London parks and gardens

Of the South London Parks Battersea is the largest and most westerly, and the best known to people outside its own district. Battersea is entirely new, and has no history as a Park, for before the middle of last century the greater part was nothing but a dismal marsh. The ground had to be raised and entirely made before the planting of it as a park could begin at all. The site was low-lying fields with reeds and swamps near the water, and market-gardens famous for the asparagus, sold as “Battersea bundles,” growing around it. In the eighteenth century three windmills were conspicuous from the river. One ground corn, another the colours, and the third served to grind the white lead for the potteries. This was during the time when Battersea enamel was at its height, and snuff-boxes were being turned out in quantities. On the banks of the river stood a tavern and Tea Garden, known as the Red House for many generations. It was much resorted to, but latterly its reputation was none of the best. Games of all kinds took place in its gardens, and pigeon-shooting was one of the greatest attractions there, during the first half of the nineteenth century. Although for long, crowds enjoyed harmless amusements there—“flounder breakfasts,” and an annual “sucking-pig dinner,” and such-like—towards the end of the time of its existence, it became the centre of such noisy and riotous merrymakings that the grounds of the Red House became notorious. The Sunday fairs, with the attendant evils of races, gambling, and drinking, were crowded, and thousands of the less reputable sections of the community landed every Sunday at the Red House to join in these revellings. It was chiefly with a view to doing away with this state of affairs, that the scheme was set on foot, for absorbing the grounds of the Red House, and other less famous taverns and gardens that had sprung up round it, and forming a Park.

Battersea, or “Patricesy,” as it is written in Domesday, was a manor belonging to the Abbey of Westminster until the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The name is most probably derived from the fact that it was lands of St. Peter’s Abbey “by the water.” Later on it came into the St. John family, and Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, was born and died in Battersea. After his death it was purchased by Earl Spencer, in whose family it remains. Part of the fields were Lammas Lands, for which the parish was duly compensated. The gloomy wildness of the fields gave rise to superstitions, and a haunted house, from which groans proceeded and mysterious lights were seen at night, at one time scared the neighbourhood, and enticed the adventurous. The only historical incident, connected with the fields, is the duel fought there in 1829 between the Duke of Wellington and the Marquess of Winchelsea; the latter having personally attacked the Duke during the debates on the Catholic Emancipation Bill. The Duke aimed his shot through his adversary’s hat, who then fired in the air, and the affair of honour was thus settled. Battersea Fields were approached, in those days, by the old wooden Battersea Bridge which had superseded the ferry; the only means of communication till 1772. The present bridges at either corner of the Park have both been built since the Park was formed.

Like Victoria Park, Battersea was administered with the other Royal Parks, in the first instance. The Act of Parliament giving powers to the “Commissioners of Her Majesty’s Woods” to form the Park was passed in 1846, but so much had to be done to the land, that the actual planting did not begin until 1857. The ground had all to be drained, and raised, and a proper embankment made to keep out the river. Just at this time the Victoria Docks were being excavated, and the earth dug out of them was conveyed to Battersea. Places were left, to form the shallow artificial lake, mounds raised, to make the ground round the water undulating, and the rest of the surface of the Park levelled. Altogether about a million cubic yards of earth were deposited in Battersea Park. The extent is 198 acres, and from the nature of the ground, except the artificial elevations near the lake, it is quite flat. The design was originally made by Sir James Pennethorne, architect of the Office of Works, and the execution of it completed by Mr. Farrow. The chief features, are the artificial water (for the most part supplied by the Thames), and the avenue of elms which traverses the Park from east to west, and cross walks, with a band-stand and drinking-fountain at the converging points. Round the Park runs a carriage drive, and, following a different line, a track for riders—with the usual spaces for games between. The trees are growing up well, so already any bareness has disappeared. The absolute flatness, which makes the open spaces uninteresting, is relieved by the avenue, which will some day be a fine one.

It is an object-lesson to show the advantage of avenues and shady walks, too often ignored by modern park designers, or only carried out in a feeble, half-hearted way. The chief variation in Battersea Park was achieved by John Gibson, the Park Superintendent, who made the sub-tropical garden in 1864. His experience, gained on a botanical mission to India, which he undertook for the Duke of Devonshire, well fitted him for the task. This garden has always been kept up and added to, and specially improved in the Seventies, while the present Lord Redesdale was at the Office of Works.

A sub-tropical garden was quite a novelty when first started here, and caused much interest to horticulturalists and landscape gardeners. The “Sub-tropical Garden,” by W. Robinson, and other writings on the subject, have since made the effects which can be produced familiar to all gardeners; but in 1864 to group hardy plants of a tropical appearance, such as aralias, acanthus, eulalias, bamboos, or fan palms, was a new idea. During the summer, cannas, tobacco, various palms, bananas, and so on, were added to the collection, and caused quite an excitement when they first appeared at Battersea. The garden is still kept up, and looks pretty and cool in summer, and on a cold winter’s day is sheltered and pleasant. But much of the charm and originality of the early planting has been lost, in the present official idea of what sub-tropical gardens should contain, which carries a certain stereotyped stiffness with it.

In 1887 the Park, at the same time as Victoria and Kennington, was given up to the Metropolitan Board of Works, and since then the control has passed to its successor, the London County Council. The gardens are kept up, more or less, as before, with a few additions. An aviary with a restless raven, fat gold and silver pheasants, and contented pigeons, delights the small children, who are as plentiful in Battersea as in all the other London playgrounds. Like the other parks, Saturdays and Sundays are the great days. The games of cricket are played as close together as possible, until to the passer-by the elevens and even the balls seem hopelessly mixed. The ground not devoted to games is thickly strewn with prostrate forms, and certainly, in this, Battersea is by no means singular! In autumn, one of the green-houses, in which the more tender sub-tropical plants are housed is given up to chrysanthemums. This flower is the one of all others for London. It will thrive in the dingiest corners of the town, and display its colours long after the fogs and frosts have deprived the parks and gardens of all other colour. The shows in the East End testify to what can be achieved, even by the poorest, with this friendly plant. Every year at Shoreditch Town Hall the local exhibition takes place, and there are many similar institutions, where monster blooms, grown on roofs or in small back gardens, would compete creditably at a national show. The popularity of the chrysanthemums in Battersea Park is so great, that on a fine Sunday there is a string of people waiting their turn of walking through, stretching for fifty yards at least from the green-house to the entrance to the frame-ground. Certainly the arrangement of the green-house is prettily done. The stages are removed, and a sanded path with a double twist meanders among groups of plants sloping up to the rafters, and a few long, lanky ones trained to arch under the roof. The show is much looked forward to, and the colours and arrangements compared with former years, praised or criticised, such is the eager interest of those who crowd to take their turn for a peep. It is delightful to watch the pleasure on all faces, as a whole family out for their Sunday walk, press in together. It is only one more instance of the joy the London Parks bring to millions of lives.

The world of fashion has only attacked Battersea Park spasmodically. When it was new, and the sub-tropical garden a rarity, people drove out from Mayfair or Belgravia to see it. Again Battersea became the fashion when the cycling craze began. In the summer of 1895 it suddenly became “the thing” to bicycle to breakfast in Battersea Park, and ladies who had never before visited this South London Park flocked there in the early mornings. It was away from the traffic that disturbed the beginner in Hyde or St. James’s Park, and perhaps the daring originality of cycling seemed to demand that conventions should further be violated; and nothing so commonplace as Hyde Park would satisfy the aspirations of the newly-emancipated lady cyclists. What would their ancestors, who had paced the Mall in powder and crinolines, have said to the short-skirted, energetic young or even elderly cyclist? No doubt some of that language which shocks modern ears, used by the heroines in “Sir Charles Grandison,” would have been found equal to the occasion. The great cycling rage is over, and Battersea is again deserted by fair beings, who now prefer to fly further afield in motors, but the Park is just as crowded by those for whose benefit it was really made—the ever-growing population of London south of the river.

Vauxhall Park

Going east from Battersea the next Park is Vauxhall, a small oasis of green in a crowded district. Although only 8 acres in extent, it is a great boon to the neighbourhood, and hundreds of children play there every day. It has been open since 1891, the land, occupied by houses with gardens, having been acquired and the houses demolished, and the little Park is owned and kept up by Lambeth Borough Council.

It has nothing to do with the famous Vauxhall Gardens, to which the rank and fashion of the town flocked for nearly two hundred years; and the country visitor to Vauxhall Park could hardly speak of it in such glowing terms as Farmer Colin to his wife in 1741 of the famous Vauxhall Spring Gardens:—

The site of these Gardens, which covered some twelve acres with groves, avenues, dining-halls, the famous Rotunda and caverns, cascades and pavilions, is now all built over. It lay about as far to the south-east of Vauxhall Bridge as the little Park is to the south-west. In name Vauxhall sounds quaint and un-English. In earlier times it was known as Foxhall, or more correctly Foukeshall, from Foukes de Breant, who married a sister of Archbishop Baldwin in the latter half of the twelfth century.

The land of the present Park was purchased in May 1889.8 Then it was covered by houses standing in their own grounds. The largest of these was Carroun or Caroone House, which had been built by Sir Noel de Caron, who was Ambassador of the Netherlands for thirty-three years, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James I.—the others, a row of eight with gardens, were known as “The Lawn.” In front of them was a long pond, said to have been fed by the Effra River. This stream, which rose in Norwood and flowed into the Thames at Vauxhall, has, like most of the other streams of London, become a sewer, and the pond is no more. In one of these houses (51 South Lambeth Road) Mr. Henry Fawcett resided, and when the houses were pulled down to form the Park his was left, the intention being to make it into some memorial of him. It was found to be too much out of repair to retain, and had to be pulled down. With the sum which the sale of materials from the old house realised, it was proposed to erect a memorial drinking-fountain. This idea bore fruit, as Sir Henry Doulton sold one to the vestry for less than one-third of its value, and moreover gave a further memorial to the courageous blind Postmaster-General of a portrait statue by Tinworth, with appropriate allegorical figures. This fine group recording the connection of Henry Fawcett with the place is the most conspicuous feature of the Park. The trees are growing up, and an abundance of seats and dry walks made it an enjoyable if not beautiful garden. The swings and gymnasiums are numerous and large, but what gives most pleasure is the sand-garden for little children. For hours and hours these small mites are happily occupied digging and making clean mud pies, while their elders sit by and work. It is touching to see the miniature castles and carefully patted puddings at the close of a busy baby’s day. In the summer, when the sand is too dry to bind, some of the infants bring small bottles, which they manage to get filled at the drinking-fountain, and water their little handfuls of sand. These children’s sand-gardens, common in parks in the United States, are a delightful invention for the safe amusement of these small folk, and the delight caused by this one, which was only made in 1905, shows how greatly they are appreciated. Many of the parks and some of the commons now have their “sea-side” or “sand-pit,” and probably not only do they give immense pleasure, but they act as a safety-valve for small mischievous urchins, who otherwise could not resist trespassing on flower-beds.

The grass in this, as in all the parks, has to be enclosed at times, to let it recover, the tramp of many feet. The wattled hurdles which are often used in the London Parks for this purpose, have quite a rustic appearance. They are like those which appear in all the agricultural scenes depicted in fifteenth century MSS. It is much to be hoped that no modern invention in metal will be found to take their place.

Kennington Park

Not very far from Vauxhall, beyond the famous Oval, lies the larger and more pretentious Kennington Park of 19½ acres. This has a long history as Kennington Common. It formed part of the Duchy of Cornwall estates, having been settled by James I. on Prince Henry, and has since belonged to each succeeding Prince of Wales. In still earlier times there was a Royal Palace at Kennington, which fell into decay after Henry VIII.’s reign. Here as on all similar commons, the people had a right of grazing cattle for six months of the year. But the moment it was open to them in the spring such a number of beasts were turned on to the ground, that in a very short time “the herbage” was “devoured, and it remained entirely bare for the rest of the season.”

The Common was a great place for games of all sorts, particularly cricket. When in 1852 it was turned into a Park, and play could not go on to the same extent, by suggestion of the Prince Consort, a piece of land, then market-gardens, was let by the Duchy to the Surrey Cricket Club, which was formed for the purpose of maintaining it. This is the ground that has since gained such notoriety as the Oval, the scene of many a match historical in the annals of cricket. The Common, too, was famous for the masses that collected there to hear Whitfield preach. His congregations numbered from 10,000 to 40,000 persons, and his voice would carry to the “extremest part of the audience.” He notes in his diary, Sunday, May 6, 1731—“At six in the evening went and preached at Kennington; but such a sight I never saw before. Some supposed there were above 30,000 or 40,000 people, and near fourscore coaches, besides great number of horses; and there was such an awful silence amongst them, and the Word of God came with such power, that all seemed pleasingly surprised. I continued my discourse for an hour and a half.” The last time he preached there was a farewell sermon before he went to America in August 1739.

Two other incidents are connected with Kennington Common, neither so pleasant—the scenes of the execution for high treason, with all the attendant horrors, of the “Manchester rebels” after the ’45; and the great Chartist revolutionary meeting under Feargus O’Connor in 1848. The precautions taken by the Duke of Wellington saved the situation, and the 200,000 people who it had been proposed should march to Westminster melted away, and the whole thing was a fiasco.

It was soon after this episode that the Common was converted into a Park. The ground, including all the Common and the site of the Pound, was handed over by the Duchy of Cornwall (by Act of Parliament), to be laid out as “Pleasure grounds for the recreation of the public; but if it cease to be so maintained” to “revert to the Duchy.”

The transformation has been very successful, and the design was suitable and well conceived. The large greens are divided by wide paths shaded by trees, and each section can be closed in turn to preserve the grass. There is a sunk formal garden, bedded out with bright flowers, which show up well on the green turf; and at one end there are shrubberies with twisting walks in the style that is truly characteristic of the English Park, and seems to appeal to so many people. The whole space is not large, but the most is made of it, and both the formal and the “natural” sections have their attractions. At the “natural” end, near the church—which, by the way, was built as a thank-offering after Waterloo—is a handsome granite drinking-fountain, designed by Driver, and presented by Mr. Felix Slade; and in the centre of the Park is a fountain, given by Sir Henry Doulton, with a group of figures by Tinworth, emblematic of “The Pilgrimage of Life.” The Lodge was the model lodging-house erected by the Prince Consort in the Great Exhibition of 1851.

Myatt’s Fields

Myatt’s Fields or Camberwell Park is but a short distance to the south-west of Kennington. This Park of 14½ acres was one of those princely gifts which have been showered on the inhabitants of London. It was presented by Mr. William Minet, in whose family the land has been since 1770. His ancestors were Huguenots who had come to England at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

It was handed over to the newly-formed County Council in 1889, having been previously laid out. The way in which this was done with an avenue, which will some day be one of the great beauties of the neighbourhood, and which is in the meantime a pleasant shady walk, has already been commented on. For its size, Myatt’s Fields is one of the most tasteful of the new parks. Its quaint name is a survival of the time when the ground was a market-garden leased by a certain Myatt from 1818–69. The excellent qualities of the strawberries and rhubarb raised there, gave the Fields such a good reputation in the district, and the name became so familiar, that it was retained for the Park.

Camberwell Green is a distinct place, not far distant, and is noticed among the village greens of London.

Ruskin Park

Ruskin Park, the newest of all the parks, is not very far from Camberwell, and has been formed of a cluster of houses, with grounds of their own, on Denmark Hill, known as the Sanders’ Estate. The name, which has an “Art Nouveau” sound about it, and raises an expectation of something beautiful, was given to it because John Ruskin for many years lived in the neighbourhood. From 1823, when he was four, to 1843, his home was 28 Herne Hill, and there he wrote “Modern Painters.” From then until 1871 he lived even nearer the present Park, at 163 Denmark Hill. Describing the house, Ruskin wrote of it: “It stood in command of seven acres of healthy ground ... half of it meadow sloping to the sunrise, the rest prudently and pleasantly divided into an upper and lower kitchen-garden; a fruitful bit of orchard, and chance inlets and outlets of wood walk, opening to the sunny path by the field, which was gladdened on its other side in springtime by flushes of almond and double peach blossom.” Such might have been the description of the houses and grounds now turned into a park. Some of the lines of the villa gardens have been retained, and some wise and necessary additions and changes have been made to bring the whole together; but even the inspiration of Ruskin has not kept out the inevitable edges and backbones of uninteresting evergreens. Some of the green-houses have been kept, but six dwellings have been demolished, and one of the two retained will be used as a refreshment room. The outside wall of the garden front of one, covered with wistaria, has been left, facing its own little terrace and lawn and cedars, and soon after the opening, in February 1907, many people found it was possible to get sun and shelter and enjoy the prospect from the seats in front of the ruined drawing-room windows. The dividing wall of two houses has been cleverly turned into what will be a charming pergola, and below, the ground has been levelled to form a bowling-green. The terraces and steps from one level to another are a pleasing feature in the design. The ground is not yet finished, and it is greatly to be hoped that the usual clumps of evergreens will not be multiplied, but Ruskin’s description borne in mind, and let there be almonds and double peaches to gladden the spring, and not drooping, smutty evergreens, or “ever blacks,” as they might be more fittingly called, to jar on the picture of fresh young growth. The pond, a stiff oval, has had to have the necessary iron railings, and the trees near it have been substantially barricaded with rustic seats—a most important addition. The avenue of chestnuts which crosses the open part of the ground has been left; and there are other good young trees growing up, and a fine old ilex and mulberry. There is already a question of adding a further 12 acres to this Park, which is 24 acres at present, but the scheme is still under consideration.

Brockwell Park

Those who want a change, from the roar and bustle of streets, can attain their object very quickly by the expenditure of a few pence and fifteen minutes in the train. Getting out at Herne Hill Station, in a few seconds the gates of Brockwell Park are reached. The old trees and undulating ground are all that could be desired, but the chief attraction, and the object that well repays a visit, is the old walled garden. It is a high brick enclosure, with fine old trees peeping above, and festoons of climbing plants brightening the dull red walls. The narrow paths, running in straight lines round and across, are here and there, spanned by rustic arches covered with roses, or clematis, or gourds, from which hang glowing orange fruit in autumn. In the centre of the garden a small fountain plays on to moss-grown stones, and on a hot summer’s day the seats, shaded by the luxuriant Traveller’s Joy, make a cool resting-place, though not so sequestered as the arbours in the angles of the wall, darkened by other climbers. The rest of the garden is a delightful tangle of herbaceous plants. All the old favourites are there, and a small notice near the entrance announces to those in search of knowledge that the garden contains all herbs and garden plants mentioned in Shakespeare’s works. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and the unwary might not realise that the flowers of Shakespeare’s time, although undoubtedly there, only form a small portion of the whole display. The board is literally true, but visitors are apt to go away with the idea that brilliant dahlias, and gaudy calceolarias, or even the most modern introduction, Kochia tricophila, were friends of Shakespeare’s! A large number of the plants, however, are truly of the Elizabethan age, that golden time of progress in gardening as well as of other arts, when spirited courtiers and hardened old sailors alike scoured the seas and brought strange plants from new lands. Many of these now familiar treasures from east and west flourish in this little enclosure, and recall the romantic days of the sixteenth century: the Marvel of Peru—the very name tells the delight that heralded its arrival from the West—the quaint Egg-plant (Solanum ovigerum) brought from Africa, and the bright-seeded Capsicums from India. Even the bush, with its wealth of white or purple flowers, the Hibiscus Syriacus, was known in those days, though not by that name. Gerard, in describing it, says it was a stranger to England; “notwithstanding, I have sowen some seedes of them in my garden, expecting successe.” That delightful confidence, which is the great characteristic of all these old gardeners, was not abused, apparently, in this case, for two years later, in the catalogue of plants in his garden, 1599, this great tree mallow was flourishing. Many of the gourds, which are grown to great advantage in this little garden, were also known at an early date. Gerard says of them, “they joy in a fruitful soil, and are common in England.” Were it not for the conspicuous little notice-board, no fault could be found with the selection of plants which, from early spring till late autumn, brighten this romantic little garden. The Solanum jasminoides is none the less graceful because it has only found a home in sheltered corners in England, for the last seventy years. Cobæa scandens, which festoons very charmingly some of the arches, is certainly an old friend, having been over a hundred years in this country; but it is a new-comer when compared with the Passion Flower growing in profusion near it, and even that did not appear until after Shakespeare’s death. It was unknown to Gerard, but his editor, Thomas Johnson, illustrates it in the appendix to the edition of 1633. It had then arrived from America, “whence it hath been brought into our English gardens, where it growes very well, but floures only in some few places, and in hot and seasonable yeares: it is in good plenty growing with Mistresse Tuggy at Westminster, where I have some years seene it beare a great many floures.” Mistress Tuggy and her friend would have rejoiced at the sight of the house in the centre of Brockwell Park on a warm October day, thickly covered with the golden fruit as well as star-like flowers of their precious “Maracoc or Passion-floure.”

This delightful walled garden was the old kitchen-garden. Luckily, the fashion for the gardens of a past generation was growing at the time the Park was purchased, and the London County Council must be congratulated on the good taste displayed in dealing with it. The history of the acquisition of the ground is soon told. The desire for a park in this neighbourhood led those interested to try and arrange to buy Raleigh House in the Brixton Road, with some 10 acres of land, for about £40,000. Having got an Act of Parliament to allow this, Brockwell Park came into the market with a ready-made park of 78 acres. The Act of 1888 was repealed, and eventually a sum of nearly £120,000 was spent on the purchase of Brockwell, which was opened to the public in 1892. Near the entrance gates, close to Herne Hill Railway Station, a drinking-fountain, with a graceful figure of “Perseverance” and portrait bust, has been erected to Mr. Thomas Lynn Bristowe, M.P. for Norwood, who was chiefly instrumental in obtaining the Park, and whose death occurred with tragic suddenness at the opening ceremony. It is quite a steep hill up to the house, which is of no great antiquity or beauty, having been built at the beginning of last century, when the older manor-house was pulled down, by Mr. Blades, the ancestor of the last owner. The view on all sides is extensive, and the timber is fine. There are good old oaks, as well as elms and limes; and it is satisfactory to see that, in the recent planting, limes have been given a place, and not only the overdone plane. As a contrast to the delightful formal garden, some pretty wild grouping has been carried out beside the artificial water. This series of ponds are an addition to the Park as originally purchased. It now measures 84 acres, and the extra piece contained water, which has been enlarged into a big bathing-pool and a so-called “Japanese garden.” These ponds are well arranged; and although there are various kinds of ducks and geese and black swans, and concrete edges and wire netting are inevitable, they are not so aggressive as in many parks. In places tall plants have been put in behind the railings and allowed to hang over, to break the undue stiffness. In the late autumn purple Michaelmas daisies nearly touched the water, and the red berries of the Pyracantha overhung the ducks without apparent disagreement.

The opening of Brockwell as a public Park has had the effect of banishing most of the rooks. There was a large rookery, but year by year the nests decrease. In 1896 there were thirty-five nests, the next year twenty, while in 1898 there were only eight or ten. Thus every season they are getting fewer, but still, in the spring of 1907, one pair of rooks were bold enough to build.

Dulwich Park

Dulwich Park is not very far from Brockwell, but its surroundings are more open. A few of the roads near it have some feeling of the country left. The houses that are springing up are of a cheerful villa type, and have nothing of the monotony and dulness of most of the suburbs. Fine old trees grow along many of the roads. The chestnuts, for instance, in Half Moon Lane between Herne Hill and Dulwich are charming, and also on the further side of the Park, where the celebrated inn, the “Green Man,” was situated, there is a rural aspect and a delightful walk between trees. It was within the grounds of the “Green Man” that the Wells of chalybeate water were situated. The Wells had been discovered in the reign of Charles II., and the water sold in London, but the “Green Man” did not become a popular resort until after 1739. A story connected with this popular spa is recorded in the “Percy Anecdotes” in 1823. A well-known literary man was invited to dinner there, and wished to be directed. However, he inquired vainly for the “Dull Man at Greenwich,” instead of the “Green Man at Dulwich.” One of the entrances to the Park is close to the site of the once famous Wells. The Park itself, which covers 72 acres, was the munificent gift of Dulwich College. The gift was confirmed by an Act of Parliament in 1885, and the Park opened to the public in 1890. The College was founded by Edward Alleyn in 1614, who called it “The College of God’s Gift.” Originally, there were besides the Master, Warden, and four Fellows, six poor brethren and six sisters, and thirty out-members. The value of the property has so enormously increased that the number of scholars has been very greatly added to, and now hundreds of boys, some quite free, and some for a very low fee, obtain a sound commercial education. The founder was a friend of Shakespeare, and one of the best actors of his plays in the poet’s lifetime. His early biographers go out of their way to refute the alleged reason of his founding “God’s Gift College,” namely, that when on one occasion he was personating the devil, the original appeared, and so frightened him that he gave up the stage to devote himself to good works. Were this story true, the vision was certainly well timed, and has produced unexpected and far-reaching results. The educational work, the picture gallery, and the well laid out estate of Dulwich Manor, including the large public Park, are all the direct result!

There are a few fine old trees in the Park, particularly a row of gnarled oaks near the lake. This is a small sheet of water on the side nearest the College. The carriage road, which encircles the Park, crosses by a stone bridge the trickling stream, formed by the overflow from the lake. On the south-east side of the Park there are but few trees, but large masses of rhododendrons and azaleas have been planted, which make a brilliant show in the summer. The most distinctive feature is the rock gardening. There is a very large collection of Alpine and rock plants, which are growing extremely well and covering the stones with delicious soft green cushions, which turn to pink, yellow, white, and purple, as the season advances. Even in the cold, early spring, snowdrops, and the pretty little Chionodoxa, the “Glory of the Snow,” begin to peep out amongst the rocks, and these are the harbingers of a succession of bloom, through the spring and summer months. On either side of one of the entrances, a long and pleasing line of this rock-work extends, but the plants for the most part are grown on mounds like rocky islands rising up from a sea of gravel. There are several of these isolated patches in the middle of the carriage drive. It is certainly fortunate, for those who only drive round the Park, thus to have a full view of the charming rock plants; but to compare such a display to the rock garden at Kew is misleading. There may be nearly as many plants at Dulwich as at Kew, but the arrangement of that charming little retired valley at Kew is so infinitely superior that the comparison is unjustified. The small stream which leaves the lake, and other places in the Park, offer, just as good a foundation for a really effective rock garden as the one at Kew. Such an arrangement would give a much better idea of the plants, in their own homes, than the islands in the roadway, that must suffer from dust, besides looking stiff and unnatural. It is, however, delightful to see how well these plants are thriving. This is hardly astonishing, as it is not in a crowded, smoky district, but in one of the most favoured of suburbs. Dulwich Park adds greatly to the advantages of the neighbourhood: it has not hitherto been crowded, and is by no means a playground of the poorest classes, but now the advent of electric trams and rapid communication may somewhat lessen its exclusiveness.

Horniman Gardens

There are gardens of a very different character round the Horniman Museum, not far distant. This collection, as well as the 9¼ acres of ground adjoining it on Forest Hill, were the gift of the late Mr. J. F. Horniman, M.P., and the garden, kept up by the London County Council, was opened in June 1901. The situation is extremely attractive. A steep walk up an avenue from London Road, Forest Hill, near Lordship Lane Station, leads to a villa standing in its own grounds, which is utilised for refreshment rooms and caretaker’s house, &c. The lawns descend steeply on three sides, and on the western slope there is a wide terrace, with a row of gnarled pollard oaks. From this walk there is a wide and beautiful view, over the hills and parks, chimney-pots and steeples of South London, with the lawns and pond of Horniman Gardens in front. On this terrace a shelter and band-stand have been put up, and no more favoured spot for enjoying the open-air town life, so common on the Continent, but until lately so rare in England, can well be imagined. The country round is still fairly open, between Forest Hill and Brixton. Near the foot of Horniman Gardens lies Dulwich Park, with the shady path known as “Cox’s Walk,” from the proprietor of the “Green Man,” and the roads lined with trees connect Dulwich with Brockwell Park, Herne Hill, so that this corner of London is well supplied with trees.

Deptford Park

Deptford Park is a complete contrast to the semi-rural Dulwich. It is in one of the most densely-populated and poor districts, where it is greatly needed, and has been open since 1897. The site was market-gardens, and was sold by the owner, Mr. Evelyn, below its value, to benefit the neighbourhood. It is merely a square, flat, open space of 17 acres, with only a few young trees planted round the outskirts. Near the principal entrance in Lower Road, the approach is by a short walk between two walls. Along either side of the pathway, and for some little distance to the right and left, after the open space is reached, a nice border of herbaceous plants has been made along the wall, and a few beds placed in the grass on either side, and ornamental trees planted. Thus the entrance to this wide playground is made cheerful and attractive, and a pleasant contrast to the grimy streets outside.

Telegraph Hill

Between these two extremes lies a small Park known as Telegraph Hill. It is only 9½ acres, and is cut in two by a road, but it is very varied in surface. The origin of its name is from its having been a station for a kind of telegraphy that was invented before the electric telegraph had been discovered. Two brothers Chappé invented the system, and were so successful in telegraphing the news of a victory in 1793, that their plan was adopted in France, and soon throughout Europe. In Russia a large sum was expended in establishing a line of communication between the German frontier and St. Petersburg; but so slow was the building that the stations were hardly at work before they were superseded by electricity. The signals were made by opening and shutting six shutters, arranged on two frames on the roofs of a small house, and by various combinations sixty-three signals could be formed. The Admiralty established the English line, of this form of telegraphy between Dover and London in 1795, and the first public news of the battle of Waterloo actually reached London by means of the one on “Telegraph Hill.” The place was well chosen, for even now, all surrounded by houses, the hill is so steep and conical, that a very extensive view is still obtained. The site of the semaphore station is now a level green for lawn tennis. On the other side of the roadway, the descent is steep into the valley, and there are two small ponds at the bottom. The cliffs are covered with turf, interspersed by the usual meaningless clumps of bushes, and a few nice trees.

Southwark Park

Southwark Park lies far away from Southwark, beyond Bermondsey, in Rotherhithe. It was in the parliamentary borough of Southwark, hence the misleading name. The Park is a gloomy enough place when compared with the more distant or West End Parks, but a perfect paradise in this crowded district. Between its creation in 1864 and its completion in 1869, a great reformation was worked in the district. Close to the docks, and intersected by streams and canals, with the poorest kind of rickety houses so vividly described by Dickens in “Oliver Twist,” the surroundings were among the most dismal imaginable. The actual site of the Park was partly market-gardens, which had for long been established in this locality owing to the fertility of the alluvial soil. Vines were grown here for wine with success in the first half of the eighteenth century, when there was a revival in grape-growing, and vineyards were planted at Hoxton and elsewhere. Over 100 gallons of wine were made in a year in Rotherhithe. Some of the earth excavated from the Thames Tunnel was put on the ground covered by the Park before the laying out commenced. When the land, 65 acres, was bought, only 45 were to be kept for the Park, and the rest were reserved for building. But when the day of building arrived there was such an outcry that the whole plan was remodelled, the drives which encircled it done away with, and tar-paved paths substituted, only one driving road crossing it being left, and the ponds added. It is more the want of design, than any special style, that is conspicuous, and a good deal more could have been done to make the Park less gloomy. An avenue is growing up, but it will never have the charming effect of the one across Battersea, as the line is neither straight nor a definite curve. The wild fowl on the pond are such an attraction, that perhaps it may be that the wire netting and asphalt edges they apparently require are not drawbacks, but they are not beautiful. The gateway into the Park, near Deptford Station, has rather the grim look of a prison, and yet, with the forest of masts behind, all it requires is a climbing plant or two to make a picture. On the opposite end of the Park runs Jamaica Road, which perpetuates the name of a well-known Tea Garden, Jamaica House. Pepys records a visit there, on a Sunday in April 1667. “Took out my wife, and the two Mercers, and two of our maids, Barker and Jane, and over the water to Jamaica House, where I never was before, and there the girls did run for wagers over the bowling-green; and there, with much pleasure, spent little and so home.” Pepys’ home in Seething Lane near the Tower would be an easy distance from the Tea Gardens of Redriff, as Rotherhithe was called then, and in the days when Swift made Gulliver live there. There were other well-known Tea Gardens near, the “Cherry Garden,” “Half-way House,” and at a much later date “St. Helena’s Gardens,” which were only closed in 1881. The disappearance of all the Tea Gardens and open spaces made the necessity of a Park very obvious, and it was to meet this want that Southwark Park was made.

Maryon Park

There is one more small Park to complete the line of South London Parks, for which the public is indebted to Sir Spencer Maryon-Wilson, the lord of the manor of Charlton, in which parish it is situated. It lies between Greenwich and Woolwich, and the South-Eastern Railway skirts the northern side. The ground was chiefly large gravel pits, and has a hill in the middle partly caused by the excavations. This hill has some pretty brushwood still growing on its slope, showing it was once joined to Hanging Wood, a well-known hiding-place of highwaymen. It was conveniently thick, and there are many tales of pursuit from Blackheath which ended by losing the thieves in Hanging Wood. The hill in the Park is locally known as Cox’s Mount, having been rented by an inhabitant of that name in 1838, who built a summer-house there and planted poplars. The area of the Park is about 12 acres, and except for one or two trees on the Mount and patches of brushwood, it is open grass. The boys on the Warspite training ship anchored near are allowed to play cricket there, provision for this having been made by the generous donor of the Park in the deed of gift to the London County Council in 1891.

Quite outside these crowded districts, yet within the County of London, lie three more Parks maintained by the County Council. The one nearest the heart of London is Manor Park, or Manor House Gardens, between the High Road, Lee, and Hither Green Station, opened in 1902. There are 8¾ acres here attached to the Lee Manor House, a substantial building in the Adams style, now used as the Public Library. The Gardens slope gently away from the house to a large pond—or lake as the Council would prefer to call it—and beyond to a rapid little stream, the Quaggy, a tributary of the Ravensbourne. Beyond the Quaggy’s steep banks, well protected by spiked railings, is a flat green devoted to games. The chief beauty of this little Park is four magnificent old elms and a few other good trees—beech, chestnut, Robinia speudo acacia, &c. In the spring of 1907 the pond was in process of cleaning, so no rooks had ventured to build within the Park, but just at the gates a large elm in a small garden had been favoured by these capricious birds, and their hoarse voices were making a deliciously countrified sound.

The other London County Council Parks are in what is still nearly open country, although rows of villas are being rather rapidly reared in the district. Eltham is one of these. It is at present not enclosed with massive iron railings, but the wide, flat stretch of smooth turf, studded with patriarchal trees, is left untouched, except that a few spaces have been levelled for games. This Park of 41 acres was bought in 1902, the Borough of Woolwich paying half the cost of purchase—£9600—with the Council.

Still further into the country is Avery Hill, with the large house and grounds, extending over 84 acres, built and laid out by Colonel J. T. North. The London County Council were offered this estate in 1902, if purchased within a certain limit of time, for £25,000. Usually the Council, in making a purchase, have ascertained beforehand what contributions the local Boroughs were prepared to subscribe towards the total cost, but, on this occasion, the Boroughs were invited to share the expense after the purchase had been made, with the result that all those concerned—Camberwell, Lewisham, Greenwich, Deptford, and Woolwich—refused; so the whole of the purchase and upkeep devolved on the London County Council. The large mansion is now used as a teachers’ training college for girls, but the greater part of the grounds, and the immense winter gardens are open to the public. It is still so far from the centres of population that the public who make use of these spacious gardens is very limited. The nearest railway station, New Eltham, is three-quarters of a mile distant from the Park, and half-an-hour or more by train from Charing Cross. Although it is now so far into the country, and some people would deprecate the purchase, it is only fair to remember that most of the crowded districts were also country not long ago, and that when land is dear and houses being built is not a favourable moment to purchase. As a rule it is want of foresight that is the complaint, and not excess of zeal, as in this case. The garden is made use of to furnish supplies of plants to some of the smaller parks, and a portion is being reserved for growing specimens for demonstration in the Council Schools. On the west side of the house there are three terraced gardens, prettily planted with roses and fruit-trees. In front of the house a sloping lawn, with a few large beds, touches the park-like meadows studded with trees. Sheep feeding with their tinkling bells gives a rural appearance. To the large, modern, very red brick house is attached a huge winter garden. This is on a very large scale, with lofty palms, date, dom, and cocoa-nut growing with tropical luxuriance in the central house, with a large camellia house on one side and a fernery with rock-work, pools, and goldfish on the other. All this requires a good deal of keeping up—nearly £3000 a year—and although it has been open now some five years, it has been enjoyed by few. It is greatly to be hoped that it has a much-appreciated future before it.

Such is a slight sketch of some of London’s Parks. No doubt there is much that could be changed for the better, both in design and planting: less sameness and meaningless formality without true lines of beauty in design would be an improvement. In planting, there might be more variety of British trees—alder, oak, ash, and hawthorn; and a wider range of foreign ones—limes, American or Turkey oaks, and many others; more climbing plants, such as Virginian creepers, more simple herbaceous borders and fewer clumps of unattractive bushes, and more lilacs, laburnums, thorns, almonds, cherries, and medlars in groups on the grass. If greater originality was displayed and a thorough knowledge of horticulture were shown, especially by the authorities that supervise the largest number of these parks, many improvements in existing ones could be easily achieved, and in forming new parks the same idea need not be so rigidly followed. But, in spite of small defects, the Parks as a whole are extremely beautiful, and Londoners may well be proud of them.