On Tuesday 04 March at 2.30 p.m. at Gold Hill Museum John Hubbard will tell the story of William Bankes’s transformation of Kingston Lacy, despite being driven into exile by a draconian Victorian moral and legal code. John writes: Bankes was obliged to complete the enrichment of his major restyling of the family home from a great distance. His exile in Europe from 1841 to his death in Venice in 1855 did, however, give him access to craftsmen and materials of the highest order. Through a consideration of his methods of work and relationship with his sister Anne, this richly illustrated talk will explore his lifelong commitment to Kingston Lacy, to architect- ure and interior design and to the ideal country house. This talk is free to members of the Shaftesbury & District Historical Society, while seats should be available from 2.20p.m. to the public on payment of £5 at the door.

Before his personal crisis in 1841 Bankes enjoyed a privileged lifestyle. At Trinity College Cambridge he became a friend of the poet Byron and a rival for the affections of wealthy heiress Annabella Milbanke, who rebuffed Bankes and made a disastrous marriage with Byron in 1815. In 1811, fascinated by the speculation surrounding the building and lavish contents of William Beckford’s inaccessible Fonthill Abbey, Bankes disguised himself as a labourer and climbed the high perimeter wall. He even inspected Beckford’s dinner table (a profusion of gilt plate but only one knife and fork) before taking advantage of the workmen coming away to get out in the crowd at the gate. Bankes enjoyed a reputation in society as an amusing raconteur and this tale (see a similar story here) no doubt was gilded by repetition, but his political speeches were dull and uninspiring. He represented four different constituencies, some of which were in the pocket of local landowners, so he didn’t need to impress the (few, male) voters. His unfalteringly reactionary views (Anne Sebba: The Exiled Collector) set him against the tide of change on two great issues of the day, Catholic Emancipation and Parliamentary Reform.

Bankes noticed during his travels in Egypt and the Near East, 1815-19, that there were inscriptions on the Philae Obelisk in both Hieroglyphs and Ancient Greek, including the name of Cleopatra. The Rosetta Stone, found by the French in 1799 and seized by the British after Napoleon’s defeat in Egypt, was inscribed in three languages, giving scholars the chance to decipher the meaning of unknown hieroglyphic symbols by comparison with known languages. The Philae obelisk was the first imported into Britain, in December 1821, and carried to Kingston Lacy on a gun carriage provided by the Duke of Wellington, whom Bankes had served as an aide-de-camp in Spain. Bankes had acquired the finest collection of Egyptian antiquities held in any British country house, including a black basalt Roman head of Cleopatra’s lover Mark Antony.

By chance in Egypt Bankes had met the architect Charles Barry, who shared his enthusiasm for Italianate architecture. When Bankes inherited Kingston Lacy in 1835, he commissioned Barry to turn a brick-built Restoration mansion into a stone-clad Italian palazzo. Into this was to be inserted a 30 feet-wide Carrara marble staircase, together with a dormered attic. More than a hint of scandal now attached itself to Bankes, who had been acquitted on a charge of indecency in December 1833 largely as a result of character references from the likes of Wellington. But, writes Sebba, Bankes’s public career was irreparably damaged after the trial of 1833.

The circumstances in August 1841 of Bankes’s second arrest were altogether more incriminating. A dalliance with a guardsman in Green Park, witnessed by a policeman. A guilty verdict was almost certain; a sentence of death was not out of the question. Bankes’s own solicitor advised him to jump bail and flee the country. If he did so without protecting his assets, they would almost certainly be confiscated by the Crown, as Bankes would have rendered himself an outlaw. Bankes therefore transferred ownership of his properties to his brother George, before finally settling in Venice, a once-beautiful city now in decline. Mary Shelley, in 1842, commented that it was almost impossible to spend much money in Venice as even an apartment filled with antique furniture could be had for a modest cost … even at its best Venice was often cold, damp and smelly. (Sebba)

In December 1846 Bankes shipped to Dorset the first of about a dozen cargoes of art works, mainly copies created by Italian craftsmen from his meticulous drawings. These were accompanied by precise instructions as to how they should be assembled, and where they were to be installed. Increasingly Bankes relied on his sister Anne, the widowed Countess of Falmouth, to act as project manager in his absence, as George is but a poor judge in art and has but an indifferent eye.

William Bankes died in Venice in April 1855 and despite his outlaw status was returned to Dorset to be buried in the family vault at Wimborne Minster. The idea that he came back secretly in his lifetime, landing at Studland, to inspect the progress of his plans at Kingston Lacy is perhaps supported by the wording of some of his letters in 1854. Open therefore the two great cases (which you shewed me) containing blocks of purple and white marble … it appeared to my eye that the plaster cornice round the saloon …

F.Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby , published in April 1925, is widely regarded as a literary masterpiece and a classic example of the Great American Novel. By 2020 it was thought to have sold nearly 30 million copies worldwide, and 500,000 annually. Through the eyes of narrator Nick Carraway it tells the story of mysterious millionaire Gatsby who throws extravagant Jazz Age parties at his Long Island mansion, while pursuing his obsessive love for the married Daisy Buchanan.

The novel’s huge reputation, however, was established long after Fitzgerald’s death aged 44 in 1940. By October 1925 it had sold fewer than 20,000 copies, and to his great disappointment as an already popular author, made him only $2000. In contrast, British author Robert Keable’s Simon Called Peter, published in September 1921, was into its 77th printing by March 1923, and thought to have sold over 600,000 copies in the 1920s. This told the story of Army chaplain Peter Graham’s wartime affair in France with nurse Julie, and how he wrestled with his conscience and almost repudiated his religious belief.

The semi-autobiographical depiction of the seamier side of the soldier’s experience in France was too much for many contemporaries. Many early reviews were hostile. Not only is the theme unpleasant but its working out is infinitely nasty … If Mr Keable has not written an actually immoral book he has certainly produced a very offensive one trumpeted The Guardian. There is no reason why the book should not be very popular, but we think Mr Keable will live to wish he had burnt it harrumphed The Observer. Fitzgerald denounced the book as “utterly immoral”, and had Nick Carraway say: I sat down discreetly in the living room and read a chapter of Simon Called Peter – either it was terrible stuff or the whisky distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me.

Robert Keable’s fame on both sides of the Atlantic was relatively short-lived, and perhaps not that welcome. He emigrated to the South Pacific in 1922 with the nurse, Jolie Buck, whom he had met in France while serving as a chaplain to black South African labourers, and deploring the discriminatory practices to which the labourers were subjected. He died in Tahiti in 1927 aged 40. Jolie predeceased him in 1924, shortly after giving birth to a son. His grandson, Simon Keable-Elliott, has done sterling work in rediscovering both Robert’s “scandalous novel” and his diverse career, telling his story with wit and humour at Gold Hill Museum on Tuesday 07 January at 2.30p.m.

At 2.30p.m. on Tuesday 05 November at Gold Hill Museum Tony Otton will give an illustrated talk on the remarkable career of aviation pioneer Louis Strange, born on the family farm at Spetisbury, Dorset, in 1891. The first powered flight in Britain was achieved in 1908 by the American Samuel Cody. Louis Strange saw the first Bournemouth Air Show in 1910, where Charles Rolls, co-founder with Henry Royce of Rolls Royce Ltd, crashed and was killed. Undeterred, Strange took his first flight in 1911 as the passenger of exhibition pilot Lewis Turner, who lived at Sturminster Newton but was best known for stirring flying displays at Hendon. Having been kicked by an unruly ewe in July 1913, and rendered temporarily unfit for farm work, Strange sought out Turner at Hendon, determined to learn to fly. By the end of 1913 Strange was established as an exhibition flier, race winner, and instructor. In 1914 he transferred from the Dorset Yeomanry to the infant Royal Flying Corps, and trained on military aircraft – such as they were – at the Central Flying School on Salisbury Plain. In August 1914 he was one of 37 pilots who left for France in a motley collection of under-powered aircraft, with a brief to gather intelligence on the enemy’s movements. This was a hazardous pursuit, with slow and level flight often provoking a hail of friendly fire. Strange and his colleagues, lacking an effective playbook, began to write their own, as you can read in an earlier blog. By August 1915 Strange was the last of the original 37 still in France, and a wise C.O. ensured that he was posted to Home Establishment, where his talents and experience could be employed in improving the quality of training and thus the longevity of new pilots. He didn’t return permanently to France, in a much more exalted role, until July 1918.

Captain W.E. Johns might have been remembered as the RAF Recruiting Officer who in 1922 rejected the thinly disguised Lawrence of Arabia, who presented himself as T.E. Shaw. When “Shaw” came back with an official letter from the Air Ministry, Johns referred the weedy specimen as a special case to the medical officer, who also declined to accept “Shaw.” By the winter of 1928/29 Aircraftsman Shaw had been posted to RAF Miramshah in British India, where his presence complicated the first mass evacuation by air from Afghanistan.

Johns states in his Foreword that Biggles was a fictitious character, yet he could have been found in any RFC mess during those great days of 1917 and 1918 when … air duelling was a fine art … he represents the spirit of the RFC – daring and deadly when in the air, devil-may-care and debonair on the ground. By the last chapter Biggles has been promoted Major to command 319 Squadron, and crash-lands behind German lines, only to discover that an Armistice has been signed half an hour earlier. It’s a great ending but one that would have to be forgotten about as Johns began writing another 90 or so Biggles books, which ultimately also embraced the inter-war period, the Battle of Britain, and the beginning of the Cold War. Biggles is said to have been born in India in 1899, which makes him just about old enough to have flown a Sopwith Camel and young enough to have been a Squadron Leader in 1940.

The Sopwith F1 earned the nickname “Camel” because of the hump over its forward-facing twin Vickers machine guns, synchronised to avoid hitting the propeller. It was introduced in 1917 when Louis Strange was Assistant Commandant at the Central Flying School. In the hands of an experienced pilot it was a formidable piece of kit, but too many novices lost control, and their lives. In spite of the care we took, Strange wrote, Camels continually spun down out of control when flew [sic] by pupils on their first solos. At length, with the assistance of Lieut Morgan, who managed our workshops, I took the main tank out of several Camels and replaced [them] with a smaller one, which enabled us to fit in dual control.

Both Strange and Biggles have breaks from their RAF service between the Wars. Strange retired on medical grounds in 1921 while according to Hilary Mantel Biggles was a charter pilot with a side-line in working for MI6. After going back to farming, in the 30s Strange became involved in the running of commercial airlines. In 1939 he joined the RAF Volunteer Reserve as a humble Pilot Officer; by 1944 he was helping to plan the execution of the D Day Campaign, and back in France. His story is (pardon the pun) stranger than fiction.

Tony’s fascinating talk is free to S&DHS members. Seats should be available to non-members from 2.20p.m. on payment of £5 at the door.

Dr Nicola Tallis is fast emerging as one of Britain’s most popular historians, according to fellow writer Gareth Russell. Her brilliant new study of the early life of Elizabeth I, says the doyenne of Tudor biographers Alison Weir, is an outstanding achievement. The Shaftesbury & District Historical Society is delighted to welcome Nicola to Shaftesbury Town Hall at 7.30p.m. on Tuesday 01 October as the 2024 Teulon Porter Memorial Lecturer. This illustrated talk is free to members and open to the public on payment of £5 at the door.

Nicola is a rising star in the firmament of Tudor historians. Her PhD thesis was published as ‘All the Queen’s Jewels 1445 -1548: Power, Majesty and Display’. She is speaking on this subject at a sold-out Six Lives Study Day at the National Portrait Gallery on 07 September. (Coincidentally Elizabeth I was born on 07 September in 1533.) After ‘Crown of Blood: The Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey’ (2016), Nicola raised the profiles of other Tudor women in ‘Elizabeth’s Rival: The Tumultuous Tale of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester’ (2017) and ‘Uncrowned Queen: The Fateful Life of Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch.’ (2019)

Elizabeth I was 25 when she became Queen in 1558. An awful lot of personal trauma was packed into her early years, starting with the execution of her mother, Anne Boleyn, on 19 May 1536. Elizabeth joined her elder half-sister, Mary (b.1516), in the non-status of officially decreed illegitimacy. Both were much reduced in rank and household, from Princess to mere Lady. Any sympathy Mary might have felt for her younger sibling tended to be crushed by her burning resentment at Henry VIII’s treatment of her mother, Katherine of Aragon, and harassment over her (Mary’s) traditional religious beliefs. Both were blamed squarely on the malign influence of Anne Boleyn. At the beginning of Mary’s reign, when Kentish gentleman Sir Thomas Wyatt raised an unsuccessful rebellion against Mary’s Spanish Marriage to the future King Philip II, Elizabeth found herself in the same Tower of London quarters, contemplating the same fate, as her mother.

Wyatt had planned to depose Mary and replace her with Elizabeth. If Wyatt had written to her, Elizabeth denied ever having received his letter. Her own ‘Tide Letter’ to Mary, the writing of which delayed Elizabeth’s passage to the Tower beneath the low arches of London Bridge (above), may have saved her from sudden retribution. Elizabeth also knew enough to score out the blank space at the bottom of her letter to prevent any forged additions.

This was not the first time that Elizabeth had to use her quick wits and inner resilience to rebuff bullying by male interrogators. In 1548 she had been part of the household of Henry VIII’s last Queen and widow, Katherine Parr. Katherine was now free to marry Thomas Seymour, uncle of the boy-king Edward VI, and in June 1548 they began residing at Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire.

In his will Henry VIII had made provision for advising his son Edward, aged 9 at his father’s death, to be shared by 16 executors. These were all male courtiers, though Mary was named second and Elizabeth third in the line of succession. Within days Edward Seymour subverted the terms of the will by being appointed Lord Protector, and Duke of Somerset. But Somerset’s nemesis was his younger brother, Thomas Seymour, who jealously coveted the post of Governor of the King’s Person. Although made Lord Admiral and given a barony as Lord Seymour of Sudeley, Seymour was not so easily bought off. Handsome, dashing and reckless, his consuming ambition made him a highly disruptive force. (John Guy, The Children of Henry VIII.) Thomas’s behaviour towards the 14 years-old Elizabeth was highly dubious, even by the lax standards of the day. He began to visit her bed-chamber at the crack of dawn. Lady-in-waiting Kat Ashley confessed that if Elizabeth were up, he would bid her good morrow and ask how she did, and strike her upon the back or on the buttocks familiarly … and if she were in her bed, he would open the curtains and bid her good morrow, and make as though he would come at her. Perhaps hoping to curb her husband’s excessive, abusive familiarity, Katherine took part in some of these romps, including a notorious incident in the garden at Hanworth where Elizabeth’s gown was cut to tatters as she was wearing it. I could not do withal, for the queen held me while the Lord Admiral cut it.

In May 1548, amid a rising tide of scurrilous gossip about the relationship between her errant husband and Elizabeth, Katherine sent the teenager to live with the Denny household. Within months, Katherine, who had been widowed three times, died of an infection sustained in childbirth. She was 36. Elizabeth learned from all these experiences. Thomas, thwarted in his schemes to groom Elizabeth, and to pitch a marriage to Mary, was arrested in January 1549 while trying to seize the person of the King. These were treasonous activities for which he was executed in March 1549. Sir Robert Tyrwhit, sent by Somerset to establish the extent of Elizabeth’s involvement, reported somewhat shamefacedly: I do assure your grace she hath a very good wit, and nothing is gotten of her, but by great policy. Legend has it that when in 1553 Elizabeth was released, reluctantly, by her sister from the Tower into house arrest at Woodstock, she used a diamond to etch into a window pane Much suspected of me. Nothing proved can be.