If you were to select an object from the V&A’s collection that represents the relationship between art, war, and technology, you might be drawn to the plaster cast of Trajan’s Column in the Cast Courts, with its finely rendered images of military equipment, uniforms, and tents. Alternatively, you might choose a leaf from the Almain Armourer’s Album, a book of Elizabethan armour designs that combine defensive equipment with decadent decoration. Even with such a variety of objects to choose from, I’d invite you to consider another series of images that are less overtly political, but contain a thread that, once pulled, unravels the V&A’s lesser-known relationship to the Victorian army.
In 1865, Charles Thurston Thompson, the V&A’s first official photographer, took a series of photographs of a crate. In one image, a group of smartly dressed men – fifteen in total – flank the sides of an enormous wooden container. Just ahead of the crate, a further eight horses stand in anticipation, dwarfed by the container’s towering presence. The seemingly inconsequential subject matter of Thurston Thompson’s photographs renders them a rarity. Images of the infrastructure and people that help a museum function – what’s been dubbed ‘the invisible labour’ of the museum – are uncommon. Museums, even those dedicated to design and decorative arts, are typically guardians of the exceptional, meaning everyday items like scaffolding, packaging materials, and crates are kept out of sight. And yet, these photographs help illuminate the inner workings of a museum: how it functions, records its own existence, and the groups of people it must collaborate with in order to sustain itself. In short, they shed light on the politics of a public institution.
The crate in the photograph had been custom-made to transport one of the Raphael Cartoons, seven monumental designs for tapestries painted by the Renaissance artist Raphael, from Hampton Court to the V&A in 1865. The Cartoons had endured decades of wear and tear as working designs, requiring meticulous care during transport. To move these fragile artworks, Henry Cole, the museum’s first director, enlisted Captain Francis Fowke of the Royal Engineers to design a bespoke crate capable of withstanding the journey. The surviving photographs highlight the complexities of moving large, delicate artefacts in the past, when roads were unpaved and vehicles were relatively rudimentary. London’s canal systems, developed between 1770 and 1830, were designed to transport raw materials when horse-drawn transport was the primary means of moving goods. Long before then, however, the military had developed other techniques for moving heavy objects over land, and their expertise was crucial for transporting the Cartoons.
Henry Cole spent years negotiating the transfer of the Cartoons from Hampton Court to the V&A. He argued that, as templates for tapestries, these preparatory drawings belonged in a museum dedicated to the decorative arts, where they could educate students and delight larger audiences. Once he finally succeeded, Captain Fowke began work on the crate and developed a detailed plan to move the Cartoons. One of the cleverest aspects of the crate’s design was its suspension method, which allowed the Cartoons to remain in their original display orientation throughout the entire journey. To minimise risks from shocks or jolting, the Cartoons were placed in a specially made case measuring 18 feet long, 12 feet high, and 4 feet wide. This case allowed the Cartoons to be transported upright and spaced apart to prevent contact damage. The case was suspended within the transport vehicle on India rubber springs arranged in horizontal rows on each side, allowing the case to sway gently, evenly distributing strain and absorbing shocks as the vehicle traversed rough terrain.
The operation to move the Cartoons began early in the morning on the 28 April 1865, as soon as there was sufficient light, with the team allowing fifteen minutes per cartoon for both removal and secure placement into the box. By 7:30 AM, all the Cartoons were in place, with another half hour allotted to secure the sides and ends of the box before attaching the horses to the van. The route planned for the journey was through Kingston, across Putney Heath and over Putney Bridge, covering a distance of 12 miles. At a steady pace of three miles per hour, the journey was expected to conclude by noon, accounting for the day’s peak traffic and leaving room for any unexpected delays. The van transporting the Cartoons travelled at walking pace to ensure utmost safety and was escorted by a detachment of Engineers, including Captain Fowke himself.
Captain Fowke’s plan worked. A memorandum dated 8 May 1865 records the delivery of the Cartoons, stating, “the method of removal proposed by Capt. Fowke was closely followed out … The lowering and packing occupied about two hours and was accomplished without any injury whatever being done to the Cartoons, their faces never having been touched”. Upon arrival at the museum, the Cartoons were carefully moved to the long gallery, which had been specially prepared to display them. A newly constructed staircase, large enough to accommodate eight men carrying each cartoon, allowed the final ascent to the gallery.
This meticulously planned journey reveals that the design of the crate extends beyond the object itself, encompassing the entire logistics process. Today, as then, art transportation and handling remain specialised fields, operating outside the public eye. While technology has improved since the transportation of the Cartoons, moving artworks still poses many challenges and requires ingenious design solutions. Thurston Thompson’s images capture an epic logistical challenge, usually hidden from view, revealing the theatrics of transportation. Newspapers of the era even chronicled the successful delivery of the Cartoons, echoing how British citizens were simultaneously reading about the transport of military supplies to various conflict zones within the empire.
It wasn’t the first time the Royal Engineers applied military precision to cultural endeavours. The relationship between Henry Cole and the Royal Engineers stretched back to the Great Exhibition when the Engineers were asked to help transport exhibition objects and assisted Charles Thurston Thompson with his photographic arrangements. In a memorandum, Henry Cole wrote, “…only in times of war, should the corps be treated as a purely military service. In times of peace, the civil service should have perfect freedom in borrowing officers from the War Department”. When not photographing the collection or transporting artworks, the Royal Engineers found time to conduct military experiments on the museum grounds, testing a series of collapsible pontoons by the Serpentine River – a topic of another fascinating blog post. While the overt presence of military staff at a museum is perhaps a unique facet of Victorian society, these images serve as a vivid reminder of the unseen frameworks that continue to underpin public institutions in the present day.
Find out more about the V&A/RCA History of Design programme.
