Portsmouth Guildhall
Portsmouth is the second-largest city in the county of Hampshire on the southern coast of England. It is the only island city in the United Kingdom, being primarily located on Portsea Island. It's port is home to the world's oldest dry dock, as well as many of the world's most famous ships. Surprisingly, the most densely populated city in England is Portsmouth, with London actually coming in second.

The area of Portsmouth was inhabited by the Romans, and the actual town was possibly founded in 501 as a pirate village. The city's history is blurry, as many documents concerning its history were destroyed during the Norman Conquest. 

Today, Portsmouth is known for its economy, maritime industry, waterfront and beaches, tourism, architecture, history, and busy lifestyle.

People Born in Portsmouth

Charles Dickens

Portsmouth in People's Lives

Rudyard Kipling: I moved here from the exotic love of my childhood, the glorious city of Mumbai, in 1870, when I was only five years old, with my younger sister Trix. We were sent away due to the custom that British children, whether British-Indian or not, should be schooled in England. Poor Trix and I were sent to live with the dreadful Holloways at their house, Lorne Lodge. Mr. Holloway was a strict merchant naval officer, and Mrs. Holloway was the foreboding, chilly mistress of the estate. My sister and I lived with the horrid couple for seven years, from 1871 - 1877, and I always looked back on those years with horror. We were schooled and also interrogated daily - I would later say that it was the most intense bullying I had ever known, being hounded day and night on matters of religion, science, and more trivial things. I could say nothing right, and was often questioned sternly about the most basic of things, such as my eating or sleeping patterns. If a contradiction in my habits or befuddled answers ever gave the impression of conflict - which, being a young child, they often did - I would be admonished for lying, and punished. Though Mrs. Holloway was assigned to care for our basic needs of food and clothing and such, we were often neglected in these matters and others. The Holloways had a son who was around my age, and he bullied me as well. Fortunately, we were at times allowed to visit our beloved Aunt Georgy and Uncle Edward Burne-Jones in London, and I looked forward to these occasions as a prisoner waits for the day of his release. Another redeeming hope that I clung to was my memory of India. I missed Mumbai, and my happy life there with a fierce passion. When at long last my mother returned from India and rescued us from Lorne Lodge, she asked us why we never told her or our Aunt Georgy about our mistreatment. I later said that I had, as an ignorant boy, feared further punishment if I broke the code of silence. And so in 1877, when I was 12 years old, I was finally free of the Holloway family.

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