Sir Arthur Pearson

Sir Arthur Pearson (1866–1921) was a newspaper proprietor, philanthropist and the founder of the charity now called Blind Veterans UK. Pearson was from Wookey in Somerset, the son of a clergyman. After his education at Winchester College was cut short when the family ran short of money, he won a competition in Tit-Bits for a clerkship in the magazine’s London office. Within a year, he was its manager.

In 1890 he founded Pearson’s Weekly, and the magazine became a runaway success, thanks partly to its innovative ‘missing word’ competition. The resulting wealth that flowed his way enabled Pearson to give money to the recently established Boy Scouts, and to set up the Fresh Air Fund, which sent deprived city children on holiday to the country. In 1900 Pearson founded a popular newspaper, the Daily Express, and in 1905 he bought The Standard and the Evening Standard.

Pearson’s eyesight had always been poor. In 1908 he underwent an unsuccessful operation for glaucoma, and he was told that he would soon be completely blind – then a much more common outcome for glaucoma patients than it is now. He sold his newspapers and applied himself thereafter to improving opportunities for blind people. It was a choice entirely guided by his own disability, and a desire to help those facing similar challenges.

Sir Mansfield Cumming

Sir Mansfield Cumming (1859–1923) was the first Chief of the Secret Service Bureau, the predecessor of both the home and foreign secret service agencies, otherwise known today as MI5 and MI6.

He was in charge of foreign intelligence gathering in the First World War and the originator of many traditions and practices – including that of referring to the head of the service as ‘C’, which derived from Cumming’s habit of initialling documents in green ink. This inspired Ian Fleming to come up with ‘M’ – James Bond’s fictitious spymaster.

Cumming joined the Navy at the age of 12, which was not then uncommon. He achieved the rank of Flag Lieutenant before being placed on the retired list in December 1885. In August 1909 Cumming received a ‘tap on the shoulder’, in the form of a mysterious letter inviting him to a meeting in London. His patron may have been Arthur Wilson, once his commanding officer, who became an important figure in decision-making circles.

In retrospect, Cumming’s naval record contains some clues as to why he was thought right for the role of spy chief: ‘a clever officer with great taste for electricity … a knowledge of photography … speaks French … draws well’.

Having taken up the challenge of heading the new service, Cumming immersed himself thoroughly in the spymaster’s craft, testing secret writing methods, disguises, technical inventions and mechanical gadgets in his own laboratory. During the First World War he created the wartime network ‘La Dame Blanche’. This reported on enemy troop movements, and included 400 agents by 1918. Information from this network assisted in the arrest of a number of German spies in England.

Colleagues found Cumming cheerful and equable: ‘his phlegm was unshatterable’, said one. This was never better illustrated than in October 1914, when he lost the lower part of his right leg in a car accident that also killed his son Alastair. Afterwards, Cumming travelled around Whitehall corridors on a scooter, and would occasionally startle visitors and colleagues by sticking compass dividers into his artificial limb.

Cumming both lived and worked at 2 Whitehall Court, an imposing Thames-side block that housed the headquarters of the foreign secret service. It is here, by the entrance, that his blue plaque is sited.

Dame Edith Sitwell

The poet Dame Edith Sitwell (1887–1964) is most remembered today for writing the words for Façade (1923), a surrealist performance piece set to music by the composer William Walton.

In the 1920s Sitwell and her brothers, Sacheverell and Osbert, were the centre of an avant-garde London artistic scene. The trio, who were of aristocratic lineage, were influenced by dadaism and other modern artistic and literary movements. Like any artists who push the envelope, they encountered a fair degree of indifference – and hostility.

Edith’s father reacted to her early success as a poet – she had a poem published in the Daily Mirror in 1913 – by harumphing that she had made ‘a great mistake by not going in for lawn tennis’. For the London premiere of Façade in June 1923, she declaimed her poetry through a megaphone-like device called a Sengerphone over Sir William Walton’s quirky, jazz-influenced score. Some audience members believed they were being hoaxed.