Towards the close of the last century, Jenny’s Whim began to decline; its morning visitors were not so numerous, and opposition was also powerful. It gradually became forgotten, and at last sunk to the condition of a beer-house, and about 1804 the business altogether ceased.
Jenny’s Whim has more than once served the novelist for an illustration; see “Maids of Honour; a Tale of the Times of George the First:”—“There were gardens,” says the writer, mentioning the place, “attached to it, and a bowling green; and parties were frequently made, composed of ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy a day’s amusement there in eating strawberries and cream, syllabubs, cake, and taking other refreshments, of which a great variety could be procured, with cider, perry, ale, wine, and other liquors in abundance. The gentlemen played at bowls—some employed themselves at skittles; whilst the ladies amused themselves at a swing, or walked about the garden, admiring the sunflowers, hollyhocks, the Duke of Malborough cut out of a filbert tree, and the roses and daisies, currants and gooseberries, that spread their alluring charms in every path.
“This was a favourite rendezvous for lovers in courting time—a day’s pleasure at Jenny’s Whim being considered by the fair one the most enticing enjoyment that could be offered her; and often the hearts of the most obdurate have given way beneath the influence of its attractions. Jenny’s Whim, therefore, had always, during the season, plenty of pleasant parties of young people of both sexes. Sometimes all its chambers were filled, and its gardens thronged by gay and sentimental visitors.” [257]
The house is still partly standing, and by its red brick and lattice-work may be easily identified.
Graham Street.—In this street lived and died a man for many years well known in London, James Thornton. He was cook to the Duke of Wellington throughout the Peninsular and Waterloo campaigns. When, on the death of his great master, it was stated in the papers that the Duke’s dinner on the eventful 18th of June was dressed by a Frenchman, he indignantly wrote to the Times, claiming his honour. He possessed an unlimited fund of anecdote, and used to boast he buried Lord Anglesea’s leg, and helped to support Raglan at the amputation of his arm. Thornton died in 1853.
Grosvenor Row, together with Queen Street and Jews’ Row, form one thoroughfare. It formerly was one of the most remarkable streets in or around the metropolis, and, to a great extent, is so now. To Jews Row came Wilkie to sketch his “Chelsea Pensioner reading the Account of the Battle of Waterloo,” painted for the Duke of Wellington. The iron gate shown in the picture is still to be seen. The numerous signs bear witness to the military air of the neighbourhood, such as “The Snow Shoes,” a recollection of Wolfe’s glorious campaign, the “General Elliott,” and the “Duke of York.”
Grosvenor Row, which terminates at the Stone Bridge (as the place is marked in old plans), was built in 1768. At the end is the “Nell Gwynn,” a tavern named after the mistress of Charles II. Its sign-board was originally decorated with her likeness; and the legend, firmly believed by old Chelsea folk, that to her the noble institution adjacent owes its foundation, was painted underneath. Nell’s residence at Sandy End has been doubted by Mr. Cunningham. It is certain that her mother resided near the Neate Houses in Pimlico; and, in the records of Knightsbridge Chapel, there are occasionally entries of the name—connections not improbably of the royal mistress. One of the entries, Jan. 13, 1667, records the marriage of Robert Hands and Mary Gwin, the former being the name of a family long resident freeholders in Pimlico, and to whom Chelsea Bun House, which I am now about to notice, belonged.
Chelsea Bun House was established early in the eighteenth century, but the exact time is unknown. It had obtained a reputation for its buns as early as 1712; for in that year, Swift, who then resided at Chelsea, mentions buying one of them in his walks. It soon became quite a fashionable resort of a morning: even the Royal Family used familiarly to visit Mrs. Hands, who was a complete living history of all the affairs of the district, and of those who came thither. To her customers her garrulous anecdote was a fund of amusement, and her house and colonnade were continually crowded with loungers. George II., his Queen, and their family, patronised the place, and were frequently to be seen laying siege to its delicacies. George III., too, after he had ascended the throne, did not forget the spot where, in his childhood, he had paid many a pleasant visit; and in his turn, when his family was young, he and Queen Charlotte frequently accompanied it thither. The latter presented Mrs. Hands with a silver half-gallon mug, highly ornamented, and five guineas at its bottom, as a testimony of her appreciation of the attentions bestowed on the royal children.
On Good Fridays the concourse of people drawn hither was immense. Business on this day was always commenced at four o’clock in the morning, by which time numbers of customers were waiting; and on some occasions it has been estimated that fifty thousand persons have assembled here for hours before eight o’clock. Occasionally the crowd became unruly, and disturbances ensued, and it was found necessary to close the establishment partially. Handbills of a warning character were issued, and constables stationed to preserve order.
When Ranelagh declined from its zenith, the Bun House experienced the reverse of fortune. Parties visiting the former generally called to patronise the latter before they entered; and the success of the one depended more perhaps than would have been easily credited on that of the other, and it gradually dwindled away to complete insignificance.