Posts Tagged 'Royal Pavilion'

Up On The Roof

I felt curiously unmoved, staring out over Brighton from a new angle, standing on the roof of The Royal Pavilion, despite such beautiful crazy architecture, set off by bright sunshine and few clouds, making it a perfect morning to be mucking about up there.

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Partly, we weren’t actually that high up, so the view itself was local rather than city-wide. More interesting was nosing through windows to see inside. Here’s a rare (and sadly blurry) view of the kitchen, seen from through the skylight. Several of these high windows have no way to open or close them, except to send a servant scurrying up onto the roof.

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And you can’t really make it out in these photos but it was also possible to look down into a few other rooms, through lovely old coloured glass.

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Nowadays, even most staff aren’t able to come out here, except on very rare occasions. It’s just not safe. And ultimately, even standing high on the roof, it is still far more striking to look up, not down.

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Of course, the onions and towers of the Royal Pavilion are fundamentally illusion – facade – to be viewed from a distance; built onto and extended around a pre-existing (conventional) house. Stunning to see from down in the gardens or beyond, because they were designed that way: a building meant to create an unforgettable, iconic silhouette on the skyline, more than anything else.

Up here, they’re at a far more human-scale.

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You can look at the joins and processes that plonked these follies on top of a normal(-ish) working building and you see the sheer effort required to keep it in decent nick, battling rain, wind, gulls, pigeons and the occasional human vandal.

Senior Keeper Tim Thearle (in the green jumper) brought a group of us up here and showed us around, explaining how they maintain the building. It’s a mammoth task.

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Here is largest onion surface, viewed from inside.

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Through a tiny wooden doorway, like something for Hobbits, we crawl inside the dusty bottom of the biggest onion, under the eaves that have held it up for close to 200 years.

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Here there are piles of mostly wooden junk, some of which may be 80+ years old; pieces of carapace and decoration and ornament. Bits of abandoned history deemed not so important as the other bits, yet they’re equally historic.

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During last winter pigeons got in here and it took months to get rid of them. There is nothing like piles of pigeon poo and abandoned decorative wood to humanise an iconic old building.

Closure of Brighton History Centre

On Saturday 30 March 2013, Brighton History Centre closed its doors to the public for the last time. It was a sad day – for staff and customers – but it also marked a turning point, a time to look to the future. Our task for the coming months is to prepare and pack the collections for their move to The Keep, which is due to open towards the end of this year.

The History Centre opened ten years ago, but its glorious location has been in use as a library and reading room – and a place of learning and reflection – for much longer. It seems appropriate, then, to spend a few moments looking back at this chapter in the building’s history, before advancing into a brave new world.

An early view of the reference library, which later became the History Centre

An early view of the reference library, which later became the History Centre

We’ve written in previous blogs about the basic chronology, when parts of the royal stables first became a public library, art gallery and museum, and about its later enlargement and remodelling.  In this post, we’re less concerned with simple timelines than with capturing the spirit of the place – as far as possible using material from our own archives.

First glimpse: an article called Some Memories of Brighton, 1897-1914, written by Alfred Cecil Piper. At his father’s instigation, Piper joined the staff of Brighton Library in 1897, aged 14. He hadn’t specifically chosen this field but, as he noted wryly, ‘in those days, children had to obey their parents.’ One of six junior assistants, his working day began at 9am and ended at 10pm, with two hours for lunch, one hour for tea and one afternoon off per week; that’s a lot of hours for a 14-year-old.

Piper describes the appointment of Brighton’s first trained librarian, John Minto, who arrived in 1902, just as the reference library was moving into the first-floor room later occupied by the History Centre. Although he was director of the museum, art gallery and library, the impression given is that books were Minto’s first love; he is said to have painstakingly reclassified the whole library ‘almost single-handed, as none of the staff was qualified to help until he had trained them.’

Minto was followed by Henry D Roberts, a key figure in the history of the Royal Pavilion estate. In his historical account of the library, museum and art gallery, published in 1908, Roberts also paid tribute to Minto, who ‘reduced a chaotic collection of books to the splendidly classified library which Brighton is now fortunate enough to possess.’

Advert for a talk given at the library by museum curator Herbert Toms

Advert for a talk given at the library by museum curator Herbert Toms

Roberts himself was a different sort of man and, according to Piper, ‘was more interested in the Art Galleries than in the library’. It’s certainly true that he organised some ground-breaking exhibitions of modern art in the early years of the 20th century, but he was ambitious for the library too. Services introduced during his years at the helm included visits for schools and other local groups, and a series of talks and lectures, some of them given by the influential archaeologist and curator Herbert Toms, who worked at Brighton Museum from 1897 to 1939. We take these things for granted today but 100 years ago, they were real innovations.

The library’s annual report for 1910 refers to a fine ‘Sussex collection’, underlining the importance of local material to the library and museum. Writing several decades later, former librarian Eileen Hollingdale explains that, ‘Right from its foundation, the library has always collected local history and as a result we have the richest collection in the county. We collect books, pamphlets, maps, prints, photographs, newspapers and periodicals.’ She also mentions Jimmy’s Cards, a unique index started by James Ambrose Feist, another former staff member. Many a question has been answered after a rummage through Jimmy’s Cards, and we are happy to say that this treasure trove of information will be moving with us to The Keep.

Much of our time at the History Centre was spent dealing with enquiries, and we were surprised to learn that a telephone enquiry service was set up as early as 1911. Few people would have had a phone at that time, which suggests a willingness on the library’s part to embrace new technology. Henry Roberts would no doubt have thoroughly approved of our use of email and social media, not to mention this blog, as a way of reaching out to people.

The questions we were asked ranged from the very specific or personal – Who lived in this house? Where did my ancestor die? When was this church built? – to the more general or esoteric. We have been quizzed about buildings and institutions that are long gone, about people who have shaped our city, for better or worse, and about hundreds of other subjects, from theatres, railways, trams and tourism to local politics, slum clearances, smugglers and suffragettes. The ongoing digitisation of our records has made it easier to pull different resources together – a newspaper article here, an obscure pamphlet there, perhaps a photograph, a biographical cutting, and a school magazine, too. The research has been an education in itself, and we have all learnt so much in the process.

The architecture of the Royal Pavilion estate has in the past been described as ‘in itself quite a museum’, and the History Centre’s physical environment did in some ways come to define it. But the building, however beautiful, was never the whole story. We believe that the collections will continue to inspire and educate, entertain and inform, in a very different setting.

Kate Elms, Brighton History Centre

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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May 2013
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