Story Category: Legacy

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

There are five oil painting portraits of the family pet dogs at Preston Manor, pictures that are much-loved by people visiting the house. One day in 2017 a visitor exclaimed on seeing the portrait of Peter, ‘that’s our Alfie!’ and promised she’d send me a photograph to compare. These pictures are of Peter and his look-alike, Alfie. The similarity is uncanny.

The portrait of Peter was painted by Sussex artist, Maud Molyneux (1862-1947) who was the daughter of William Molyneux M.A., the Rector of the village of Twineham in West Sussex. Maud was born in Twineham Rectory. The 1911 census shows her living at 47 Portland Road, Hove aged 48 with her widowed mother and almost all her siblings, sisters Ethel and Beatrice an ‘authoress’ who wrote magazine articles and brother Ernest, a civil servant. There was another sister, the youngest, Mabel who was the only one of the four Molyneux sisters to marry and leave home. Maud, Ethel and Beatrice remained spinsters all their lives. Maud’s occupation in 1911 is given as ‘artist and teacher (drawing and painting) Visiting Mistress private schools’. She appears in the trade pages of the 1930 edition of Brighton & Hove’s Kelly’s Directory as an artist living at the same address. In 1911 brother Ernest is acting as head of the household looking after his mother and sisters aided by his regular civil service income. He was employed as a bankruptcy clerk for the Board of Trade.

Engaging Miss Molyneux to paint Peter’s portrait

Peter belonged to Charles Thomas-Stanford, second husband of Ellen Thomas-Stanford of Preston Manor. Ellen was described by her son John as ‘a terrible snob’. Therefore, it is possible that, in engaging Miss Molyneux, she was influenced by the fact her brother Ernest had a title, Sir Ernest Molyneux, 10^th Baronet of Castle Dillion, County Armagh.

Ernest inherited his title though his Norman Molyneux ancestors. However, the title (created 1730) became extinct on his death. Ernest died at 6 Walsingham Road, an ordinary Victorian villa-style house near the seafront in Hove on Boxing Day 1940. By a quirk of chance, Walsingham Road was named after Barbara Walsingham, wife of Sir Anthony Shirley who’s family owned Preston Manor for four generations from 1569. Ernest pre-deceased his sister; Maud who was four years older. Maud died 3^rd March 1947 aged 85 leaving £597 to her sister, Beatrice. This amount would be the equivalent of about £25,000 in today’s money. We don’t know the fee Maud Molyneux was paid for painting Peter’s portrait, but judging by the sum left in her will, she was making a reasonable living by her art.

Peter sits for his portrait

There is no known record of the portrait of Peter being painted though we can assume Miss Molyneux came to Preston Manor at least to make preparatory sketches. She would also have wanted to meet her subject and get to know a little of his personality, which she so perfectly captures.

If Peter was painted in the mid-1920s Maud was in her mid-60s and at the height of her artistic powers. I am guessing that she worked fast with oil paint on canvas first preparing a plain parchment-coloured background, then adding Peter in swift loose strokes of the brush in a head and shoulders face-forward pose. At first glance it seems Maud has captured Peter in a grumpy moment, but on closer inspection, especially if you look into his eyes with those little hard white dots of reflected light, you see a look of inquisitiveness aided by his ears turned forward as he stares intently at his portraitist and at us, his observers. Judging by the grey on Peter’s muzzle, cheeks and eyebrows he is not a young dog. Visitors to Preston Manor enjoy guessing Peter’s mood. Is he really grumpy or is he displaying elderly dog qualities of patience, obedience and preference for a life better spent dozing in a basket?

What do we know about Peter?

Peter’s dates are 1914-1928 meaning he was 14 years old when he died. We know this because his tombstone can be seen in the Pet Cemetery in the Preston Manor walled garden. The inscription is worn and unreadable in parts but the words, ‘Peter, a True Scot’ can be read along with his dates. Peter was one of the last (if not the last) family pet to be buried in the cemetery when Preston Manor was a private house.

The only source of information about Peter in his lifetime is Margery Roberts, the daughter of Preston Manor’s first curator. When Preston Manor became a museum in 1933 Margery and her parents Henry and Margaret Roberts moved into the west wing of the house because Henry’s job came with accommodation. Born in 1908 Margery was 25 years old and had known the last private owners Charles and Ellen Thomas-Stanford when they were alive. Margery therefore got to meet the family pets of the 1920s.

In 1935 Margery wrote an article, ‘The Companionship of Dogs’ for the Sussex Daily News recollecting her memories of the Manor dogs she knew so well. Here she mentions Peter and Ellen Thomas-Stanford’s Pekingese, Kylin.

‘Peter was a Scotch terrier and he bit everyone in a white apron. This is contrary to the ways of many dogs who look upon an apron-clad person as someone who will give them forbidden bits of food from time to time. However, so firm was Peter in this dislike that when Mrs Magniac (twin sister to Miss MacDonald) dressed up in a maid’s uniform he failed to recognise his mistress and bit even her.

Peter was a black Scotch terrier belonging to Sir Charles. When he came to Preston Manor (originally, he belonged to Mr Curwen of Withdean Hall) it was wondered how he would get on with Kylin, the favourite; but they soon became firm friends. Peter was devoted to Sir Charles and always followed behind him carrying his stick. So proud was he of being allowed to carry it, that even though he was a great fighter, he would never then indulge in a scrimmage of any kind. That would have meant dropping the stick and so failing in his ‘trust’.

Reading Peter’s dislike of persons wearing aprons makes me hope Maud Molyneux wasn’t wearing a traditional artist’s smock over her clothes when she visited Preston Manor.

Margery’s pen-portrait of Peter gives us more of his character. She describes Peter as ‘a great fighter’ given to biting persons wearing aprons. This begs the question, why was Peter given away by Mr Curwen? Was Peter so unmanageable the Curwen family wanted rid of him? If this was so, Charles Thomas-Stanford’s dog-handling skills are proven in that he tames the fighter into devotion and avoidance of scrimmages, at least while the dog is carrying his master’s stick.

Peter and Alfie

Alfie

I have seen a very rare photograph of Peter in a private collection of photographs from 1924 belonging to the daughter of a former Preston Manor lady’s maid. He is seated viewed side-on to the camera with nine members of domestic staff including Butler, Maurice Elphick and Housekeeper, Mrs Storey whose long black dress he sits against. The photograph is also proof that Peter and Alfie look like identical twins.

If anyone else has a dog that matches one of the dog portraits at Preston Manor they are welcome to make themselves known to me.

Paula Wrightson, Venue Officer Preston Manor

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

In 1912 Mr Henry Roberts, Director of the Brighton Museum & Art Gallery visited Norway to source paintings for the 1913 Exhibition of Norwegian Art shown at Brighton Museum. As well as this, his intended purpose, Mr Roberts inadvertently supplied history with a peek into the private hygiene habits of the late-Edwardian gentleman.

Washing your dirty linen in public

This once well-known phrase or idiom is going out of common usage but it would have been familiar to people living at Preston Manor when it was a private house 88 years ago. To wash one’s dirty linen in public is to discuss very personal or private matters in front of other people and so expose unsavoury secrets that are best kept hidden. To wash, or to air, one’s dirty linen in this way was considered poor etiquette and was almost always the cause of embarrassment for those in receipt of the information however fascinated they might be by it. I am sure the gentlemanly Mr Henry Roberts had no unsavoury secrets in his blameless life but he has left us this little slip of paper which tells us much about his actual dirty linen.

Who was Mr Henry Roberts?

Henry Roberts is a man I think about every working day because he came to live at Preston Manor in 1933 when the house became a museum under his care as curator. In the 1930s many curators of historic buildings lived-in and apartments were set aside for this purpose. My office is in one of his private rooms.

The eldest of ten children, Henry Roberts left school in 1886 aged 16 and started work at the library service in Newcastle and then London. A tireless career trajectory led him to become the first Director of the Royal Pavilion overseeing important refurbishment works in the 1920s. Today Mr Roberts would be described as a workaholic. He never stopped. He gave lectures, wrote books, curated a series of ground-breaking exhibitions of international modern art at Brighton Museum & Art Gallery, and entertained royalty. During the First World War Henry Roberts acted as Liaison Officer between the military and Brighton Corporation supervising the complex task of turning the Royal Pavilion (by now no longer owned by the Crown) into a hospital for wounded Indian soldiers. In recognition of his work Henry was awarded The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (MBE).

Keeping paper ephemera

What I really like about Mr Roberts is his habit of collecting and keeping paper ephemera from his travels, those seemingly unimportant throw-away slips of paper that are so fascinating after a hundred years have passed; menus, business cards, receipts and laundry lists. I too love paper ephemera especially of this sort, the day-to-day insignificant item and I keep a fair amount of my own (who doesn’t?). In another hundred years it is almost certain paper ephemera will not exist at all because all such records will be digital and not exist in a palpable form. For historians (or just the plain inquisitive) this will be a loss to public record. Mr Roberts certainly never intended his laundry list to be examined as a historical document but as an avid keeper of such ephemera he has left a paper-trail that I find impossible to ignore.

What do we know about Mr Roberts’s trip to Norway?

I have in front of me the following evidence: two menus for banquets, three business-personal cards from private individuals, three letters (two formal, one personal), one envelope, one hotel notice of meal times, one hotel notice asking guests to ‘please take notice of the poster in the room,’ one music programme for a concert, one invite to a formal dinner, nine receipts for hotel services and one laundry list.

From this collection I know that Henry Roberts spent about a week in Norway as items are dated between Wednesday 13 and Tuesday 20 November 1912.

He stayed at The Grand Hotel in Christiania, a city that would revert back to its ancient name, Oslo in 1925. In Norway Henry Roberts enjoyed the best of the best at The Grand Hotel, the most prestigious hotel in Christiania. The hotel opened in 1874 and is still operational today. He was a feted guest of the Norwegian art world entertained to a banquet and a party. The banquet on 18 November was hosted by the Norwegian Art Gallery (Bildende Kunsters Styre) now the Norwegian Visual Arts Association and held at the Hotel Continental.

Eating and drinking with a famous actress

I think Mr Roberts must have especially enjoyed his night out on 13 November for he was invited to a private banquet party given for Johanne Dybwad (1867-1950) held in the Rococo Hall at The Grand Hotel.  Mrs Dybwad was a leading Norwegian stage actress and producer working then, aged 46, at the National Theatre in Christiana, the city of her birth, notable and much-honoured for her fifty-year career in the performing arts.

The menu is written in French, as was traditional in restaurants across Europe.

Mr Roberts started his meal with Windsor soup (brown beef soup) accompanied by a glass of medium dry sherry. Next came lobster in sauce served with a German Riesling white wine. This was followed by assorted Norwegian meats with French red wine then roast chicken and lettuce-heart salad accompanied by sparkling wines. Then he was served with a bombe, an individual ice-cream dessert made from fresh cream flavoured with vanilla and in this case studded with candied peel and pistachio nuts, with fruit and wine to follow.

I picture Mr Roberts staggering up to Room 71 after this boozy feast.

Edwardian banquet menus are invariably meat-heavy with no provision at all for a vegetarian option. Mr Roberts would have eaten a lot of meat in his lifetime, for he attended many banquets in the course of his employment. However, I wonder what he made of the dish served at the 18 November banquet; roast bear with a chestnut puree.

Mr Roberts’s continental practices

I always enjoy reading Edwardian menus because of what they tell us about the lavish and sometimes bizarre diets of the wealthy. When it comes to paper ephemera menus are commonly kept and not least because they are always decorative objects.

Mrs Dywbad’s party menu of 13 November is illustrated with two bacchanalian fawns dancing along with a cache of fruit, meat and wine strung between them.

The Grand Hotel provided guests with a pre-printed list of available services and extras you could purchase and have added to your bill: transport, food and wine, tea coffee and seltzers and the use of a telephone. There was a separate kiosk at which you could purchase cigars and cigarettes ‘at shop prices.’

Interestingly, a vask or wash and bad or bath were chargeable extras.

Back in 1912 hotels, even grand ones, did not provide en suite facilities in every room, as we would expect today. Washrooms or bathrooms were separate, usable by special purchase, by booking the bathroom and being issued with a key. Freely available toilets would have been provided on each floor of the hotel not in each room. You would find a jug and bowl in your private room and, in most establishments, hot water would be delivered to your room and your water jug filled by a member of hotel staff. This was especially important for Mr Roberts and his morning shave and moustache tidying.

The truth is, people a hundred years ago did not wash their bodies all over daily in the same way we do today. On his last day at the hotel Mr Roberts books and pays extra for use of the hotel’s vask although he does not book a bad, or bath. What does he do in the washroom if he doesn’t have a full bath? Perhaps he took a shower.

Ordinarily in his room Mr Roberts would have had a stand-up wash at his marble-topped wash-stand using the hot water provided and a flannel or small sponge (which he would bring with him in a wash-bag) to clean those parts of his body he deemed essential to keep fresh. Soap was used but deodorants were not yet in common use or even available. British men would have considered such a product unnecessary and indeed, dangerously effeminate or outrageously French.

Smelling of sweat at the end of the day was thought perfectly ordinary (and manly) until well into the second half of the 20^th century. Scented colognes were available to men, and the Edwardian gentleman favoured heavily-scented often floral colognes. However, the use of scent was restricted to the brave and the wealthy. I wonder if Mr Roberts dabbled with a little Eau de Cologne on his continental journeys experimenting with indigenous practices the same way he nibbled at his roast bear and sipped his Château La Couronne 1904.

Mr Roberts’s laundry list

Mr Roberts’s laundry list is of great interest, as such an item is rarer than a menu. The washing list provided by the Christiania Vestheim Dampvarkeri (laundry) allows for the laundering of the following male items: shirts, nightshirts, undervests, drawers, collars, pocket handkerchiefs, stockings and socks. The laundry offers items ‘general, complete and returned in 24 hours’ with an unguaranteed quicker service at an extra 20% cost.

Mr Roberts fills out his form ‘washing for Room 71’ for 5 shirts, 9 collars and 5 pocket handkerchiefs to be laundered.

Sadly, the form is undated but I am assuming he sends his items at the end of his stay.

The last dated piece of paper ephemera in his collection is dated 20 November 1912 so I’m thinking he uses the laundry service 24 hours before he leaves Norway submitting his wash on 18 or 19 November or 6-7 days of clothing wear.

Collars would be changed daily. A gentleman would not be seen with a soiled collar. In this period collars were detachable, not part of the shirt, so they could be laundered separately. Shirts would be worn for a longer period of time depending on the individual’s personal standard of cleanliness and the number of shirts he owned. I suspect Mr Roberts would make one shirt last at least a couple of days.

What’s the evidence?

It looks like Mr Roberts wore a collar a day for 7 days and a fresh collar to go with his evening wear for 2 days equalling 9 collars to be laundered. He wore an evening-shirt twice (the same one) and a day-shirt every two days making 4 day-shirts and one evening-shirt to be laundered after a week’s stay. He has 5 (cotton) pocket handkerchiefs laundered and in the days before paper tissues this would be essential even if you didn’t have a cold. The climate in Norway in November would at least make your eyes and nose stream when you stepped outside.

What of his vest, socks and pants?

Mr Roberts does not send socks or underwear to the laundry. He has the option to, but he does not. What does that mean?

Edwardian underwear were substantial garments. Briefs and boxer shorts were a much later invention. Mr Roberts’ winter vests would have been thick long-sleeved items made of a fine to medium wool. Almost certainly Mr Roberts would have travelled to Norway in long-johns, that is wool jersey items rather like leggings worn under trousers. Long-johns were universal wear for the Edwardian man. Quite possibly they were purchased from Dr Jaeger’s Sanitary Woollen System Company established in 1884 by German naturalist and hygienist, Gustav Jäger and advocated by Edwardian men such as playwright George Bernard Shaw who believed one should always wear wool next to the skin and by the Antarctic explorer, Ernest Shackleton who would never have taken his long-johns off whilst about his profession.

I suspect Mr Robert’s didn’t take off long-johns either, hence these items not appearing on his laundry list. Very likely he wore his vest and long-johns in bed in lieu of a nightshirt. The regular changing of underwear is another far more recent practice and Mr Roberts would not have been considered anything other than perfectly normal for keeping his on and unlaundered for a week’s stay abroad. He seems to have worn the same socks too.

A tell-tale paper-trail

Taking this peek into Mr Roberts’s laundry basket has only been possible because he took the trouble to keep mementos of his trip to Norway in the form of paper ephemera. I imagine the respectable gentleman museum curator would be shocked if he could know that 108 years on his personal hygiene habits were to be publicly investigated using these documents. After all, here is the man who took great trouble to have removed from Preston Manor every item relating to the domestic and the bodily when the house changed function from private property to museum in 1933.

Later in the century, Preston Manor’s curator, Mr David Beevers, explained his predecessor’s actions in an article printed in Brighton Gazette & Herald, dated 1^st January 1982, ‘there was a big sale with the disposal of things like washstands and zinc hip baths, right down to Lady Stanford’s knickers.’

Paula Wrightson, Venue Officer Preston Manor

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

A curious collection

Museums aren’t always perfect. Sometimes, just sometimes, there is a box or three in the stores that just don’t make any sense. In 2018, our Paper Conservator Amy, was checking one such box. It’s not like the curators didn’t know it was there, or what it contained. It’s just that it had been there for so long, it was hard to know how best to tackle it.

Detail from Kunisada, Three ladies wading through a stream, 1853-57

This box, along with three others, housed a collection of 18th and 19th Century Japanese woodblock prints, often known as Nishiki-e or Ukiyo-e. The information about them was scant – who were they by? Where did they come from? There is no Japanese speaker on the museum staff, let alone an expert in this huge subject area. It had become one of those shelved ‘for later’ projects.

The prints were fabulous. Beautiful landscapes, people in exotic and elaborate kimonos, expressive actors in masks and makeup. Warriors, street scenes, battle scenes, animals, still life, as well as ceremonial and symbolic images – what a collection. Some prints had rambling, descriptive titles, a few had an artist’s name pencilled on the back. But for the most part, they were just beautiful, yet mysterious images.

The reverse of a print that reads: ‘one of the 60 views of Tokio [sic] by Hiroshige 1st Reg 552 6 Framers date 1904

A tricky task

Thankfully, Amy was on hand to help. We chose a manageable selection and turning detective, we double checked these prints for clues. We realised many of them already had true titles and artist attributions within the image, printed in Japanese Kanji characters. Our friends at the Brighton Japan Club confirmed that these were typically in ancient, non-standard (aka hard to read) Japanese.

The signature block of Hiroshige (also used by Hiroshige II), with publisher, engraver and censor marks

Luckily for us, these prints were made in series and produced in vast numbers. We double checked ours against works in internationally renowned collections. As with everything about these prints, it wasn’t quite as simple as it sounds. Names varied over time as artists used nicknames or took on parts of their master’s name. The great Ukiyo-e master Katsushika Hokusai used over 30 different names to sign his work. The prolific artist Utagawa Kunisada became known as Toyokuni III and often used the same signature block as two different artists Toyokuni I and Toyokuni II.

Ancient Japanese is open to interpretation; translations of titles varied across organisations. Artists (and forgers) copied each other. Worn or popular blocks were recut, arising in subtle differences. Dating is incredibly tricky, not to mention a zodiacal calendar.

We got there in the end, but it was a slow, laborious process of checking and re-checking. Hokusai, Hiroshige, Utamaro, Kunisada, Eizan, Toyokuni – so many great artists were being revealed.

A collection conundrum

One question still really niggled me: why do we have such a large collection of Japanese prints in Brighton Museum at all? The provenance was not quite clear.

Anderson & Hart collection markings seen on the reverse of some of the prints

Some of the prints were stamped with non-museum numbers or were claimed to be from the collection of Ernest Hart and/or William Anderson. Hart and Anderson were prominent medics, who were founding members of the Japan Society of London, in 1891. It turns out they had quite a collection of Asian art between them. Much of the Anderson and Hart collections went to the British Museum – so how did we have these works in Brighton? Our records did not show any donations from them. The mystery deepened.

Unlocking the mystery

Following a meeting with a visiting university scholar, we found a curious little Japanese art exhibition catalogue from 1918. No images, but in it was a list of some of the prints, with titles, and a explanation of who gave them to us.

The catalogue from the exhibition of Japanese Art, 1918

Hart and Anderson knew an art dealer called Ogawa Tanosuke. Tanosuke’s primary interest was in ceramics and he was a friend and collaborator with Henry Willett – a founding father of Brighton Museum & Art Gallery. Tanosuke gave his collection of Japanese prints to the Brighton Corporation and as it turns out, the Jubilee Library also have some in their collection.

Our Japanese prints have come from several other sources too. We still have much work to do on this wonderful collection, but these enigmatic prints are well on the way to giving up at least some of their secrets.

Discover More

• Floating Worlds: Japanese Woodcuts Exhibition at Brighton Museum
• Visit the Floating Worlds web app
• Have a go at a Japanese Woodcut (60 pieces) jigsaw 

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In 1909 Ellen Thomas-Stanford of Preston Manor took her camera equipment outside and created photographs of the beautiful romantic gardens surrounding her home including this view looking into the walled flower garden, a scene that can be enjoyed today.

Over the years a great many people have said to me, “this would be a perfect location for a dramatised version of The Secret Garden,” and so in 2015 we did just that and this is the story of that event.

The Secret Garden is a novel by British-American novelist, Frances Hodgson Burnett first published in 1911 and is a classic and much-loved children’s book. The story has been adapted for film, stage and television many times and so lives in the hearts of generations ranking alongside E. Nesbit’s 1906 The Railway Children as a delightful escape into Edwardian childhood enjoyed by adults of all ages as much as younger people.

The challenge at Preston Manor was creating a version of the story using simple props and a cast of two. Fortunately, the manor house and gardens made the ideal backdrop and little adaption was required on location to bring life to The Secret Garden.

My first task before creating the event was reading the book. Typical of Edwardian stories written for children the story is hard hitting, opening in British-ruled India with spoilt rich kid, Mary Lennox being orphaned as the result of her parents dying of cholera. Mary is packed-off to cold grim Yorkshire and lodged with a wealthy and aloof elderly uncle who dislikes children. While exploring the uncle’s manor house and gardens, Mary discovers two other children; a sad motherless invalid boy called Colin, who turns out to be her cousin, and the jolly robust gardener’s boy, Dickon. The three children embark of a journey of discovery. Mary learns to be kinder. Colin discovers that he’s fit and healthy after-all and Dickon is an all-round environmentally aware eco-hero, a poor boy who helps the rich children become happier, stronger and better people through generously sharing his love and understanding of the natural world.

Next, I had to adapt the story to modern audiences.

As with many children’s books of the Edwardian and Victorian period The Secret Garden contains passages, words and themes that would be considered offensive today regarding attitudes towards race, disability, gender and social class in the 19^th and early 20^th century. Death also features in graphic ways. Eventually, with much cutting and reworking I had the version of The Secret Garden I knew would work for the Preston Manor children & families event programme of summer 2015.

I created a script and then began working with Social & Cultural Historian and skilled storyteller, Sarah Tobias who was my co-host. Sarah is an expert on life in Britain in the Victorian and Edwardian period and bought much to the adaptation and flowing of ideas around how we would present the story in an authentic manner.

I knew straight away that I wanted the event to be interactive and not just an exercise in sitting and listening so I sourced props that could be handled and played with by children to help their understanding of the plot. Keeping everyone active we moved the action around Preston Manor (standing in perfectly for Misselthwaite Manor in the book) beginning in the Dining Room where Mary’s back-home story began with her boxes and trunk packed in India which children could open and find her grand clothes, toys and dolls.

One of the Manor bedrooms became Colin’s room set with a basket for the invalid with tartan rug, books and boy’s toys. Most of all I enjoyed sourcing and creating the props that would best explain Dickon; the child-sized gardening tools, period natural history books and authentic looking Edwardian seed packets which I made and filled with dried lentils which, when shaken, sounded like seeds. To add to the suspense of unwrapping this character, Dickon’s props came in little cloth draw-string bags, made by my dressmaker sister, in vintage fabric printed with flowers and leaves.

The Secret Garden is set in a large country house meaning some of the adult characters are domestic servants and so we took the story down to the Preston Manor kitchens, the province of Martha the maid and Cook. The families who came to the event therefore not only enjoyed hearing the story but they got a tour of Preston Manor at the same time.

For added fun, children could I-Spy Dickon’s pet robin, which appeared perched somewhere in each room we visited. Finally, we ended with a real treat, a chance to go out into the Manor’s old kitchen gardens which are not normally open to the public. Much of the action in the story takes place in a vividly described walled garden as it awakens from winter to spring, and so stepping outside using a small side door in the Manor’s basement created the sense of literally walking into the real life world of Mary, Colin and Dickon.

Sarah and I presented as a dramatised story containing enacted scenes in which I played Martha the maid. In this role I could hand out the props and busily pack them away afterwards – with the help of the children. Sarah was the calm voice of the author expertly balancing suspense, action and emotion as we all travelled back in time to Edwardian childhood. The event took place while Preston Manor was open to the public meaning casual visitors got to see the house unusually set with interesting looking props and theatrical scenes.

The Secret Garden went out live to the public for the first time on Saturday 30 May running for three dates in the summer of 2015, one of the 46 public events I created for Preston Manor that year. The event re-appeared in the 2016 Easter holidays and remains one of my favourites in the house’s public programme.

Paula Wrightson, Venue Officer, Preston Manor

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Before the lockdown we were keeping very busy in the Royal Pavilion.

In January the Conservation department shut off Queen Victoria’s Apartment and its ante-room to carry out some long-awaited conservation and restoration work involving some rather special Chinese wallpaper.

This early 19th Century wallpaper was hand-painted in China and exported for the European market. It was purchased and hung in the Pavilion in the early 1830s and since then has had quite a journey.

When Queen Victoria sold the Pavilion to the town in 1850 it was removed from the walls, along with most of the interior decorations and taken to Buckingham Palace, where much of it was used to decorate the Yellow Drawing Room. Unused sections of the set were returned to Brighton and installed in the Saloon in the 1930s in the mistaken belief that it had originally hung there.

Towards the end of the restoration of the Saloon in 2014, with permission from English Heritage (now called Historic England) the wallpaper was once again removed with the condition that it would eventually be reinstated in the Pavilion.

Recent research had shown that this yellow Chinese wallpaper originally hung in the room now known as Queen Victoria’s Bedroom – confirmed by the discovery of a fragment of the paper below the cornice during a previous restoration of the room. Finally, timing and funding came together in January this year and we were able to proceed with the plan to reinstate the wallpaper, in what we hope will be the end of its travels!

The bedroom had been decorated for many years with a wonderful modern hand–painted reproduction of the paper. This was made by a former member of the conservation team and fortunately he was on hand to carry out the removal of this paper. The reproduction paper will be safely stored for now, but there are plans to re–hang it in another location in the Pavilion at a future date.

Reproduction wallpaper being removed in Queen Victoria’s Apartment

Meanwhile our wonderful original wallpaper had been removed from the Saloon back in 2014 and taken away for conservation treatment by Allyson McDermott. Although we were aware that there was not enough original wallpaper to fill this room we were fortunate that Allyson could offer other skills. In her studio, she was able to make wonderful matching digitally printed reproduction drops of paper to fill in the gaps. It really does look amazing and we challenge you when you visit to work out which is original and which is reproduction!

Original and reproduction wallpaper being rehung. Can you tell which is which?

So Queen Victoria’s Bedroom now stands ready for us to re-introduce furniture and fittings (the conservation team managed to fit in a spring clean too!) when we return to the building.

The ante-room next door has also had a make–over. Records show that all the rooms along this front on the upper floor were decorated with Chinese wallpapers but as no further fragments have been discovered we have chosen to display a framed panel of wonderful grey-ground Chinese wallpaper (birds and flowers) and one of our team has been using traditional techniques to restore all the woodwork, with painted wood graining as used throughout the building.

Large framed Chinese wallpaper undergoing conservation treatment (tear repair and hinging). Just a little more to do when I get back to work!

While we are closed a few other things are awaiting completion, but we hope it won’t be long before you can come in and enjoy these newly restored rooms.

Amy Junker Heslip, Paper Conservator

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How objects acquired from Bolton’s egg shop contributed to a communication tool for people with dementia and their carers.

Henry Bolton in his egg shop in Gardner Street, Brighton, c1970s – can you spot the cockerel?

In 2015 Dan Robertson and I had the opportunity to contribute to the now multi-award winning National Museums Liverpool, My House of Memories app. Created with and for people living with dementia and their carers, images of objects within museum collections are chosen to evoke memories and stories which can support communication, conversations and creative interaction.

The app is attractive, fun and can be used by anyone. It draws you in with lots to explore and many routes to travel.

The app has pictures of objects from across the decades, which are brought to life with sound, music and descriptions, and provide an easy-to-use way to help people living with dementia explore things that resonate with them.

Dan and I delved into the museum’s collections to source images of objects that could be used to create a chain or story expanded from a single initial image. By linking a small group of images, combined with a brief narrated description to add context, occasional questions and related sounds, stories and history can be brought to life and creativity can be stimulated to create something new. The images become informal communication tools.

Images spark memories and the imagination and can stimulate conversation. Sharing stories real or imagined is an essential part of being a human: they start, punctuate and contribute to conversations. Storytelling can include individual and shared experiences and histories, sometimes revealing something new and unknown about the individual. It can encourage questions, wonder, interest, humour, fun.

Dementia can rob people of fluid communication. Conversations can be difficult and stunted; the back and forth of conversation can be erratic, even lost. An image with lots to explore, or that raises questions, invites the viewer in. The eye explores the detail to make sense of what they see, whether that is drawing from memory, or recreating the narrative. That exploration is creative; it uses the senses and can stimulate exchanges between people.

One theme Dan and I chose to include relates to eggs. Starting with an advert for Stonegate’s eggs, we then chose images from the collection of items relating to Bolton’s egg shop, including the taxidermy cockerel that lived in the shop window.

The cockerel as it appeared in 2015 when it was displayed at The Keep archive, Brighton

Stonegate’s advert

The business was started by the Bolton family in Hove in the 1880s. A Brighton shop was opened in Gardner Street from the 1910s and remained a family business until it ceased trading in 1984. The shop reportedly contained an egg-straordinary 10,000 eggs at its peak!

Henry Bolton posing with his taxidermy cockerel. The Evening Argus, c1980.

Social history collections in museums can be utilised in many ways. They can inspire, bring joy and intrigue, open conversations and contribute to lifelong learning. One way audiences can egg-splore Royal Pavilion & Museums’ collections is via our Digital Media Bank online.

Henpower is another inspiring, egg-powered older peoples project that we’re aware of. It aims to ’empower older people to build positive relationships through hen-keeping with improved wellbeing, reduced loneliness and reduced depression.’

Susan Eskdale, Lead for Community Engagement

Dan Robertson, Curator of Local History & Archaeology

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Brighton & Hove’s oldest monument is to be found on Whitehawk Hill. The earthwork began to reveal some of its secrets through excavations in the late 1920s and ‘30s including the remains of some of the city’s earliest occupants. Today we meet one of them in our latest 100 Pioneering Women of Sussex blog.

Facial reconstruction of the Whitehawk Woman by Oscar D Nilsson

Whitehawk Camp is sited in a shallow bowl close to the top of Whitehawk Hill, commanding extensive views across the city, sea and Downs. For centuries, the earthworks were thought to be Roman in origin. In fact, it is a Neolithic Causewayed Enclosure, a rare type of ritual monument over 5,500 years old.

Excavations at the camp and other monuments of its type indicate that it was a place where communities came together. We can imagine it being a place where feasts were held providing a place for our Neolithic ancestors to share stories and make bonds. People travelled from afar to the camp which is located at a natural meeting point on the Downs close to where chalk cliffs rise up from the coastal plain to the south west and ridges between the dry downland valleys converge. The once exposed chalk rings of the monument would have reflected both sun and moonlight, drawing people towards it.

Watercolour drawing of Whitehawk Camp, Ian Dennis, University of Cardiff

The first methodical excavations were conducted by the Brighton and Hove Archaeological Society (formally Club) in 1929. This was prompted by the risk of development and further encroachment of allotments and the pulling-up ground of Brighton Racecourse. It was only a few years earlier that a protest had been mounted against the levelling of the site. A second season of excavation was undertaken by the Society in December 1932 and January 1933. This revealed ‘not less than eight individuals: three whose skeletons are fairly complete (two adults and an infant)’. This included our ‘Whitehawk Woman’, referenced as Skeleton II in the excavation report.

‘There was a team of paid labourers and Philip Burstow, James Stuart and I helped whenever we could. Neolithic “A” pottery, flint implements and burials were found in the ditches. Conditions were uncomfortable, the weather was wet and cold, and sometimes the water in the ditches was frozen.’ – reminiscences of George Holleyman (1910-2004) published in Flint, Brighton & Hove Archaeological Society.

Photograph showing James Stuart and George Holleyman working in the third ditch, Holleyman Album, Sussex Archaeological Society

Whitehawk Woman was found in an elongated oval area surrounded by ten large chalk blocks and a number of smaller blocks. She had been covered with soil up to the level of the blocks and on top of this was spread a layer of charcoal. Found with her were two small perforated pieces of chalk (possibly pendants), two fossil Echinocorys scutatus (also known as shepherd’s crowns), and the lower half of the radius of an ox. More astonishing for the excavators perhaps was the discovery of the remains of an infant, Skeleton III. Such finds probably justified enduring the uncomfortable conditions.

One or two fragments of the infant’s skull were found adhering to the mud on the inner surface of the largest part of the hip bone of the adult skeleton, the ilium. This led to the suggestion that the child may have been intra-uterine (unborn) when the mother died. Reporting on the human remains following excavation, anthropologist Miriam Louise Tildesley (1883-1979) of the Royal College of Surgeons stated that it was reasonable to conclude that the infant was a few weeks old when it passed away.

Plan (detail) by Robert Gurd of the 1932-1933 excavations showing the location of Skeleton II from the Holleyman Album, Sussex Archaeological Society

Relatively new insights have been uncovered by Archaeology South East (Institute of Archaeology at University College London) and the Natural History Museum. Carbon dating has established that she lived sometime between 3650BC and 3520BC which coincides with a time of rapid monument expansion in the south of England. Osteological examination indicates her height was about 1.45m in height or approximately 4’8”, small for a Neolithic woman. She was between 19 and 25 years old when she passed away yet it seems her general health was good, suggesting she may have died during or soon after childbirth. It’s quite sobering to think of her situation and how it impacted those around her. Evidently great care was taken with her burial.

Interestingly, it appears that Whitehawk Woman wasn’t born locally or even in the shadow of the South Downs. Isotope ratios from her teeth suggest she grew up much further away, possibly near the border with Wales. This young woman had travelled quite a distance over her short lifetime. What were the reasons for this? Neolithic peoples are Britain’s earliest farmers and the downland landscape would have provided farmland, grazing, wood and flint for toolmaking to sustain more settled populations. Might news of such resources and other activity have reached people towards the west and tempted them to this part of the world?

‘Brighton, View from the Race Hill’ (1846) by Edward Fox, the earliest view of Whitehawk Hill in the museum’s collections – on the horizon are the hills of Highdown, Cissbury (site of the early flint mining complex) and Chanctonbury

Whitehawk Woman and her wider community were pioneers. It is they who first began to extensively clear woodland and cultivate the South Downs, creating a landscape not too distant from that we see today. Grazing in particular created chalk downland, a unique habitat supporting specialised flora and fauna which is incredibly valuable in terms of diversity. Our Neolithic ancestors have also left their mark in the monuments that scatter these landscapes. Further excavation, scientific study and advances in technology may enable us to understand a little bit more about the lives they led.

Oscar D Nilsson in The Elaine Evans Archaeology Gallery with another of his facial reconstructions, an Iron Age man found at Slonk Hill near Shoreham

The Elaine Evans Archaeology Gallery at Brighton Museum gives visitors the opportunity to meet Whitehawk Woman. Informed by excavation reports and osteological analysis, her remains have been sensitively redisplayed with those of her child and some of the items finds found with them. A facial reconstruction of her created by forensic artist Oscar D Nilsson is displayed nearby, bringing visitors face to face with this young woman who lived and died in our city over 5,500 years ago.

For those eager to find out more, information on the places and scientific research featured in The Elaine Evans Archaeology Gallery are available online. Further resources including those for children and schools and links to excavation reports are available here.

Dan Robertson – Curator of Local History & Archaeology

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We have just installed a new dinosaur exhibit at the Booth Museum!

It includes a Deinonychus skull, a Raptor skull and Iguanodon thumb spike, tooth, vertebrae, and skull. 

The Deinonychus was one of the notable dinosaurs used in Jurassic Park (The tense kitchen scene!) but they called it a velociraptor because it’s easier to say. Also, unlike in the films, it had feathers!

The Booth Museum is open this weekend, so you can take a look at our roarsome new exhibit.

Rebecca Lean and Lee Ismail

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‘How many greens can you count?’ This is the question posed in a description to be found below a painting currently on exhibition in Brighton Museum & Art Gallery.

The picture is by the local Hove-born artist, Robert Polhill Bevan (1865-1925). It bears the title, ‘Fields at Applehayes’, of around 1922. Bevan maintained a strong commitment to landscape painting throughout his career, and his later years developed and refined his handling of a predominantly green palette in his rural scenes.

Fields at Applehayes, by Robert Bevan, 1922. FA001267

The painting is included in Down from London, Spencer Gore and Friends, a collection on show at present at Brighton’s Museum and Art Gallery. The exhibition reflects the relationship between the artists of the Camden Town Group and Brighton and Hove. The society was not long lasting, founded in 1911, and dissolved just two years later, in 1913. Its name, while the group was in existence, did not escape occasional critical comment. Did it sound too urban or metropolitan? Indeed, was it misleading?

Many of the sixteen member artists and their wider circle did base themselves in the capital certainly, and painted scenes of city life. However, some of them did range more widely, during the years 1911-13, and at other times in their careers. Bevan, for example, painted in his home county of Sussex, but also in Brittany, on Exmoor, in Poland, and Devon. He became more noted, perhaps, for his depictions of the disappearing world of the horse-drawn cab and horse-sale auctions in London.

The Cabyard, Night by Robert Bevan c1909-1910. FA000121

Brighton’s collection of works by Bevan represents a sizeable body of his output: his ‘green’ landscape paintings of East Devon. Bevan’s ‘Rosemary la Vallee’ of 1916 hangs alongside the slightly later, ‘Fields at Applehayes’. ‘A Devonshire Valley, No. 2’ of around 1913 is also to be seen. This has a companion piece in fact, ‘A Devonshire Valley, No. 1’, held within the collections of the Royal Albert Memorial Museum and Art Gallery (RAMM) in Exeter.

Rosemary la Vallee by Robert Bevan, 1916. FAH1988.14

Brighton’s version appears to be a looser and lighter study for the more ‘finished’ copy at Exeter. Both, though, show Bevan’s post-impressionist style, which he shared in common with other Camden Town Group painters. The Gallery’s description below its ‘No.2’ emphasises one of the main characteristics of much of their art, the bolder use of line – to be seen here in the edging of trees, fields, and buildings. There is also the strong and rich use of colour, much favoured by the artists of the Group, and, in Bevan’s case, clearly in his many varied and vibrant green tones.

A Devonshire Valley no 2, by Robert Bevan, 1913. FA001266

Bevan was painting in the Blackdown Hills, and he would base much of his work there from just before the First World War through until his death in 1925. He would be joined at times by his wife and fellow artist, Stanislowa de Karlowska, and the other Camden Town painters, Spencer Gore and Charles Ginner. The Royal Albert Memorial Museum also holds Ginner’s ‘Clayhidon’, of 1913. At The Box in Plymouth, meanwhile, is a similarly verdant, and even more resonantly titled, ‘Green Devon’, of around 1919.

Dr Andrew Jackson, Bishop Grosseteste University, Lincoln

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Andrew is a cultural historian and geographer. Interests include the art and literature of the early twentieth century, and of the countryside and rural landscapes in particular.

email: andrew.jackson@bishopg.ac.uk

@AndrewJHJackson

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Today’s 100 Pioneering Women of Sussex blog celebrates artist Alison Lapper, MBE. Alison started painting at age 3 and this creative outlet perhaps allowed her to escape into a world of imagination away from the turbulent life spent in a children’s home that she entered at just 6 weeks old.

Courtesy of Alison Lapper

In an interview with The Guardian in 2005, Alison explained that she was born with Phocomelia, a rare condition of the malformation of a person’s arms and legs. Alison uses her mouth and feet to create her artwork. At 16 she won a local art competition. The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists (MFPA) contacted Alison after reading a local newspaper article about the competition. She was given a student membership, which gave her access to small grants for art materials.

Alison was transferred from the children’s home to an assessment centre to learn skills to enable her to live independently. She moved to London at age 19. A promising relationship, that resulted in marriage, turned abusive by her husband. She filed for divorce and moved forward with her art. At 25, Alison had gained an A Level in Art and it was suggested she study for a degree in Fine Art. After completing her A Levels, Alison went on to achieve a Pre-Foundation and then a Foundation course before going to the University of Brighton.  

At university Alison was challenged as to why she was focused on painting beautiful people. Her tutor suggested that Alison did not want to face how she looked herself and who she really was. Though shocked at this statement, it spurred Alison to examine deeply who she is, which made her aware of something significant and important about herself. This led to research in the library, where serendipitously a book fell open to reveal a photograph of the Venus de Milo which grabbed her attention. Here was an image of a white marble statue of an ancient Greek woman, with both arms missing. This moment of recognition became the starting point of a journey that Alison says she is still on.

Looking at her own body, how she feels about herself and how others respond and feel about her was channelled into a creative process using the application of Modrock (quicker drying than Plaster of Paris) to produce segments of her own body. Alison could see there were differences with her body, but also similarities to others; her torso was still a torso and she was beautiful in her own right.

After graduating from university with a first-class degree, in 1999 the contemporary arts centre Fabrica invited Alison along with two fellow artists to exhibit in the show Pale Outline. It explored the ideas of ‘boundary’ and ‘personal identity.’ The artists were not concerned with abstracting the body, but of the human condition as manifest (in the eye or mind) or concealed in representations of the body. In 2003, Alison was awarded an MBE for services to art.

During this time artist Marc Quinn contacted Alison. He made many sculptures of her under The Complete Marbles series of work of beautiful sculptures of people born naturally without limbs. Marc wanted to ask why it was that old sculptures with fallen off limbs and ravaged through time had come to receive unconditional acceptance of their beauty. This collaboration would lead to the famous Fourth Plinth, Alison Lapper Pregnant (2005-2007). Quinn wanted to place a statue in among the white male conquering heroes of the past in London’s Trafalgar Square, as representation of someone who had conquered their own circumstances, which displayed a different kind of heroism. Alison saw it as a monument to the future, a modern tribute to femininity, disability and motherhood in everyday life.

Recently on at Brighton Museum & Art Gallery was See Portraits, Be Portraits, an exhibition comprised of a variety of portraits from its own collection selected by teachers from two local schools. It invited visitors of all ages to view the works and then create their own portrait from the gallery resources. The teachers selected Alison’s Angel self portrait.

Courtesy of Alison Lapper

In an interview carried out by the Museum’s Michael Olden, Alison was asked about her reactions to the exhibition. She stated that, ‘people don’t see a lot of people like me, apart from Marc Quinn’s work.’ Michael pointed out that Alison’s portrait was chosen as a mixed media piece and not initially for diversity. In doing so though, the image delivers on many levels: a range of materials used, representation of a living female artist and diversity of body shape.

Alison’s work pushes back against the social norms of the representations of human bodies. By presenting her own body in classical white marble or in mythical angel wings it challenges us all to think about why battered ancient Greek statutes of women with fallen limbs receive unconditional acceptance of beauty and questions why we do not celebrate the diversity of all human bodies in art.

Written by Lisa Hinkins, MA Curating Collections and Heritage student, University of Brighton.