The Morrison Archives1

41 THE MORRISON ARCHIVES1 CAROLINE DAKERS Central Saint Martins College of Arts and Design, University of the Arts London The first stage of cataloguing the archives of the nineteenth century merchant James Morrison has been completed by John D’Arcy (formerly of the Wiltshire and Swindon History Centre) for Alastair, 3rd Baron Margadale. When the database is finished it will be possible to access a very important private collection of relevance to historians of nineteenth and twentieth century business and economics, collecting, parliament, agriculture and land management. The archives have been organised by D’Arcy in 300 large boxes each containing up to 10 kilograms of papers. The catalogue has 3,000 entries, some of which cover hundreds of letters or papers. When completed the database will have thousands of subjects. When the archives are accessible (probably mid-2012) visits will probably be organised via John D’Arcy and the Fonthill Estate and there will be a small charge.2 Part of the Morrison archive in the original nineteenth century tin boxes (Caroline Dakers) 42 I have been using the archives for a study of the Morrisons, A genius for money, business, art and the Morrisons, published by Yale University Press in November 2011. Here, for those who are unfamiliar with the remarkable family, I introduce James Morrison and his achievements, describe how such an extensive collection was formed, and highlight some of the most important parts. Without the support of the late James Morrison, Baron Margadale and his son Alastair (3rd Baron Margadale), neither this research nor the catalogue compiled by D’Arcy, would have been possible. Introduction Some of the finest qualities of human nature are intimately related to the right use of money, such as generosity, honesty, justice, and self-sacrifice; as well as the practical virtues of economy and providence.3 James Morrison (1789-1857) is one of the least known but most extraordinary of nineteenth century merchant millionaires. The son of a village innkeeper, he was sent to London as apprentice to a haberdasher. There, he proved to be a genius at making money, dubbed the Napoleon of shopkeepers, creating a business with a turnover in 1830 of nearly £2 million, the equivalent of £200 million today. He invested almost £1 million (c.£100 million) in North American railways, he was involved in global trade from Canton to Valparaiso, and acquired land, houses and works of art to rival the grandest of aristocrats. He turned down the opportunity to buy a title (he considered it a poor investment) so remained a commoner; the richest commoner in the whole of the nineteenth century. Like a character in Samuel Smiles’s Victorian best-seller Self-Help, Morrison rose to the top ‘by his own unaided efforts and through self- improvement, self-help, abstinence, thrift, hard work, acquisitive drive, innovative flair, and grasp of market opportunities’.4 On the way he created hundreds of jobs and ‘flooded the world’ with his goods.5 He relished the intellectual pleasure in what he called ‘the science of business’.6 At his death, his wife and all of his surviving children were left fortunes, four of his sons also inherited their own country estates. While none of Morrison’s children were able to match the formidable range of his achievements, three of his sons did add substantially to the family wealth. The eldest, Charles (1817-1909), though a shy reclusive bachelor, was a brilliant financier, investing heavily in South America. By his death in 1909 he had turned his inheritance of £1 million into £14 million to become the richest commoner of his own generation. Alfred (1821-97), the second son, was a 43 connoisseur. Dubbed the ‘Victorian Maecenas’, he commissioned the architect-designer Owen Jones and a team of talented craftsmen to turn his town and country houses into palaces of art where he displayed the greatest private collections of Imperial Chinese porcelain and autograph letters of the day. Walter (1836-1921) also made a small fortune in Argentina, giving much of it away to hospitals, schools, churches, universities and museums, including £50,000 to the Bodleian Library in 1920. The archive, its content, how it started, how it survived. The archive is extensive, in part through the approach adopted by James Morrison. Though he refused to ‘invest’ in a baronetcy, he was sufficiently proud of his achievements to begin ordering his papers in preparation for writing his memoirs: black tin trunks stuffed with correspondence, deeds, ledgers, invoices and bills, share certificates, inventories and diaries. He paid a clerk to copy all the correspondence relating to his take-over of his father-in-law’s haberdashery business in Fore Street, Cripplegate, London, and kept his own list of art purchases, including details of how much was paid at which sale. He also kept detailed lists, every six months, of his assets, so that he (and we) could track the steady accumulation of his fortune. Letters from architects, his land agents, parliamentary colleagues, partners in Fore Street, merchants and bankers in London and the United States, were preserved alphabetically, year by year. There are also documents relating to his purchase of estates which eventually totalled 100,000 acres: including Fonthill Park in Wiltshire; Basildon Park in Berkshire; Hole Park in Kent; Malham in Yorkshire; the island of Islay; and London properties, including his own homes in Balham and Harley Street. However there is not much personal data. There are virtually no letters between him and his wife Mary Ann or their children. Mary Ann’s presence was essential to Morrison’s success. Already well-read when they married, she was his travelling companion, she provided constant encouragement and support, security and stability, she was his ‘helpmeet’ in all aspects of his life. But it was probably she, together with Charles, who inherited his father’s papers, who destroyed personal material. Only odd exceptions have survived, accidentally or deliberately misplaced; Morrison’s declaration of love for Mary Ann is such an example, tucked into a Fore Street account book. It may have been Charles who organised the removal of his father’s papers from their London town house (57 Harley Street) and country house (Basildon Park) to the family’s estate office in the City of London. When Charles himself decided what of his own to preserve he left details 44 of his extensive investments but, frustratingly, little evidence as to how or when he built up his portfolio. Personal material was, once again, rigorously pruned so that his private life remains an enigma. Scrapbooks in which he recorded his favourite reading do reveal how much he enjoyed studying the lives of his contemporary millionaires. Alfred, as the second son, inherited the Fonthill Park estate. Following his death in 1897, it appears more than likely his widow Mabel then proceeded to destroy both personal letters and much material relating to the collections and interior decorations of Fonthill House and 16 Carlton House Terrace, London SW1. For historians of collecting, architecture and interior design, the loss of details concerning Owen Jones’ extraordinary commissions is to be regretted. However, historians of land management and estates fare better as Mabel ignored more mundane estate papers, including material dating from William Beckford’s ownership of the whole estate. They remained safe and dry in the Old Creamery at Berwick St Leonard for the best part of a hundred years. James and Mary Ann Morrison had only nine grand-children, six girls and three boys. The two who bore the Morrison name, Hugh and Archie, not only benefited from the collecting addiction of their father Alfred but also acquired most of their grandfather’s remaining properties via their bachelor uncles Charles and Walter. Hugh, as the eldest, got Fonthill, then Uncle Charles left him Islay. Archie inherited Basildon Park from Uncle Charles and Malham from Uncle Walter. Neither Hugh nor Archie were remotely interested in making money, either through trade or finance; quite the opposite. Both chose to spend their fortunes with a recklessness that would have horrified their grandfather. Hugh built a new house on the Fonthill estate, Little Ridge, designed by Detmar Blow. He also engaged Blow to build a house in Belgravia and to add an enormous wing to Islay House. There was a fire at the old Fonthill House (which was demolished in 1921) which may explain the loss of almost all records tracing Blow’s commissions. A visitor’s book does survive, and, rather oddly, letters between Hugh and his wife Mary describing the embarrassing, sometimes painful medical treatment they received over a decade for their apparent infertility. There is no sense Hugh inherited his grandfather’s interest in the preservation of family papers, but at least he chose to leave well alone. Archie’s career began well enough. He survived the Sudan campaign and the Boer War with distinction, and in 1900 was elected the Conservative Unionist MP for Wilton, Wiltshire, and married an aristocrat; it looked as 45 though he would make Basildon Park his family home. He lost his Wilton seat in 1906, and became MP for Nottingham East in 1910. However, his political campaign in Nottingham was marred by accusations of bribery (he resigned in 1912), he was divorced by his wife and named as the co- respondent in the divorce of his mistress. He thought of settling in Kenya, purchasing agricultural land and providing £60,000 towards the creation of the Muthaiga Club, outside Nairobi. However he returned to active service at the outbreak of war in 1914, and Basildon Park was turned into a military hospital.

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