VISIT TO DR. JOHNSON’S HOME IN GOUGH SQUARE

Press, Volume C, Issue 29608, 2 September 1961, Page 8

VISIT TO DR. JOHNSON’S HOME IN GOUGH SQUARE

A New Zealander Writes Her Impressions [Specially written for “The Press” by ADELA INNES] r J'O most New Zealanders visiting a house more than 200 years old is an event in their lives; to visit one where famous people of the past joined their host, a great wit, in conversation the like of which, I venture to say, has never been heard in the nineteensixties, is a great event—but to be in that house alone with those ghosts of the past is pure magic.

Mid-day on a summer’s day in London I wandered down the most famous street of journalism in the world, seeking a small lane which would lead me into Gough Square. Such a peculiar entrance it proved to be that I was a little distrustful, but I pressed on and suddenly found myself in this tiny square with the ancient house facing me.

A locked gate led into the small courtyard beside the house. I pressed the bell, and a tiny, elderly woman, completely fitting into the scene, came from a cottage next door, unlocked the gate, and said “One sMMtag, please.”

As I placed the coin in her hand, she said, “You can go in.” It was all part of the day’s work to her, but to me a journey into the past. I opened the front door, entered the hall and closed the door behind me, and stood in the house—alone; the house occupied by Samuel Johnson from 1746 to 1759. Here he commenced his famous work, the Dictionary of the English Language, and completed it—a seven-year task.

I was overwhelmed when I realised I had the place to myself. What affected me most, however, was the silence—not even the roar of Fleet Street, so nearby, penetrated this literary stronghold.

It was a queer sensation to feel that one could slip back into the eighteenth century and people the house with the great ones of that period. But it was a most satisfying feeling. It was a feeling I was to experience time and time again when I visited historical places. I did not know how much I belonged to England until I stood in the streets of her capital and saw the famous buildings—or on the rich green sward of her countryside with a ruined castle enhancing the landscape, or in an historic place such as this old house in Gough square. Souvenirs As I walked into the room at my left, an awareness of the significance of the souvenirs in the building rushed upon me. Here was David Garrick’s walking stick, not really a museum piece, but in his hand as he entered the hall on a visit to his old teacher and friend. Johnson, despite his speaking so contemptuously of players all his life, retained his friendship with Garrick, but no doubt in this very place they argued about the production of “Irene,” which was played for nine performances only. Johnson’s booming voice must have been heard in every room. To this house also came the young, urbane artist. Joshua Reynods, who remained to the last Johnson’s staunch friend. Although there is controversy as to the exact date of his meeting Johnson (Boswell stating that they met not long after Johnson arrived in London, and others giving the year as 1756), nevertheless, even if the latter date is right, there were three years to go before Johnson left Gough Square and finally settled in chambers in Inner Temple Lane; so I could see Mr Reynolds, as he then was, visiting his friend, 14 years his senior. As Sir Joshua Reynolds, the successful painter of portraits, and the first President of the Royal Academy Johnson in later years was always welcomed to his home at Leicester-Fields.

In the house is a painting of Francis Barber, Johnson's West Jamaican servant, attributed to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Barber was adopted by Johnson, who had him educated and afterwards took him into his service. He made two attempts to leave his master in his early years, but finally settled down and remained with Johnson until the latter's death, Johnson making him his residuary legatee. To help to complete the picture of Sir Joshua Reynolds in later life—the suecessful. always courteous gentleman—there is exhibited a caddy, cup and saucer from

the tea service made in China for him about 1775, and enamelled with his cypher. I had just enough solitude to see these few articles when I heard the front door open; but tile sense of mystery and age which still enveloped me did not lessen on seeing the entrant, for she was slight and pale, and had dark, unfathomable eyes. She glided about the house like a ghostly visitant herself, and I went on my way entranced.