Not a drop to drink

I had a bit of a serendipitous find the other day. I had decided, more-or-less on a whim, to go for a long walk on Monday. Good old bank holidays. I eventually decided to do what I’d been meaning to do for a while, and walk from Islington to Shoreditch. I’m familiar with both and their immediate surrounds, but I’d never “linked” the two.

Due to bloody engineering works, the bane of the random traveller’s life, I took the Victoria Line to Highbury & Islington and began my walk there. On the left you may see the abandoned station entrance. The present station entrance is of little interest to anyone. Incidentally, back in Yr. Humble Chronicler’s acting days, I used to use this station regularly to get to the King’s Head Theatre in Islington, where me show was on. Nothing to do with the entry, just thought I’d share.

I took a walk down towards Canonbury and in doing so, came across something I’ve been meaning to look for for months, but never got around to. I’m talking about this:

This is the New River. It’s not particularly new these days, nor has it ever technically been a river. It’s an artificial watercourse.

See, even in the seventeenth century, the expansion of London made it difficult to supply everyone with fresh water that was not contaminated with various nasties. So in 1606, an Act of Parliament was passed authorising the construction of a new river – the New River. I’m sure they thought long and hard about that name.

The river ran from Ware in Hertfordshire, taking a somewhat circuitous route due to the necessity of running downhill all the way, to reservoirs at Clerkenwell. It was eventually opened in 1613. The project was started by Edmund Colthurst, who ran into money troubles in 1609. Hugh Myddleton took over, only to run into money troubles himself and approach the extravagant King James I for a top-up. James agreed, on the condition that he receive a share of the profits.

Here is a fish I saw.

The venture was a success, so much so that it remains a significant part of London’s water supply up to the present day, having been taken over by the Metropolitan Water Board in 1904. After the Second World War, it was decided to take the Clerkenwell reservoirs out of use, but the river was instead diverted into the main water supply at Stoke Newington.

Probably the strangest use of the river was to flood the stage at Sadler’s Wells Theatre in order to stage “aqua drama.” This is not to be confused with what happens when you try to do the plumbing for yourself (“I mean, how hard can it be, right?”) but instead was a novel form of show set at sea. A notable production, The Siege of Gibraltar, featured 117 miniature ships with firing cannons, as well as child actors to represent drowning Spanish sailors. It’s just not the same with CGI.

Aqua drama at Sadlers Wells, circa 1808.

Bonfire Night explained

Twice over the past couple of weeks I’ve been asked by colleagues at work what November 5th is all about. Being from Russia and Australia, and relatively recent arrivals in this country, they were unfamiliar with the concept. Therefore, I dedicate this entry to them. This is Bonfire Night, explained for the benefit of everyone who isn’t British.

It all started with the death of Queen Elizabeth I in 1603. She died childless, and so the throne went to her distant relative, James VI of Scotland. Importantly, James’ mother had been Mary, Queen of Scots, a Catholic monarch who had been executed (reluctantly) by the Protestant Elizabeth. The Catholic population of Britain therefore assumed that with James on the throne, they could expect a bit more tolerance. Unfortunately, it was not to be – James had been raised Protestant, like many Scottish nobles at the time. Additionally, the government of England was largely unchanged from Elizabeth’s reign, and James had little interest in domestic policy.

The Gunpowder Plotters. Bates tries not to laugh at Winter's hilarious outfit.

A group of wealthy Catholics, led by Robert Catesby, essentially said “Buggre thys for an Game of Soldiers,” and decided to take drastic action. They intended to bomb the opening of Parliament in 1605. This would take out the King, most of the nobility and the senior bishops of the Church of England. This in turn, the conspirators hoped, would allow them to rise up and take control, installing a Catholic monarch (James’ daughter Elizabeth, who was 9 at the time and probably couldn’t give a damn either way).

Guy Fawkes, the best-remembered of the plotters, was a former soldier and explosives expert, and therefore central to the plan. The plotters had, by chance, found a house with a cellar directly under the House of Lords. Parliament was due to open on November 5th, and Fawkes would be there to set th explosion off. There were 36 barrels of gunpowder, enough to completely destroy the Palace of Westminster and devastate the surrounding area.

Unfortunately, the plotters were betrayed, possibly by one of their own number. Lord Monteagle, a Member of Parliament, received an anonymous letter which essentially said, “Yoe Dude, ye may wish to staye awaye from the Openynge of Parliament, be-cause I have heard that Somethyng Bigge is going downe.” He, fairly predictably, had this note read out and a search was arranged. Fawkes was duly captured and arrested, initially using a pseudonym of “John Johnson” and claiming to be a lone nut.

Under torture – which even in those days was viewed as an extreme and distasteful measure – Fawkes confessed all. The plotters were rounded up and then hanged, drawn and quartered. This was followed by an anti-Catholic backlash and, from 1606 onwards, it was officially made the custom to celebrate the failure of the plot and the deliverance of His Majesty. The tradition of a Halloween bonfire was turned into a November 5th bonfire.

There’s some debate over whether the plot would have succeeded. Many historians take the view that, without foreign support, the planned uprising could never have gone ahead. There’s even the persistent suggestion that the whole thing was a conspiracy by the anti-Catholic minister Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury. However, as with most conspiracy theories, there’s a drastic shortage of actual evidence.

These days the occasion is still celebrated, although frankly it’s more an excuse to let off fireworks than a commemoration of King James’ survival. An effigy of Guy Fawkes – known simply as the guy – is burnt on a bonfire, sparklers are distributed to children and baked potatoes are usually involved. Also mulled wine, if you’re lucky.

Interestingly, Fawkes’ cultural status has changed in recent years, largely due to Britain’s succession of crappy governments. He’s gone from a symbol of treachery to a symbol of dissent. There’s a popular political blogger named Guido Fawkes (Guy’s name when fighting in Spain). The ambiguous hero of V for Vendetta takes his likeness from Fawkes. In turn, the online anti-organisation Anonymous, best known for their attacks on the Church of Scientology, wear V masks to protests.

Anonymous

On a more mundane note, have you ever referred to someone as a “guy?” You’ve got Fawkes to thank for that, too. A guy, in the sense of an effigy of Fawkes, was a ragged and often strangely-dressed dummy. In the nineteenth century, this came to be used as a term for a ragged or strangely-dressed man, and later became slang for any chap you might see.

Enjoy Bonfire Night, kids. Here’s hoping it’s a good one.

Your swell pal,

Tom