The London pleasure gardens of the eighteenth century

by Warwick William Wroth; Arthur Edgar Wroth

Imitations of the principal gardens were attempted in various parts of London. Thus the Mulberry Garden (circ. 1742), the Sir John Oldcastle and the Lord Cobham’s Head in Clerkenwell had their fireworks, and their concerts by local celebrities, described in the advertisements as a “Band of the best Masters.” Finch’s Grotto Garden in Southwark (1760–circ. 1773), though not a fashionable resort, was illuminated on certain evenings of the week, and provided very creditable concerts, in which performers of some repute occasionally took part. Bermondsey Spa, from about 1784, had, like Vauxhall, its Grand Walk and coloured lamps, and kept its own poet and musical composer (Jonas Blewitt, the organist).[6] Two places called the Temple of Apollo (or Apollo Gardens) and the Temple of Flora, in the Westminster Bridge Road, also endeavoured to acquire something of a Vauxhall tone, at least to the extent of having painted boxes, illuminations and music, and a variety of (imitation) singing-birds. These Temples were set up late in the eighteenth century, and came to a bad end.

To a second division belong the gardens connected with mineral springs. Several of these, as we have already seen, date from the end of the seventeenth century—Islington Spa, Sadler’s Wells, and the Wells of Pancras, Hampstead, and Lambeth. The Dog and Duck, Bagnigge Wells, and other springs did not become well known till the eighteenth century. Such places were usually day resorts, opening early in the morning and providing something in the way of breakfasting, dancing, and music. The waters were advertised, and by many accepted, as Universal Medicines. A rising of the vapours, a scorbutic humour, an inveterate cancer could all be cured (as “eminent physicians” constantly testified) by drinking these unpleasant, but probably harmless, beverages—if possible, on the spot, or at any rate in bottles sent out by the dozen and stamped with the proprietor’s seal. Islington Spa became the vogue in 1733 when the Princess Amelia regularly attended it. The Dog and Duck waters were recommended to Mrs. Thrale by Dr. Johnson, and many cures vouched for by a physician attested the efficacy of the purging and chalybeate Wells of Bagnigge.

But the adventitious attractions of these places had a tendency to obscure their importance as spas. Bagnigge Wells and, to some extent, Islington Spa became after a time little more than tea-gardens. Sadler’s lost sight of its Wells early in the eighteenth century, and relied for profit on the development of the rope-dancing and pantomime in its theatre. The Dog and Duck (St. George’s Spa) became at last a tea-garden and a dancing-saloon which had to be suppressed as the haunt of “the riff-raff and scum of the town.” Finch’s Grotto and Bermondsey Spa, on the other hand, when their springs had ceased to attract, developed (as we have shown) into minor Vauxhalls.

A tea Garden.

The third division of the London gardens consists of those that were mainly tea-gardens. Many of these though small and unpretending possessed a distinctly rural charm. Such were Highbury Barn, and the Canonbury House tea-gardens, Hornsey with its romantic wood, and Copenhagen House standing alone in the hay-fields. Bagnigge Wells and White Conduit House, the classic tea-gardens of London, were prettily laid out and pleasantly situated, but in their later days became decidedly cockneyfied. The great day at these gardens was Sunday, especially between five and nine o’clock. The amusements were of a simple kind—a game of bowls or skittles, a ramble in the maze, and a more or less hilarious tea-drinking in the bowers and alcoves which every garden provided. In the Long Rooms of Bagnigge Wells, White Conduit House, and the Pantheon the strains of an organ, if the magistrates allowed the performance, might also be enjoyed.

The season at most of the London gardens began in April or May, and lasted till August or September. The principal gardens were open during the week (not, regularly, on Sundays) on three or more days, and those of the Vauxhall type were usually evening resorts. Much depended, it need hardly be said, upon the state of the weather, and sometimes the opening for the season had to be postponed. When the rain came, the fireworks were hopelessly soaked and people took refuge as they could under an awning or a colonnade or in a Great Room. A writer in The Connoisseur of 1755 (May 15th) only too justly remarks that our Northern climate will hardly allow us to indulge in the pleasures of a garden so feelingly described by the poets: “We dare not lay ourselves on the damp ground in shady groves or by the purling stream,” unless at least “we fortify our insides against the cold by good substantial eating and drinking. For this reason the extreme costliness of the provisions at our public gardens has been grievously complained of by those gentry to whom a supper at these places is as necessary a part of the entertainment as the singing or the fireworks.” More than seventy years later Tom Moore (Diary, August 21st, 1829) describes the misery of a wet and chilly August night at Vauxhall—the gardens illuminated but empty, and the proprietor comparing the scene to the deserts of Arabia. On this occasion, Moore and his friends supped between twelve and one, and had some burnt port to warm themselves.

The charge for admission at Vauxhall, Marylebone Gardens, and Cuper’s was generally not less than a shilling. Ranelagh charged half-a-crown, but this payment always included “the elegant regale” of tea, coffee, and bread and butter. The proprietors of the various Wells made a regular charge of threepence or more for drinking the water at the springs and pump rooms. At some of the smaller gardens a charge of sixpence or a shilling might be made for admission, but the visitor on entering was presented with a metal check which enabled him to recover the whole or part of his outlay in the form of refreshments.

Vauxhall, Marylebone, Cuper’s, and Ranelagh often numbered among their frequenters people of rank and fashion, who subscribed for season-tickets, but (with the possible exception of Ranelagh) were by no means exclusive or select. The Tea-gardens, and, as a rule, the Wells, had an aristocracy of aldermen and merchants, young ensigns and templars, and were the chosen resorts of the prentice, the sempstress, and the small shop-keeper.

The proprietors of gardens open in the evening found it necessary to provide (or to announce that they provided) for the safe convoy of their visitors after nightfall. Sadler’s Wells advertised “it will be moonlight,” and provided horse patrols to the West End and the City. The proprietor of Belsize House, Hampstead, professed to maintain a body of thirty stout fellows “to patrol timid females or other.” Vauxhall—in its early days usually approached by water—seems to have been regarded as safe, but Ranelagh and the Marylebone Gardens maintained regular escorts.