Hydration station Alderman Proctor’s gi
Eugene Byrne looks at the story – and the man – behind a local landmark which is 150 years old this week
EASTER Monday – April 8 – 1872 saw scenes of great excitement at the top of Bridge Valley Road as hundreds of people queued up to get a get a drink of water.
The occasion was the “opening”, if that’s the right word, of Bristol’s newest public drinking-fountain, the gift of Alderman Thomas Proctor.
The timing was excellent. The Bank Holidays Act of 1871 meant that Easter Monday was now officially a day off for many people, and thousands of Bristolians took to the Downs for the day. The new fountain was just part of the fun.
“The scene was … a remarkable one,” wrote one witness, “and showed that the donor has supplied a want.
“Numbers were waiting their turn all afternoon and it was found necessary to obtain half a dozen loose cups, so that the children amongst the excursionists clustered round it might quickly be supplied.”
By now the Downs were becoming a popular place of recreation, certainly for the middle classes, but increasingly for less wealthy citizens, too. The new fountain was a reflection of the area’s growing popularity. People out for a long walk would welcome a drink of water, particularly on a hot day.
It was sited right at the top of Bridge Valley Road with this in mind; people struggling up the steep climb from the bottom of the Avon Gorge would surely be thirsty by the end of it.
So, if it came to it, would be dogs and horses. The fountain included little drinking troughs for animals at a lower level.
The fountain was the gift of Alderman Thomas Proctor (181276), who comes across in the records as being one of Victorian Bristol’s more likeable city fathers.
He also made his money in a particularly Victorian manner.
Though it doubtless happens, you don’t hear very much nowadays about people making impressive fortunes from fertiliser.
But in the 19th century it was a very big deal. Think of the fabulous wealth that it took the Gibbs family to build and run Tyntesfield House and its estate; the money came from imported Peruvian guano (and the grotesque exploitation of the Chinese labourers who dug it
for them), because nitrate fertilisers were almost as important to the Victorians as oil is to us.
The 19th century saw immense advances in “scientific” agriculture, permitting dramatic growth in the UK population.
Food from domestic and overseas farms grew progressively cheaper and supplies became increasingly reliable. The poorest might suffer from malnutrition at times of economic stress or poor harvests, but for the first time in history, very few Britons starved to death.
Fertilisers were Thomas Proctor’s business, and while he did not make as much money as the Gibbs family, he did very well indeed. And unlike the Gibbs family, he simply gave much of it away.
Proctor, who seems to have been born in the Midlands, took over the family firm, H&T Proctor, in the
1830s, at a time when they were still advertising themselves as “rag and bone merchants”. The bones were for making glue and, increasingly, to be used as fertiliser.
(Legend has it that the value of bone as fertiliser was originally recognised as a result of the cutlery business in Sheffield. Grinding and planing bone for knife and fork handles produced a lot of dust, and when this was spread on farmland it was seen to dramatically improve its fertility.)
H&T Proctor was based in Prewett Street, Redcliffe on the site of what is nowadays a hotel. The famous 18th century glass kiln (which has long since had the top sliced off and become the Kiln Restaurant) was at the centre of the works, though whether it was ever used by the company for anything other than storage is unclear.
Proctor humorously described
himself as “a bone-merchant, dealer in portable manure, agricultural implements and the like.”
He was also very knowledgeable about the latest developments in chemical fertilisers and was friendly with the great German chemist Justus von Liebig, who would send his son Hermann to gain experience at the Redcliffe works.
In 1850, Proctor put his knowledge to the ultimate test, purchasing a large parcel of land at Stoke Gifford. Known as Walls Court Farm, it was said to be notoriously poor for agriculture.
The alternative name many used for Walls Court Farm was … StarveAll Farm.
It would take him ten years, and a great deal of investment in drainage, but his fertilisers and “composts” succeeded in turning StarveAll Farm into a model of productivity and efficiency.
It’s now long gone. The area nowadays is partly covered by the Ministry of Defence Abbey Wood complex, and part of it by the University of the West of England’s Frenchay campus.
By the 1860s, Proctor seems to have branched out into property development as well, building homes in Clifton and Redland during the decades-long building boom which gripped Victorian Bristol.
He must have done very well out of his dealings, and he was not slow in giving it away.
As a churchwarden of St Mary Redcliffe, he was a prime mover in the massive effort needed for the restoration of the church. After his death it was discovered that an extremely generous anonymous donor to the funds who signed himself “Nil Desperandum” (never
despair, don’t give up) was, in fact, Proctor.
In 1875 he donated some land he owned in Fishponds for children’s outings. He paid for the construction of a large (wooden?) shed with some basic catering facilities, and there were swings in the gardens. The idea here was to provide a venue for school and Sunday school outings into what at the time was (almost) the countryside.
It was a move much remarked on at the time not just for its generosity but because it was seen as rather imaginative. BT would love to find out more about this, as it must surely be the first custom-built children’s playground in Bristol.
The problem is that we can’t be sure where it was. It’s often been claimed that the site later became
Fishponds Park, but BT has been unable to verify this. All we’ve been able to discover is that it was somewhere off Fishponds Road at a location called Fishponds Lawn. If any readers can enlighten us here, please help!
Some of Proctor’s many charitable acts were more appreciated than others. In 1873 he gave £500 for the planting of trees along the riverside footpath on Coronation Road, along with some seating. The Council passed a vote of thanks, but apparently there were attempts in some quarters to style this walk a “boulevard”. The idea that Bristol was getting all lah-di-lah and Continental didn’t go down well and the name did not stick.
By then, Proctor had long since been one of Bristol’s leading citizens. Elected to the council he had been made an Alderman (so didn’t have to bother standing for election anymore) and was a magistrate as well. He had been High Sheriff, and would undoubtedly have been Mayor as well, though ill-health and then his death prevented it.
In 1865 he bought a plot of land in one of the most upmarket parts of Clifton, The Promenade, and commissioned local architects George and Henry Godwin to build a house.
Elmdale House, as it would be called, had 22 rooms, including a grand drawing-room and a billiards room. Here he lived with his wife Mary and daughter Mary Eveline in suitable style. The 1871 census tells us that they had six live-in servants.
BT has been unable to determine whether or not he had any sons, but in any event Charles William Cope, who seems to have been one of his employees, married Mary Eveline.
Following Proctor’s death in 1876 Charles Cope took out a notice in the local papers informing readers that he had changed his name by deed poll and that henceforth he would be Charles William Cope Proctor. He and Mary Eveline had several children.
Before then, though, Proctor had made a gift of his house to the city for use as the new Mansion House – the mayor’s official residence. In fact it appears that he had commissioned the architects to design the house with that specific intention, though it would remain a secret until it was handed over, along with a sum of money for repairs, fixtures and decorations.
This astonishingly generous gift prompted various other city fathers to make gifts of their own for the new residence, including a valuable set of china as well as several of the paintings which still hang on the walls today.
The drinking fountain was Proctor’s idea, both a practical gesture to make days out on the Downs more pleasant for Bristolians, and as a celebration of how the Downs had been saved from development following the 1861 Downs Act, whereby the Society of Merchant Venturers (SoMV) and Bristol Corporation bought out Clifton and Durdham Downs respectively.
The Downs are still run by a committee consisting of council and SoMV members (See BT feature, Feb 1 2022).
On a panel on the fountain was inscribed: “Erected by Alderman Thomas Proctor, of Bristol to record the liberal gift of certain rights over
Clifton Down made to the citizens by the Society of Merchant Venturers under the provisions of the Clifton and Durdham Downs Acts of Parliament, 1861, whereby the enjoyment of these downs is preserved for the citizens of Bristol forever.”
It would remain as popular with day-trippers as it had been on that first Bank Holiday Monday. Proctor himself said that it catered for the “thousands who avail themselves of the downs on the Sunday afternoon and evening … but to meet any extra demand, my man takes out a number of half-pint mugs.”
Like Elmdale House, it was designed by George and Henry Godwin and, as in all matters architectural, it’s a question of taste.
One writer described it as “one of Bristol’s most fanciful Gothic monuments” while another condemned “its grotesquely disproportionate masses of masonry an comically innocent display of all the tricks in the Gothicist’s copybook,” adding that it looked like a church steeple shrunk to a tenth of normal size.
When Proctor died aged 62 a few years later, flags were flown at halfmast on many public buildings, and the facility he provided would always remain known as Alderman Proctor’s Fountain.
In 1988 it was moved from its original position as it was thought to be a traffic hazard, obscuring visibility for drivers. The move cost £15,000, along with restoration work, and it now lies about 100 yards from its original position, in full view of the grand house that Proctor donated to the city.
Back in Victorian times, the happy crowds would take to the Downs on sunny Sundays and Bank Holidays in ever-growing numbers. Proctor’s fountain was only the first to provide water for the thirsty masses. Another – near where the water tower is now – would follow in a few years, and yet another at Sea Walls a few years after that.
All, alas, have long since been dry. The costs of bringing them back into use, and of daily maintenance and water safety monitoring, are beyond the Council’s means.
That said, the fountain that opened 150 years ago was specifically donated to celebrate the fact that Clifton Down had been saved for Bristol by the Society of Merchant Venturers.
Perhaps it’s not beyond the means of the society today to bring one or two of the fountains back into use. Where Victorian citizens sipped (or, if they’d just struggled up the hill, gulped) from cups chained to the fountain, or from the half-pint mugs brought out by Proctor’s manservant, present-day Bristolians could use them to fill up their fancy modern water-bottles.