Month: December 2016

Joseph Edwards – Merthyr’s Great Sculptor

Joseph Edwards was born on 5 March 1814 at Ynysgau, Merthyr Tydfil. His father, John was a stonecutter, and Joseph grew up helping his father, showing exceptional ability from an early age. He had a limited education at local charity schools, but at the age of seventeen, Joseph sought to widen his horizons by walking through South and West Wales, spending nearly two years in Swansea where he was employed as a mason.

In 1835, he went to London carrying an introduction to the sculptor William Behnes who, after some hesitation, employed him. He stayed with Behnes until 1838, during which time he attended the Royal Academy Schools, winning the silver medal for best model from the antique, and exhibiting for the first time. He entered the studio of Patrick MacDowell while continuing his studies at the Royal Academy, where he won a second silver medal in 1839. By this time he was gaining commissions for portrait busts and memorials in his own right, especially from patrons connected with South Wales. He carved the monument to Henry Charles Somerset, Sixth Duke of Beaufort, and in 1840 he made a bust of Ivor Bertie Guest, the first of several commissions from Merthyr industrialists.

Joseph Edwards

In 1843 Edwards carved The Last Dream at North Otterington Church in Yorkshire, now regarded as his early masterpiece. Welsh intellectuals became increasingly aware of his career, and Edwards was perceived to demonstrate the potential for national progress in Wales, having risen by his own efforts from humble origins to find a place in the English art world. Like Gibson, he was frequently cited in the mid-nineteenth century as an example for the young to follow. In 1855, at the Royal London Eisteddfod, he became the first Welsh artist to have a solo exhibition of his works.

Edwards was patronized by notable establishment figures. His marble relief Religion Consoling Justice (1853; Dingestow, Monmouthshire) formed part of the memorial to Justice Sir John Bernard Bosanquet, and in 1854 and 1856 he was again commissioned by the Beaufort family. In 1859 he met George Virtue, whose magazine, the Art Journal, promoted his work, publishing engravings on several occasions. Virtue also made use of a work by Edwards for the headpiece of his Girls Own Paper. In 1870 the sculptor was commissioned to execute the memorial to the publisher at Walton-on-Thames cemetery.

His sculpture ‘Religion’, exhibited as a plaster at the International Exhibition of 1862, became his only large-scale public sculpture in his native country, erected in marble at Cefn Cemetery ten years later (a second version is at Highgate Cemetery, London).

‘Religion’ at Highgate Cemetery

His seriousness and dedication to his art came at the expense of business considerations, and he was frequently financially embarrassed. Probably for this reason, in 1846 Edwards began to work for Matthew Noble in a role which, it is clear, far exceeded that of the normal assistant. Among Edwards’s papers is a list of some forty major pieces attributed to the English sculptor, on which Edwards worked at every stage from conception to completion, including the famous Wellington memorial of 1856 in Manchester. He became known in the art world as Noble’s ‘ghost’, entering his studio at the end of the day to work overnight, and on Sundays. On Noble’s death in 1876, Edwards completed his outstanding works, for which he received minimal recompense. In 1881 Thomas Woolner, who took a dim view of Noble’s practice, made application on Edwards’s behalf for a Turner bequest. The Welsh sculptor was able to benefit from only one payment, since he died on 9 January 1882 at his home in London. He is buried in Highgate Cemetery.

Joseph Edwards’ tomb

Photos courtesy of www.victorianweb.org.

To read more about Joseph Edwards take a look at the link below:
http://www.victorianweb.org/sculpture/edwards/index.html

A Letter from the Crimea

In the last few months there have been posts about the First and Second World Wars, as well as the Zulu Wars. Let’s go back even further – here’s a letter from a soldier serving in the Crimean War, transcribed from the Merthyr Telegraph of 29 September 1855.

Camp, before Sebastopol, Sept. 15, 1855

Dear Parents

I am very happy to inform you of the great victory we have won after all the hardships we have endured last winter and during the summer. I have been this last three weeks twelve hours out of twenty-four fighting hard, and have seen several of my old comrades fall by my side, which grieved me very much. Two men in particular, good soldiers, that came out with me, and belonged to my own company, fell on the last day of the battle. I am glad to inform you that Tom Watkins is safe, and enjoys good health. I forgot to tell you in my last that he was slightly wounded; he was from duty about three weeks, and was soon out of danger.

I went down to the trenches about 1 o’clock on the morning of the 8th September, and we continued firing as hard as possible until 12 a.m. on the following day, when General Simpson came down to Green Hill Battery, with his staff; our Captain ordered us to fire for about twenty minutes, and then we heard the thunder of musketry of our men. They had attacked the Redan battery, and the French the Malakhoff. I could see them tearing across the plain in hundreds, and see them falling – it was a terrible sight. In front of each of these batteries was a trench about 14 feet deep, and about 12 feet wide; to cross this was extremely dangerous, as the enemy were pouring into them with musketry, grape shot, and canister.

The mystery was, how to get to the top of these trenches, when thousands were opposing you with picks, shovels, hatchets, staves, stones, bayonets, swords, and all kinds of things the rascals could lay their hands on – this was terrible work you may imagine. The way they had adopted of getting over this trench was by throwing wool-bags, and hay-bags into it, and then mounting by means of ladders. They at length succeeded, and fought until they had no ammunition, and were then most unfortunately obliged to retire. During this time we were not firing any, but were looking on for fear of killing our own men.

When I saw them retiring I could cry with sorrow, to think that it was another failure, the same as on the 18th of June; but it fortunately happened that the French took the Malakhoff, and in about two or three hours victory favoured our arms. The French planted their flag on the heights of the Malakhoff, and General Simpson said ‘Now men, you must attack the Redan again to-night, and if you do not take it tonight you must try again in the morning,’ Another attack was made that night at 12 o’clock, when not a Russian could be seen. They reconnoitered along the whole lines, but could find no Russians, and discovered that the whole town was in flames, Magazines were blowing up in all parts – the fleet was on fire in the harbour; and the next day, if you had been here, you would have enjoyed a treat, as I could have given you a ride in a carriage and four.

Everything in the town appeared to have been left to its fate; all were obliged to leave the town at a moment’s notice. It was just like going to a place twice the size of Merthyr, and smashing everything before you. When we got to the town there were arms in shoemakers’ shops and musket balls in the shops of tailors and carpenters. I could have furnished my father with a good kit of tools, and you I could have supplied with silk and satin. I could go to a stable and bring any horse I liked; and could go to a wine-shop and drink as much as I wished, and then to a piano, and play until I was tired, and then have smashed it to pieces.

I have got a few little things here. I have sold £9 worth of things. The French could bring what the liked out, but we were not allowed. I am as happy as a prince; have plenty of clothing to last me I should think for ten years.

I enclose you a little fringe that came off the pulpit of the church in Sebastopol. I wish I could have brought home some oil paintings which I sold to an officer for 12s. each, which were worth £100.

We expect to be home soon, as we were the first here.

I remain, dear Parents,
Your affectionate Son,
JOHN JONES, Royal Artillery.