainments offered elsewhere in London. This was a terrific draw for women, who often swayed their men to choose Vauxhall over another locale. 

Of course, the venue also offered pure, lighthearted revelry. Aside from the music, dancing, balloons, and fireworks (which would have been sufficient to draw the crowds), Vauxhall offered acrobats, tight-rope walkers, equestrian stunts, and a “Hermit” who supposedly told fortunes. These kept guests from growing bored (read: unruly) between their meal and the next song, and they proved stiff competition for other venues, such as Astley’s Amphitheatre.

The sights were also unique to Vauxhall; unique Rococo architecture, cleverly situated art, and even a taste of the Orient in some places lent Vauxhall an air all its own. Visitors could wander round to the fountains, relax in the supper boxes, dance, drink themselves silly, and check up on the latest fashions in music and attire. Indeed, some garments were designed specifically so they would look dazzling under the nocturnal lanterns at Vauxhall’s Grove.

 On popular feature that is somewhat baffling to the modern researcher was the Cascades, a man-made waterfall of sorts that was kept behind curtains during the daylight hours. No known images of this contraption exist, but we have written descriptions:

Erasmus Darwin wrote in 1756: 

“The artificial Water-fall at Vaux Hall I apprehend is done by pieces of Tin, loosely fix’d on the Circumferences of two Wheels. It was the Motion not being perform’d at Bottom in a parabolic Curve that first made me discover it’s not being natural.”

The Microcosm of London (1808-10) described the Cascade:

 “At the end of the first act of the grand concert, which is usually about ten o’clock, a bell is rung by way of signal for the exhibition of a beautifully illuminated scene, called the cascade. A dark curtain is then drawn up, which discloses a very natural view of a bridge, a water-mill, and a cascade; a noise similar to the roaring of water is also well imitated; while coaches, waggons, soldiers and other figures, are exhibited crossing the bridge with the greatest regularity. This agreeable piece of scenery continues about ten minutes.’

The Cascades were decorated by artwork and artificial scenery to make them look more realistic. At the time of Elizabeth and Darcy’s visit in 1811, they would have been designed to look like a mill race. This was, arguably, the most popular attraction at Vauxhall for many years, simply because of its aura of mystique and the fact that there was nothing else like it anywhere.

As magnificent as all these attractions were, they were not the primary reason that some of Vauxhall’s guests kept coming back. Bordering the Gardens were the infamous Dark Walks, which were, by Darcy and Elizabeth’s time, lit, but apparently not well. The abundance of nature provided plenty of privacy for those wishing to explore a different sort of delight altogether, and Vauxhall became as well known for its prostitutes as for its fireworks.

Even “respectable” folk could be lured to ruin in the far reaches of the Gardens. Thomas Brown, writing in a most tongue-in-cheek manner in 1760, records: 

“The ladies that have an inclination to be private, take delight in the close walks of Spring-Gardens, where both sexes meet, and mutually serve one another as guides to lose their way; and the windings and turnings in the little wildernesses are so intricate, that the most experienced mothers have often lost themselves in looking for their daughters.”

The egalitarian atmosphere permitted venturesome guests to meet people they could never meet anywhere else. The proper rules of introductions were somewhat ignored, and a nobleman could speak to a tradesman without censure. The relaxing of social mores in regards to class and gender meant that a young lady could easily make the acquaintance of a gent her parents might not approve of. Additionally, the crowds, the dark serpentine walks, and the abundance of noise and distractions, meant that almost anything could happen. And it did.

Regardless of whatever shady doings might be going on in the dark, Vauxhall remained a popular destination for tourists and families, the extravagant and the simple, for over two hundred years. It was so much more even than I have room to describe here. It truly was a unique place, and one that can never be recreated, for even if we rebuilt Vauxhall to its original glory, the culture and times would lose something in the translation. The best we can do is to lose ourselves in a fictional account, and hope it is close.

Although it is certainly not an exhaustive list, feel free to browse my Pinterest Board for further reading about this remarkable place:  https://pin.it/smtyxk5wsu4lw7 

-NC

References: 

Knowles, Rachel. “The Cascade at Vauxhall Gardens.” Regency History, 13 Oct. 2015, www.regencyhistory.net/2015/10/the-cascade-at-vauxhall-gardens.html.

“Vauxhall Gardens.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 14 June 2018, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vauxhall_Gardens.

“Vauxhall Bridge.” Vauxhall History, 24 Feb. 2016, vauxhallhistory.org/vauxhall-bridge/.

Grant, Tony. “A Visit to Vauxhall Gardens by Tony Grant.” Jane Austen's World, 18 Feb. 2012, janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2012/02/16/a-visit-to-vauxhall-gardens-by-tony-grant/.

Kristen Koster. “A Regency Primer on Vauxhall Gardens.” Kristen Koster, 25 Apr. 2017, www.kristenkoster.com/a-regency-primer-on-vauxhall-gardens/.

“Vauxhall Gardens.” Vauxhall Gardens, www.vauxhallgardens.com/vauxhall_gardens_briefhistory_page.html.

About the Book

When the truth is harder to believe than disguise.

                                                                                                                

Drugged and betrayed in his own household, Fitzwilliam Darcy makes his escape from a forged compromise that would see him unhappily wed. Dressed as a footman, he is welcomed into one of London’s unknown neighbourhoods by a young lady who is running out of time and running for her life.

Deciding to hide in plain sight, Miss Elizabeth Bennet dodges the expectation to marry the man of her mother’s dreams. When the insolent footman she “found” refuses to leave her side until they can uncover a solution to their respective dilemmas, the two new acquaintances treat themselves to a holiday, experiencing the best of what Regency England has to offer.

Based on Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, can two hard-headed characters with kind hearts discover the truth behind the disguise? Enjoy the banter, humour, and growing affection as Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth have the best day of their lives, and discover that they just might find love and romance while on a London Holiday. This book is appropriate for all ages.

About the Author 

Nicole Clarkston is a book lover and a happily married mom of three. Originally from Idaho, she now lives in Oregon with her own romantic hero, several horses, and one very fat dog. She has loved crafting alternate stories and sequels since she was a child watching Disney’s Robin Hood, and she is never found sitting quietly without a book of some sort.

Nicole discovered Jane Austen rather by guilt in her early thirties―how does any book worm really live that long without a little P&P? She has never looked back. A year or so later, during a major house renovation project, she discovered Elizabeth Gaskell and fell completely in love. Her need for more time with these characters led her to simultaneously write Rumours & Recklessness, a P&P inspired novel, and No Such Thing as Luck, a N&S inspired novel. The success she had with her first attempt at writing led her to write four other novels that are her pitiful homage to two authors who have so deeply inspired her.

Nicole contributes to Austenvariations.com, a group of talented authors in the Jane Austen Fiction genre. In addition to her work with the Austen Variations blog, Nicole can be reached through Facebook at http://fb.me/NicoleClarkstonAuthor, Twitter @N_Clarkston, her blog atGoodreads.com, or her personal blog and website, NicoleClarkson.com.

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These Dreams

The Courtship of Edward Gardiner

Northern Rain

No Such Thing as Luck

Saying Goodbye to John

Something a little different today as we time travel back to the Medieval era in the company of Chris Nickson, author of The Holywell Dead, which is available now. In this guest piece, Chris reflects on saying goodbye to series characters.

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Even before I sat down to begin writing The Holywell Dead, I knew it would be the last book to feature John the Carpenter. Some series can run and run, going on well for many volumes, and sometimes growing better with each one. Others, though, have a limited span, and in my heart I knew these medieval Chesterfield mysteries fell into the second category.

I’ll miss John Katherine, Walter, Martha, the entire extended family. I love them, they’re real, fallible human beings, so it’s a bittersweet farewell. They came to me in a group one day with the first story in the series, The Crooked Spire. That one was a gift. Driving through Chesterfield, the entire book came to me in the span of about 10 seconds; all I had to do was write it. It was one of those rare gifts that writers don’t refuse. I knew the town well and liked it; for more than four years I lived just six miles away in Dronfield, and went there to shop, to spend time and explore. It’s kept its history well, and the church with its crooked spire is a thing of wonder.

But John is a carpenter. It’s more than his trade, it’s his passion, and he has a feel for wood that he doesn’t want to set aside. Having him solve the mysteries behind a few deaths comes within the realms of possibility. Too many, though, and I’d be straining belief. This, I think, is as far as I can go.

More than that, Chesterfield was a small town in the 1360s. When a big city like Norwich or Bristol might boast 4,000 and 6,000 people respectively (York had 7,000 and even London only 23,000), somewhere like Chesterfield, even though it was a market town serving a wide area, would be lucky to have more than a few hundred people living there. Realistically, the scope for stories was at an end.

Obviously, no spoilers here, but the book unfolded in a way that made for a good end to the series – at least I feel it did. John survived the Great Pestilence of 1348, he’s had his time of wandering and sorrow. Now he’s settled, and he’s done his duty as the Coroner’s often unwilling helper and conscience. It’s time to wish him – to wish them all – a long and happy life.

Chris Nickson

Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink

It's a pleasure to welcome Monica Hall, author of A Visitor's Guide to Georgian England, for a look into the murky matter of Georgian water...

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Water, water, everywhere

Nor any drop to drink

‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner’, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Well, hardly any drop fit to drink, at any rate.  The first half of the 18^th C was unusually dry, as it happened though, which makes it all the more remarkable how many people managed to drown themselves.  (http://booty.org.uk/booty.weather/climate/1700_1749.htm)

Deep water in wells, ponds, rivers and mill-races was a particular hazard as very few people could swim.  Water was for work, not recreation, so the opportunities for learning to swim were rather limited.  People fell into their own wells, lost their footing when getting in and out of flimsy ferries, got swept away in tidal rivers, or trapped in quicksands and mud when trying to fish or empty eel traps, or simply trying to get clean.  Very often their clothing bogged them down.   Poor women often did the laundry in rivers and if they fell in, due to pregnancy or advancing age, their long and bulky cotton and woollen clothes absorbed huge amounts of water leaving them unable to climb muddy and slippery banks to save themselves.  You could drown in quite shallow waters.  Another hazard among the young particularly was skating on frozen ponds and falling through the ice.

Sailors and fishermen were notorious for being unable to save themselves by swimming to a shore which was sometimes close by.  When Captain Cook was murdered on Hawaiian beach, members of his crew were close by in an open boat, hoping to save him if he ran into the sea.  But he didn’t, because he could not swim, unlike the scantily-clad Hawaiians of course.  But learning to swim in the tropical waters off an island paradise is rather different to the chilly and murky waters of British rivers and seas. 

It is, of course, difficult to compare accidental death statistics from over 300 years ago to ours because of lifestyle changes.  Drowning does not figure so high up in ours partly because children are taught to swim, and partly because we have so many more ways in which to kill ourselves, such as high speed transport and electricity.  But humans can be remarkably stupid when it comes to assessing risk.  If you want to see exactly how stupid we are today, then check out the 2014 Darwin Awards (http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2014.html) which are  –

“… named in honour of Charles Darwin, the father of evolution, (they) commemorate those who improve our gene pool by removing themselves from it.”

Nonetheless, some people in the 18^thC eventually decided that something should be done, which may be an early example of Health & Safety, or it may have just been due to entrepreneurialism.  The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England (Strutt, 1801) confirms that, by the late 18^thC, people were swimming more, and the first recorded swimming pool, open to the public (i.e. males) was the Peerless Pool in Baldwin Street, City Road, which opened in 1743 and was used for over a century.  The annual subscription rate was £1 10s, or 1s a visit.  There was a marble changing pavilion and marble steps down into the waters which ranged from 3 – 5 feet in depth with a gravelly bottom.  So not for the poor, then.  But then, accidental death by any means was expected among the poor, and nobody would want them sullying the Peerless Pool anyway.  It was closed in 1850 and built over, but its memory is preserved by Peerless Street and Bath Street.  But in the 19^thC public schools were beginning to teach their pupils to swim for sporting and health reasons.  One can imagine that swimming races in icy waters were considered character-building for the scions of the rich who were being raised to run the Empire.  But at least the waters in India would have been warmer, even if patrolled by rather more dangerous wildlife, as the most that could menace a swimmer in British waters would have been an irate pike or an angry seal.  

But people didn’t just work around water, or drown in it, or gradually discover its value as a health and leisure facility.  They had to contend with the problems of drinking it and washing in it, which were very considerable.  The Georgians, of course, had little idea about water-borne diseases, and the proof of that had to wait until Dr. John Snow tracked the source of a cholera outbreak to one water pump in Soho in 1854.  Whilst all the while being obstructed by authorities and his colleagues, of course.  But they did have a vague idea that disease was communicated by odiferous air, or miasma, and in this they were on the right track, albeit for the wrong reasons.  Poor water hygiene certainly smells.  No efficient sewage disposal systems, no understanding of the water table, and a tendency to regard all rivers and streams as convenient conduits for waste disposal meant that water was not safe to drink.  So they drank alcohol.  I am always pleased to contemplate this when being urged by our Government not to exceed 14 units a week.   

In the early 18^thC the Fleet River in London was still open, flowing from its sources in Hampstead to the Thames.  It was notorious for being an open sewer in which a tide of excrement, dead dogs and the waste from tanneries, and more besides, rolled down to the Thames in an overwhelming stench (miasma).  Oddly, they built rather attractive Venetian-style bridges over it.  

By 1737, however, they’d had enough and slowly began enclosing stretches of it.  It was finally fully enclosed into the Victorian sewage system, although you can still hear it running below a grating in Clerkenwell, and it disgorges into the Thames just below Blackfriars Bridge as a storm drain.  

One might think one would be safer with water in the countryside rather than the cities.  But probably only if you lived on a hill and drew your water from a well up high as livestock and industrial activity waste ran off fields and into rivers, thus polluting the waters downstream.   Water chlorination was not widely introduced into the UK until 1905, although sand filtering was known and spasmodically used in Georgian times.  In fact, the quest for clean water has continued since 2000 BCE, according to Sanskrit writings, so they certainly knew it was both essential and dangerous.

But today, the bottled water industry is worth billions, even though western countries have safe potable water from the tap.  One American has done his sums.

“That’s right – 4,787 bottled waters could be filled with tap water for $2.10! So every time you buy a bottle of water for $1, you are paying 2,279 times what you would if you filled that same bottle with tap water.”

(http://20somethingfinance.com/bottled-water-versus-tap-water/ )

Oh dear.

About the Author

Monica Hall has spent her working life in marketing and advertising, both in industry and academia. When not making ends meet and raising two sons, however, she has devoted years to delighting in the social history of her favourite era, the Georgians. She has written articles for several online historical resources, including the renowned Madame Gilflurt and Encyclopedia Titanica, as well as reviewing historical books and TV programmes. Monica lives in Hampshire with a cat who seems to have discovered the secret of eternal youth.

Detective Bent and the Murder of PC Cock

It's a pleasure to welcome Angela Buckley, author of Who Killed Constable Cock?, to delve into the world of Detective Bent and a mysterious crime.

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In the early hours of 2 August 1876, 21-year-old PC Nicholas Cock was walking his beat in the quiet suburb of Chorlton-cum-Hardy, Manchester. He stopped briefly at a junction for a chat with a passing law student and a colleague, after which all three men went their separate ways. A few minutes later, two shots rang out in the dark. PC Cock’s companions ran back to the junction to find the young police officer lying in a pool of blood. He had received a bullet to the chest and later died of his injuries. 

When the tragic news reached the police station, Superintendent Bent knew instantly who had killed his officer. Within half an hour of PC Cock’s death, he had arrested the three Habron brothers and charged them with murder. With his prime suspects firmly in his sights, and without considering any other leads, he set out to prove their guilt.

James Bent was born in Eccles, Salford in 1828. His father was a night watchman. At just seven years old, James began working in a silk mill, where he was constantly beaten by the supervisors. On 7 November 1848, Bent joined the Lancashire Constabulary. He was 5 feet 8 inches tall, with a fair complexion, grey eyes and sandy hair. A married man with four children, he was transferred several times and promoted through the ranks, reaching superintendent in 1868, by which time he was stationed at Old Trafford police station, from where he commanded the Manchester division. 

PC Nicholas Cock was tragically murdered in 1876.

Armed with his favourite adage, ‘Always believe everybody guilty until you prove them innocent’, Superintendent Bent investigated many different types of crime, including theft, burglary, illegal gaming and assault. He once tackled an intriguing case of attempted murder by a hawker of blacking who tried to poison his wife, an inmate of Prestwich Lunatic Asylum. During a visit, the itinerant salesman took her some Eccles cakes and, when she tried to eat them, she discovered that inside each cake was a dozen pins twisted into the shape of fish hooks. Superintendent Bent had the cakes analysed and found that they also contained antimony, a lead-based poison. He kept the pins as souvenirs, handing them out to crime enthusiasts. 

Shortly after, Superintendent Bent investigated another complex murder, for which he employed a very controversial method identify the killer. Nineteen-year old maid Sarah Roberts was murdered in her employer’s house by an unknown assailant. When the police failed to find the culprit, Superintendent Bent resorted to having the victim’s eyes photographed, to see if the attacker’s face was imprinted on them. The day before Sarah Jane’s funeral the police lifted the coffin lid and took images of the corpse, in the hope that the figure of the murderer would appear under the examination of a powerful microscope. Despite the image being magnified to the size of half a sheet of ordinary notepaper: ‘there was nothing visible which would furnish the slightest evidence as to the features of the murderer’ (Manchester Courier, 16 January 1880). Sarah Jane’s killer was never caught.

Superintendent James Bent set out to find PC Cock’s killer.

In 1891, Superintendent Bent published his memoirs, in which he described the murder of PC Cock, and the investigation he had led to catch the perpetrator. The wily detective built his case against the Habron brothers mainly on the discovery of footprints at the crime scene, which matched the suspects’ boots. He also found percussion caps in the youngest brother William’s waistcoat, although the murder weapon was never recovered. In November 1876, William Habron, aged 18, was convicted of Nicholas Cock’s murder. Once again Superintendent Bent had caught his man. Or so he thought. As young William languished behind bars, three years later an astonishing confession by a notorious Victorian cat burglar completely overturned the case and Constable Cock’s real killer was finally revealed.

Who Killed Constable Cock? by Angela Buckley is out now in ebook and paperback. You can find out more about Angela’s work on her website, www.angelabuckleywriter.com and on her Facebook page Victorian Supersleuth.

A Brief (and not at all definitive) Overview of the Menagerie

It's a pleasure to welcome JL Ashton, author of Mendacity & Mourning, with A Brief (and not at all definitive) Overview of the Menagerie!

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One can set a hundred scenes in sitting rooms and ballrooms, on Oakham Mount or in the shrubbery. But if an author has placed her characters in London, there are so many interesting locations ripe for plot twists and full of potential conversations. After all, in London, there was excitement to be had at museums and theaters, opera houses and menageries.

Darcy? Are you with us, man?” Richard’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Miss Bingley was enquiring about Georgiana.”

Darcy sat up a little straighter. “Pardon me. My mind had drifted to an issue with the harvest at Pemberley, and I recalled I must send a letter to the duke about our change in plans. My visit will be delayed at least a week.”

Miss Bingley looked pleased by his news. “How is dear Georgiana?”

“My sister is quite busy with her aunt. During our stay in London, I hope we shall attend the menagerie. In her letters, Georgiana has written of a collection of foreign animals. The tiger and the constrictor are of particular interest.”

“Oh, Lizzy saw the tiger!” Miss Bennet’s face lit up in excitement. “She said it was quite fascinating, if not a bit melancholy.”

While Darcy absorbed the happy news and began forming a query about Miss Elizabeth, he heard Miss Bingley titter.

“A wild cat prone to melancholy? A fierce and bloodthirsty beast such as that has no such feeling.”

In a cool voice, his eyes fixed firmly on Miss Bingley, Richard replied, “I have seen animals feel many things: fear, excitement, joy. Dogs are happy creatures. Horses love to run, but in the face of danger or loud noises, they are frightened. A wild, untamed creature cannot be happy in the city with the cries of children breaking the peace and the eyes of the multitude upon him.”

“Oh, this makes me sad,” Miss Catherine said in a small voice.

“It does, indeed,” Bingley exclaimed. “But to see it makes it real and not a creature of myth and legend.” He smiled when Miss Bennet met his eyes and nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Bingley,” she said softly. “It does.”

Darcy watched as his cousin’s eyes roved over the couple as though assessing the field that lay before him. Shrugging, Richard sat back and enquired as to the whereabouts of Hurst.

Mrs. Hurst averted her eyes as her brother revealed that her husband had met a hearty ragout he deemed the finest of his life but lost the battle. Richard chuckled. “He best not be in the militia or the navy if his stomach is so delicate.”

“Ah, I believe it was the quantity he ate rather than the quality of the dish,” Bingley asserted. “Four servings. And soup, a pudding, and a tart.”

“He is resting upstairs,” Mrs. Hurst added.

Richard coughed out a laugh. “Well. He stands tall in my esteem, even while lying abed.”

Before the London Zoo opened, the menagerie visited by Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana in Mendacity & Mourning was the sort of traveling collection of unusual and exotic animals that visited London and other European cities. It was, for many, a walk on the wild side.

Showcasing and exhibiting animals began with William the Conqueror, who established a royal menagerie, including lions and camels, at Woodstock Manor near Oxford. This tradition was maintained by his successors, who received exotic animals as gifts from foreign rulers. It was Queen Elizabeth I who first allowed the public to view the royal menagerie. By then it had been moved to the Tower of London, where visitors could pet the lion cubs that played in the grounds. Entry was free to anyone who brought a dead cat or dog to supplement the animals' diets.

In 1773, to compete with the royal menagerie, showman Gilbert Pidcock (or Pidock, by some accounts) opened his own collection of exotic animals at the Exeter Exchange (or ‘Change) on the Strand. 

The ‘Change was designed with an arcade and small shops on the first floor, and lodgings above. Over time, the upper floor apartments began housing a menagerie formed by Pidcock, who promoted his collection with newspaper ads; in one, he assured the public his wild animals were "so well secured, that the most timorous may approach them in safety.”

In 1812, the animals at the Exeter ‘Change included a Bengal tiger, a hyena, a lion, a jaguar, a sloth, a camel, monkeys, a hippopotamus, a rhinoceros, an elephant, an ostrich, a cassowary, a pelican, emus, cranes, an eagle, cockatoos, elks, kangaroos, and antelopes. “Chunee” the elephant was the star attraction of the menagerie. After arriving in England in 1809, he performed on stage, entertaining audiences in Covent Garden. He often was paraded in the street outside the menagerie. But in February 1826, Chunee killed one of his keepers and, for safety reasons, was put down. Without the elephant, attendance dropped and the Exeter ‘Change was demolished in 1829.

By that time, menageries were not found only in the City. Shoemaker George Wombwell recognised that interest in wild animals, and the populace to pay to see them, went beyond London’s borders. In 1810, he founded one of the first travelling menageries; by 1839 it had 15 wagons of animals and a brass band. His menagerie inspired circuses to start using animals in their shows, but the main attractions remained in London. 

In 1828, as Victorian interest in natural science grew, the London Zoo was founded in Regents Park. Run by The Zoological Society of London, the collection was open only to members. However, exclusivity had it price. With a large collection of animals—including many inherited from the Royal Menagerie—that were costly to feed and maintain, the zoo opened to the general public in 1897. The curiosity of thousands could now be sated.

JAFF writers are not the only ones to utilize London’s menageries and zoo in their stories. Fans of Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach might remember that James Henry Trotter was orphaned when his parents were killed by a zoo escapee. 

“Both of them suddenly got eaten up (in full daylight, mind you, and on a crowded street) by an enormous angry rhinoceros which had escaped form the London Zoo… They were dead and gone in thirty-five seconds flat.”

Menageries and zoos…still a walk on the wild side.

Thank you so much for hosting me and Mendacity & Mourning here at A Covent Garden, Catherine!

Mendacity &Mourning

By J. L. Ashton 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gossip in possession of misheard tales and desirous of both a good wife and an eager audience need only descend upon the sitting rooms of a small country town in order to find satisfaction. And with a push from Lady Catherine, Mr. Collins sets alight a series of misunderstandings, rumours, and lies that create obstacles to a romance between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.

This slightly unhinged romantic comedy follows Darcy as he sets off to find himself a wife and instead finds himself pulled into the mire of his aunt’s machinations and his own fascination with Elizabeth, whom he believes betrothed to another. As Meryton judges him the grieving groom of Anne de Bourgh and a caddish dallier with the hearts of others, Darcy must ferret out the truth behind his cousin’s disappearance, protect his sister from the fretful fate of all Fitzwilliam females, and, most importantly, win Elizabeth’s heart.

Author Bio: 

Jan Ashton didn’t meet Jane Austen until she was in her late teens, but in a happy coincidence, she shares a similarity of name with the author and celebrates her birthday on the same day Pride & Prejudice was first published. Sadly, she’s yet to find any Darcy and Elizabeth candles on her cake, but she does own the action figures.

Like so many Austen fans, Jan was an early and avid reader with a vivid imagination and a well-used library card. Her family’s frequent moves around the U.S and abroad encouraged her to think of books and their authors as reliable friends. It took a history degree and another decade or two for her to start imagining variations on Pride & Prejudice, and another decade—filled with career, marriage, kids, and a menagerie of pets—to start writing them. Today, in between writing Austen variations, Jan lives in the Chicago area, eats out far too often with her own Mr. Darcy, and enjoys membership in the local and national chapters of the Jane Austen Society of North America. 

Mendacity & Mourning is her second book with Meryton Press. She published A Searing Acquaintance in 2016.

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Buy Links: 

Mendacity & Mourning

A Searing Acquaintance

Blog Tour Schedule: 

06/19   Babblings of a Bookworm; Vignette, GA

06/20   My Jane Austen Book Club; Author/Character Interview, GA

06/21   Half Agony, Half Hope; Review, Excerpt

06/22   From Pemberley to Milton; Guest Post, Excerpt, GA

06/23   More Agreeably Engaged; Vignette, GA

06/24   Just Jane 1813; Review, GA

06/25   Margie’s Must Reads; Guest Post, GA

06/26   Of Pens and Pages; Review, Excerpt, GA

06/27   Tomorrow is Another Day; Review, GA

06/28   Austenesque Reviews; Vignette, GA

06/29   My Vices and Weaknesses; Character Interview, GA 

06/30   A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life; Guest Post

07/01   Darcyholic Diversions; Author Interview, GA

07/02   Laughing With Lizzie; Vignette, Excerpt, GA

07/03   Diary of an Eccentric; Review