Two centuries ago Washington Irvine hailed London's Lord Mayor's Show as the “”grandest of earthly pageants.””
It still is today, as it was in 1215.
Every November the reigning monarch rides in the George 111gilt carriage, drawn by red and gold liveried horses, through the cheering crowds of London.
Following proudly behind, the nation's trades people hold high their ancient, beautifully crafted banners: bakers and butchers, fish merchants and fruit sellers, tailors and cobblers.
At Temple Bar, the entrance to the City of London, the Lord Mayor presents the Sovereign with the fifteenth century Pearl encrusted Sword of State, in honor of the monarch's arrival in the City. The Sword is passed back on the return to Temple Bar. The Lord Mayor's Show has been a much-loved tradition since the thirteenth century, but what of the Lord Mayors themselves? Many outrageous and even eccentric characters have taken up residence at the Mansion House, the Lord Mayor's official residence, and none was more outrageous than John Wilkes. As Member of Parliament for Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, Wilkes was expelled from the House of Commons in 1764 and later jailed for publishing seditious libel. He was a member of the infamous Hell Fire Club, known for orgies in the ruins of Medmenham Abbey. Known as the outlaw, Wilkes was unpopular in Parliament, and was derided as a left wing radical, and a notorious rake, of inferior social position. But Wilkes'behavior endeared him to his constituents, who went to the ballot box four times to successfully return him as a member of parliament for Middlesex. The House of Commons though, was less enthralled at the arrival of this rabble-rouser in their illustrious midst, and year after year refused to allow him to take his seat in the House of Commons. But the politicians couldn't win against the power of Wilkes' people, and in 1769 they formed the Society for the Supporters of the Bill of Rights. This acted as a political lever for their hero and in 1774 John Wilkes was elected London's Lord Mayor, and entered the House of Commons. Most Members of Parliament showed their abhorrence by boycotting the Mayoral banquet.
Wilkes, though, was soon surprising his critics with a flair for mixing politics with the grand social occasion. His soirees became the talk of London, with actresses and belted earls clambering for invitations.
Even George 111, once Wilkes' sworn enemy, was forced to declare he had never known such a socially popular Lord Mayor.
The Lord Mayor who could never be called wild or outrageous was Sir Thomas Bludworth. He went down in history as the supreme optimist.
As the Great Fire of 1666 took hold Sir Thomas was telling his citizens…”“If Gulliver could put out a fire on Lilliput, we can put out this one. Two days later, his city in ruins, the Lord Mayor was sobbing…””What can I do, the people won't obey me.””
What a silly man, Samuel Pepys wrote in his Diary.
London's Lord Mayor in 1795 was Sir William Curtis, and he would have been welcomed with open arms in today's environment conscious society.
Ironically, he was so far ahead of his time, with his anti litter campaigns, that the newspapers of the day treated him as a joke.
The laughs got louder when he fined himself five shillings for
tossing his own litter outside the Mansion House.
Sir William was also berated for his poodle-like devotion to George 1V, especially when he turned up in highland dress on a Royal visit to Scotland.
The citizens of London may have been splitting their sides, but the King was highly appreciative, and presented Sir William with a portrait of himself by Sir Thomas Lawrence, inscribed from GR to his faithful and loyal subject.
No one could accuse Curtis's successor of deference. Brooke
Watson was brave and feisty, and would have lashed out with his
wooden leg at such a suggestion.
The only one-legged Mayor in the City's history, Brooke Watson's artificial limb disappeared down the jaws of a shark while he was in the navy.
A keen cricketer, Watson arranged a match between two limbless teams, and it was no surprise that the one-legged Mayor was top scorer and captain of the winning team.
Most Lord Mayors are known to have a privileged background, but not Sir William Staines. He was an ordinary bricklayer, and there's a mystical quality to his rise to fame.
Staines was working at an Uxbridge parsonage when the vicar's wife told him that she'd seen the young man in a dream, with the Mayor's chain round his neck. Staines laughed at such an idea, but she came back next day and said she'd had the dream again.
Whether it was predestination, or the bricklayers' determination to succeed, Sir William Staines went on to create one of London's most successful building companies,and the Mayoral chain was indeed placed round his neck in 1800.
Edward Osborne was also from a poor family, apprenticed to clothmaker William Hewet at London Bridge; but his life changed when his employer's infant daughter fell into the Thames.
The young boy dived into the sludge and sewage to rescue her and Hewet was so overcome with gratitude that he promised he would make the apprentice wealthy, as his business prospered.
William Hewet, by now the city's most important clothmaker, became Lord Mayor in 1559 and Anne, the infant Edward Osborne had rescued, was now a beautiful young woman, with suitors from all the best families.
But her father remembered the young man's bravery. ““Osborne saved her, and Osborne shall marry her” he declared.
As if fated, Anne and Edward fell in love and married, and on Hewet's death his son-in-law inherited the cloth making business.
Edward Osborne was elected Lord Mayor in 1583. John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, was a direct descendant of Anne and Edward Osborne.
Myth and fable surround the origins of Dick Whittington, the City of London's most famous Mayor. He was said to be from a poor background, but credibility is surely stretched. He was the younger son of Sir William Whittington of Pauntley, Gloucestershire.
Whittington is said to have turned again on Highgate Hill, at the sound of Bow Bells, but historian Walter Bell considered this animposition on the credulous, as there is no record of Highgate Hill in the 14th century.
There's nothing false, though, about the gifts Dick Whittington bequeathed to his beloved city during his four terms of office- the first public water taps, almshouses for the poor, and his greatest memorial, the Guildhall Library.
Today's Lord Mayors may appear less flamboyant than their predecessors, but according to one incumbent, they're expected to have a bottomless purse and an iron constitution.
When Sir Alfred Bower, Lord Mayor from 1924-25, was asked if he and his Lady Mayoress had had a busy year he replied… “We've sent out 21,000 letters and I can't find time to have my hair cut….”
