The Fogs & Smogs Of Old London
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St. Martin, Ludgate with St. Paul’s Cathedral, c. 1900
At this time of year, when dusk gathers in the mid-afternoon, a certain fog drifts into my brain and the city itself grows mutable as the looming buildings outside my window merge into a dark labyrinth of shadows beyond. Yet this is as nothing compared with the smog of old London – in the days before anyone dreamed of the Ultra Low Emission Zone – when a million coal fires polluted the atmosphere with clouds of filthy black smoke carrying noxious fumes, infections and lung diseases. In old London, the city resounded with a symphony of fog horns on the river and thousands of people coughing in the street.
Looking at these glass slides of a century ago, once used for magic lantern shows by the London & Middlesex Archaeological Society at the Bishopsgate Institute, the fogs and smogs of old London take on quite another meaning. They manifest the proverbial mythic “mists of time,” the miasma wherein is lost all of human history, save the sketchy outline that some idle writer or other jotted down. Just as gauzes at the pantomime conjure the romance of fairyland, the hazes in these pictures filter and soften the images as if they were faded memories, receding into the past.
The closer I examine these views, the more I wonder whether the fog is, in some cases, an apparition called forth by the photographic process itself – the result of a smeary lens or grime on the glass plate, or simply an accident of exposure. Even so, this photographic fogging is no less evocative of old London than the actual meteorological phenomenon. As long as there is atmosphere, the pictures are irresistibly atmospheric. And old London is a city eternally swathed in mist.
St Paul’s Cathedral from the north-west, c. 1920
Pump at Bedford Row, 1911
Cenotaph, 1919
Upper Thames view, c. 1920
Greenwich Hospital from the Park, c. 1920
City roadworks, 1910
Looking north across the City of London, c. 1920
Old General Post Office, c. 1910
View eastwards from St Paul’s, c. 1910
Hertford House, c. 1910
New River Head, c. 1910
The Running Footman public house, c. 1900
Unidentified building, c 1910
Church Row, Hampstead, c. 1910
Danish Ambassador’s residence, Wellclose Square, Wapping c. 1910
Church of All Hallows, London Wall, c. 1890
Drapers’ Almshouses, Bromley Street, c. 1910
Battersea Bridge, c. 1910
32 Smith Grove, Highgate, in the snow, 1906
Unknown public building, c. 1910
Training ship at Greenwich, c. 1910
Flooded moat at the Tower of London, c. 1910
The Woodman, 1900
Bangor St, North Kensington, c. 1910
Terrace of the Houses of Parliament, c.1910
Statue of Boudicca on Westminster Bridge, c. 1910
Glass slides copyright © Bishopsgate Institute
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In many of the photographs the foggy appearance is more noticeable with distant subjects so is real fog or smog rather than an effect caused by some part of the photographic process.
However, the lenses used at the time were very primitive compared to modern ones and in particular did not have any coatings (the orange or purple colour you can see if you look at a lens from an angle) to prevent light scattering as it passed through the surface of the individual pieces of glass. This can also cause haze or flare on photographs.
Nether the less Chris, very atmospheric
The Running Footman public house looks slumlike, you can imagine the unsavoury types whom frequented that place, of course I could be wrong.
Some good pics.
I can’t resist: “The man who is tired of London is tired of life.”
YOURS is a magnificent city, like none other. (grammar might be wrong there but you know
what I mean)
Hey, I grew up in smoky Pittsburgh in the early Fifties, and our moniker was “Hell with the lid
off”. Cars were studiously washed — and then coated with red dust in a minute. Laundry on the line — more red dust. I’m sure it ruined us in a million ways — but I would not change a flake of coal dust of my Pittsburgh childhood. Cities are glorious.