April 19th is also known as Primrose Day. I only know this because it was my grandfather's birthday and my grandmother used to go on about how he was born on Primrose Day as if it were something special. These days, however, nobody seems to mention it. So I've done some digging around London to discover why this particular celebration has faded away, and my grandfather's turn of the century birthday turns out to be relevant.
The most famous primrosy place in London is Primrose Hill, the scenic lump just north of Regent's Park. It earned its name in Elizabethan times due the abundance of spring flowers found on its slopes, although if you head there now the best you'll find is dandelions and daisies because the grass is a lot more downtrodden. Multiple Londoners and tourists flock to the summit daily, ascending no more than 30 metres in the process, and enjoy looking down on the skyline of central London spread out below. It's better for picking out towers and spires than Parliament Hill and closer to a coffee shop too. It's also very much a place to see and be seen, judging by the impressive collection of spring fashions and matching accessories I observed yesterday, plus I couldn't read the engraved quotation by William Blake because so many people were sitting on it. But I digress.
The suburb of Primrose Hill nestles on the western slopes and these days is known as a well-to-do celebrity hideaway. I didn't see Jamie Oliver, Gwyneth Paltrow or Harry Styles hanging around in a pavement cafe or shopping for Riesling but I assume they do this once the rest of us have gone home. Yesterday the retail arc of Regent's Park Road was buzzing with mummies and backpackers and extended families and rather too many parked cars, plus windowfuls of unnecessaries and a special Easter treasure hunt where to solve clue 5 you had to find an artisan bakery near the post office. Thread through to the railway bridge and you might spot that the former PrimroseHillstation has morphed into a hot yoga studio called Fierce Grace and a lifestyle interiors destination called Tann Rokka. But I digress.
The creation of Primrose Day is in fact related to a 19th century Prime Minister who was born in London. You might expect this to be Archibald Primrose, the 5th Earl of Rosebery, who slipped into Downing Street as the successor to William Gladstone on the flimsy basis that of all the other Liberal politicians, Queen Victoria disliked him least. I found his blue plaque in Mayfair on a splendid townhouse in Charles Street, a couple of doors down from the Embassy of Myanmar, where he entered the world in 1847. Rosebery's premiership lasted fifteen mostly unsuccessful months, although his horse did win the Derby twice during that time which was pretty impressive. It turns out Rosebery Avenue in Clerkenwell is named after him because he'd been the very first chairman of the London County Council. But I digress.
The 19th century Prime Minister we seek is actually Benjamin Disraeli, a much better known name. He was born in Bloomsbury in what's now Theobalds Road, facing Grays Inn, coincidentally barely a stone's throw from the end of Rosebery Avenue. Benjamin was born Jewish but the family converted to Christianity while he was still a child which proved convenient because that made entering politics easier. He was first elected as a Tory MP in 1837, used his debating skills to work his way up through the party as Chancellor and Leader of the House and became firmly identified with what we'd now call "one-nation conservatism". He eventually enjoyed two terms as Prime Minister with Queen Victoria a big fan, but suffered a crushing defeat in the 1880 General Election and died the following year. Primrosewise this is finally relevant.
Disraeli's last days were spent at his house in Curzon Street (in Mayfair) rather than at his country seat in Buckinghamshire. His last coherent day was Easter Sunday 1881, which like this year fell on April 17th, then on Easter Monday he became comatose and in the early hours of April 19th he died. Queen Victoria sent a wreath of primroses to his funeral, these being his favourite flowers, and when a statue of Disraeli was erected in Westminster in 1883 all the Conservative MPs present wore primroses as a mark of respect. I found him in bronze at the back of Parliament Square sandwiched between Sir Robert Peel and the Earl of Derby, and entirely out-celebritied by Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi and Millicent Fawcett in the row in front. So that's put primroses and April 19th into the mix.
1883 also saw the foundation of the Primrose League, an organisation whose primary aim was to support Disraeli's wider ideals. Members of the public were encouraged to join up and received an enamel primrose badge, regular publications and the chance to attend fetes, dinners, excursions and other social events, especially on the anniversary of Disraeli's death. By 1891 membership was a million strong, by 1901 a million and a half and by 1910 an incredibly impressive two million. My grandfather would have been ten at the time so much too young for political machinations but old enough to recognise the fuss around Primrose Day and that it fell on his birthday every year.
But beneath the surface the Primrose League was nothing more than a marketing tool for spreading Conservative principles. It was set up by party grandees during a meeting at the Carlton Club in St James's Street, with a particular aim to create a 'benefit society' attractive to the working classes. Unquestioning support for the Empire was a particular priority, echoing much more recent campaigns in which a nod to nationalism has proved enough to swing the vote. The Primrose League Pledge read as follows:
I declare on my honour and faith that I will devote my best ability to the maintenance of religion, of the estates of the realm, and of the imperial ascendancy of the British Empire; and that, consistently with my allegiance to the sovereign of these realms, I will promote with discretion and fidelity the above objects, being those of the Primrose League.
Membership of the League started to fall just before the First World War and dropped dramatically afterwards, with men and (newly enfranchised) women now encouraged to join the Conservative party direct. But sufficient numbers remained within the League to support gazettes and gatherings long into the 1980s, and it wasn't until December 2004 that the whole shebang was finally wound up. A modern version in honour of a much loved Tory leader might have switched to celebrating Handbag Day every October 13th, this being Margaret Thatcher's birthday, but we should perhaps be grateful the whole thing died a death. And that's why Primrose Day is no longer celebrated on April 19th, because it never was a cutesy rural tradition, just a calculated political gimmick.
