Monthly Archives: February 2014

Day-trip to Margate

Margate stone pier

One fine day in February. The blip on the horizon to the left of the lighthouse is an 800-year-old navigation mark – the twin church towers on the cliff at Reculver. The church itself has gone.

Broad Street

Ghost of a newspaper: the Thanet Times is no more (also known as the Thanet Crimes).

Turner Contemporary

And the ghost of Turner makes an appearance in the workshop space at Turner Contemporary. At the moment he’s rubbing shoulders with Helen Frankenthaler in the gallery.

Old Town Hall

Richard Watts, the 17th-century notary at Deal who co-starred in an earlier post, probably saw this three-arched building go up in Margate where he formerly lived; the ground floor looks as if it was once an open arcade. Now it’s part of Margate’s excellent museum.

As for the gifts of Margate ale that Watts would send up to Whitehall whenever he feared a loss of favour there, it could have come from the brewhouse that had stood in Mansion Street since 1615 at least, or from another located up on the Fort cliffs where Cobb’s brewery was later built. It’s been suggested that there could have been maltings in the caves under the cliffs from a very early date – see the link below. The antiquary John Lewis wrote in 1723 that there were formerly about 40 malthouses in the parish.

LombardStreet_624ttu

This is Lombard Street – probably where pawnbrokers operated in the 1600s.

Love Lane

A love of Flemish gables apparently arrived with returning royalist exiles after 1660.

Bathing houses
Bathing machines in operation, from A Picture of Margate, and its Vicinity, by W C Oulton, 1820

Sea-bathing was invented in the 1700s: back then it involved nakedness, burly attendants and horse-drawn bathing machines. Later there was a sea-bathing infirmary, and the Clifton Baths were built into the cliffs. Then came the Lido – now up for redevelopment, but an action group is on the case.

The Lido

Links

How they broke the chain at Chatham

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Diligence and Time, by Claes Jansz. Visscher II, early 17th century [Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam]

My previous post was very long – to compensate, here’s a short one. This image once accompanied a set of rustic views around Haarlem. It also contains an unexpected clue about something else entirely, that’s bothered me for a while.

The raid on Chatham on 12 June 1667, in which the Dutch under admiral De Ruyter set fire to the English fleet in the Medway and carried away the Royal Charles flagship, made an appearance in the previous post. Apart from the disastrous decision to lay up the fleet in wartime, the undoing of the English was their reliance on a barricade of sunken ships, and then the chain. This was a well-established harbour defence: an iron chain suspended across the entrance to a river, which attacking ships could not cross. But the Dutch ships did: they broke the Medway chain. The question is, how?

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Map detail showing the raid on Chatham, Michiel Comans II, 1667 [Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam]

This is one of an array of maps and illustrations that were published in Holland soon after the raid, some more plausible than others, here showing a fireship breaking the chain. Some have dramatic accounts of the action printed underneath – my grasp of 17th-century Dutch is hit-and-miss to say the least, but the gist of the stories is that the attacker simply sailed courageously through the chain. Fireships were smallish, light and fast, usually cheap conversions of old ships, suggesting speed was the key. One Dutch account mentions a following wind. The day before the attack it was predicted at Rochester that the Dutch would attempt something the next day at noon, when the tide would give them an advantage. A sober report from a surgeon at Chatham, who may have been an eyewitness, says that several fireships got past the wrecks, and the chain was broken by the number of ships pressing on it.

Scene from the Chatham raid by Romeyn de Hooghe, 1667 [Rijksmuseum Amsterdam]

A rising tide would have lifted the Dutch ships over the wrecks and propelled them up the river. This view of a single fireship breaking the chain may be dramatised, but it does also illustrate the final part of the operation. The crew are exiting through a purpose-made door low down at the stern to escape in a boat, leaving the fireship on a collision course with an English ship.

Haarlemmers claimed a further Dutch advantage, in ship design. The painting below depicts the capture of Damietta (Domyat on the Nile delta) during the Fifth Crusade in about 1219; the crusaders’ ship is cutting the chain between the two towers. And in the Visscher print, behind the city’s coat of arms the celebrated feature of that ship can be seen: a saw-toothed keel.

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Detail from The capture of Damiate by Cornelis Claesz. van Wieringen, before 1628 [Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem]

I have found no mention of saw teeth in any of the Chatham accounts, and the silver beaker awarded to the captain of the Pro Patria, judged to have broken the Medway chain, has a portrait of his ship showing what looks like a reinforced iron keel extending up the bow, but no teeth. Who knows if a toothed keel would actually work? Perhaps it was more like a rasp. The text accompanying de Hooghe’s illustration proclaims (in my approximate translation): ‘the courage and resolution of the present-day Batavians is no less than that of our forefathers before Damiata’. The nearest I can get to the truth is that a flotilla of fireships sailed at the Medway chain, it broke, and the first past the post got the prize. There was initial confusion over which ship that was, and even an English rumour that the chain had been secured with cable yarn. Real or not though, the saw-toothed keel is an inspired idea. Hard to fathom why captain Jack Sparrow never thought of it.

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Left, detail of the Visscher print above. Right, detail of engraved beaker, 1668 [Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam]