#ludene

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The Coade Stone Caryatids of St Pancras Church

St Pancras Church on Euston Road was constructed in Greek Revival style in the early 19th Century – and was apparently the most expensive place of worship to be constructed in London since the rebuilding of St Paul’s Cathedral after the Great Fire. To complete its Greek stylings (heavily modelled after the Erechtheum in Athens), the architects commissioned the sculptor John Charles Felix Rossi to make eight caryatids (sculpted female figures serving as architectural supports in place of a conventional pillar) to flank each side of the church.

The caryatids were sculpted from Coade stone, an artificial stone popular at the time as it was very weather resistant, though unfortunately not so resistant to staining from modern pollution. The caryatids took three years to make, only for Rossi to be hit with a last minute problem – he had made them too tall to fit between the platforms on which they were to stand and the roof they had to support.

Determined that his work be incorporated into the church, Rossi cut out part of the torso of each sculpture; the surgery is partially disguised by the flowing robes each caryatid wears, though on close examination, a) the cut can be seen, and b) the legs are noticeably disproportionately long. 

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Charterhouse

The history of the London Charterhouse complex is long, complicated, and bloody. The site was first used as a burial pit for victims of the Black Death in the 14th Century. Believing the plague to have been a sign of divine wrath, Londoners decided something needed to be done to prevent a repeat occurrence. Initially, a chapel was constructed, but this was deemed insufficient: constant prayers and piety were required, so the Carthusian monks were invited to found a monastery in 1371 (the name Charterhouse coming from the Anglicisation of Chartreuse, the French for Carthusian). The monks lived a relatively quiet existence, until Henry VIII and the Dissolution came along. The monks resisted, resulting in their imprisonment; the prior was hung, drawn and quartered, his arm then nailed to the Charterhouse gate.

The site was purchased by Sir Edward North, who partially demolished the monastery, using the bricks to construct a Tudor mansion. After North’s death, it passed to Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who was later placed under house arrest there for scheming to marry Mary, Queen of Scots. After ciphered letters were discovered under a doormat at the house, the Duke was executed.

In 1611 the businessman Thomas Sutton acquired the house. In his will, his left a substantial amount of money to maintain a chapel, almshouse and school. The school later moved to Godalming, Surrey – it’s now one the most expensive private schools in the country (certainly not what its founder intended). The almshouse lives on, in a fashion. Originally, it provided for 80 “Brothers”, gentlemen who were “either decrepit or old captaynes either at sea or at land, maimed or disabled soldiers, merchants fallen on hard times, those ruined by shipwreck of other calamity”; these days the entry criteria are less strict, admitting pensioners who are in need of financial and social support. There are currently around 40 resident Brothers.

Until recently, the Charterhouse was largely closed to the public, but in 2017 a small museum was opened. Visitors can also access the chapel, where the extravagant tomb of Thomas Sutton can be seen (apparently, he did not ask for it, and would likely have hated it). To see the rest of the complex, including the Great Hall, Grand Chamber, cloister and some of the gardens, visitors need to book a tour – either with a Brother (good for rambling anecdotes) or a professional guide (shorter historical focus).

[londiniumlundene]

Philpot Lane Mice

If you happen to turn into Philpot Lane, take a look up at the ground-floor cornice of Joe & the Juice (or whatever trendy coffee place next occupies the location), and you might be able to spot the smallest public sculpture in London: two mice with a piece of cheese.

The origins of this sculpture are unclear. The building was constructed in the 1860s, though no-one knows if the mice have been there since then or were added later. A popular urban myth is that the sculpture is a memorial to two workers who were employed in the construction of the nearby Monument. Sitting high up on the unfinished structure to take their lunch break, one of them noticed that his cheese had been nibbled at, and accused his colleague of the act. A fight broke out between the two of them, with both falling to their deaths. The cheese thief was later found out to be a mouse.

There are variations of this tale – some say only one man fell, others that it was not the Monument they were working on but the actual building where the sculpture is located. In all cases, it seems an odd memorial for the Victorians to have placed there. Perhaps it is just a sculpture of two mice, happy to have a cheesy treat.

[londiniumlundene]

Coming soon...

Above is a little sneak-peek of the next six places I’ll be featuring in my Sunday posts about interesting and unusual places in London. Except, you won’t be seeing them for a little while yet...

July is going to be a busy personal month for me, so this blog will be on holiday (of sorts) . They’ll be no brand new posts of places I’ve visited, but reblogs of my older posts and those of others will continue.

Points (but no prizes) for anyone who can identify the six places in the above images!