Richard Burton in Mortlake, Richmond upon Thames

The remarkable 'tent' tomb of Sir Richard Burton (1821–90), the explorer and writer, and his wife Isabel Arundell, in St Mary Magdalen Roman Catholic Church, Mortlake. Isabel wrote his biography, which was published in 1893.

 

 

RICHARD BURTON

'FAREWELL, DEAR FRIEND, DEAD HERO! THE GREAT LIFE
IS ENDED, THE GREAT PERILS, THE GREAT JOYS;
AND HE TO WHOM ADVENTURES WERE AS TOYS,
WHO SEEMED TO BEAR A CHARM 'GAINST SPEAR OR KNIFE
OR BULLETS, NOW LIES SILENT FROM ALL STRIFE
OUT YONDER WHERE THE AUSTRIAN EAGLES POISE
ON ISTRIAN HILLS. BUT ENGLAND, AT THE NOISE
OF THAT DREAD FALL, WEEPS WITH THE HERO'S WIFE.
OH, LAST AND NOBLEST OF THE ERRANT KNIGHTS,
THE ENGLISH SOLDIER AND THE ARAB SHIEK!
OH, SINGER OF THE EAST WHO LOVED SO WELL
THE DEATHLESS WONDER OF THE "ARABIAN KNIGHTS",
WHO TOUCHED CAMOEN'S LUTE AND STILL WOULD SEEK
EVER NEW DEEDS UNTIL THE END! FAREWELL!'

JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY.

 

The folds of the 'tent' in greater detail.

 

Steps at the back of the tomb allow people to look into the window that shows the coffins of Burton and his wife. (The window was originally stained glass but vandals put paid to that.)

As the sun was shining on it the day I went, though, a number of reflections rendered this only partly visible.

Louis Macneice in Canonbury, Islington

52 Canonbury Park South, Canonbury, Islington.

 

'LOUIS

MACNEICE

1907–1963

Poet

lived here

1947–1952'

Ruth Ellis in Hampstead

The Magdala, South Hill Park, Hampstead, London.

 

'The Magdala is renowned as the site

outside which Ruth Ellis[,]

the last woman in England to be hanged,

shot and killed her lover, David Blakely,

on Easter Sunday 1955.

The victim of domestic abuse, it is still

being argued that Ruth's sentence

should be posthumously quashed from

murder to manslaughter.

The bullet holes are

still evident today.'

 

Needless to say I didn't go looking for bullet holes.

William Johnson Cory in Hampstead

8 Pilgrim's Lane, Hampstead, London.

'WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY

IONICUS

1823–1892

TEACHER, SCHOLAR AND POET. LIVED

AND DIED IN THIS HOUSE. AN ASSISTANT

MASTER AT ETON COLLEGE 1845–1872.

HE COMPOSED THE WORDS FOR THE

ETON BOATING SONG.'

Cory was born Johnson, but changed his name after being forced to resign from Eton following a complaint made by the parents of one of his pupils about an 'indiscreet' letter Cory had written to the boy.

  

I've no idea what this ship's figurehead is doing here, but if anyone does know I'd be very pleased if they'd let me know via a comment or in an email.

 

ADDENDUM: Read the comment from Maggie below for a link to the solution to the mystery.

George Orwell in Hampstead and Canonbury

3 Pond Street, Hampstead, now a Pain Quotidien outlet.

 

'GEORGE ORWELL

WRITER 1903..1950

LIVED AND WORKED IN

A BOOKSHOP ON THIS SITE

1934..1935..'

 

The bookshop was Booklovers' Corner run by Francis and Myfanwy Westrope. Orwell used his experience here for parts of his novel Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936). He wrote about his time at Booklovers' Corner in the essay 'Bookshop Memories' (1936). Unfortunately, vandals have chipped off Orwell's face on the plaque.

 

Orwell was forced to move out of Pond Road early in 1935, and came to a flat here, 77 Parliament Hill, next to Hampstead Heath.

 

'GEORGE ORWELL

1903–1950

WRITER

LIVED HERE'

 

In June 1935 he moved to Kentish Town (see my link at the bottom).

 

And many years later, in Canonbury Square, Canonbury, Islington:

 

'GEORGE

ORWELL

1903–1950

NOVELIST & ESSAYIST

LIVED AT 27B

1945'

 

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
George Orwell: 'Bookshop Memories'
George Orwell in Kentish Town

William Blake in Lambeth

'WILLIAM BLAKE

POET & PAINTER

LIVED IN A HOUSE

FORMERLY ON

THIS SITE

1793.'

 

This plaque is on a block of flats in Hercules Road, Lambeth.

 

Centaur Street, which is mainly a tunnel under Waterloo railway lines, looking towards Hercules Street. This is home to the Blake mosaics.

 

This information plaque briefly mentions the work of William Blake (1757–1827) and speaks of what it calls the 'paradox' of a deeply spiritual man who hated organised religion. It points out that he was virtually unknown in his own lifetime, even considered mad by some. It also mentions his patrons who strove to keep his name alive. Blake lived near here from 1780 to 1790, and the tributes here represent the work he produced during this fruitful period.

 

A POISON TREE

 

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

 

EUROPE

a

PROPHESY

 

 

 

Nebuchadnezzar.

 

 

 

 

 

Newton, obviously now very familiar from the sculpture inside the grounds of the British Library.

 

VISIONS

of the Daughters of

Albion

 

 

Albion Rose, also known as Glad Day or The Dance of Albion.

 

 

SONGS

OF

INNOCENCE

AND

EXPERIENCE

 

 

The Shepherd

 

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!

From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

 

The Little Boy Lost

Father, father, where are you going

O do not walk so fast.

Speak father, speak to your little boy

 Or else I shall be lost,

 

The night was dark no father was there

The child was wet with dew.

The mire was deep, & the child did weep

 And away the vapour flew.

 

Infant Joy

 

'I have no name;
I am but two days old.'
What shall I call thee?
'I happy am,
Joy is my name.'
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!

 

The Clod & the Pebble

 

'Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.'

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

'Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.'

 

The Chimney Sweeper

 

A little black thing among the snow,
Crying 'weep! 'weep!' in notes of woe!
Where are thy father and mother? Say!'
'They are both gone up to the church to pray.

'Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smiled among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

 'And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and his priest and king,
Who make up a heaven of our misery.

 

The Sick Rose

 

O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

 

The Tyger

 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

The GARDEN of LOVE

 

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.

 

LONDON

 

I wandered through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.

 

'Project Blake

'The artists and volunteers who worked on these mosaics at
Southbank Mosaics studios included: Helen Goodman,
Suzie Balazs, Zahir Shaikh, Amy Williams, Josie Harris,
Shreen Ahmed, Helen Lees, Juliana Simoes, Sylvie Jacobs,
Peter Whelan, Sabina Michael, Amy Pettipher, Catherine Chimes,
Anna Robertson, Shaun Cambell, Nonaletta Lewis, Ray Pettit,
Anna Jellinek, Sebasiain Crump, Jessica Kaufmann,
M. J. Maccardini, Alice Northgreaves, Jessica Crowther,
Joyce E Crowther, Alison Shapton, Joanna Hammond,
Chloe Easton, Matthew Lawrence, Sonia Cala-Lesina,
Esther Bada, Lawrence Sevume, Annabel Thomas,
Marvin Afrane, Sharon Carr, Dele Akindele, Alison Webb,
elena Grebenchtchikova, Alison Russell,Albany Rivera,
Angela McMahon, Nicola Shorvan, Jackie Chambers,
Philip Sunshine, Michelle Russell, Felix Pirani, Sandra Wiseman,
Jalisha Israel, Mohammed Abbas, Manuel Roman, Lisa Hornby,
Dee Smith, Anna Bachene, Eleanor Crawford, Junior Wildman,
Abu Shaid, Sean Gerrard, Wayne Menezes, Martin Chandler,
Bryan Fulton, Peaches Farnes, Le'Mari McBeth, Peter O'Donovan,
Robin Richter, Ricardo Johnson, Lynn Newlyn, Daisy Newlyn,
Grace Bryant, Martha Bryant, David Tootill
and many others.

 

'If any work is damaged and needs repair, please report
this to: Southbank Mosaics, St Johns Crypt, 73 Waterloo Rd,
London, SE1 8UD
Tel: 020 7620 6070 e: info@southbankmosaics.com

Alexander Cruden in Islington

A Mexican restaurant at 45 Camden Passage, Islington.

 

And on the wall:

 

'ALEXANDER CRUDEN 1699–1770

HUMANIST SCHOLAR AND INTELLECTUAL
BORN ABERDEEN EDUCATED MARISCHAL COLLEGE
CAME TO LONDON 1719 AS TUTOR APPOINTED
BOOKSELLER TO QUEEN CAROLINE IN 1737
COMPILED THE CONCORDANCE TO THE BIBLE
DIED HERE IN CAMDEN PASSAGE NOVEMBER 1st

Whom niether [sic] infirmity not neglect could debase Nelson 1811'

I can't claim to know much about Alexander Cruden at all, although if there is a great deal of truth in Wikipedia's present representation of him (accessed the same date as this post) then he was a very interesting person indeed:

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Alexander Cruden

Barbara Pym: An Academic Question (1984)

An Academic Question (originally untitled) is what Barbara Pym called her 'Academic Novel' according to Pym's biographer Hazel Holt (A Lot to Ask: A Life of Barbara Pym (1990)), who also edited this novel written in the beginning of the 1970s. This Virago Modern Classics edition, narrated in the first person, is essentially an amalgamated version of Pym's original first-person novel, and a re-write that Holt says Pym wanted to make, er, 'sharp' and 'swinging'.

 

Certainly this is far removed from the earlier novels by Pym that I've read, Some Tame Gazelle and Excellent Women. There are, for instance, no church jumble sales, garden parties, dinners with curates, and above all no mention of (obvious) spinsters; instead, abortion, contraception, extra-marital sex, and student rebellion – the last largely inspired by correspondence from Philip Larkin about Hull University – are on the menu. But does this represent such an enormous departure from Pym's novels?

 

I would argue not. Hazel Holt calls it a 'transitional novel', and that seems a fair assessment of a person apparently trying to adjust to a post-sexual revolution mentality. In the novel, Iris asks Caro Grimstone, the wife of lecturer Alan, what her friend Coco is 'exactly? – I mean, sexually', meaning hetero or homo. In answer, Caro says 'Well, nothing, really', adding:

 

'We've never really talked about it. In any case, are people to be classified as simply as that? Some people just love themselves.'

 

It's clear here that Caro isn't talking about onanism, but rather asexuality, the great unmentionable.

 

In her 2012 Introduction to this edition Kate Saunders says that this might not be a major Pym novel, although I'm not so sure. It would have been very interesting to see the original draft and the updated, 'swinging' version, though – just to make comparisons.