Making Antiquarian Paper at Springfield Mill, Maidstone, Part Two
MAKING ANTIQUARIAN PAPER IN 1888 (to 1937)
In the first part of this article I re-told the story of a paper industry journalist’s visit to Kent, and particularly Springfield Mill at Maidstone. The article was taken verbatim (with a few explanatory notes and inserted corrections by myself) from an 1888 edition of ‘Paper Making’ magazine. It is my purpose in this second article to expand, and in some cases correct, the information previously related. I will write particularly about Springfield Mill, but I must first cover a few points raised in ‘The Doctors’ (the pseudonym adopted by the Victorian journalist) first two paragraphs, though with Springfield Mill my area of personal interest, I leave it for others to correct or expand on my own opening remarks about these other matters.
I wondered initially what the writer’s association with the 4.18 p.m. train from Cannon Street into Kent can have been to have caused him to feel “bound to recognise [it] as an old institution”, and if the Mr F. Leunig who accompanied the writer as far as Dartford was the famous scientific apparatus supplier-cum-paper merchant of that time?
I will pass by the Phoenix Mills, and the Paper Fibre Company with the same brevity as did The Doctor, and likewise Northfleet Mills – any, and indeed all of these enterprises worthy of an article in themselves – and proceed to Snodland where “a familiar smell stole into the carriage.” In 1888, when the Doctor’s visit took place, Snodland was a four-machine mill making mostly newsprint from a predominately straw and esparto furnish. The company of C.Townsend Hook also owned the adjacent gas-works, which for some years prior to the company ‘going public’ had provided street lights and the gas that they consumed for the whole of the village of Snodland. This begs the question as to whether the ‘familiar smell’ noted by The Doctor was from the generation of gas by burning coals, or some part of the pulping process that had a particular odour of its own? The “considerable extension of the old mill premises” refers to the expansion of Snodland mill, mostly undertaken in the final years of the life of Charles Townsend-Hook himself, from a single-machine, five tons per week mill in 1855, to the four machine, 4000 tons a year mill in 1888.
While doubtless at the time (and subsequently) others may have perhaps considered other places as ‘The Paper City of our country’, as a Man of Kent, and I have a feeling that the same may possibly have been the case of The Doctor, I was delighted that he had applied this appellation to Maidstone! Here reference was made to Mr. Amies, the mould and dandy-roll maker of world renown, and of course, well known to W & R Balston of Springfield Mill, to which they both presented themselves the following day. There they were met by Mr R.J. Balston, at that time proprietor of the mill, the grandson of the founder, William Balston.
The original article gives a rather scant and somewhat inaccurate explanation as to the origin of the name of Antiquarian paper. While it is indeed true that James Whatman the Younger was the original manufacturer of that size of paper at Turkey Mill in Maidstone, other manufacturers at home and abroad were canvassed as to whether such a sheet measuring 49¼” x 27” could be made. There was a grade available from Holland, but that was 47” x 27” in Dutch inches, which in English equated to 48” x 27½” – near enough, but not exactly the size required by The Society of Antiquaries. They had commissioned the engraver James Basire to reproduce for sale by subscription, copies of a painting then hanging in Windsor Castle. The painting has the rather ponderous title of ‘The Interview of Henry VIII of England and the French King Francis I, Between Guineas and Ardres in the Month of June, 1520’ but enjoyed the more popular title ‘Le Champ De Drap D’Or’, or in English ‘The Field of the Cloth of Gold’.
An artist named Edward Edwards had completed drawing a facsimile of the painting in early 1771, and just under two years later, in November 1772 Basire had made a proof print, and laid down the requirement for the size of the paper as 49¼” x 27”. Whatman was (of course) the Society’s first choice as paper-maker, but initially he was a little sceptical about the scheme because until then the largest sheet he had made was Double Elephant (40”x 26½”) and frankly he saw little business for such a huge sheet as demanded by Besire after the initial making of just five-hundred sheets. Further, the Double Elephant was, Whatman felt, as big as could be made by hand (paper-making machines were some years away, and a good deal more than that as far as the Whatman brand was concerned) but he did have some ideas of “a contrivance” that would assist in the manufacture of such a sheet. However, it would cost him dearly, and although the honour of having made the paper for such a prestigious application would be sufficient reward for him not to expect any greater price for his paper than would normally be expected, vis-à-vis price (Guineas) in pounds (lbs.) for the weight of 480 sheets, he felt the Society should bear the cost of any extra ‘utensils’ required, and put forward a fee of an additional fifty pounds.
The Society of Antiquaries were unimpressed and tasked various members to see what could be done, but in the end, Whatman was given the order, and as it happened, his ‘contrivance’ continued in regular use at Turkey Mill, and a later version at Springfield Mill, until the final making by hand in 1936. The Society, regardless of their earlier reservations, ordered more paper than they needed for The Field of the Cloth of Gold, so that they had some in hand for future projects. Ultimately Whatman billed them for 1888 sheets (which is a strange coincidence given the year of The Doctor’s visit to Springfield), as well as for two wooden packing cases, and his original ‘demand’ of £50 for his contrivance. He did not charge for carriage even though this was a problem in itself. The paper alone weighed 960lbs.; it was sent in two wooden packing cases; and the sheet size – bearing in mind it had to be delivered flat – was too big for conventional horse-drawn transportation. Thus, the load was sent by ‘hoy’ (barge) down the Medway to Rochester, where the vessel took to the now almost lost Medway Shipping Canal, then on to Battle Bridge at Southwark in London.
Whatman’s price for the paper was fifteen guineas per ream, slightly lower than his original estimate of between sixteen and eighteen guineas, though not as low as the Society had hoped, given the increase in quantity against their initial tender. The whole process took the best part of two years, was far from straightforward, and is somewhat at odds with the “at once complied with” that ‘The Doctor’ speaks of.
I have to admit to have been puzzled for some time as to the difference in the size of the paper that Basire specified and that of the paper that until fairly recent times was still being made, i.e. 53” x 31”. Fortunately, there remained at Springfield Mill two framed prints, one of ‘The Field of the Cloth of Gold’ and a print of its successor, ‘The Embarkation of King Henry VIII at Dover, May XXXIst. MDXX’. Measurement of these two prints shows that the size specified by Basire was the plate size, and the paper thus had to be even bigger, though who made these decisions is not documented.
The Doctor relates that Antiquarian was (in 1888) only made at Turkey Mill, but this was not always the case. Somewhat later when describing the apparatus used for making the paper (Whatman’s ‘Contrivance’) he talks of a notion that for a time blocks and tackle, and chains were suspended from the vat-room roof and used instead. I will expand on both of these points together.
The history of (both) Whatman’s papermaking activities is inextricably tied-in with the paper-making history of Maidstone, which of course also includes Springfield Mill, the last mill working in Maidstone before you reach Aylesford further downstream. Even among the local populace today there is considerable confusion on the subject of where Whatman (either of them) worked, not aided by the relatively new road leading to William Balston’s Springfield Mill being named James Whatman Way! James Whatman the Younger had been dead for nine years when Springfield opened for business, and his son, another James Whatman, had nothing to do with paper other than ensuring that the considerable financial investment of his mother (Susanna Whatman) in Balston’s new mill was protected by a fearsome mortgage.
When James Whatman the Younger was awarded the ‘Antiquarian contract’ in 1774 he was still Master of Turkey Mill (and its satellites) though in 1794 he unexpectedly decided to throw in the paper-making towel, and sold-out to a partnership comprised of Thomas and Finch Hollingworth (two local businessmen with little or no previous knowledge of the paper industry), and his own protégé, William Balston, to whom Whatman lent £5000 to ‘buy-in’ to the new partnership. William Balston was a little ‘put out’ because of the deficiency of knowledge of his partners (they were roughly half his age) and that in any business decisions they could combine against him and out-vote him two-to-one. Further, Balston always thought himself as heir apparent to the running of Whatman’s mills, at least until James Whatman the third was to come of age. But William Balston held his metaphorical tongue for several years and got on with it, until in 1804, for various reasons, he could stand the situation no longer and made known his plans to leave the partnership and set-up in business on his own.
Initially he took a short lease on a single vat mill at Eyehorne Street in nearby Hollingbourne(1), and made his own paper (he had served his apprenticeship as a paper-maker under Whatman as part of his training as general factotum to the Great Man) and some sheets still survive, bearing the J Whatman countermark made by Balston at that time (I have two sheets of foolscap 1806 – sadly, used – in my own collection). During this time not only was he negotiating terms with the brothers Hollingworth with regard to pulling-out of the partnership ahead of the contracted date, but he was also in negotiations (undoubtedly at times, heated) with them for the use of the Whatman trade mark. All the while he was also planning and overseeing the building of his own new mill which was to be bigger than any other in the land with ten vats. If that was not enough to tax his energies, he was also embarking on a romance with his future wife Catherine Vallance. The story of William Balston’s life during these turbulent years is worthy of a Jane Austen novel, but William’s descendant Thomas Balston did a pretty good job of the story in his seminal work ‘William Balston, Paper Maker’.
Eventually, T & F Hollingworth agreed that Balston could continue to produce Whatman-branded paper, but so would they. Theirs would also bear the legend ‘Turkey Mill’ since they thought that this would add prestige to their paper because Turkey Mill was always associated with the Whatman name anyway, and its papers were held in high esteem regardless of who made them. Today, we might think their decision to let Balston continue to use the Whatman name as somewhat short-sighted. May be they really did not think William Balston would be a serious competitor, and, on his own in one mill, against the two of them with their three or four (opinion differs) he did not pose a threat. Years later (1859) the Hollingworths’ sons sold the exclusive rights to use the Whatman name to William Balston’s sons. They also agreed at that time to cease making paper by hand (which they said they had stopped years before anyway in preference for their machine-made papers), and also not to make any Antiquarian size paper for the next five years. This latter statement confirms by default that they had been making Antiquarian paper, possibly by machine until that time. Thus the Doctor’s remark that Antiquarian was only made at Springfield is correct for the time of the article (1888), but we should not lose sight of the fact that the paper originated at Turkey Mill, and may have continued to be made there until the mid-1850’s in some form.
William Balston had in the meantime built-up his business (by various, nearly always precarious, means), including manufacturing, by hand of course, paper which measured 55” X 31¼”, which he called Double Atlas. I have yet to see the original agreement that ended the Balston-Hollingworth partnership, but I should imagine it forbade William Balston from making Antiquarian, and of course, the Hollingworths retained Whatman’s ‘contrivance’ so that they could – maybe there was also a clause forbidding Wm. Balston from copying the equipment. Thus I was delighted to read The Doctor writing about a preserved notion of chains and pulleys, and blocks and tackle. Denied the use of Whatman’s ‘contrivance’, the ever resourceful and inventive William Balston must have set-about his own arrangements for assisting his two vat-men to make such huge sheets by, albeit less attractive, alternative mechanisms.
‘The Doctor’ speaks somewhat guardedly of the famous Springfield Steam Engine, the beam of which is still preserved for all visitors to see at the mill today. (See illustration 1 below) He suggests that Springfield was the first to be powered by steam, but in truth it was not, though it was the first to be successful. The first steam engines used by British paper-makers were: a Boulton & Watt 10 h.p. Sun & Planet type, at John Howard’s Wilmington Mill, near Hull, in 1786; Koops’ mills in London 1802(2); another at Chester, also 1802(3); and the Tyne Steam Engine Paper Mill of Shaftoe, Hawks & Read, in Gateshead, which was destroyed by fire in 1803,(6) Mathias Koops’ mills at Neckinger & Thames Bank in Westminster failed two years after the installation of their steam engines(4). Of these, the bill of sale for Thames Bank Mill included ‘…a complete steam engine of eight horse power…a steam engine of eighty horse-power, universally acknowledged to be the most compleat(sic) and substantial that ever was made, costing six thousand pounds…’(5) while that for Neckinger Mill advertised in 1806 in the Reading Mercury newspaper mentioned a steam engine of 24 h.p.(4)
All of the above mills failed within a few years of installing steam engines, though not, it should be emphasised, necessarily as a direct result.
‘The Doctor’ writes of the Steam Engine at Springfield, “Nowadays this engine may be regarded as a curiosity, but for all that it is still useful”. That same ‘curiosity’ continued its unstinting service until 1896, and but for a few early mishaps and problems with the smoke it created, proved an admirable servant to the mill for ninety years.
Further, I have found nothing in the archives to date which would substantiate ‘The Doctor’s’ comments that working the paper mill by steam power was “apparently despised by the authorities of eighty years since” (1808).
Out of pure jealousy as a paper collector, I will quickly pass-by the news that ‘The Doctor’ was given two sheets of paper as a memento, one of 1788 vintage from Turkey Mill, the other from 1807 from Springfield Mill. My only hope is that these two sheets are carefully preserved somewhere and treasured accordingly!
The Sharp family were indeed successive generations of foremen at Springfield Mill, the first being John Sharp (b.1789, son of John Sharp the Maidstone gunsmith) who served his apprenticeship at Turkey Mill, which he left to become foreman at Springfield in 1807, a position he held until his retirement in 1847. He was succeeded by his son James who, like all good members of the Sharp family, would work their way up the ranks at Springfield. It was under the energetic supervision of James Sharp the second that the mill was so quickly rebuilt after the disastrous fire of 1862. James was married to Mary Ann Deall in 1848 and five children were born to them in the quite small mill foreman’s house at Springfield. Of these five children, two deserve special note. Second son, Edward Sharp, was born in 1854, and was destined to follow in the family tradition of working at the mill, until a few weeks into his time there he failed to doff his cap to the approaching Mr Balston (probably William Balston jnr.) and was summoned to ‘The Office’ to give an account of himself. Whatever Edward Sharp had to say must have gone against the grain because he was dismissed instantly. From Springfield he went to work in a grocery shop in Maidstone, then he started his own shop, moved into the field of confectionery production, and the Sharp’s Toffee and Extra Strong Mints empire was established. Sir Edward Sharp as he was later to became, then First Baronet Sharp, often remarked that the morning he failed to show proper respect to Mr. Balston was the best day’s work he had ever had! Whichever Mr. Balston (William Jnr. or Richard E.P. Balston) who sat at the impressive desk in the panelled office and gave young Edward Sharp his marching orders left such an impression on the young lad that years later, when Edward had made his fortune and the desk from the Springfield office went up for sale as part of the contents of Springfield House (Mr. R.J. Balston had it moved from the mill to his new residence between times), Sir Edward Sharp bought the desk and had it moved to his office in Maidstone, where for many a happy hour he sat on the bosses side of the desk remembering the day that he was on the ‘wrong’ side of it, doubtless with a wry smile on his face, chair tipped back, and hid feet on the desk!!
Edward had an older brother, James junior, who as first-born son of James Sharp, mill foreman aforementioned, was destined to become foreman at the appropriate time. However, James jnr. seems to have been of a retiring nature, and had been ‘groomed’ for the task, first by his father, then by his Uncle Joseph who had succeeded James senior in 1867 (and was the foreman/mill manager at the time of ‘The Doctor’s’ visit). When James junior did take-over, he really felt the weight of responsibility – both to his ancestry and of the job itself – was more than he could bear. He discussed this with his doctor who suggested a holiday, and the company accountant had also noticed that he had become of a more nervous disposition. This all came out at a Coroners inquest, because early one morning in 1892, James Sharp Jnr. went to the felt-drying room and hanged himself before anyone else arrived for work. The Coroner said nobody was to blame, and in today’s parlance decided on death by suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed. Mr. R. J. Balston, grandson of the founder (R.J. being the Mr. Balston who had, just four years previously, entertained The Doctor and Mr Amies on their visit in 1888) was so shaken by the sad affair he decided there would be no more family dynasties of managers at the mill, and appointed a Mr Edwin Beeching (origin as yet unknown) to the vacant post7. However some years later the Mayger family occupied the position, and the foreman’s house, for several generations through the twentieth century(8).
I can hardly fault ‘The Doctor’s description of the making of Antiquarian paper by hand, having seen film of the final making in 1936 (that film available in DVD format, details on request from this website), and I incorporate as part of this article a recently discovered photograph of the Antiquarian room, though this was taken about ten years after the visit being discussed here.
See illustration 2 below
The eleven man crew needed to make Antiquarian paper. In suits in the background l to r are
Charles (later Colonel Charles) Balston, Mr Richard James Balston (proprietor); Francis (Mr Frank) Balston
However the process never changed, from Whatman the younger in the early 1770’s to W & R Balston Ltd. in the mid 1930’s. Thereafter the paper continued to be made on the mill’s first mould-machine. Production finally ceased in the early 1960’s, the best part of 200 years after James Whatman the Younger thought that there would be no further demand for the paper after the initial order for the Society of Antiquaries had been met.
Notes:
1) Although received wisdom, based in large part on the works of Thomas Balston, held that William Balston leased Hollingbourne Old Mill from the Hollingworths, John Balston more recently, and having researched the matter in greater depth, was adamant that it was Eyehorne Mill, at Hollingbourne, that William Balston occupied between leaving Turkey Mill and starting-up Springfield Mill.
2) Personal correspondence with Dr Richard Hills, & ‘Paper Making in the British Isles’, by A S Shorter 1971
3) Personal correspondence with Paul Newman, Chester Record Office
4) A S Shorter, ibid.
5) Dard Hunter, Papermaking, The History & Technique of an Ancient Craft, 1947
6) History of the Book Trade in The North, Co.Durham, C F Maidwell, 1987
7) From an unpublished(?) monograph ‘Sharps of Maidstone’, by H.V.R. Geary
8) Current knowledge, plus historical information held in the Springfield Archives
Bibliography:
Snodland Paper Mill, K.J. Funnell, privately published by C.Townsend Hook & Co. Ltd. circa. 1974
James Whatman, Father & Son, by Thomas Balston, Methuen, 1957
The Elder James Whatman, by John Balston, privately published in 2 volumes in 1992
William Balston, Paper Maker, by Thomas Balston, Methuen, London, 1954
In the first part of this article I re-told the story of a paper industry journalist’s visit to Kent, and particularly Springfield Mill at Maidstone. The article was taken verbatim (with a few explanatory notes and inserted corrections by myself) from an 1888 edition of ‘Paper Making’ magazine. It is my purpose in this second article to expand, and in some cases correct, the information previously related. I will write particularly about Springfield Mill, but I must first cover a few points raised in ‘The Doctors’ (the pseudonym adopted by the Victorian journalist) first two paragraphs, though with Springfield Mill my area of personal interest, I leave it for others to correct or expand on my own opening remarks about these other matters.
I wondered initially what the writer’s association with the 4.18 p.m. train from Cannon Street into Kent can have been to have caused him to feel “bound to recognise [it] as an old institution”, and if the Mr F. Leunig who accompanied the writer as far as Dartford was the famous scientific apparatus supplier-cum-paper merchant of that time?
I will pass by the Phoenix Mills, and the Paper Fibre Company with the same brevity as did The Doctor, and likewise Northfleet Mills – any, and indeed all of these enterprises worthy of an article in themselves – and proceed to Snodland where “a familiar smell stole into the carriage.” In 1888, when the Doctor’s visit took place, Snodland was a four-machine mill making mostly newsprint from a predominately straw and esparto furnish. The company of C.Townsend Hook also owned the adjacent gas-works, which for some years prior to the company ‘going public’ had provided street lights and the gas that they consumed for the whole of the village of Snodland. This begs the question as to whether the ‘familiar smell’ noted by The Doctor was from the generation of gas by burning coals, or some part of the pulping process that had a particular odour of its own? The “considerable extension of the old mill premises” refers to the expansion of Snodland mill, mostly undertaken in the final years of the life of Charles Townsend-Hook himself, from a single-machine, five tons per week mill in 1855, to the four machine, 4000 tons a year mill in 1888.
While doubtless at the time (and subsequently) others may have perhaps considered other places as ‘The Paper City of our country’, as a Man of Kent, and I have a feeling that the same may possibly have been the case of The Doctor, I was delighted that he had applied this appellation to Maidstone! Here reference was made to Mr. Amies, the mould and dandy-roll maker of world renown, and of course, well known to W & R Balston of Springfield Mill, to which they both presented themselves the following day. There they were met by Mr R.J. Balston, at that time proprietor of the mill, the grandson of the founder, William Balston.
The original article gives a rather scant and somewhat inaccurate explanation as to the origin of the name of Antiquarian paper. While it is indeed true that James Whatman the Younger was the original manufacturer of that size of paper at Turkey Mill in Maidstone, other manufacturers at home and abroad were canvassed as to whether such a sheet measuring 49¼” x 27” could be made. There was a grade available from Holland, but that was 47” x 27” in Dutch inches, which in English equated to 48” x 27½” – near enough, but not exactly the size required by The Society of Antiquaries. They had commissioned the engraver James Basire to reproduce for sale by subscription, copies of a painting then hanging in Windsor Castle. The painting has the rather ponderous title of ‘The Interview of Henry VIII of England and the French King Francis I, Between Guineas and Ardres in the Month of June, 1520’ but enjoyed the more popular title ‘Le Champ De Drap D’Or’, or in English ‘The Field of the Cloth of Gold’.
An artist named Edward Edwards had completed drawing a facsimile of the painting in early 1771, and just under two years later, in November 1772 Basire had made a proof print, and laid down the requirement for the size of the paper as 49¼” x 27”. Whatman was (of course) the Society’s first choice as paper-maker, but initially he was a little sceptical about the scheme because until then the largest sheet he had made was Double Elephant (40”x 26½”) and frankly he saw little business for such a huge sheet as demanded by Besire after the initial making of just five-hundred sheets. Further, the Double Elephant was, Whatman felt, as big as could be made by hand (paper-making machines were some years away, and a good deal more than that as far as the Whatman brand was concerned) but he did have some ideas of “a contrivance” that would assist in the manufacture of such a sheet. However, it would cost him dearly, and although the honour of having made the paper for such a prestigious application would be sufficient reward for him not to expect any greater price for his paper than would normally be expected, vis-à-vis price (Guineas) in pounds (lbs.) for the weight of 480 sheets, he felt the Society should bear the cost of any extra ‘utensils’ required, and put forward a fee of an additional fifty pounds.
The Society of Antiquaries were unimpressed and tasked various members to see what could be done, but in the end, Whatman was given the order, and as it happened, his ‘contrivance’ continued in regular use at Turkey Mill, and a later version at Springfield Mill, until the final making by hand in 1936. The Society, regardless of their earlier reservations, ordered more paper than they needed for The Field of the Cloth of Gold, so that they had some in hand for future projects. Ultimately Whatman billed them for 1888 sheets (which is a strange coincidence given the year of The Doctor’s visit to Springfield), as well as for two wooden packing cases, and his original ‘demand’ of £50 for his contrivance. He did not charge for carriage even though this was a problem in itself. The paper alone weighed 960lbs.; it was sent in two wooden packing cases; and the sheet size – bearing in mind it had to be delivered flat – was too big for conventional horse-drawn transportation. Thus, the load was sent by ‘hoy’ (barge) down the Medway to Rochester, where the vessel took to the now almost lost Medway Shipping Canal, then on to Battle Bridge at Southwark in London.
Whatman’s price for the paper was fifteen guineas per ream, slightly lower than his original estimate of between sixteen and eighteen guineas, though not as low as the Society had hoped, given the increase in quantity against their initial tender. The whole process took the best part of two years, was far from straightforward, and is somewhat at odds with the “at once complied with” that ‘The Doctor’ speaks of.
I have to admit to have been puzzled for some time as to the difference in the size of the paper that Basire specified and that of the paper that until fairly recent times was still being made, i.e. 53” x 31”. Fortunately, there remained at Springfield Mill two framed prints, one of ‘The Field of the Cloth of Gold’ and a print of its successor, ‘The Embarkation of King Henry VIII at Dover, May XXXIst. MDXX’. Measurement of these two prints shows that the size specified by Basire was the plate size, and the paper thus had to be even bigger, though who made these decisions is not documented.
The Doctor relates that Antiquarian was (in 1888) only made at Turkey Mill, but this was not always the case. Somewhat later when describing the apparatus used for making the paper (Whatman’s ‘Contrivance’) he talks of a notion that for a time blocks and tackle, and chains were suspended from the vat-room roof and used instead. I will expand on both of these points together.
The history of (both) Whatman’s papermaking activities is inextricably tied-in with the paper-making history of Maidstone, which of course also includes Springfield Mill, the last mill working in Maidstone before you reach Aylesford further downstream. Even among the local populace today there is considerable confusion on the subject of where Whatman (either of them) worked, not aided by the relatively new road leading to William Balston’s Springfield Mill being named James Whatman Way! James Whatman the Younger had been dead for nine years when Springfield opened for business, and his son, another James Whatman, had nothing to do with paper other than ensuring that the considerable financial investment of his mother (Susanna Whatman) in Balston’s new mill was protected by a fearsome mortgage.
When James Whatman the Younger was awarded the ‘Antiquarian contract’ in 1774 he was still Master of Turkey Mill (and its satellites) though in 1794 he unexpectedly decided to throw in the paper-making towel, and sold-out to a partnership comprised of Thomas and Finch Hollingworth (two local businessmen with little or no previous knowledge of the paper industry), and his own protégé, William Balston, to whom Whatman lent £5000 to ‘buy-in’ to the new partnership. William Balston was a little ‘put out’ because of the deficiency of knowledge of his partners (they were roughly half his age) and that in any business decisions they could combine against him and out-vote him two-to-one. Further, Balston always thought himself as heir apparent to the running of Whatman’s mills, at least until James Whatman the third was to come of age. But William Balston held his metaphorical tongue for several years and got on with it, until in 1804, for various reasons, he could stand the situation no longer and made known his plans to leave the partnership and set-up in business on his own.
Initially he took a short lease on a single vat mill at Eyehorne Street in nearby Hollingbourne(1), and made his own paper (he had served his apprenticeship as a paper-maker under Whatman as part of his training as general factotum to the Great Man) and some sheets still survive, bearing the J Whatman countermark made by Balston at that time (I have two sheets of foolscap 1806 – sadly, used – in my own collection). During this time not only was he negotiating terms with the brothers Hollingworth with regard to pulling-out of the partnership ahead of the contracted date, but he was also in negotiations (undoubtedly at times, heated) with them for the use of the Whatman trade mark. All the while he was also planning and overseeing the building of his own new mill which was to be bigger than any other in the land with ten vats. If that was not enough to tax his energies, he was also embarking on a romance with his future wife Catherine Vallance. The story of William Balston’s life during these turbulent years is worthy of a Jane Austen novel, but William’s descendant Thomas Balston did a pretty good job of the story in his seminal work ‘William Balston, Paper Maker’.
Eventually, T & F Hollingworth agreed that Balston could continue to produce Whatman-branded paper, but so would they. Theirs would also bear the legend ‘Turkey Mill’ since they thought that this would add prestige to their paper because Turkey Mill was always associated with the Whatman name anyway, and its papers were held in high esteem regardless of who made them. Today, we might think their decision to let Balston continue to use the Whatman name as somewhat short-sighted. May be they really did not think William Balston would be a serious competitor, and, on his own in one mill, against the two of them with their three or four (opinion differs) he did not pose a threat. Years later (1859) the Hollingworths’ sons sold the exclusive rights to use the Whatman name to William Balston’s sons. They also agreed at that time to cease making paper by hand (which they said they had stopped years before anyway in preference for their machine-made papers), and also not to make any Antiquarian size paper for the next five years. This latter statement confirms by default that they had been making Antiquarian paper, possibly by machine until that time. Thus the Doctor’s remark that Antiquarian was only made at Springfield is correct for the time of the article (1888), but we should not lose sight of the fact that the paper originated at Turkey Mill, and may have continued to be made there until the mid-1850’s in some form.
William Balston had in the meantime built-up his business (by various, nearly always precarious, means), including manufacturing, by hand of course, paper which measured 55” X 31¼”, which he called Double Atlas. I have yet to see the original agreement that ended the Balston-Hollingworth partnership, but I should imagine it forbade William Balston from making Antiquarian, and of course, the Hollingworths retained Whatman’s ‘contrivance’ so that they could – maybe there was also a clause forbidding Wm. Balston from copying the equipment. Thus I was delighted to read The Doctor writing about a preserved notion of chains and pulleys, and blocks and tackle. Denied the use of Whatman’s ‘contrivance’, the ever resourceful and inventive William Balston must have set-about his own arrangements for assisting his two vat-men to make such huge sheets by, albeit less attractive, alternative mechanisms.
‘The Doctor’ speaks somewhat guardedly of the famous Springfield Steam Engine, the beam of which is still preserved for all visitors to see at the mill today. (See illustration 1 below) He suggests that Springfield was the first to be powered by steam, but in truth it was not, though it was the first to be successful. The first steam engines used by British paper-makers were: a Boulton & Watt 10 h.p. Sun & Planet type, at John Howard’s Wilmington Mill, near Hull, in 1786; Koops’ mills in London 1802(2); another at Chester, also 1802(3); and the Tyne Steam Engine Paper Mill of Shaftoe, Hawks & Read, in Gateshead, which was destroyed by fire in 1803,(6) Mathias Koops’ mills at Neckinger & Thames Bank in Westminster failed two years after the installation of their steam engines(4). Of these, the bill of sale for Thames Bank Mill included ‘…a complete steam engine of eight horse power…a steam engine of eighty horse-power, universally acknowledged to be the most compleat(sic) and substantial that ever was made, costing six thousand pounds…’(5) while that for Neckinger Mill advertised in 1806 in the Reading Mercury newspaper mentioned a steam engine of 24 h.p.(4)
All of the above mills failed within a few years of installing steam engines, though not, it should be emphasised, necessarily as a direct result.
‘The Doctor’ writes of the Steam Engine at Springfield, “Nowadays this engine may be regarded as a curiosity, but for all that it is still useful”. That same ‘curiosity’ continued its unstinting service until 1896, and but for a few early mishaps and problems with the smoke it created, proved an admirable servant to the mill for ninety years.
Further, I have found nothing in the archives to date which would substantiate ‘The Doctor’s’ comments that working the paper mill by steam power was “apparently despised by the authorities of eighty years since” (1808).
Out of pure jealousy as a paper collector, I will quickly pass-by the news that ‘The Doctor’ was given two sheets of paper as a memento, one of 1788 vintage from Turkey Mill, the other from 1807 from Springfield Mill. My only hope is that these two sheets are carefully preserved somewhere and treasured accordingly!
The Sharp family were indeed successive generations of foremen at Springfield Mill, the first being John Sharp (b.1789, son of John Sharp the Maidstone gunsmith) who served his apprenticeship at Turkey Mill, which he left to become foreman at Springfield in 1807, a position he held until his retirement in 1847. He was succeeded by his son James who, like all good members of the Sharp family, would work their way up the ranks at Springfield. It was under the energetic supervision of James Sharp the second that the mill was so quickly rebuilt after the disastrous fire of 1862. James was married to Mary Ann Deall in 1848 and five children were born to them in the quite small mill foreman’s house at Springfield. Of these five children, two deserve special note. Second son, Edward Sharp, was born in 1854, and was destined to follow in the family tradition of working at the mill, until a few weeks into his time there he failed to doff his cap to the approaching Mr Balston (probably William Balston jnr.) and was summoned to ‘The Office’ to give an account of himself. Whatever Edward Sharp had to say must have gone against the grain because he was dismissed instantly. From Springfield he went to work in a grocery shop in Maidstone, then he started his own shop, moved into the field of confectionery production, and the Sharp’s Toffee and Extra Strong Mints empire was established. Sir Edward Sharp as he was later to became, then First Baronet Sharp, often remarked that the morning he failed to show proper respect to Mr. Balston was the best day’s work he had ever had! Whichever Mr. Balston (William Jnr. or Richard E.P. Balston) who sat at the impressive desk in the panelled office and gave young Edward Sharp his marching orders left such an impression on the young lad that years later, when Edward had made his fortune and the desk from the Springfield office went up for sale as part of the contents of Springfield House (Mr. R.J. Balston had it moved from the mill to his new residence between times), Sir Edward Sharp bought the desk and had it moved to his office in Maidstone, where for many a happy hour he sat on the bosses side of the desk remembering the day that he was on the ‘wrong’ side of it, doubtless with a wry smile on his face, chair tipped back, and hid feet on the desk!!
Edward had an older brother, James junior, who as first-born son of James Sharp, mill foreman aforementioned, was destined to become foreman at the appropriate time. However, James jnr. seems to have been of a retiring nature, and had been ‘groomed’ for the task, first by his father, then by his Uncle Joseph who had succeeded James senior in 1867 (and was the foreman/mill manager at the time of ‘The Doctor’s’ visit). When James junior did take-over, he really felt the weight of responsibility – both to his ancestry and of the job itself – was more than he could bear. He discussed this with his doctor who suggested a holiday, and the company accountant had also noticed that he had become of a more nervous disposition. This all came out at a Coroners inquest, because early one morning in 1892, James Sharp Jnr. went to the felt-drying room and hanged himself before anyone else arrived for work. The Coroner said nobody was to blame, and in today’s parlance decided on death by suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed. Mr. R. J. Balston, grandson of the founder (R.J. being the Mr. Balston who had, just four years previously, entertained The Doctor and Mr Amies on their visit in 1888) was so shaken by the sad affair he decided there would be no more family dynasties of managers at the mill, and appointed a Mr Edwin Beeching (origin as yet unknown) to the vacant post7. However some years later the Mayger family occupied the position, and the foreman’s house, for several generations through the twentieth century(8).
I can hardly fault ‘The Doctor’s description of the making of Antiquarian paper by hand, having seen film of the final making in 1936 (that film available in DVD format, details on request from this website), and I incorporate as part of this article a recently discovered photograph of the Antiquarian room, though this was taken about ten years after the visit being discussed here.
See illustration 2 below
The eleven man crew needed to make Antiquarian paper. In suits in the background l to r are
Charles (later Colonel Charles) Balston, Mr Richard James Balston (proprietor); Francis (Mr Frank) Balston
However the process never changed, from Whatman the younger in the early 1770’s to W & R Balston Ltd. in the mid 1930’s. Thereafter the paper continued to be made on the mill’s first mould-machine. Production finally ceased in the early 1960’s, the best part of 200 years after James Whatman the Younger thought that there would be no further demand for the paper after the initial order for the Society of Antiquaries had been met.
Notes:
1) Although received wisdom, based in large part on the works of Thomas Balston, held that William Balston leased Hollingbourne Old Mill from the Hollingworths, John Balston more recently, and having researched the matter in greater depth, was adamant that it was Eyehorne Mill, at Hollingbourne, that William Balston occupied between leaving Turkey Mill and starting-up Springfield Mill.
2) Personal correspondence with Dr Richard Hills, & ‘Paper Making in the British Isles’, by A S Shorter 1971
3) Personal correspondence with Paul Newman, Chester Record Office
4) A S Shorter, ibid.
5) Dard Hunter, Papermaking, The History & Technique of an Ancient Craft, 1947
6) History of the Book Trade in The North, Co.Durham, C F Maidwell, 1987
7) From an unpublished(?) monograph ‘Sharps of Maidstone’, by H.V.R. Geary
8) Current knowledge, plus historical information held in the Springfield Archives
Bibliography:
Snodland Paper Mill, K.J. Funnell, privately published by C.Townsend Hook & Co. Ltd. circa. 1974
James Whatman, Father & Son, by Thomas Balston, Methuen, 1957
The Elder James Whatman, by John Balston, privately published in 2 volumes in 1992
William Balston, Paper Maker, by Thomas Balston, Methuen, London, 1954