Down the Rabbit Hole: Frederick Gorst and the ‘Gladstone Vase’

By Ellen O'Brien - “PhD student, book lover and tea addict, I spend my days researching and writing, with help from my bunny George. History is not quite so visible in Australia as in England… but it's there if you know where to look!”

Studying history can be a lot like late-night-procrasti-searching through the labyrinthine corridors of Wikipedia… you start with something fairly innocuous– a country house servant and a silver vase, for example– but one clue leads to another, and before you know it, you’re so far down the rabbit hole, you need a small crane and a search and rescue team to bring you back up.

 

http://unculturedmag.tumblr.com/post/13325016729/alice-in-wonderland-down-the-rabbit-hole

This has been my experience with a recent fragment of country house history– a relatively small part of the interminable PhD effort– one that keeps drawing me back, and each time, revealing something new. This fragment was initially the subject of a small conference paper on the relationship between servants and objects in the Victorian country house, and, unable to let me go, has morphed into a full-length article on objects as sites of memory, and the vagaries of servant memoirs.

Let me show you the fragment, as it first appeared to me.

What Gorst might have looked like, polishing the silver and how Gorst might have looked, in his footman’s livery).

In his memoir, Of Carriages and Kings, Victorian servant Frederick Gorst recounts a little of his time at Court Hey, the country house of Richard and Walter Gladstone, nephews of the four-times prime minister, William Gladstone. Gorst was especially reflective, for a footman, often impressed by a sense of ‘handling history,’ and, in the course of his duties, of being ‘allowed to glimpse, to touch for a moment, the lustrous past.’[1]

Surviving photograph of Court Hey, which was demolished in 1956.

One day, while cleaning the unused family silver that sat tarnishing in the vault, one item caught his eye. It was ‘an exquisite silver and gold vase about three feet tall… a copy of the famous Warwick vase,’ and had been ‘a legacy of Mr. Robertson Gladstone to his sons.’[2] (Gorst’s employers).

What the Gladstone Vase might have looked like. (This is actually a set of wine coolers in the same design, that was owned by the family).

Mr. Robertson, as the story goes, had been given the vase as a thank you present from the merchants of Liverpool, in ‘recognition of his munificent and timely gift’ of money to the starving workers and mill hands in the city. Why were they starving? The year was 1833, and slavery had just been abolished. There was now no sugar coming into the once-busy port, and ‘thousands of workers were idle and starving.’[3] However, the apparent generosity of Robertson Gladstone is clouded by one rather uncomfortable fact: his fortune came from the Gladstone family sugar plantations in Demerara… and the slaves who were forced to work there.  

1835 Abolitionist poster

The Gladstone family’s opposition to slavery was a source of some consternation to Gorst, who offers a strangely misleading account of their involvement in the matter. This deception has been the focus of my enquiry, but first, I investigated the vase, and its many historical connections and reincarnations.

It is an interesting case of an object possessing manifold cultural associations: the vase was not just a symbol of Britain’s participation in slavery, but is an exact replica of the Warwick Vase, which is linked to key figures of the late eighteenth century, and Britain’s diplomatic and classical past.

Dated to the 2^nd century AD, the original Warwick vase was discovered by a Scottish painter, Gavin Hamilton, in the ruins of Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli, and sold to Sir William Hamilton, a British diplomat. Sir William was an obsessive classicist who amassed large collections of vases, and, in the tradition of the ‘Grand Tour’, smuggled many back to England, despite an embargo on exporting antiquities (cough, Elgin marbles, cough).

Engraving of the ‘famous Warwick Vase.’

It is faintly ironic that the most famous of Hamilton’s vases bears the name of another collector. Having attempted, and failed, to sell it, Hamilton passed the job onto his nephew, Charles Greville, who was the younger son of the old Earl of Warwick (Hamilton’s brother-in-law). Greville made valiant, repeated attempts to carry off the deal, but he was not successful, and in the end, he sold it to his older brother, the Earl of Warwick, after whom it has been called ever since.

The Grevillea: named after Charles Greville.

Charles Greville is an interesting character (not least because the native Australian ‘grevillea’ plant was named after him- trust me, it’s exciting if you like gardening…). However, his rather more spectacular claim to fame comes through his mistress, a young woman called Emma Hart. Greville, who needed to find and marry a wealthy heiress, palmed Emma off on Hamilton, who took her to Naples as his mistress, and eventually married her there, after a five-year relationship. It was during their time in Naples that Lady Emma Hamilton (sound familiar yet?) met Lord Nelson, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Emma and Nelson: Britain’s favourite Napoleonic romance.

‘Take Lord Nelson with one limb,

Lady William Hamilton she fell for him,

With one eye and one arm gone west,

She ran like the devil and she grabbed the rest.

If women like that like men like those,

Why don’t women like me?’

(George Formby) 

.

And so, we circle back to Frederick Gorst, and his silver vase. It is possible to see how a single piece of silver, locked away in a cupboard, polished by a pensive footman at the end of the Victorian era, can take us right back through some of the more significant events of the preceding century. We have an object that is invested with historical meaning, that is linked to one of Queen Victoria’s prime-ministers, the Gladstone family’s role in the abolition (and support) of slavery, to England’s presence in the Mediterranean at the end of the eighteenth century, to their infamous habit of acquiring antiquities, and Britain’s favourite, Napoleonic romance.

At a quick scroll through, the flow of images in this post seem entirely disconnected– but they are not. They highlight the fact that, whenever you read about history, you will find moments of interconnectedness, association, and those wonderful flashes of ‘Well I never…’ Of course, if you’re feeling worn out and fed up with serious research, you can always do the same thing on Wikipedia for an hour or three… I highly recommend it.

---

[1] Gorst, 73

[2] Gorst, 71

[3] Gorst, 72

Visiting the English Country House: Ancient Halls and Gilded Monuments.

By Ellen O'Brien - “PhD student, book lover and tea addict, I spend my days researching and writing, with help from my bunny George. History is not quite so visible in Australia as in England… but it's there if you know where to look!”

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show,

Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row

Of polished pillars, or a roof of gold;

Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told,

Or stair, or courts; but stand’st an ancient pile,

And, these grudged at, art reverenced the while. (1-6)

Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,

Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours.

The early cherry, with the later plum,

Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come;

The blushing apricot and woolly peach

Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach.

And though thy walls be of the country stone,

They’re reared with no man’s ruin, no man’s groan… (39-47)

(Lines from Ben Jonson’s ‘To Penshurst’ 1616)

Earlier in 2016, as autumn started to settle in, I was lucky enough to visit FOUR country houses in a WEEK. Two in particular struck me, not because of their grandness or beauty, but because of their difference to one another.

The first was Penshurst Place, just outside Tunbridge Wells in Sussex, immortalised in Ben Jonson’s country house poem, To Penshurst. The second was Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire, home to the Dukes of Marlborough.

It can be easy to lump all “English Country Houses” in together, with their ubiquitous elderly room wardens, cafeteria-style National Trust tea rooms, their inevitable printed tea towels and competitive boasts of famous visitors or occupants. The same thing happens when you go on any holiday, and experience a glut of the national monument… Buddhist temples, European cathedrals, and Scottish castles: they can blur into one and get a bit “same-y.”

However, Penshurst and Blenheim were so vastly different: they were born of different historical circumstances, and projected such different personalities, that you would hardly mention them in the same breath.  The key difference was the sense of professional commercialism that ruled Blenheim, and the slightly amateurish, casual welcome offered by Penshurst.

Penshurst, (without reverting to poetic analysis) is an older house that supposedly grew naturally from the English soil, and its glory is derived from its organic, ancient presence, an inseparable part of the landscape. However, by the time Jonson was writing his tribute to the recently landed and titled Sidney family in 1616, the house has already undergone the renovations that made it distinctly larger than ‘an ancient pile.’

(The Great Hall)

An Elizabethan and Jacobean mansion, it is surrounded by a maze of 10 foot walls, heavily espaliered and laden with fruit. In his poem, Jonson claims that any child could wander in and pluck a woolly peach off the branch, but the forbidding walls suggest otherwise.

(The Walled Garden)

Nevertheless, the house seems more a part of the landscape and the village than something like Blenheim ever could. The arched tourist entrance, made of old red bricks, opens directly into the village of Penshurst, which is built right up against the walls of the estate, perhaps a throwback to the protection once offered by the manor house, and the local cricket green can be seen from the grounds.

(The Visitors Entrance)

We wandered through the formal, square gardens, full of secret avenues and hidden bathing ponds, marvelling at the fruit that was thick on the ground and overly ripe in the branches. The carefully laid out flower beds, now withering, contained only a faded hint of their former colour. Summer was over-blown, turning to brown, the way it had in the garden for over five hundred years. Our picnic, invaded by the occasional bumblebee, and complete with union jack paper cups, felt appropriately rustic.

(A Country Picnic)

The house, recently used as a filming location for Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, was sparsely decorated and photography was forbidden. Inside, it retained an Elizabethan flavour: all was dark wood and flagstone, crumbling red brick and embroidered furnishings.

(Wolf Hall, from the books by Hilary Mantel)

Penshurst, proud of its age, wears it like a badge, and appears to have held out against the highly commercial, professional business of the country house industry. The final room contained photographs of the family and servants, taken by family members and pasted into books, or plastic sheet protectors. There was something very touching about these carefully collated but amateurish family albums.

(Hidden Waters)

The only commercially produced information board was tucked away in the garden, and explained the various stages of the garden’s planting and landscaping, emphasising that this was a place which grew over time, and had witnessed six hundred years of English history. 

(Heraldic Garden)

In terms of visitor experience, the prices were very reasonable, made more so by my student card and Nell’s train ticket discount. As with many country houses, access is only by car. We were almost alone in the house and grounds, despite it being Sunday, and the few people we did encounter were local families who had brought their children to picnic and play in the garden.  

… Blenheim Palace…

As we pulled into the grey expanse of car park at Blenheim, the drizzle was beginning to set in, along with a touch of the ol’ ‘castle fatigue’, and I was perhaps, unfairly, steeling myself to be unimpressed. Gone was the grassy, county-fair style parking of Penshurst: this place was set up to accommodate the maximum number of tourists, and charged accordingly. We were a little taken aback by the extortionate entry fee, and thought it a bit rich that any additional service (like the electric cart for elderly visitors) cost extra.

(The courtyard at Blenheim)

Built to celebrate the military successes of the first Duke of Marlborough, under James II, William and Mary, and finally Queen Anne, Blenheim more resembles a French chateau or Italian palace, than an English country home. Its purpose is clear: to impress.

Fighting against a tide of French college students, we were swept through the rooms on a rather crowded, ‘official’ tour of the house and its most famous occupants. I say ‘official,’ because great care had been taken to project a blemish-free, whitewashed version of events. The first Duchess, Sarah, was up for slating, but Winston Churchill and his immediate family were sacrosanct.

The floor length information boards, commercially produced (yet littered with spelling mistakes) told the story of Winston, the most celebrated son of the estate, but very little else. What a missed opportunity to locate the house in England’s long and dramatic history!

Mary S Lovell wrote a deeply researched and candid biography of the Churchill family (The Churchills: In Love and War), and having recently read this, it struck me that the ‘Blenheim version’ of events sacrificed human drama in favour of respectable posterity. There was no mention of Winston’s father’s philandering, and likely death of syphilis, or his mother’s irrepressible character and remarriage to a much younger man, his brother’s forced marriage and marked preference for ballet dancers and actresses.

Consuelo Vanderbilt, the American heiress he married, was a beautiful and tragic figure. It was rumoured she sobbed through her wedding veil, and many years later, she managed to obtain a divorce. But, apart from the Singer Sargent family portrait, she is largely absent. It was she who noticed that their elaborate dinner left-overs were scooped into buckets and sent out to the poorer tenants. By the time they arrived, they were little more than slops. She organised tin containers, like lunch boxes, to separate and preserve the food for the estate workers.  

(Consuelo’s family portrait)

Where the garden at Penshurst retained some medieval aspects, and had an English ‘country garden’ atmosphere, Blenheim was utterly devoid of sweet peas or marigolds. Acres of Capability Brown landscaping had carved out long, sweeping views, but walking the length of them was impossible.

(The formal gardens at Blenheim)

Despite the extensive grounds, there was a strong sense of enclosure, of ownership, of exclusivity. The flocks of pheasants so clearly belonged to someone, although there were no fences. There was no pretence of communal gardens and farming, like at Penshurst. Blenheim proudly proclaims its dominion, surveyed by the column of victory.

(Column of Victory)

A New Year Round Up

Well that’s it, 2016 is behind us and here we are - the beginning of another new year! December passed by so quickly in the end that I never got around to posting a Christmas themed blog – I guess that surprise will just have to wait until next year now.

1 of 2 Trolley's of material I called up
& hoped to get through before Christmas

I spent the majority of December deep in the treasures of the Natural History Museum Archive and while the finds came thick and fast it left little time for anything else – other than a bit of Christmas shopping and a few other festivities of course! It was a great way to round off what has been a rollercoaster of a year and gave me a much needed reminder of just why it is I love being a historian. The thrill of finding a document or that piece of evidence you’ve been looking for is second to none!

The past twelve months have seen so much happen – I began writing, visited Barcelona and then, after months of re-drafting I finally passed my upgrade (the first major PhD hurdle). Three of my fellow PhD students and I then set up the Animal History Group which we have big plans for this year, and is something which is turning out to be a hugely exciting thing to be a part of. And then, on top of all that, I also started teaching and began a new job – so to say it’s been both manic and fun would be somewhat of an understatement!  

As for this year, what do the next few months have in store? Well, more research, some serious chapter writing, conference papers; our first Animal History Group Seminar building towards a 1-day workshop in June and a trip to Berlin! And that’s just what’s currently in the diary. I’m sure many more things will crop up in time and continue to be featured here.

I also have a list of visits to take in, books to read and things to watch ready for new blog inspiration. Talking of which, I will try my best to keep to posting every two weeks and am excited to announce the return of the ‘Guest Blog’ feature with two posts already in the pipeline! So if you fancy putting something together, do please let me know! As ever, it’s a case of watch this space and keeping your I-spied for history! 

The Bauer Brothers: Masters of Scientific Illustration

To continue with a favourite theme of this blog I turn again to the topic of natural history and in particular The Bauer Brothers exhibition that has been on display in the Images of Nature Gallery at the Natural History Museum since November 2015.

Erica massoni L.f., 1796-1803
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Erica_massoni00.jpg

The exhibition features the botanical and zoological artworks of two exceptional natural history artists, Franz (1758-1840) and Ferdinand (1760-1826) Bauer; Austrian born brothers who were educated by some of the Continent’s most influential botanical artists of the time. You might be thinking, “oh here she goes again reviewing yet another exhibition” and yes that’s true. I can’t deny that that is what I’m going to do. But what I really like about this exhibition and why I wanted to blog about it is because I was so surprised by how taken I was with it, both in terms of content and concept.

Both brothers spent their entire lives studying and drawing nature and the results are some truly beautiful and, I’m reliably informed, scientifically accurate pieces of illustration. To quote the exhibition website, the brothers ‘excelled in learning the principles of botanical illustration according to the Linnaean system of classification. This technique typically depicts the entire plant in flower, but separately represents the bud and fruit, often dissected to show the internal structure’(1). They are really fascinating pieces of art to stand and look at, and even more so when you consider the degree of accuracy.

But behind the obvious skill both men had, I was also taken by the stories of them as individuals. They had similar artistic styles and yet their careers were very different from each other. Franz had been hired by Sir Joseph Banks as the first resident artist at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, in London. While Ferdinand had been hired by Banks as the natural history artist on the HMS Investigator (1801-1805) on its expedition to Australia. There he worked alongside Robert Brown and made many sketches, which he bought back and based future water colours on.

They are really beautiful pieces artwork – the colours surprisingly bold and the level of detail just amazing. I rather naively wouldn’t have expected scientific illustration of this period to have been of such a high standard. It really was a pleasant surprise and when in the museum I always like to wander past and take a look, especially as the drawings and watercolours rotate every four months.

Beyond being aesthetically pleasing, what I also think is great about this exhibition is how it highlights the depth of the Natural History Museum’s collections, especially those of the Library and Archives. By having this designated gallery, which shows exhibitions on a rotating basis, Library staff are given the opportunity to delve into the archive and special collections to bring to light something a bit different; something that isn’t a piece of taxidermy or a slice of science. It can really remind us as visitors that the value of the collections for research goes beyond science and can reveal the history of the people involved in making the museum and its collections. I’ve made clear elsewhere that I’m a huge fan of this approach and I was really pleased to discover that there is at least one place within the museum, designated to informing the public about an aspect of the history of its collections.

You can find more info about the exhibition, which runs until February 2017 here - http://www.nhm.ac.uk/visit/whats-on/programs/nhm/bauer_brothers_art_exhibition.html

(1)  http://www.nhm.ac.uk/our-science/departments-and-staff/library-and-archives/collections/bauer-brothers.html

Revisited: The Watts Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice

On Monday 3^rd October I just happened to catch an episode of the BBC’s Inside Out and as often happens, they began running a feature which I was quickly lured into by recognition of the location in which they were filming – Postman’s Park. Now immediately I had a feeling that what was about to be covered was The Watts Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice and sure enough that’s what it was and it reminded me of the blog I’d drafted a while ago and only recently posted, which in light of this programme I thought was worth revisiting.

The Watt's Memorial in Postman's Park

The segment introduced historian Dr John Price and his book ‘Heroes of Postman’s Park: Heroic Self-Sacrifice in Victorian London’ in which he reveals the full details of the lives and untimely deaths of all sixty-two people commemorated on the memorial. I hadn’t come across the book when I wrote the original blog so I decided to do a little bit more research and also came across the fact that there is also a free app which can be used at home, or at the site itself, which brings to life the people who feature of the wall; the camera recognising the tablet in question and presenting the user with an individual profile. This brings to life what ordinarily are abstract names on a memorial. For each individual the profile includes ‘a description of the incident in which they died and details of all the key people involved, allowing the user to gain different perspectives on the circumstances. Events, locations and places of interest can be viewed on interactive maps and the app is extensive illustrated, with pictures of people and places.’(1) This is a really great interactive way to engage people with what is fascinating memorial and to tell the important histories of the people which it commemorates.

Just some on the tablets that adorn the wall.

But what captured my interest most was the fact that this feature on Inside Out was essentially a publicity campaign for the Friends of the Watt’s memorial, established in 2015, who wish to complete Watt’s memorial and fill the remaining tablets as its creator, George Frederick Watts, originally intended. It was explained that Dr Price thinks it likely that Watt’s selected the remaining people and that the list remains in an archive somewhere as yet undiscovered. Dr Price also explained that the Friends hope to make the new tablets as similar as possible to the original, with the original kiln being shown and even discussion of whether it might be possible recommissioned it and produce the remaining tiles.

This struck me as an interesting concept on two levels. Firstly, I asked myself the question – should we finish something that someone in the past began and which was only left incomplete because of that person’s death, and which has now become a piece of history in its own right (albeit incomplete). Or, like the Friends have proposed, should we be looking to complete a memorial like this? The second question I then had was what if there is not a definitive list? And does a list by Watts even matter given that additions were made after his death, the memorial including individuals who were not considered by Watts but were selected by his wife who took over the management of the memorial after his death in 1904? As a result there are a number of individuals whose death’s date beyond that – most before 1927, but there is also one exception, Leigh Pitt a reprographic operator who saved a drowning boy from a canal in 2007 but lost his life in doing so. Clearly this extends beyond what Watts could ever have conceived for the memorial, so how does that factor in to what the Friends hope to do. Curiosity got the better of me and so I tweeted to ask but my question has been left unanswered.

I think this project asks some interesting questions about the way in which we manage and view memorials and whether that should be restricted to preservation or more interventionist activity. It’s certainly given me food for thought and I’ll be interested to see what occurs in the coming months or even years.  

(1)   http://www.postmanspark.org.uk/

Remembering ‘Everyday’ Heroes: The Watts Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice

When it comes to London I am known for avoiding the tube where possible and travelling by foot. It’s a habit I’ve acquired from my Dad who used to take us to London a lot when we were kids and for whom, travelling by foot was the favoured mode of transport. You can just imagine the whingeing and whining that often happened as he powered ahead with two kids who could barely match his stride, struggling to make two for every one of his. But now, some 15 years later, I can both understand and appreciate his way of thinking. Not only has it resulted in me having confidence in navigating around the city, but it has also revealed so much more of the city to me, including the subject of this blog.

Short cuts can reveal all sorts of unusual places and on a recent visit to the Museum of London I stumbled across Postman’s Park, where I was surprised to discover The Watts Memorial to the Heroic Self-Sacrifice. At first I saw it from a distance – this rather imposing and curious looking memorial – and there was just something about it that lured me forwards. It was quite different from any other I have seen and curiosity took over, particularly when I saw the inscription which ran across the top of the wooden structure and read ‘In Commemoration of Heroic Self Sacrifice’.

The Watts Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice
Picture © Eleanor Larsson

As I approached specific details began to stand out more - the number of individual plaques that each bore a name, dates and writing. To one side there was a sign that read as follows, offering some explanation behind the memorial:

G.F. Watt’s Memorial to Heroic Self Sacrifice.

Unveiled in 1900, The Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice was conceived and undertaken by the Victorian Artist George Frederic Watts OM RA (1817-1904).

It contains plaques to those who have heroically lost their lives trying to save another.

Watts believed that these ‘Everyday’ heroes provided models of exemplary behaviour and character.

‘The material prosperity of a nation is not an abiding possession: the deeds of its people are’ G.F. Watts

‘Greater Love Hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,’ John 15:13.

Watts Gallery, Compton, Surrey.

Picture © Eleanor Larsson

I found this memorial incredibly poignant and as I moved along the wall, reading more of the individual plaques and the ways in which each lost their life whilst saving that of another, I couldn’t help but respect and admire the bravery of those remembered there.

The people remembered span across some 150 years. The most recent dating from 2007, while the earliest case comes from 1863 and is that of Sarah Smith, a pantomime artist at the Prince’s Theatre, who had tried to extinguish the flames which had enveloped her companion, but she herself died of the injuries she sustained in trying to do so.  

Other cases document those who had been in the emergency services and acted while on duty, policemen and members of the fire brigade, while others were reacting to workplace incidents, air raids or freak accidents they just happened to witness. The cases documented are such human stories, featuring men and woman, child and adults, all ordinary people, who if it weren’t for the events that took their lives, would have been hidden from history. The memorial really made a strong impression on me.

Picture © Eleanor Larsson

It would seem that Watts had a particular motive in mind when creating this memorial - moral improvement, one of the key concerns of the Victorian age. But I think it also stands the test of time. By reminding us of ‘everyday’ heroes we are forced to confront quite an uncomfortable truth. I think we’d all like to think that in a crisis we’d respond and react in a similar way, but how many of us would actually do so when so often we walk along with headphones in our ears, buried in our phones and completely oblivious to the world going on around us.

Discovering this memorial caused me to have an interesting moment of reflection, one which was prompted by a fascinating piece of history.

You can find more information about the memorial here - http://www.postmanspark.org.uk/about.html

Up at the Heighest Height: Barcelona’s Bunker del Carmel

Everyone has a ‘place’ in their city or local town. A place that they perhaps find fascinating, calming or once stumbled upon purely by accident, but a place nonetheless that they would make a point of showing a visitor for one reason or another. If it were me in Farnborough it would probably be the Wellington Statue, the old balloon hanger or the Abbey, not because I am particularly clued up on their history, but because they are a part of my town’s history.

Bunker del Carmel © Gillian Gryz

So when I was recently in Barcelona, the recommendation by some friends that we all go up to the bunkers because they offer a good view and have an interesting history, was an invitation hard to refuse. Our friends happened to be living in Barcelona at the time, and having come across this site, wanted to share it with us. So off we went up this pretty steep hill, knowing little other than that the site had been the location of anti-aircraft defences during the Spanish Civil War and had later become the site of what was described to us as a slum.

Bunker del Carmel © Gillian Gryz

As soon as we arrived at the top you could see why this site had been chosen for the anti-aircraft defences in 1937 – the views over Barcelona were breath-taking and I expect the feelings it evokes now somewhat contradict those felt back in the 1930s. My knowledge of the Spanish Civil War is pretty limited but I had remembered that it had seen the first use of aerial bombing purely targeted at civilian populations and sitting looking out over the city, that recollection prompted Goosebumps.

Bunker del Carmel © Gillian Gryz

There was more to be seen up there than I had anticipated – you can still see the circular concrete platforms where the guns would have been mounted, the bunkers themselves, as well as various lookout points. You can also see remnants of the domestic side of the site – the floor tiles and drainage systems of the former houses that had developed after the war owing to a housing shortage. 

Bunker del Carmel © Gillian Gryz

The site became the home of several families and remained in use until the 1990s, when development for the Barcelona Olympics saw them rehoused. It was a rather peculiar place to visit but a really fascinating one and I have to admit that it was one of the first things I looked up when I got back.

Bunker del Carmel © Gillian Gryz

Recent develop has seen the site taken over and publicised as a heritage site. New boards and information panels have been installed to reflect the history of the bunkers and as a site it now offers people a quiet-ish getaway from the bustling city below; a chance to take in some spectacular views and to contemplate a turbulent period in the city’s history.

This was definitely a case of Ispyhistory in action - Thanks Gill and Jimmy for taking us up there!

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

Weekends away can be great way to dip into the history of different areas, whether that be somewhere on the south coast of England or Southern Europe. In this case a trip to Barcelona allowed for an interesting trip to the Museu d’Història de Catalunya and I have to admit to being really impressed with the quality of the museum.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

The museum itself is located in a former warehouse building near the Old Port (Port Vell) and offers a really fantastic museum space. The development actually strongly resembles the location of the Museum of London Docklands – a part of a former warehouse having been converted into a museum, while the rest offers a home to bustling restaurants and bars, overlooking ships swaying on the water. Anyway, I digress somewhat.  

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

We chose to view the permanent exhibition galleries which cover the period of Prehistory to 1980. This is divided into several different subsections which aim to address key developments in Catalan history. These are: The Roots: From Prehistory to the 8^th Century, The Birth of a Nation: The 8^th to the 12^th Centuries, Our Sea: The 12^th to the 16^th Centuries, On the Edge of the Empire: the 16^th to 18^th centuries, A Steam-powered Nation: the 18^th and 19^th centuries, The Electric Years: From 1900 to 1939, Defeat and Recovery: From 1940 to 1980.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

It was certainly a mammoth exhibition in what it tried to cover but like I say, I was very impressed with the quality of what has been achieved. Intellectually what I really liked was how the museum didn’t just focus on Catalonia but tried to present Catalan history and culture within broader geographical, political, economic and cultural settings. This was something I remarked on at the time for it is not something I can say I’ve particularly noticed in other exhibitions I’ve been too. It made quite a refreshing change and I left feeling that I not only had a greater sense of Catalan history but also how it fits alongside the other existing knowledge I have of history. I was able to draw things together and make comparisons in ways that I have not necessarily recognised being able to do before. 

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

You can also really tell that it is a new development by the approach that’s been taken, and the development of the museum over the last 10 years has been documented through video which is shown to visitors at the end of the exhibition. It displays a very modern approach to gallery design. There is a mix of glass faced cabinets containing artefacts with information panels, but also more interactive elements – models and recreations. A number of these in fact, still stand out. In particular a net which has been filled with armour and placed on a pulley system, which visitors can then attempt to lift in an effort to demonstrate how heavy it would have been to wear armour. There was also a knight’s horse that could be sat on, milling stones for grinding wheat and my personal favourite, a reconstruction of an irrigation system. Children are encouraged to take the place of oxen and turn a wheel, which then lifted water from a well into channels which in turn irrigated farm crops. It was such an inspired way to both educate and occupy children, while allowing adults the time to read the information, which in other museums can sometimes be a bit of a battle. 

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

The museum’s mission statement is published on their website and is as follows:

The Museu d’Història de Catalunya (MHC) opened in 1996 to make Catalan history and culture better known at home and abroad. Publicly owned and inspired by the public interest, it is designed to be a museum of society insofar as it encourages interaction between history and the other social sciences and takes an interest in our own times. A cultural centre that is open and accessible to everyone with a programme that offers visitors opportunities for learning and training, for debate and analysis, for relaxation and enjoyment. (1)

It aims to be a space for ‘encounter and exchange’ and I definitely think that’s the case. The models show the practicalities of life at different periods in time, prompting questions that you pose not only to yourself but also to the other people you might be visiting with. And while it offers a huge historical range that some might find that overwhelming, I found it to be really intellectually stimulating. It offered something different, both in scope and design, and I’d definitely recommend it to those that visit Barcelona.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

(1) http://www.en.mhcat.cat/content/view/full/44