We ventured out of the restaurant for breakfast on our second day. Although we didn’t know it at the time of booking, nor did we realise it when we first arrived, Rue Toulouse was in a very handy position – we could walk straight up to the Grayline tours leaving point and the Mississippi, past several bars and restaurants. It was a win-win.
After our chat to Cathy the day before, Kate and I had decided on a trip to the Louisiana swamp and bayou. It was a half day tour, which suited us as we had plans for the evening.
It was one of the best tours I have ever done. We were bussed to the bayou, waited for our captain and boarded our luxury yacht. Just kidding, it was a custom-built swamp boat; a flat-bottomed boat, not dissimilar to the one in the link:
Our skipper was very knowledgeable, although I suppose they all are, otherwise they wouldn’t be doing that job, would they? He started the tour with the usual health and safety announcements:
“if you drop your camera, tough, we won’t be going back for it. Keep your arms inside the boat, some of these alligators are big enough to jump up to the job of the boat and if your arm is sticking out, it’ll eat it.”
The bayou is surrounded by cypress trees and is basically a series of slow-moving streams or wetlands, often tidal. Our skipper told us that there had been a bit of a flood a couple of days before, so the water was colder than usual. I found that strangely comforting when a 12 feet long alligator started swimming around.
It wasn’t just alligators that we saw, there were some beautiful plants and birds, and soft-shelled turtles and opossum – the captain threw marshmallows to them when we saw them on the river bank.
It was the alligator that made it though. Although we saw a few baby ‘gators, this big old boy kept swimming around us. He’d swim for a few of the marshmallows, but didn’t really want to play. Probably too cold. I couldn’t help but see the similarities to the human skeleton as he was swimming around though. I almost had a film script…
That evening, we went on a river trip on board the Mississippi Steam Boat Natchez, the last remaining genuine steamboat on the river. (Yes, there are others that appear to be, but the Natchez is the only one that is a genuine steamboat.)
The current Natchez is the ninth to bear that name, and there is a whole history to it, but that’s a story for another day. We didn’t have dinner on board, I’m a fussy eater. Just drinks, a bit of dancing and enjoying the ride up and down the river. The jazz band was called The Steamboat Stompers. I’ve done some of those Thames river boat cruises, but being on a boat on the Mighty Mississippi was different again. It is a huge river and quite amazing to see the factories, and so on, along the river banks.
We were glad to only have a short journey home after our boat trip. We needed to be ready for the following day.
Our hotel in New Orleans (N’Orleans) was at the edge of the French Quarter, in Rue Toulouse. Almost all the roads in the French Quarter are named in French, things like Rue Bourbon, although that’s more commonly known as Bourbon Street. It’s fabulous, grid system of streets, so it’s easy to follow a map and almost impossible to get lost (except for when you get to the micro level, looking for a particular street number).
Our hotel, Manson Dupuy, is made from five townhouses joined together, which makes it a bit of a rabbit warren inside, and with a beautiful courtyard, with a swimming pool. We were tired after all our travelling, so we ate in the hotel that night. One full quarter of the hotel on the ground floor is the bar and dining room.
We both chose a dish of grilled swordfish with an aubergine purée and vegetables, and some Cava, to celebrate our arrival. It was good, but all a bit more expensive than we’d been anticipating. It was the price of good London restaurant where this restaurant was more on a par with Café Rouge (not that there is anything wrong with that at all). The pound dollar exchange rate was not helping our trip at all.
The following day, we had breakfast in the hotel too. Kate had scrambled eggs, but I saw something new on the menu…. I had eggs, bacon and grits, a typical Southern dish made from corn meal. I’d heard about it so wanted to try it. It was interesting. Not unpleasant, if a little bland, with a texture similar to a dryish sago pudding. Not sure I’d rush to have it again.
Then we ventured out for a walk around the City. We walked up to Canal Street, which is the border of the French Quarter and the Warehouse District, and up to the Mighty Mississippi. We met a lovely lady, Cathy, at one of the Grayline tourist huts, where we picked up a leaflet about tours we could do while we were there – we’d already booked in for a couple but neither of us wanted to waste our time in this charming city. We’d already fallen in love.
After a bit more of a wander, we went to our appointed meeting place for our first guided tour, a walking tour of the French Quarter. Our guide, Robi, was very knowledgeable, and filled us with info, I’m just sorry I wasn’t writing it all down.
New Orleans is the largest city in the state of Louisiana. It’s also a major port, built on both sides of the Mississippi. The French Quarter is on the north side of the river. La Nouvelle Orleans, as it was originally known, was founded in 1718 by the French Mississippi Company. The man who was in charge was Jean-Bapatiste de Bienville, a name seen on street names. It was on Chitimacha land, a native American tribe. The French gave the territory over to the Spanish under the Treaty of Paris in 1763, at the end of the Seven Years War. Control reverted to the French for a brief period in 1803.
When Kate and I had been sitting in our hotel restaurant, we’d commented that the buildings across the street looked more Spanish than French. Now I knew why. In fact, most of the remaining architecture is Spanish, the most notable exception being the Old Ursuline Convent. Robi showed us various times of architecture through the ages. Something common in the houses in New Orleans is for the chimney to be in the middle of the house, so heating more than one room at a time.
Napoleon sold New Orleans to the Americans in 1803, and thereafter the city grew with immigrants from many places, including French, Creoles (people descended from colonial Louisianans during the periods of French and Spanish rule) and Americans. In later times, immigrants came from farther afield.
We had a wonderful afternoon walking around the city, taking in the sights, and finished our tour at the Cabildo, in Jackson Square, now the state museum but formerly the seat of Spanish government.
Robi had recommended a lovely fish restaurant for that evening, Evangeline, in Decatur Street. They had a live band – I’m not going to say it was jazz, some of it was soul, but it was great. The maitre d’ had been right to seat us inside though, if we’d been in the courtyard, it would have been way too loud for us.
We had a very good Creole meal – I had Creole Jambalya and Kate had Cajun Etoufee – and our first bottle of wine during our trip – a very good Italian Pinot Grigio. We made our way back to our hotel after that, to get ready for the rest of our trip.
I took myself off for a little trip to Bodiam Castle, Battle and Hastings the other day. It was a coach tour organised by Abbey Tours. Bodiam Castle is now a National Trust property, given to them in 1926 by Lord Curzon. As an aside, I’d use Abbey Tours again, I was very impressed.
Bodiam was built in 1385 by Sir Edward Dallingridge. Sir Edward was not the oldest son in the family and so did not inherit his father’s fortune. However, he married wisely (and, as a consequence, became very wealthy).
Sir Edward had been one of Edward III’s knights (known as a King’s Knight) and was given permission to build the castle to defend against French invasion, and, presumably, keep the peasants at bay, since it was built around the time of the Peasants’ Revolt. He had a bit of a chequered career – he was a member of parliament, and also found himself in prison for a while. Seems he was a bit of a trend setter…
Bodiam is unusual, if not unique, in that there is no castle keep (the castle within the castle), it’s a rectangular shape, with towers at each of the corners. It’s a rather lovely building, in my opinion, or maybe I just like castles. At the time of building, there would have been a barbican over the moat around the castle, now full of huge fish: I’m no expert but I’m guessing at some type of carp. Or giant goldfish.
Archaeologists believe that the castle was built quickly, and all in one go, unlike many other castles, probably owing to the constant threat of invasion from France. Whatever the case, poor old Edward didn’t enjoy the fruits of his labour for long, he died in 1395.
The castle was once part of a working estate with farmland, a wharf and a water-mill. Sir Edward had the site landscaped – it seems that Sir Edward had some of the more fancy bits installed to show his wealth rather than as actual defensive parts of the castle, although the moat was probably defensive as well as decorative.
The inside of the castle was probably dismantled during the English Civil War and later fell into disrepair. It changed ownership several times until Lord Curzon bought the castle in 1916. He decided that “so rare a treasure should neither be lost to our country nor desecrated by irreverent hands.” Curzon was knocked back the first time he tried to buy the castle, but eventually succeeded.
From Bodiam Castle we went onto Battle.
The Battle of Hastings, which wasn’t actually fought at Hastings, but here at Battle, took place on 14 October 1066.
To set the scene, King Edward the Confessor died in January 1066. He was childless, which always caused a problem with the monarchy: sons were always the preferred heirs, but a daughter would do. King Edward was a very religious man although I don’t get the feeling that was why he was childless. Not that the reason matters.
With no heir, there were a number of claimants to the throne. King Harold was crowned shortly after Edward’s death, but his own brother Tostig (where is the family loyalty???), Harold Hardrada of Norway and William of Normandy all battled for the throne.
Tostig and Hardrada were both defeated, in the north of England, but the battles took their toll. Harold’s armies had losses and were tired. William landed in Pevensey on 28 September 1066, forcing Harold to march back south, and to gather an army as he went.
Historians don’t know for sure but they think that Harold had about 7000 troops to William’s 10000.
That might have been ok, except that Harold’s force was almost entirely infantry (foot soldiers) with very few archers, whereas William’s army was roughly evenly split between infantry and a force of cavalry and archers. Even those of us without any military training can see the way that was going to pan out.
It was a long, tiring battle that started at 09.00 and ended around dusk. It was a hard battle, during which Harold was killed – famously shot through the eye by an arrow. There were minor skirmishes after this battle and a fair amount of civil unrest, but William was still crowned on 25 December 1066.
The Heavens opened when we arrived at Battle so I decided not to visit the battlefield on this trip. I had lunch, a drink and did a spot of shopping. There are some lovely little boutique shops, Battle Bygones being one that I really loved. As did many of these little shops, it had a wide range of goods on offer, including a beautiful leather purse with cats on it – obviously, I had to buy that, for use when my beloved Radley dies (it was far less expensive, even though it is beautiful leather).
Lunch was in one of the pubs – I was a bit disappointed to discover that they did do a Sunday roast (which was what I really fancied) rather than the so-called salad that I chose – smoked salted and prawn in a Marie Rose sauce. The smoked salmon and prawns were fine but it was just on a bed of lettuce, with a few other mixed leaves, a bit of finely sliced cucumber. What I call, since my most recent trip to America, an American salad.
Fed and watered, I rejoined the coach and we travelled onto Hastings, which, as I was told by our guide, has the longest beach-based fishing in the UK.
Hastings is famous for being one of the cinque ports. There was a castle, which was washed away in the floods of 1287, which were pretty devastating for the south-east coast of England. Hastings has no natural harbour, and this was the beginning of the end for it as a port. On more than one occasion, attempts were made to build a harbour but it wasn’t possible to get the foundations strong enough.
For the Poldark fans among us, it will come as no surprise to learn that Hastings was once a smuggling hub. Apparently, smuggling was more lucrative than fishing. Well I never. Personally, I’d have thought it all a bit exposed, but then I’ve never been a smuggler. Later, it became popular as a seaside resort, although, like most of them, it’s had mixed fortunes ever since.
Hastings is quite a quaint little town. In some ways it reminded me of Brighton with the cliff backdrop. I suppose that’s not surprising since they are so close to each other; both along the south coast, in Sussex. Similar rock formations, similar landscapes.
I walked along to the East Hill Furnicular Railway and took that up to the nature reserve at the top. It wasn’t so much cold as blustery, and there was a lot to see in the few hours I had there, so I took a few snaps and took the railway back down.
Then I popped into the Fisherman’s Museum. Built in the site of an old church, it’s small but has a lot of detail. It was a bit too crowded for me; I like time to browse a museum properly; so I left and took the miniature railway back to the main drag.
After a little walk along the front, I walked down George Street, a quirky little street off the main road. There are some lovely little boutique shops here that divorce it from the typical seaside town. Lots of antique shops and even a group playing live music close to one of the big pubs. Talking of which, I was impressed with how little the drinks cost down here. It almost made me wish I lived here. Almost.
I met Kate at our hotel near to Heathrow, the day before we were due to fly out. Our flight to Atlanta, en route to New Orleans, was due to depart at 09.20, which meant being at the airport at 06.20.
Unfortunately, take off was delayed by an hour. I have no idea why. A couple of uniformed police officers come on board, but no-one was dragged off kicking and screaming. Once you lose your slot at Heathrow, there’s always a wait for a new one. That must have cost Mr Branson a fair few bob.
Our cabin crew were brilliant. Very friendly, very helpful and very chatty. The captain managed to make up much of the lost time, so we were only about 20 minutes late when we arrived at Atlanta. Atlanta International Airport was an experience. There was only one desk at customs for all of us who came in from outside of the US.
I’m not sure whether I had my criminal look about me again, or whether the guy who was checking my passport, etc, was being friendly without smiling. (I get stopped a lot at airports. Always have. I still blush when I remember the young customs officers holding up my scanties on my first trip abroad.) I do know he asked me a lot more questions than he asked my travelling companion.
We got a train from the international airport to the internal flights terminal.
It was cold and wet in Atlanta. It rains a lot there. You can see that from the surrounding countryside. That flight was delayed too. Another security issue.
As we were boarding the flight, one of the flight attendants greeted us, and I returned a greeting.
“Oh, my, I just love your accent! Where y’all from?”
“Oh, I am gonna come and talk to you just as soon as I get my passengers boarded. I LOVE that accent.”
She didn’t, of course. It was a fairly short flight and Kate and I were letting out the zs even before take off.
New Orleans is in a different time zone from Atlanta, as, of course, is London. We arrived in New Orleans at about 17.10 local time. Baggage reclaim and a swift cab to the hotel and we were ready to begin.
The second day of my visit to Yorkshire was to Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal Water Garden.
I remember visiting Fountain’s Abbey as a child, with friends of my parents who lived in Middlesbrough. That was some time ago, so you’d expect things to have changed, and they have. The last time I went, there was no visitor centre, and I didn’t even know the Royal Water Garden existed! That’s hardly a surprise though, the estate was bought by West Riding County Council in 1966 (probably after I used to visit, although I can’t swear to that) and was only acquired by the National Trust in 1983. It is now a UNESCO world heritage site. The National Trust has become very experienced in making its sites consumer friendly, and this is much more of an experience than just a place to visit. Nature trails and egg hunts for children, and play parks, it very family orientated.
The abbey was originally established in 1135 after some monks from the Benedictine (yes, it was that order that made the liqueur) St Mary’s Abbey in York were expelled and later joined the Cistercian order and, after many problems and troubles, Fountains Abbey was founded and built. There is a lot more detail to it than that, all related to religious/political fighting.
Although the Abbey is in ruins now, when you walk around it, you can see how stunning it must have been in its heyday. It is truly magnificent, even now. I could almost hear the chanting as I walked around. I am not particularly religious, but I appreciate the work that went into churches and abbeys. More than appreciate, I love it and I always feel at peace in places like this.
The way the National Trust has set the sight up means, if you stick to the paths (and we did) that you walk past one side of the Abbey, and along to the Water Gardens, and back again.
Back in the fifteenth century, Studley Royal, as the estate and mansion was known, was home to the Mallory’s – a well-known family, two of whom were MPs in the seventeenth century. The Manor House itself was destroyed by fire in 1946, although a stable block survived, and is now a private house.
We walked around almost all of the water gardens, which was a good walk, and wore out poor little Jess, Becky’s beautiful Bichon Frise. As you walk back towards the abbey itself, there are areas for children to play, and there is a dedicated playground near to the visitors’ centre. In true National Trust style, there are regular events for the children too. It’s a good half or full day out, depending on your age and stamina, and I fully recommend it.
I stayed with my friend, Becky, in North Yorkshire recently. She’s only lived there for a couple of years, and it’s been some time since I’ve been there, so we did the full tourist thing. Our first day out was in York.
I’ve always liked York, but the last few times I’ve been, I’ve only ever had a couple of hours spare on each visit, so spending the day there was a rare treat.
A bit of history
York is an old city, founded by the Romans in 71 AD, on the confluence of the Ouse and the Foss. It was the capital of the Roman province in the north. The Romans called it Eboracum. After they left, and the Vikings invaded, it became the capital of the kingdom called Jorvik (which comes from the old Norse).
York became a major wool trading centre under Viking rule. It also became very important in the Church of England, after the Reformation. Subsequently, it became home to Suchard chocolate and a major railway hub.
It is likely that the area was first settled in around 8000 BC. By the time the Romans conquered Britain, the general area was inhabited by the Brigante tribe. The city of York was founded in 71 AD by the Ninth Legion.
The Romans left Britain in around 400 AD – they probably left the north earlier than that – and all was reasonably quiet until the Vikings invaded in 866 AD. The Vikings are well-known for their love of water and they made York a major river port, part of their trading route throughout Europe. They were kicked out by King Eadred. In 954 AD.
We all know that William of Normandy successfully invaded in 1066 AD, but two years later, the people of York, sick of having had their butts kicked, rebelled. At first they were successful but William was nothing if not a military strategist and he soon got the raging hump. He went about “Harrying the North,” when he is reputed to have destroyed everything from York to Durham. (I should point out that some scholars say that he could not have done this much damage. I don’t know, I wasn’t there, so we have to go with what we’ve got.)
Notwithstanding that, by the 12th century, York was prospering again, and after being granted a charter by King John in 1212, it became important in trade with France, the Netherlands and further afield.
The Minster was first built as far back as 627 AD, and the City became very important in the Christian Church, so it was a prime target for Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, which took place between 1536 and 1541.
In the Civil War, the Roundheads besieged York from 22 April 1644 until 1 July 1644. After the Battle of Marston Moor, York surrendered to Sir Thomas Fairfax.
The old city walls are a short walk from the railway station, so we walked along here before walking up to Clifford’s Tower, the high point of the City. Depictions inside the tower show how the city walls would have linked with it. English Heritage, who owns the site, are making a number of changes, to make the Tower easier to access and to unearth the nineteenth century wall that is buried under the mound, amongst other things.
The view from the Tower is beautiful, as you walk around the viewing deck you can see quite some miles. By the way, the Tower will be closed while the restoration work takes place, so check before visiting.
See here for further information:
The Jorvik Viking Centre
Our next stop was the Jorvik Viking Centre. This was badly damaged during the flooding a couple of years ago, and has only recently re-opened. We had to queue for about 50 minutes so I’d recommend booking and jumping the long queue. Entry into the centre is across a glass floor (I still can’t get used to that) into a room where there is an AV providing details of the dig. From there, it’s round to a cable car area where you are taken round a depiction of a Viking village.
I hesitate to call them robots, but there are certainly life-sized animated models of humans and animals as the cable car takes you around the village, telling you what life was like. These animated models are throughout until you come to a boat which has two real humans talking as though they were Vikings – a trifle disconcerting.
There were only two human skeletons found when digging the site, which surprised me, however, there were many other artefacts such as coins, jewellery, cookware, etc. I’d definitely recommend this is you have any interest in history at all.
We had a nice lunch in one of the many dog-friendly cafes in the city, The Nook, before making our way back to Becky’s. (We were dog-less on the day in question, but previous visits with her canine have taught Becky where to go.)
York has all the standard shops that you’d expect and a Fenwick as the main department store in the city centre. There is also the Castle Museum, the Railway Museum and the Minster – which is beautiful, although we didn’t do the full tour. It only takes two hours from King’s Cross on the high-speed train – definitely work a visit.
I’ve written about a few Victorian women recently, which got me to thinking about other aspects of their lives, the first one being clothing. As someone who loves clothes, especially the simplicity of what we wear nowadays, Victorian women’s clothes are a source of fascination to me. As a child, up until the age of about 11 or 12, when I managed to persuade my mum it was no longer necessary, I had to wear a petticoat under neath a dress or skirts and blouse, but that was nothing compared what Victorian’s wore. I dread to think how they coped in the summer! Here’s a quick run through of the typical clothing worn by Victorian women:
In the early Victorian days, everything was sewn by hand, so there was no mass production of clothes. As a consequence of this, clothing was expensive. Rich people didn’t have a problem but the poor would probably have made their own clothes and there was a lot of “hand me downing” going on. Even when I was a child, I remember having “best clothes” (a habit which I still have trouble getting out of) – in Victorian times, best clothes were saved for church on a Sunday, thus referred to as “Sunday best.” Things did start to change after the invention of the sewing machine in 1851, but it was quite some time before clothes became really cheap.
The crinoline was invented in 1856 – prior to this, dresses tended to have a simpler, more Empire line shape – think Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. The crinoline changed all this. In the early days, it was almost like a circular hoop that filled out the whole of the skirt of the dress, although in later Victorian days, it became just a bustle at the back of the outfit.
Despite this, the underclothes remained pretty much the same. It started off with stockings, which were really long socks, not what we would think of as stockings. They stopped just above the knee and were held up with garters. They weren’t elasticated the way mine were at school, they were lace, which by it’s manufacture, conferred some elastic properties. By the end of the nineteenth century, the garters were attached to corsets…. I’m still not feeling it.
The important bit of the undergarments were what were in those days called drawers, which were basically flaps of material without a crotch. I suppose they didn’t feel the cold with a long dress. A sleeveless chemise which came down to the knees was worn over this. This formed the first layer of the clothing.
Next came the corset, frequently strengthened with whalebone, sometimes steel. The corsets fastened up at the front (ribbons were common fastenings) and had draw strings at the back to pull them tighter. The idea was that they’d pull in at the waist and push up the bust – hence the very pert look we so often see in period dramas. I’m thinking there are some benefits to corsets, although some women took it to extremes and tied them so tight they could barely breathe.
The actual Crinoline (the name is a combination of the Latin words for hair and linen, because it was originally made from horsehair) was like a steel cage, flexible enough to collapse when sitting and strong enough to support the skirt when standing. Later on, the crinoline fell from favour and changed to become a bustle, just supporting the back of the skirt, but in the early Victorian days, it was the full thing.
At least one petticoat went on top of this, which would be decorated at the bottom, intended to show under the dress or skirt (it started with one and more became fashionable later in the era). The upper part of the body was covered by a plain chemise although underwear became more decorative as the era progressed.
Finally, we get to the dress, which might have been one or two pieces. Again, as the era progressed, it became more common for women to wear separate skirts and blouses. The dress had all manner of fittings to make it more decorative – collars, cuffs, under-sleeves, etc. Capes, shawls, jackets would be worn over the top, both inside and out.
Early in the period, flat shoes were worn, but gradually boots became more fashionable, and they became longer, as in higher up the leg, as time went on.
Older and married women all wore caps indoors, outdoors, they were either covered by a bonnet or just a hat was worn. By the end of the 19th century, caps were no longer generally worn, but hats were worn outdoors. (I remember my mum always wore a hat outdoors when I was a child, as did my dad, although that changed for both of them by the 1970s.)
Gloves and jewellery, fans and parasols were also important accessories, at least for wealthy women in Victorian times. It was all very proper – and I dare say hot and uncomfortable. I wonder where I can get a full outfit to try for a day?
Mary Seacole was a little known woman who had quite an impact in the Crimean War. She would have done more, she’d been taught nursing, but was refused acceptance as a nurse. Seacole put it down to racial prejudice. Whether that is the case or not is hard to prove or disprove. The authorities said she didn’t have the necessary skills and experience, but I’m not sure who did in those days? It was hardly high-tech and there was no national standard the way there is nowadays.
Seacole was born Mary Grant in Kingston, Jamaica in 1805, the daughter of a free Jamaican woman and a Scottish lieutenant in the British army. Her mother was a healer who used traditional African and Caribbean medicines.
Seacole was proud to describe herself as a Creole and was proud of her Scottish heritage, although she must have been subject to prejudice because of her mixed heritage, if only by the authorities.
She married Edwin Horatio Hamilton Seacole in Kingston in November 1836. (Edwin may have been an illegitimate son of Admiral Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton – there is a clue in the name. Mary refers to him as Nelson’s God son, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence to corroborate this. I think I’m going with the illegitimate son theory.) Eight years after their marriage, Edwin died.
Mary declined offers of marriage and threw herself into her work, which was running a boarding house. She also treated victims of the cholera epidemic of 1850 which killed 32,000 Jamaicans. She travelled to Panama to visit her half-brother, when a cholera outbreak happened there, and again, she treated the victims. The first victim survived, which firmly established her reputation. She charged the rich and treated the poor for free. She had moderate success with her treatments – she used herbal remedies as opposed to opium – remember, at this stage, the cause wasn’t known, let alone antibiotics with which to treat it.
Mary travelled to England in 1854, although her visit was unrelated to the Crimean War. However, when she arrived here and found out about the war, she applied to join the nurses travelling out there. Her application was refused, so she funded her own journey.
Seacole opened the British Hotel, near Balaclava, which was intended to be a comfortable billet for sick and recuperating officers. Whilst on the [somewhat circuitous] journey over there, she met a doctor from the hospital where Florence Nightingale worked in Scutari. He wrote a letter of introduction for Seacole and she visited Nightingale at her hospital. By all accounts, she received a warm welcome from Nightingale, spent the night at the hospital and travelled on to Balaclava the following day.
Building materials were in short supply, so Seacole’s hotel was built from driftwood and the like. She ran the hotel successfully, and even provided catering to spectators of the battles!
However, when the war ended, in 1856, Seacole returned to London. She had no money and was in poor health. She was declared bankrupt. The press got hold of the story and a fund was set up which discharged her from bankruptcy.
Accounts of how much nursing Seacole actually did vary, although there appears to be some evidence that she treated troops on the battlefields. However, her nursing career is controversial, with some experts saying that she did little actual nursing.
She returned to Jamaica around 1860, stayed there for ten years, undergoing financial stress again, although, fortunately, the Seacole fund was resurrected and money was sent to her in Jamaica. She then returned to London, perhaps to provide assistance in the Franco-Prussian war.
It seems likely that she approached Sir Henry Verney, who was the member of parliament for Buckingham, and also the husband of Florence Nightingale’s sister. He also happened to be involved with the British Society for the Sick and Wounded, hence Seacole’s contacting him. Apparently, Nightingale wrote to Verney and said that Seacole kept a disorderly house in the Crimea. Interesting, when they seemed to get on so well in Scutari. In any event, Mary didn’t go out to the war.
She died in Paddington in 1881, leaving a reasonable amount of money. She was buried in the Roman Catholic cemetery in Kensal Green.
I first heard of Joseph Lister when I was studying ‘A’ level biology, the man who used carbolic acid in surgery. That’s pretty much what I remember, but think about him next time you or someone you know needs to have surgery. Before Lister, there was a terrifyingly high mortality rate.
He became the First Baron Lister, and is known as a pioneer of antiseptic surgery. In the early days of surgery, it was barbers and the like who carried it out, hence, in the UK, surgeons are known as Mr/Mrs/Miss/Ms rather than doctor (not so in the United States, they are all called doctor there, but we like our tradition here in the UK).
Lister was a Quaker, and came from a fairly well off home in West Ham, East London. He was a bright lad, and studied languages, maths and natural sciences. He went onto attend University College London, one of the only colleges to accept Quakers at the time (prejudice and –isms are not new!).
He first studied botany and achieved a Bachelor of Arts, and then registered as a medical student. He achieved an honours degree in his Bachelor of Medicine, and went on to become a member of the Royal College of Surgeons. He was 26 years old, which was no mean feat in the nineteenth century.
As an aside, he left the Quakers and joined the Scottish Episcopal Church, after working with James Syme at the University of Edinburgh, and went on to marry Agnes, Syme’s daughter. They spent their honeymoon visiting hospitals in France and Germany… Ok, she went on to work with him in his lab, so I guess he got away with that, but I have to wonder what that marriage was like.
I have to do a quick re-wind here. I said above that in the early days of surgery, they were carried out by barbers. There was no anaesthetic in those days, and the ‘surgeon’ would stroll in wearing his everyday clothes (actually, scrap that, his dirtiest everyday clothes because he knew they’d get covered in blood). There was no ‘scrubbing in.’ In fact, operating theatres were not even restricted to those involved in the surgery, there was a lot of room for spectators. So, nothing about surgery was sterile. And there was a pretty high mortality rate. Wounds became infected with alarming regularity, infection and death followed. The prescribed wisdom at the time was that infection was spread by bad air. There were no hand washing facilities nor any methods for cleaning patients’ wounds. It was common for surgeons to refer to “the good old surgical stink” and enjoyed the blood stains on their aprons. See below:
Lister learned of Louis Pasteur’s work about food spoilage and how it might be dealt with, and proceeded to experiment with one of these – chemical techniques. He started by spraying the surgical instruments, the incisions and the dressings with carbolic acid. He found that swabbing wounds directly with carbolic acid reduced the incidence of gangrene.
There is the well-known case of the seven year old boy whose leg had been run over by a cart, causing a fracture. No plaster casts in those days, but Lister placed lint dipped in carbolic acid on the wound. Four days later, he renewed the lint and was delighted to find there was no infection. Six weeks later, he found the bone had knitted without any infection.
As a result of this, Lister instructed all his surgeons to wash their hands before and after surgery with 5% carbolic acid solution. The instruments were washed in the same solution and the solution was sprayed over the wound in the operating theatre. (There was a slight downside to this – carbolic acid is mildly acidic and can cause chemical burns. It did cause some problems with healing as a result, but still, it was far better than the earlier situation.).
Lister returned to London, where, as well as being elected President of the Clinical Society of London, he developed a means of repairing kneecaps and improved the method used for mastectomy. We have a lot to thank him for.
Lister’s wife died in 1893, after which he retired. He and is wife had worked together for so long, he lost his appetite for his work. He suffered a stroke however, in 1902, two days before his coronation, Edward VII became ill with appendicitis. This was still a dangerous operation in those days. To put it in perspective, I had mine removed when I was six years old, and my scar is about two inches long (and they probably are smaller than that nowadays). My mum had hers removed forty odd years before me and her scar was all the way across her abdomen. Back to Edward VII. The surgeons of the day were between a rock and a hard place: they had to operate or the soon to be crowned king would die. However, the risks of infection were huge. They went to Lister for advice who told them the latest antiseptic surgical techniques. The king later wrote to Lister and said, “I know that if it had not been for you and your work, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.”
He died on 12 February 1912.
Listerine mouthwash is named after him.
He has the honour of having the bacterial genus Listeria, one of the little beasties that gives us an upset stomach, named after him (yes, I really do mean honour, we might not think so but medics get excited over these things).
Listerella, a slime mound, was also named after him.
The Lister Hospital in Stevenage, Herts, is named after him.
Two postage stamps were issued in honour of his services to antiseptic surgery in September 1965.
I went on David Charnick’s excellent The Ripper Enigma for the second time recently. In this walk, David does not set out to sensationalise the Jack the Ripper murders (the newspapers of the time did enough of that). What he does is to set the scene of life in that part of Victorian London, and explains why the victims were vulnerable. It is an excellent tour and I recommend it to anyone who has any interest in social history, or just an interest in history, in fact. Check out David’s website for more details:
It is no secret that the police of the day were baffled. Yes, there were a lot of arrests but all of the suspects were released without charge. To this day, there are numerous theories abounding, but no-one knows who Jack the Ripper was, nor why s/he stopped so suddenly. And we probably never will.
All this got me wondering though, what would happen if there were to be another Jack the Ripper phenomenon today. Would the police fare any better? Let’s look at the facts.
Definitionofa Serial Killer
Or, probably, more correctly, a serial murderer. According to the FBI, serial killings are not new, and have been documented since the nineteenth century, although they are known to have occurred way before then. They are estimated to make up only 1% of all murders. (A not-very comforting thought that we might all want to remember is that most murders are committed by someone the victim knows…)
The FBI defines a serial murderer as someone who kills two or more victims, and the events in which those killings take place are separated by time. It also says that there may be more than one offender.
Although there is some dispute as to whether there were five, seven or even only four victims, I think we can agree that whoever s/he was, the Ripper was a serial killer, and, in all probability, acted alone. I say this because, from witness sightings, the victims were only seen with one person, a man. Not definitive proof, I know, and in those cases, where there was a time lag between the last sighting of the victim and the body being found, who knows what might have happened? However, on the balance of probability, it is likely to have been only one person. (I also know that the burden on proof in criminal cases is ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ but since this is not a trial, I’ll go with the lower standard.)
Why do I suggest that the Ripper might have been female? There are a couple of theories out there that suggest that Jack was actually Jill. One, that I read about many years ago, was that the killer was an abortionist whose work had gone wrong, so she made it look like murder so that they could stay in business. Personally, I don’t buy that. All but one of the Ripper killings took place outside and why would anyone have been performing abortions outside? Doesn’t make sense to me.
Another theory that David referred to was that the murderer was a woman who couldn’t have children. Most of the victims were professional prostitutes (as opposed to women who used prostitution as a casual means of supplementing their incomes). They would not have wanted children. A woman whose mind had become deranged because she was unable to give birth might have felt that these women deserved to die. To be honest, I don’t buy this theory either. Not because it isn’t possible, I just think that’s it unlikely a deranged woman would have been more chaotic in her behaviour.
Whether the Ripper left any DNA is anybody’s guess, but it is irrelevant, since the police in the 1800s did not have the benefit of DNA analysis. It was used for the first time in the UK in 1986, almost 100 years after the Ripper. If it were to happen today, the forensics team would check the victim’s body for fibres and hair (although hair is only of use if the root is still attached). They’d also check for semen and saliva. These would be useful if the police had a suspect, but they wouldn’t actually help catch the killer, unless the killer was already on the DNA database, in which case, happy days.
Fingerprints were around at the time, but they weren’t used by police until later. Nowadays, a crime scene would be routinely dusted for prints, but remember, all but one of these murders was committed outside. It depends on the actual materials from which the areas where the bodies were found, but t might be possible to obtain fingerprints from brick etc. Not so in the 1880s when techniques were still in their infancy.
The scene would also be check for footprints nowadays, which might be of use, depending on the type of shoe the killer wore – trainers are good for sole prints. However, the man with whom the victims were seen didn’t look as though he’d have been wearing trainers.
Crime Scene Contamination
If you watch any TV cop shows at all, particularly those made in the UK, you will see that the police and all the forensic staff all wear paper suits over their day clothes. They cordon off the area as soon as possible. They do this for the simple reason that they don’t want to contaminate the crime scene. The mantra in forensic investigation is Locard’s Exchange Principle – “Every contact leaves a trace.” What this means is that when two objects come into contact with each other, each will take something from the other, or leave something behind. Thus the paper suits, which are uncontaminated when they are first put in and will prevent fibres, pet hairs, and so on, from being left at the crime scene.
In the case of the Ripper murders, all the crime scenes were contaminated in some way. In the case of the first murder, when the first people on scene pulled down the skirt of Polly Nichols, they contaminated the scene. We don’t know how long the bodies were in situ prior to being found – plenty of time for scene contamination from any animals that might have been around. The point is, even today, this wouldn’t have been a great start for the police investigation.
The FBI now agrees that there is no generic profile for a serial murderer, which makes sense when you think that there is no generic profile of a human being. However, most serial killers are not social misfits who hide themselves away. They often have families, jobs and seem, to all intents and purposes, to be just like you and me. And often overlooked by the police for this reason.
Why did the killings stop?
Something else we will never know, maybe Jack himself was murdered? The FBI says that some serial killers stop killing before they are caught, and may never be caught. There are lots of reasons for this, including greater participation in family activities, but also maybe even just moving away.
Of course, if these killings took place today, the police would do the usual thing, set up a team, conduct house to house enquiries, and maybe, just maybe, there would have been more people around to have witnessed the crime, and possibly CCTV. They would learn early on that some of the victims knew each other and they’d do the usual background checks and they would interview everyone who had seen the women on the night in question. They would have create an e-fit of the suspect and it would be publicised in the press, television and probably social media. Crimewatch would be a great medium. They’d rely on someone coming forward with some information. They might get lucky. Or they might not. There are no guarantees.