Albert and the Armada

At 11pm on 14 December 1861 at Windsor - 150 years ago today - Queen Victoria declared beside the sickbed of the Prince Consort, ‘Oh, yes, this is death!’.  Her husband of 21 years, was gone, aged only 42. For many years it was believed that Prince Albert (1819-1861) had died of typhoid, as written on the death certificate by the royal physician, Dr Jenner, but Victoria also believed that her husband had died from overwork and worry occasioned in part by the latest antics of their eldest son, the future Edward VII.  However, Albert had been aware of some sinister symptoms - probably stomach cancer - for at least four years before his death, which he kept from the Queen, and it was probably this, combined with pneumonia caused by being caught in a rainstorm returning from a confrontation with the Prince of Wales at Sandhurst, which actually killed him.

The last moments of HRH the Prince Consort (Wellcome Library)

Albert's awareness that something was seriously wrong with him accounts for his manic activity in the years before his death, and one of those activities included the Royal Commission on Fine Arts, a body he had been chairing since its formation in 1841. The Commission was responsible, among other things, for commissioning the fine art and sculpture for the new Palace of Westminster - much to the disgust of Charles Barry, its architect. At the time of Albert's death, one of its major projects remained unfinished: a replacement scheme for the Armada Tapestries, lost in the 1834 fire.


The intention of the Commission was that six panels in the Prince's Chamber of the new Palace should contain painted facsimiles of some of the lost tapestries but only one sample had been commissioned by 1861 (by the pre-Raphaelite, Richard Burchett), when Albert died.  With his impetus gone, and with the costs associated with building and fitting out the new Houses of Parliament rising alarmingly, the scheme was never finished, and the empty spaces were simply infilled with Pugin wallpaper.


The Prince's Chamber, with two of the empty panels
visible, wallpapered in red

Then in 2007, the American philanthropist Mark Pigott donated a sum to the House of Lords Collection Trust, to complete the scheme.  As a trustee, and head of the Parliamentary Archives, I was able to visit the artists' studio set up at Wrest Park, an English Heritage property (one of the few viable places where the creation of the massive canvases was possible) during the creation of the five remaining paintings.  It was a fantastic day, with curators, historians, publicists and funders all coming together to see the amazing work in progress led by Anthony Oakshett.

Monumental painting in progress at Wrest Park

Oakshett painting one of the five layers which comprise each artwork

Reconstructing the tapestries in paint, when the originals had been consumed by fire and the only source was some 18th century engravings, was a huge challenge as these articles in The Spectator and History Today explain.  The massive, finished, paintings were first put on display in the Royal Gallery of the House of Lords over the summer of 2010 so all the detail could be seen close up by the public - including the fabulous dolphins and sea monsters with their silvery highlights. 



Installing the Paintings in the Royal Gallery for temporary viewing, Summer 2010

They were then installed high up in the Prince's Chamber next door where they look as if they they've been there ever since Albert's death, and in final - and fitting - fulfilment of his Commission's vision.

President Obama and the Lord Speaker, Baroness Hayman, under the
installed Armada Paintings in the Prince's Chamber, May 2011 (Parliamentary Copyright)

Remember, Remember, the Old Palace of Westminster

Because of the 1834 fire which burnt it down, many people don't realise that there was a Houses of Parliament on site at Westminster - the old Palace  - before Barry and Pugin designed the current one.  Still fewer know what it looked like.  That's led to some startling anachronisms when illustrating historic Parliamentary events, particularly in relation to the Gunpowder Plot of 1605.  Today is Bonfire Night, so I offer these historical thoughts for you to ponder between bangers of all kinds. (For non-UK readers this blog, find out more about Guy Fawkes and Bonfire Night before reading on). 


In 2003, I remember being struck by an Institute of Physics project at the University of Wales which had tried to model the impact the explosion would have had, if it had succeeded. The physicists found that the damage to surrounding buildings was enormous, with Westminster Hall and Westminster Abbey being flattened and damage as far as Whitehall, over a third of mile away. They worked out that Guy Fawkes had used 25 times the amount of gunpowder he actually would have needed to achieve his aims.  But a newspaper report that caught my eye the next day showed a picture of the new Palace in ruins (not a happy thought).  The Gunpowder Plot is a source of endless fascination and many books, websites and educational items have been produced on it.  But unfortunately, they often make the same mistake and set the Plot against a background of the neo-Gothic Palace, built in the middle of the 19th century.  Some good examples of this are here, here, here and here (hmmm...).


There are exceptions.  In 2005, for the 400th anniversary of the foiling of the Plot, a TV programme simulated the explosion to see what might have happened if the Plot had succeeded, correctly blowing up a facsimile of the old House of Lords, with spectacular results.  The film doesn't give you the impact on surrounding buildings, but you get the idea - and the size and shape of the Lords Chamber is correct, for once (the cross section of the old House of Lords below is held in the Parliamentary Archives: note the ground floor 'cellar' underneath).

In fact, the House of Lords chamber which Guy Fawkes tried to destroy (originally the 13th century Queen's Chamber of the medieval Palace) didn't even make it to 1834.  The Lords moved out of the ancient building in 1801 following the Act of Union with Ireland, and the decaying building was later pulled down by the architect Sir John Soane, to make way for his new Royal Gallery and Staircase (in fact the plan above is by the famous architect).   The Soane buildings survived until 1851 when they  in turn were demolished to make way for the new House of Lords, and there is a fascinating engraving of Queen Victoria opening her first Parliament by processing through Soane's Royal Gallery; not what one imagines at all!  All that remains today to commemorate the site at Westminster is this brass plaque tucked away in one of the inner courtyards of the new Palace, marking the spot of the original House of Lords chamber.

The Man Who Saved Westminster Hall

Today is the 150th anniversary of the death of Superintendant James Braidwood. He was the man who saved Westminster Hall in the great fire of 1834 through the innovative firefighting techniques he had first developed when fire chief in Edinburgh.

His death was both tragic and horribly ironic. He died at the enormous Tooley Street warehouse fire in 1861, when he was buried under a falling wall - his body was retrieved only two days later. The iron firedoors which he had designed and recommended for all such premises had been left open, causing his death. If there was one other fire between 1666 and the Blitz which deserves the dubious accolade of being the 'greatest', beside the 1834 blaze, it was the Tooley Street conflagration. The Westminster fire was certainly the more significant, but Tooley Street was bigger and more prolonged: the tallow inside the warehouses melted, and set fire to the Thames for two weeks afterwards. A plaque marks the spot of the 1861 fire, today close to London Bridge station.

In 2008 a statue to Braidwood was finally erected on Parliament Square - but not the one in Westminster, the one off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. But perhaps his greatest memorial is Westminster Hall, still standing after 900 years, because of his efforts and those of his men.

Firemen to the Rescue

Yesterday (Friday) I had a quick chat with some of the fire safety guys at the Houses of Parliament.  They are all ex-firemen so they really know their stuff.  I wanted to make sure I understood the technical details of the descriptions of the fire from contemporary newspapers and other sources I have been working on.  We discussed 6 or 7 extracts from the book which I had queries about.  Now I know much more about pyrolysis, flashover, the reasons why flames are different colours, and the melting points of different metals.  All fascinating.   Today (Saturday) I spent an hour in the Bodleian Library checking some references in various online databases of 19th century periodicals and newspapers - a real boon for researchers, and something it would have been impossible to cover twenty years ago.

James Braidwood, hero fireman of the

1834 disaster, photographed in much later life

Hidden Treasure

Popped into the St Stephen's cloisters by Westminster Hall today, which were half destroyed by the fire in 1834 (then again by the Blitz) but half survive.  They were built just over a decade before the dissolution of the monasteries, so weren't used as intended for very long.   They are marvellous, and an incredible survival right in the middle of London.

In the last few days I have transcribed the letters of the Rickman family who were living on site at the time of the fire, which are fantastic eyewitness accounts, with some hilarious moments in them.  Mr Rickman gave each of his servants 1lb of sugar for their good services on the night of the fire, preventing looters from breaking into their house during the firefighting.