CHAPTER ONE
How the River founded the City
ENGLAND at the time when London first came into being was a very different place from the well-cultivated country which we know so well. Where now stretch hundreds of square miles of orderly green meadows and ploughed fields, divided from each other by trim hedges, or pretty little copses, or well-kept roads, there was then a vast dense forest, wherein roamed wolves and other wild animals, and into which man scarcely dared to penetrate. This stretched from sea to sea, covering hill and valley alike. Just here and there could be found the tiny settlements of the native Britons, and in some few cases these settlements were joined by rough woodland tracks.
The only real breaks in this widespread covering of green occurred where the rivers flowed seawards along the valleys. These rivers for the most part ran their courses in practically the same directions as at present, but in appearance they were very different from the rivers we know to-day. No man-made embankments kept them in place in those days; instead they wandered through great stretches of marsh and fenland, and spread out into wide, shallow pools here and there in their courses, so that to cross them was a matter of the greatest difficulty.
Such was the Thames when the first “Londoners” formed their tiny settlement. From the mouth of the River inland for many miles stretched widespread, impassable marshes; but at one spot—where now stands St. Paul’s Cathedral—there was a firm gravel bank and a little hill (or rather two little hills with a stream between), which stood out from the encompassing wastes. In front of this small eminence stretched a great lagoon formed by the over-flowing of the River at high tide. This covered the ground on which have since been built
Southwark and Lambeth, and stretched southwards as far as the heights of Sydenham. West of the little hill, running down a deep ravine, where now is the street called Farringdon Street, was a tributary river, afterwards known as the Fleet; and beyond that yet another great marshland stretched away over Westminster, Belgravia, Chelsea, and Fulham. To the north was the pathless forest.
This then appealed to the intelligence of a few Ancient Britons as an ideal spot for a settlement, and so sprang into existence Llyndin, the lake-fortress.
But that, of course, did not make LONDON, did not raise London to the position of pre-eminence which it gradually attained, and which it has held almost without contest through so many centuries.
Between the time of the formation of this little collection of huts with its slight protecting stockade and the coming of the Romans much happened. The Ancient Britons learned to make roads—primitive ones, of course—and in all probability they learned to make embankments to the River. Their greatest trade naturally was with Gaul—France, that is—and also, equally naturally, practically all such trade had to come through the one most suitable way, the spot which has always, through all the ages, been the gateway into England—Dover. In the days when sea-going craft had not reached a high stage of perfection it was necessary to choose the shortest passage across the channel, and, though no doubt other ports were used, undoubtedly the bulk of the merchandise came across the narrow Straits. This meant, without a doubt, an important road going north-westwards towards the centre of England.
Now right across the country, from west to east, stretched the great natural barrier, the River, effectively cutting off all intercourse between the south of England and the Midlands and north; and at some place or other this road (afterwards known as Watling Street) had to cross the barrier. It was inevitable that the spot where this crossing was effected should be, both from a military and a commercial point of view, a place of the very greatest importance. In the earliest days the road skirted the south side of the marshes facing Llyndin, and passed on to the ford (or ferry) at Westminster, and thence on to Tyburn. But Llyndin was growing in strength, and the need of a lower crossing was probably soon felt by the inhabitants of the little hill. Now lower crossings of the River were by no means simple. As we said just now, right from the mouth westwards till we reach the spot where London now stands there was simply a great collection of marshes and fens. Here and there, on both banks, tiny patches of firmer soil jutted out from the impassable wastes—the spots where Purfleet and Grays now stand on the north side, the sites of Gravesend, Greenhithe, Erith, Woolwich, and Greenwich, on the south side; but in each of these cases the little gravel bed or chalky bank was faced on the opposite shore by the dreary flats (an ordinary natural happening caused by the washing away of the banks, to be seen in any little stream that winds in and out), so that never was there any possibility of linking up north and south.
Only when the little hill at the junction of the River Thames with the River Lea, somewhere about sixty miles from the open sea, was reached could any such crossing be made. We said that in the earliest days of London there was, facing the hill, a great flat which at high tide became a wide lagoon, stretching southwards to Sydenham. Now this was quite shallow; moreover, a long tongue of fairly firm gravel ran right out northwards from the firmer ground till it came to a point nearly opposite the Llyndin Hill. This firm bed enabled the Britons to lay down, across the marsh, some sort of a road or causeway joining up with the main Kent road, and so gave them another lower and practicable crossing of the River, which, of course, meant a shorter road to the Midlands and the north.
This crossing—in all probability a ferry—laid the foundation-stone of the prosperity of London town, and the building of the first bridge cemented that foundation.
Why? Simply because such a bridge, in addition to being a passage across the River, became a barrier to any passage up and down the stream. Bridge-building was not at a very advanced stage, and, of necessity, the arches were small and narrow. This effectively stopped traffic passing up from the seaward side. On the other hand, the small arches meant a very great current, and this, with any considerable tide, rendered the “shooting” of the bridge by smaller boats an extremely dangerous affair: thus traffic from the landward side came to a standstill at the bridge.
This meant that ships, bringing goods up the River from the sea, must stop at the bridge and discharge their cargoes: also that goods, coming from inland to go to foreign parts, must of necessity be transhipped at London. It was inevitable, therefore, that once the bridge was in position a commercial centre must arise on the spot, and almost certain that in time a great port would grow into being. So that we may say quite truly that the Thames founded London.