What I hadn't realised was that last autumn a licensing system was introduced, which means that "Anyone wishing to search the tidal Thames foreshore in any way for any reason must hold a current foreshore permit from the Port of London Authority. Searching includes all such activities including searching, metal detecting; digging, or 'scraping'". There are two types of permits: a Standard one allows digging to a depth of 7.5cm, whereas a Mudlark one allows digging to a depth of 1.2m and access to certain areas prohibited to those who only have a Standard permit. However, to apply for a Mudlark permit you must have held a Standard permit for at least two years and have a record of reporting finds to the Museum of London.
If I'd known this before I compiled my list of challenges, I wouldn't have included mudlarking as it clearly couldn't be done within a year. I only found out when I started researching tide tables - which is essential, as the difference between high and low tide on the relevant parts of the Thames is 7 metres, the water comes in fast and the access steps are slippery.
I spent ages trying to find a way round the problem, as I was determined not to have to give in. None of the companies which had previously offered guided walks focusing on mudlarking still included this in their menu, as the licensing system made it too complicated and expensive. I did find one that would reluctantly agree to include the sort of activity covered by a Standard permit, but at a price that effectively ruled it out.
The next route I tried was researching mudlarking societies and asking whether any of their members would allow me to tag along, so at least I could learn from them and get the flavour of the experience. I found two societies, one of which specialises in using metal detectors. A woman who blogs for the more traditional one replied within 24 hours, explaining that life was hectic at present as she is writing a book which is right up against the deadline, and is also renovating a house, working part time and looking after her young twins. Although she'd be willing in principle to consider letting me accompany her, it couldn't be until after Christmas, which would be too late for my challenges. She very kindly offered advice about going on my own, such as the best places to search, what I might hope to find and what precautions to take (beware the tides, wear protective gloves, etc).
A man who seems to be the leading light in the other society offered to take me out on a guided trip, along with two or three other people, but again the cost was pretty steep. I asked whether he might consider a barter deal: one of my paintings for a 3 hour trip. He replied saying "Show me your wares, girl", which didn't sound too inviting. He was evidently as impressed by my art as I was by his sales technique, so that was a dead end.
I then tried looking at press releases and book reviews about mudlarking, with the idea of contacting the authors to see if one of them might be willing to help. In the process I noticed that the foreshore at Chiswick, which is conveniently close and has accessible parking (so I could stash my muddy Wellingtons and protective gloves etc in the car), seemed easily accessible at low tide and according to one article yields some interesting objects. I decided the best - or least-worst - option was to apply for a 1-day Standard permit (costing £32) and go searching there on my own. Wading through the PLA instructions, however, I discovered that you have to apply at least a month in advance and specify the day for which the permit will be valid - even though you have no idea what the weather will be like, nor whether something else might crop up in the meantime that made the planned date unsuitable. Suddenly the idea seemed much less attractive and I was back at square one.
Glancing again through one of the articles, I spotted a reference to "The Secret Thames - the Archaeology Tour", by London Walks - http://www.walks.com/our-walks/thames-beachcombing. It was clear that the walk, led by a distinguished intertidal archaeologist, had previously centred on mudlarking but had had to be substantially revised following the introduction of licensing. Now, instead of sticking to the foreshore in front of Tate Modern, it covers a range of the Thames on both banks, with Fiona (the guide) explaining the history of the area and showing us part of her collection of objects found while mudlarking. At the end of the walk, we would be free to go down onto the foreshore - which in itself isn't illegal, as long as you don't move anything to have a look at what's there - and would have a much better idea of what it was we were seeing. There was a walk scheduled in 2 days' time. Bingo!
The weather was lovely and Peter and I duly assembled outside Mansion House tube station, along with about 30 others, of all ages. As we started walking towards the riverbank, Fiona described the network of rivers in London and how most are now covered and have been absorbed into the sewage system. Apparently if you go to Sloane Square tube station and look up at the end where trains come in from the west, you will see the base of a large tube that contains one of the tributaries. In mediaeval times, the rivers would have been uncovered, filthy and stinking. Fiona pointed out the storm gate for the hidden Walbrook River, visible at the base of the left-hand strut below, which bursts open under heavy pressure:
We passed a black phone box - black rather than red, as it's in the City of London - and walked across Southwark Bridge. Looking down from the far bank, we saw a gull trying to eat a dead eel - without much success, as the skin is so tough:
It was a reminder of how successfully the Thames has been cleaned up, since the 1950s when it was so polluted that almost nothing could survive in its waters. Now there are over 125 different species of fish flourishing there, which in turn have attracted seals and porpoises.
As we walked along the South Bank under the Bridge, Fiona pointed out the murals depicting London's first Frost Fair, held on the ice when the Thames froze over in 1564:
The Thames was broader and shallower then, and the old London Bridge was built on narrow arches which concentrated the water into swift-flowing torrents, with the effect that in winter large pieces of ice would gradually block the arches. Eventually, usually only for a few days, the whole river would freeze over. The wording on the murals, taken from handbills of the period, is:
Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o’re,
That lately Ships of mighty Burthen bore
The Watermen for want of Rowing Boats
Make use of Booths to get their Pence & Groats
Here you may see beef roasted on the spit
And for your money you may taste a bit
There you may print your name, tho cannot write
Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight
And lay it by that ages yet to come
May see what things upon the ice were done.
Another unusual sight was the so-called Ferryman's Seat, which was intended for the convenience of ferrymen waiting to ply their trade across the Thames:
It's so narrow that only a child or a malnourished adult can use it, and the sloping back forces you into a subservient position, leaning forwards.
At the end of the walk, we settled down on steps near the Tate Modern to look at some of the objects Fiona has found since 1995, when she first started mudlarking. We were allowed to handle all of them except for the first one, an ancient hand axe made of flint for a right-handed person (you can tell by the shape of the grip):
Next were some small flints, fashioned as cutting tools with notched "serrated" edges (they're all but invisible in this photo, so you'll have to take my word for it):
We moved on to the sixteenth century, with a variety of clay pipes. It's relatively easy to come across the remnants, as the tobacco came packed in the pipes which were simply discarded once the smoke was finished. When tobacco first reached England, it was so expensive that the pipe bowls were tiny:
As their use became more widespread, they were produced in a wide range of designs, including the saucy (spot the lady's garter):
Fiona explained how they could be dated by the changes in shape and design, including whether the base of the bowl was flat or had a "heel":
One of her finds which particularly appealed to me was a late Georgian glass ink bottle which would originally have been in a writing slope:
The first present I ever gave Peter, for Christmas, was a Victorian writing slope, so it had a special resonance for me. I don't recall him using it once, but it's perfect for writing Christmas cards while sitting on the settee with half an eye on the television.
Moving into the twentieth century, Fiona showed us the detonator head from a German incendiary bomb during the Blitz:
Once the walk was over, I was keen to get onto the foreshore and see what I could find:
It was frustrating not being able to pick up anything, as there were plenty of objects that caught my eye:
Amongst them was an assortment of old nails, which don't show that well in the photo but it was interesting speculating about how they'd come there and who had first used them:
I was surprised at how many fragments of terracotta there were. Most looked as though they were pieces of roof tile and I wished I could have handled them, as Fiona had explained how the shape of the holes for attaching them to a roof had changed over the ages. At first they had been round and smoothed by hand on only one side (the underneath didn't matter, as it wouldn't be seen). Then, as skills developed, the holes became diamond-shaped and looked more sophisticated. Not being able to inspect the ones on the foreshore, I could only guess:
There were also various pieces of glass in different colours, mostly pale blue and green, along with some shells. Oyster shells are plentiful, as oysters were for centuries a cheap source of protein and eaten by the poor. It was only as the supply dwindled and prices rose, that the rich showed any interest in them:
I thoroughly enjoyed this walk and would certainly recommend it. If you think you might be interested in mudlarking, it would provide useful information on what to look for and its potential significance, and help you "get your eye in". Then, if you want to take it further, I'd suggest getting a £75 permit for 3 years, rather than a £32 permit for only one day. I'm tempted to apply for one, as it was so tantalising seeing objects that I wanted to pick up and couldn't touch. With a permit I'd be able to dig down a few inches, so that I could prise them out of the mud and have a really good look. I'm not expecting to find anything valuable, but simply holding a piece of history in my hands and thinking about who else might have held it, and when and why, would be very satisfying.
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