Tales of London

As exciting as brick walls usually are, the three hundred foot long wall that runs along the southern side of Myddelton Passage (named after Sir Hugh Myddelton) is pretty nondescript. Seven feet tall, with foliage growing along the top, its eastern quarter encloses the alleyway that runs onto Arlington Way. Peer a little closer however, and you’ll find that this section of the wall is riddled with names, numbers and dates that have been carved into the brickwork. 

The wall was constructed in 1806 by prisoners from the Napoleonic War. Until a few years ago it was believed that these carvings were the work of said captives, inscribing their service numbers as a grim memento for future generations. But in 2006 research undertaken by English Heritage and the Metropolitan Police Archives unearthed the true origins of these etchings, and they came from the unlikeliest of culprits.

Many of the carvings contain the letter G. Acting on a hunch, the researchers delved into the annals of the Metropolitan Police's employment records. G referred to G Division, which was the Finsbury Division working out of King’s Cross Police Station. The numbers preceding the G were the collar numbers of individual officers. As several of the carvings helpfully included names, it was possible to confirm that this theory was indeed correct: it was long-deceased Met officers who had graffitied the wall with their Victorian tags.

A century ago it wasn’t only the eastern section of Myddelton Passage that was a narrow alleyway. George Gissing, in his 1889 novel The Nether World, describes it thus:

She walked away from the denser regions of Clerkenwell, came to Sadler's Wells Theatre (gloomy in its profitless recollection of the last worthy manager that London knew), and there turned into Myddelton Passage. It is a narrow paved walk between brick walls seven feet high; on the one hand lies the New River Head, on the other are small gardens behind Myddelton Square. The branches of a few trees hang over; there are doors, seemingly never opened, belonging one to each garden; a couple of gas-lamps shed feeble light.

Although the houses of Myddelton Square were occupied by the middle classes, the seclusion and dinginess of the alley made it a dangerous place at night, and police officers would walk the beat along the Passage. One night in the 1880s, whether through boredom or a desire to demonstrate their bravery at standing guard in such a den of iniquity, one such officer carved their collar number into the brickwork. The rest of G Division soon followed suit.

One such officer was “FM 365G”. This was Frederick Albert Victor Moore from Cornwall, who joined the force in 1886 from Devonport Naval Dockyard. He decided that one carving wasn’t enough, and later added “365 Plymouth” as a tribute to his former place of residence.

“TK 1913” was Thomas Kirkpatrick, a gamekeeper from Dumfries who joined the force in 1910 and later rose to the rank of Inspector.

“FAH 103” is the mark of Frederick Albert Huntley, who was born in Hackney and served in G Division from 1899 to 1906.

There is also a carved tribute to an injured comrade: “Robinson” most likely commemorates DS Robinson, who was assaulted whilst on duty in 1888. On the trail of Jack the Ripper, he had gone undercover by dressing as a prostitute on nearby Phoenix Place (where the Mount Pleasant Post Office is today). Unfortunately for Sergeant Robinson a couple of local cab washers took umbrage at this transvestism and stabbed him twice; miraculously he appears to have survived.

Although technically the officers were committing criminal damage when they signed their names into the brickwork, this is a fantastic piece of history hidden in plain sight and we should be grateful it’s survived so intact. Just don’t be tempted to add your own name to the roll call: the wall is Grade II listed, so you’re likely to end up with a hefty fine.

For more stories about the bizarre and quirky history of the capital, check out my other articles, or click here to subscribe to future updates!