The Foundling Museum

Reporting from London:

Maybe this should start with a trigger warning, as the topic is abandoned infants, it starts in the early 1700s, and the picture isn’t pretty. Let me tell you that I wept. So, if you’re still with me, here goes.

Charles Dickens introduced me to Coram’s Foundling Hospital in Little Dorrit. In a time when there was, essentially, nothing in the way of birth control, a great many impoverished women ended up abandoning their babies on the streets of London. By the thousands. Thomas Coram, who’d made his fortune in the shipping trade in America, was horrified at what he saw. No doubt he wasn’t the only one, but he felt he had to do something about it. And so he campaigned for years, and eventually, with the help of a number of prominent people, and, finally, the King’s permission, in 1739 founded a hospital or home for these children.

The idea was, the babies would be left at the hospital with some sort of token identifying them, so that the parent could reclaim the child when/if able to support him or her. In reality, very few children were reclaimed. They were, however, cared for, and given some sort of training that would allow them to become apprenticed or go into domestic work when they were old enough. At the time, 14 was old enough.

No, it wasn’t an ideal situation. Conditions being what they were in the 18th and 19th centuries, many children did not survive. But the Foundling Hospital saved the lives of thousands of children, and in many cases allowed them to have a better adulthood than they might have otherwise expected. For the full story, you might want to look at the Wikipedia article here.

I visited the Foundling Museum on a beautiful, sunny day. Nearby, children played football (U.S. soccer) in a park, reminding us that life, while not perfect now, is better than it was.

The museum comprises three floors. The ground floor focuses on the collections of artifacts related to the children, from the earliest days of the organization to the 20th century, when the hospital was relocated to Berkhamsted, Hertfordshire. You can listen to audio accounts from some of these former residents.

The next floor contains reconstructions of some of the original rooms of the hospital, and includes many of its works of art. That collection is a story in itself. With art donated by the artists, it became the first public art gallery in the U.K., and a fashionable charity.

The topmost floor contains the Gerald Coke Handel Collection. There I sat for a while in one of the armchairs with built-in speakers and listened to Handel’s music to quiet my soul.

"Lord of Scoundrels" eBook deal—$1.99

Another month, another great deal.

Lord of Scoundrels is an extra special book for me. Years ago, a visit to Dartmoor, Devon, England took me to a place and into a powerful atmosphere I’d never forget. Something about that experience worked a kind of alchemy in my mind, creating a hero, heroine, and story that came together almost all at once. When I settled down to write, the story played in my mind like a movie, scene after scene. For a plodding writer like me, this is magic, and rare, indeed. But the writing gods smiled on me then, and the book went on to become my most popular, winning many awards.

Now it’s on sale. From 1 February to 1 March, Lord of Scoundrels is a Kindle Monthly Deal, priced at a mere $1.99—and when Kindle creates a deal, the other eBook retailers usually follow. This means Nook, Apple Books, and others are likely to let you have Dain and Jessica’s story for the same low price.

JMW Turner, Dartmoor-The Source of the Tamar & the Torridge ca. 1813. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

If you haven’t read their story yet—if you haven’t met Bertie and Genevieve and the others, now’s your chance, at low risk. Or, if you’ve already read it, maybe you’d like to make a Valentine’s Day or other kind of gift—and possibly lure others into reading my books. That’s OK. I won’t mind a bit.

Cruikshank's Prints in "Ten Things I Hate About the Duke": Jealousy

Jealousy” by George Cruikshank, 1 November 1825, courtesy Lewis Walpole Library.

Once again, I recommend you click on the link, in order to zoom in on the image and enjoy the details. Apparently, the letter signed “Anonymous,” under the gentleman’s hand, suggests that his lady is untrue, and several images suggest that her lover is an officer. At least two of the imps wear cuckold’s horns, one pointing to the lady who’s climbing down the rope ladder to run off with an officer, while the night watchman . . . watches the proceedings. The other is offering green spectacles, suggesting that Our Hero see more clearly? Or view through the lens of jealousy?

The wigged men in black are apparently lawyers, probably suggesting a “criminal conversation” or crim con case. A pistol is introducing itself, as a weapon for a duel (the outcome of that is suggested on the mantel), murder, or suicide, while hanging is another option (aided by another imp). The two books on the floor are Byron’s Don Juan, the long poem about the famous lover (well worth reading, it’s witty and brilliant) and the Cuckoo Song Book (another cuckold reference). The painting on the right portrays Othello smothering Desdemona. The one above the gentleman’s head appears to be titled “Horn Fair,” another cuckold warning.

If we search online, we find some slightly different interpretations of the details in Cruikshank’s prints. Do you see anything I’ve missed? Or would you interpret some of the details differently?