In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century Paddington was still a village, at the junction of two droving roads, a popular destination for romantic rides out of London in horse-drawn carriages. It was the home of successful actors, artists, and writers who lived in handsome Georgian houses. They worshipped in the fashionable St. Mary’s on Paddington Green, were interred in its churchyard, and commemorated by exceptionally fine wall monuments.
The church they knew was the third one to stand on the site. John Donne had preached his first sermon in the original church, and William Hogarth had married in the second one.
The Georgian church and the monuments are still there but there is no rural idyll today. Urbanisation began with the arrival of the Grand Union Canal in 1801, followed by the first omnibus service to the Bank in 1829, and most spectacularly with the completion of the Great Western Railway Terminus in 1854. By the mid nineteenth century the elm trees which had screened the Green and made it popular with landscape painters had been felled, and the artists had left. The Georgian houses were demolished or subdivided, replaced by flats and tightly packed terraces.
A century later, in the 1960s, a flyover was built across the Edgeware Road, linked in 1970 to the elevated Westway. The Green was sliced in two, marooned by traffic lanes and overshadowed by new tower blocks. Compensation did facilitate the restoration of the church, and a lovely bright, creamy, light interior with box pews, a pretty gallery and the splendid wall monuments fully justify a visit.
And in what remains of the churchyard you can still find the grave of Sarah Siddons. Eighteenth century London’s best-known tragedienne, Sarah was the daughter of Roger Kemble, an actor-manager. Born in Brecon in 1755, at eighteen she married William Siddons, an actor in the touring theatre company. Following an unsuccessful performance as Portia at the Theatre Royal, she described herself as
banished from Drury Lane as a worthless candidate for fame and fortune.
She had more success on the provincial circuit, particularly in Bath and Bristol.
Her farewell speech in 1782 posited her three children as her reason for leaving the circuit:
These are the moles that bear me from your side;
Where I was rooted – where I could have died.
Stand forth ye elves and plead you mother’s cause.
This was disingenuous for Sheridan, now the owner and manager of Drury Lane, had engaged her to perform there again. Back in London, far from retiring, she was about to emerge as the first celebrity actress in England, and the highest paid performer of her generation. But Siddons always cultivated a domestic and maternal image of her private life to emphasise her respectability and distance herself from any lingering association between acting and prostitution. She was a skilled manipulator of her private persona, projecting an endearing depiction of herself as an ordinary wife and mother, faithful and devoted, thus controlling any prurient interest in real or imagined sexual exploits and winning widespread affection via an illusory intimacy with her admirers. She often performed while visibly pregnant – she eventually had seven children – and presented herself as happily married long after an informal separation.
Yet at the same time, in her public embodiment, Sarah inspired “Siddons Mania,” an extraordinary celebrity culture. Her performance as Isabella in The Fatal Marriage allegedly left the entire audience in tears and some in hysterics. The critic Hazlitt described her as “Tragedy Personified.” Joshua Reynolds signed his portrait of her as The Tragic Muse on the selvage of her dress, telling her that he had
resolved to go down to posterity on the hem of your garment.

Siddons had entered upon twenty years as “The Queen of Drury Lane.”
Following her most celebrated performance as Lady Macbeth, she played Desdemona, Ophelia, Volumnia, Rosalind and Hamlet. Siddons Fever gripped her audiences who would scream and cry in response to her emotional portrayals. In extreme cases overwrought individuals collapsed and had to be carried from the theatre. With fainting and hysteria such an important part of their enjoyment, it was said that Sarah’s performances raised the price of smelling salts and sal volatile. *
Adored and consumed, her image appeared everywhere: in magazines and on Wedgewood medallions, decorating enamel patch boxes, and carved on chess pieces. And of course there were portraits, for there was a symbiotic relationship between actors and artists, each serving as an advertisement for the other. In addition to Reynolds there were paintings by Gainsborough and by Thomas Lawrence who painted her fourteen times.
In 1802 she transferred from Drury Lane to Covent garden where she enjoyed another ten years of adulation, culminating in a farewell performance as Lady Macbeth when prolonged audience applause and cheering prevented the play from continuing after the sleepwalking scene. The curtain was brought down and when it reopened Sarah, who had changed into her ordinary clothes, spoke for ten minutes in an emotional valediction.
Occasionally she emerged from retirement, but these appearances were not a success, for her voice had grown weaker and she had grown stout. Critics could be cruel and even Hazlitt, noting that her health, strength, beauty and voice were failing, asked
Has she not had enough of glory? The homage she has received is greater than that paid to queens. The enthusiasm she excited had something idolatrous about it (but) is she to continue on the stage…till all her grace and all her grandeur gone, shall leave behind them only a melancholy blank?
Nonetheless newspapers mourned her death in 1831 with long and fulsome obituaries, and five thousand people attended her funeral at St. Mary’s.
When the churchyard was converted into a public park in 1881 and most of the stones cleared, Siddons’ gravestone was preserved. It has since been protected with an iron cage of unfortunately unattractive appearance.

And sadly, the memorial inside the church is one of the least remarkable in the collection.

But across the road, on what is left of Paddington Green, is an imposing marble statue of Sara by the French artist Leon-Joseph Chavalliaud. Inspired by Reynolds’ painting, it was unveiled by Henry Irving in 1897.
When I visited it had been vandalised and Sara’s nose was broken giving her a cross expression not unsuitable for one condemned to gaze perpetually at the A404, the Westway, and the relentless urban development around her.

Since then, however, Heritage of London Trust and Westminster City Council have joined forces to restore her.

A much better photograph, better weather, and Sarah looking happier with her new nose
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*Richards, The Rise of the English Actress, St. Martin’s Press.




















