John Smiff and the Red-Headed League

I'm always looking for those little tidbits in 1800s newspapers that might point to an inspiration for a plot device in a Doyle/Sherlock story. I'm writing an article at the moment on a really intriguing example - it's taking a lot of time to piece together and write, so I thought I'd share an example here that MIGHT be an article some day, but for now it's just a fun story.

I came across this newspaper article that grabbed my attention:

Cork Constitution - Saturday 13 December 1884

A sewer workman while poking under ground  found that by raising a flagstone he would penetrate into the bullion room of the bank. Amazed at the discovery, he pondered over it and finally concluded that he would utilize it to his pecuniary benefit without stealing. He therefore wrote to his directors asking what reward he would receive if he should meet them  at any appointed hour of the night in the bullion room, and thus reveal to them a mode of ingress of which they were entirely ignorant. They named a sum which would make him independent for life ; and to their overwhelming surprise he kept his promise by popping up through the sewer, for which he received ten thousand pounds or so. This is supposed to have happened long ago.

Looking into this I learnt that according to a longstanding Bank of England tradition, an anonymous sewer worker discovered an old drain leading beneath the bullion vaults, wrote to the Bank's directors, and demonstrated the vulnerability by emerging through the vault floor. While the dramatic encounter has not been confirmed by contemporary records, an 1836 letter from the Bank's architect confirms that "an open and unobstructed sewer led directly from the gold vaults down to Dowgate," suggesting that the legend may have grown from a genuine security concern.

The Bullion Vaults, Bank of England

What a nice tale this is, and the idea of Bank of England Directors waiting in the gold bullion room at midnight, and someone appearing through the floor, certainly reminds one of the dramatic moment in The Red-Headed League. Now, Conan Doyle may not have been reading the Cork Constitution in 1884, but as will be seen there are other examples of this story appearing in the 1880s press in England.

When did this even take place? And could Doyle have read such a story that may have inspired him? 

As will be seen, the events supposedly took place in the late 1830s, but the story had only recently appeared in British papers around the time of publication - understandably the Bank would not want a story about inherent weaknesses in the security of the bullion room appearing in the papers.

A long version of the tale, with some dramatization, was published in  

The story seems to have really appeared in the UK in George Newnes' Tit-Bits (almost fifty years after the event), as part a section of the magazine called 'The Prize Tit-Bit' that allowed readers to submit a great story of interest (my interpretation: a ripping yarn). William James Ellis submitted a long story that was published in the October 27, 1883 issue:

Tit-Bits Magazine

October 27, 1883

A MYSTERY IN THE BANK OF ENGLAND

One day the Directors of the Bank of England were much puzzled, and not a little amused, when the Secretary read to them, at their usual sitting, the following ill-spelt and curious letter: 

“TWO GINTILMIN OFF BANK ENGLIND: Yoo think yow is all safe hand youre Bank his seafe, butt I knows bettur. i bin hinside the Banck thee last 2 nite hand yow nose nuffin abowt it. Butt i um nott a theaf, so hif you wil mett mee in the gret squar rom, werh arl the moneiy is, at twelf 2 nite, Ile ixsplain orl to yoew. lett only 1, hor 2 cum alown, and say nuffin 2 noboddy. JON SMIFF.”

The letter being duly read, was, as might be expected, the topic of conversation and suggestion for some little time. Some of the Directors thought it was a hoax. Other thought that under the apparently ignorantly written letter a deeper mystery was hidden; but all agreed that the safest way was to put the letter, with proper instructions, into the hands of the detectives specially employed by the Bank.

The detectives looked grave. There was a plot at work, they saw; and with usual penetration they at once penetrated the deepest depths of the iniquity. Every one knows that a file of soldiers march every night from the Tower to the Bank, to keep watch and ward over the vast treasure there; but they simply guard the outside from attack. All within is calm and still when business hours are over.

There is a very large room underground, where the huge wealth of the Bank is deposited—millions and millions of English sovereigns, bars of gold, and hundred-weights of silver, with myriads of notes to an incalculable amount. The detectives of course, knew that this room must be the place which the writer of the letter designated as “the gret squar room.” It is full of treasure. Its floor is a solid stone pavement, and its walls, roof, and door are of wrought iron. The door, the only means of access, is immensely thick, and secured by the best of modern locks and bolts, while a sentinel is stationed in front of it all the night through. No one from outside could enter; but of course the police well understood the trick; there must be some confederacy within the bank, and one of the conspirators, being more cowardly than the rest, had resolved to betray his fellows to save himself. The bad writing and spelling were of course only feigned. Their plans were taken accordingly.

All the night long detectives were secreted in the room; but they saw nothing and heard nothing, with the exception, that some said they heard, about one or two o’clock, a strange sound which they could not account for. The next night was the same, and the next, and next; and when the “Board-day” of the bank came round, the whole of the Directors would have treated the affair as an idle attempt to frighten them, had not their attention been more strongly called to the subject by the following incident:

A heavy chest had been forwarded by the Parcel’s Delivery Company, directed to the “Directors of the Bank of England.” The chest was of course opened before them at once—such a thing being very unusual—and found to contain it large packet of most valuable papers and securities which had been safely deposited in the vault. With them the following letter:

“To the Directors of the Bank of England—GENTLEMEN: My husband, who is an honest man, wrote to you last week, and told you that he had found a way—which he believes is known only to himself—of getting into your strong-room, and offered, if you would meet him there at night, to explain the whole matter. He has never taken anything from that room except the enclosed box. You set detectives upon him, and he took the box to show that he could go there, whoever might watch, if he chose. He gives you another chance. Let a few gentlemen in the room alone. Guard the door, and make everything secure, and my husband will meet you there at midnight. 

“Yours very respectfully, ELLEN SMITH.”

This letter was more mysterious than the last. The only thing that was evident was that the writer, Ellen Smith, was a better scholar than her husband, who styled himself “Jon Smiff.” The detectives were shown the letter, and acted accordingly. Of course they saw through “the dodge.” The cleverest men were posted in the room.

In the morning they told a strange story. They said they saw a light at about twelve o’clock. It seemed to come from a dark lantern; but directly they ran to the spot from whence the light proceeded it went out, and the strictest search had discovered nothing. The bank officials became alarmed. Every night the strictest watch was set, but nothing turned up until, on the morning when the next sitting of Board was to be held, another letter was found upon the table of the strong room. How it got there, considering the room was guarded day and night, was a mystery. Its contents were still more mysterious. They were as follows:

“It was for your own good that you were warned that the strong room of the bank is not entirely safe. At any time any one can enter it. If we wished to steal we certainly would never have told you about it, or returned the box. You have basely set the police to see what you ought to have looked after yourself. If the police are there tonight, we will never explain the easy way of getting into your strong room, but most likely someone else will let you know that we told the truth, when they help themselves to what is there. We are honest and will not steal, but if the police, and not yourselves, gentlemen, are there tonight, we will say nothing and do nothing. If a few gentlemen of the Directors are there alone from twelve to one, my husband will meet them there, as he said he would several weeks ago. E. S.”

More and more astonished than ever on the receipt of this extraordinary letter, and more puzzled still at the strange way in which it had been delivered, the Directors, after a long consultation, agreed upon a plan of action. There were two things perfectly evident: one, that the writer of the letter really had access, in some mysterious way, to the strong room; and the other, that he had discovered that the police had been put upon his track, instead of his suggestions being attended to. So it was determined that some of the Directors who could conveniently do so, should visit the strong room at the time indicated by the letter.

This plan was carried out. But, as might be exacted, the Directors were not alone. The police had advised them too well for that; and half a dozen of the best English detectives were dressed up in the garb of gentlemen, and mingled in such a way that anyone would have supposed that they formed one group, and were now at last literally fulfilling the requisitions of the mysterious letter.

They waited until nearly twelve, and then one of the Directors, a little impatient, approaching the table, said:

“Well, it’s a most extraordinary affair. I’m not a coward, but I certainly should be almost afraid were I alone; but, Felden, you are used to these matters, and you have examined the room. Where the fellow can come from is to me a perfect mystery.”

Perhaps, if he had not used these words at that moment, the “mystery,” as he called it, might have been instantly solved.

Of course every eye was directed to the table where the letters had been placed; but though every precaution was taken, there was not the least sign of any living being but themselves, or any voice save their own, in the room. They waited there the whole night long, but nothing was seen or heard. Their labor was in vain. About four o’clock in the morning—it was now mid-winter, and day was scarcely breaking at eight—the detectives whispered that it was needless for the gentlemen to remain any longer; they themselves would wait as long as the gentlemen chose, but the hour for breaking into that strongest of all strong rooms— if it could be broken at all—was long past. The gentlemen, nothing loath, departed, after “tipping” their assistants liberally, but vexed that their search should end so, and half suspecting that they had only been on a fool’s errand. The detectives also, convinced that their work for the night was done, left the strong room about 6 o’clock. At that time, being winter, the whole building was enveloped in fog and darkness.

The next morning the Board held an extraordinary meeting, in order to discuss the result of the efforts of the gentlemen who had been all night in the vault. They had little or nothing to say of any consequence; and after a long argument about nothing, were about to separate, when a porter entered with a letter, which he stated had been found on the table in the strong room, when the man whose business it was entered—about eight o’clock. Every one had left the room more than an hour—perhaps two—before, and no one had been admitted in the ordinary way. The mystery increased. But of course the letter was read, and it ran as follows:

“Yow kin do ass yeou like. Lars night I herd someone speek to Mr. Feldin, who I know is an hossifer of the perlice, sow of course I did not come, as I mite ave dun. I give yeo another chance. Coome to nite. If two or 3 gentlemen are theare alone, hi will be with um. If eny detektives is thare hi shal give it al up at 1st. Yo, may choose as you wull. J.S.”

This extraordinary communication was a source of no small anxiety to the Bank Directors. How it could have been left on the table in the strong room, guarded as it was, no one could imagine. They, however, at last agreed to do what perhaps would have been wiser if done at first, namely, to depute a few of their number to visit the vault alone. There was, they concluded, but little danger in doing so, as from the strange letters which they had received, it would appear that the intruders in the sacred precincts were only one man and his wife— probably the man alone. So it was arranged that three gentlemen, who were selected as the best able to deal with such a case, should remain all night in the strong room, and that no one else should be with them, but that the police should be within call, in case they were needed.

Every suitable precaution was taken when night came. The sentinel paced up and down outside; the detectives were not far off; and after the most rigorous search had been instituted, the gentlemen were locked in. Hour after hour passed by, but nothing appeared. Sometimes for half an hour they pretended, by silence, that the room was empty, in order to tempt the depredator, if present, from his hiding place. Then they would move about, and talk in such a way that any person who overheard them would know that they were alone; but not a sound or whisper, save what they themselves uttered, was heard. At last one of them, who paced the floor rather impatiently, beginning to think that perhaps after all it was only a clever trick, cried out:

“You ghost, you secret visitor, you midnight thief, come out! There is no one here but two gentlemen and myself. If you are afraid, I give you my word of honor as a gentleman that the police are not here—only we three of the Directors to whom you wrote. Come out, I say!”

It was more in jest than in earnest that Major Clifford—for he was a military man—shouted out this absurd speech, for, as we said, he had begun to suspect that after all some practical joke was being adroitly carried on, as had more than once been before perpetrated, and he did not much like being victimized himself. His astonishment, however, was great when, in reply to what he had said, he heard a strong voice saying:

“If you have kept your word I will keep mine. Put out your light, for I have one, and then I’ll come.”

The Major and his fellow Directors did not much like putting out the light, but they were not cowards, and after some demur it was done. Where the voice came from was, however, a mystery, for there were no hiding-places in the room, every side being of thick, many-plated iron and steel; the ceiling was also of the same material. When the light was out they waited in silence, while the Major grasped firmly in one hand a revolver, and in the other held the lantern and a few matches. For a little while a low, grating sound was heard, and then a voice, evidently that of someone in the room, said: “Are you there alone, sure?”

The Major, who cared for nothing in bodily form, struck a match, and instantly a crash was heard, and a low, smothered laugh. When the match was lighted, nothing could be detected—no one was there. Again the Major called upon the mysterious somebody to come forth, and again a voice was heard saying:

“How can I trust you now?”

The Major was angry, and his companions alarmed; and after trying in vain to trace the point from whence the voice proceeded, he exclaimed :

“Well, we’ll put out the light again; only come quickly, and make an end of this bother.”

So saying, he put out the light again. A moment or so after, the same grating sound was heard, then the falling of some heavy body, and the next instant a man was visible standing in the middle of the vault with a dark lantern in his hand. Of course he came from somewhere, but the puzzle was—how? A ghost could not have entered more mysteriously, for they already knew that the walls and ceiling had been most carefully examined, and there was no possible way of ingress. The man, however, soon spoke for himself; and the Directors, who were still at a loss to explain his presence there, listened in astonishment.

It appeared that he was a poor man, and obtained a precarious living in a strange way. When the tide was low, it is the custom of a certain class of people unknown to refined society to enter the sewers, to search for any article of value which may have been accidentally washed down into them. It is a very dangerous task, and of course revolting in the extreme, but they not unfrequently find very precious things hidden in the filth.

This man was one of those strange adventurers. One night he had discovered an opening leading to some place above. There was a large square stone which he found could be easily raised. He listened for some time, and finding all was silent, lifted up the stone without much difficulty, and found, after some little investigation by the light of his lantern, that he was in the strong room of a bank.

These men, like miners, can readily determine the exact spot of ground under which they are; and he soon had a clue to the whole mystery. He told his wife, who was a woman of much superior education to his own, of the whole affair; and he then wrote, as we have seen, to the Directors. After that his wife wrote, until the last letter, as the spelling shows.

Down in the sewer, he was able to hear all their movements as well as if above ground, and thus was not only able to know their plans, but to frustrate them, and of course could watch his time to remove the small but valuable box which we saw was afterwards returned; to leave the letters on the table, and to appear so mysteriously.

Of course, no one ever thought of looking to the stone pavement, which was supposed to be solid and immovable, as it was known that there were no vaults below, although the iron walls and door had been most carefully tested. 

The mystery was now cleared up: and the Directors, calling for other lights, examined the place carefully, and fully verified the man’s statements.

He was then liberated at the usual entrance, after his address had been taken, and a time had been appointed when he should appear before the Board.

The whole affair, which caused a great sensation at the time, was duly inquired into, and such precautions taken that a repetition of the adventure would henceforth be impossible.

The Directors felt that they owed the strange man a debt of gratitude.

Although gold and silver was not lying in heaps upon the cellar floor, there was incalculable wealth hidden there, in the shape not only of notes and the most valuable securities, but also in solid bullion and hard cash. It is impossible to say what a clever burglar might, if he only knew of the secret entrance, have taken away undetected, and until beyond the chance of detection, as money is always available, and leaves no traces behind; in fact, a perfectly fabulous amount might have been stolen, so thick were the walls, and so secure was the room considered. 

The very strictest search proved that nothing had been taken besides the box, which was returned intact. When this point was fully settled, it was agreed by the Directors, that the mysterious visitor to their strong room should be rewarded for his honesty, and it was currently reported that they settled upon him a liberal annuity, sufficient to support him in comfort for the rest of his days. 

Curiously, the transcript provided above is not that from Tit-Bits, but from very similar text from The New York Ledger of June 24, 1871 (without an author or source credit), and reprinted in other US newspapers occasionally over the next decade. Ellis appears to have submitted a modified version of the US story to Tit-Bits.

The story is full of drama and detail. There is a semi-literate and honest 'sewer worker' who identified that the bullion room was not safe from below but accessible via the sewers, named "John Smiff". His wife, Ellen Smith, communicates more clearly to the Bank directors that they have a security issue, but they are required to wait in the bullion room at midnight for Smith to dramatically appear through the floor.

Bank of England as it was in the early 1800s, designed by John Sloane.

Did the events described really take place? In 2017 the Bank of England's Quartlerly Journal described the story as 'bank legend'. However, there is documentary evidence that there was attention on the sewers underneath the bank at this time. In 'The Bank of England: a history from its foundation in 1694' by John Giuseppi in 1960 notes that:

"While Charles Robert Cockerell was architect to the Bank there occurred the curious episode of the main who got into the gold vault by way of the sewers. There seems little reason to doubt that something of the kind actually happened, though official record.... are understandably discreet.... the records show that in February 1839 Cockerell wrote to the Building Committee that: 'In May 1836, having had reason to apprehend danger from our sewers, it was discovered that an open and unobstructed sewer leads directly from the gold vaults down to Dowgate', and that in April 1836 the Secretary of the Bank applied to the Commissioners of Sewers asking for plans of the sewers and drains under and around the Bank premises.'

As for 'Jon Smiff' and his remarkably literate wife Ellen, there could not be a more impractical name to assess in the 1841 England census for the London area - there are at least 750 John Smith's living in the London area. If he existed, he is certainly lost to the mists of time.

Bank of England, Bullion Office and Gold Weighing Room.

(Note the flagstones in the floor).

Whether or not the tale occurred as described in Tit-Bits, it's easy to imagine Doyle reading that article, and being inspired by the midnight watch in the bullion room in the dark, and then Smith appearing from a 'large square stone {in the floor} which he found could be easily raised'. What a perfect setting for the capture of a criminal!

I believe Doyle read this story of the Bank of England bullion room, and that it inspired the story of the Red-Headed League - right down to making the bank director wait with the gold bullion. It was Doyle's genius to turn this into a bank robbery that Sherlock could disrupt, and the back-plot of a Red-Headed League to decoy a shop-owner away so that a tunnel could be built. The plot required tunneling rather than simply walking through a sewer, to ensure that the plot had sufficient time for Sherlock to investigate and solve the mystery.

In my opinion this is a case of art (Doyle) imitating life (John Smiff).

Mortimer Menpes and the case of the missing portrait

I have a new article out, published in 'The Magic Door', the newsletter of the Friends of the Arthur Conan Doyle Collection at Toronto Public Library, and edited by Tom Ue BSI (a newly minted BSI this year). 

This article arose from my interest in an Australian connection to Conan Doyle - the artist Mortimer Menpes who had created a portrait of ACD. What surprised me as I started looking into Menpes was that I could not identify where his original portrait (or two) of Doyle now resides.

As always, I'm posting here the original submitted article. The published article appears on this front page - shown below. Thanks to Tom Ue for his help editorial guidance. And well.... if you have the Menpes portrait/sketch let me know!

Finally - it's easy to subscribe to 'The Magic Door' using the link above to the 'Friends' page. There are some wonderful articles in each issue.

Mortimer Menpes and the case of the missing portrait

Matthew D. Hall

Among the known portraits of Arthur Conan Doyle is an intimate profile of the author rendered in watercolour. The author sits at a desk, pen in hand, as he might in his study. Yet his khaki-coloured shirt belies the environment in which the scene is set - Conan Doyle's time in South Africa during the Second South African War.

 

Doyle in South Africa

In October 1899 the tensions between Britain and Boer republicans in South Africa spilled into a war commonly referred to as 'The Boer War'. While the war was ultimately considered a British victory when it concluded in May 1902, it came with great difficulty and a considerably higher commitment of troops and casualties than British pride anticipated. At the end of 1899 after the British had suffered a number of setbacks during early phases of the war, Doyle was 'standing in a long queue of men who were waiting to enlist in the Middlesex Yeomanry'. Unrecognized and over the hill, Doyle was added to the waiting list and he 'departed somewhat crestfallen and unsettled’.

Soon afterwards, Doyle had an offer to serve the British cause on a non-military capacity. Doyle's friend John Langman (a successful merchant and philanthropist) was personally funding the creation and staffing of a ~100-bed hospital to be shipped to South Africa. Doyle assisted in recruitment, and once ready and trained the hospital staff embarked on Feb 28, 1900, and ultimately arrived at a cricket field that was part of the Ramblers Club in Bloemfontein to establish their hospital. Almost simultaneously, the Boers cut off the water supply to the town, and the use of wells as an alternative water source led to a severe outbreak of 'enteric' (typhoid fever) caused by bacterial contamination in the water. The hospital was overwhelmed with patients, not from war fighting but from contaminated water.

We have first-hand insight into Doyle's life at the hospital. Charles Blasson (1877-1900) was part of the hospital staff and assigned as Doyle's dresser for two weeks. A dresser was tasked with cleaning  and applying bandages and other dressings to wounds and injuries, and was often a medical student (which was the case with Blasson). Blasson kept a diary of his voyage to South Africa that includes numerous references to his work with Doyle, and it reveals that along with the work around the wards alongside Doyle in the hospital, Blasson also took on the role of Doyle's personal secretary. Doyle was writing an account of the Boer War in virtual real time, and Blasson assisted this work. For example on Monday 4th June 1900 Blasson wrote 'I have got a lot more of Doyle's work to write out (Paardeberg, and 'Advance of Bloemfontein'), so I shall have my work cut out to get it off by mail'. The Battle of Paardeberg took place in February 1900, and Doyle used the patients and soldiers he encountered (including in the hospital) to create an account. Precisely what shape Doyle's notes took, and how Blasson wrote them up is not clear - the manuscript of Doyle's book was completed in October 1900 and is held in Lausanne. Blasson was rewarded for his extracurricular activities, noting on 14th June just before Doyle departed the hospital that 'Dr Conan Doyle gave me a cheque for ￡5-5/  today for doing the work for him'.

Along with all the work around the wards, Blasson noted on Monday 4th June 1901 that 'Conan Doyle, Scharlieb, and Gibbs were arrested today for shooting at springbok. They were released when their names and addresses had been taken', and Doyle spent time 'up country' to observe the fighting. After Doyle's departure, Blasson died suddenly, and when the first edition of 'The Great Boer War' was published the Preface noted 'I especially acknowledge the co-operation of Mr. Blasson, of the Langman Hospital, now dead in the service of his country... who collected and arranged my material.'

Another observer of life at Langman Hospital who paid special attention to Doyle was an artist who visited the hospital. The Bendigo Advertiser carried the headline:

CONAN DOYLE AT THE FRONT.

(By a Painter's Youngest Daughter, in "M.A.P.")

SHERLOCK HOLMES IN HOSPITAL.

The Painter had his first sitting of Conan Doyle at Langman's Hospital, at Bloemfontein, where he had to sketch him the best way he could for the whole time the doctor was working, working like a horse, so much so that now and again he had to drag himself up to the top of a kopje just outside the hospital grounds to get a little fresh air and to store up a little more energy to go on with his work. His first exclamation to the Painter was: "Just look at this inferno!" and he pointed to the principal ward of his hospital. The sight was beyond description ; patients bundled in one after the other at such a rate that it was impossible to attend to them all in the midst of all these horrors, you would see two or three black-robed sisters of mercy going about silently but swiftly, doing work that no man living could have done, and every one of them refined and educated ladies. Dr. Doyle pointed them out and said : "They are all angels."

A DETECTIVE AT FAULT.

Dr. Doyle seemed to carry sunshine round with him where-ever he went. He was always cheery and bright; his patients simply worshipped him. The soldiers used to say they liked the doctor because he was "so manly." And yet, the Painter told me, he has never met such a modest man in all his life. When the Painter talked of his Sherlock Holmes series, Conan Doyle smiled and said that that work was not good, Sherlock Holmes being merely a mechanical creature, easy to create because he was soulless. "Why," he said, "one story by Edgar Allen Poe would-be worth any number of stories on the plane of Sherlock Holmes." The Painter asked him "which story of the series he liked best," and he said: "Perhaps the one about the serpent, but I can't for the life of me remember the name of it!" “But - doctor," exclaimed the Painter, "You are not a fair judge of your own work." "Oh, yes," he said, "I am though. It's a curious thing," he added, "in real life I have no capacity for detecting anything. I never had that power; I never could discover anything." He was simply amazed at the Painter's cuteness in discovering that there was a missing dot on the Orange Free State stamp surcharged V.R.I.

MAINLY LITERARY.

Conan Doyle talked of the professional critic, and said that he had no faith in him whatever; he wanted the opinion of a child, fresh and sincere. "I want the boy critic," he said, "the boy who will start a story and then chuck it down and say 'Rot,' or who will read a book straight through and say 'Ripping.' That's the person I want to criticise my work." "It's strange, too," he said one day, while snatching a few minutes' rest, "the older I get the less I read and the more I think. As a child the book that appealed to me most was one of Charles Reade's, and, curiously enough, it is the book I enjoy the most now." He talked of the way he wrote his stories. He said : "Of course I know the end of my story before I begin it; I don't create characters, and then allow them to work out their careers in their own way. I always fix the end clearly before I begin to write."

PURELY PERSONAL.

Conan Doyle looks a typical squire; he is tall, rather fair, with a heavy figure. He talks very slowly and deliberately, but is far cleverer as a listener than a talker. He is one of the few men who have learnt the art of sympathetic listening. In a way, he is extremely vague. More than once the Painter noticed him putting a letter in one of his pockets and then searching carefully in the other for it. He is a man who would be always misplacing things for want of method. But perhaps the thing that strikes you more than anything in Conan Doyle is the great big heart in the man.

The painter described in this article was Mortimer Menpes (1855-1938), an Australian artist, and his 'youngest daughter' was Dorothy Whistler Menpes (1883-1973, her Godfather was the American artist James McNeill Whistler). Menpes had travelled to South Africa as a war artist for 'Black & White' magazine, a weekly that published both fiction and current events, and was rich in illustrations. The magazine provided extensive coverage of the Boer War, and Menpes was already a public figure in London when he accepted the job. While he had been in England for over two decades in 1900, he was not forgotten in Australia and his observations were reported in local papers.

While in South Africa, Menpes met and sketched public figures such as Rudyard Kipling and Winston Churchill, along with senior military leaders. The UK 'Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News' provides the first evidence of Menpes' visit to Langman Hospital - a photograph by 'Scott' with the legend 'At Bloemfontein. Dr. Conan Doyle and Mr. Mortimer Menpes having a discussion on stamps, and probably working out a Sherlock Holmes theory of detecting frauds on part of local dealers in creating "freaks and faults"'. The photograph shows Doyle at his writing desk on the verandah of the cricket pavilion (today still known as the Ramblers Club), possibly working on a chapter of his book on the Boer War. Menpes sits astride his recliner gazing into the distance, his hand obscuring his fine moustache. One oddity: Doyle poses holding his pen in his left hand, perhaps to suit the arrangement the photographer required.

 

We have other views of Conan Doyle at this time. The September 1900 issue of the Strand Magazine carried an article by Doyle on the war titled 'A Glimpse of the Army’. Among the photographs is a photograph of Doyle at his desk (sans Menpes) which was likely taken at the same time as that above: the club doors are open, the seats are arranged in the same way, and so on. Doyle's pose is strikingly similar to Menpes' artwork.

 

Another stereoview photograph of Doyle 'in his tent at Bloemfontein' also demonstrates a similar pose of Doyle's right side. Blasson refers to Doyle's writing desk in his tent.

Menpes' portrait of Doyle was first published in black & white in (appropriately enough) 'Black & White' in the June 16 1900 issue. 

Following his' return from South Africa, Menpes set about organizing his sketches and watercolors. In February 1901 Menpes opened an exhibition of 120 paintings and sketches of the Boer War theatre at the Fine Art Society in London, a commercial gallery that displayed and sold artworks, and it. The exhibition was advertised widely (example shown from the Army and Navy Gazette, Saturday 02 March 1901). Doyle's portrait was among those exhibited, and Menpes' art was well-received - a review in 'Gentlewoman' typical of coverage stating 'It is not an exaggeration to say that there is no "one-man show" open in London at the present moment which can hope to claim the same amount of general interest as the collection of paintings and etchings of the War in South Africa.... in the matter of portraiture one feels that Mr. Menpes's brush is quite photographic in its accuracy....'. It is possible that the Doyle portrait was sold at the exhibition.

Dorothy Menpes recorded the details that her related for each of the 120 artworks, and arranged a narrative around the collection, co-published with her father. All artworks were reproduced as full color plates, with some subtle horizontal and vertical striping defects in many of the plates including that of Doyle that may be a consequence of the medium used. The portrait was also published in the 'Literature' Supplement the The Times newspaper in June 1901, showing identical striping to the book plate. The 1900 B&W print differs from the later published watercolor - whether Menpes created the subsequent watercolor from an earlier original is not clear. It may be that two separately rendered portraits of Doyle by Menpes exist.

Some text desribing Doyle in the book was re-worked from the earlier newspaper article (see above), but details were added. According to Menpes, he made a 'careful study' of Langman's, specifically because he wanted to make a study of Doyle, but otherwise felt that hospitals were 'unartistic and unneccesary for my work'. To Menpes, the principal ward looked like a 'slaughter-house.... the place was saturated with enteric fever.... swarming in at such a rate that it was impossible to attend to them all', which is a surprising admission given wartime sensitivity about British casualties and the performance of hospitals - the war was still underway when his book was published. Menpes had defended criticism in the British press, and this carried into the narrative: 'I visited Langman's hospital nearly every day during my stay in Bloemfontein, and I always found it the same, always in perfect order, doctors and nurses working untiringly from morning until night ; and every day I went away marvelling'.

Menpes

Mortimer Luddington Menpes (22 February 1855 ‒ 1 April 1938) was an Australian-born painter, etcher, printmaker, illustrator and author who made his career in England. He was born in Port Adelaide, South Australia, the second son of English parents James Menpes and Ann (née Smith). His family moved to England in 1875 when he was about 20. He had studied art in Adelaide, and later at the School of Art in London. In 1880, while sketching in Brittany, he met American artist James McNeill Whistler, and under Whistler’s influence began to develop a style that combined elements of Japonisme, fine etching, drypoint techniques, and a refined sense of light and tone, and they maintained a close relationship.

Menpes exhibited regularly at prestigious British institutions — his paintings, watercolours, etchings and drypoints were shown at the Royal Academy, as well as societies devoted to watercolour and oil painting. His travels had a large impact on his work, visiting Japan (first in 1887), India, China, Kashmir, Burma, Egypt, Mexico, Morocco and throughout Europe. The Japanese influence was especially significant—both aesthetically, in motifs and design, and also in his choice to decorate his magnificent London home. Menpes illustrated and published books of art based on numerous locations, and produced colour reproductions of Old Masters via his own press.

Menpes 'retired' to Iris Court in Pangbourne outside Reading, where he established a fruit and carnation farm. He died there in 1938. Menpes is often remembered as a raconteur, both for his storytelling in books, and by reputation among his circle.

The portrait today

Following the 1901 exhibition and publication, the portrait of Conan Doyle does not appear to have received further attention in the press. Nor does it appear in the collection of any UK gallery. Nor, after enquiries, does it appear to be in the hands of a known Sherlockian/Doylean art collector. It is said that when Menpes died, Dorothy (with the married name Dorothy Flowers) was left around 4,000 works and books, which were ultimately sold. Where is the Menpes portrait now?

Further reading on Doyle in South Africa

Doyle describes his experiences in South Africa in some detail in 'Memories and Adventures’, chapters 15-19. Doyle published a detailed description of the Boer War in ‘The Great Boer War’, first published in 1900 shortly after his return from South Africa. Sarah LeFanu has published a book describing Conan Doyle’s experiences in the Boer War (that includes Menpes’ portrait on the cover) titled ‘Something of Themselves, Kipling, Kingsley, Conan Doyle, and the Anglo-Boer War’ (2020). The Blasson diary provides a remarkable insight into the daily activities of the field hospital and Doyle’s life there, and finally the Menpes book on his experiences and interactions in the Boer War theatre are very detailed.

Endnotes
1. Doyle, ’Memories & Adventures’, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1924
2. The Blasson diary is published in: Ken Cooper, ‘Aide-de-camp to Conan Doyle, the Bar War Diary of Charles Blasson’, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2013

3 .‘Conan Doyle at the front’ in The Bendigo Advertiser (Victoria, Australia), Wed 22 Aug 1900. Accessed at trove.nla.gov.au.

4. Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News (UK), 19 May 1900. Accessed at www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk.  

5. Doyle, ‘A glimpse of the army’, in The Strand Magazine, September 1900.

6. Stereograph by Keystone View Company, Meadville, Pa. / St. Louis, Mo. 1900. Source: Library of Congress (https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2016645958/) and The Arthur Conan Doyle Encyclopedia.

7. The Doyle paining is directly mentioned in several descriptions of the exhibition, for example in Echo (London), 25 February 1901.

8.  ‘Mr. Mortimer Menpes’, in Gentlewoman, Saturday 09 March 1901. Accessed at www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk.

9.  ‘War Impressions. Being a Record in Colour by Mortimer Menpes. Transcribed by Dorothy Menpes’, Adam and Charles Black, London, 1901.

10.  Biographical information may be found at the Australian Dictionary of Biography, add.anu.edu.au . 

One final point - finding these various photographs and articles was great aided by britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk. The black & white image of Doyle by Menpes is from a copy I own, likewise the color Menpes image is from the copy of the book that I own, and the photograph of Doyle in his tent is actually one of two images from a steroview card I own. I'm sure there are quite a few copies out there as it was likely produced in large numbers - I need to find a custom frame for holding stereoviews.

Keystone View Company - Manufacturers and Publishers. Meadville, Pa. St. Louis, Mo. Copyright, 1900, by B.L. Singley.

11832. Dr. A Conan Doyle in his tent at Bloemfontein, South Africa.

Benneville Lloyd Singley was the founder of the Keystone View Company, and it is likely that the staff photographer sent to South Africa was not Singley, and there is not evidence Singley visited South Africa. Another mystery to solve.