tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-321787772024-03-21T14:57:52.451-07:00SwinburnianDr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32178777.post-14094002344434956262020-12-21T13:55:00.009-08:002020-12-23T03:18:32.624-08:00'Run down' to Putney (Walking with Swinburne)<p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSr1seW2metuj22_VoyYLXMt7zjVB2hjWY3NtcZoQ-eKAsvAUcGPm3OtRPFAH-3OlqAIBumHAWoCXZzvJtmneNtifXlBxSCFhAl-iYPUBGBrhp6QcCODQjkZnIx7wyJEnElbRl/s400/Pines+gates+Putney.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSr1seW2metuj22_VoyYLXMt7zjVB2hjWY3NtcZoQ-eKAsvAUcGPm3OtRPFAH-3OlqAIBumHAWoCXZzvJtmneNtifXlBxSCFhAl-iYPUBGBrhp6QcCODQjkZnIx7wyJEnElbRl/w400-h300/Pines+gates+Putney.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">Donald Thomas, <i>Swinburne: The Poet in his World,</i> Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1979, P.201 (1879)</span><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><br />Watts-Dunton
had suggested to Swinburne a ‘run down’ to Putney for the sake of his
health, and had carried him off to his sister’s house, Ivy Lodge,
WerterRoad*, off the High Street… There followed the invigorating
morning drives to the windmill** on Wimbledon Common, until the poet’s
strength had returned sufficiently for him to accomplish the journey on
foot. At the same time, Watts-Dunton, with the eye of a born
businessman, had noticed a number of handsome villas, large and
semi-detached, being built in the neighbourhood. He took a
twenty-one-year lease on a spacious new house of this type at the foot
of Putney Hill - No. 2 The Pines. Swinburne was to be his sub-tenant.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: x-small;">**(The
Windmill has been a distinctive landmark since it was built in 1817 to
serve the local community. However it only operated until 1864, when the
machinery was removed and it was converted to residential
accommodation. In 1976 the first floor was opened as a museum, and this
was extended to the whole building in 1998.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Ivy Lodge Werter Road Putney. See p23 <i>The Pines</i> by Mollie Panter Downes.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Posted by John Dunn. </i><br /></span></span></p>Dr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32178777.post-81875688739648800912020-12-20T06:15:00.001-08:002020-12-23T03:19:19.782-08:00Swinburne walks in living memory (Walking with Swinburne) <p><b><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: large;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWe6JPicWpnecGAwOOUa8d5kFNkQy4LGJMXnamfmQkWgbg-CFfxKrqwJcRQU6WC5C5K6-m8osihm5bJHbTXOowxfG0DLjSwfaRzd0K1aLUM9JlyqeICG4Ul8XbzK-7c-lI1vUe/s603/Windmill+Wimbledon+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWe6JPicWpnecGAwOOUa8d5kFNkQy4LGJMXnamfmQkWgbg-CFfxKrqwJcRQU6WC5C5K6-m8osihm5bJHbTXOowxfG0DLjSwfaRzd0K1aLUM9JlyqeICG4Ul8XbzK-7c-lI1vUe/w424-h640/Windmill+Wimbledon+.jpg" width="424" /></a></span></b></div><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">From Jean Overton Fuller, <i>Swinburne: A Critical Biography,</i> Chatto & Windus, 1968, p.287<br /><br />In
Putney he became a familiar figure. Dr. H. Gordon Smith, who lived as
achild on the Upper Richmond Road, about a hundred yards from The Pines,
had constant occasion to observe him, as ‘every morning he emerged from
The Pines to go up Putney Hill… He had gingerish whiskers. His suit was
plain black and he wore a pork-pie hat similar to those worn by parsons
of that day. His gait was peculiar; he strutted like a robot with his
arms hanging rigidly at full length. He looked straight in front,
appearing to notice nothing or nobody’.<br /><br />Mr. William Reader, as a
boy, used to help the milkman with his deliveries, and it was on what
was called the ‘pudding-round’, between 10 and 11, that he always saw
Swinburne as he walked across Putney Heath and Wimbledon - in the same
black suit and hat, needless to say- ‘with his hands in his jacket
pockets and his head thrust forward’, on the way to his favourite pub.<br /><br />Nearer
to his destination, he was witnessed by Mr. W. J. S. Neale, whose
father was a coachman at Richmond House,* Parkside, ‘with fully
extendedarms and fingers slightly swinging on either side of his body.
…My elders used to state that, because of his regular movements, it was
safe to set one’s watch by his appearances’. On one occasion, as this
child and his mother were walking down Putney Hill, they met Swinburne,
and ‘He suddenly stepped in front of myself, placed one hand on each of
my cheeks and held my face, for what seemed to be some minutes. Then,
stepping aside, he raised his dark coloured, large trilby hat, and
proceeded on his journey in silence’.<br /><br />P. 291<br /><br />(Overton-Fuller
writes of a Mrs Yglesias, who was still living on Putney Hill at the
time the biography was being written. It was published in 1968.)<br /><br />(Amongst
other comments, Mrs Yglesias told Overton-Fuller about how Swinburne)
had long conversations with her husband’s mother, sitting on a bench by
the windmills, on Wimbledon Common, where he would rest for a while his
morning journey to the Rose and Crown.<br /><br />She (Mrs Yglesias)
sometimes heard his visits to the Rose and Crown referred to in an odd
tone; yet she never saw him drunk. He appeared to be in good health; as
indeed, he must have been to walk right up Putney Hill and across the
Heath and Common, and then back, every day. It was a very considerable
walk for anybody, let alone a man of over seventy.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">*(Richmond House was the second house north of Inner Park Road on Parkside.) <br />(Now replaced by flats.)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Posted by John Dunn.</i></span></span> <br /><p></p>Dr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32178777.post-1992536919640012062020-12-20T06:11:00.001-08:002020-12-23T03:19:30.819-08:00Longer Swinburne walks (Walking with Swinburne)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29wiI2nS966PNh8YW15u-fxiXlR0iW5EJWBNJB4RtXzEqtZRbFnqBAmyK9VufIRMhepEJ9P8MH233tgcb1DK28Ln94ZGKOPE1s4dN0nu3DiD6k2GxXLpleVz9SSl4zN7GOsRQ/s400/St+Mary%2527s+church+Barnes+1888.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="400" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29wiI2nS966PNh8YW15u-fxiXlR0iW5EJWBNJB4RtXzEqtZRbFnqBAmyK9VufIRMhepEJ9P8MH233tgcb1DK28Ln94ZGKOPE1s4dN0nu3DiD6k2GxXLpleVz9SSl4zN7GOsRQ/w400-h288/St+Mary%2527s+church+Barnes+1888.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>St Mary's Barnes 1888 engraving</i></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p> <span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">Philip Henderson, <i>Swinburne: The Portrait of a Poet,</i> Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974, P.237</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span>But
every day now, wet or fine, he left The Pines at eleven o’ clock for
his morning’s walk across Putney Heath and Wimbledon Common, his
destination The Rose and Crown Tavern - ‘Pelting along as fast as I can
go’ with his quick, springy steps, he became a well-known figure in his
wide-brimmed black felt hat and frock coat. There was something a little
odd and mechanical in his movements. If he met anyone he knew on his
walks, he would not appear to recognise them. At the Rose and Crown in
Wimbledon High Street he was equally anxious to preserve his privacy and
took his beer alone in the coffee Rome. Should anyone come in while he
was there, he immediately escaped to the landlord’s private room or, if
he had nearly finished his bottle, he would get up and bolt into the
High Street, where he stopped at the Misses Frost’s stationers’ and
book-sellers’ shop at the corner of the Ridgeway to buy a daily paper or
a further supply of the blue foolscap he always used for writing.
Sometimes a celebrity-hunter would recognise him and try to engage him
in conversation. When this occurred, after a freezing glance at the
intruder, he would escape into the Misses Frost’s private room until the
coast was clear. He had extra large pockets made in his coat, which he
called ‘poacher’s pockets, to hold any books he had ordered, and these
had to be made to balance equally on each side of him before he set off
on his return journey.<br /><br />… Sometimes Swinburne would vary his walk
by going along the Richmond Road to the Mortlake Arms and then across
Barnes Common as far as Barnes Green and the church - a considerable
walk. In those days, of course, this area was almost rural. Barnes was a
village - as it is still to some extent - and there was practically no
traffic, except for an occasional cart and horse, carriage or pony-trap,
and the odd rider on his or her way to Richmond Park. Walking there
could still be a pleasure, and Priory Lane, leading to the park from the
Richmond Road, was still a country lane, bordered on the one side by
the Beverley Brook and on the other by a few large houses and extensive
market-gardens.</span><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Posted by John Dunn.</i></span></span></span></span></p><br />Dr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32178777.post-44362915235683043862020-12-18T03:40:00.006-08:002020-12-23T03:19:45.282-08:00Swinburne's constitutional (Walking with Swinburne)<p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXeN6k-xpLarHlPOEXwVPS_OoSQdukGYOUDJx4J986VOUxf2qnaBd90e55P4X5mw1kk2X9o_a1goszxmswVTJdlACVliB3tkIidJ5JRV-ViMapotK_LHDGUfQRV9oA7DOymYc/s350/Swinburne+Rose+and+Crown+Wimbledon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="350" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXeN6k-xpLarHlPOEXwVPS_OoSQdukGYOUDJx4J986VOUxf2qnaBd90e55P4X5mw1kk2X9o_a1goszxmswVTJdlACVliB3tkIidJ5JRV-ViMapotK_LHDGUfQRV9oA7DOymYc/w400-h275/Swinburne+Rose+and+Crown+Wimbledon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Rose and Crown, Wimbledon</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">Clara Watts-Dunton, <i>The Home Life of Swinburne, </i>A. M. Philpott, London, 1922<br /><br />CHAPTER IX <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">pp. 93-5</span><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><br /><br />Swinburne's
daily walk across the Common to Wimbledon and back has been done to
death. Every yard of the way has been described; and, indeed, stretches
of the heath which were not included in his itinerary have been ‘written
up' and photographed. Imaginative writers have boldly identified his
favourite spots. But these enthusiasts have, as a rule, ended their
narratives at the very point where cynics might suppose the human
interest of the story to begin, namely, the village of Wimbledon itself.
For the limit of Swinburne's walk was the old-fashioned inn known as
‘The Rose and Crown.': Elsewhere I have described one of my walks with
the poet over his beloved common, with the remarks he made to me on his
favourite trees. Here I follow him to his favourite inn, and to the shop
at which he bought a daily paper and sometimes ordered, from a
catalogue, some rare old book which the owner of the shop would procure
for him. At both the inn and the shop Swinburne's memory is still
cherished with affectionate reverence. <br /><br />Visitors will find the
exterior of ‘The Rose and Crown’ exactly as it was in the poet's day.
The interior has, alas! been altered out of recognition. I shudder to
think what the effect on Swinburne would have been had the architectural
transformation been effected in his time. The cosy little ‘coffee room'
which he entered from the street has disappeared, and with it has
disappeared the chair in which he always sat. But it is in safe keeping;
and I just loved the widow of the late landlord when she told me that
she would not part with it for any sum that might be offered. <br /><br />When
once Swinburne had established himself as a daily customer at ‘The Rose
and Crown’ he was spared the usual formality of ordering. From the bar
his entry was noted. They had been keeping a look-out for him, and a
waiter ‘entered from without’ bearing a bottle of Bass with a replica of
the peculiarly thick tumbler which the Bard used at home. It is
related, with a note of tragedy in the recital, how this sacred beaker,
which was kept for his use, was smashed by a careless barmaid.
Unfortunately there was not another such glass in the house. Swinburne
was greatly ‘put out’ by the accident. He did not relish his Bass from
any other vessel; was moody and silent during his stay, leaving the
place abruptly after but a very short rest. Happily, on the same
afternoon a stock of tumblers like that which had been broken was
procured, and from the morrow until the end the poet was provided with
the vessel that he preferred. <br /><br />The cosy little apartment which he
used was not much frequented during the time of his visit; but it was
not, of course, a private room, and a stray visitor would sometimes
enter it while the poet was in possession. Then one of two things
happened. If Swinburne had nearly finished his bottle, he would get up
and disappear into the village High Street. If, on the other hand, he
had only just begun to refresh himself, he would seek sanctuary in the
landlord's private room. As all his movements were watched by the host
or his assistants with a really pious solicitude, he would immediately
be followed to his retreat by a servant bringing with him the bottle and
the glass which the poet had abandoned in the ‘Coffee Room…' </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;">pp.96-7<br /><br />…A
little higher up the village High Street he came, during his first
exploratory ramble, on the shop of a bookseller and stationer. Here he
established himself on an excellent footing with the proprietress, and
here, for thirty years, he repaired every week day of his life while he
was living at Putney to buy newspapers. Books he also bought here, and,
in December, Christmas <br />cards…<br /><br />pp.100-1<br /><br />…Sometimes the
Wimbledon purchases grew to a considerable bulk. Swinburne in a
book-seller's was something like a schoolboy in a tuck-shop. Temptation
was on all sides of him, and he found it irresistible. For the carriage
of his treasures he had two very large pockets in his coat. We called
them his " poacher-pockets." One of the self-imposed duties of the
kindly bookseller at Wimbledon was to see that these poacher-pockets
balanced nicely. The poet himself was not deft in stowing away his
purchases ; and with one heavy pocket weighing down on one side and a
light one on the other, the walk home across the Common would have been
fatiguing even to such an excellent pedestrian. <br /><br />I can fancy him
now, impatient but tractable, as he stands while the adjustment of the
parcels is proceeded with, his relief when the balance is decided to be
"just so," his courtly bow on departure and his quick, springy walk home
across the Common.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Posted by John Dunn.</i></span></p>Dr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32178777.post-87175372125348627622020-12-16T10:27:00.008-08:002020-12-23T03:19:54.936-08:00 Swinburne walking (Walking with Swinburne)<p><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTaJ9h5kp99ReH6C5hqarLTlD2IQRasIruteG_D8f3ewjPrdc7yN8bdJRB-bzzB30fv9rhooLIk0EiQC-vaPMt9BLYl_BfAOuao1sWXHoo6W75PpcqkXDz4pbNsQjj__X4A5M/s325/swinburne+old.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="235" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTaJ9h5kp99ReH6C5hqarLTlD2IQRasIruteG_D8f3ewjPrdc7yN8bdJRB-bzzB30fv9rhooLIk0EiQC-vaPMt9BLYl_BfAOuao1sWXHoo6W75PpcqkXDz4pbNsQjj__X4A5M/w289-h400/swinburne+old.jpg" width="289" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Algernon Charles Swinburne, in the last year of his life. Oil on canvas by Robert M.B.
Paxton, 1909. <br /></span></b></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times new roman,times,serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>From E. Gosse, <i>The life of Algernon Charles Swinburne,</i> Macmillan, London, 1917, pp. 247-8<br /><br />His
days were divided with an almost mechanical precision. Swinburne was
never an early riser, but towards the middle of every morning, no matter
what the weather, he went out for a long walk, generally in the one
direction up Putney Hill and over the Heath, but sometimes along the
Richmond Road to the Mortlake Arms and then through Barnes Common as
faras Barnes Green and the Church. For many years he was a constant
visitor at the shop of the Misses Frost, at the corner of Ridgeway and
High Street, going into Wimbledon ; from these ladies he regularly
bought his newspapers and ordered his books, and their house was the
bourne of his walk in a southerly direction. Very seldom he crossed the
river northwards into London. <br /><br />In storm and rain, always without
an umbrella, the little erect figure, with damp red curls emerging from
under a soft felt hat, might be seen walking, walking, “pelting along
all the time as fast as I can go,” so that he became a portent and a
legend throughout the confines of Wandsworth and Wimbledon. He always
returned home a little while before the mid-day luncheon, or dinner;
andat 2.30, with clock-work regularity, he “disappeared to enjoy a
siesta,” which sometimes lasted until 4.30. Then he would work for a
while, and Watts-Dunton reported to Mr. Wise that in the afternoon he
often sat in his study on the ground floor, and “heard Swinburne in his
own room overhead walking round and round the floor for ten minutes at a
time, composing, and then silence would fall for five minutes while
Swinburne was writing down the new stanza or sentence, and then the
promenade would begin again as before.” The rest of the day was mostly
spent among his books, which were not only numerous, but included many
that were choice and rare.</span><br /><p></p>Dr John Dunnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05974245965180505877noreply@blogger.com0