126 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | MAY 2018
THE JOURNEYFACING PAGE:MATT CARDY/STRINGER/GETTY IMAGES(MARKET, BUILDING WITH MAN),EDUCATION IMAGES/CONTRIBUTOR/GETTY IMAGES(BOAT),PAULO AMORIM/GETTY IMAGES(STATUE),JERRY DRIENDL/GETTY IMAGES(TOURISTS),DENIS WAUGH/GETTY IMAGES(BUILDING),KUMAR SRISKANDAN/INDIAPICTURE(FOODHOUSE)and a soak of the sunshine on the courtyard benches. And from
here begins our tour of Bath.
“Bath. Isn’t that a funny name, like you are here for a wash!”
I laugh and my niece laughs with me. Five years ago, I found
myself a job in the city and moved. Friends, cousins and the odd
nieces drop in and together we play tourist. With them, I redis-
cover old streets and new stories. We finish laughing, pick up our
tickets and step inside the Roman Baths.
The city wasn’t always called Bath. When the Romans arrived
here in the first century A.D., the local Celts had already discov-
ered the green, mineral-rich hot springs. To the Celts it was their
goddess Sulis. But the Romans had grander plans. They drained
the Celtic swamps, raised grand bathhouses over them, erected
a temple to Minerva and called their new city, Aquae Sulis. But
the bathhouses were not just a place to bathe and pray. They
were places to socialise. Men and women bathed naked and
partied hard. Food and drink were served in the baths—oysters,
snails fattened on milk and even dormice glazed in honey. But
every good party comes to an end. After 400 years of being the
beating heart of Roman England, Aquae Sulis was deserted—
the Romans left, the city was forgotten. That is, until 1879.
That year, in a house not far from the Abbey, a Victorian
housewife’s basement started leaking. An exploratory hole was
dug in a passageway running between the houses. It hit lead and
the Victorians came face-to-face with their Roman ancestors.
Although Bath had always known about its Roman heritage, the
actual bathhouses had never been discovered.
Today, the Victorian terrace offers some of the finest views
of the Roman Baths. On a still day, the Abbey towering over
the terrace is reflected in its cloudy waters. Despite the crowds,
it’s easy to lose yourself here. We stop and stare for sometime
at the green waters and then suddenly, “Look, the Romans
haven’t quite left.” My niece points at a Roman ‘legion’ and we
head down to meet him. Along the way, we pass the Sacred
Spring, where 1,170,000 litres of hot water has been rising every
day since centuries. We also see the gilt bronze head of Sulis
Minerva, and little lead curse tablets thanks to which my niece
learns all about cursing, the Roman way. Today, the bathhouses
offer a variety of entertainment for all ages. There are costumed
‘legions’ with a friendly dose of horrible histories; you can get
married here, learn tai chi on the terrace, and even descend into
the belly of the city and explore the tunnels underneath modern
Bath. But we didn’t go there. Instead, we came up to the Pump
Room for some scones and a spot of tea.
It is a good place not just to refuel but to do what the Georgians
did best, people-watching. ‘Every morning now brought its
regular duties—shops were to be visited; some new part of the
town to be looked at; and the Pump-room to be attended, where
they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at everybody and
speaking to no one,’ Jane wrote in Northanger Abbey.
From our seat we could see Abbey Street, quiet and colourful
with summer blooms. But in Georgian England it was quite
another place. Here, in 1759 came Gainsborough in search of a
better paying clientele. Abbey Street was one of the most sought
after addresses in town then. Here amidst a row of luxury shops,
he set up his showroom alongside his sister’s millinery store.
Gainsborough knew his audience. The fashionable ladies and
gentlemen who spilled out of the Pump Room were greeted
with a sign on the door, ‘Mr Gainsborough, Painter.’ The smell of
perfume, witty conversation and a window packed with grand
portraits lured them in to the studio above. Gainsborough’s 16
years in the city were some of his finest. From an accomplished
but minor painter who previously charged five guineas for a
head, he bloomed to a supreme artist who was now charging 30
guineas for a head and 80 for a full-length picture.
The sign on the door is long gone and with it the many luxury
addresses on Abbey Street. Today, the cobbled street is home
to a few independent shops selling quirky wares. But as
winter arrives, Abbey Street transforms itself. The smell of
mulled wine and mince pies hangs heavy and shoppers pack
the famous Christmas markets in search of a present, quaint
and curious. Some simply come to drink in the experience.
Gainsborough’s showroom and studios may have long been
demolished but his house on No. 17 The Circus still survives.
“Finish up, I have something to show you.”
“What? Gainsborough’s house?” asks my niece.
“Yes. But there’s something else too. Something, literally out
of this world.”
We finish our scones and weave our way past the lunchtime
crowds. Union Street is particularly busy. The coffee shops are
bursting at the seams, the pasty place has a snaking queue wait-
ing to get in. We find a shortcut and arrive at No. 19 New King
Street. It’s a different world; quiet, residential and tucked away
from the clamour of shoppers.
In 1777, New King Street was a noisy place. A long terrace of
modest townhouses was being built, the street was still un-met-
alled and the builders hadn’t quite left. Outdoors, there was dust,
noise and chaos everywhere. When William Herschel moved in
No. 19 with his sister Caroline, he was already a talented com-poser. The siblings were quite the darlings of the city, giving
grand concerts where Caroline sang soprano parts. In No. 19,
the Herschel siblings took up a new hobby, amateur astronomy.
The house, today a museum dedicated to Herschel’s life’s
work, has been restored to its former glory. A Georgian
townhouse built over five floors, it was far more modest than
its glamorous neighbours on The Circus, which comprises
three curved sections of Georgian townhouses that form
a circle. Recounting their early days here, Caroline wrote,
‘...almost every room in the house turned into a workshop...’
with William ‘grinding glasses and turning eye pieces’ to
build his famous telescopes. The workshop still survives but
before we go there, we head straight for the back garden. For
here, on an evening in 1781, with a telescope of his own making,
William discovered Uranus.
It’s late afternoon. We walk past Queen Square up the hill
to The Circus. This was the heart of Georgian Bath. Like the
Romans, the Georgians too came to the city primarily for its
waters. You could bathe in it, drink it. It cured gout, rheumatism
and skin diseases. From the early 18th century Bath became
England’s finest spa town. It brought royalty, the aristocracy
and men in search of luck and lucre. Three such men gave rise
to much of what we see in Bath today—Ralph Allen, John WoodWHEN THE ROMANS ARRIVED
IN THE FIRST CENTURY, THE
CELTS HAD ALREADY DIS-
COVERED THE HOT SPRINGS