Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Geoffrey Chaucer

Imagine, if your tiny minds will let you, being a pioneer or a major player in the manifest of anything.  Now imagine that your idea goes viral and hangs around for hundreds of years after you kick off.  People take it up and add to it in their own way and the concept evolves to suit society over and over.  Lots of people have done it; everything we use every day came from somebodies imagination and was forced out into the world to fend for itself.

In the middle ages from 1343 – 1400 in England, there lived a man by the name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Throughout his life he achieved fame as an alchemist, astronomer and he is also known as the father of literature. At a time when the dominant literary languages where Latin and French, Chaucer chose Middle English for his work.

Plaque at The Savoy on The Strand.   

Chaucer was well travelled and settled in Kent where he wrote his famous Canterbury Tales but there was never indication that he actually visited Canterbury.  Like so many writers, the imagination makes up for the actual. The Tales are part of a story-telling contest by pilgrims travelling together from Southwark to the shrine of Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral, and these too are written in the vernacular.

The Canterbury Tales tours in Canterbury

Apart from his writing, Chaucer had many prestigious positions including a sort of foreman of the King’s works. There was nothing major constructed during this stint, but he did oversee repairs to Westminster Palace. So you can imagine work of this capacity fetched a decent wage.

Picture and memorabilia of Chaucer 

It’s unsure how Chaucer died. Some say he was murdered but there’s no clear evidence to support this. Chaucer was the first poet to be buried in Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey where photographs are not allowed – hopefully one day that will change.

If you look back at the era that Geoffrey Chaucer lived in, the realisation of what he did for literature becomes apparent.  Writing in the native language instead of French or Latin was somewhat left of the middle and taking a chance like that wouldn’t have been an easy decision to make.  What if nobody like it and The Canterbury Tales had sat on the bargain table or ended up as landfill somewhere? Lucky for me this didn’t happen because I can’t read Latin or French so my life would have had no meaning. I’m not quite sure what I would be doing if not stalking dead writers, but what I do know for sure is that Once upon a time in London a man tried something out of the norm and it turned out for the best and started a trend that will last forever.  Nothing ventured, hey Geoffrey?

The Little Bookroom

Eleanor Farjeon

Out of all everything that I’ve ever wanted in life, near the top of the list would be my own private library.  I imagine a room with floor to ceiling bookcases and a moving ladder so I can reach the top shelves. There’s a desk in my library and of course, an old brown chesterfield so that I can laze the day away with a good book and a curled up cat. My library consists of classics and travel books so that I can continue to pursue the classic writers I’ve fallen in love with over the past 49 years. There’s a special place for my sacred blog books and the sun streams through the window in the afternoons.  It might sound cliché to you, but to me, this is paradise.

If we leave my private library and go into an attic with piles of dusty books that have not been arranged in any logical order, we enter the childhood of Eleanor Farjeon. I can only imagine how wonderful it must have been to spend time rummaging for something that introduces you to new characters and places you’ve never been, in a private world of your own.

At the age of five, Eleanor Farjeon’s father encouraged her to start writing. She has been described as a timid child and was known to her family as ‘Nellie’. Farjeon suffered poor eyesight and ill-health and spent a lot of her time in the attic reading. Her inspiration for her most famous book, Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard, came not from that quiet attic, but from family holidays.

A compilation of Eleanor Farjeon's favourites

After World War I, Farjeon earned a living as a poet and if you don’t think you know any of her work then think again.  Eleanor Farjeon is responsible for the lyrics to the Hymn Morning has Broken. The correct title of the poem is ‘A Morning Song (for the first day of spring)’. This was also made popular in the 70’s by Cat Stevens and was number one on the US charts. There is a link at the end of the blog for your entertainment

Eleanor Farjeon was born in 1881 and passed away in 1965.  I’ve seen some changes throughout my life, but coming from the Victorian age to the Swinging Sixties must have been a whirlwind of an adventure. Throughout those years, she became friends with writers such as D H Lawrence and Walter de la Mare. Although she loved children, she never had any of her own, which is kind of a shame because it’s always nice to read the stories that you’ve written to your own children.

Farjeon's grave in the Churchyard of St John-at-Hampstead

In the little attic book room, Eleanor Farjeon developed a ferocious appetite for words and literature.  She knew how to reach children with her writing and created incredible adventures that make you want to dance in a barn. 

 Like Eleanor Farjeon, I love to read and I love to write. One day I’ll have that library that I’ve dreamt of for so long now, but at the moment I’m happy to be inspired by a girl from Victorian England whose imagination developed Once upon a time in a dust filled attic full of stories and adventures.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0TInLOJuUM

And he himself was tall and thin, with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin.

Robert Browning

Of all of the poetry that I’ve ever read, I must admit that there is one that stands out from the others. The poem is Robert Browning’s rendition of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. I’ve read the story on several occasions, but I like the poem best.

Robert Browning was a master of verse.  He was born in Camberwell in 1812 and was lucky enough to be raised in a house with incredible literary sources. Browning’s father encouraged his interest in literature. Although he had inherited a sizable musical ability from his mother, Browning pursued his interest in poetry and his father paid for the publications.

You might remember that I blogged about Elizabeth Barrett Browning a few weeks ago and Robert is the contributor of the latter name.  They married in 1846 and travelled to Italy for Elizabeth’s health. After her death, he returned to London and became part of the London Literary scene. His poetic style was favourable and he was a serious contender for Poet Laureate in 1850 when Wordsworth passed away.

Browning’s poetry wasn’t really aimed at children, but the legend of the Pied Piper became a children’s story and Browning’s poem is quite witty.

The poem as a book,

 

There are several different theories as to what actually happened to the children of Hamelin. I find it difficult to believe that they were swallowed up by a hillside cave never to be seen again, but the story is kind of creepy.  There are some who actually believe that the Pied Piper was some sort of psychopathic paedophile who led the children away for his own devices. There is also the idea that all people of a town are the town’s children and that these particular folk left Hamelin to settle parts of Transylvania.  To me, it’s almost like a game of Chinese whispers where as the story gets passed along it gets a little foggier and harder to interpret.

Robert Browning is buried in Poet’s corner in Westminster Abbey.  Unfortunately, photography is forbidden, but it’s worth a visit if you’re ever in London.  He was an amazing man who could turn anything into a poem, and all of this happened Once upon a time in the 1800s.

 

 

And yet to every bad there is a worse.

Thomas Hardy

London is a busy place.  Trying to push your way along Regent Street on a Sunday is ridiculously difficult, not to mention annoying.  I guess it’s like every big city – they get busy.  At the beginning of the year I moved from busy London Bridge out into the western suburbs of the city where it’s a lot quieter and the view a little better. It’s still noisy of course and at certain times it’s still busy, but not so much on the road where I live. I’m not saying I don’t like central London though; in fact, it could be a lot worse.

I once read a book called Far from the Madding Crowd. The story is rurally set and focusses on the characters and their lives working their farms.  It’s all about the lives and misfortunes of these particular characters and how they overcome them, and it’s written by a man called Thomas Hardy.

Thomas Hardy lived in Trinity Road Wandsworth

Unlike a lot of the writers that I’ve researched, Thomas Hardy’s education ended at the age of 16.  In Dorchester, his father worked as a Stone Mason and local builder. His family couldn’t afford University so Hardy became an apprentice and trained as an architect in Dorchester until he left for London where he enrolled himself in Kings College. Thomas Hardy won prizes in architecture and he was in charge of the excavation of the St Pancras old church graveyard when the railway was built. This unenviable task included the removal of bodies and tombs and there is a particular tree in the churchyard there called the Hardy tree where the headstones have been arranged around the trunk. Although Hardy was a great architect, nobody can deny that he was a brilliant writer.

The Hardy Tree - St Pancras old church graveyard

In Far from the Madding Crowd, Gabriel Oak has his own property until one night one of his dogs rounds his sheep up and they all end up over a cliff.  Oak then has to work for other farmers in the district, but this guy always seems to be in the right place at the right time, kind of like Superman.  I know it’s only a story, but when you read it and think about how he could have ended up, it kind of makes you believe that no matter how bad things seem, it can always get worse.  In the case of Gabriel Oak, his life was full of ups and downs, but it got better. I could wax lyrical about the story until the cows come home and I’m pleased that Hardy tried his hand at writing and didn’t just stick to architecture.                 

Thomas Hardy was born in 1840 in Dorchester and passed away in 1928 in Dorchester. He is now buried in Stinsford parish church.  His birthplace and his home Max Gate are both owned by the National Trust and I am sorry to say that I have not yet visited either.  To say that he loved London would be a lie, but what I can honestly say is, Once upon a time in the 1800’s an Englishman followed a path that led me Far from the Madding Crowd. I urge you to go there!

How do I love thee?

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

When you think about how times have changed and the way writers used to be the comparison is quite significant. In a time where a gentleman would read poetry to his lady and never call unannounced, poets used their skills to enhance life and even help you fall in love. This still goes on of course, but the idea of reading a poem to someone in a garden is slightly cheesy and if there is poetry of any kind, it’s usually inside a greeting card purchased in February.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Born in the Victorian era in 1806, Elizabeth Barrett Moulton-Barrett was the eldest of 12 children. A studious child, she read constantly and was clearly advanced for her age. Elizabeth was home schooled and spent her childhood at Hope End in Herefordshire. At the age of ten, Barrett Browning had already started writing her own poetry and her father called her the poet laureate of Hope End.

During her teenage years, this young poet read Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman and became a passionate supporter of Wollstonecraft’s views. Knowing that she had no chance of the type of education that was bestowed upon her brothers, she still persisted. She also opposed slavery and published two poems on the subject, although, much of her wealth came from slave labour and her father believed that the abolition of slavery would ruin his business. But it was in Wimpole Street in London that she wrote her best poetry and in 1844, her volume of poetry made one of the most popular writers in England.

The dedication in Wimpole Street London.

 

Robert Browning was an admirer of her work and wrote to her of it.  Thus began their relationship. After a secret courtship and a private marriage, they honeymooned in Paris where they probably spent hours reading poetry to each other.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning passed on in 1861. Her Sonnet XLIII or How do I Love Thee, is possibly one of the most romantic poems to date and the envy of greeting card poets everywhere. It came to light Once upon a time in an age where education was somewhat elusive to women and romantic poetry was a man’s forte. But this work will outshine others in its genre in many ways, you can count them if you like.

What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

Christopher Marlowe

I always feel a sense of accomplishment when I visit a place that has a history of more than one writer.  When I researched Canterbury, I discovered that this incredible cathedral city had a lot more to it than I originally thought.  My discovery was kind of like a coup for me. Of course I needed to do a little more work for this entry, but the rest was much closer to home. 

His name is everywhere in Canterbury

The popular playwright Christopher Marlowe was baptised on the 26^th of February 1564. His birthdate was not recorded but he was like to have been born just a few days before hand. He attended the prestigious King’s School in Canterbury and then on to Corpus Christi in Cambridge. Marlowe never married, but did spend a lot of time in getting into fights. Perhaps if he’d found himself a wife, he might have been around a bit longer.

Several plays were written by Marlowe, but the most well-known would probably be The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus. This was the first dramatised version of a faustian pact. Faustus made a deal with the devil for knowledge and power.

The Marlowe Theatre above and the Marlow Statue below

If you compare the popularity of Christopher Marlowe and Justin Bieber, they’d probably be about equal - in their respective times of course.  But none the less, I couldn’t imagine Bieber getting into a pub brawl which is what Marlowe did on the night that he died.  Stabbed in a pub in Deptford after a drunken evening, or was he?

Conspiracy theory

Whilst enjoying a relaxing boat ride on the river Stour, the oarsman and tour guide Tom, told us of the conspiracy theory relating to the death of Christopher Marlowe.  It is thought that Marlowe staged his death because he was under suspicion for spying for the French.  He may have fled the country and lived in Europe for some time after. There are those who think he continued to write and send his plays to his good friend William Shakespeare. When you consider what Shakespeare has written, one might wonder how someone who never travelled out of England could write of places he had never seen. Then you might wonder also how Bram Stoker could conjure up one of the most popular gothic tales in history when he never visited the Carpathians. I guess when it comes to the Marlowe conspiracy; you either believe it or you don’t. I would never discredit Shakespeare so that kind of makes me a nonbeliever. However, it does make me wonder.

To add fuel to the fire, in St Nicholas’ churchyard in Deptford there is a plaque on the wall which signifies that Marlowe’s remains are buried close by.  It’s an ordinary looking piece of marble which has been etched carefully to state the above.  It seems strange that someone who was so popular didn’t have his gravesite marked which kind of enhances the conspiracy theory, but I’m still not fully convinced.

The plaque in St Nicholas' Churchyard

According to history, Christopher Marlowe was killed in a pub brawl in Deptford in 1593 at the age of 29. He was stabbed by Ingram Frizer, who was known in those times as a swindler. For those of us who weren’t there, I guess we have to make up our own minds of which story we believe and although this one leaves up questioning, I am certain that Once upon a time in England, there lived a talented author who had a flair for storytelling, but whether he died on that fateful night in 1593 will for some remain a mystery.

In search of a “Little bear lost”

Mary Tourtel

For those of you who read my blog regularly, you’ll realise that I’ve been blogging for a year now. So, this week’s blogspedition had to be a little bit special.  After a lot of research and some careful journey planning on my part, I set of at 7:20am to visit one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen to date.  When I lived in Australia, I worked in Canterbury and when you work in a place you kind of get a picture in your head of what a city of the same name in another country might look like.  I was completely wrong of course and the Canterbury that I visited in Kent was quite different to the Melbourne suburb that I once worked in.

In Stour Street Canterbury there is a museum which has a section dedicated to a character that has been around for over 90 years and this beloved bear is so popular that he has had no less than six writers to date.

Plaque on the house in Palace Street Canterbury

Mary Tourtel created the character by the name of Rupert Bear, and the comic strip was first published in the Daily Express in 1920. Tourtel who was born Mary Caldwell in 1874 studied at the Sidney Cooper school of art in Canterbury.  She married Herbert Tourtel who was the editor of the newspaper and Rupert Bear was created to compete against other comic strips in rival newspapers. When Rupert first went to print, he was brown, but they changed his colour to white to cut expenses. Tourtel drew Rupert until her eyesight failed her in 1935.

Part of the museum exhibition - Tourtel creating her comic strip

If you have the opportunity to visit the museum, you’re in for a treat.  The displays are interactive and they have story time there too.  I was lucky enough to catch a rehearsal and I think it’s something everybody would enjoy. There are a few glass case exhibitions, but nothing too boring as this part of the museum really is for kids – and the young at heart.

Rupert Bear Book

Rupert Bear isn’t just a comic strip anymore.  There are books, games, puzzles and of course television shows about his adventures.  I remember years ago my nanna bought a Rupert Bear book for my brother.  I was kind of jealous at the time, but he let me read it. It never occurred to me at the time that I would visit the actual place where the bear was created. 

The headstone of the Tourtel's grave

Mary Tourtel passed away in 1946 and is buried with her husband Herbert in St Martin’s Churchyard. I wonder what she would think about Rupert’s popularity if she were still around.  This phenomenally successful character has won the hearts of children for such a long time and I’m sure that this will continue for many years to come.

Plaque on the house in Ivy Lane Canterbury

I really enjoy the research and travel that goes into my blog and I’m thankful to those of you who take the time to read it. When I visit somewhere that I haven’t been before, it reminds me that the world is a big place with so much to discover. So on the first anniversary of my blog let me finish by saying that Once upon a time in Canterbury, I found not only the bear I was searching for, but another beautiful city worth telling you about.