Museum Mystery at Broad Street Station

In 1899, Broad Street Station was one of the busiest in London. An important hub for freight and passengers, millions of people passed through it each year.

Over at the North-Western Goods yard, workers loaded and unloaded cargo around the clock, heaving crates and containers amidst the hissing of steam, the rattling of trolleys and the piercing scream of whistles.

On the morning of Monday the 17th of April, a small team of workers were checking through a pile of boxes when they came to one addressed simply to the Hamburg Museum in Germany.

They noticed it was missing the necessary customs label, so decided to check there was no funny business going on. As they took a closer look, newspapers later reported, ‘an ancient and fish-like smell assailed the nostrils of the intelligent handlers of the goods.’

Curious about the aromatic contents of this suspicious box, the men set about opening it up. As the lid gave way, they recoiled in horror. Packed carefully inside was a naked human body.

The police were summoned immediately, and the box was removed to Kingsland Road Police Station. Here, a full examination revealed that the body was that of a woman age around 24 years old. The only mark of violence that could be discerned was a small cut on her left-hand side.

In the box alongside her were a number of carefully packed human skulls. This was a curious business indeed. Officers immediately sprang into action, in an attempt to trace the sender of this most morbid parcel.

In the meantime, journalists caught wind of the story. Headlines in the next morning’s papers screamed ‘Nude body found in box!’ and ‘Railway mystery!’.

Some reports claimed that the unfortunate woman’s head had been removed from her ‘mummified’ or ‘blackened’ body, while others claimed that not only was her head intact, but that it boasted waves of golden hair and piercing blue eyes.

The most sensational account claimed that no less than six railway clerks, two detectives and an inspector had all fainted instantly at the sight of the body.

The majority of reports seemed to agree on one detail only – that the explanation must be sinister. ‘All indications point to murder’, one journalist suggested, while another went further: ‘of course, it was murder’, they said.

By the end of the week, once the police surgeon had examined the body, all became clear… and the explanation was perhaps stranger than murder.

The woman in the box was a very long way from home indeed. She was not a murder victim, but a mummy from Peru.

A Chinchorro mummy at Padre Le Paige Archaeological Museum, Chile

The surgeon believed she had been dead for at least a decade, but she was almost certainly far older than this. Her body, which was bent double, had been well preserved by the hot sands of her home.

Still intact was her dark braided hair, and keeping her company were a number of skulls from the same region. Perhaps they had known each other in life? I’m sure they never dreamed that they would one day travel from the Andes to the bustling metropolis of Victorian London.

The historian Christopher Heaney describes Peru as ‘the Earth’s largest natural laboratory for making mummies.’ In fact, over 7,000 years ago, the Chinchorro people of this region became the world’s first practitioners of mummification – thousands of years before the Egyptians.

Though their techniques changed over time, they always removed skin and organs from the corpse before reinforcing the bones with sticks. The skin was then stuffed with vegetable matter, before the corpse was reassembled.

By the nineteenth century, historians and anthropologists had become fascinated by the burial rituals of ancient south American cultures, and their mummies were sought after by museums around the world – where many of them are still on display.

Today many people are rightly uncomfortable with the ethics of displaying human remains in museums, particularly when we consider the context of colonial exploitation in which they were forcibly removed from their places of rest.

These were not concerns shared by those who packed their mummy into a crate and loaded her onto a train.

It’s not clear where the Bond Street mummy ended up. While most reports suggested she was bound for the Hamburg Museum, others claimed she was headed to Belgium. Indeed, there are still Peruvian mummies on display in both locations.

Tintin’s mummy Rascar Capac, from The Seven Crystal Balls

Strangely, those in Belgium have recently made headlines yet again. This is because two institutions in the country have been at war, each claiming their own Peruvian mummy inspired the one that appears in Tintin comic The Seven Crystal Balls.

Who knows? Perhaps Tintin’s Mummy was the very same one that caused a stir at Broad Street Station all those years ago.

Winifred Raven Holiday: Musician

One of my current research projects focuses on a particular social set of artists and musicians that came together in West London during the late nineteenth century. Though its most illustrious members (including Pre-Raphaelite painters and famous concert pianists) were men, the women of the group have their own important stories to tell. I’ve found that the wives and daughters of the men in this gang often had their own careers in art and music, but their stories have been relegated to the footnotes of books about their fathers and brothers. 

A person posing for the camera

Description automatically generated

Winifred Raven Holiday by Lock & Whitfield, 1886
National Portrait Gallery London

In this post I will share the story of one of these women – the musician and suffragette Winifred Raven Holiday (1866 – 1949). She was the daughter of eminent artist Henry Holiday, whose work with a formidable model called Priscilla was the subject of my last post

An old photo of a person

Description automatically generated

Kate Raven, 1861
As featured in Henry Holiday’s Reminiscences

Winifred’s mother, Catherine (Kate) Raven, was also a noted artist. A gifted embroiderer who worked with Morris & Co., she developed her own techniques and executed William Morris’ designs on a large scale. Morris left the colours to her judgement, explaining to Henry Holiday: ‘I’d back your wife for heavy sums against all Europe at embroidery’.  

Kate was also a skilled amateur pianist who shared her husband’s passion for music. The family counted many leading figures from the world of music amongst their closest friends, including the violinist Joseph Joachim, conductor Hans Richter and composer Hubert Parry. 

Kate and Henry’s only child, Winifred, therefore grew up in an intensely musical environment. The Holidays hosted large concerts at their home in Hampstead, and dinner parties involved music too. At one garden party in 1881, guests including William and Fanny Holman Hunt, Lady Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema enjoyed Richter’s performance on the piano of extracts from Wagner’s Ring cycle. This had not yet been performed in England. On this same occasion a young Winifred – already a talented violinist in her early teens – performed Bach’s piano and violin sonata in B with Hans Richter. 

A picture containing indoor, person, sitting, holding

Description automatically generated

John Collingham Moore, The Young Violinist, 1874

There are two notable paintings of a young Winifred with her violin. The first is by John Collingham Moore. It appears the identity of his sitter has been lost over time – the painting was sold at auction as The Young Violinist some years ago, but a reproduction in Henry Holiday’s Reminiscences confirms that the sitter is Winifred.

A picture containing person, indoor, girl, woman

Description automatically generated

Henry Holiday, The Duet, 1877

The second is a particularly beautiful watercolour portrait of Winifred (on the left) and her friend, Alexandra Kitchin by Henry Holiday himself. My favourite detail is the tiny profile portrait of Mozart just over Winifred’s shoulder. This paitning sold at auction in 2004. ‘Xie’, as Alexandra was known by her friends, was the daughter of Reverend George William Kitchin, a friend of both Ruskin and Lewis Carroll. 

Xie Kitchin playing a violin, photographed by Lewis Carroll, c.1876
Royal Photographic Society

Carroll, who owned at least one of Henry Holiday’s paintings, famously took several photographs of a young Xie.

When the Royal College of Music opened in 1882, Henry felt it was a little late for Winifred’s musical education as her skills were already advanced. However, he was keen for her to gain experience in performance and sit appropriate examinations. He said: ‘Orchestral-playing, ensemble practice, and harmony and counterpoint, are all essential to a musical education, and these were all to be had, and of excellent quality, at the College.’ 

His talented daughter was awarded a scholarship and soon excelled in her studies. Her proud father reported that ‘In advanced harmony and counterpoint Winifred came out first in the last year of her scholarship, though it was only her second study.’

One incident which occurred when she was a student confirms Winifred’s skill. The violinist Henry Holmes was taken ill just before he was scheduled to lead a concert in Newcastle. He asked Winifred to stand in for him. She led performances of quartets by Mozart and Haydn which she was familiar with, as well as a quintet by Schumann which she had never played. Henry reported ‘There was only time [for Winifred] to travel down, get one rehearsal there, and then perform all the works in public. According to accounts of the other members of the quartet, and of the local press, it was a brilliant success.’

When Winifred had completed her time at the RCM, she spent some time in Berlin where she played in a quartet with celebrated violinist Joseph Joachim. On her return to London she formed a quartet of her own – her pianists included both Fanny Davies and Leonard Borwick, both notable performers in their own right. With the help of clarinettist Mr. Draper, her father explained, ‘they played Brahms’ quintet for clarionet and strings, a work of no small difficulty, not often heard.’ 

In the autumn of 1893, at the urging of his wife, Henry Holiday took Winifred on something of a pilgrimage across Europe. Their final destination was in Bayreuth. Joining them on this journey was Winifred’s friend, a fellow Wagner devotee called Miss Florence Scott. On their grand tour they enjoyed much music, one highlight being a meeting in Venice with the man in whose arms Wagner had died. The grand finale of the tour was a performance of Parsifal and Lohengrin, which (according to Henry) ‘seemed to soar into the regions never before attained by any composer’.

In the years that followed, Winifred established herself as a performer of note. She led a ‘ladies orchestra’ which gave performances in cities around Britain, also leading a second orchestra primarily made up of female players. They performed to predominantly working-class audiences. Her father said: ‘The audiences at these concerts are largely working-class, and it is delightful, though to me not surprising, to see their enthusiastic appreciation for the greatest works of the greatest masters. There are few concerts I enjoy so much.’

As this begins to suggest, Winifred was (like her parents) very politically aware – a supporter not only of workers’ rights, but an active suffragette. In my next blog post, I will discuss Winifred’s activities as a suffragette, and reveal that she leveraged her father’s contacts in the art world to win support for the cause. Watch this space…

The Mysterious Priscilla W: Pre-Raphaelite Model & Musician

My research on the connections between musicians and artists in late nineteenth-century London has led me towards a number of bohemian families. Often, I’m finding, the daughters of well-known artists became musicians – or vice versa. These women played a vital role in connecting the communities they were part of, and many were also extremely politically active. Uncovering their stories has been one of the most exciting revelations of this project so far, and I’m looking forward introducing them to you as my research develops.

1024px-Henry_Holiday_-_Dante_and_Beatrice_-_Google_Art_Project

Henry Holiday, Dante and Beatrice, Oil on canvas, 1883, Walker Art Gallery

Today, though, I want to discuss a woman who was on the fringes of this bohemian community. She wasn’t a member of an affluent artistic family but was nevertheless able to capitalise on her connections in the art world in order to forge a career in music. I came across her story in the autobiography of artist Henry Holiday, whose family straddled the worlds of art and music in just the way I have described. A member of the Pre-Raphaelite school, Holiday is best remembered for his Dante and Beatrice, now at the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool. His Reminiscencesare a brilliant read, offering a great deal of insight into the worlds of art and music in late-Victorian and Edwardian London. Here’s the section that piqued my interest:

Portlands

Henry Holiday’s house in Kent, as it looks today

Our house, “Portlands” by name, near Knockholt, was seven miles from St. Mary Cray, our nearest station, so that it was impossible to have models for a few hours, and we had either to have them in the house or get a room out. Burne-Jones told me of a very good one, Miss Priscilla W., who stayed with us for two or three weeks at a time while I was painting the Muses. I remember that she told me during the sittings the greater part of the story of “Our Mutual Friend,” which was then new, and I had not read it. She had a wonderful memory and repeated whole conversations with a keen sense of the humour. During her second visit I heard her one morning singing to herself during a rest, and said to her, “That’s a Sonata of Schubert’s you’re humming.” “Yes,” she answered, “I know it is.” “But how do you come to know it?” “Mrs. Holiday used to play it when I was last here, and I love music.”

I was struck by her musical memory, and she, on hearing more of my wife’s pieces, developed so keen an interest in them that she saved up money enough to buy a piano, and Mrs. Holiday gave her some lessons. Later we introduced her to Miss Bondy, an admirable pianist, who kindly gave her lessons at a moderate charge, and in an incredibly short space of time she became an accomplished musician and had given up sitting for teaching the piano.

There are many reasons that this short passage jumped out at me. Firstly, I wondered, who was Priscilla W? I’ve had a dig around and can’t find any information about a model with that name – unless I’m missing something obvious. If she was recommended by Burne-Jones, does that mean she modelled for him too? We know a lot about some of the famous models who worked in Pre-Raphaelite circles – might Priscilla be worthy of further research?

90924312_514794916095388_1475851376809476096_n

The frieze, as reproduced in Holiday’s Reminiscences

Details from the frieze, as reproduced in Holiday’s Reminiscences

All Holiday tells us is that Priscilla was the model he used for his frieze Apollo and the Muses, which he completed for the Clifton Theatre. I can’t find any information about this venue online, and it seems unlikely that the frieze survives. However, Holiday does reproduce a drawing of it in his memoirs.

Preparatory drawings for Holiday’s muses, recently sold at auction

HH Auction

Detail from preparatory drawing

While searching online, I also came across two preparatory drawings for the muses that were sold at auction recently– see here and here. These three sources give us some indication what Priscilla looked like. It seems that she had red wavy hair and a strong jaw – characteristic features of Pre-Raphaelite women.

The main reason Holiday’s description grabbed my attention, though, is that Priscilla sounds like a force! With an appetite for literature and music, and the ability to memorise Dickens and Schubert, she was clearly culturally engaged and extremely smart.

BondyAd

Miss Bondy in The Musical World

Most striking, though, is the way in which she was able to leverage the contacts her modelling career gave her access to. She set herself up as a piano teacher, which was both a more stable and more respectable form of work. It’s also notable that it was other women who facilitated this career move – the artist’s wife, Catherine Holiday (herself a noted textile artist who worked for William Morris) took the initiative in assisting Priscilla. Miss Bondy then offered lessons at a reduced rate. This is a great example of women helping women.

Without her full surname it’s difficult to research Priscilla’s career as a teacher, but I have found some adverts for piano recitals given by her own teacher, Miss Bondy. It’s possible that Priscilla also performed at some of these. I’ll continue to dig around in the archives and see what I find. In the meantime, if any readers have thoughts or suggestions about who this mysterious musical model was (and what else she might have modelled for!) I’d love to hear them…

Paderewski’s Autograph Book

In my last post I introduced Jan Paderewski, the Polish pianist, Prime Minister and all-round polymath. He’s one of the key figures in my project Musical Portraits in Bohemian London, which explores connections between artists and musicians during the late-Victorian and Edwardian periods.

Laz

Łazienki Park, Warsaw (which I completely fell in love with!)

Edward Burne-Jones, Portrait of Jan Paderewski

Left: Pencil on paper, 1882, National Museum in Warsaw

Right: Oil on canvas, 1890, Royal College of Music Museum

As part of my research for this, I was lucky enough to go to Poland in order to compare a Burne-Jones drawing of Paderewski at the National Museum in Warsaw with a painting at the Royal College of Music in London. I’m still working on the relationship between Burne-Jones and Paderewski, which is more interesting than I had at first realised. I’ll be exploring this in a future post. 

20191023_095126

Paderewski’s Autography Book, National Museum in Warsaw

Thanks to the generosity of Curator Piotr Kopszak in Warsaw, I also had the opportunity to look at an autograph book that belonged to Paderewski himself. It seems that he took this on tour with him, where it was signed by the eminent society figures who flocked to his performances. This makes it an extremely useful source for attempting to understand Paderewski’s social circle, and it certainly revealed some interesting names.

766px-Alma-Tadema_Ignacy_Jan_Paderewski

Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Portrait of Ignacy Jan Paderewski, Oil on canvas, 1891, National Museum in Warsaw

The artist Lawrence Alma-Tadema (who also painted Paderewski’s portrait) pops up a few times, as does his daughter Laurence Alma-Tadema – a noted author, who worked closely with Paderewski. Others include Polish opera singer Marcella Sembrich and one-time President Herbert Hoover, who in 1938 wrote in the album: ‘One of the pleasurable moments that come in our lives is the refreshing of old and tried friendships.’

My favourite page of this autograph book, though, is dated 26th June 1925. It appears that on this evening Paderewski hosted a concert for international visitors at his home in Lausanne, Switzerland. Judging by their effusive messages, he made quite an impression. These entires offer a fascinating glimpse into how audiences (and female audiences in particular) responded to his performances.

Here are a few of my favourite entires:

  • Myrtle Dean Clark: ‘With the admiration of a would-be friend.
  • Dorothy F. Gilchrist: ‘A little girl who plays your minuet.
  • Mrs Max Gessler: ‘With gratitude for the great privilege of meeting you.
  • Mrs W. D. Hurlbut: ‘An unknown admirer.‘ [Not that unknown, if she signed her name!]
  • Mrs Winnie S. Robinson: ‘I am blessed with being here.
  • Marian B. Gilchrist: ‘With great appreciation for your hospitality and joy at the beauty I have found here.
  • Winifred Harriet [Stevens?]: ‘A very grateful pupil by proxy.
  • Mrs John F. Gilchrist: ‘From the big bare lakefront of Chicago, greetings to this jem [sic] of beauty.
  • Catherine J. Clark: ‘With deep gratitude for the love and joy you have given the whole world.’
  • Pauline Dunstan Belden: ‘Thank you for the spirit of the ideal in all we have found here.
  • Helen West Thomas: ‘With great appreciation to my ideal.
  • Jean Stevens: ‘A day I will never forget.
  • Margaret Moulding: ‘The most enjoyable afternoon of my European tour.
  • Elizabeth Perkins: ‘This afternoon will be the most wonderful memory of this summer.

I love the different ways in which these women (and they are all women!) have responded – from the admiring and the grateful, to those who see themselves as students. Some messages almost constitute aesthetic posturing, with references to beauty and the ideal.

Paderewski was an older man by 1925, but it is also worth remembering that he had a frenzied female fan club in his heyday – some descriptions of his performances evoke nothing so much as Beatlemania, with women screaming, passing out and even wielding scissors in an attempt to snatch a lock of his famous red hair. I reckon there’s a lurking sense of this romantic admiration in these 1920s messages, too. Whatever you think, they certainly offer an intriguing glimpse into how women responded to this famous musician.

In a way, this is celebrity autograph culture in reverse – rather than fans seeking the signature of their hero, they offer their own up in tribute to him. A piece of them goes with the celebrity, rather than the other way around.

20191022_115134

Paderewski’s grave

Admiration for Paderewski is still evident in Warsaw, where he is remembered as a national hero – more, I believe, for his political career than his musical one. I visited his grave, in a fantastically creepy crypt under a beautiful old church. It boasted a wreath of fresh flowers in the colours of the Polish flag on the day I was there. I also came across a statue of Paderewski in the park, and (best of all) a brand of Paderewski vodka at the airport. It’d be rude not to… na zdrowie!

Vodkaa