Brothers and Sisters, Knights and Nobles: from Clubs to Class Identity, Freemasons' Hall, London
There are some chroniclers of London, Peter Ackroyd and Iain Sinclair among them, who take a psycho-geographical approach to history, arguing that a congregation of aligned forces remain active within distinct neighbourhoods of the city. Thus, Clerkenwell gives succour to extreme radicalism while Bloomsbury nurtures occultism and spiritualism.
As the poet and artist William Blake served his apprenticeship in Great Queen Street, the first Masonic Hall was being erected in 1776. Later, the Order of the Golden Dawn, the Theosophical Society and the Swedenborgians organised nearby while governments, fearful that the French Revolution might spread to London via 'infidel societies', received reports of convergences of 'Alchemists, Astrologers, Calculators, Mystics, Magnetisers, Prophets and Projectors of every kind'.
Freemasons' Hall, the site of the Grand Lodge and home to the Library and Museum of Freemasonry, has mounted a colourful exhibition of the history of fraternal and friendly societies.
Flamboyant aprons, sashes and jewels, maces, banners and all sorts of glittering memorabilia vie for our attention. Though a dour rationalist when it comes to closed coteries, I was nevertheless enthralled by the vibrancy of it all.
Why did nobody ever invite me to become a mason, a buck or a buffalo, a druid or an oddfellow? I might have cut a good figure as a free gardener, a forester, a loyal shepherd, a knight of the golden horn, a brother of St Patrick or, especially, a frothblower.
To offer me membership of the Rechabites or the Total Abstinent Sons and Sisters of the Phoenix might well have regularised my life.
The masonic movement flowered in London during the building boom that followed the Great Fire in 1666. As the power of the trades guilds diminished, prosperous tradesmen, gentry and minor royalty were attracted to craft skills, rituals and mysteries.
Freemasonry became fashionable and useful in business. It was one way in which Jews began to be accepted in society. Most of the scholars, scientists and artists of the 18th century were active freemasons.
The Royal Society had masonic origins and most public buildings, including St Paul's Cathedral and the British Museum, were designed and built on masonic lines.
The exhibition has noble aims to show that not everything with an apron or a set of compasses is masonic. Membership of a myriad of friendly societies, trades unions and fraternal clubs involved similar regalia, ceremonies and promises of mutual support.
In their History of Trade Unionism, Sidney and Beatrice Webb noted the romantic legends of 'midnight meetings, buried boxes of records, secret oaths and terms of imprisonments'.
Others talked of pistols, swords, death scenes, gowns, banners and battle-axes. But most of the work done was worthy and humdrum, helping the sick, the widowed and the orphaned.
The benefit and the burial society were important in times when dissectionists had access to the bodies of the poor. The unpaid officers sought diligently to protect their members though some early account books seem to suggest that there were 'scores of committee men… whose powers of deglutition were most prodigious', who seemed to possess no qualification for office other than 'an extraordinary swallow'.
The literature of these clubs is deliciously grandiose. Not least of these are the legends of origin. The freemasons claimed to be founded by the architects of Solomon's Temple.
The Bucks traced an inheritance from Nimrod and the Assyrian empire: 'The greatest monarchs in all ages, as well of Asia, and Africa as of Europe, have been encouragers of our noble order.'
The Buffaloes trumpeted an even earlier origin and antediluvian was their proud prefix, while the Free Gardeners claimed descent from Adam, the original delver.
As the societies grew and competed so did the adjectival elements of their titles: Ancient and Accepted, United, Loyal, Royal and Independent, Original, Noble and Grand.
It is all too easy to mock the pretensions of these societies. There is a narrow line between the power of ritual and risibility. The overall achievement of this exhibition is to draw attention to the abysmal ignorance of most of us, even and especially curators, of the social history of fraternity.
Most museums fight shy of displaying these artefacts other than as examples of folk art. They don't wish to be accused of proselytising on behalf of organisations that many politicians may regard as distasteful.
And yet this notion of secrecy is itself a modern phenomenon, a relic of the threat of fascism. Most societies were once public and conspicuous.
The Royal Grand Order of Jerusalem Sols held a procession through the streets of 1787 London, which included 130 coaches. Women carrying staffs dressed in the insignia of Female Friendly Societies were marching in public a century before the suffragettes.
By ignoring or downplaying the importance of these clubs, we do a disservice to working-class history. It isn't enough that more is being written, we have to put real things on display. This exhibition is a start.
It wears its considerable scholarship with flair. But it will be seen only by the few who have the courage or curiosity to mount the steps of the Grand Lodge.
The media has been reticent to publicise its existence. If ever there was a case for an exhibition to go on tour to regional museums throughout Britain, this is one. It is of the scale and standard exemplified by those offered by national museums over the past year.
Perhaps as museums people we have a duty to do more to cover the subject of freemasons. Elias Ashmole, the founder of the Oxford museum that bears his name, was one of 'the first freemasons never to have previously wielded a trowel', while John Tradescant's early collections were full of occult artefacts.
Museologists clearly precede Solomon, Nimrod, Adam et al. Surely the Maker of Eden was the first curator, naming, classifying and labelling all creation, with an imperative DO NOT TOUCH! I wonder if Tracey Emin would design us a sash?
Peter Lewis is a writer and past director of Beamish, the North of England Open Air Museum
Project data
Exhibition design: Mark Dennis
Curators: Andy Durr, Victoria Solt Dennis, Mark Dennis
Fit-out: SCiL
Exhibition ends: 30 September 2005 (weekdays only)
There are some chroniclers of London, Peter Ackroyd and Iain Sinclair among them, who take a psycho-geographical approach to history, arguing that a congregation of aligned forces remain active within distinct neighbourhoods of the city. Thus, Clerkenwell gives succour to extreme radicalism while Bloomsbury nurtures occultism and spiritualism.
As the poet and artist William Blake served his apprenticeship in Great Queen Street, the first Masonic Hall was being erected in 1776. Later, the Order of the Golden Dawn, the Theosophical Society and the Swedenborgians organised nearby while governments, fearful that the French Revolution might spread to London via 'infidel societies', received reports of convergences of 'Alchemists, Astrologers, Calculators, Mystics, Magnetisers, Prophets and Projectors of every kind'.
Freemasons' Hall, the site of the Grand Lodge and home to the Library and Museum of Freemasonry, has mounted a colourful exhibition of the history of fraternal and friendly societies.
Flamboyant aprons, sashes and jewels, maces, banners and all sorts of glittering memorabilia vie for our attention. Though a dour rationalist when it comes to closed coteries, I was nevertheless enthralled by the vibrancy of it all.
Why did nobody ever invite me to become a mason, a buck or a buffalo, a druid or an oddfellow? I might have cut a good figure as a free gardener, a forester, a loyal shepherd, a knight of the golden horn, a brother of St Patrick or, especially, a frothblower.
To offer me membership of the Rechabites or the Total Abstinent Sons and Sisters of the Phoenix might well have regularised my life.
The masonic movement flowered in London during the building boom that followed the Great Fire in 1666. As the power of the trades guilds diminished, prosperous tradesmen, gentry and minor royalty were attracted to craft skills, rituals and mysteries.
Freemasonry became fashionable and useful in business. It was one way in which Jews began to be accepted in society. Most of the scholars, scientists and artists of the 18th century were active freemasons.
The Royal Society had masonic origins and most public buildings, including St Paul's Cathedral and the British Museum, were designed and built on masonic lines.
The exhibition has noble aims to show that not everything with an apron or a set of compasses is masonic. Membership of a myriad of friendly societies, trades unions and fraternal clubs involved similar regalia, ceremonies and promises of mutual support.
In their History of Trade Unionism, Sidney and Beatrice Webb noted the romantic legends of 'midnight meetings, buried boxes of records, secret oaths and terms of imprisonments'.
Others talked of pistols, swords, death scenes, gowns, banners and battle-axes. But most of the work done was worthy and humdrum, helping the sick, the widowed and the orphaned.
The benefit and the burial society were important in times when dissectionists had access to the bodies of the poor. The unpaid officers sought diligently to protect their members though some early account books seem to suggest that there were 'scores of committee men… whose powers of deglutition were most prodigious', who seemed to possess no qualification for office other than 'an extraordinary swallow'.
The literature of these clubs is deliciously grandiose. Not least of these are the legends of origin. The freemasons claimed to be founded by the architects of Solomon's Temple.
The Bucks traced an inheritance from Nimrod and the Assyrian empire: 'The greatest monarchs in all ages, as well of Asia, and Africa as of Europe, have been encouragers of our noble order.'
The Buffaloes trumpeted an even earlier origin and antediluvian was their proud prefix, while the Free Gardeners claimed descent from Adam, the original delver.
As the societies grew and competed so did the adjectival elements of their titles: Ancient and Accepted, United, Loyal, Royal and Independent, Original, Noble and Grand.
It is all too easy to mock the pretensions of these societies. There is a narrow line between the power of ritual and risibility. The overall achievement of this exhibition is to draw attention to the abysmal ignorance of most of us, even and especially curators, of the social history of fraternity.
Most museums fight shy of displaying these artefacts other than as examples of folk art. They don't wish to be accused of proselytising on behalf of organisations that many politicians may regard as distasteful.
And yet this notion of secrecy is itself a modern phenomenon, a relic of the threat of fascism. Most societies were once public and conspicuous.
The Royal Grand Order of Jerusalem Sols held a procession through the streets of 1787 London, which included 130 coaches. Women carrying staffs dressed in the insignia of Female Friendly Societies were marching in public a century before the suffragettes.
By ignoring or downplaying the importance of these clubs, we do a disservice to working-class history. It isn't enough that more is being written, we have to put real things on display. This exhibition is a start.
It wears its considerable scholarship with flair. But it will be seen only by the few who have the courage or curiosity to mount the steps of the Grand Lodge.
The media has been reticent to publicise its existence. If ever there was a case for an exhibition to go on tour to regional museums throughout Britain, this is one. It is of the scale and standard exemplified by those offered by national museums over the past year.
Perhaps as museums people we have a duty to do more to cover the subject of freemasons. Elias Ashmole, the founder of the Oxford museum that bears his name, was one of 'the first freemasons never to have previously wielded a trowel', while John Tradescant's early collections were full of occult artefacts.
Museologists clearly precede Solomon, Nimrod, Adam et al. Surely the Maker of Eden was the first curator, naming, classifying and labelling all creation, with an imperative DO NOT TOUCH! I wonder if Tracey Emin would design us a sash?
Peter Lewis is a writer and past director of Beamish, the North of England Open Air Museum
Project data
Exhibition design: Mark Dennis
Curators: Andy Durr, Victoria Solt Dennis, Mark Dennis
Fit-out: SCiL
Exhibition ends: 30 September 2005 (weekdays only)
