Most people would probably agree that graffiti – especially when it means scoring initials into historic buildings – is a bad thing. When the graffiti is itself historic, however, it’s not quite as straightforward. The older it is, the hazier the issues become – and Bath has some very old graffiti indeed.
As you enter the Abbey, for example, and walk along the north aisle, there, at the base of a column, is a whole cluster of rough scrawlings, including one dated 1606. Older examples can be found in the south aisle and the tower, while the memorial to Lady Waller in the south transept ramps up the level of desecration even higher. After her death in 1633, her husband, Sir William Waller, commissioned a monument on which his effigy lay alongside hers, in the expectation that he would eventually be interred alongside her. Ten years later, he commanded Parliamentary forces at the Battle of Lansdown. After the Royalists won the battle, Royalist soldiers garrisoned in Bath showed what they thought of him by hacking at his effigy and chopping his right hand off. Similarly-minded citizens subsequently made their own contribution by incising their names and initials into the marble folds of Lady Waller’s dress.
The most mysterious marks in the Abbey are on the left-hand side of the archway into the gift shop. They form a Tetragrammaton, signifying the Hebrew name for Jehova the Almighty, and it has been suggested that they were carved by one of the Parliamentary soldiers garrisoned in Bath after the fortunes of war turned in their favour.
Just south of the Abbey, at the far end of North Parade Buildings – aka Gallaway’s Buildings – is the most conspicuous bit of 18th-century graffiti in the city centre – reading simply IG 1778. Two much fainter examples can be found in Queen Square. In the north-east corner, on the side of No 27, ‘1767’ can be made out, as well as some indistinct lettering. In the south-west corner, on the side of No 13, ‘JP 17’ has been carved. It looks 18th century, which suggests that there should be two more letters recording the date. Perhaps they have worn away, or perhaps the perpetrator was disturbed. On the side of 15 Alfred Street, the initials WH have been roughly carved, with no date, although the style of the W is characteristic of the 18th century.
See images below: The Monument to Sir Bevil Grenville, erected in 1720, is filled with graffiti and J Hodges made an impressive contribution in 1862 under an iron bridge along the canal by Sydney Gardens.
Empire Hotel
Something much more recent, but just as evocative, can be found if you turn up the alleyway linking Grand Parade with the back of the Guildhall and look over the railings into Boatstall Lane, which led through Bath’s medieval east gate. Above you looms the Empire Hotel, opened in 1901 and requisitioned by the Admiralty in World War Two. In 1940 and 1941, some of the Royal Navy Guardsmen posted to Bath carved their names on the jambs around its basement windows.
From the darkest days of the war to victory in Europe – commemorated in the unlikely setting of Lime Grove, off Pulteney Road, on the side wall of The Limes. Having carved VE DAY MAY 9 however, the unknown chiseller only got as far as carving a 1 before abandoning the project. A little way along to the right there is a feebler, more fragmentary and presumably earlier attempt at carving the same message. Curiously, VE Day in Britain is generally reckoned to have been on 8 May.
Beyond the city centre
In the city centre, examples of the bygone graffitist’s art may be few and far between. Further out, however, some of the city’s finest architectural treasures have been laid siege to in spectacular fashion. The oldest is the Monument to Sir Bevil Grenville, the Royalist commander killed at the Battle of Lansdown in 1643. Erected in 1720, hardly was the mortar dry before local graffitists were trooping up to this lonely spot to pay their disrespects. Among the dates chiselled into the stones, 1738 and 1743 – possibly even 1733 – can be made out. The palimpsest of carvings is so densely packed, however, there may well be even earlier ones. Condemnation of them is nothing new. In 1888, for example, a correspondent to the Bath Chronicle wrote that, ‘surely, even in this Puritan city, the memory of a cavalier like this … deserves to be remembered with more respect than is consistent with allowing the vandalism of carved initials to be repeated’.
Sham Castle
South of the city, Sham Castle on Bathampton Down, built for Ralph Allen in 1762, has proved just as much of a magnet, and the earliest legible date here seems to be 1783. Another of Ralph Allen’s buildings which has fallen victim to inscriptive vandalism is the Palladian Bridge in Prior Park. Built in 1755, it had already attracted the attention of a penknife-wielding ne’er-do-well by 1799, and many more have followed in his wake. Although the earliest carvings were probably made by intruders, later ones are thought to have been the work of boys at the college. A gatepost at the main entrance to the college on Ralph Allen Drive is also packed with inscriptions, with a couple of dates – 1749 and 1773 – appearing to feature in the mix.
Past Sydney Gardens
There is one place in Bath where making your mark is raised to another level. If you follow Beckford Road up past Sydney Gardens and turn off to follow the canal as it tunnels under the road, you will find not only the initials of roving graffitists but also crosses, triangles and more elaborate marks made by the masons who built the canal.
Emerging at the other end of the tunnel, graffiti fills an empty niche to your right. Under the iron bridge ahead is a particularly impressive contribution by J Hodges in 1862. Many more lurk under the next bridge, including one from 1807 and one so neatly incised it has to be the work of a mason. The niche beyond it has another fine collection, while the coping stones over the tunnel entrance are also scored with masons’ marks. Inside the tunnel is one of the finest collection of masons’ marks on the entire canal network.
Graffiti is nothing new. There has always been someone eager to make a mark, and, while historic graffiti will never acquire the patina of respectability, it does at least open a window into a somewhat anarchic past. Seeking out the rough-hewn artistry of those who sought such dubious immortality can also be a way of seeing some of Bath’s most iconic edifices in a new light, as well as providing the ideal inspiration for a brisk winter walk.
Discover more of Andrew’s walks around Bath here
Discover more of Andrew Swift’s work at akemanpress.com