SE10 - The Cutty Sark

Hello people,

Today I have come to SE10, Greenwich. It’s no exaggeration to say I’m standing in one of the most famous places in the world. Whichever country you are in, or even if you’re travelling across sea, or through space, you set your watch according to Greenwich Mean Time. Before GMT was invented, the world lived by Paris Flamboyant Time. PFT was hugely impractical, lunch breaks would last for days, and time would stop whenever somebody fell in love, this annoyed the British as this made it impossible to know when last orders at the bar was. So we invented GMT, and it was internationally adopted at the International Meridian Conference of 1884. Another reason GMT is so important is that ships traveling all over the world rely on it to calculate their longitude while out at sea; ships like the Cutty Sark.

The Cutty Sark was a British Clipper Ship built in the Clyde in 1869. In her day she was the fastest ship in the world. She used to bring tea from China back to the UK to be sold, it’s estimated that in total, the Cutty Sark sailed the same distance as travelling to the moon and back twice. The ship is a museum now, where you can learn all about how it was built, where it travelled, and the people who sailed in her.

People love the Cutty Sark, mostly because people love tea. My Nan Bet lived for 77 years on a diet of nothing but milky tea with 2 sugars, rich tea biscuits, and occasionally, a nice slice of ham. And she was not unique - we in Britain consume 65 million cups of tea each day. Which probably explains why the Cutty Sark is loved by so many people, and why there was such sadness when in 2007 the ship was damaged by fire while undergoing conservation.

The fire was explained as an accident, but I’ve always suspected foul play. It seemed to me that some very influential people stood to gain an awful lot by the disappearance of the Cutty Sark. With it gone, it would free up space to build some 1 bedroom apartments, or maybe even a Tesco Express, right in the middle of some prime real estate. My suspicions were confirmed when there was another - this time less successful - fire in 2014. I’ve gone to the police with my suspicions, but they weren’t interested. I asked all the staff at the Tesco’s Express on Trafalgar Road if they were arsonist. They either denied it or had the security guard escort me from the premises. It seemed my investigation was destined to be fruitless. That was until last Saturday, whilst walking though Hays Galleria by London Bridge, I stopped off to have a pint in the Horniman Pub, and – it being a nice day – took my pint outside to sit by the Thames, and that’s when I saw it. The thing that stood to gain the most from the Cutty Sark’s disappearance, the HMS Belfast, another museum ship in SE London. With the Cutty gone, there would be no competition left.

I now had a lead, but I needed proof. I wrote a letter to the Curator of the HMS Belfast, a Mr A Sailor, pretending to be a journalist from the Maritime Journal. I told him I wanted to interview him for the magazine and asked him to meet me in the cabin quarters on the top deck of the Cutty Sark at noon on the 22nd of November. I hoped that by tricking him into returning to the scene of the crime, and confronting him there, he may slip up and confess to arson. I sat waiting in the cabin quarters for him to arrive. Eventually a man with a peg leg joined me in the room. He wore an eye patch, had a hook for a hand, a parrot resting on his shoulder, and was sucking on a pipe. Something told me, that this was my guy. I stood up and said.

“Are you Mr Sailor?”

“Ay” he replied “I guess you be the talented young writer from the magazine?”

“You won’t find any talented writers in here Mr Sailor.” I responded, “But what you will find, is a reckoning.”

“Shiver me timbers!” He yelled, “What is this, a trick?”

“No trick, just justice.”

“Blister me barnacles!”

“I know you set fire to the Cutty Sark, you resent the fact that it gets so many visitors. You thought with it gone. All big boat loving tourist would come to the HMS Belfast instead.”

“Crucify me cabin boys!”

“You had the perfect motive. And thanks to the pipe you smoke, you had the perfect means to carry a lit flame aboard the ship without creating suspicion.”

“Dangle me dinghy’s!”

“Do you deny it?”

“Ay, I deny it” he said, “I’d never harm a steadfast boat like the Cutty Sark. I’m a lover of large vessels such as this one.”

I sniggered.

“Plus I welcome the competition from the Cutty Sark. it keeps me on my toes, smooth waters never made a skilled sailor. And as for me pipe, tis just an E-Pipe, no flames needed. Just a stylish way to ingest poison.”

I was deflated. “So it wasn’t you?”

“No laddie” he replied. “You were wrong about me. But you’re not wrong in your suspicions. I too suspect foul play.”

“But from where?” I asked.

He removed the pipe from his mouth and pointed it towards a middle aged woman in a red duffel coat taking a photo of the ships sails on her i-pad mini. I looked at her and my blood ran cold.

“You bitch” I said. She looked surprised. Then she walked over to me, and hit me round the head with her i-pad mini. As she walked off Mr Sailor said.

“No, not her, look beyond boy.”

I looked up again, and that’s when I saw it.

“The National Maritime Museum, of course! With the Cutty Sark gone, they would get all the tourists for themselves!”

“Ay, tis a bunch of scurvy dogs that run that museum for sure.”

I shook his hand, and we departed friends. As I left the cutty Sark I made a vow to find out who in the National Maritime Museum started the Cutty Sark fire in 2007. Obviously I won’t find out who did it today, I’ve already gone way over my word count. And not in the next few weeks as I’ve already planned all the places I want to visit over December. But soon, early February at the latest. But I promise dear readers, I will find justice. This ship just got real.

The Cutty Sark is 145 years old today, and she’s still looking good, so why not give her a visit http://www.rmg.co.uk/cuttysark

SE23 - The Horniman Museum

Hello people,

I’ve noticed that lots of London Bloggers write about food. More specifically, they write about food sold in nice restaurants. There are two reasons why someone would write a food blog:

1. food is their passion, and they want to help promote quality restaurants that might otherwise be overlooked; and

2. to blag free food.

I too have a passion for food - I eat it every day. I’ve probably eaten around 5,000 tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches in my lifetime. Basically, I think I have a lot to offer. Also I want free food, so I’ve decided to get in on the act.

All the best food bloggers blog anonymously so they can be really shitty about a meal they didn’t like and still face no come backs. I want to be a good food blogger, but also I want restaurateurs to know that I’m a food blogger (that way they will give me free stuff), so I write nice things about them. For that reason, I disguised myself as a deep-sea diver. This was a master stroke. Dressing as a deep-sea diver not only protects your anonymity, but it also makes everyone notice you. When you walk into a restaurant dressed as a deep-sea diver, people see you and think, ‘Why is that man dressed as a deep-sea diver? I wonder if it’s because he writes a secrete food blog?’ Genus.

I headed to Forest Hill for my first attempt at food blogging, because I'd heard there was a nice chicken shop next to the train station. I very slowly walked out of Forest Hill Station, using all my effort to drag myself to Favourite Fried Chicken store, when a sign caught my eye. It read, ‘Horniman Museum up the hill.’ I wiped the steam from my goggles to make sure I’d read it correctly, but I wasn’t mistaken. I thought to myself, ‘A Horniman Museum? The dirty beggars! The people of Forest Hill should be ashamed of themselves! Still, I’d best check it out.’ So I did. 

The museum is 10 minutes walk from the  station. Two and a half hours when walking in a deep-sea divers suit. It has a beautiful clock tower, and surrounding the building is a huge garden filled with exotic plants from all around the world, and local wildlife. But what caught my eye most was the Totem Pole by the main entrance. I’m no expert, but I could see the pole was about thirty years old, and made from red cedar wood, so I assumed it was made in America. I also noticed that on the pole were carvings of a girl, and a bear. There’s a famous Alaskan legend of a girl who married a bear, so that narrows it down a bit. Finally I saw the carving of a Thunderbird at the top of the pole; which – if my memory serves me correctly - is the family symbol of the famous Alaskan artist Nathen Jackson. So he probably carved it in 1985, as part of the American Arts Festival going on at the time. But like I say, I’m no expert.

As I stood admiring his work, a lady in a white coat carrying a large black sports bag walked past me. She looked me up and down and said, “Why are you wearing a deep-sea diver’s outfit? Are you a food blogger?”

“Yes” I replied, and then I asked, “Do you know what this place is?”

“I should hope so” she said “I work here. This is the Horniman Museum, founded in 1901 by Frederick Horniman. The museum has a large collection of stuffed animals, musical instruments, an aquarium, plus many other objects of anthropological interest from around the world, including a torture chair, and some Benin Plaques from Nigeria.”

“Did you say stuffed animals?”

“That’s right, we have stuffed monkeys, birds, rodents and even a walrus. I’ve got a dead albino badger from Bromley in my sports bag right now.”

“There are albino badgers in Bromley? I asked

“Yes, lots of them,” she said. And then, looking at her bag, continued, “Well… not so many now.”

And with that I abandoned my plans to be a food blogger. I could never give up this blog, I love finding out all the crazy things out about South East London too much. 

The Horniman Museum is well worth a visit. In fact you could visit it every day for a year and still not get bored, there’s something different and exciting around every corner. So I recommend you go see for yourself. Deep-sea divers outfit, not necessary.

Imagies from

Wolves in London - http://wolvesinlondon.com/2014/08/21/trips-to-the-horniman-museum/

http://www.horniman.ac.uk/

Wikipdia

SE18 - Firepower, the Royal Arsenal

Hello people,

Last Friday was Halloween, and it’s got me in the mood for a ghost story. There’s no better place for a ghost story than Woolwich.

Recently there were a number of sightings of a lone rider-less horse galloping through Woolwich town centre. Some say the horse had simple gotten lost from its stables in Abbey Wood. But others believe it was an apparition from when Woolwich was a Roman lookout post, and that the horse was trying to get to Londinium to warn of Vikings, or British rebels, sailing up the Thames to invade the city.

Sadly we will never know which of these stories are true because the horse bolted out of the front doors of Tesco, across the main square, and over the horizon quicker than you could say ‘every little bit helps.’

I’d heard that Firepower - the Royal Artillery Museum located in the former buildings of the Royal Arsenal - was packed full of ghosts. Not surprising really, the museum has been there in one form or another since 1778, so that’s where we went in search of a fright. We were shown round by the manager of Firepower, Richard Smith-Gore. In his time working in the building he’s gotten to know all the ghosts pretty well.

Firepower - the Royal Artillery Museum

The first ghost he told us about was a young boy who’d worked in the old gun powder factory called Piggy. Children were often employed to work in the factory because their small fingers were ideal for stuffing gun-powder into shells. The downside of getting little children to do the work, is that they produce a ridiculously high amount of bogies. Some of the shells that made it to the front line were so covered with bogies; that the soldiers refused to touch them. In one of his letters back to his superiors during the boar war, 1st Earl Kitchener complained ‘our men have not returned fire for over 7 days. They refuse to touch the artillery shells, believing them to be minging, and possibly containing the lurgies.’

Piggy got his name by pulling the pig-tails of the little girls he worked with, and making them cry. One day Piggy decided to play a nasty trick on one of the boy’s in the factory. He got two pieces of flint, placed a small amount of gun powder on one of them, and banged them together next to the boy’s ear to make a loud bang. But Piggy was too young to understand, that the factory air was saturated with gun powder. So the small bang he had planned blew him and his victim to pieces. To this day Piggy haunts the factory, pulling the pig-tails of little girls visiting the museum.

The old gunpowder factory by night - haunted by Piggy

It seems a strange way to spend eternity to me. But I guess pulling pig-tails is what little boys did back then, and if it’s what he loves, then who am I to argue? When I was a little boy I desperately wanted to be a WWF wrestler. So I’d have probably haunted Firepower by drop-kicking people, shouting ‘Oh yea,’ and super-slamming them, before declaring that, ‘Hulk-a-mania will live forever.’

The second ghost was a prostitute - let’s call her Julia - who haunts the basement of the old officer’s quarters. Julia had been discovered by one of the guards, naked, in the Duke of Wellingtons bed. It’s not clear if Julia had gotten there using her own initiative, or if the Duke, who was due that day to arrive at the barracks after attending to matters in another part of the country, had arranged for her to be there waiting for him. Either way, the guard was terrified he would get in trouble. So he took her down to the basement, wrapped only in a bed-sheet, gave her two bottles of wine to keep her quiet and, after promising to return shortly, shut and locked the door. He, however, never returned again. When Julia was discovered some time later, she was dead, and half eaten by rats. 

The Royal Arsenal

These days men who walk into the basement, have complained about feeling their hair being touched. Or finding the buttons of their trousers have become undone. Purely for reasons of science, I walked into the basement. But felt nothing. Feeling a little rejected I asked Richard why Julia had snubbed me. His answer was brutally honest. “Because you look poor” he said.

I haven’t time to talk about all the ghosts, but this last ones worth mentioning. There’s an impressive medals gallery in the museum. The collection serves as a memorial to those who have ‘Served the Guns’ since the foundation of the Royal Artillery in 1716, and to the tens of thousands who laid down their lives.’

The coats of arms of all the division of the UK Army - on display at Firepower

In the medals room is the ghost of an old woman. She has been seen many times, by many different people, and she is always in the same spot, staring at The Memorial Plaque - otherwise known as the 'dead man’s penny', which was issued after the First World War to the next-of-kin of all British and Empire service personnel who were killed in WW1. No one knows who she is, or what the medal meant to her. Maybe it was given to her because she lost her husband, son, or father.

To be honest, I don’t really believe in ghosts. But 1,355,000 plaques were issued, that’s far too many lives lost, and far too many heartbroken people left behind. And if it takes a silly ghost story to remind us of that, then I’m all for them.

Firepower

If ghost aren’t your thing then you can still enjoy firepower by learning the story of artillery and role of the Gunners in our Nation’s history. http://firepower.org.uk/

SE3 Blackheath Fireworks Display

Hello people,

Tonight I will be heading over to Blackheath to watch the fireworks. Me and Rosie go every year. It’s always a great atmosphere, and lots of fun. Around 100,000 people are expected to attend, but then, large crowds on the heath are nothing new.

The most famous gathering on the heath happened in 1305 when Watt Tyler led a band of Kentish rebels into London to protest against the King Richard II's high taxes.

The Kings representatives arranged to meet with Watt Tyler and his men in Blackheath, hoping to settle their differences over a café latte and some gluten and diary free cake from the farmers market.

Despite enjoying their cake and the organic bread, Watt and his men were unmoved. They marched into London, and went on a murderous rampage, killing anyone associated with the royal government, and destroying the Savoy Palace. The riots were eventually put down and Watt was beheaded, but the famous meeting is still commemorated in Blackheath by Watt Tyler road - which runs alongside the green near the Hare and Billet pub.

I love everything about the Blackheath fireworks display - the colours, the noises, the crowds, the little stalls selling food, the inevitable pub crawl, the fun fair, and it’s completely free. In my opinion, it’s one of the best things about South East London.

But have you ever stopped to ask yourself why there’s a fireworks display in Blackheath every year? And why it’s always held around the 5^th of November? Well to find out I’ve come to the Houses of Parliament to ask a South-East Londoner who knows a lot about this sort of stuff, my Dad.

Dad has been working in the Palace of Westminster as an electrician for years. During that time wandering through the corridors of power with his screw driver and rawl plugs, he’s pretty much learnt everything there is to know about the history of our great country. So I asked him...

Me “Why do we celebrate the 5^th of November every year?”

Dad “Because it’s your cousins' birthday*?”

Me “Is that why Lewisham Council put on a free firework display on Blackheath Common?”

Dad “No, the fireworks in Blackheath are because of a Yorkshireman called Guy Fawkes."

Me “The actor?”

Dad “That’s Guy Pierce, Guy Fawkes was a Catholic, and an ex-soldier. He had fought in the eighty years war for Catholic Spain against the Protestant Dutch.”

Me “This is going to be long story isn’t it? More than 700 words and my readers will just switch off.”

Dad “I’ll keep it short. Basically he became involved with a small group of English plotters, who planned to assassinate the Protestant King James in 1605.”

Me “Was the plan to shoot him with a firework?”

Dad “No, they decided to kill King James by blowing up the House of Lords after he opened up Parliament. The plotters rented a house next to the House of Lords, and Guy and his mates managed to smuggle the gun powder into the cellar. Guy’s job was to guard the gun powder barrels before the big night."

Me “And did the plan work?”

Dad “No, the palace guards found him in the cellar with 36 barrels of gun powder.”

Me “Ooo, busted. How did he talk his way out of that one?”

Dad “He said he was building a music room for King James, and the barrels were for insulating the walls”

Me “Did it work?”

Dad “No, they knew he was lying. King James already used the cellar as a gym. Guy was sitting on his rowing machine when they caught him. So Guy and his friends were made to confess; and were then executed. And the British people have celebrated the foiling of the gun powder plot ever since, by having parties, making bonfires, and setting off fireworks, ever since.”

Well I can’t say I approve of executing people, or blowing things up, but I do love getting drunk on the heath and writing swear words in the air with sparklers. So I guess at least all that bloodshed wasn’t for nothing.

Blackheath Fireworks Display is tonight at 8pm. I look forward to seeing you there.

*Since writing this I’ve remembered that my cousins Kieran and Sam’s birthday is on the 4^th of November, not the 5^th. Sorry about that, I hate it when people, publish incorrect facts in their blogs.

SE6 The Corbett Estate, Catford

Hello people,

In the early part of the last century, a wealthy man – let’s call him Steve – purchased a small section of South East London from the Abbey of Ghent. The land had two distinguishing features:

1)      a shallow river ran through it, and

2)      it had a large population of wild cats.

Because of this the area became known as ‘Shallow River with lots of cats town.’ Steve loved the location, hated the name. So he paid a consultancy firm to come up with a new one that would be:

1)      shorter,

2)      edgy, and

3)      more likely to attract young professionals to the area.

The name they came up with was Catford, deriving from the Viking word 'ford' meaning shallow-river, and the English word 'cat' meaning cat. Steve loved it, and the name has stuck ever since.

Catford is a wonderful place. The people of South East London are so proud of it, that they erected a large fiberglass statue of a cat in the shopping arcade to honour the district. It is no exaggeration to say that the Catford Cat is probably London’s best known monument, after Monument at Monument, and perhaps Nelsons Column.

Like most children, when I was a small child I believed the Catford Cat would come alive at night and have exciting adventures, but these days I’m not so sure. I’ve been sitting on top of the Catford Cat for almost 7 hours now, and the most exciting thing that’s happened so far is when a drunk man staggered out of the Weatherspoons across the road, and fell into a bush.

However, being this high up does give me a good view of the Corbett Estate; which stretches back to Hither Green. The Corbett Estate was developed by Archibald Corbett between 1885-1911. It’s a fine collection of Victorian houses, churches and parks. Archibald Corbett was a Liberal MP for Glasgow who inherited his father’s successful property development business. He bought the land after the completion of Hither Green Train Station, which meant his tenants could easily get into central London. He was able to get the train company to lower their ticket prices by loaning them £3,400 to build a more convenient entrance.

Torringdon Road SE6 in 1910

The original entrance was a thin beam you had to run across while TFL staff fired a water cannon at you. This led to a travellator you had to run up, followed by a zip wire you slid down over a lake filled with piranhas, and then finally onto your platform.

Archie was a committed temperance reformer, and so he banned the sale of alcohol on the estate.  That’s why there are so few pubs in the estate today. However, Catford has never gone in for all that prohibition nonsense. The Goose on the Green – formerly known as the Black Horse and Harrow – has been getting its punters plastered since the 1700’s. Karl Marx is said to have enjoyed a vodka and coke in their when he was living in London, and just across the road is the Catford Constitutional Club which is a great place to  get a pint of real ale, cider of craft beer.

Now I come to think of it I could really do with a pint, so I’m off.

Now how am I supposed to get down from this giant Cat?


http://catfordconstitutionalclub.com/
http://thecorbettsociety.org.uk/

Dulwich Picture Gallery SE21

Hello People,

Last Sunday I visited the Dulwich Picture Gallery SE21 with Rosie, my beautiful wife. Dulwich is also beautiful, and very wealthy. Because of this, I decided to wear a monocle and top hat so as to not stand out too much. The first thing I saw as we walked through the main gate was group of friends sitting outside the Gallery, sipping Prosecco and playing cards. I nodded to them as we walked past, and they stared at me wide eyed and open mouthed. Maybe the top hat was a bit much.

Dulwich Picture Gallery Garden

Rosie visited the Dulwich Picture Gallery when she was 8 years old, and she was so impressed with it that when she returned home, she told her parents that one day she would work in a museum herself. Rosie works for the British Museum now, keeping the mummies entertained when they come alive at night. Or something like that.

Rose told me all about how the old masters had to create their paints from scratch. Using plants and ground up insects to experiment with colours. So I said, “Why didn’t they just buy the paint from B&Q?”

“Because there was no B&Q” she replied.

“Fascinating”

We walked a little further, and I asked, “Rose, how did the Dulwich Picture Gallery come to exist?”  And this is what she told me.

“The story of Dulwich Picture Gallery is one of passion and chance. It begins with a man called Edward Alleyn – Ned to his friends – who lived from 1566-1626. Ned was one of the greatest stage actors who ever lived. He starred in three plays by Phillip Marlow – it’s believed that Marlow created the parts especially for him. When he retired from acting - at the height of his fame in 1598, Queen Elizabeth is said to have requested he return to the stage. If he was alive today he almost certainly would have had a spell as Doctor Who – he was that good. Sadly we will never get to see old Ned tread the boards, although Ben Affleck did portray him in the film ‘Shakespeare in Love.’ So until we have Red Dwarf style hologram technology, that’ll have to do.

Edward Alleyn

Ned became a rich man, and in 1617 he bought Dulwich Manor, and founded what was to become Dulwich College. When he died, he left all his art-work to the college. Over time the collection steadily grew until 1795, when our story takes a bit of a twist.

In 1790 two London Art dealers, Noel Desenfans and Sir Francis Bourgeouis were commissioned by the King of Poland to form a royal collection. Noel and Francis spent the next five years travelling around Europe buying art, and building a collection that any Polish King would be proud of. Sadly for them, before they could flog their fancy pictures, the King abdicated and left them massively out of pocket. To make things worse, Noel and Francis were very particular about who they sold the collection too. They wanted to be certain the art went to the right home, so in the end they decided to keep, and add to it. In 1807 Noel died, and left all the collection to Francis. In 1811 he died and, on the advice of his friend John Kemble (another famous actor), he left the collection to Dulwich College on the condition that the works were to be displayed in a new gallery constructed by his friend, the famous architect, John Soane .

Francis left £2,000 for the building of the gallery and his widow Margaret donated a further £4,000. Although this was a very generous amount, it was not enough for Soane to build the gallery. Soane cut costs where he could, such as making all his students work on the project for free. And what he produced is considered to be one of the finest examples of gallery architecture in Britain. And so Dulwich picture Gallery was born, and it became the first public art gallery in England.”

Dulwich Picture Gallery

When she had finished speaking, I said,

 “Wow, you know a lot about history. And you laid it all out in such a clear way. So Dulwich is the town that gave art to the masses?”

“That’s right.” she replied.

And with that I threw off my top hat. Grabbed the monocle from my eye, and smashed it on the floor*, they were symbols of an elitism in art that I now know no longer exists, and all thanks to Dulwich. With a little help from a few famous actors, architects and art lovers along the way.

“Why did you do that?” Rose asked.

“Symbolism. Come on Rose, let’s get some Prosecco.”

Come visit the Gallery, to see some masterpieces, or learn to draw for yourself.

http://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/

*I had to clean up the glass before leaving the gallery.

SE9 Eltham Palace

Hello People,

Today I have come to Eltham Palace SE9. Regular readers may have noticed this is my second palace in as many weeks, but I can’t help it, I just love palaces. In fact I recently dug a small moat and painted the fence outside the front of my flat royal blue, in homage to the palaces of south east London, but that’s enough about ‘The–Grand-Blue-Palace-in-the-Red-Valley’ Flat at number 26B’, back to Eltham.

For such a seemly ordinary town, Eltham has had some real stars; Boy George, Bob Hope, Frankie Howerd, Christian from EastEnders  - all the greats grew up in Eltham. Kate Bush even lived here for a while too. Legend has it that Kate’s classic song, ‘Running up that Hill’ was written about a Friday night in Eltham. One night she was so hungry, she ran from the Tudor Barn Pub all the way up to the McDonalds on the corner of the hill for a Fillet O’ Fish and a Fanta. The rest was music history.

Eltham Palace was given to King Edward II by the Bishop of Durham in 1305 and it remained a royal residence for the next two centuries. One of its most famous royal residents was Henry VIII who grew up in the palace. I can just imagine a young Henry queuing up to buy his pick ‘n’ mix in the Woolworths halfway up the high street on a Saturday afternoon before heading to the old Well Hall Coronet. It must have been an idyllic childhood.

By all accounts Henry was a dashing young prince in his day, but as we all know, he died a hairy fat bloke with syphilis. Sadly Eltham Palace didn’t age much better.  After the 16^th century it slowly fell into decline and then ruin. It remained that way until the 1930s when the new building was constructed on the existing site, incorporating the Great Hall. It was then that the Courtauld family moved in, and everything changed, for the better,

Stephen Courtauld had cleverly made his fortune at a young age by being born into a wealthy family. After serving in WWI and winning a Military Cross, Stephen –  an enthusiastic mountaineer – decided to climb Mont Blanc in the French Alps. It was there that he met Virginia Nee Peirano, the woman he was to marry.

The Courtaulds

On their return from their honeymoon Clubbing in Faliraki, Stephen and Virginia leased Eltham Palace from the crown commissioners in 1936. They gutted it and filled it with the kind of 1930’s glamour that would have made the Great Gatsby’s house look like a Butlin’s chalet.  

The happy couple shared their new home with Jongy – their pet Lemur. Jongy was loved by Stephen and Virginia so much they installed a pole from his Madagascar-themed bedroom down into the kitchen, and they allowed him to roam the house as he pleased. However, Jongy didn’t get on with everyone that visited the palace. In fact he took such a dislike to one guest he caused the delay of the 1930s British Arctic Expedition (which the Courtaulds had sponsored) by severing the wireless operator’s artery.  When he wasn’t trying to kill arctic explorers he was a good pet, and the three of them seemed to have been a very happy family.

Jongy

The 1930s décor and Jongy’s bedroom are still there for you see, as is the beautiful garden and moat. It’s a great way to spend an afternoon and I recommend you go see it while the sun is still shinning.