I spotted one—then several—fascinating artifacts in the pavement. What were they?
© Joyce McGreevy

Historical Markers Lead to Fascinating Discoveries

I’d walked along Marchmont Street often yet never noticed them—small, mysterious objects embedded in the pavement.  Unlike London’s “blue plaques,” historical markers at eye level that link figures of the past with buildings of the present, the Marchmont Street objects were easy to overlook.

Some historical markers hide in plain sight.
© Joyce McGreevy

Here was public art at its least public, eloquent objects underfoot, shyly waiting to be seen and heard. Yet they, too, were historical markers, clues to a poignant chapter of London’s past.

Who had set this into the pavement? And why?
© Joyce McGreevy

Shining a Light on History

Marchmont is one of my favorite London streets, a place of bookshops, cafés, art house cinemas and pocket parks. Of its history, I knew that it was named for an earl, and that he’d been governor of Britain’s first charity organization for children—a home for “foundlings,” as abandoned infants were referred to long ago.

As for the mysterious objects, I’d never noticed them until that morning, when a glint of sunlight on rain-washed pavement caught my eye.

I wondered whose initials  these could be.
© Joyce McGreevy

There they were, a scattering of silver tokens. What could these fascinating artifacts mean? I had to find out.

Why did I sense an urgency about the recording of
this name and birth date?
© Joyce McGreevy

Tokens of Affection

Created by artist John Aldus in 2006, each token represents the bond between parent and child. In the London of the 1700s, that bond was tested to the breaking point as extreme poverty forced countless women to separate from their children.

According to one historian, mothers who relinquished infants to the care of a nearby “hospital” (a term used broadly then) were urged to “affix on each child some . . .  distinguishing mark or token, so that the children may be known hereafter, if necessary.”

It might be a heart or a locket, a brooch or a humble bottle tag. Each token signified the hope of reunion.

Where had the children gone?  As historical markers, the tokens pointed the way—to the Foundling Hospital, just around the corner.

At what is now the Foundling Museum, the original tokens are still on display.
© Joyce McGreevy

Following the Clues

In its time the Hospital had been a place of hope. Prior to 1739, abandonment was rampant and often fatal. Parishes were overwhelmed and some refused to help children labeled “illegitimate.”

Thomas Coram, a ship captain who’d calmly weathered the traumas of life at sea, was stunned to see children dying in the London streets. For 17 years, Coram campaigned to create a refuge, convincing Marchmont and other prominent Londoners to offer support.

While a statue of Coram gave few clues to his character,
this historical marker revealed his compassion.
© Joyce McGreevy

Surprising Discoveries

Something I hadn’t expected to see at the former hospital was a collection of priceless paintings. How did they relate to the practical needs of at-risk children? Historical markers solved the mystery.

In 1739 as the Hospital began welcoming children, portraitist William Hogarth found the perfect way to raise public awareness of the charity—he donated several masterpieces and convinced artists like Joshua Reynolds and Thomas Gainsborough to do the same.

The Foundling Hospital became London’s first public art gallery, a place where people could gather while supporting a worthy cause. Hogarth the great painter had also proved a genius at PR.

A Rousing Chorus of Support

Soon afterward, Hogarth asked a musician friend for a favor. Little did either man guess that it would change history. In 1742, the musician’s latest work had received dismissive reviews at its London debut. Hogarth asked his friend—George Frederic Handel—to try again, this time at the Foundling Hospital.

Buoyed by a rousing Hallelujah chorus, the new, improved performance of Handel’s “Messiah” was a phenomenal success. So many people wanted to see it that performances had to be added and it raised a fortune for the children’s charity. Instead of fading into obscurity as Handel had feared, it became Great Britain’s most beloved choral work.

A London choir’s song has a surprising connection to the Foundling Hospital.
© Joyce McGreevy

One More Surprise in Store

As I left the museum, a volunteer told me to keep an eye out for another historical marker, just up the street. I soon found out why.

Did this “betoken” one more connection?
© Wally Gobetz/CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

In 1837 author Charles Dickens moved to nearby Doughty Street, taking regular walks through the Hospital grounds. Dickens was so moved by accounts of “good Captain Coram’s heart” that he raised funds for the children’s charity organization and wrote about it in his most famous works. In Dickens’ novel Oliver Twist, the orphaned Oliver’s true identity hinges on the discovery of  . . . a token.

I had come full circle, back to the tokens of Marchmont Street.
© Joyce McGreevy

Today Is Historically Remarkable

Coram, as the children’s charity organization is known today, has expanded as its goals have evolved. They now include upholding children’s rights and empowering parents to provide a loving, secure environment to their child.  The former Foundling Hospital has become a place to celebrate the power of individuals and the arts to change lives.

Oh, I see: When you follow historical markers into the past, you make important discoveries about the present. Which might just inspire you to contribute to making a better future.

See some of the original tokens here. (Scroll down.)

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