A Fall from a Phaeton: The Death of Earl Temple

Richard Grenville-Temple, 2nd Earl Temple KG, PC (London, England, 26th September 1711 – Stowe Park, Buckinghamshire, England, 12th September 1779)

Richard Grenville-Temple, 2nd Earl Temple by Allan Ramsay, 1762

On a crisp Autumn day like today, I do like to take a turn through the streets in my phaeton, taking in the world and catching the odd moment of overheard gossip as I go. There really is no more exhilarating way to travel and thought it's a lot of fun, one must also be mindful that it can be a little dangerous from time to time!

Brother in law to our old friend, William Pitt, Grenville was a politician, intriguer and influential man who enjoyed vast wealth, as well as close friends and sworn enemies. His most eventful life came to a tragic end in 1779, whilst Temple was taking the air in at his estate of Stowe Park.

Lady, said to be Anna Grenville, née Chambers, Countess Temple by circle of Thomas Hudson 

Whilst travelling in his phaeton on 11th September 1779, Earl Temple was thrown from the vehicle. He suffered massive head injuries in the accident, fracturing his skull upon impact. The former Lord Privy Seal died the following day, the earldom passing to his nephew George Nugent-Temple-Grenville.

Temple was buried at Stowe but his remains were later moved to Wotton parish church to be laid to rest alongside the wife he adored, where he remains to this day.

To Do His Utmost: The Execution of Admiral Byng

Admiral John Byng (Southill, Bedfordshire, England, baptised 29th October 1704 – The Solent, England, 14th March 1757)

Today I will share a tale of a naval battle, of supposed cowardice and twisted legal wranglings that ended before a firing squad. The case echoes even today, as the family of Admiral John Byng continue their efforts to clear his name.

The high-flying Byng enjoyed a highly successful naval career, temporarily putting it on hold to pursue life as a Member of Parliament before he returned to the sea. In 1756 he sailed out of England to join the Battle of Menorca, under orders not to let the French capture Port Mahon under any circumstances. Even as the mission began Byng was plagued by doubt, certain that his vessel was underprepared and sure to be overwhelmed by the forces of the French. Upon his arrival he found the garrison at Port Mahon completely besieged by the French and wrote that he believed his chances of success were slim in the circumstances.

Admiral John Byng by Thomas Hudson, 1749

Despite this, Byng did go into battle on 20th May 1756 and the result was a far from happy one. With the French forces heavily outgunning their adversaries, Byng's vessel, the Ramillies, ended up towards the back of the English fleet and never came within firing range of another ship. On that unfortunate day several English vessels suffered serious damage whilst the French were untouched. The engagement had been a disaster and as Byng gave orders to head for Gibraltar, an order was issued to arrest the Admiral as a coward who had retreated from battle.

When Byng returned to England he was placed under guard in Greenwich Hospital as a war of words raged and eventually, it was decided that the Admiral would face a court martial. The case opened on 28th December 1756 at Portsmouth, with Byng charged under the 12th Article of War:

"Every Person in the Fleet, who through cowardice, negligence or dissatisfaction, shall in time of action withdraw or keep back, or not come into the fight or engagement,  or shall not do his utmost to take or destroy every ship which it shall be his duty to engage, and to assist and relieve all and every of His Majesty's ships or those of his allies, which it shall be his duty to assist and relieve, every such person so offending, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death."

There was little room  for interpretation of the sentence to one found guilty under the 12th Article and so, with the public demanding answers and Crown and parliament keen to settle the matter, the court marital set out to ascertain whether the Admiral had "done his utmost" during battle and to aid his garrison. Byng argued passionately that he had not deliberately kept the Ramillies out of the battle but had been forced to do so by the fact that the opposing forces were at angles to one another, rendering it virtually impossible for him to engage the French from his position. Serving as his own defence he countered that he had been sent to battle without adequate forces and that his sailing for Gibraltar after the engagement had not been in retreat, but by necessity. 

The Shooting of Admiral Byng, 1757

However, Byng's prosecutors would hear none of it and although he was absolved of cowardice, they ruled that he had indeed failed to do his utmost and the mandatory punishment was death. However, his judges found this inescapable outcome a bitter pill to swallow and unanimously recommended that George II show clemency and grant the Admiral a reprieve. Influential figures raised their voices in support of a lighter sentence and Byng's family campaigned tirelessly on his behalf yet it was to no avail. Petitions brought before the king fell on deaf ears and, believing Byng was a coward, George gave his decision: the death penalty would stand.

Byng was taken from his prison on HMS Monarque in the Solent and brought to the quarterdeck at noon on 14th March 1757. Here a firing squad of Royal Marines awaited him alongside the crew of the Monarque and sailors from other ships, all of whom were there to show their support of the unfortunate Admiral. Blindfolded, he knelt on a cushion and dropped his handkerchief to signal he was ready to die. At this moment, the squad fired as one, ending the life of Admiral Byng.

A Routine Trip to the Closet: The Death of George II

George II (George Augustus; Hanover, Electorate of Brunswick-Luneburg, Holy Roman Empire, 9th November 1683 – London, England, 25th October 1760)

George II  by Thomas Hudson, 1744

Today is a somewhat subdued day in the salon as we mark the anniversary of the death of King George II. My grandmother Gilflurt has oft told a tale of two of this particular monarch but none are really suitable for sharing with our guests, as she can get a little ribald once she's got a gin inside her. Still, it seemed only right the mark the passing of a this long-serving, not always popular, monarch!

In the 33rd year of his reign, the once-lively king had slowed considerably. He had retired from the active political life he had once lived, even his famously hot-temper had perhaps quelled just a little and despite his scandalous love life, more than two decades after the death of his wife, he still mourned her passing. Now in the later years of his life, George's health was failing and he was frustrated by the partial loss of his sign and hearing, though he remained intellectually vibrant.

George II by Charles Jervas, 1727

By the age of 76, George had quite naturally become a creature of habit and on the morning of his death he left his bed in Kensington Palace at six o'clock as was his routine, seeing in the day with his usual cup of chocolate. Suitably refreshed, he retired to perform his toilet and it was then that his valet heard a noise that brought him running to his master's aid. The king had fallen and was prone on the floor, barely alive. As George was carried to bed and settled as well as he could be, Princess Amelia was summoned to her ailing father's side but by the time the princess arrived at Kensington Palace, King George II was dead. George's physician, Frank Nicholls, made preparations to embalm the late monarch and found that the cause of death had been an aortic dissection. 

According to his wishes, George was buried beside his beloved wife, Caroline of Ansbach, at Westminster Abbey on 11th November 1760. As was his wish, the sides of their coffins were removed to allow their bodies to rest together.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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William Boyce, Master of the King's Musick

William Boyce (London, England, baptised 11th September 1711 – London, England, 7th February 1779)

It strikes me that we have met a lot of literary types of late, not to mention a few flighty women and even a doomed hero or two. Since my own Henrietta Street abode is rarely without music playing, I take my inspiration today from one of my favourite composers, a gentleman who has shared with us with more than a fine melody or two. It is a pleasure to welcome William Boyce to the salon, a man whose whole life was music.

Long before he became the Master of the King's Musick, William Boyce was born to Elizabeth and John, a master cabinet maker. The youngest of four children, Boyce won a position of chorister at St Paul's Cathedral, where he would remain until his voice broke. With his choral career behind him, he took up the study of music with organist and composer, Maurice Greene, who would remain a strong influence throughout his life. A keen student, Boyce progressed in leaps and bounds and at the age of 24 assumed the position of organist at Oxford Chapel on Cavendish Square, where he first discovered the joys of playing, composing and editing church music. 

Maurice Greene; John Hoadly, by Francis Hayman, 1747

This was the first in a number of increasingly respected offices that Boyce filled, all the time working on his own compositions alongside his duties as an organist. He wrote music for the theatre, for church and symphony hall, though his hearing had already begun to fail. Whilst his professional life went from strength to strength, his personal life was happy too as Boyce married Hannah in 1748. The couple eventually had two children, their son going on to musical fame of his own as a celebrated double bassist.

When Greene died in 1755, Boyce took over his role as Master of the King's Musick and three years later he was appointed organist at the Chapel Royal. For ten years Boyce was utterly dedicated to these prestigious offices yet in 1768, his hearing loss had grown so acute that he had no choice but to retire. With time to spare, he turned his attention to completing Greene's Cathedral Music, which had been left unfinished at the time of the older man's death. Following this he worked in earnest on his own compositions and by the time of his death had produced eight symphonies and a number of other pieces.

William Boyce by Thomas Hudson, 1749

At Boyce's funeral in St Paul’s Cathedral, he was laid to rest to the sound of his own compositions, performed by the united voices of the choristers of St Paul’s, Westminster Abbey and the Chapel Royal. It was a fitting final send off for a man whose career had begun in that same cathedral as a boy, voice raised in song.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

Pen and Sword

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Book Depository (free worldwide shipping)