The White Chapel Mount

Where there's a hill, there's a way

When you’ve set yourself a task to walk between every London Underground station and film the process - which I have - the capital is an embarrassment of riches. Whichever route is chosen, lots of things are passed on the way. Even in some parts of London where there’s supposedly very little of interest (I’m looking at you, South Kenton), comments will be added after the video is published: “Didn’t you notice Landmark X down Suchandsuch Street?”

• Sometimes I just miss things even though I generally do research before any perambulation.

• Sometimes I miss things but rediscover them in the edit after I’ve stared at a map or two.

• Sometimes I miss things but fate lends a hand and I end up walking down a street where something is/was and this enables me to tell a story in the commentary.

One such street of type 3 was Mount Terrace, E1. I liked the look of the houses along its length and so walked it on my circuitous amble from Aldgate East to Whitechapel. There’s my video of this walk at the bottom - its purpose was to cover the East End but I was always destined to miss a load of stuff en route.

Little did I suspect that interesting-looking Mount Terrace got its name because of a mysterious artificial hill known to nearly every Georgian-era Londoner but which is just about unknown to us modern types.

So let’s begin.

John Rocque’s 1746 map - the uncoloured version - showing the Mount towards the right edge

The White Chapel Mount stands as one of London's most intriguing lost landmarks - a massive artificial mound that once dominated the eastern approach to the capital before vanishing entirely in the early 19th century.

It was located on the south side of Whitechapel Road, approximately 1200 metres east of Aldgate (East) and immediately west of what is now the Royal London Hospital. At the eastern end of what’s now Mount Terrace.

This mysterious earthwork commanded the landscape for over 150 years whilst generating considerable debate about its origins and purpose.

We’ll slip quickly into imperial rather than metric measurements which makes contemporary sense.

Daniel Lysons, writing in 1811, said that the Mount had measured 329 feet in length, 182 feet in breadth, and rose more than 25 feet above ground level. This substantial elevation made it significantly taller than the nearby London Hospital, which was constructed between 1752 and 1757. The mound was crossed by tracks and roads, served as a scenic viewing point, and could be ascended by horses and carts. From its summit, observers could obtain nobby, distant views.

With a ladder and some glasses, you could see the Hackney Marshes

Joel Gascoyne's survey of Stepney parish from 1703 indicated the Mount was at least 400 yards long and was crossed not only by a path but by a proper road. John Rocque's map of London from 1746 showed that whilst the Mount had been horizontally truncated by then (a.k.a. lopped off), it still retained a substantial height.

The most widely accepted theory suggests the Mount formed part of London's defences during the English Civil War. In 1643, Parliament ordered the construction of comprehensive fortifications around London to protect the capital from Royalist armies. These defences, known as the Lines of Communication, consisted of a strong earthen rampart reinforced with 23 fortifications of various types surrounding the entire City of London and its ‘liberties’

Contemporary documentation supports this theory. An Act of Common Council passed on 23 February 1643 ordered the construction of defences including "A hornworke with two flankers be placed at Whitechappell windmills." Parliament approved this scheme on 7 March 1643. The fortifications were largely completed by May 1643, involving up to 20 000 volunteers organised by the trained bands and livery companies.

Sir Christopher Wren's 1673 building plan provides the earliest definitive depiction of the Mount's position, where he refers to it as "the mud wall called the Fort." This designation indicates an understanding of its military purpose. Archaeological excavations have recently revealed evidence of a deep cut feature on the alignment of the English Civil War defences, including a ditch 5.5 metres wide and 1.4 metres deep.

Another, perhaps wackier, theory suggests the Mount served as a burial place for victims of the Great Plague of 1665, when an estimated 70 000 to 100 000 Londoners died. The areas of Aldgate, Whitechapel and Stepney were particularly badly affected, placing severe strain on burial facilities. Official mass graves were established by opening deep pits and leaving them open until filled with cadavers (nice image - I hope you aren’t eating as you read this).

This theory gained some credence from archaeological evidence. In 1802, when part of the Mount's rubbish was being removed, investigators observed in different strata "a great number of human bones, together with those, apparently, of different animals, oxen, or cows, and sheep's horns, bricks, tiles, &c." The bones and other remains were "bedded in a stiff, viscid earth, of the blueish colour and consistence of potter's clay."

However, the London Hospital itself may have used the Mount for burials, with hospital records indicating that by 1764 "The Mount Burying Ground was full," which complicates the plague burial theory.

Some other folk believed the Mount consisted of rubble from the Great Fire of London in 1666. This theory became so widespread among Londoners that when the Mount was finally demolished around 1807, the remains were systematically sifted by antique hunters seeking artefacts, and some claimed sensational finds. However, the Mount clearly predated the Great Fire.

The Mount also served as a laystall - an official rubbish tip - which contributed significantly to its size over time. By legislation of October 1671, seven laystalls were appointed for the City of London, and Whitechapel Mount was designated to receive rubbish from the wards of Portsoken, Tower, Duke's Place, and Lime Street. This function earned it the alternative name ‘The Whitechapel Dunghill.’

A laystall was more than a passive tip; it was a business operation whose proprietor employed gangs of workers to sort rubbish and recycle materials. This commercial activity would have contributed to the Mount's growth and changing composition over the decades.

The Mount's size and location made it an ideal refuge for criminals. Contemporary accounts describe it as infested by highwaymen, footpads, and “various riff-raff” who preyed upon travellers entering and leaving London via the busy eastern route into town: Whitechapel Road. News reports and court records document numerous murders and robberies in the vicinity. In at least two Old Bailey cases, stolen property was buried in and subsequently recovered from the White Chapel Mount.

The area also served as a resort for pugilists and dog-fighters, adding to its unsavoury reputation. This criminal association may have been a factor in the eventual decision to level the Mount and allow urban development.

Maps and more maps

The Mount's existence and evolution can be traced through various historical maps:

• 1673: Christopher Wren's building plan shows its position and refers to it as "the mud wall called the Fort"

• 1703: Joel Gascoyne's survey calls it "The Dunghill" and shows it as at least 400 yards long

• 1746: John Rocque's map depicts it with substantial elevation and at least one dwelling house

• 1755: Richard Blome's map shows a large dwelling house with a ‘front drive’ alongside the newly-built London Hospital

• 1795: John Cary's map indicates the western portion had been truncated by (the still existing in the 21st century) New Road but shows a substantial building in its northwest corner

A pox on the lips, now

The Mount's relationship with the London Hospital provides insight into both features' history. In June 1748, when the hospital committee was seeking larger premises, Boulton Mainwaring reported that "The only Piece of Ground apprehended suitable for this occasion is situate near the River and commonly known as White Chapel Mount and the Mount Field."

The hospital's construction between 1752 and 1757 proceeded whilst the Mount still dominated the landscape, creating an unusual juxtaposition of the ancient earthwork and the modern medical facility. Hospital records indicate ongoing problems with trespass and theft from their property, noting that "the Fences round White Chapel Mount have been frequently Broken down and the Pales carried away."

Demolition (or whatever you call ‘hill removal’ in English)

The Mount was physically removed around 1807-1808 to allow development, part of London's eastward expansion. The extensive fill deposits recorded during later archaeological investigations may indicate the quarrying activities that took place following a successful petition by the hospital authorities to flatten the Mount.

Contemporary observers noted that the demolition work was extensive. The belief that the Mount contained Great Fire rubble led to systematic sifting of the remains by antique hunters, though the actual archaeological value of any finds remains questionable.

Today, the only tangible reminders of Whitechapel Mount are the street names Mount Terrace along which I walked (formerly Mount Street) and Mount Place, which were laid out on the site after its removal.

Now just to finish this tome off, I was editing this video walk (inserted below) just as Matt Brown published his latest (and beautiful) coloured panel of the John Rocque map - pasted above. Thus I walked across his map in my wee film. It’s quite beautiful and a true work of art. It’s one of many panels of the map he’s painstakingly working upon:

London's East End in Colour, 1746

FOOTNOTES

1. I recently rediscovered the song “If it wasn’t for the ‘ouses inbetween“ sung in Victorian music hall times by Gus Elen and others. For no real reason, I used some of the song lines in the headings and text above.

2. I once performed in a show at the Edinburgh Fringe. Sharing our venue were students from the London Hospital whose own show was called ‘A Pox On The Lips Now’. So, this heading wasn’t from the song, but also wasn’t my pun.

3. No em dashes around here: —