Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Remember Remember... Hoxton Street
The Gunpowder Plot may have played out in cellars beneath the Palace of Westminster, but one key location in the drama was a small manor house in humble Hoxton. Four centuries ago its main thoroughfare, just north of Shakespearean Shoreditch, was home to many noblemen seeking domestic sanctuary close to the bustling City. One such rich resident was Henry Parker, better known as Lord Monteagle, and the brother-in-law of one of the Plot's Catholic conspirators. It was while dining at home in Hoxton one October evening in 1605 that history came knocking. One of Henry's footmen approached the table bearing a mysterious letter which he'd been given anonymously in the street, and Monteagle duly read the contents out loud to his assembled dining companions.
My lord out of the love i beare to some of youere frends i have a caer of youer preservacion therfor i would advyse yowe as yowe tender youer lyf to devys some excuse to shift of youer attendance at this parleament for god and man hath concurred to punishe the wickednes of this tyme and think not slightlye of this advertisment but retyre youre self into youre contri wheare yowe may expect the event in safti for thowghe theare be no appearance of anni stir yet i save they shall receyve a terrible blowe this parleament and yet they shall not seie who hurts them...
Was this a dire warning of imminent regicide, or just some prankster's sick joke? Playing safe, Lord Monteagle dashed off to Whitehall and delivered the letter in person to the Earl of Salisbury, the King's principal secretary. The threat was dismissed publicly, but taken more seriously in private. Consequently the cellars beneath Westminster were searched on the night before the state opening of Parliament and bingo, Guy Fawkes and his barrels of explosive were discovered. The Gunpowder Plot rapidly unravelled.
That's the official story, anyway. Many historians suspect that the "anonymous letter" was a sham, and that the entire "plot" was a set-up to give Catholicism a very bad name. Monteagle normally dined at his country home, and yet on this one day the messenger knew to seek him out in Hoxton. The letter was clearly a confidential warning aimed at Monteagle alone, and yet he immediately disclosed its contents in public company. The authorities needed to make an example of Fawkes and friends, and Monteagle's convenient revelation gave them the excuse they needed. Whatever the underlying reasons, Parliament and the monarchy survived greatly strengthened and Monteagle was hailed as a national hero. Hoxton Street's most renowned resident was rewarded with an annuity equivalent to £700 a year - not bad for a single evening's work.
No trace of Monteagle's manor house exists today. Indeed very little of any historic value exists in this part of Hoxton - the non-trendy northern end into which the meeja set rarely venture. Any housing stock of note has long since been razed, replaced by acre after acre of non-descript blocks of post-war council flats. If Hackney rehoused you here you'd be grateful, but you'd not be pleased. One such development lies between Myrtle Walk and Crondall Street, a bold brick edifice with lateral chimney attached like the key on a giant brown sardine can. Rear access is via a tall blue door with keypad combination, close to a fenced off patch of grass which passes for a communal garden. From the top balcony, or even up at 'penthouse' level, there's an unobstructed view of the bus shelter below where spirited youths gather to snarl at passing photographers. And on the wall at the Hoxton Street end there's a small brown plaque which confirms that, yes, it's this very building which now stands on the site of Lord Monteagle's historic property. I fear no nobleman would consider living anywhere around here these days, not unless he was filming a secret documentary for Channel 4.
There are a fair number of other brown plaques scattered across this part of Hoxton, each attached to a very ordinary block of flats. Pollock's Toy Theatre Shop, purveyor of kiddie playhouses, that was here, now flats. The Britannia Theatre, greatly loved by Dickens, that was here, now flats. Hoxton Hall, intimate Victorian saloon, that was here, now intimate performance space. Ah, so it's not all vanished yet. But most of Hoxton's history exists only in memories, or photographs, or stories. Remember remember.
• Real Hoxton
• Hackney brown plaques
• Tudor Hackney - Shoreditch
• A Shoreditch/Hoxton walk (& map) (a most interesting backstreet stroll)
• The Monteagle story/controversy
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