Today I am searching for this dwelling in Forest Hill, Lewisham. This is a photograph of the family home of Henry and Ada Marriott, the parents of my old friend and book subject, Henry John Burton Marriott (1888-1986). Marriott took the photo himself in 1937 whilst on the only trip he ever made home to London following his emigration to Port Williams, Nova Scotia in 1921.
Of course, because of Google Street View, I know I will find it and do. I take the train from London Bridge Station to Forest Hill, the same route that Henry Marriott, a London stockbroker, and his son, Henry John Burton Marriott (called "Jack") a clerk at the Bank of England, covered twice every day from home to London's banking district and back. (Even when Jack moved further away from London to Stoke D'Abernon in Surrey, he took the train every day to the Bank, from 1914-1921.)
The Marriott family lived here from about 1904-1911. They moved quite often about Lewisham, but came to this home from Colville Gardens in Kensington (the only years they did not live in this part of London). It was here that Henry Marriott died in 1910, at age 56; the family moved from here to a smaller home nearby, on Ewelme Street, until Jack married and his mother moved to Dorset, in 1912. (I do not look for the Ewelme Street home; Street View has made it clear that whatever is there now bears no resemblance to what had been there 97 years ago.)
The house was easier to identify than I thought; there is plenty of evidence that their home was called "Moraston," including references in the Census. I am pleased that the same coloured glass spelling out the name, and the patterns in the windows, are still intact. The pink painted brick is new, of course, as are the ubiquitous bins lined up in the front yard.
The same sign---or an exact reproduction---evident in the 1937 photo is still attached to the front of the house. I wish I could find out who named this dwelling. Curiously, on Jews Walk nearby in Sydenham (near where the Marriotts also once lived) the daughter of Karl Marx, Eleanor, had a property called Moraston Lodge. I wonder if there is any connection.
Henry John Burton "Jack" Marriott, at age 19, taken at the time he lived with his family at "Moraston" on Perry Vale in Forest Hill.
The Marriott home from across Perry Vale. Everything this side of the street is newer; the Census record hints that nothing was here in 1910.
The section of Perry Vale near the end of which is "Moraston."
At the bottom of Perry Vale is the Forest Hill Station. This postcard shows what it was like when Henry Marriott and Jack passed through here every day on the way to London.
I follow Sunderland Road north, past South Street, where the Marriotts lived for a time in the 1890s; Jack had taken a photo of their South Street home in 1937, and said it was much changed and deteriorating, so I do not go looking for it. Instead, I take a few photos of structures that were likely there when Jack was a young man.
Never have I found reference in any of his diaries of Jack visiting any pub, but I wonder if he ever went to these ones near the family homes.
I arrive in Honor Oak. "Honor," "Honour": who knows?
I walk along Brockley Rise to Stondon Park, now in Honor Oak, looking for the home into which Jack Marriott moved with his new wife, Leila Talbot, the day after their marriage in Brighton in 1912. He had also photographed this dwelling on his trek in 1937.
The newlyweds had a flat on the side of the building--74a--a flat that Marriott called "Njordhem."
The building is still intact, with obvious alterations--painted brick, stucco, a wrought-iron railing removed--but I do not tarry for long--people might wonder why I am photographing their homes.
Jack photographed an unknown woman--maybe his sister--at the side entrance to the house, but I am less inclined to photograph the father and his children leaving the flat today.
There are London taxis parked outside several of the homes in these rows, not waiting for passengers, but parked there by their drivers who must live in these flats.
Here is a postcard of Stondon Park in 1912, the year that Jack and Leila Marriott moved in to #74a.
The nearby pub, perhaps visited by the Marriotts (in whatever form it was in in 1912). It is here in Brockley that I begin to follow a group of uniformed school children of several nationalities as they head somewhere on a school trip. One of their teachers leads the group, a woman of colour and a Muslim woman accompany them, and a man who must be the Principal keeps them moving along from the rear. At each street he blocks traffic and keeps his eyes open for errant drivers. (One of the teachers chuckles at me as I follow along, telling me that "you are so lucky to have your own Safety Officer today.") We eventually reach Crofton Park and I pass them and go into Ladywell Cemetery, in which is located the Marriott family plot.
Ladywell and Brockley Cemeteries were created as separate entities in 1858 when burials were banned in the over-crowded London cemeteries. The 21-acre site originally had a wall through the centre to separate the two. The cemetery is listed as a nature conservation area, a "haven for wildlife, plants, and wildflowers." It is much overgrown and stones are hard to access with waist-high grasses hiding the tombstones in many places. A volunteer group, The Friends of Brockley & Ladywell Cemeteries (FOBLC) is a fairly new group, "dedicated to helping protect and preserve" the cemeteries. I have requested of them if someone knows where the Marriott stone is.
I wander somewhat aimlessly through the thousands of monuments, and never do find the Marriott tombstone. I expected I would not, with only a section and grave number to go by, and without any indication on site of the organization of the gigantic cemetery.
The Ladywell Memorial Chapel near one of the cemetery gates. Ladywell is the final resting place of a few notable Londoners, including Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) the poet and decadent artist; Joseph Henry Blackburne (1841-1924) the world-class chess master; the illustrator, Sir John Gilbert, and others. The most gruesome story is on the monument for Jane Clouson (1854-1871). The inscription explains her fate:A motherless girl who was murdered in Kidbrooke Lane, Eltham age 17 in 1871. Her last words were, "Oh, let me die."
Apparently, the poor girl had become pregnant by the son of her employer and he had refused to marry her because marrying her would be beneath his station. He arranged to meet her one night, and she was found near death that evening; despite strong evidence that he was the killer--his trousers were bloodstained, the murder weapon, a hammer he had bought a few days before was found at the scene, and there were seven or eight witnesses--the judge declared that the case was not proven beyond reasonable doubt. There was public outcry over the acquittal, the public feeling that social class had saved the accused. Public money was used to place a monument on her grave in the cemetery, although her ghost haunted Kidbrooke Lane until it disappeared in redevelopment.
This photo of the Ladywell Memorial Chapel, including a tall steeple, was taken in late 1930, during the funeral of Jack Marriott's mother, Ada Burton Marriott. I had hoped the photo would point me in the right direction, but no such luck. Everything is grown up now, bombs fell on the cemetery during World War II, and even part of the chapel is gone.
Any one of hundreds of grave stones like these could belong to the Marriotts. Jack visited his parents' grave in 1937 and recorded the data on the stone for his father and infant brother (but not his mother). He took no photos that day.
There is some WW II bomb damage in the cemetery, blatantly visible here. Perhaps some graves were totally destroyed.
More bomb damage, perhaps from shrapnel. (I have discovered that there is even a website here for people who track down and take pictures of even minute damage from bombs on buildings and monuments that were not destroyed.) Lewisham was on the flightpath of many Luftwaffe bombers and suffered considerable damage. In fact, I look for Jack Marriott's grandmother's house on nearby Adelaide Avenue, but that section of the street had been destroyed (although "Gran" had died in 1918).I try to find a bus on Chudleigh Road, but none will stop. An elderly Caribbean woman stops to help me, and she even walks me three blocks and ensures I find the right bus to take me up to the Lewisham Train Station. Wikipedia reports that large numbers of immigrants came to this part of London in the 1960s and subsequently, many from the Caribbean and Africa. In other suburbs, such as Honor Oak, I see large numbers of Indians--the smell of curries is enticing! At the turn of the last century many wealthy Londoners chose these suburbs in which to live, but the demographics have continued to shift. (Jack was no racist, but I wonder what he would have said about the immigration.)
I leave the bus at the Lewisham Station and begin the long walk up the hill to Granville Park. Henry John Burton's birth certificate says he was born at "Grove House," No. 1 Granville Park, Lewisham. I pass wonderful old homes: #7, #5, #3, but where is #1? I find the following signage:
I leave the bus at the Lewisham Station and begin the long walk up the hill to Granville Park. Henry John Burton's birth certificate says he was born at "Grove House," No. 1 Granville Park, Lewisham. I pass wonderful old homes: #7, #5, #3, but where is #1? I find the following signage:
But this is what I find; clearly newer than when Jack would have been born in 1888. I am disappointed. But as I round the top of the hill, I notice that attached to these new flats is a grand old building.
It too carries the sought-for #1, but I cannot be sure it is where Jack was born. Raising further question is the fact that in several Census documents Jack's birthplace is cited as Blackheath, not Lewisham. Two points: one can spit on Blackheath from the top of Granville Park and in 1888 there was a manor house about a mile away called "Grove House," but it is gone. I look no more, and walk across the 170-acre Blackheath heath towards Greenwich Royal Park.
On Blackheath heath, looking back towards Granville Park. Whether born in a family flat on Granville Park, or a mile away in a now-gone Grove Manor, this is where H. J. B. Marriott started his journey.
Henry John Burton Marriott, one year old, living at #1 Granville Park, Lewisham/Blackheath. 
I find the Royal Observatory in the Park, a fascinating place. But I feel nothing as I cross the Prime Meridian---back and forth a couple of times, moving between East and West. For those who know, the famous red ball on the Old Observatory has already dropped, as it does each day at 13:00. I am minutes too late to see it fall, and take this picture at 13:17!
The Royal Observatory at Greenwich was commissioned by Charles II in 1675. The original building was designed by Christopher Wren, is called Flansteed House, and was built on the foundations of the 1433 Greenwich Castle.
King Henry VIII was born at Greenwich in 1491. The Castle stood next to the site of the Observatory on the crest of the hill, but was demolished in the 17th century. Mary I and Elizabeth I were born at Greenwich Palace, the Tudor riverside royal residence. With its hunting grounds--there is still a herd of deer here--and closeness to Henry's home fleet anchored below on the Thames, Greenwich became one of Henry's favourite residences. It was here that Sir Walter Raleigh spread his coat over a puddle to keep Elizabeth from getting her feet wet.
The Royal Observatory, Greenwich no longer serves the scientific functions it once did. Most of the scientific departments were moved to Castle Herstmonceaux in East Sussex in 1947. The Royal Greenwich Observatory moved to Cambridge in 1990 and closed in 1998. What is here now is, essentially, a museum.
Part of the Royal Greenwich Park, looking towards the Queen's House and the National Maritime Museum. Greenwich Park, first enclosed in 1433, covers 183 acres and is still owned by the Crown. Today it is full of people: school children playing cricket; uniformed boys playing football; dozens of families having picnics.
In 1616, James 1st commissioned Inigo Jones to replace the Tudor Palace with a house for his Queen to entertain; tradition says it was to be an apology for his swearing at her after she accidentally shot one of his favourite hunting dogs in 1614; she did not live to see it, but it was completed in 1637 for the wife of Charles Ist. It became today's Queen's House, the first Palladian Villa ever built in England, and was restored in the 1930s. Today the rooms are empty, but the walls are full of wonderful art portraits and naval art.
The interior courtyards of the Queen's House.
The view from the Queen's House today, the towers of Canary Wharf in the distance on the Isle of Dogs. The Royal Naval Academy, left and right, was built in two sections to preserve the view of the Thames, just beyond the trees, from the Queen's House.
A lovely young couple, perhaps newlyweds, ask me in broken English to take their photo. Of course I do, and then ask them to take mine. (Their photo is a much more attractive result!)
Looking from the walkway back towards the Observatory. Young men are playing football in the foreground.
Inside the glassed-in courtyards of the National Maritime Museum, full of interesting maritime artefacts. My kid brother, affectionately known as "Scurvy Pete," is a sailor and would love this museum. My older brother, Tom, would particularly enjoy the extensive Cunard exhibit, as he and Sheila are taking a sea voyage this month on the Queen Mary 2. (Every time I see the company name I smile at his insistence that I pronounce the name correctly, as "Coo-nard.") My stepmother also sailed on her two years ago and loved it.
Inside the Museum are numerous exhibits. I am impressed by the stern gallery of the HMS Implacable. Originally built by France between 1789-1800, she was captured by Britain in 1805 and renamed, served in the Napoleonic Wars, and remained in service until 1842. She was still in non-naval service until 1949, when she was scuttled.
The National Maritime Museum is housed in a wing built to flank the Queen's House in 1807-1876, opened as a museum by King George VI in 1937. The modern glass-roofed Neptune's Court opened in 1999.
The Queen's House with its separate wings. In 1805, George III turned the Queen's House over to the Royal Naval Asylum, housing and providing space to educate the orphans of sailors. The wings were added to provide dormitories and classrooms.
This sundial commemorates the designation of Greenwich as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1997. (I feel rather proud that our wonderful maritime town, Lunenburg, is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site.) I should come back for another day to see more of this area, including the Cutty Sark, the world's last tea clipper, now completing restoration, and scheduled to re-open in 2010. (I remember that a fire a year or so ago considerably damaged the site.)
I photograph the 1718 St Alphege (Alfege) Parish Church. My first proven records of the Marriott family have the family living in this parish for the 1841 Census. The mother, Mary Marriott is a widow, living here with her son, Thomas Marriott, the grandfather of Jack Marriott. (I suspect their dwelling was on Grove Street, in Deptford.)I board the Docklands Light Railway for a quick trip to Canary Wharf, where I can re-connect with the London Undergound. As the DLR comes into Crossharbour Station, I search in vain for the former Canadian, Conrad Black, Baron Black Of Crosshabour, hawking newspapers on the platform. Then I remember, silly me, that he is currently spending all of his time in Florida, at the Coleman Federal Correctional Complex. (He called Canada "an oppressive little world" when Prime Minister Jean Chretien insisted that he renounce his citizenship to become Lord Black.)
One Canada Square, at 776 feet, the UK's tallest building. So-named, I assume, because one of the major developers, Olympia & York, was a Canadian company, before it went bankrupt.
Towers of the Canary Wharf development, started in 1988 on the site of the West India Docks on the Isle of Dogs. Canary Wharf was originally the name of Berth No. 32 of the Wood Side Quay of the Import Dock.
One Canada Square, at ground level from Cabot Square. Certain of my friends will know that two episodes of the great television series, Doctor Who, were filmed here: Army of the Ghosts and Doomsday used Canary Wharf as the HQ for Torchwood and as the site of the battle between the Daleks and the Cybermen.
Despite near ruin financially in the 1990s, Canary Wharf is again revitalised. Wikipedia reports that 93,000 people work here and that 500,000 shop here every week, drawn by the new upscale Jubilee Place shopping centre. Everything here is new, shiny and huge, with so much open space it does not seem crowded. But then, it hardly seems like Britain and definitely not like the rest of London. I pass on Jubilee Place: my daughter says I look like a homeless person much of the time, and I am getting by on a small pension. Almost everyone here seems to be wearing a suit or designer clothes. I board the subway and go back to Marylebone to catch a train for home.
