The Skirts of the Great City

by N. D'Anvers

Epsom

Although it can scarcely, strictly speaking, be said to form a part of outlying London, the town of Epsom is so intimately associated with the metropolis, to which it has from first to last owed its prosperity, that an account of it may well be included in a book dealing as much with the memories of the past as with the attractions of the present. Its history can be traced back to the seventh century, when it is said to have been the residence of the holy abbess, St. Ebba, after whom it is named, the daughter of King Ethelred the Avenger, and sister of Kings Oswald and Oswy, whose story is very variously told, certain chroniclers declaring that she suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Danes after disfiguring herself to escape a worse fate; others that she died peacefully at a great age, surrounded by her devoted nuns. However that may be, no trace now remains of the home of St. Ebba at Epsom, though some are of opinion that its site is occupied by the farm now known as the Court, replacing the manor-house that is referred to in the Doomsday Survey as an appanage of Chertsey Abbey, which also owned in the same district the manor of Horton, the homestead of which is now represented by an eighteenth-century mansion called Horton Place, two churches and two mills, with many acres of land. To these a park, now known as that of Woodcote, with 'right of free chase and free warren,' was added in the twelfth century, the whole property remaining in the hands of the abbot of Chertsey until 1538, when it was bought from him by Henry VIII., who, strange to say, actually paid for it. A few months afterwards it was given to Sir Nicholas Carew, who already owned so much real estate in Surrey, and on his execution for treason in 1539 it reverted to the Crown. In 1589 it was bestowed by Queen Elizabeth on Edward D'Arcy, one of the Grooms of the Chamber, passing after his death through many different hands, at one time being owned by Mrs. Richard Evelyn, sister-in-law of the famous diarist.

For many centuries Epsom remained a secluded hamlet scarcely known to any one but the owners of the great houses in the neighbourhood, who delighted in its charming situation at the edge of the breezy Banstead Downs. The discovery early in the seventeenth century, however, of medicinal springs on the adjacent common inaugurated a complete change, and Epsom Spa soon became a formidable rival to Tunbridge Wells and Hampstead as a favourite resort of the beau monde of the capital, who flocked to it in crowds to drink its waters and amuse themselves. In that entertaining storehouse of local information The Worthies of England, published in 1662, the Rev. Thomas Fuller gives a very graphic description of the finding of the springs at Epsom in 1618: 'One Henry Wicker,' he says, 'in a dry summer and great want of water for cattle, discovered in the concave of a horse or neat's footing some water standing ... with his pad staff he did dig a square hole about it and so departed. Returning the next day, with some difficulty he discovered the same place, and found the hole running over with most clear water. Yet,' he adds, 'the cattle, though tempted with thirst, would not drink thereof, it having a mineral taste therin.' He then relates the gradual growth in popularity of the spring thus accidentally discovered, but he himself evidently had his doubts as to the real efficacy of the waters, for he remarks that he does not wonder the citizens coming to Epsom from the 'worst of smokes into the best of airs find in themselves a perfective alteration.'

In 1621 the lord of the manor had a fence put round the well and a rough shelter erected for the use of those who came to drink from it; but in spite of many efforts made by those interested in advertising its merits Epsom did not become really fashionable for another forty years, probably because the people of London were too much occupied by the political troubles of the day to be able to give much attention to other things. Soon after the Restoration however, the golden age of the Banstead Wells began: a great hall for balls and other entertainments, houses, inns, and shops sprang up as if by magic: regular services of coaches were established between London and the rapidly growing town on the downs; and all through the summer the approaches to the latter were crowded with the equipages of those in search of health or pleasure. Charles II. was very fond of going to Epsom with his court, and one special occasion was long remembered when he was accompanied by his consort Caroline of Braganza, his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and his illegitimate son, the future Duke of Monmouth, then a handsome boy of twelve years old, who was born the very year of his grandfather's death on the scaffold. The neglected queen, it is said, looked really beautiful for once, but for all that she was quite eclipsed by her rival in her husband's affections, who was triumphantly lovely. The king won all hearts by his gracious manner, and it was indeed impossible to help sympathising with him in his evident delight in the noble child, who kept close to him all day, and would have been a noble heir to the throne.

The popularity of Epsom was maintained throughout the whole of the seventeenth century, as proved by many references to its attractions in the contemporary press. John Toland, for instance, in a work published in the reign of Queen Anne, speaks of it as 'an enchanted camp ... where,' he quaintly observes, 'the rude, the sullen, the noisy, the affected, the peevish, the covetous, the litigious, the sharping, the proud, the prodigal, the impatient, and the impertinent become visible foils to the well-bred, prudent, modest, and good-humoured.' In the early years of the reign of George III., however, the efficacy of the Banstead waters began to be doubted, and changing fashions resulted in the abandonment of Epsom by the beau monde. All efforts to revive interest in the once beloved resort were unavailing, and though the mineral spring still exists in a private garden, its existence was soon practically forgotten. By a strange turn of the wheel of fortune, however, what the fickle goddess took away with one hand she gave back with the other, for thanks to Banstead Downs being the scene of what is looked upon as a national event, the running of the annual races known as the Derby and the Oaks, Epsom has long occupied a more important position than it did even in the eighteenth century.

Epsom Races

According to local tradition James I., when resident at Nonsuch Palace, was the first to introduce horse-racing on the downs, but the earliest competitions referred to in the contemporary press were apparently between men, not horses. Pepys, writing as late as 1663, describes a foot-race between Lee, the Duke of Richmond's footman, and a certain Tyler, a famous runner. That horse-racing was practised in the reign of Charles I. is however, proved by the fact that in 1648 a meeting was held by the Royalists on Banstead Downs under pretence of looking on at it, on which occasion, as related by Clarendon in his History of the Rebellion, '600 horses were collected and sent to Reigate for the use of the King's adherents.'

Writing five years later, the dramatist Thomas Heywood says, 'Epsom is a place of great resort and commonly upon the market days all the countrye gentlemen appoint a friendly meeting ... to match their horses.' Charles II. was as fond of watching the racing as of attending the festivities at the spa, and it is generally supposed that it was his patronage that enabled Banstead to rival Newmarket in popular favour. However that may be, before the end of the eighteenth century the fame of the Epsom races had spread throughout the length and breadth of England, and advertisements of the principal events appeared in all the principal newspapers of the day. In an August number of the London Gazette for 1698, for instance, it is announced that the Banstead Downs Plate of £20 value will be run for on the 24th inst., being St. Bartholomew's Day; and the information is added that any horse may run for the said plate that shall be at Carshalton and certain other places specified, fourteen days before the Plate Day. Before many years of the eighteenth century had passed by Epsom had become practically the capital of the racing world, but the famous Derby and Oak Stakes were not instituted until 1779 and 1780. Both were founded by the then Earl of Derby, and were named, the former after him, the latter after his seat at Woodmansterne, a picturesque little village on the highest point of the Banstead Downs. As is well known, the May meeting, which lasts from the Tuesday to the Friday before Whitsuntide, during which these two great races are run, is the chief event of the racing year, and Derby Day is looked upon as a national festival, even members of Parliament taking a holiday in order to be present at the great event. A vast concourse of people assembles on the downs, and the scenes witnessed there and on the road to and from Epsom, that have been again and again eloquently described in poetry and prose, are without a parallel elsewhere. Scarcely less popular is the Oaks, often called the Ladies' Race, when only filly-foals are allowed to run, and the fair sex is always much in evidence among the spectators, but the excitement is generally less than on the Derby Day. The grand-stand of Epsom, the finest in England, commands a magnificent prospect, extending across the beautiful undulating downs beyond Windsor Castle on one side and London on the other. There are, moreover, many other fine points of view from the higher portions of the common, and the town itself, though deserted by all but its comparatively few residents except in race week, retains even now a certain picturesque appearance, with its clock tower rising up in the main street. The once much frequented assembly-rooms are now divided up into shops, and of the ancient church, in which the aristocratic drinkers of the waters used to worship, the tower alone remains. There are, however, several well-preserved eighteenth-century mansions in the neighbourhood, including Woodcote House, in which is a room with a ceiling painted by Verrio, and Pitt Place, in which Thomas, the second Lord Lyttelton, died suddenly on November 27, 1779, at the very time, it is popularly believed, predicted by the ghost of a girl he had wronged, who appeared to him as he was going to rest three days before the end.

Banstead

The village of Banstead, that gives its name to the famous downs, and is associated with the memory of Hubert de Burgh, is finely situated 536 feet above the sea-level and commands a view even finer than that from the grand-stand on the racecourse. Its history can be traced back to Norman times, but it retains scarcely any relics of the past, its ancient church having been almost entirely rebuilt and most of its old houses pulled down. It is, however, in touch with much charming scenery, and from it may be reached many beautiful hamlets still far beyond the furthermost limits of outlying London.