At Last a Celebration

Talk 9: At Last a Celebration Eight months after the money needed for completion of the Regents Canal had been raised all was ready to open the link between Paddington and Limehouse. In May 1820 subscribers were told the Grand Junction had promised to provide 100 locks of water immediately and 800 over the coming months, so the dry, wide and deep trench beyond Camden was ready to be turned into a working canal. The well laid brickwork, the carefully crafted swing bridges, the heavy, newly finished lock gates and the freshly gravelled towpath would have allowed those associated with the whole project, from the ordinary day labourer, who may not have been born when the Grand Junction branch canal was opened, to John Nash, now nearly 70, to share in a sense of achievement. There was little time for sentiment because, after so many years, there was no time to be lost in generating a proper income, but when the day was set for the official opening, few would have grumbled at the cost of organising a proper celebration. Earlier in the year, on the death of his father, the Prince Regent had become king and so, shortly before the great day it was George the Fourth who sent an expression of His Majesties gratification at the completion of the great and useful work which, so he said, promised so much commercial advantage to the metropolis and such facility to the general commerce of the Empire. By nine o’clock, on August 1st, a crowd gathered at Battles Bridge, where the waterborne procession was scheduled to leave from the Maiden Lane basin. Pride of place was to go to a borrowed City state barge, which would have been a much finer example than Mr Hatton’s pleasure boat. With Christiana deal decks well-scrubbed, metalwork polished, cabin glass scoured spotless and a perfect sheen on its gilding, it would have looked pristine indeed. It was to this vessel, bathed in morning sunshine, that members of the most prestigious group of arrivals made their way. Bandsmen would have already been in place, as would the crew and musicians on other boats to which more guests, all in their best clothes, headed. Several working barges, loaded with cargo, were waiting too. These had been hauled down from the Grand Junction and there was one in the queue that had just arrived from Manchester. Many of the ordinary boatmen looked quite picturesque, having chosen to dress up in blue and white smocks and wear hats tied with ribbon. At around eleven o’clock, amidst clapping and cheering, the convoy began to leave, ruffling flags and streamers and boatmen’s ribbons too. After a couple of hundred yards the City state barge disappeared under Islington Hill followed by the rest of the procession. This was probably the first and last time most of the passengers would travel through a long, lateral cavity. Anyone familiar with John Sutcliffe’s writings would have pushed his observation about boatmen perishing in tunnels after falling overboard to the back of their minds, but would have found the subterranean journey a little claustrophobic nevertheless. Less than 18 feet wide, the Islington Tunnel had no towpath, but at least there was always light to be seen at each end and spirits were kept high as musicians played their hearts out beneath Morgan’s perfectly constructed lining. According to one newspaper report the effect produced by the reverberation of the sound was grand beyond description. Emerging blinking into the sunlight, everyone immediately caught sight of many more well wishers as they approached City Road lock and a small artillery unit too. The convoy would have halted as each vessel descended through the lock, a little way from the eastern tunnel entrance. As the last one reached the lower level the command for blank charges to be loaded would have been barked out, and, a few moments’ later local residents of a nervous disposition would have nearly jumped out of their skins, as the explosive in the breech detonated. One or two startled young ladies, also not born when the Grand Junction branch canal was opened, may have slyly glanced beneath the rims of their summer bonnets at the fine, uniformed artillerymen revealed by the clearing gun smoke. The City Road Basin had yet to be completed and there were heaps of excavated soil to be seen but it was ready enough for the business of the day and a little competition occurred between crews of the working boats to see who could land their cargo first. Cheered on by the crowds, a short and vigorous struggle took place that saw victory claimed by the crew of a barge that had the name ‘William’ picked out in large white letters on a black background. A cask of ale had been landed too, which, as the acclamation continued, was soon opened and drained by waiting navvies. When the merriment died down, the bargees set to work and the Manchester boat became the first vessel to take goods from the new basin off to the north of England. The ceremonial part of procession then set off for Limehouse. After running through open fields towards Hackney, where some passengers with a strong sense of smell may have detected the sweet scent of ripening strawberries, the canal swung south, close to Bonner Hall. The hall was built on the site of a palace where Bishop Bonner had once lived. Maybe one or two superstitious members of the celebration party became rather agitated; because rumour had it that the ghost of the old bishop, riding in a coach pulled by four black horses was sometimes glimpsed close by and those seeing this apparition would soon die. Everything seems to have gone off without incident however, and, after passing under Mile End Road, the steeple of St Anne’s Church came into view. This century-old landmark could also be seen from the Thames, a gratifying sight at the end of many a long sea voyage. From now on it would be a welcome sight for many tired bargees after their long inland travels too. The procession ended its journey at Limehouse basin, which, like the one at City Road, had a half finished look. McIntosh’s men had yet to clear all the excavated soil from the area but, as the Thames access lock was in full working order, the City state barge could pass out into the river when the tide was right. As usual the Thames was crowded with vessels engaged in local, regional and truly international trade. After Nelson destroyed the combined fleet at Trafalgar there had been no real threat to the British merchant marine and a long period of commercial maritime expansion was well underway. This success fed the factories and industrial units that would spring up along the banks of the Regents Canal throughout the C19th. As yet there were few steamboats on the river, but, sail would gradually give way to steam and wooden hulls to metal. Only a year after the Regents Canal was opened the first iron steamship to go to sea would be launched from a Thames shipyard. This vessel the Aaron Manby, was prefabricated in Staffordshire and sent by canal to Rotherhithe for assembly. In 1822 it set out for Paris, where it was to be based for the next few years, offering services on the River Seine. Turning towards the City, Watermen rowed the ornate barge to Custom House Stairs, close to London Bridge. Here the voyage, which must have been everything the directors had hoped for, came to an end and the party divided, the ladies leaving the men to make their way to the City of London Tavern, where a grand dinner had been arranged. The food was excellent, as was the wine and, although the conversation was jolly and pleasant, some rude remarks might have been made about William Agar, with Homer conveniently forgotten. There would have been sadness and regret as Sir Thomas Bernard’s contribution was discussed but when the toasts were drunk, the ever- gracious Monro proposed the main one to the Chairman Lord Macclesfield, which was drank three times three. After these nine glasses alone it is not surprising the party became even merrier, especially as there were over a hundred guests at the tables. I think Colonel Drinkwater probably enjoyed himself as much as anyone, conscious of the estimation in which he was held by his companions. This had been made clear a few days previously in a letter sent by the members of the General Committee. They had been fulsome in their praise seeking to convey; their unanimous acknowledgement of the colonel’s uniform, Laborious and most able exertions throughout the whole of this arduous undertaking. It went on to underscore his contribution to the success of the project and concluded: Such being the universal feeling of our Board we are at a loss to express in an adequate manner, the sentiments of high respect we unanimously entertain towards you. The letter was signed by, amongst others, Lord Macclesfield, John Nash, and Charles Monro. The party at the City of London Tavern on the night of August 1st 1820 brought to an end a phase in the history of the Regents Canal that began 9 years earlier at the Percy Coffee House. Those shareholders hoping to reap great dividends from their investment were not as well rewarded as they may have anticipated, but they did not lose everything as they may have feared. Over time, the Regents Canal was to become a busy and important transport artery providing far more jobs in riparian parishes than agriculture ever had and offering opportunities for small entrepreneurs in a wide variety of trades.

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