Lost London (14 page)

Run on a subscription basis, the 800-seat concert hall was decorated with the works of Thomas Gainsborough, Benjamin West and Giovanni Battista Cipriani.

Johann Christian Bach and Karl Frederick Abel both held wildly successful seasons here and among the venue’s biggest fans was George III, who had a special room laid out (the Queen’s
Tea Room). He even donated a large mirror to the establishment. From 1785 until 1848,
The Messiah
was performed here annually, and between 1791 and 1795 Haydn conducted a series of twelve
symphonies especially written in celebration of London. From 1833 to 1866 the Philharmonic Concerts were held here and from 1846 it served as home to the Amateur Music Society.

Balls and masques were also hosted regularly, thrown by some of the most famous dandies of their day, such as Lord Alvanley, Henry Pierrepoint, Sir Henry Mildmay and Beau Brummel. One such event
gave rise to one of the great put-downs of the age. Having been forced to invite the Prince Regent despite being on opposite sides of the political fence, when Brummel saw the Prince he cried out,
‘Alvanley, who’s your fat friend?’ The Prince was apparently cut to the quick by the unerring accuracy of the barbed question.

The very last musical performance given at the Rooms was
on Saturday, 19 December 1874. The following year it was turned into a gentleman’s club – The Hanover
Square Club – which lasted until 1900, when the building was demolished.

In 1946, for instance,
The Guardian
reported that, following a disqualification, spectators ‘invaded the track and for over half an hour indulged in senseless
destruction. They started bonfires which they fed with pieces of the hare trap ... smashed electric lamps and arc lights, tore down telephone wires, and broke windows, wrecked the inside of the
judge’s box, overturned the starting trap ... They also attacked the tote offices.’

The involvement of gangsters was also a fact of life at the stadium and it is said that Joe Coral, founder of the famous bookmakers, was forced to resort to threatening a local gang boss, Darby
Sabini, with a gun to deter the mob from taking a slice of his income. But Harringay’s most extraordinary incident involved an attempt to introduce cheetah racing to the public.

On Saturday, 11 December 1937, twelve Kenyan cheetahs, which had been trained and acclimatized in Harringay, were
raced in front of a packed house in Romford, Essex. The
venture, though, was not a success, with the cheetahs losing interest in the competition after covering only a short distance.

Harringay was also used for speedway and stockcar racing but a decline in popularity led to the stadium closing for good and being sold to the supermarket chain, Sainsbury’s, for £10
million in 1987. Some of its banked terracing can still be seen in the supermarket car park.

As host of the annual Licensed Victuallers’ dinner in the 1840s, the Barn could seat 3000 diners at a time, more than twice the population of the village of Highbury
itself.

Becoming known as ‘The Cremorne of the North’, the addition of an enormous raised, outdoor dance floor covering 4000 square ft won the venue renewed popularity. Known as ‘the
Leviathan’, the floor was lit by huge gas globes and its advertising literature boasted that it had ‘half a million lights’. It was to become the spiritual home of ‘La
Varsovana’, a dance somewhere between a waltz and a polka.

In 1861, under the management of Edward Giovanelli, the venue was further extended to cover over five acres.
Acts who performed there included Giovanelli himself, a noted
comedian, as well as famous hire-wire acts including Blondin and acrobats such as Léotard. There was also the spectacle of balloon ascents, a thriving music hall scene and novelties such as
the appearance of the original Siamese twins. However, an increasingly rowdy and down-market clientele brought trouble to the Barn. In 1869, for instance, there was a notable riot by students from
St Bart’s that had sections of Victorian society up in arms.

In 1865 James Inches Hillocks, author of
My Life and Labours in London, A Step Nearer the Mark
, described the scene at the Barn one Sunday evening, the most popular night for
visiting:

Not far distant is a band of young men, varying from fifteen to thirty years of age. They are arm in arm, occupying the entire breadth of the road. Each one is more or less intoxicated, so
much so, that it requires the combined efforts of the whole to keep some of them from measuring their length upon the ground. Their conversation is of the rudest kind, and spoken in the most
boisterous manner. Utterly regardless of the effects of a gross outrage on the most common sense of propriety, not to mention the higher claims of the Lord’s-day, they sing. ‘The
Strand, the Strand,’ is the song in which they all join as they marched along.

A scandalous exhibition of French dancing by the Colonna Troupe led to the Barn losing its licence in 1871. By 1883 it had been completely built over. Today, 26 Highbury Park (the Highbury
Tavern) covers a tiny part of the original site.

Ladbroke Grove

H
OPING THAT ITS PROXIMITY TO
L
ONDON WOULD
draw punters from the racecourse at Epsom Downs, in 1836 John Whyte leased 140 acres
of Ladbroke Grove for a period of twenty years.

Laying out a track for both flat-racing and steeplechasing, he blocked the way of an ancient footpath that offered the shortest route between Kensington Village and Kensal
Green. It was a decision that came at a heavy cost to him.

On the course’s opening day in June 1837, hundreds of visitors forced their way on to the course, successfully demanding free entry under the terms of right of way. The
Sunday Times
recorded that:

A more filthy or disgusting crew than that which entered, we have seldom had the misfortune to encounter ... relying upon their numbers, they spread themselves over the whole of the ground,
defiling the atmosphere as they go, and carrying into the neighbourhood of the stands and carriages, where the ladies are most assembled, a coarseness and obscenity of language as repulsive to
every feeling of manhood as to every sense of common decency.

Not even the racing proved successful:

Save Hokey Pokey, there was nothing that could climb, or hobble, much more leap over a hedge, and as to a hurdle, it was absurd to attempt one.

After a redesign to accommodate the public footpath, the
Hippodrome eventually reopened, with additional attractions including balloon ascents, archery and a cricket ground.
At this point Whyte discovered another, fatal flaw in his plans. The course’s heavy clay soil was unsuitable for horse racing. With London’s rapid westward expansion, the land was in
great demand for house-building. Whyte cut his losses and the last meet was held on 4 June 1841.

Clerkenwell

I
N THE REIGN OF
E
LIZABETH I
,
THE
B
EAR
G
ARDENS
pub at
Hockley-in-the-Hole, which is located on what is today Ray Street, Clerkenwell, rivalled the Southwark Bear Gardens as a venue for dog fights, cock fights, bear- and bull-baiting.

Before fights, the animals were paraded through the streets to the beating of drums, as handbills were distributed describing the events of the day. One bill, for instance,
read:

This is to give notice to all gentlemen gamesters, and others, that on this present Monday is a match to be fought by two dogs, one from Newgate Market against one from Honey Lane Market, at
a Bull, for a guinea to be spent, five Let-goes out of hand; which goes fairest and farthest in wins all. Likewise a green bull to be baited, which was never baited before, and a bull to be turned
loose, with fireworks all over him; also a
mad ass to be baited. With a variety of bull-baiting and bear-baiting, and a dog to be drawn up with fireworks. To begin exactly at
three of the clock.

Perhaps inevitably, some of the animals’ keepers met with tragic accidents. Christopher Preston, for instance, was attacked and almost devoured by one of his bears in 1709.

The first advertisement for human-based ‘entertainment’ at Hockley-in-the-Hole dates to 1700, when the
Daily Post
reported that four men were ‘to fight at sword for a
bet of half-a-guinea, and six to wrestle for three pairs of gloves, at half-a-crown each pair. The entertainment to begin exactly at three o’clock.’ By then, Hockley was widely regarded
as a place of ill repute. Jonathan Wilde, the self-styled ‘Thief-Taker General’ who was executed in 1725, is thought to have lived here for a time. For many years, the Bear Gardens also
displayed a suitcase inscribed ‘R Turpin’ and said to have belonged to the notorious highwayman.