And shall see the fine sights which that village adorn.”
There is a Round Bush (beer-shop) at Purleigh. At Havering there is an Orange Tree, and in the *Cattle Market at Braintree there is another house with the same name. The latter has been in existence for at least forty years. At Chelmsford, too, near the New London Road, there is a beer-shop known as the Orange Tree. Inquiry has shown that the house was built some years ago by a woman who had saved sufficient money for the purpose out of dealing in oranges. She named her beer-shop the Orange Tree, a name which it has since retained, though it has long since passed out of her hands. There are Walnut Trees at Little Horkesley and Great Waltham (beer-house). In 1662 there was another house of the same name at “Mile-end Green” (probably Mill Green, Writtle, or Mile End Green, Great Easton), as mentioned in the Account of the Murder of Thomas Kidderminster, already referred to (p. 56). There is some doubt as to whether or not the sign of the Oak, which occurs three times, namely, at Halstead, Messing, and Great Saling, and that of the Old Oak, which occurs at Romford, ought to be included in this catalogue. These signs may be, and probably are, identical with that of the Royal Oak, which occurs eighteen times in different parts of the county, and of course commemorates the incident of King Charles II. hiding in an oak tree, though it is certainly strange that this comparatively trivial incident should have continued to be so long and so frequently commemorated. It is also a very common beer-house sign. The Oak, too, is put to the same use at Braintree. The following very unpoetical production, by H. Jopson, the landlord, is displayed in the tap-room of the Royal Oak at Saffron Walden:
I lose my money, likewise my custom;
Though chalk is cheap, say what you will,
Chalk won’t pay the brewer’s bill;
So I must try to keep a decent tap,
For ready-money and no strap.”
The Theydon Oak at Theydon Garnon until last year bore upon one side of its sign-board a very good representation of the fine old oak from which it takes its name, and close to which it stands. The King’s Oak at High Beech is a sign which is probably quite distinct from the Royal Oak. The author of Nooks and Corners in Essex says that the house takes its name “from an old stump near thereto, formerly called Harold’s Oak.” This, however, is probably an error, as the large old oak which stands on the green before the house has long been known as the “King’s Oak.” Local tradition says that Henry VIII., while hunting in the forest on the day on which Ann Boleyn was beheaded, rested under this tree while waiting to hear the gun, fired from the Tower, which announced the death of the Queen. Other localities also claim the oak under which the king listened, but this is as likely as any other to be the right one. The King’s Oak is marked on Cary’s Map of Fifteen Miles round London (1786), and also on Andrew and Drury’s Map of Essex (1777). There was formerly an Oaks in Stifford. It now serves as three cottages, standing opposite the school. At it, in the beginning of last century, the churchwardens treated themselves to costly dinners. In 1712, for instance, the records in the parish chest inform us that the “vestory stood adjourned” to the Oaks. A Tree occurs upon the farthing token of “W. Spiltimber of Hatfild Broad Oake,” doubtless in allusion both to the name of the issuer and to the old oak, commonly called the “Doodle Oak,” from which the village takes its name. At the same place a beer-house is still known as the Doodle Oak.
A public-house on Shenfield Common has, for at least forty years, borne the sign of the Artichoke. This is one of the very last productions of the vegetable kingdom which one would expect to find represented upon a sign-board; but Larwood and Hotten, who think it originally found a place there when first introduced, say that “it used to be a great favourite, and still gives name to some public-houses.” Another very extraordinary sign, unnoticed in the History of Sign-boards, is the Cauliflower, which appears at Great Ilford. Unless due merely to a landlord’s caprice, it is difficult to suggest any possible origin for it. The present landlord, in whose family the house has been for 120 years, can give no information about the matter, further than that the existing house was built forty-eight years ago, the old inn having been pulled down to make room for the railway. There is also a beer-house so called at Rainham. Of the Bush, which, according to Larwood and Hotten (p. 4), “must certainly be counted amongst the most ancient and popular of signs,” Essex does not appear to have a single example. The same authorities elsewhere (p. 233) declare it to be “the oldest sign borrowed from the vegetable kingdom,” and state that it came originally from the Romans, together with the common saying, “Good wine needs no bush.” As late as the reign of James I. many inns used it as their sign. At Bardfield, and probably other towns in the county, houses specially licensed for the sale of liquor at fair time still fasten branches of oak and other trees to their fronts as a sign, a custom which is not unknown in other parts of the country. It is without doubt a modern form of the ancient sign of the Bush. It appears, too, in every way probable that the curious besom-like ornaments so often to be seen upon the ends of old sign-irons are also conventional representations of the same venerable device. Examples are to be seen in the drawings of the sign-irons of the Six Bells at Dunmow (p. 168), and the Sugar Loaves at Sible Hedingham (p. 39). At Theydon Garnon there is a beer-house called the Garnon Bushes, so named doubtless after a part of Epping Forest, which goes by that name. At Hornchurch there is a beer-shop known as the Furze, probable a unique sign. The Tulip at Springfield appears to be also unique. Possibly the landlord who adopted the sign was a cultivator of tulips.
The Barley Mow, meaning a barley stack, is an ancient sign which still occurs at Stanstead and at *Colchester. Doubtless it was first put up as a sign in honour of John Barleycorn, just as the Vine, which occurs at Great Bardfield and Black Notley (beer-house), and the Grapes, which occurs at Colchester (the latter being still the recognized sign of a vintner), both undoubtedly found a place on the sign-board because they helped to supply the wherewithal for the worship of Bacchus. Forty years since there was another Vine Inn at Thaxted. The Hop-pole, which is a sign occurring at Good Easter, and the Hop-poles, which is another occurring at Great Hallingbury, both obviously found their place on the sign-board for the same reason. There are also beer-houses with the sign of the Hop-poles at Little Hallingbury and Roydon, although the cultivation of hops has now ceased at those places. Hop-growing once flourished extensively in Essex, and these two signs are relics of the now almost relinquished industry. At the beginning of this century they were grown at the Hedinghams, the Maplesteads, the Colnes, Halstead, Wethersfield, Finchingfield, Great Bardfield, and Shalford, as well as at Moulsham, Good Easter, Roxwell, Chignal St. James, and other places round Chelmsford. Fifty years earlier the cultivation of hops in the county was spread over a wider area, though the number of acres grown was about the same. At the present time the cultivation is all but discontinued. Until the year 1883 there was a hop-ground adjoining Skreen’s Park, Roxwell, but it is now devoted to other purposes. Round the Hedinghams, however, hops are still grown, their cultivation having been introduced by a former Mr. Majendie in 1792. Daniel Defoe says, in his Tour through Great Britain, that in 1724, hops were brought direct from Chelmsford for sale at the great Stourbridge Hop Fair.
The description of the Maypole at Chigwell, given by Dickens in Barnaby Rudge, will occur to every one. It runs as follows:—
“In the year 1775, there stood upon the Borders of Epping Forest, at a distance of about twelve miles from London—measuring from the standard in Cornhill, or rather from the spot on or near to which the standard used to be in days of yore—a house of public entertainment called the Maypole; which fact was demonstrated to all such travellers as could neither read nor write (and sixty-six years ago a vast number, both of travellers and stay-at-homes, were in this condition) by the emblem reared on the roadside over against the house, which, if not of those goodly proportions that maypoles were wont to present in olden times, was a fair young ash, thirty feet in height, and as straight as any arrow that ever English yeoman drew.
“The Maypole—by which term henceforth is meant the house and not its sign—the Maypole was an old building, with more gable ends than a lazy man would care to count on a sunny day; huge zig-zag chimneys, out of which it seemed as though even smoke could not choose but come in more than naturally fantastic shapes, imparted to it in its tortuous progress; and vast stables, gloomy, ruinous, and empty. The place was said to have been built in the days of King Henry the Eighth; and there was a legend not only that Queen Elizabeth had slept there one night while upon a hunting excursion, to wit in a certain oak panelled room with a deep bay-window, but that next morning, while standing on a mounting-block before the door with one foot in the stirrup, the virgin monarch had then and there boxed and cuffed an unlucky page for some neglect of duty. The matter-of-fact and doubtful folks, of whom there were a few among the Maypole customers, as unluckily there always are in every little community, were inclined to look upon this tradition as rather apocryphal; but, whenever the landlord of that ancient hostelry appealed to the mounting-block itself as evidence, and triumphantly pointed out that there it stood in the same place to that very day, the doubters never failed to be put down by a large majority, and all true believers exulted, as in a victory.
“Whether these, and many other stories of the like nature, were true or untrue, the Maypole was really an old house, a very old house, perhaps as old as it claimed to be, and perhaps older, which will sometimes happen with houses of an uncertain, as with ladies of a certain, age. Its windows were all diamond-pane lattices, its floors were sunken and uneven, its ceilings blackened by the hand of time and heavy with massive beams. Over the doorway was an ancient porch, quaintly and grotesquely carved; and here on summer evenings the more favoured customers smoked and drank—ay, and sang many a good song too, sometimes—reposing on two grim-looking high-backed settles, which, like the twin dragons of some fairy tale, guarded the entrance to the mansion.
“In the chimneys of the disused rooms, swallows had built their nests for many a long year, and from earliest spring to latest autumn whole colonies of sparrows chirped and twittered in the eaves. There were more pigeons about the dreary stable-yard and outbuildings than anybody but the landlord could reckon up. The wheeling and circling flights of runts, fantails, tumblers, and pouters, were perhaps not quite consistent with the grave and sober character of the building, but the monotonous cooing, which never ceased to be raised by some among them all day long, suited it exactly, and seemed to lull it to rest. With its overhanging storys, drowsy little panes of glass, and front bulging out and projecting over the pathway, the old house looked as if it were nodding in its sleep. Indeed it needed no very great stretch of fancy to detect in it other resemblances to humanity. The bricks of which it was built had originally been a deep dark red, but had grown yellow and discoloured like an old man’s skin; the sturdy timbers had decayed like teeth; and here and there the ivy, like a warm garment to comfort it in its age, wrapped its green leaves closely round the time-worn walls.
“It was a hale and hearty age, though, still; and in the summer or autumn evenings, when the glow of the setting sun fell upon the oak and chestnut trees of the adjacent forest, the old house, partaking of its lustre, seemed their fit companion, and to have many good years of life in him yet.”
The house indicated in the foregoing description still stands, much as it was in the days of which Dickens wrote. It is, however, not the Maypole at Chigwell. Dickens, to suit the purposes of his tale, made free use of that license usually allowed to poets and writers of fiction. His description, as above, gives a very fair idea of the fine old hostelry known as the King’s Head, situate opposite the church in the village of Chigwell, where it has displayed the same sign since 1789 at least. It was in what has since been known as the “Chester Room” in this house, that a portion, at least, of Barnaby Rudge was penned. On the sign-board swinging over the door, there is a large portrait of King Charles I., painted some years ago by Miss Herring. At Chigwell Row, about two miles distant, there is a Maypole Inn, with a maypole still before the door, and on the site which Dickens indicates; but the foregoing description is (as has been said) that of the King’s Head. The present Maypole is an inn of no special pretensions, and is not the same house that displayed the sign at least as early as 1789. A writer in Notes and Queries,[84] says that the following was formerly to be seen on the sign:—
My measure’s just,
Excuse me, sirs,
I cannot trust.”
Over the fireplace was seen these lines:—
Before the fire,
I pray sit down.
It’s my desire
That other folks
As well as you
May see the fire
And feel it too.”
An inscription upon the stable-door ran as follows:—
Shall forfeit sixpense to spend in beer.
Your pipes lay by when you come here,
Or fire to me may prove severe.”
The only other sign of the kind now to be seen in Essex is the Old Maypole at Barkingside. Andrews and Drury’s Map of Essex, however, published in 1777, shows houses with this sign then existing at Chigwell, Barking, and Collier’s Row. A writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine, speaking of Maypoles, says, “The last in London was taken down in 1717, and removed to Wanstead in Essex. It was more than 100 feet high, and stood on the east side of Somerset House.” The custom of celebrating Mayday has now almost died out in the county, except at Saffron Walden, where, every “Garland Day,” it is customary to see the High Street of the town crowded during the morning with children, each bearing a “garland” more or less tastefully arranged upon a hoop, or in some other way. They diligently visit all the houses asking for coppers, which are generally given with liberality. The Wheatsheaf, as already stated (p. 33), appears as a sign no less than seven times in Essex. Wheatsheaves form charges on the arms of at least three of the great Trade Companies, namely, the Brewers’ (p. 32), the Bakers’ (p. 33), and the Inn-holders’.[85] Although the sign of the Bakers’ Arms now only occurs once in Essex, two tokens issued in Chelmsford, one issued in Braintree, and several issued in Colchester, bear the arms of the Bakers’ Company; and as there are now houses displaying the sign of the Wheatsheaf in each of those places, and all of them have existed for at least forty years, it is quite possible that they are the same establishments kept, two centuries ago, by the issuers of the tokens. As a beer-house sign, too, the Wheatsheaf is still common.
The Crown and Thistle, which occurs at Great Chesterford, is a rather uncommon sign. It, of course, represents the royal badge of Scotland, a thistle, imperially crowned.
Few will be surprised to learn that the Rose is very common as a sign. A rose imperially crowned is now the national badge of England; white and red roses formed the cognizances of the rival factions of York and Lancaster in the “Wars of the Roses;” the same flower, under different forms, served as the badge of nearly all the English sovereigns from Edward I. to Anne; and it is one of the very commonest “vegetable” charges known in Heraldry. The fact that, while the sign of a simple Rose occurs only three times in Essex, namely, at Southchurch, Peldon, and West Mersea, the Rose and Crown occurs as many as twenty-five times, clearly shows the heraldic origin of the sign, most of our kings and queens having worn the rose crowned. The Rose and the Thistle combined together in a very absurd heraldic style, and crowned, were used as a badge by James I. to typify the union of the two kingdoms of England and Scotland. On the beautiful chapel of Henry VII. at Cambridge the rose and crown are repeated innumerable times, together with the king’s other badges, a portcullis and a fleur-de-lys, both of them crowned. A rose crowned also appears on the token of “Iohn Freeherne iunior, in Witham, 1667.” The authors of the History of Sign-boards say (p. 124): “Hutton, in his Battle of Bosworth, says that ‘upon the death of Richard III., and consequent overthrow of the York Faction, all the sign-boards with white roses were pulled down, and none are to be found at the present day.’ This last part of the statement, we believe, is true.” The rose in the sign of the Rose and Crown at Thaxted is, nevertheless, painted white, though this is certainly unusual. On Cary’s and other old maps of Essex, published about a century ago, may be seen marked two houses, presumably inns, known as the White Rose and the Red Rose, situated near one another on the edge of Epping Forest. Neither of these signs appear in Essex at the present day, nor do Larwood and Hotten mention them. There is also a White Rose in Castle Street, Leicester Square, London. The Rose and Crown at Saffron Walden has long been the principal inn in the town. One of the earliest references to it in the Corporation records occurs in 1654, when 2s. were expended “For 1 Quart of canary at the Rose when Moulton and Douglas suffered.” In 1660, 2s. 4d. was “Spent at the Rose and Crown when Captain Turner sent about the town armes.” In the following year, and again in 1682, the name appears again; while in the years 1689, 1704, 1709, and 1819, the Corporation seems to have expended various sums at “the Rose” (undoubtedly the same house) upon certain special occasions. It was from this house, too, that “Poor Robin” started on his Perambulation from Saffron Walden to London in 1678 (see p. 66), as shown by the following extracts. He says:—
“Thus, having shown you when, in the next place
I’ll show you whence, my journey I did trace.
. . . . . . . . . .
It was from the Rose and Crown, where Mr. Eve
Doth keep a house like to an Under Sheriff;
There is good Sack, good French wine and good Beer.
. . . . . . . . . .
There, at my parting, some kind friends of mine,
Would needs bestow on me a quart of wine,
Where, with stout drinking, ere my parting hour,
That quart was made at least a three or four.
Yet would my jovial friends on me attend,
Part of my journey unto Audley End.”
The Mr. Eve mentioned herein is undoubtedly the same landlord mentioned in the Saffron Walden Mayor’s Book in 1680, when the Corporation “Pd. Mr. Eves for wine at
the Dinner, &c., when the King came to Audley End, when we delivered the Address—£5 2s. 0d.” The Rose at Peldon appears to be at least a century old, as it is mentioned in the Chelmsford Chronicle on May 5, 1786. The inn plays a rather conspicuous part in the Rev. Baring-Gould’s Mehalah, wherein (ii. p. 58) it is described as “an old-fashioned house with a vine scrambling over the red tile roof, and an ancient standard sign on the green before the door, bearing a rose painted the size of a gigantic turnip.” Few houses suffered more severely from the earthquake of April 22, 1884, than this. An illustration of its appearance immediately after that event is here given.
Mr. King finds mention in ancient deeds of a Rose and Crown—either inn, shop, or tenement—at Rochford in 1693. In the Stock parish registers it is recorded that on August 23, 1676, “Richard Barnes, a citizen of London, dwelling (as he sayd) in the Minories, taken sick in travell, dyed in ye highway neare ye house called ye Rose, and was burried at ye p’ishes charge.” Presumably this Rose was not an inn. A Rose appears on the token, dated 1670, of Thomas Guyon of Coggeshall, but no house with that sign now exists there. The Rose and Crown at Rochford is referred to in the Chelmsford Chronicle on April 14, 1786. The sign of the Rose of Denmark occurs at Canning Town. Its origin is not obvious. Larwood and Hotten do not refer to the sign.
CHAPTER VII.
HUMAN SIGNS.
Shakespeare: Henry V., Part II., Act iii., Scene 2.
HE next class of signs to be treated of is that which includes those derived from “Man and His Parts,” as the old books on Heraldry have it. Such signs may be styled “Human Signs.” They are numerous, though usually of but very slight interest; and, as might be expected, very few are of heraldic origin. In speaking of them it will not be necessary to give much more than a mere list. The numerous “heads” obviously indicate a portrait once to have been the sign; and most of these portraits represent persons of very modern fame. Many Human Signs have already been noticed under the heading “Arms,” and elsewhere, and it will be quite unnecessary to refer to them again.
By no means a few of our inns are named after personages who have made themselves eminent either in the political, military, literary, or social worlds. The mere mention of these will call to mind many historical events of importance during the last two centuries. Thus our six examples of the Duke of Wellington, our two of the Wellington, and our six of the Duke’s Head, remind us of the hero of Talavera and Salamanca—the Duke of his day—who died in 1852. A Duke’s Head, however, which existed at Hatfield Broad Oak in 1789, evidently commemorated some other and earlier Duke, perhaps one of the Dukes of York. There is also a Duke of Wellington (beer-house) at Bocking. The Admiral Rous at Galleywood, where Chelmsford Races are held, commemorates the father of modern English racing, who died only a year or two ago. The Oliver Twist at Leyton was doubtless set up in honour of the popular Dickens, who well deserves further sign-board honours. The same may be said of another great Englishman, who is commemorated only by the Shakespeare’s Head at Canning Town. In various parts of the county we meet with two examples of the Earl of Essex, one of the Duke of Norfolk, three of the Grosvenor, one of the Lord Henniker, and one of the Clifton, all of which were unquestionably set up in honour of great titled families. Statesmen are represented by two examples of the Earl of Derby, one of the Lord Stanley, one of the Lord Palmerston, two of the Clarendon, and one of the Pitt’s Head. Lord Denman alone seems to have been selected to represent the legal profession. Among great military commanders, we have the Marquis of Granby (represented by three examples), the Lord Raglan (by three), the Lord Gough (by one), the Marlborough’s Head (by three—one of which is mentioned in the Chelmsford Chronicle in 1764, while another at Maldon, not now existing, is mentioned in the same paper on March 2, 1787), and the *Blucher’s Head (by one at Romford). The King of Prussia still figures as a sign at *Stratford. Prominent Indian officers seem to be well represented. Thus we have a General Havelock (very modern), a Sir Colin Campbell, and a Sir John Lawrence. Sign-writers seem to have been unable to keep pace with the rapid promotion of these gentlemen. For instance, the first became Sir Henry Havelock so long ago as 1857; the second became Lord Clyde in the same year, and died in 1863; while the third was created Lord Lawrence in 1869, and died in 1879. Eminent naval commanders are commemorated by four examples of the Lord Nelson, one of the Nelson’s Head, and one of the Lord Napier. Sixty years ago, too, there was a *Duncan’s Head at Colchester. It was doubtless in honour of Admiral Duncan, who died in 1804. Larwood and Hotten do not notice this sign. The Rodney at Little Baddow is a house well known to the worshippers of “St. Lubbock” and to other holiday-keepers in the neighbourhood of Chelmsford. It, of course, commemorates Admiral Lord Rodney, who died in 1792.
Mr. H. W. King writes:
“The taking of Porto Bello in 1739, and the popularity of Admiral Vernon at the time, caused many Vernon’s Heads. One formerly existing at *Rochford is now demolished and has ceased to be. Either entirely new inns were thus named, or else old signs were abolished to make way for the portrait of the new favourite. Probably there were often similar changes for the sake of popularity.”
One of the most notable signs in the county belonging to this class is the Sir Wilfrid Lawson at Woodford. It will be quite unnecessary to state that this is not an ordinary inn-sign. A Conservative politician would be more likely to deliver himself of an oration in praise of Mr. Gladstone and his virtues, than a publican to erect a sign to the honour of Sir Wilfrid Lawson. The house which exhibits this sign is a Coffee Tavern erected by an ardent abstainer and opened by Sir Wilfrid in May, 1883. The following amusing lines were penned by a member of the company present at the opening. They are, it is said, still to be seen in the house.
The wicked Wilfrid haunts this Watery Cavern;
No wine, no whisky, nor even bitter beer,
Flow through the channels of this Coffee Tavern.
The steaming coffee and the fragrant tea
Are ready, where each eye can plainly see ’em;
Tea-total, then, let each incomer be,
And while ‘Te-total’ let him sing Te Deum.”
On the map of the road between London and Harwich, given in Ogilby’s Itinerarium Angliæ, published in 1675, a house—presumably an inn—called the Monk’s Head is shown on the east side of the road, exactly opposite New Hall Park. There can be no doubt that this sign represented, not the head of an ecclesiastic, but that of General Monk, the great promoter of the Restoration, although he had been created Duke of Albemarle some fifteen years before. After the Restoration, New Hall was purchased by, or for, General Monk, and he lived there, as Morant says, “in very great splendour, to the diminution of his estates.” He died in 1670, and was succeeded by his son. Forty years ago there was a Friar’s Inn in Fryer’s Street, Chelmsford, but it has now disappeared. At Rayleigh there is a Paul Pry (beer-house). At Widford a beer-house keeper has adopted as his sign that modern, though distinguished, Essex worthy, Sir Evelyn Wood. Another at Waltham Abbey has selected the Sultan. Others, at Saffron Walden and Waltham Abbey respectively, do honour to the Old English Gentleman. Probably these latter have in their minds the hero of the song, rather than any gentleman in particular. At Theydon Garnon there is a Merry Fiddlers, which displays no less than three sign-boards. At Becontree Heath there is a beer-shop with the same sign. The landlord of the former states that, although he has endeavoured to unearth the meaning of his sign, he has hitherto failed. He adds, however, that, previous to his own occupation, the house had been in one family for many generations, and that for long it displayed a pictorial sign-board representing Three Fiddlers, but these have of late given place to the present sign. What particular three fiddlers are meant, is difficult to explain. The house bore merely its present name of the Merry Fiddlers in 1789. Larwood and Hotten do not mention the sign. At Abbots Roothing there is a Coopers (beer-house), a sign which is doubtless the same as that of the Coopers’ Arms. At Willingale Doe there is a Ferry Man. Probably he has retired from business and settled there, as it is hard to discover any ferry at that place. About sixty-five years ago *Bishop Blays, the patron saint of wool-combers, appeared as a sign at Colchester. It was a most appropriate sign in that town in the seventeenth century, when it was an important seat of the woollen trade. *Neptune appears beside his “native element” at the Hythe, Colchester. Sixty years ago there was a *Jolly Sailor at Harwich, a *Sailor’s Return at Grays, and a *Mariner at Colchester. These signs were all appropriate enough, being situated in maritime places, but the same cannot be said of the *Three Mariners which appeared at Chelmsford at the same period. Sixty years ago, too, there was to be seen at Colchester the curious sign of the *Sailor and Ball, which Larwood and Hotten do not mention. Probably it was not an impaled sign, but took its name from some game of ball played by sailors.
Numerous other signs are connected with Royalty. Thus we have two examples of the Albert, one of the Royal Albert, one of the Albert House, one of the King of Prussia (formerly a very common sign), one of the Queen Adelaide (which is at least forty years old), one of the Queen Elizabeth, four of the Prince Alfred, one of the Duke of Cambridge, two of the Duke of Edinburgh (neither of which existed twenty years ago), one of the Clarence (of course commemorating the Duke of Clarence, afterwards King William IV.), three of the Duke of York (probably commemorating the second son of George III., who died in 1827, though one or more of the earlier Dukes of York may also be intended), five of the Royal Inn, one of the Queen, one of the Queen Victoria, ten of the Victoria, one of the Royal Sovereign, one of the Royal Arms, one of the Royal Forest Hotel, one Royal Steamer, one Royal Essex Arms, five of the Royal Hotel, eighteen of the Royal Oak, one of the Old Royal Oak, one of the King’s Oak, four of the Royal Standard, three of the Queen’s Arms, nineteen of the Queen’s Head, seventeen of the King’s Arms, forty-nine of the King’s Head, one of the Old King’s Head, twelve of the Prince of Wales, one of the Princess of Wales, one of the Prince Albert Victor, one of the Princess Alice, two of the Princess Alexandra, one of William the Conqueror (at Widdington), two of William the Fourth, and two of King William the Fourth, one of which is placed at a “four-want-way” at Leaden Roothing, and forms a landmark well known to every one who rides to hounds or travels by road in “The Roothings.” The King William and the King William IV. are both common beer-house signs, probably because the act authorizing the opening of these houses was passed in his reign. The beer-retailers of the time, when casting about for a sign, naturally selected the sovereign of their day. In the first form the sign occurs at Bocking, Springfield, &c., and under the latter at Braintree, Chigwell, and elsewhere. The Prince of Wales, too, is a very common beer-house sign, as also the Victoria, the Queen Victoria, the Queen’s Head, and the Queen’s Arms. Prince Alfred is commemorated on a beer-house sign at Chigwell. At the same place is a British Queen (beer-house), by which probably is intended Queen Boadicea, who received her last overthrow in the neighbourhood. The Prince of Orange still figures as a beer-house sign at Chelmsford. The sign of Prince of Wales’ Head existed at Harwich in 1764, as it is mentioned in a number of the Chelmsford Chronicle for that year; and a Royal Mortar (whatever that might be) was to be seen at Colchester twenty years ago. Messrs. Larwood and Hotten mention the strange sign of the *Three Queens, which was, until lately, to be seen at Moulsham. They surmise that it was suggested by the common sign of the Three Kings, of which we have no example in Essex, unless the Three Travellers, which occurs near Romford, and is apparently unique, be another form of it. The three kings represent the three wise men or Magi from the East. A writer in Notes and Queries (1st Series, vol. viii. p. 627) says that the following rhyme was formerly appended to the sign of a Victoria beer-shop at Coopersale:—
May pass this way
And see our Tom and Jerry;[86]
Perhaps she’ll stop
And stand a drop
To make her subjects merry.”
On the other side of the sign-board were some different lines which the writer had forgotten.
The sign of the King’s Head is by no means of modern introduction. It occurs on the seventeenth century tokens of Robert Adson of Colchester in 1668, of Thomas Bribrist of Felstead (no date), and of Thomas Livermer of Wethersfield, and it is mentioned in advertisements in the Chelmsford Chronicle for March 10, 1787, as then occurring at Prittlewell and Stebbing. As the sign still exists at all these places, except Felstead and Wethersfield, it is at least probable that the same houses which were known by it in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are known by it now. The famous King’s Head, opposite the church at Chigwell, so well described by Dickens in Barnaby Rudge under the name of the Maypole, has been already spoken of (p. 113). It is a long, large, plastered building, with many gables, and projecting upper storeys—evidently dating from the era of the Stuarts or earlier. Arthur Young, in 1771, declares that “of all the cursed roads that ever disgraced this kingdom in the very ages of barbarism, none ever equalled that from Billericay to the King’s Head at Tilbury.” In 1678 a King’s Head at Rickling formed a house of call for Poor Robin on his Perambulation from Saffron Walden to London. After recounting how he fared at the Black Bull at Newport, he says—
Then forwards on my journey I did go;
And first came unto a town called Rickling,
Where for to stay I made no stickling,
But presently at the King’s Head fell a tippling,
Where of Compounding Dick[87] I there heard tell.”
The King’s Head on the Balkern Hill, Colchester, is an ancient and memorable inn, though the present house is not very old. At the time of the surrender of the town to Fairfax, in 1648, it was a general rendezvous of the noblemen and gentry of the Royalist party. Foxe, too, in his Book of Martyrs mentions that “at the Kinge’s Head in Colchester, and at other innes in the sayd towne, the afflicted Christians had set places appointed for themselves to meet at.” Mr. H. W. King has kindly informed the author that the King’s Head, now existing at Leigh, is not the same house as one which existed there under the same name in the eighteenth century. The latter is traceable (writes Mr. King) as a private house from 1671 to about 1720, being described in 1702 as a “messuage and shop.” Between 1718 and 1723 it was rebuilt, as in the latter year it is spoken of as a new house, and is described as an inn with the sign of the Queen’s Head. In 1740 it is described as “the Angel, heretofore the Queen’s Head.” In 1766 it is described as “the King’s Head, heretofore the Queen’s Head, afterwards the Angel.” It then became a private house, as it has ever since remained. It was probably soon after this, about 1766, that the present King’s Head at Leigh assumed that name. These three changes, all within the short space of fifty years, or less, are very interesting. They seem to suggest that the house was first named the Queen’s Head in honour of Queen Anne; but that, when she died in 1714, the same sign (perhaps slightly altered) was made to do duty for some time as an Angel, and still later was changed to the King’s Head, probably on the accession of one of the Georges. At Harold Wood there is a King Harold, which is no doubt connected with the name of the place. At Nazing, which was one of the estates with which Harold endowed the neighbouring Abbey of Waltham, there has been for at least a century past a King Harold’s Head.
The George, which occurs seventeen times in Essex, is another royal sign. In some instances it doubtless represents St. George, our patron saint, disconnected from his dragon; but, more probably, it has usually been set up—at least, of late—in honour of our Hanoverian kings. There is, however, abundant evidence that even as early as the very beginning of the seventeenth century, St. George, the Patron Saint of England, had already appeared on the sign-board without his usual antagonist the Dragon. Thus, “Blague, the merry host of the George at Waltham,” figures prominently in The Merry Divel of Edmonton, published in 1617—a curious play, which Kirkman attributed to Shakespeare. The scene is partly laid in Waltham Forest. Poor Robin, too, in his Perambulation also mentions a George at Bishops Stortford in 1678. Mr. H. W. King also finds evidence in ancient deeds that the George at Leigh was an inn as early as 1680, but the house itself is probably somewhat earlier. In 1777 it is described as “now and for some time past known as the sign of the George.” It had ceased to be an inn by 1801, though then and long afterwards described as “a messuage called the George,” the words “known by the sign of” being omitted. It was also a brewery. Mr. King also finds evidence in other ancient deeds of the existence of a George at Rayleigh in 1623, but whether an inn, shop, or private house, does not appear. The *George at Epping (perhaps identical with the George and Dragon which now occurs there) is mentioned in the Chelmsford Chronicle in 1764; while the George at Halstead and the *George at Witham (perhaps both identical with the well-known houses now existing under the same name at each of those places) are frequently referred to in advertisements in the same paper for 1786, the latter as being then to let. A small stone slab, let into the front of the George and Dragon Inn at Wanstead, bears the following inscription:—