Inside the Museum of London

Watch this space for the next entry covering how scanning electron microscopy helped us understand different materials on (and in!) the coffin: Name that fibre!

We reached a point where we were making little difference to the appearance of the object so that the possible damage to the outer side by vibrations of the cleaning action and amount of time spent reducing corrosion could not be justified to continue work. We did consider using a harsher abrasive such as sand paper to further wear down remaining compacted corrosion products which caused irregularities in the surface but this seemed unnecessary. We were happy with the appearance achieved, having removed the orange/brown bulbous pale corrosion which is generally considered undesirable. It was not our intention to remove all signs of degradation from the lid as its age and history were fundamental to its perceived values and its status as ‘archaeological object’ admits imperfection and signs of object biography. Also we wanted to avoid risk of revealing fresh metal as this would be unsightly and could create active corrosion cells. Though we felt that we would want to lacquer the object and this side was now ready for that process, we were concerned for the features on the outer side and wanted to investigate and secure them ASAP.

Watch this space for the next entry covering the outer side of the coffin lid with decorative remains: Turning over a new lid.

Following on for our recent blogs about the conservation work on the iron coffin from St Bride’s, find out more as the team take a closer inspection of the coffin, both inside and out. Words: Jill Saunders.

Once the coffin and lid were safely in the lab, we decided that the first thing to do was to investigate the bag of loose debris which we had gathered during the collection of the coffin from the crypt. This would allow us to become familiar with the material and possibly make some important discoveries to inform our approach to the object. We also wanted to organise and safeguard the material so that it could be a resource for future research. We picked through the bag contents on trays and were able to observe different material types. Eg: iron flakes, textile, unidentified organic, unidentified grey inorganic etc. We separated out fragments of reasonable size into type and bagged and labelled them accordingly. The primary identification for this material was ‘X-bag’ as it had no provenance. Ie we did not know exactly where (from inside or outside of the coffin) it had originated. We sat opposite each other so that we could confer and discuss our interpretation of the material as we went along.

With a rough idea of the types of material we were likely to be dealing with we were ready to turn our attention to the coffin, and we began by doing a thorough visual assessment, which the poor lighting and restricted access in the crypt had not allowed.

Being up close to the coffin in good light, we could see lots of details to the fragile decorative areas on the coffin’s exterior surface. We felt it important to record this right away in case of minor losses incurred during treatment. Though photographs are incredibly useful, there are certain subtleties and information which cannot be recorded effectively in this way, so we decided to use Melinex sheeting to mark on different aspects of what we could observe. The sheets were held in place with bulldog clips and Plastazote to protect the coffin and we were careful to use the least number of clips necessary and only in undecorated areas. We devised a code for different features (eg border detail) and used permanent markers in different colours for recording. In this way, we recorded each side and end and the coffin interior, and we saved two more sheets for each side of the lid. We also recorded the precise location of internal features such as textile patches on the interior walls by placing a marker beside them to indicate distance before taking photographs.

Once we had recorded all that we could see our first interventive task was a massive clearout of the dust and debris inside the coffin. Remember, it had been on open display in the crypt for many years, and during this time lots of material had fallen in and built up. We had to remove it so that we could see what we were dealing with as at this stage we had no idea what features of the coffin interior had been preserved. We divided the interior into sections so that we could record the provenance of debris and noted observations as went. At the head end of the coffin we discovered what appeared to be compressed organic matter which looked a bit like sawdust (Fig. 9) and a sort of rough textile beneath it which could be seen clearly protruding from the end (Fig. 10).

At the foot end we found similar material but a more complex construction of multiple layers (Figs 11 & 12), and also an interesting surface texture, probably the remains of a packing material such as straw (Fig. 13).

The clearout also revealed more of the loss to the base, and it seemed to us that this strongly indicated the presence of a body. The damage is very localised and surrounded by strong iron which suggests that the corrosion was due to a contact-catalyst rather than a more general instability caused by the inherently reactive nature of the iron metal. It appears that the corrosion has occurred where the body would have been. Over time acidic chemicals and liquids formed during decomposition processes have seeped down and attacked the metal (Fig. 14).

Our initial clearout had revealed key features but there was still a lot of dust trapped within them and covering most areas of the coffin (inside and out). We knew that for more thorough cleaning we would have to think carefully about protecting different elements:

• Though compacted, the suspected saw dust and straw were still loose and came away with the lightest of brushing or air blowing.

• The patches of textile adhered to the interior walls could be dislodged or damaged.

• There was a substantial amount of brittle material remains of decorative features on the exterior walls which were also vulnerable to sustaining losses.

We thought carefully about different approaches we could take and had discussions with the Conservation Team, especially Jill Barnard, who is in charge of conservation for the Doctors, Dissection and Resurrection Men exhibition. But, for the time being, we safely re-wrapped the coffin in its plastic sheeting to concentrate on the lid. We did this for two reasons. The first reason was one of logistics: space was needed in the lab and the scissor lift trolley which the main coffin was resting on was needed for deinstalling the Dickens and London exhibition. We had to treat the lid so that it could be moved to storage and the coffin could be lifted (on its board) onto the table where the lid was, to free up the trolley. Secondly, and more importantly from a conservation perspective, working on the lid first would afford us the opportunity to really get to know the material and the qualities of different decorative features before working on the larger, more complex coffin base.

Watch this space for the next (less gruesome) entry covering our investigation and treatment of the coffin lid: Keeping a lid on it.

Following on from last week’s Conservation Introduction blog, Intern Jill Saunders explains how the iron coffin was transported from the crypt at St Bride’s to the laboratory here at the Museum. Find out more below…

Once our treatment proposal had been approved, the next task of the Conservation Department was to work out how to safely transport the coffin and its lid from the crypt at St Bride’s, Fleet Street to the laboratory at the Museum of London, London Wall. Due to the size and weight of the object, we also had to make sure that we could accommodate it, and think about the logistics of working on it over the coming weeks. The simplest strategy was to acquire boards which the two pieces of the object could be lifted onto. The object could be both transported upon and rest on these boards during conservation. As well as providing support, this would minimise movement, and hence risk to the object. We ordered a Cellite 2020 honeycomb board from an industrial supplier. Our Technicians cut the board in half so that we had a light but supportive surface for the coffin and for the lid. We chose the aluminium, not the epoxy coating, to ensure that the material would not interact with any solvents which might be used in our future treatments.

Street space around the church is limited and heavily restricted, meaning that the Museum’s transport van would not be able to hang around. We took the boards and other packing materials to the crypt the day before the planned pick-up to prepare the coffin and lid in advance. Manoeuvring the empty boards into the crypt allowed us to assess the dimensions of the building in relation to the object and plan our exit strategy.

Conservation Object Handlers, David (Ramage) and Julie (Hawkes), wore protective gloves to carefully lift the coffin onto the board, covered in plastic sheeting ready to wrap around the object. Once on the board, the extent of loss to the coffin base was revealed and we bagged and labelled the debris left behind. It was important to collect this material for a number of reasons:

• The loose material can still be considered ‘part of the object’ so preserving its association to the main body can be seen as protecting the object’s integrity.

• The material may contain valuable information about past environments of the object which may help explain the current condition and predict future changes; both crucial factors in deciding conservation treatment approaches.

• Fragments may provide information about what the coffin and its decorative areas are made from, again helping to guide conservation decisions.

• If the loose material can provide samples for different investigations e.g. materials science analyses, this would save the object from being directly sampled, which could be destructive.

• The material may contain human remains which would have to be properly recorded and stored, and could help identify the original owner

We protected the delicate edges of the coffin with Plastazote (a conservation grade foam) padding before wrapping up the plastic sheeting, holding it in place with tape. The coffin and lid were then ready for pick-up the following day.

The next morning the coffin and lid were carried out through an adjoining chapel room to reach a back door leading on the street before being carefully secured within the van using straps and special packing blankets. It was important to avoid movement during the journey, as this could damage the objects and dislodge delicate features. Once at the Museum the coffin was moved (on its board) onto a specially acquired load bearing trolley, which Jon and I would be able to raise and lower to provide optimum access to the object during treatment.

Watch this space for the next entry covering the investigation of loose bagged material and initial coffin assessment: Initial Investigations.

Following on from her blogs about William Raban’s film Nightwalks, the key objects within our Dickens and London exhibition, Dickens’ family portraits, and London pubs, this week PhD student, Joanna Robinson, looks at policing in Victorian London. Joanna is a PhD student working collaboratively with the Museum of London and the English department at King’s College, London.

‘And now the strokes began to fall like hail upon the gate, and on the strong building; for those who could not reach the door, spent their fierce rage on anything—even on the great blocks of stone, which shivered their weapons into fragments, and made their hands and arms to tingle as if the walls were active in their stout resistance, and dealt them back their blows. The clash of iron ringing upon iron, mingled with the deafening tumult and sounded high above it, as the great sledge-hammers rattled on the nailed and plated door: the sparks flew off in showers; men worked in gangs, and at short intervals relieved each other, that all their strength might be devoted to the work; but there stood the portal still, as grim and dark and strong as ever, and, saving for the dints upon its battered surface, quite unchanged.’
(Charles Dickens, Barnaby Rudge (London: Penguin Books Ltd., 2003), p. 533.)

This scene from Barnaby Rudge, where the rioting mob attack and ultimately destroy Newgate Prison, is a climactic moment in the text even for modern readers, yet for Dickens’ contemporaries this incident would have had an even sharper resonance. During the Victorian period, Newgate acted as a kind of cultural metaphor for criminality, as it was the site of public executions in front of massive crowds, yet it simultaneously held a subversive appeal. Newgate novels became a popular genre, with William Harrison Ainsworth’s Jack Sheppard causing a sensation and the reissue of Oliver Twist on the back of the bandwagon. However, in his 1841 Preface to Oliver Twist, Dickens rejects his association with Sheppardism, and the sensational elements that were now being linked with his own work. For many of Dickens’readers, the city slums he depicts were as foreign as Victorian Imperial concerns overseas, and Dickens prided himself on creating a window into the suffering that existed on the doorsteps of the rich. Newgate novels, on the other hand, were meant to be exhilarating reads, creating a sense of danger and the exotic for many of their readers. Meanwhile, they could offer the poor a hero from among their own class.

The door from Newgate Prison, which Dickens describes as grim and obdurate in the passage above, features significantly in the Dickens and London exhibition. Once round the first corner in the exhibition, you see it looming impressively in the centre of the space. Indeed, when you remember that people tended to be shorter two centuries ago, it is clear what a gloomy and imposing shadow it must have cast on prisoners. Yet what really struck me about it was the decision to place it next to the Watchman’s Box from Furnival’s Inn. The two of them seem to vie for attention – both impact pieces with a central location in the exhibition – or so I thought. But when chatting to a group of MA students, none of them had felt very affected by the box, or hadn’t realised what it was. Watchmen were basically security guards, who patrolled the streets at night in an effort to keep order before the Metropolitan Police Force was initiated in 1829. However, public opinion of them was not high. Policing in Victorian London was a difficult task, and many people felt unprotected by these supposed figures of authority. This made me wonder whether the underwhelmed reaction of these students to the box was in fact appropriate.

In contrast to the Watchman’s Box, the door from Newgate really does look threatening; indeed, John Betjeman described the prison as ‘deliberately sombre and fortress-like.’ It seems as if the prison was designed to create a severe enough impression to be an effective deterrent of crime in itself, especially if the minimal police force was not making the streets any safer. It’s really almost comical to see the two objects side by side, as they form such a stark contrast to our own surveillance society. Yet Newgate at least must have had some effect. As Dickens shows in the passage above, the door from Newgate is the greatest obstacle in the way of complete anarchy from a Metropolitan mob, and its symbolic significance in this passage reveals the real feeling of authority that it generated amongst the Victorian public. Indeed, even now when the door is out of context and contained in an exhibition, it is difficult not to shiver at the thought of being shut behind it.

Following on from her blogs about William Raban’s film Nightwalks, the key objects within our Dickens and London exhibition and Dickens’ family portraits, this week PhD student, Joanna Robinson, looks at London pubs then and now. Joanna is a PhD student working collaboratively with the Museum of London and the English department at King’s College, London.

Coming, as I do, from a small village, the local pub has been a central feature in the landscape of my childhood. And being ignorant, as I am, I assumed that having a local was a big thing for most people. Yet although, needless to say, my experience of different pubs has been extended significantly in London, I have never found a pub in the city with such a community feeling. London’s huge population and high prices seem obvious reasons for the shifting clientele, yet it made me wonder what the pubs were like in Dickens’ day, when the city was smaller and it was safer to drink beer than water. Would attempts to shelter from cholera have fostered a community in spite of the dislocating effects of the city?

During the nineteenth century the ever increasing industrialisation of urban spaces had a massive knock-on effect on pubs. For instance, the expansion of the railway meant that historic coaching inns died a slow death. Moreover, in an attempt to control the social problems caused by the unlicensed production of gin, the Gin Act of 1751 relegated the sale of gin to licensed vendors. Thus by the 1820s the fashion for gin palaces replaced squalid Georgian gin-shops. Gin palaces were designed as an escape from the often wretched conditions of home, and featured all the mod-cons including gas lighting.

The Dickens and London exhibition showcases old pub signs from Dickens’ era, which (given the exhibition’s intention to reveal the seamier side of the city that inspired Dickens) hints that these pubs were less than reputable locations. Indeed, the sign for The Bull and Mouth, used in The Pickwick Papers, is really quite creepy! This and the sign from the Goose and Gridiron are displayed beside a modern copy of the crescent moon sign from an eighteenth century Mercer’s Shop, which was for many years a feature of Holywell Street. In Victorian Babylon, Lynda Nead examines Holywell Street’s association with obscene literature and lower-class subversion in detail, and with this in mind it seems to me that the exhibition is keen to emphasise the links between pubs and the lower-classes in Dickens’s work. However, knowing that (especially as a student) dives are often the best places for a good night out, I was keen to see how Dickens actually used pubs in his novels. Could a gin palace or a coaching inn gone to seed be the Victorian equivalent of that brilliant bar that you love in spite of having to throw away your shoes afterwards?

In David Copperfield, the reader is presented with several different drinking establishments in the course of David’s Bildungsroman. The first, which seems closest to my idea of a local, is The Willing Mind in Yarmouth – Mr Peggotty and Ham frequent it fairly often, yet contrary to the scenes of vice that we may have expected in London, it is a community hub. Well, for the men at least. Compared to the scenes describing a gin shop in the Seven Dials section in Sketches by Boz (another poor community) we may be inclined to believe that Dickens thought a rural setting conducive to moral behaviour. Indeed, even within the text a comparative city location could be The Golden Cross, which used to be at Charing Cross. Contrary to its rural counterpart, this inn is a liminal space, and David feels strange and isolated here until he runs into his old school fellow, Steerforth. However, from Steerforth onwards, The Golden Cross is repeatedly linked to meetings with disreputable people – it is outside it that David first rediscovers the prostitute Martha, for example. To me, Dickens seems to be giving a fairly clear message – respectable people do their drinking in private. The real scenes of conviviality are when Mr Micawber is mixing punch for his friends, something that Dickens himself frequently did for his associates. In these scenes the atmosphere is inclusive and jovial – even the women and children are allowed to share in the fun.

Although this is a brief synopsis, I believe we can historicise the division between community-focused rural pubs and the bustling dislocation of those in the city back to Dickens’s era: then, as now, the city forces people to seek inclusivity in small groups of friends rather than a communal location. Nevertheless, even in the city Dickens’ legacy can help to create an imagined community between those eras, as modern-day Londoners visit the pubs that claim him as an ex-patron such as Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street. When you walk into these places, even if you know no one in the room, you can feel linked not only back to Dickens, but to anyone who has raised a glass to him there. Therefore, if the job of a local pub is to help you to feel connected to a place, then even disconnected Londoners may feel an affinity through a shared history.

In the run up to the opening of At Home with the Queen on 25 May, participant, Miles Landesman, tells us about the history of his Queen memorabilia (The Queen by artist Graham Dean) and what it means to him.

I first saw The Queen, by artist Graham Dean, at Nicholas Treadwell’s art gallery in 1975. At that time Treadwell was promoting Superhumanism amongst the artists working for him.  Superhumanism defines any work that is urban and unorthodox, be it angry, humorous, quirky, or ironic.

My father, Jay Landesman, was a man who appreciated unusual art. He bought the painting because he enjoyed the way it portrays the Queen. It is surreal, full of irony and I think the setting is marvelous. Dean has painted the Queen satirically, in caricature. She wears a plain headscarf and jumper and her body is wrapped in the British flag. Our Queen must keep warm in the changeable British climate! She sits in the gardens at Buckingham Palace – note the corgis under an old oak tree in the far distance – on a mock-medieval throne with her British mug of tea at her side. Note also the padding on the arms of the throne – our Queen must be comfortable! She smiles a wide, typically royal, toothy grin. The book she is reading is like a secret scrap book. The small tear on the cover reveals three letters, ‘uee’ and the rest is covered. We can recognise that these letters belong to the word ‘Queen’, but what’s inside? We can only imagine; the book is private. Has she collected newspaper clippings about herself? Is she smiling that fixed smile at us because she is playing being ‘The Queen’, with flags, estate, corgis, throne and tea? What she thinks and feels we can only imagine.

The Queen spent many years in Jay’s basement flat. She was always there to greet me as I entered his room, illuminated by soft lamplight. I know she was one of Jay’s favourites. He loved the royal family and found the painting stimulating and I agree with his judgment. I think it is one of the most appealing works, making you stop and take notice. It hung above Jay’s bed opposite a couple of ‘destruction’ art pieces, one of them a deconstructed piano. The Queen is so tongue-in-cheek and very characteristic of its time. Unlike God save the Queen by designer Jamie Reid, for example, which has been printed time and time again on t-shirts all over London, Dean’s work has not been used in a derogatory way. It doesn’t incite anarchy, or poke fun at the serious, stiff-upper-lip monarchy. The Queen is happy and clearly loves promoting herself and her country’s Britishness. She has kept me company, emitting a benign aura over all who meet her, family and friends alike. She has entertained our guests at all the dinners and parties we have had over the years. As the drinks flow her smile seems to get wider and wider. She seems to say, ‘Come on, don’t take life so seriously! Look at me, I’m enjoying my life and so can you. Long live Britannia!’  She is definitely part of the family, and since we’ve moved her upstairs she looks better than ever.

You can see Miles with his painting, The Queen, along with all of the other portraits in At Home with the Queen at the Museum of London from 25 May – 28 October 2012. Entry to the exhibition is free.
> Find out more about the exhibition