Stinkpipes

/0 Comments/in , /by

Stinkpipes: a key to Cambridge’s less fragrant past

Contributor: Caroline Mead

You may feel that Cambridge is a rather clean and fresh-smelling kind of place, with all the greens and commons. But one piece of street furniture, found all over the place, suggests it was once a much smellier city.

If you’ve ever been to Cambridge city centre I’m sure you will have walked past a stinkpipe (or stench pole). You probably didn’t think anything of it, assuming it was a type of lamp post or telegraph pole. But once you get hunting for them, you realise they’re an entirely different beast. Stinkpipes were created with the intention of extracting nasty odours from underground sewers and dispersing them into the air. They tend to be taller (6–8 metres) and wider (about 15cm) than most other poles in residential streets, and they follow sewer routes. Some have been truncated so they’re much shorter than they were originally, but others are still at their original height.

They originate from London, around the time of the Industrial Revolution, when the Thames was essentially an open sewer. Flushing toilets were very rare, and waste of all kinds just ended up in the river. It reached a peak during the summer of 1858, which was known as The Great Stink. The effluent in the Thames began to ferment, and the terrible smell brought the city to a standstill. Two engineers, Joseph Bazalgette and Goldsworthy Gurney, were brought in to build a proper sewage system and design a simple way to ventilate the gas caused by its rotting.

They are made of cast iron, sometimes with the manufacturer’s name, and are often decorated in a uniquely Victorian style – look out for roses and carved decorations. They’re also hollow, so give them a knock if you want to check you’re looking at the real thing. They’re often painted in grey or green, and the original paintwork can still be seen in some cases.

If you fancy hunting for stink pipes in Cambridge, I recommend starting at the one outside 170 Gilbert Road. It’s still at its original height and has its decorative finial over the top. From there, stink pipes can be found on Midsummer Common (near the Manhattan Bridge, and at the crossing to Fair Street), on Emmanuel Road (Christ’s Pieces side), and even outside the Judge Business School. And there are many more. Once you’ve seen one, you’ll see them all over the place – legacy of the impressive Victorian sewage systems of old.

Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

The Leper Chapel and the largest fair in medieval Europe

/1 Comment/in , /by
Contributor: Caroline Mead

The Barnwell Junction end of Newmarket Road is now more commonly known for Cambridge United, but it was once the site of a leper hospital, known as Stourbridge Hospital. All that remains now is the incredible Leper Chapel, located just after the railway bridge. Move over Peterhouse, this also has claims to be the oldest building in Cambridge, estimated to date from 1125.

In 1199, the chapel was given royal dispensation from King John to hold a fair on its grounds to help the lepers, which became known as Stourbridge Fair. From 1211, the fair took place around the Feast of the Holy Cross (14 September). Rent from the stalls added a considerable amount to the hospital’s income, which was otherwise derived from less profitable activities such as begging, and gaining rent from land holdings.

The fair took place on the land around the hospital all the way down to the river. It was a general fair, selling iron, horseshoes, soaps, wool, baskets, cloth, fish and herbs. The fair was immensely popular, and grew to become the largest medieval fair in Europe. You can see its legacy in local street names – Oyster Row, Garlic Row and Mercers Row. It was not without its problems however – in 1700, Edward Ward, in his pamphlet ‘A step to Stir-Bitch fair’ wrote that among the fair’s patrons were ‘… scholars, tradesmen, whores, hawkers, pedlars and pickpockets.’

The fair ran for more than 700 years, and the last fair was held in 1933, but the tradition has been revived in the 21st Century by Cambridge Past, Present and Future, who have looked after the building since 1951.

The position of Leper Chapel Priest became one of the most lucrative jobs in the English Church, more a sinecure in fact, as the chapel had no parish, the leper hospital stopped admitting new lepers in 1279, and the existing community moved out to Ely. Nice job if you could get it!

The Leper Chapel stopped being a regular place of worship in 1751. When the fairs were on, it was used as a pub, in between fairs it operated as a store for fair items. However, it is now under the auspices of Holy Cross Church who hold a service there once a month. It also sometimes hosts theatre events (I went to a fantastic ghost story event there once too.)

The grounds are always open, but you can only visit inside at an official event – take a look at the Cambridge Past, Present and Future website for details: https://www.cambridgeppf.org/

Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

Hunting the ghosts of local businesses

/0 Comments/in , /by

Buildings often tell stories and hint at their history. For example, the barn conversion that still looks very much like a barn, the single-storey kitchen that was once an outside toilet. Some buildings have evidence that their use wasn’t hinted at – it was shouted about, to entice customers.

Hand-painted adverts were commonplace on buildings between around 1900 and 1930. Some can still be clearly seen, but still others have almost faded into obscurity, leaving a trace of products and businesses that no longer exist. That’s why they’re known as ‘ghost signs’. They appear in most UK towns and cities.

They are often unintentionally preserved, often through neglect or through over familiarity, and sometimes they are intentionally preserved. What they don’t do is tell you the full story. We don’t know who painted them, or why, or how successful they were. But what they can do is offer a hint of what the building may have functioned as, or looked like, at the turn of the 20th century.

Cambridge has several such signs – and there are certainly more to be found. It is also interesting that around 2014 there was a City Council-run project to protect these signs for posterity. I suspect it was never repeated, but certainly shows a Council seeing value in these historical signs.

Here are a few from around Cambridge:

Centaur Cycles, just off King Street. This is one of the most impressive ghost signs, and for some reason was never part of the Council’s project. It reads Centaur Cycles, the Best the World Produces. Centaur was a Coventry-based bike manufacturer, bought out by Humber around the time of World World I.

Centaur Cycles

30 Sidney Street. Between 1902 and 2010, this building was the site of Galloway and Porter booksellers. It was well-known for selling books at hugely discounted prices and carrying a Galloway and Porter carrier bag was rather fashionable amongst students in the 1990s.

Galloway & Porter

30 Green Street. From 1913, this was the site of Stoakley & Son Bookbinders. The sign has been repainted as part of the council initiative to protect ghost signs. However, this has caused some dissatisfaction on the internet, as the person who did the repainting has apparently taken some historical liberties – changing the shape of the original letters, for example.

Stoakley & Son

Wall in the courtyard of the Eagle Pub showing it was once a Coach House.

Coach House

Bulls Dairies, 44 Hills Road. This one has been restored very effectively, and is a familiar sight on Hills Road. The building was Bull’s Dairy from 1939. The milking yard was just behind it, with 30 cattle. A German bombing raid in 1941 blew the windows out, but Mr Bull survived to become the Mayor of Cambridge. 

Bulls Dairies


Hot Numbers record store at 2a Kingston Street. This building operated as a record shop from the 1970s until sometimes in the early 1990s. My partner can remember buying records from here around 1992, and said the place was always a bit of a mess. There is now a coffee shop called ‘Hot Numbers Coffee’ on a neighbouring street. 

Hot Numbers

105–107 Norfolk Street. This is now a residential home, but it was the Prince of Wales pub from 1901 to 1962.

Prince of Wales pub

67 Norfolk Street. This building was the Tailor’s Arms from 1881 to 1962, when it became a greengrocer.

Tailor’s Arms

9 Norfolk Street. Not sure what the sign says, but in 1913 it was a tobacconist. I can make out the words ‘drapers’ and ‘hosier’ too.

Draper & Hosier

The Free Press pub, built 1851. The original signs can still be seen on the walls, and it still operates as a pub (where Covid restrictions allow).

Free Press pub

 

105 Cherry Hinton Road. This building used to be a bakery and its ghost sign is probably one of my favourites. The records from 1911 show that the baker was called Wallis Francis Simpson.

Bakery

So next time you’re in a town or city, look up ou might capture a glimpse of the city’s past.

Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

Tony’s Trough

/0 Comments/in , /by

Between a set of bike racks and next to Lloyd’s Bank, on a north Cambridge traffic island, there is a rather strange monument: a memorial dog trough. This was erected in 1934, in memory of a dog named Tony. It was put there at the request of Prince Chula of Siam, who studied at Trinity College. The plaque reads:

1934
In memory of Tony, a dog who gave him friendship and happiness during his Cambridge years.This trough is erected by His Royal Highness Prince Chula of Siam.

A report from the Town Planning Committee of 13 June 1933 states:

‘The Committee further considered an offer received from HRH Prince Chula of Siam of a water trough for animals to be placed near Trinity Backs or Milton Road and, in connection therewith, the Town Clerk submitted a letter from the local inspector of the RSPCA intimating that his association fully supported the erection of such a trough.

Resolved that the offer of HRH Prince Chula of Siam of a water trough for dogs be accepted with the best thanks of the council; that it be suggested that the trough should be a small one for dogs only and further that the water trough be placed at the junction of Milton Road and Chesterton Road, near the Police Box.’

Around the time the trough was constructed, Prince Chula settled in Cornwall, where he built several more similar drinking troughs to honour departed dogs.

It is either a coincidence, or a continuation of the tradition, that the Portland Arms on the other side of the road from Tony’s Trough describes itself as ‘dog-friendly’.

Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

Chesterton Mill

/0 Comments/in , /by

Teenage me had a paper round and I used to deliver papers to a converted mill in the mid-1990s. It was the office building of an educational publisher called Pearson Publishing. Their order was all the daily papers plus a large amount of trade press. I used to have to do that drop-off first, then go back to the newsagent and collect the other papers. The mill is down a badly-lit private road and on dark winter mornings felt slightly eerie. But what was simply a nuisance to me at the time is actually an interesting place.

The mill itself dates from around 1850. Back then, the mill was surrounded by open fields (very difficult to imagine now). It was run by the miller William French and his family – hence the name of a nearby road, French’s Road. There was an orchard and smallholding on site, and other family members ran a bakery and general store on nearby Searle Street. By 1868, the family had installed a steam engine to enable work to take place more easily. The sails were removed in 1912. The mill was run by several generations of the French family for more than a hundred years, until 1955. William French is buried in the nearby Histon Road Cemetery.

Chesterton Mill is a Grade II listed building, due to its specific architectural and historical interest – it is the last smock mill in Cambridge. In 1986, the mill was converted to commercial use, which is how it is used to this day.

Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

Cellarer’s Chequer

/0 Comments/in , , /by

I went on a few tours by the brilliant and sadly deceased former road sweeper and tour guide Allan Brigham, and remembered a few “hidden places of Cambridge”, such as the sign near the Grafton Centre showing the location of an old women’s refuge, and how he said: “This shows the history of the real people of Cambridge, the people who are all but forgotten”. 

A few days later I put up a Facebook post specifically asking for ‘weird Cambridge sights’. That’s how I concluded that there are some people in Cambridge (or, in fact, any city) who have a favourite historical site or building. They probably assume everyone knows about it. They don’t. For example, I’ve known for a long time that the building at 25 Magdalene Street used to be a brothel, and you can tell this by the lurid carvings on either side. A friend took four of us on a ghost walk around Hallowe’en, and only two of the four had seen it before. One had lived in Cambridge for more than 40 years.

It was through this call-out for ‘weird Cambridge sites’ that I discovered the part of the old Barnwell Priory that still exists is the Cellarer’s Chequer on Priory Road, built between 1216 and 1235. The Cellarer was the person at the priory responsible for doing deals with local businesses, bartering for a good price for chickens and so on. Essentially though, it’s a medieval shed and was probably quite good at being a shed, as I assume it was used for shed-like activities whilst the surrounding Victorian housing was being built, meaning that it was never demolished.  

I found out that the ‘Most Haunted House in Cambridge’ (no doubt a disputed title) is the 17th Century Barnwell Abbey House, again built on the site of the priory, now full of Buddhists. 

Arbury, the housing estate where I live, full of unremarkable 1950s housing and teenagers on bikes, has a much more interesting past. When the building company Sindall Ltd were excavating for the housing estate in 1952 they found a huge Roman coffin, and it’s believed to be the site of a Romano-British cemetery.

I also heard the unfortunate tale of Elizabeth Woodcock. After a trip to Cambridge market and the Three Tuns pub on 2 February 1799, she was caught in heavy snow. She fell from her horse (was the pub visit something to do with this?) and ended up being buried in a snowdrift just outside Histon for eight days. She survived her ordeal, but died on 24 July that year. There is a monument to her in a field just off the guided busway between Orchard Park and Histon.

It led me and my mum to spend an hour or so on a Sunday morning searching for the grave of murdered teenage sex worker Emma Rolfe at Mill Road Cemetery. Although we didn’t find her, a friend of my mum knows where she is buried.

There is more to discover. For Christmas I got a book called Walking Cambridge by Andrew Kershman which uncovers more exciting stories of Cambridge’s history. There is also the website Capturing Cambridge https://capturingcambridge.org/ which is a hive of exciting stories of normal places and people. The best place to start, though, is to talk to people and see what they say.

About the Author
Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.

Chesterton Tower

/0 Comments/in , , /by

I grew up in Cambridge and have lived here permanently since 2006. I thought I knew it well. I was wrong. One of my most interesting lockdown activities has been discovering new parts of the city and new buildings.It started with a walk. Or rather, a Sunday lunch in a pub (on one of the few occasions in 2020 when that was possible), followed by a longer loop along the river to get home.

We walked along Riverside, intending to cut through Chesterton to our house in Arbury. For some reason, instead of going down Church Street as we usually would, my partner Chris suggested cutting down Chapel Street instead. There was no real reason for this, other than it was a Sunday afternoon and we had nowhere particular to be.

Halfway down Chapel Street, amid some unremarkable flats, was a building neither of us had seen before – what looked like an old miniature castle, nestled in the depths of Chesterton. It looked like it was on private land, but we had a look around and took some photos anyway. We saw the arrow slits and noted it was now a language school called Blue Bridge Education. When we got home, I put the photo on Facebook, asking if anyone knew what it was. It turned out it was the Chesterton Tower. The building dates from the mid-14th Century, when Chesterton was a royal manor.

Following the death of King John, the Barons, who had been in constant conflict with the King, invited a French prince to be king, in place of the then-7-year-old Prince Henry. Keen to avoid civil war, a papal legate Cardinal Guala came to England to arbitrate. Guala appointed Henry III to the throne. To show gratitude for this Henry gave the royal manor of Chesterton to Guala, with the Church of St Andrew. Guala then passed the gift to the Abbey of Vercilli. The abbot appointed a proctor, who was to live in Chesterton. This was the proctor’s house, and at the time it occupied the grounds of St Andrew’s church, though it is now a housing estate. A copy of Cardinal Guala’s portrait hangs on the wall of the south aisle of St Andrew’s Church.

In 1440, the pope agreed to transfer the church and the tower to King’s Hall, which became Trinity College. The 1959 Royal Commission Survey of Cambridge said of the building:
“The tower is a rare survival of a dwelling for the representative of England of a foreign appropriator and of much architectural interest despite the recent restoration.”

I’ve lived in Cambridge for 35 years. All these facts were completely new to me. Chesterton Tower is certainly not on any tourist trail that I’m aware of, and I can’t imagine it appears on many punt tours either. It struck me that if there can be a 14th Century palace hiding away in Chesterton, owned by Trinity College but largely ignored, there could be more such places …

About The Author
Caroline Mead was born and grew up in Cambridge, and works as a copywriter for the RSPB. Covid-permitting, she also enjoys choral singing, flute playing, bellydancing, ballet, running, walking, and discovering little-known parts of Cambridge. She has BAs from the Open University and the University of Birmingham, and an MA in Sociology from the University of York. She is also a qualified massage therapist.