Posts Tagged 'George IV'

Unexpected Conversations

I’m loving the unexpected conversations I get into, during Thursday afternoons spent sitting here in the café. You probably won’t be surprised to know that I don’t get much actual writing done, even though the original (theoretical) plan was to use this slot to write up the week’s stuff. I’ve ended up writing mostly at home (where I eat too much and get distracted by Netflix or music-making) and sometimes on other weekdays in different Royal Pavilion & Museums cafés.

On the Thursdays though, I fall into conversations. Even when I decamped for a couple of weeks downstairs to the Dome foyer bar (because there was temporarily no wifi up here) it was the same; a collection of interesting people from out of nowhere and fascinating, bonkers topics.

I’m tapping away at the laptop when this dude comes up in a dark blue three-cornered hat, like a comedy Napoleon. It’s a modern approximation, not a replica. And in every other way he’s dressed normally, jeans and a tshirt. In fact, it was a British Sea Power band tshirt, I think, yet he’s got this funny-looking hat on and he’s smiling down at me. Then what we talk about is why the Royal Pavilion wasn’t built facing out to sea and what that means about George IV’s disinterest in nature, versus people.

No, nothing to do with his hat, which neither of us mention at any point.

At the launch event for the Murder In The Manor interactive website (of which more soon – click that link for joy if you have a spare 45 minutes and like mystery stories) I was intending to speak with the young writers from Little Green Pig who contributed the short stories to the project (I still will, hopefully), yet I ended up mostly in conversation with a woman doing a thesis on bodybuilding, who has now become obsessed with it; diving into the very sub culture she was studying.

You’d also be surprised (and I am very impressed) by the number of museum staff who can hold their own discussing American underground punk and metal.

And I loved chatting with Aurella Yussuf (@rellativity on Twitter), who was here working on the World Stories exhibition. We were supposed to discuss blogging itself but that got hijacked by a messy free-range conversation about race and gender in art history. Aurella has just launched her own blog and it’s terrific, well worth checking out her piece on the Turner nominees.

I’ve been interviewed several times about the residency. Three guys including my publisher friend Jonathan (@jonathas on Twitter) rocked up last week with a state-of-the-art movie quality camera and didn’t mind what I said, so I got to waffle on about the tunnel, standing right above it in the Pavilion Gardens.

I’m learning the surprising degree to which people take such different responses away from the museums. The extent to which they can be enchanted by one exhibition, or one group of objects, while completely overlooking (or actively disliking) other sections – and allow that to become a pattern. Like (and this really happens) when someone has been a Brighton Museum regular for years, then goes into the pottery section for the first time and realises those stories are just as interesting as, say, the fashion things they normally enjoy. They’ve spent years walking through one section and not another. I do it too, almost always ignoring one or two sections that I think I won’t find interesting. I’m almost certainly wrong.

I like that. I like seeing long-time friends, or long-time Brighton & Hove residents, walk into this space they’ve not visited before. They’ll always be back soon. And so I like the Thursday afternoon routine becoming the glue that holds together the variety and fluidity of the rest of the week. Especially if you’ve never been in Brighton Museum before, come say hello.

Chris T-T

 

Podcast #1: The First Giraffe – featuring Alexandra Loske

Art historian and curator Alexandra Loske is researching her thesis and curating the upcoming Regency Colour exhibition. But she also uncovered the story that I’ve found perhaps most exciting so far.

If you know anything about my music, you may know I’ve had an obsession with giraffes for years – used them in songs, written about them and run photo streams of them. Meanwhile Alexandra, tasked with looking through a collection of old satirical cartoons, discovered several images of George IV including a giraffe, as if it was one of his toys. She started to research this and uncovered the first ever known giraffe in Britain, which was given to King George as a diplomatic gift by the Pasha of Egypt (the same fella who gave Britain the gift of Cleopatra’s Needle).

'Twould puzzle a conjuror. Print showing George IV and mistress receiving a petition from John Bull. A giraffe wearing a crown can be seen on the left of the image. 1827. (FA209086)

‘Twould puzzle a conjuror. Print, 1827.

I couldn’t pass it up. I interviewed Alexandra in the recently closed History Centre, to get her to tell this incredible story. It’s a doozy… for me, it felt like the best episode of In Our Time ever, although I do a horrible impression of Melvyn Bragg. What a way to kick off the podcasts.

Here’s a link to the audio podcast via Soundcloud. There will be more – and in the next few days I aim to publish podcasts to iTunes, which will enable you to subscribe – but I’m not quite there yet technically.

Chris T-T, Blogger in Residence

Royal Pages at Brighton Pavilion

The Silver Tea-Pot

A silver tea-pot by Robert Garrard, made in 1817, recently came up for sale at the Bonham’s Auction House, London. On the base was the following inscription:

Gift of HRH Princess Elizabeth to Joseph Ince,

Page to His Majesty George IV

Princess Elizabeth, Landgravine of Hesse-Homburg. Mezzotint by Samuel William Reynolds, published by Edward Harding, after Henry Edridge. Copyright National Portrait Gallery, London. published 20 May 1831

Princess Elizabeth from an 1831 mezzotint. Copyright National Portrait Gallery, London.

The tea-pot was bought by Huon Mallalieu, who wrote about it in Country Life, (February 20, 2013, p. 92), which was how I first found out about it. The tea-pot fascinates me, not only as an object of regency elegance and taste, but because it was a trace of a life, now largely lost to us.  Sadly, my enquiries about its provenance came to nothing. The tea-pot arrived at Bonham’s as the result of a house clearance and the trail seems to stop there. But in spite of that, its appearance on the market aroused my curiosity and spurred me on to find out more about the role of George IV’s royal pages, who certainly would have worked here at the Royal Pavilion. Who were the royal pages and what did they do? And who was Joseph Ince? Here are my findings.

Pages, it turns out, were not simply pages. There were different types of page with different titles and different duties. There were Pages of the Backstairs, Pages of the Presence and Pages of Honour.

Pages of Honour

Pages of Honour were young aristocrats from some of the wealthiest and most influential families in the nation. Appointed at around the age of eleven or twelve, these Pages often went on to take up positions in one of the Household regiments. Highly sought after, these posts paid well at £120. Pages of honour did not live in the royal palaces and had no official duties in the royal household. They were just required for formal ceremonial occasions, when they would attend in full ceremonial livery. The next phase of my research will involve trying to establish exactly what they would have worn and if any of these garments survive. I’m off to visit the experts from the Royal Dress Collection at Hampton Court and Kensington Palace.

Pages of the Backstairs

Pages of the Backstairs were less well born and in the middling ranks of the royal household. Six pages of the Backstairs were employed and worked in rotation. Historically, they would have waited outside the doors of the King’s Apartments but by the early eighteenth century they had moved within the Chamber.

The Royal Bedchamber was a suite of the King’s private apartments where access was restricted to a select few. The most important duty of the Page of the Backstairs was to guard access to the Royal Body by policing access into the private apartments via the Back (private) stairs. Other duties of Pages of the Backstairs included serving the King’s private meals, attending to his royal needs, assisting with dressing and looking after the Bedchamber apartments.

Roles within the bedchamber were strictly defined. For example in the reign of Queen Anne the Page of the Backstairs would fetch the basin and ewer for washing but it was the woman of the Bechamber would set it before the Queen. And whilst it was the the Page of the Backstairs who would reach for the glass and pass it to the  Woman of the Bedchamber, it was the high-born Lady-in-Waiting who would actually hand it to the Queen. We cannot be certain that by the time of the Regency that these rigid rules were still strictly adhered to but the royal household is marked by a longstanding tradition of continuity and it is unlikely that roles would have been radically different.

Ground Floor Plan showing Servants' Stairs used to Access King's Private Apartment

Ground Floor Plan showing Servants’ Stairs used to Access King’s Private Apartment

The Pages of the Backstairs had bedrooms close to the King’s chamber so that they could be called on as necessary. On the floor plan illustrated a page’s bedroom can be identified close to the King’s Chamber in the north part of the building (on the left of the plan). There were at least two other page’s bedrooms close by. One Page of the Backstairs would be in waiting in the King’s Chambers and two would be in attendance upon the King during dinner.

So although not high-born like the Pages of Honour their power lay in their ability to restrict or admit access to the monarch and in their potential influence on the monarch by their close contact with him. In 1817 they were paid £200 a year.

Pages of the Presence

Pages of the Presence, (Joseph Ince was one), had the lowest status of the three types of page. The main role of a Page of the Presence was to wait on the aristocratic Gentlemen or Lords in Waiting who were the King’s close companions and attendants. Pages of the Presence would also wait on the King’s visitors at meal times. They worked in more public areas and were not permitted access to the Bedchamber at all which meant they would have to liaise closely with the Pages of the Bedchamber is order to arrange for a visitor or member of the Royal Household to see the monarch in his private apartments. In 1821 first class pages earned between £230-£260, and the second class between £140-£170. They worked in strict rotations on a month-on, month-off basis. During their months off they would be paid 7 shillings (35p) a day for board and lodging.

Joseph Ince 

Joseph Ince was a Page of the Presence for 23 years, whilst George IV was Prince of Wales and then Prince Regent. But he may well have worked for the Prince of Wales before that, in the kitchens. There was a confectioner employed between 1790-96 and a cook between 1799 and 1803.  They are both named Joseph Ince. It seems very likely that these might have been one and the same.

A marriage between one Joseph Ince and a Victoire Lantonne took place in 1784 at St. George’s, Hanover Square. Seven years later on 17 February 1791 a son Charles was baptized in the same parish.  In 1816 a Charles Ince is  appointed as ‘Purveyor of Wine to the Prince Regent in Carlton House’. The baby son born to Joseph and Victoire Ince would have been 25 years old by this time. Son following father into the Royal Household perhaps?

In October 1820, a few months after the accession of  George IV, Joseph Ince retired. He received a ‘compensation’ payment of £47.10s a quarter, making a total of £190 per annum, not a bad pension by any standards. Thirteen years later on  6 April 1833 Joseph Ince died.

Quite why Princess Elizabeth gave Joseph Ince a tea-pot we might never know. If anyone out there can shed some light on this please do get in touch. But the tea-pot and the inscription upon it is a poignant reminder of the life of a servant, who once climbed the stairs of the Royal Pavilion in the service of the Regent. The tea-pot should be valued, as much for the traces of the lives that keeps alive, however shadowy, as for the understated elegance of its form.

Tracy Anderson, post-doctoral researcher


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