Fitzroy's Barometer... in Mousehole and Beyond.

As I was wandering around Mousehole, I noticed the barometer inset in the granite wall of the Ship Inn pub by the harbour. This was one of many such devices that were distributed in the mid-19th century to seafaring communities and inhabitants of coastal areas that were vulnerable to the ravages of extreme meterological conditions. Measuring asmospheric pressure, the barometers could indicate when danger was looming and thus prevent the needless loss of life. This 1854 barometer was loaned out by the founder of the Meteorological Office, the Admiral Robert Fitzroy (1805-1865).

That this great man should have fallen into relative obscurity is incredible, since his direct contribution to the science of weather forecasting and his hydrographic surveys of the coast of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego alone are surely proof enough of a rich life. Even less known, it would seem, is his indirect contribution to science and our understanding of evolution as without him, Charles Darwin may never have formed his ground-breaking theories on natural selection and the origin of species. Indeed, the young Darwin was able to encounter the specimens and phenomena of the natural world that were crucial to his ideas thanks to the voyage to South America on board the HMS Beagle, under the command of Fitzroy.

Theirs was a serendipitous encounter; Fitzroy was subject to bouts of depression that were supposedly due to a bi-polar condition and thus feared undertaking a long, lonely and ardous expedition without a suitable gentleman companion of learning to help him face periods of mental turmoil whilst Darwin, meanwhile, wished to escape England and more significantly still, a future otherwise destined to the priesthood! Contrary to what we might imagine, Darwin's voyage was not the result of some scientific calling although his subsequent observations as a naturalist over the five years on board (1831-36), profoundly changed his life and vision of the world.

The relationship between the two men was complex, not least because they held increasingly divergent positions regarding the creation of the world and therefore the word of the Bible and opposing political views. Despite being open to the radical new theories exposed in the writings of the geologist Charles Lyell, Fitzroy was unable to epouse the full implications of these theories, given his Christian leanings. Unlike Darwin, who appears to have had a rather hard streak, Fitzroy seems to have been more humane in his attitude to and treatment of fellow men, whatever their origin, as seen by his determination to return the Fuegians to their home land.

Following a second mariage in 1854 to a devout Christian, Fitzroy grew ever more pious and so it is hardly surprising that his increasingly strained relationship with Darwin finally reached a vitriolic end with the publication of The Origin of Species in 1859, with Fitzroy comparing Darwin's theory of evolution to a "beast rising up out of the sea...". In his remaining years, Fitzroy appears to have been tormented by mental anguish, plagued by debt and unfairly treated for his weather forecast theories. In 1865, he finally put an end to his life by slitting his throat, committing suicide just as his uncle had done decades earlier. Darwin went on to remark: 'I never knew in my life so mixed a character. Always much to love & I once loved him sincerely; but so bad a temper & so given to take offence, that I gradually quite lost my love & wished only to keep out of contact with him'.

On the same wall of The Ship Inn, next to Fitzroy's barometer is a plaque in honour of the tragic loss of the crew of the Solomon Browne in the Penlee Lifeboat disaster of 1981 and those of the striken vessel Union Star - 16 people perished in total.

I remember this awful time, looking out across Mount's Bay in the days before Christmas and thought how meaningful were the words of the hymn we sang at school "O hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea"....

The Marvellous Maison Marrou...

Traipsing through the train station at Rouen after a day’s work meeting, I quickly went outside, hoping – naively and of course fruitlessly – that I would catch a glimpse of the cathedral. In my disappointment, I glanced around looking for some point of interest and was amazed to see the most incredible building just on the square outside. Fittingly, as it turned out, all that I initially noticed was the most beautiful decorative ‘crest’ on the roof and that alone was enough to draw me in.

Standing in front of this impressive maison bourgeoise, I was struck by its great beauty and equally by its alarmingly sorry state of neglect and apparent abandon. The façade, that towers over the pavement from behind a vast monumental gate and railings, is a strange ensemble of intricate woodwork, wrought iron and lead. Each part of the whole is decorated with statues and carefully worked metal and wood that embellish the surface, frame the windows and form the balcony. On first sight, it is difficult to date this building, with the multitude of historic architectural features that have been incorporated into what is presumably a 19th century structure.

The presence of these rather quirky details, the dark, sober effect of the wood and metalwork, along with the sheer height of the building – with its vast roof with wrought iron ‘crested’ ridge – give it the air of an architectural folly, especially since it appears tall, with rather disproportionally large windows (I thought) but apparently not very great in depth. I should say that its actual size was hard to determine as the back to the house was hidden by another structure, or so it seemed when I went in the street behind. Anyway, in its present condition, there is no sign whatsoever to indicate what this house represents, for what purpose it was built, nor can we know to whom it belonged or what their intention was.

Observing the wood and iron that has been overexposed to inclement, unforgiving weather, you can only feel sadness and frustration that such beauty should be left worn and whitened or rusted by sun and rain. The door was tantalizingly left ajar and on closer inspection, I could make out the regular tap, tap, tapping noises of some workman or other, busy inside, although there was no sign mentioning which company had been taken on to perform work there. I was not sure if I found this mysterious presence to be a positive sign or not for the long-term protection and therefore prosperity of the house, and am even less so now…

Once back from my fleeting trip to Rouen, it did not take long to find out the history of the building, nor to feel a certain uneasiness about its future – or rather a future worthy of its past. In fact, this was the imposing home of the leading 19th century ironsmith, Ferdinand Marrou (1836-1917), and was quite literally a work to showcase all his skills combined to the visitors coming to and from Rouen via the railway station.

His mastery of the various disciplines and ability to reference different periods in art were clearly – and cleverly – displayed in the building that would bear his name; La Maison Marrou. He designed the large house of 290 m2 himself, with the final work finished in 1890.

He wished to reflect the worldly success and grand reputation he had earned from his participation in the restoration and embellishment of the great monuments of Rouen, following the economic growth of the city and subsequent drive to highlight its cultural heritage.

A rouennais architect drew up the plan of the interior of the building, and other specialized craftsmen worked on its frame, the woodwork and stained-glass windows, whilst a sculptor produced the decorative statues. As a symbol of his art, and maybe a sign that he was an artist above all else, Marrou included the figures of two ironworkers above the doorway to his home.

Although not a native of Normandy, it was in Rouen that Marrou gained great acclaim in the years following his arrival there in 1863. His early life was spent in the Hautes-Alpes, but after the death of his mother when he was but 7, he left school and was apprenticed to a tinsmith (un ferblantier), working in other cities over the years as he turned to architectural ornamentation as his main art.

Such was his skill that he was soon noticed and commissioned to carry out major works. It was indeed Marrou who created the four steeples of the Notre-Dame cathedral (each of these being 27m in height and weighing 27 tonnes); the bell tower of the Saint-Romain church; the roof finials of the Gros-Horloge and the Palais de Justice, and the Jeanne-d'Arc tower in Rouen.

Common to all his work are the twisted, intertwined forms of the plant world that he observed in the drawings he based on his herbarium, so that his art is just as in harmony in architecture from centuries past as it was with the contemporary art nouveau. Near to the Maison Marrou, was the Atelier Marrou, set up in 1902 but after the death of Ferdinand Marrou in 1917, the beautiful façade fronted a printer’s and then in 2002 – a hundred years after its construction, the building became a tearoom; Dame Cakes.

As for Maison Marrou, after 1917 it changed hands and purpose several times – initially from a jeweller’s home, to a restaurant in the Second World War and then it was sold to the Caisse Autonome Artisanale d'Assurance Vieillesse de Haute-Normandie. From 1984, the building was occupied by the Centre de Documentation du Patrimoine de la Direction Régionale des Affaires Culturelles de Haute-Normandie and was used to keep archive material.

In 2021, it held an exhibition to celebrate the bicentenary of Gustave Flaubert’s birth - Madame rêve en Bovary. I would have loved to have seen this, not simply for the literary references but for the opportunity to visit this incredible house, whose beautiful interiors bore features that were classified in 1975. I trust this status will protect Maison Marrou now and in the immediate future but I do have too much faith… The house was sold by the State via auction in September 2024 at a starting price of 350 000 euros.

Although the regional director of Finances declared that the Maison Marrou would not be sold off merely to the highest bidder, but to persons with a project in line with the spirit of the building, I find that hard to believe. The fact that no clear care is being taken of this marvellous place is worrying, starting with any visible notification that the site is fully protected at the present moment, on every level, as it remains empty. What would happen if some rubbish bin were set alight by the façade? Or if vandals broke in? It will presumably take months or years to restore and modify the building to its future use, whatever that may be. After 80 years’ use as office space, the neglected Maison Marrou is not adapted to home life. How ironic it that?

Blooming Blossom...

The season of blossom is here with branches of trees and bushes weighed down with vast accumulations of papery petals that will soon flutter down in flowery confetti. Although these dense masses form together a cloak of pastel colours, up close all the intricacies of each flower creates another impression of delicate detail... And then underfoot are the carpets of primroses and violets... The magic of Spring indeed!

Swans...

This incredible painting is in the William Morris Gallery at Walthamstow. Painted by Frank Brangwyn in 1921, the work appears very modern with its splashes of bright sunlight dappled on the swans' plumage, and the typical movements of the birds is caught perfectly with the broad, powerful wings ready to flap and thrash.

The luminosity on the wings is brought out even more thanks to the golden russet colour of the nasturtium flowers. The shadows of other leaves in the undergrowth are visible, running over the swans' bodies.

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Water House... William Morris Gallery...

In Walthamstow, north-east London, is the William Morris Gallery set in a grand Georgian house, that was briefly the Morris family home from 1848 to 1856. I decided to visit as I did not have the time to visit Red House - the stunning architectural work commissioned by William Morris in 1859 to reflect the aesthetic principles that would form the basis of the Arts and Crafts movement. Rossetti said of the home to which he was a frequent visitor - along with the other Pre-Raphaelites – that is was “more of a poem than a house”.

Water House (now the William Morris Gallery) in Walthamstow, situated at the entrance to Lloyd Park, is large and looming but I could not really imagine any type of family life there, probably because of the exhibition rooms and displays throughout. However, it is said that Morris spent time sitting in the tall window, on the main staircase... I hope it was this one!

William Morris, born in 1834, would have developed some of his ideas during the brief years there, since these coincided with his university studies at Oxford. As a student, he formed friendships and made acquaintances that exposed him to social, historical and artistic theories that would shape his vision and values in a radical manner. I wonder what Morris would think of the exhibition - Morris Mania? Or rather, how his work has been used by companies – past and especially present - whose values could not be further from his own?

Despite his mother’s yearning to see her son a bishop,Morris abandoned his theological pursuits and thus his initial goal to be ordained, just like Edward Burne-Jones, his closest friend and aesthetic ally. Yet turning towards architecture instead, he discovered that he possessed a greater drive still for interior decoration in its many aspects… and of course, poetry. Through Burne-Jones, Morris met Rossetti and, above all, read the writings of John Ruskin. These encounters led him to a quasi-religious life-long quest for social reform through design, rejecting the dehumanizing force of Victorian industrialized manufacturing and its dire effect on art and society on every level.

This virtually moral mission led him to revolutionize the design and production of wallpapers, textiles, ceramics, furniture, metalwork, and glass throughout his life, taking inspiration from Medieval art but also early Islamic work. Through Ruskin, Burne-Jones and Morris discovered the Pre-Raphaelite devotion to the purer age of Medieval art and workmanship and applied the tenets of this movement as a guiding principle, no more so than in Red House. In 1862, Morris and six partners founded an interior decoration business which was referred to as The Firm (Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co) and led a crusade against ‘Victoriana’ with its clutter and irrelevance. Commissions for church decoration and refurbishment brought in a wider clientele, as did work carried out for rooms in St James’ Palace and South Kensington Museum (the future V & A). Ironically, the production methods of The Firm – with handcraftsmanship and natural materials where possible - meant that only the wealthier members of the population could afford its offerings. Lower prices relied on mass volume production, which would bring in the very ills – aesthetic, social and environmental – that Morris was trying to combat. I cannot imagine how Morris would have welcomed the commercial deal between H&M and the modern-day Morris & Co in 2018. Fast fashion linked to the name of the father of socialist design methods; didn’t anybody see the irony? And then to quote William Morris himself to justify mass-manufacturing is quite something! "I do not want art for a few, any more than education for a few, or freedom for a few".

In his time, Morris remained true to his vision and never knowingly sold his soul for financial returns, despite expanding the business through grand retail shops and seeking international recognition for the company. He was a prodigious writer – and ironically, was actually more famous in Victorian times for his writings rather than his art. This seems incredible today, when indeed Morris Mania has led his designs to be seen everywhere; anywhere and on anything… Kelmscott Press enabled him to design his own type and print beautiful work, as ever in line with his fascination for a pure brethren – the ideal community of traditional craftsmen and story-tellers. This did remind me of J.R.R Tolkien – and I was interested to learn that Morris’ poems and writing on myths and legends were indeed a significant influence on the younger writer.

In the same spirit, his rural atelier in Surrey, favoured a move away from the grime and grind of London in the 1880s for himself and his employees, and as such Merton Abbey provided a purer working environment, allowing Morris to study traditional textile production and dyeing techniques. Not sure that Morris could even have imagined today’s sweat shops that churn out the apparel that is readily ‘consumed’ and discarded… This could not be further from Morris’ optimistic vision of the future nor his faith in man’s progress. Indeed, aged 50, and already a successful businessman, Morris fully espoused Socialist values and for the rest of his life actively campaigned for social reform, expressing his beliefs widely. He condemned the exploitation of the underprivileged in an industrial age which brought about unprecedented pollution, poverty, disease and moral decay, stating that. "….there should be neither rich nor poor, neither master nor master's man, neither idle nor overworked, all men would be living in equality of condition, and would manage their affairs unwastefully…"

And what on earth would William Morris think of the use of Artificial Intelligence in art? When I see the AI'enhanced' Morris designs on offer, I could cry… Yes, artists may have used photography in the past/present to help them recreate a vision, yet that surely cannot be compared to AI, which does not simply reflect reality, but actively creates its own version of this, with or without the artist in question.

Purrfect...

This was an utterly imperfect drawing of the most perfect cat. Although I have been told it bears little resemblance, retouching anything would be like erasing him, now that he is no longer here. Ultimately, the imperfections that glare out at me just underline, yet again, how truly perfect he was and remind me of the precious moment as he lay down next to me on my desk... the most perfect cat...

Papery Petals

Every year, without fail, I get drawn to the same types of flowers on display at the garden centre, and the perfect 'tissue paper' ruffled petals of the ranunculus get me each time.

Those whorls of delicate pastels (or darker colours) that remind me of crazy crinoline petticoats fascinate me, all set amongst those vibrant green 'parsley sprig' leaves. Beautiful!