The Third Mary

I think that it is no secret that I enjoy researching the lives of artists' models.  Unlike the artists they sit for, often models' lives have infinitely more interest and variety due to the contrasts between the art they inspire and the marriages, homes, jobs and destinies they have. It should be no surprise to you that the many models of Julia Margaret Cameron offer me the chance to explore so many lives of all different women from May Prinsep (who I wrote about here and here) to Mary Hillier, subject of my next non-fiction book (see my research here among other posts), and Mary Ryan, who managed to scramble up from beggar-maid to Lady (see my post for The Virtual Victorian blog here).  It was only a matter of time before I got round to having a look at another of Julia Margaret Cameron's maid-turned-model, Mary Kellaway...



A Spanish Picture (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Elizabeth Keown and Mary Kellaway)

Like her contemporary Mary Hillier, Mary Kellaway was a Freshwater girl. Born 27 December 1846 to Barnaby (or Barnabus) and Mary Kellaway, she was one of seven children, but the only girl.  Most notable among her siblings were her older brother Eli and younger brothers Horatio and Oscar, who I'll come to in a moment.  In some accounts of her family tree she is listed as Mary Rose Kellaway, but I can't find this middle name officially.  However, Barnaby was a mariner (according to census returns) and with a brother called Horatio, it can't be ruled out.  Tracing Mary Kellaway was made somewhat more challenging by the many and varied spellings of her surname, from Kellaway to Kelleway and even Celoway by different branches of the family, but I have stuck with 'Kellaway' as it is the one used most often and by subsequent biographers.

Madonna and Two Children (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Elizabeth Keown, Mary Kellaway, Alice Keown)

In the 1851 and 1861 census, Mary is listed as living with her family in Pound Green, Freshwater. Pound Green was next to the Farringford estate and not far from Dimbola Lodge so it is unsurprising that Mary fell into the employ of Julia Margaret Cameron.  However, in the 1861 census she is listed as dressmaker, so it is possible that her employment began somewhen between this census and when Mrs Cameron first focused her lens on her (or didn't, you know what I mean).

The Three Marys (1864)
(Mary Kellaway, Mary Ryan (back), Mary Hillier (front))

Mary's mother, for whom she was named, died in 1856, and Barnaby remarried in 1857, to Hannah Holland of Stroud, Gloucestershire. By 1861, Mary's brothers are listed as either scholars or agricultural labourers.  While Mary was working for Mrs Cameron, her brothers were making a bit of a name for themselves locally. Eli and Horatio were reported in the newspapers for their arrest due to drunk and riotous behaviour.  Eli was caught trespassing and possibly poaching on Tennyson's land in 1864, and even cousin Samuel Kellaway was arrested for setting fire to Tennyson's hedge in 1869.  That turned out to be wrongful arrest and the culprit was Mary Hillier's brother William, who just fancied a bonfire.  A few kind words from Emily Tennyson sorted the young gentlemen out and the matter was dropped.

King Ahasuerus and Queen Esther in Apocrypha (1865) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Henry Taylor, Mary Ryan and Mary Kellaway)

Unlike Marys Ryan and Hillier, Mary Kellaway did not remain with Mrs Cameron until marriage or the lady's departure and by 1871, Mary has crossed the Solent and was working in Portsmouth as a maid with Elizabeth Kellaway, another cousin, in the household of Mary Moresby, an elderly woman of independent means.  She would not remain in Portsmouth for long (often the best way) as before the end of April she was married to William Nightingale, a grocer and cheesemonger from Cambridgeshire.  The couple were married on 25th April 1871 at St Clement's Church, Kensington, London...

St Clement's Church, Kensington

St Clement's was a new church, built in 1867 and the couple were married by the first incumbent.  The couple are listed as living at the same address, 19 Fowell Street, Kensington and William was the son of William Speachley Nightingale, a carpenter.  Mary's father, Barnaby was listed as a farmer, interestingly, but as he had not seemed to have been to sea for a while, I'm not sure how long he could keep claiming to be a mariner.

Salutation after the manner of Giotto (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Mary Kelleway and Mary Hillier)

Mary and her husband William lived in St George's Road, Camberwell and were joined in 1876 by their daughter, who they named Florence. William is listed as a grocer in the 1881 census and the Nightingale family seem comfortable and reasonably prosperous. That would change suddenly in 1886, when at the age of 41, William died leaving Mary alone with their 10 year old daughter to fend for themselves.

Lilies and Pearls (1864-65) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Mary Hillier, Elizabeth Keown, Mary Ryan, Alice Keown and Mary Kellaway)

Mary and Florence were only unsupported for a short time.  In August 1890, Mary married Charles Luff at St Helen's Church, Kensington (original church was destroyed in the Second World War).  Again, her father Barnaby Kelloway (sic) was listed but not correctly marked as deceased (he died in 1877).  Charles was also a widower, and the union was witnessed by Florence.  By the census of the following year, Charles, Mary and Florence are living in 5 West Cottages, Hampstead and Charles is listed as a gardener.

West Cottages, Hampstead.
I'd love to live here.

Florence married in 1898, no longer Florence Nightingale, but the slightly less impressive Florence Jones.  Henry Walter Jones was a grocer like Florence's father and they lived a long and happy life in St Mary's Croft in Wanstead, properties that are now valued at over £1m each.  She gave birth to Trevor in 1905 and Gwyneth in 1909.  The last we see of them is the 1911 census where their seemingly affluent life is supported by 3 servants. She had moved from being the daughter of a servant, from a long history of domestic servants and agricultural labourers to being lady of a house with staff of her own.

Yes or No (1865) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Mary Kellaway and Mary Hillier)

Here is where family history gets complicated.  Researching the history of a woman can often be fraught with challenges because of name changes, but once that woman is taken out of their home and previous context then it can prove very problematic to pin identifications down exactly.  With Mary, her birth place of Freshwater made her easier to spot when it was accurately listed which is why I think I know what became of her, even if I wish I didn't.  At some point before the 1911 census Charles Luff died but neither of them can be pinned down in the 1901 census.  Sadly, I have a feeling I know what became of Mary in 1902, which may have coincided with her husband's death.  Mary Luff, listed as a former housekeeper, born in Freshwater, Isle of Wight, was admitted to an asylum, aged 51.

 

Netherne Asylum, Hooley, Surrey

 Netherne was opened in 1905, and provided an over-flow for Brookwood Asylum in Surrey (final home to Pre-Raphaelite model, Emma Watkins - see this post for her fate).  It is probably that Mary was admitted to Brookwood in 1902 but transferred to Netherne on its opening. I was extremely cautious about applying this identification to Mary Kellaway (not least because I do not want to be known as 'Asylum' Walker) but the place of her birth and the lack of any other options for this person, leads me to admit this is likely to be her.  Looking at the behaviour in her family it is possible to speculate that depression may have been a common factor for the Kellaways.  In 1893, Mary's brother Oscar attempted to kill himself in a barber shop by walking in and picking up a razor which he placed to his throat.  He then attempted to throw himself off Freshwater cliffs.  Eli Kellaway remained drunk and disorderly throughout his life, leading to the sad headline 'Eli's Weakness', in 1906's Hampshire Advertiser, after another arrest. Also in 1915, Arthur Kellaway of Freshwater, employed as an assistant in the military canteen, slashed his throat with a razor, in a sad echo of Oscar.

 

Daughters of Jerusalem with Child (1865) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Mary Kellaway, unknown woman possibly Sophia Hillier, Mary Hillier, Percy Keown below)

Unlike Emma Watkins or Fanny Cornforth, Mary did not seem to die in the asylum but was released on 22 April 1913. Beyond that point I have been unable to trace her, although there are a few 'Mary Luff' entries that might refer to her but without the identifying factor of her place of birth it is impossible to be certain.  Maybe she ended her days with her daughter, Florence, in her comfortable London home, being looked after by servants, seeing out her final years with her grandchildren.  I hope that was her fate.

 

The Three Marys (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron
(Mary Hillier, Mary Kellaway, Mary Ryan)

The above photograph is visual evidence of why I find the history of artists' models continually fascinating.  This moment in 1864 gives no hint on how diverse their destinies would be.  One would remain within walking distance of her place of birth for the rest of her life, another would be confined to a lunatic asylum while the other would become a Lady.  Two of these girls have very similar backgrounds, highlighted by the incident with Tennyson's hedge, while the other had the most uninspiring start in life, begging with her mother in London.  Finding the hidden history behind each of these beautiful, compelling faces is what keeps me returning to the subject and working so that I can bring it to you.  In this way I hope we can remember them not just as beautiful faces in a moment of time but as women who lived lives as striking, unexpected, impressive and mysterious as the photographs they appear in.



We Are Villains All - A Sneak Peek!

Well, the publication day of my new novel We Are Villains All is almost upon us and so I thought I may give you a sneaky peek at the opening of the story where you meet most of the characters.

Enjoy!

Extract from We Are Villains All

In the town of Daneburton, the women would often turn their drawing room conversation to the subject of the poet, Maxwell Wainwright. He had lived among them in the Hampshire market town for twenty years, seeking the peace and solitude that London could not offer. He sought to further the appreciation of poetry amongst the ladies of the community. It was not only poetry that the ladies who gathered in his home appreciated. When they returned to their own drawing rooms, the talk was of his latest publication, the sweetness of his words. Sometimes the praise of his writing came dangerously close to praise of the man himself. It wasn’t that Mr Wainwright was not a praiseworthy man, quite the opposite. What they did not say was the way his glance, his smile, the brief, warm touch of his hand made them feel. Each one of the women considered his unmarried status with speculation. Not one of the fine ladies of Daneburton would have admitted this as they spoke of his deep well of feeling behind each metaphor, but each and every one had considered his ever so proper form, if only for a moment, naked.

Max Wainwright could have been accused of promoting this feeling among the women of the town by his insistence on holding poetry appreciation meetings. During these gatherings the poet stood in front of them, his book cradled like a precious thing in his hand. When he read, his voice was even and smooth, laced with a smile and the ruffle of humour. The words that escaped his lips were mere background noise, compared with the lips themselves, faintly blushed and wide, but not full. His hair was light brown, speckled with grey and brushed back in waves, a little tousled, unruly, and appropriate for the romantic poet he was at heart. His eyes almost vanished as he smiled, crinkled and dark, pressed to curves by the apparent authenticity of his joy in the company of others. His countenance was generally one of innocence, despite now being in his sixth decade, enhanced by his frustrating habit of remaining on pleasantly professional terms with his ladies. This drove some to flirt, to cast their gaze down then allow their eyes to rise to his in an encouraging manner as they breathed a little deeper, their book held just before their rising breasts. Max would just smile, seemingly oblivious to the actions of the increasingly desperate women. His cheeks curved his eyes to mirrored smiles, but then the butterfly of his attention would move on.

The poetry gatherings were held in Mr Wainwright’s spacious dining room. The table had been cleared a while ago and an assortment of chairs accommodated the twenty women of status and leisure who gathered there.

A half dozen of the women were in their older years, such as Rosalind Hunter, a woman who looked upon Max with a reflected warmth and motherly affection. Her regard for the poet was gentle, patient and appropriate, and she had distaste for the more obvious plays for the man’s attention by the younger women. She wasn’t much older than Max, less than a decade, but her hair was white and her figure had roamed to fill the chair, so the idea that she had ever been a lithe young woman seemed impossible. It was if she had been born a fully formed matron, stately and wise.

Some of Mr Wainwright’s acolytes were women in their middle years, but not all the women in their thirties were married. A few were spinsters, like Maud Blake. Maud sat at the back where she could not even see the poet the others so avidly attended. She sought to be as unobtrusive as possible. It was possibly the reason her employer liked her; that, and the fact that Emeline had become Mrs Hutchinson and Miss Blake had not.

Emeline Hutchinson was the youngest of the group, but wore her widow’s weeds with assumed superiority. She had barely accomplished her first anniversary of marriage before her husband dropped dead from a storm in his brain, brought on from an excess of brandy and shouting, mainly due to the company of his young wife. Despite her youth, no-one was under any illusion as to the social power she held. Her connections, her parentage and her beauty fitted her perfectly to rule and none of the ladies had yet come close to usurping the girl-queen...

 

Coming very soon....

 

The (Semi-)Naked Ladies of Prague (and me)

If you were wondering why I was a bit quiet last week it is because I was having a marvellous time in Prague, capital city of the Czech Republic.  As Mr Walker turned 40 this year, he got to choose the destination, and inspired by the Russell-Cotes' glorious Mucha exhibition, he picked Prague and a damn fine choice it was too.  This post is a flimsy excuse to show you a bit of what we saw...

The Mucha Museum, Prague

While our primary reason for going to Prague was Mucha, the fact that so much of the architecture is Art Nouveau was pretty special too.  However, I think we both underestimated just how special it was going to be.  The massive redevelopment of the Jewish Quarter and New Town (where we were based) in the 19th century meant that slum housing was replaced by new and often decorated housing which miraculously escaped destruction in the 20th century, leaving miles and miles of the most amazing buildings. The National Revival made it a matter of national pride that everything should reflect the glory of the Czechs.

Detail of railings in Wenceslas Square

So, on Tuesday the Walker family started exploring Prague, camera in one hand, map in the other. We were in search of semi-naked ladies and it wasn't long before we found them...

The Darling Cabaret Limo...

Okay, those weren't the naked ladies I was looking for, but there is quite a bit of that there too.  We particularly respected the fact that the Darling Cabaret and its lovely ladies would send a stretch limo to your hotel in order to transport you (and your wallet) to their club.  Classy. Moving on...

Grand Hotel Europa, Wenceslas Square

Ladies on the top of the Grand Hotel Europa

Ah now, that's much better.  These ladies topped the Hotel Europa which dates from 1906. Art Nouveau made its debut in Prague at the 1891 Jubilee exhibition.  It concentrated on ornamentation, in paint and sculpture on otherwise plain buildings.  As Prague excelled in glass and wrought iron, this style was quickly and expertly adopted, making beautiful buildings that lasted. Much of the ornamentation involved ladies with Gibson Girl hair and coy expressions.

Heraldic Shield on a building in New Town

Although much of the sculpture is recognisably Art Nouveau, styles range between monumental and Art Deco making every surface have the potential for an artistic masterpiece...

Lions...

...and Grumpy Chaps, in Wenceslas Square

I have the vague memory that the lions and grumpy chaps were on the Marks and Spencers' building in the Square, opposite Debenhams.  Mmm, multi-cultural. Anyway, having the camera was often a bonus as some architectural details were so high up and quite small that being able to zoom in on them was essential.

Perfectly Adequate King Wenceslas

St Wenceslas (of the hymn and legendary 'good'-ness) and his monument is a wonderful example of national sculpture.  Erected in 1912, the bronze was the work of Josef Myslbek, a leading Czech sculptor of the 19th century.  Wenceslas on his massive horse rides above other patron saints, all cast in perfect detail.  Whilst in Prague we found out quite a bit about Wenceslas which I'll come to later...

Hotel Meran

Anyway, back to exploring.  Hotel Meran, finished in 1904, has the most beautiful painted finish on its slender frontage.  Even our hotel, which redefined cheap and cheerful, had a Art Nouveau seal over the door.  Wonderful.

Wiehl House

Detail of decoration

Wiehl House (1896), an imposing building on Vaclavske Namesti, is named after its architect Antonin Wiehl.  A massive five-storey building covered in colourful paintwork with Art Nouveau figures designed by the artist Mikoláš Aleš.

Detail of building

Detail of building

In the same row of houses were these decorations, far more modern in design but dating from the same period.  This fascinating array of styles reflects the different ways that the Czech painters and architects found to express their national pride.  There is both a sense of belonging to the old world through the Neo-Renaissance style of painting, as seen on the Wiehl House and the very modern, future-facing decoration subtly showing strength to the viewer.

Bridge between two buildings over a road

Detail of bridge

Everything is decorated, no building is safe!  This beautiful medium relief sculpture spans a building-bridge across a road in New Town. 

Municipal House in Old Town

The Municipal House stands on the site of a fourteenth century palace which was demolished (what was left of it) in 1900 and replaced by this cultural centre built between 1905 and 1911.  The massive mosaic above the entrance is Homage to Prague by Karel Spillar and it is topped by a glass dome and allegorical figures...

Nude-y Eagle Lady...

Snooze-y Angel with great big sword...

What we loved was that the figures were all so different and had characters of their own, for example this one who we called Unimpressed Lady...

Maybe her massive hair is giving her a headache?

Also note her hands and the subtle gesturing of them - so very beautiful.

Noble Working Lady gets sore feet while chopping something...

Noble Working Man has a think while reading book

There is much in the way of more 'Soviet' style sculpture, honouring the working people.  I loved the lady looking at her feet with her sickle on her lap as she looked so natural as opposed to the normal stance of bravely facing the future, sickle raised.

Ministry of Local Development Building in Old Town

Talking of bravery, possibly my favourite bit of sculpture (and that is saying something) has to be the firefighter on the Local Development Ministry building in the Old Town Square.  The building dates from 1898 and on the upper façade there are sculptures of a couple in distress, a brave fireman and a gilded 'coat of arms' in the centre...

Help!

Helmet, axe, ladder, hose...

Look at his moustache!  Heroic!

From the carved curls of smoke and golden flames, to the collapsed woman with her golden bodice, this has drama and peril in heaps.  Luckily there is a fabulous hero with his enormous hose to save her.  It doesn't get any better than this.

The V J Rott building, Little Square

Detail of building

Possibly the most bonkers level of decoration was achieved on the V J Rott Company building in Little Square.  Vincenc Josef Rott (1813-1890) was the founder of one of the foremost companies in Prague, supplying tools and machinery.  The bottom floor of the building is a Hard Rock Café, but above it is a riot of colour and figures in a tumble of leaves, flowers and decorative touches.  Each of the figures is carrying a tool, presumably something manufactured by the company, painted by Mikoláš Aleš again on the 1890 building.

St Vitus' Cathedral, Prague

So finally to Mucha.  We made our way up to St Vitus' Cathedral inside the Castle walls and went in search of the tomb of St Wenceslas.  A short version of his history is that he was raised Christian by his Grandma, but his Pagan mum and brother, Boleslav the Cruel, weren't convinced of this.  Mum had her mother-in-law strangled (no comment) and Boleslav had his brother done in. Boleslav the Cruel regretted what he had done (or was keen to legitimise his rule with holy blessing, depends on how cynical you are) and got his brother sainted and many biographies were written about how wonderful Wenceslas was. The hymn we sing is from 1853ish by John Mason Neale, about how lovely Wenceslas was on Boxing Day. I think the moral of the story is not to call your son 'the Cruel' because really you are asking for trouble.

The Mucha window (detail) Ludmila and Wenceslas

The Mucha window in St Vitus' Cathedral

Coinciding with the Millennium Jubilee of St Wenceslas, restoration to St Vitus cathedral was carried out in the 1920s and 30s. Alfons Mucha designed this wonderful window in 1931, showing Grandma Ludmila in the centre, surrounded by other saints who spread Christianity amongst the Slavs, with Jesus at the top.  Excuse our photography, it's really hard to do justice to the window, but a google search will show other images that are better than ours.  It really is the most wonderful window and brings new life to Mucha's familiar style of art.

Astronomical Clock on the Old Town Hall
The golden calendar plate is a 1880 replacement of the original

So to conclude, Prague is a magical city, essential for lovers of Art Nouveau.  What seemed disconcerting to me was that all of this was available to see for free, in every street, on every building.  Prague is the perfect holiday location for the financially-challenged (like what we are) as it is cheap to get to, cheap to stay in and so much beauty is all around you for free.  We are already planning our return because there was so much we didn't see.  Much renovation work is taking place and the National Museum and Museum of Decorative Arts were shut.  However, give it a couple of years and the Walkers shall return.  Fear not, semi-naked ladies, we'll be back...

Book Review: The Looking Glass House

I am in the very pleasant position of having a bevy of books on my desk to review, so I ought to crack on with it before my own is out!  Today, I bring you a familiar tale from an unfamiliar viewpoint…

 

The Looking Glass House has a very unique selling point to recommend it. The author, Vanessa Tait, is the great-granddaughter of Alice Liddell, the inspiration for Alice in Wonderland, and she presents us with the story of Lewis Carroll’s friendship and then desertion by the Liddell family, but from the viewpoint of the governess, Mary Prickett.

 

Mary Prickett (unknown photographer)

If you have been following the fashions in Carroll-interpretation then you will be familiar with the notion that instead of desiring the formidable girl-queen Alice, it was actually the ever-present Miss Prickett that Carroll was paying court to, but with most things to do with the ever elusive Reverend Charles Dodgson, nothing is clear-cut.  In Tait’s story, she presents us with a governess, surely one of the loneliest jobs in Victorian England, in a city full of riches, all of which are denied her.  Into her life comes the gentle, unusual bachelor, Dodgson, who deplores the rough physicalities of life, who captures the pure wonder of beauty and who also captures Miss Prickett’s eye.  What could possibly go wrong?
 

The Liddell sisters, Edith, Ina and Alice (1858) Lewis Carroll

The book itself is beautifully presented.  I am a sucker for book design and the positive/negative silhouettes and references to Wonderland on the cover are nicely judged. The characters of Wonderland are sneaked in to the cover and the text both obviously and surreptitiously, such as with touches like the ‘Fat-Ten-U’ medicine that Mary considers to plump her figure.
 

Alice as the Beggar Maid awaiting her King Cophetua (1858) Lewis Carroll

The character of Alice is probably one thing that will draw readers to the book.  What exactly was going on there?  And will we ever know? The problem I have with the whole Dodgson and Alice affair is that is almost impossible to look at it in an unbiased manner now as so much information and presumption has happened in the last 150 years.  I suspect the advent of the internet, not to mention photoshop has not helped matters one little bit, causing things like this to happen…

Take this photograph of Lewis Carroll...

Add this photograph, presumably a father and daughter

And together with the 'Alice' from the Sisters picture above,
Hey presto, call Project Yew Tree....

Whenever I discuss Alice Liddell with people, perfectly intelligent, rational people, you will get at least one person who will throw up their hands and declare Dodgson was a paedophile.  It is a very easy step to take given his desire to ‘collect’ little girls in photographs, some of which are utterly unpalatable to our modern eyes.  The thing I found refreshing about Tait’s book is that this whole situation is not only handled within the narrative without our modern assumption, and also the facts, such as we know them, are covered in a postscript at the end, covering the author’s family history.  You would think Tait would attempt to portray her family in the most favourable light but it seems an honest telling of a little girl’s caprice, a mother’s folly and a man at odds with society, getting things wrong.  Re-reading Alice in Wonderland as an adult (which I periodically do) it is actually tempting to see Dodgson as Alice, seeing society as nonsensical and dangerous, full of terror and humour and unfathomable mysteries which could get him into trouble.
 

Grace Weld as Red Riding Hood (1857) Lewis Carroll
The image is referenced in the novel

I really enjoyed The Looking Glass House and have no hesitation to recommend it to you.  Even though to most of us, the outcome is already known, by using Mary Prickett, Tait allows us to see everything, all the familiar stories, from a different viewpoint.  Like fictional Alice, Mary seems to struggle to negotiate the fantastical society where you could equally meet a queen as a dead swan and have to automatically know how to react to each.  I found her handling of the everso-easy-to-judge Dodgson to be both sympathetic yet honest and Alice, who is easy to be typecast as either a victim or a monster, is shown for what she is, just a little girl. Add to your Christmas list or sneak onto your Kindle, either way, this is pleasurable reading for a Victorianist at Christmas.

The Look Glass House is available to buy now from Amazon UK (here), to preorder USA (here) or at a bookshop near you...