London, I remember: horses

Once, London was a city of horses. Humans lived cheek by jowl with the 300,000 horses of cabmen, traders, laundrymen, grocers and rag-and-bone men. You can see the traces of that time everywhere: old stone drinking troughs, hidden cobbled mews, mounting blocks, slips and ramps.

The rag-and-bone man

A horse and cart came up the street. There was a few non-descript items on the cart and a man in black overalls sat, nonchalantly steering his horse. My father told me it was a rag-and-bone man and he made his living wandering the streets, collecting and sell unwanted household items. Fascinated, I stared at the man as he rode past us, half-knowing, even as a young boy, that I was looking at a ghost from the past. I never saw the rag-and-bone man again.

Rag-and-bone man with horse and cart

Rag-and-bone man, Streatham, London, 1985

The police horse and the French lady

My mother can’t walk past a horse without making friends with it. A superintendent policeman on a beautiful white mare used to ride up the main street at the end of our quiet road on his rounds. We regularly stopped him to give his horse carrots and sugar lumps. It got to the point where the horse decided that it could no longer walk up Palace Street without turning right to visit my mother. The superintendent carried the carefree demob-happy air of a man in control of his time and approaching retirement.  He started delivering messages from my mother to her friends along his route, including Lady Scott Fox who loved horses and who was every inch the cliché of French sophistication and charm. Her husband was a British diplomat in Chile and once, making a speech on a horse, she muddled up her Spanish and inadvertently asked the men on the parade how the eggs in their balls were.

Hot summer afternoon, the sound of hoofs

The city dozed in the relentless sun of a hot summer afternoon. The sun streamed into the bedroom. The red curtains flapped and billowed in the breeze, making a comfortable reassuring rustle. I remember the noises from the street: the familiar sound of a black cab turning into the street, the clatter of people’s shoes on the pavement, the laughter and voices from the pub on the corner. I remember the sound of the cricket on the TV with its low murmur of commentary, the sound of ball on bat and the crowd applauding a piece of skill.

A clip clop of horses, the mounted police are on patrol. The sound of hooves echoed and bounced off the houses as they passed down the street.

Erotica at the Horse Hospital

An old horse hospital had been converted into an avant garde arts venue. I was fascinated by the old cobbled stones and ramps that once helped horses walk up to receive their treatment.  Erotic arty  photos were projected onto the walls. I was not sober, but I was holding it together as I exchanged polite conversation with someone. In fact, lots of wine glasses were being sipped and polite earnest things were being discussed as the walls turned more pornographic around us. It all went wrong when a halo formed around their head to be replaced by blown-up porn footage of a nun being ravished by a well-endowed monk. That was that. I snorted out my drink and doubled up with laughter. They quickly moved on.

Afterwards we walked the night city for hours. It was fitting that we kept turning into old cobbled mews streets, where the horses and grooms once lived behind the great houses of the wealthy.

The horses of Hyde Park

I remember horses emerging from the fog in Hyde Park. They were from the Queen’s Household Cavalry. I remember those days when I would come across the Household Cavalry parading on the Mall or crossing Birdcage Walk from the Palace. Close your eyes and hear a wonderful rhythmic noise – the sound of hoofs, the rumble of the cannons, the jingle-jangle of swords, hoists, stirrups and reins. There’s the snort of a horse and an order barked from an officer. For a moment, time slips and noises ghost in from another day when London’s streets thronged with horses, rumbling carts that jostled with the shouting, busy crowd. The cavalry pass and fades to be succeeded by the general din of London’s modern traffic.

Horse riders in the fog, Hyde Park, London

Horse riders in the fog, Hyde Park, London

The Royal Mews

We used to live a stone’s throw from the Royal Mews where the Queen keeps her horses and carriages. Naturally, this was a haven for my mother who charmed all the staff until we could wander in and out at will. My side of the family never had money, but my mother had ideas and nerve. One year, perhaps slightly riled by having to attend one too many children birthday parties thrown with big budgets, my mother hatched a grand but cheap plan for my birthday party. She borrowed one of the Queen’s coaches and a groom, took them to Hyde Park and gave all the children rides. For a family well-acquainted with a fall into disaster and tragedy, the day was the kind of triumph that belongs to another age.

The old brewery

The ‘60s tower block at the top of our street was there long before I was. I only recently found out that that it was previously the site of one of London’s main breweries, Watney Stag Brewery. Powerful dray horses hauling carts of beer barrels would once have been a common sight around these streets. The brewery was demolished in 1959 and all signs of its existence have long since gone.

Horses drinking from a trough near Tower Bridge, London, in 1938

Horses drinking from a trough near Tower Bridge, London, in 1938

Old London stone water trough to provide water for animals - now filled with flowers

Old London water trough for animals – now used as for flowers and plants.

Riding to Westminster Abbey

My parents on the way to Westminster Abbey

My parents on the way to Westminster Abbey

There were eccentric rules in my family. My father insisted on arriving at Westminster Abbey by horse and coach for among other things, Chilean Naval Day or my brother’s christening. Dennis Severs and his coach would convey the family through the streets of London with my father, sitting with top hat ensemble, highly satisfied by the arrangements made by my mother. (Dennis Severs’s died in 2000 but his house remains one of London’s lesser-known but extraordinary places to visit.)

Further information

13 fascinating london horse facts

London’s troughs and fountains

Relics from an era of horses

The Great Horse Manure Crisis of 1894

16 thoughts on “London, I remember: horses

  1. I love this so much! Your mum sounds like a total star!

    “She borrowed one of the Queen’s coaches and a groom, took them to Hyde Park and gave all the children rides.”

    I mean, how many kids can say they’ve ridden in the queen’s carriage!?

    Liked by 2 people

  2. When I lived in Macduff Rd, Battersea, the rag and bone man cam by regularly. He was a blessing to me, as the house had not been improved since before the war and lots of ancient furniture beyond repair, and some metal pieces disappeared into his cart. The army also moved about 40 horses at a time, one with rider, one lead, down Lurline Gardens past my bedroom window at 6am. Great way to start the day with thundering hoofs. For a few years we had a carriage parade in Battersea Park on Easter Monday, with every kind of conveyance and all the snorting neighing and manure. The Irish traveller boys would race their sulkys or sometimes just bareback. Manure: your mother would take me into the Royal Mews, put on her pink rubber gloves, and daintily collect the spheres from under the horses backsides to fill a bag for my garden! Cheers, your godmother.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Christine – thank you for adding your wonderful memories. That must have been quite a sound all those horses riding past your window. Didn’t know we contributed to your wonderful garden in such a way! Kirsty and I remember your beautifully painted sign asking people not to throw rubbish into it.


  3. What an eclectic collection of horse stories. Delightful. You come up with such original posts. Had to laugh at you trying to keep it together at that exhibit. Your parents look like something out of a television series.


  4. Fascinating stories about our equine friends. I grew up with horses in Australia but my shelves were filled with lots of English books on the art of riding and history of the horse. I often think about how much of a debt we owe to the horse and its contribution to so much of man’s achievements. It must have been a hard life for many horses especially for those not treated well.
    I can remember in Elwood in Melbourne, Victoria during the 60s when I was a child hearing the clip-clop of draught horses still delivering the milk bottles. A lovely memory.

    Liked by 1 person

    • The clip-clop of horses is a lovely sound. I still hear it every now and then when police horses pass by at the top of my street. My daughter never fails to stop and talk to the police horses if we pass them by. I totally agree with you about the debt we owe to horses, especially in cities like London where they were far removed from their natural world. I think I might treat myself to some books on horses – missing from my shelves.

      Liked by 1 person

      • The history of the horse is fascinating and sad. Can you imagine the treatment they received when they were just regarded as a mode of transport when in the hands of uncaring thugs?
        The light horse regiments from Australia played a significant role in WW1 and make for some interesting reading. There was an excellent documentary made in recent years which for a horse lover such as myself was a tear-jerker.

        Liked by 1 person

  5. I know – I don’t want to think about their treatment. On the other hand, humans are always human and I think there would be some good relationships with their horses. Apparently, the loss of horses in WW1 trenches as they were replaced by tanks etc caused a large drop in morale. On the other hand, the horses must have really suffered at the front.


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