Charterhouse

The saga of the Lucky Nickel continues, so an update on that will have to wait. For now, suffice it to say that the initial booking at the boatyard that started out as one week then swelled to four weeks (after the hull had been properly inspected) went on to become five and then finally six weeks out of the water. This means I was displaced from home for that whole time, which was mostly ok, but did get tiring. I spent many of those weeks at Uxbridge's tiniest AirBnb in the back garden of an old house approximately equidistant between the boatyard and the tube station. Billed as a “Teeny Weeny Rustic House for Two”, it was basically a comfortably appointed garden shed complete with full bathroom, very small sitting room and low gabled bedroom mezzanine. Luckily, I’m something of an expert at small space living and managed to settle down to a workable routine in the 14’ x 7’ space. Having just a fridge and kettle got a bit dull (though I was welcome in the kitchen of the main house, I wasn’t feeling that sociable). I was able to dust off my kettle-cookery skills (honed in a dire hotel room in Sochi and mostly confined to making perfect soft-boiled eggs). I also brought the toaster over from the boat which, coupled with the discovery of toastie bags, was a game-changer.

This photo shows about 60% of the ground floor and the only seating in the place.

As adaptable as I may be to challenging living conditions, I still jumped at the offer of a week in a real flat in the centre of town. Astute Go Stay Work Play Live Readers will recall my friend Piran, who’s appeared here frequently, most recently as first mate on the Lucky Nickel’s latest voyage. Piran is the Barbican resident who precipitated this blog post, so when he hared off to Cornwall for a week and offered up his flat while he was away, I jumped at the suggestion. I therefore got to spend a happy week living just minutes from several tube stations, running loops of the highwalks, and fitting in a bit of neighbourhood exploration. That’s how I found myself one rainy Sunday, contemplating a nearby green patch on Google Maps that turned out to be The Charterhouse.

The entrance gate on Charterhouse Square 

"The Charterhouse is a former Carthusian monastery in London, located between Barbican and Smithfield Market, and to the north of what is now Charterhouse Square. Since the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16th century the site has served as a private mansion, a boys’ school and an almshouse, which it remains to this day.”

I love how that quote says “since the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16th century" as casually as you or I might say, “since last Tuesday”. It’s just another demonstration of the depth of history in the area. On my Barbican highwalk running route I passed by at least one section of the exposed Roman city wall - 4th century AD - so the dissolution of the monasteries actually is slightly "last Tuesday" measured against that. In any case, I booked myself onto a Charterhouse guided tour, to be conducted by one of the resident Brothers. My introduction to the complex started with a visit to the bijou museum, a good introduction to the history of the site, which started life as a Black Death cemetery in 1348, and where a small chapel and hermitage were constructed soon after. The monastery was later established in 1371.

A plague victim in the museum. Apparently, analysis of the bones tells us he was breast-fed as an infant and ate a largely plant-based diet (very on-trend!).

The Carthusians are a Catholic religious order founded in 1084 (latecomers…) in the valley of Chartreuse, France. The name Charterhouse actually derives from Chartreuse, and (fun facts!) the order are also the originators of Chartreuse liquor from which we get the name for the electric lime green colour. Sadly, this link is not reflected in the decorating scheme at Charterhouse.

The Carthusians are a cloistered order, meaning that they separate themselves from the affairs of the outside world. The reclusive hermit monks, sometimes called Choirmonks or Solitairies, lived alone in individual cells, cut off from all direct contact with others. The cells, or cloisters, were actually quite generously sized, each including a space for sleeping, an area for prayer and study, and a small private walled garden where the monk could meditate and grow food to contribute to the community. Each cloister had a small turntable built into the wall whereby the monk could receive his meals and other necessities without having to come in contact with others. Cloisters are normally arranged around a central square and are still evident in the architecture at Charterhouse.

This hallway looks onto a garden on the right. On the left, the former doorways to individual cloisters have now been bricked up.

Astute Go Stay Work Play Live Readers will recognise that the reclusive hermit monks must have had some assistance from those on the other side of the doorway, and in Carthusian monasteries this was provided by lay brothers, who cooked meals, did laundry, maintained the buildings and fetched books from the library, managing all the day to day operations of the monastery. The lay brothers led less contemplative and more active lives, but were still part of the religious order, attending services and living in silence.

After the dissolution of the monasteries (slightly before last Tuesday), Charterhouse became a private home for wealthy nobles, and remained so until it was purchased by Thomas Sutton in 1611. Sutton turned the site into an almshouse and school for boys. The Charterhouse School operated on the site until 1872, using the Great Chamber as one of its classrooms. Famous Charterhouse old boys (called Old Carthusians) comprise a smattering of MPs, an impressive number of composers, including Vaughn Williams, and the writer William Makepeace Thackery, the current (for the minute) Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt (a former Head Boy, of course), and the founder of the world scouting movement, Lord Baden Powell.

The Great Chamber, not to be confused with the Great Hall, coming up later

Schoolboy graffiti, etched into one of the room’s windowpanes. At least that’s what our guide told us, though the fact that the school moved operations to Godalming in Surrey in 1872 makes one wonder why Mr. Pardoe was still loitering in the Great Chamber 12 years later. Maybe he missed his train?

As well as founding the school, Sutton established the almshouse, which survives to this day. An almshouse is a type of private charitable housing usually (but not exclusively) for retirement age people who are able to live independently but have limited means. The almshouse was originally established for men who, through no fault of their own, were unable to support themselves and were drawn largely from the armed services and the ranks of government. Today, Charterhouse’s 43 residents come from a wider range of professions and currently encompass those from the arts community (including musicians, actors and stage managers) as well as teachers, journalists and priests. Our guide for the day was Brother Philip, a resident of Charterhouse and former journalist and counsellor.

Though it’s no longer a religious order, the residents are still called Brothers, as a nod to the site’s start as a monastery. Interestingly, Charterhouse recently started accepting female residents, who are also called Brothers (like how everyone on Star Trek is called "Mister"). Residents must be single, and if they marry while living at Charterhouse, they must leave. The organisation is run by a Master, who also lives on site, and there’s a resident priest as well.

Life at Charterhouse seems quite a pleasant affair. A short film in the museum on site made it seem like a jolly place, with residents walking in the gardens, meeting up for a pint at a local pub, and going out in the evenings. Each of the Brothers has a private flat which includes a small kitchenette, but meals are taken communally in the Great Hall. It seems like a sort of superannuated Hogwarts, a not at all unpleasant notion.

Seating is assigned at the tables, in order to ensure that people don’t club up with those of similar profession or background. Requests to change tables are rare, but do happen. Scandalous!

There are guest rooms for Brothers who want to have visitors, and an on site infirmary where Brothers can convalesce from illness or where they live full time when they can no longer manage in a private flat. It’s an enviable set-up, in a fantastic location. Naturally, there’s a waiting list to get in, and even once a resident is accepted there’s a six month probationary period of settling in. The site also has some commercially let flats in the complex which are snapped up speedily, despite what must be eye-watering prices.

I recall that Brother Philip called this Wash House Court or possibly Washing House Square, so named because the laundry facilities are located there. This picture shows the windows of some of the Brother’s private apartments, and the higgledy piggledy nature of the architecture that makes Charterhouse a popular location for film crews and special events.

Who wouldn’t want to film here?

As well as those impossibly picturesque views, the site includes the old monastic chapterhouse. Not to be confused with Charterhouse (with a capital E and an R instead of a P) a chapterhouse is simply a meeting room for the monastic order. It’s been converted to a chapel, and hosts weekly services and the tomb of founder Thomas Sutton.

Sutton’s Tomb

I was surprised to learn that the site of Charterhouse encompasses seven acres of land in the heart of London, all enclosed by a high wall. In addition to the older Tudor era buildings, some Brothers live in modern flats that are clearly newly designed, but still blend reasonably well with the surroundings. Much of the rest of the place is given over to gardens, which were not especially diverting on a drizzly Sunday in February, but are evidently well worth a visit in July.

You can see the potential. Apparently the summer garden tours are very popular.

Touring Charterhouse, and seeing another of London’s hidden bits of history was an excellent way of spending my Sunday afternoon as a Barbican resident. As was my visit to The Old Red Cow, for a fortifying pint after the tour concluded. However, what might have been the most satisfying part of the day was the fact that I managed to navigate my way back to Piran’s flat on the other side of the Barbican, without having to stop and get my bearings. A proud moment indeed.