The Streets Of London – Part One Hundred And Five
Cecil Court, WC2N
As a bibliophile, if I was to come back as a ghost, the place I would like to haunt is Cecil Court aka Booksellers’ Row, a lovely little street to be found on the right-hand side of St Martin’s Lane as you walk towards the Thames, stuffed with second-hand bookstores and antiquarian shops. The land upon which it is situated was bought by the Cecil family in 1609, they still own it, and this court takes its name from the family.
When the Court was initially laid out is difficult to date with any precision. It is one of the oldest thoroughfares in the Covent Garden area, some dating it to the 1670s, although it does not feature in William Morgan’s incredibly detailed map of the city, London etc Actually Survey’d from 1682 and the earliest mention of it in a rent book is as late as 1695. I think we have to conclude that it is late 17th century and when it does make an appearance in maps from the 18th century, a hedgerow can be seen running along it.
John Strype, in his Survey of the Cities of London & Westminster from 1720, described it as “a new built Court, with very good Houses, fit for good Inhabitants”. Strype may have been somewhat optimistic in his assessment as residents from the Court make appearances in the Old Bailey on a range of charges including petty theft, highway robbery, forgery and arson. Perhaps the most notorious resident at the time was Elizabeth Calloway, who, in 1735, kept a Brandy Shop there of some notoriety where her customers could be found “drinking, smoaking, and swearing, and running up and down Stairs till one or two in the Morning”.
In what might have been an insurance job, the drinking establishment burnt to the ground, taking some of the nearby properties with it, whilst the redoubtable Ms Calloway was some streets away, smoking her pipe and drinking good Sussex beer with some friends. It’s always good to have an alibi. Her stockroom and barrels were empty, and she had bought some bundles of kindling a little while before, but there was no conclusive evidence to convict her and the jury let her off. William Hogarth’s mother died “at her house in Cranbourn-Alley of a Fright, occasioned by the Fire”, despite being in rude health when the fire broke out, the only known death from the incident.
As well as reaching Cranbourn-Alley, the fire spread into St Martin’s Court, taking with it a further fifteen houses. The Daily Journal, on June 11, 1735, noted how the fire “continued with great Fury for the Space of two Hours before water could be got to supply the Engines”. The then Prince of Wales, Prince Frederick, got in on the act, directing engines and animating the firemen from a house in St Martin’s-Court.
Not ones to miss an opportunity, some of the Court’s residents went on a looting spree. Mistaking them for her own, or she claimed, “in the hurry and fright she was in”, Mary Steward removed a bed and three pictures from a burning house. Assisting her employer, or so she said, Eleanor Newby removed six curtains and five china dishes from his house – they were subsequently found in her lodgings. Both were acquitted but James Newby was not so lucky, sentenced to transportation to America for up to fourteen years. His crime? Stealing iron bars and an iron pin from a press.
London’s history is punctuated by fires but this one gained some notoriety and provided a fascinating insight into the lives of the residents of Cecil Court in the first half of the 18th century. I will return to the Court next time to talk about some of its more famous residents and explain why it became known, for a while, at least, as Flicker Alley.
