Quack, quack, quackery

Oh, dear! The fancy new electric opening overhead skylight windows in the basement have developed a leak. Poor Emma had a constant drip, drip, drip in a well positioned bucket next to her, as the heavens let rip with a massive downpour just after lunch today. It was a downpour I gratefully just missed, returning from lunch as I did ten minutes earlier.

Of course, Nick immediately called facilities to report the leak and, to give them their due, they arrived almost before he replaced the receiver of his phone. Two chaps arrived and looked up then down into the bucket. They then left to reappear a few minutes later above the windows, treading carefully between the panes of very toughened glass.

In the still falling rain, they applied vast quantities of some sort of silicone goo around the glass where the drip was flowing. The dripping stopped. For about two hours. And then it returned. It did occur to me that perhaps they would have been better off sealing the leak when the rain had stopped.

Mind you, I didn’t mind the drip. It was strangely comforting to know I was inside and dry. I felt a bit sorry for the hordes of tourists who I’d seen sitting outside between the museums at lunchtime but I expect they ran inside as soon as it started. At least I hoped they did. Otherwise their postcards would read something like “A lovely morning in London spoiled only by the torrential rain which ruined our sandwiches and drowned the children. Wish you were here.”

Of course, when I popped out for my usual Friday visit to the V&A, the sun was bright and there were few clouds blotting the otherwise blue sky.

Today I went upstairs to a part of the V&A I’d not found before. Honestly, the place throws up new places for me to discover like dandelions in the lawn. It always amazes me. It makes me think that, if I was living and working in Paris and the Louvre was close by, I’d never run out of things to visit.

Today I saw the earliest known photographic image of London. At first glance, it appears to be a small silver square and, from most angles, it resembles a mirror. You have to move in quiet close and suddenly a remarkably clear image of a London street scene almost magically appears. It’s a daguerreotype plate, taken by someone called Monsieur de St Croix. It was taken from Trafalgar Square looking at Parliament Street. Here’s a copy from the V&A website.

London in 1839

In the main sculpture gallery, I noticed this rather portly chap who I’d never seen before. Strange but true.

Joshua Ward - the great and generous - by Augustino Carlini

Josh was born in 1684 and decided to become a doctor. Not particularly keen on studying, he didn’t bother with getting any qualifications. He also decided to become very rich by selling potions and lotions to poor, unsuspecting sick people. In short, he was a quack.

Quack he may have been but, as far as his doctoring went, he was pretty good. Among his patients were George II and prime minister Horace Walpole. Because of his reputation, people tended to believe he knew what he was doing. So he would sell them his miracle drugs.

At one point he had to leave England (he was quite heavily involved in the Jacobin Rebellion) and lived in France where, over the next 16 years, he invented his famous Ward’s Pills and Ward’s Drops. They consisted of poisonous ingredients which would induce sweating and vomiting, the theory being they would cause the body to expel whatever ailed it. Obviously, this is not a good idea. I mean, they’re called poison for a reason.

He returned to England and set up shop, claiming he could cure all manner of things like gout, scurvy, syphilis and cancer. He grew very wealthy and, as you can tell by his statue, rather portly.

But here’s the twist (for twist there is). Joshua Ward was a great philanthropist. He set up shop in the poorer parts, dispensing cures to those that couldn’t afford it. He gave money away to charities and even went so far as to throw money from his coach as he drove by the poor.

The proper doctors of the time didn’t like Joshua Ward (presumably they thought he was bringing the medical profession into disrepute…or they didn’t like him curing the poor) and tried to pass laws preventing the sale of his medicine. They were unsuccessful and Joshua died with a modest fortune.

My favourite bit of Joshua lore is that he stood for and was elected MP for Marlborough in 1717. It was then discovered that no-one actually voted for him. On close examination, the mayor’s signature appeared to have been forged on the Return. Joshua was chained in pillory and then flung in jail for a bit. I have no idea whether this last bit is true or not but I seriously hope so.

And then, for the second Friday in a row, I managed to get drenched walking home. Damn this drought!