London’s Smallest Sculpture

As a culture, we don’t erect enough public statues, and considering the recent political climate, we may be tearing down more statues than we are currently erecting.  Worse, far too many of the recent public art works are so difficult to interpret and so abstract that it is almost impossible to understand what the artist is trying to convey.

I like art that tells me a story.  If you are kind, you might say this is only natural because I’m a historian.  If you are honest, you would probably say that I’m just a poor dumb ol’ country boy who lacks the sophistication needed to appreciate any art that doesn’t hit me upside the head with its meaning.  Like Blanche Dubois, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

If the artwork does have a message, I prefer the meaning to have a little humor—perhaps a little satire—that is revealed through some study of the art’s back story (such as the story about the statue honoring Francisco Morazán in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  You can read the story here.)  I want to look at statues that make me laugh.  (Or you can read this one.  Or this one.)  Look at how the people of Chicago used the statue of Marilyn Monroe before the 26 foot tall piece was moved to Palm Springs.  (Where the citizens have been arguing for years about the kitschy and misogynistic work.  If it rained more often in Palm Springs maybe the people could agree on where to place the piece.)

If you want fun statues, there is no better place in the world than London.  The Brits know how to enjoy their monuments—as evidenced by the large number they have appropriated from all over the world.  The city that hides a solar laboratory under Nelson’s Column, gave a nude statue of Napoleon to the Duke of Wellington so he could hang umbrellas on it and built hidden, roomy chambers under everything (including some extensive rooms below the Albert Memorial)…well, this is a city that knows how to have fun with its public statues.

One of the largest statues in London is the Albert Memorial, but today I want to tell you a story about the smallest statue….One that has no plaque, no marker, and no signs.  You could walk past it a dozen times and never see it.

In 1861, workmen began construction of a five story building on the corner of Eastcheap and Philpot.  While the building had a relatively small footprint, it was five stories tall, with more than sufficient space to house the spice merchants Messrs. Hunt and Crombie.  These guys must have had a great sense of humor because the building at 23 Eastcheap has polychromatic bricks, barley twist window columns, and carved figures of animal heads in the eaves.  The style is called Lombardic Gothic and, personally, I wonder why we don’t erect more buildings like this.  (The equally interesting buildings nearby on Eastcheap are examples of Victorian Gothic.)  The photo at left really doesn’t do the building justice, I suggest you use Google Earth Street View and examine it for yourself.  Or just go there and see the coffee shop it houses today, called Joe the Juice.  London is wonderful in June.

During construction, two men, employed by the architect, John Young, were working on a scaffold high above the street.  When the two men paused work for lunch, they noticed that their cheese sandwiches were missing and each man blamed the other for the theft of their meal.  As the two men argued, both became increasingly angry and soon harsh words were replaced with shoves, then blows.  Inevitably, both men fell from the scaffold, losing their lives on the stone street of Philpot Lane.

Shortly after the two fell to their death, other workmen discovered neither man had been responsible for the theft of the lunch, the actual culprits were a pair of mice who had attracted by the smell of the cheese.

No one is sure who commissioned the memorial, it could have been the spice merchants Hunt and Crombie who had already paid to have the building decorated with the likenesses of sheep and pigs’ heads.  It might have been the architect, since the two men had worked for him.  Personally, I like to think it was the other workmen, the stone masons and brick layers who knew the two men, who created the work in memory of their two lost friends.

If you walk down Eastcheap, you can turn up Philpot Lane, a street that only extends a single block.  To your left is the enormous top-heavy monstrosity of an office building known locally as the Walkie Talkie for its resemblance to a brick-like cell phone.  But if you turn to your right, just above the first floor towards the back of the building, you can see what is inarguably London’s smallest sculpture:  two mice fighting over a piece of cheese, known as the Philpot Mice.

If you go there, please do me a favor.  Go into the coffee shop and ask the good folks at Joe the Juice if they sell cheese sandwiches in honor of the two workmen.