The Cat's Meat Shop

London dust

2012-02-11T07:34:00.000-08:00

Most of us know of the dreadful fogs that afflicted Victorian London, but the summer months brought a different atmosphere - 'dust'.

The coltsfoot, which isreally the first flower of Spring, was all aglowalong the railway banks,: and even in the wastespaces around the city, unmolested by oursouthern folk, who are not as familiar as morenorthern races with the rare virtues of this humble plant. There was no sound of the cuckoo, of course; but the fair skies, the warm air, the bright sunlight seemed to tell all the world that summer was a-coming in; and the happy- hearted Londoner started from Hampstead, or Hammersmith, or Highbury, or Clapham,with the determination that he would havea capital "breather" before getting intohis office, or counting-house, or chambersfor the day. But very soon, indeed, a changecame over the spirit of that pleasant dream. Hehad forgotten the vestries, or rather the contractors over whom the vestries are supposed tokeep diligent watch. He began to get unpleasantwhiffs of gritty material as the west wind cameswooping along narrow lanes and over broadthoroughfares. His eyes began to smart. Therewas an unpleasant sensation about his teeth. Thenthe further he got into town the severer became his penance, until, it may be, the unhappywretch had to cross one of the Thames bridges.Now the condition of a Thames bridge, on such aday as yesterday, is a thing that must be writtenabout gently, so as not to provoke unnecessarywrath. The winds seem to have a merry time ofit when they got clear of the streets, and playcantrips over the open apace above the stream ;and they come charged, as the awful riverspirit did in "Undine," with : an element whichthey love to shower upon the luckless mortalswhom they meet, only that it is dust and notwater that they bring. If any modern Fuseliwanted to study the various phases of human. anger he could not do better than stand on London Bridge or Westminster Bridge on a windy day in March, just after the first fine weather has dried up the long-standing mud of adjacent thoroughfares. There are people who yield to the coffee-coloured sirocco, and turn their backs to let the worst go by; there are otherswho will not yield to compromise, but, urge ontheir wild career with head bent down, teethclenched, and temper indescribable. At such atime the opinions that are formed, rather thanexpressed, of our system of London governmentare far too dreadful to be put into words. Dust,it is true, is not unknown in the City; but thereit is seldom so. cloud-compelling as it is-in partsof Oxford-street, Parliament-street, or the Mall inSt. James's Park. The City authorities do paysome attention to the cleansing of the thorough-fares (and they are aided by the prevalence ofthe new sorts of paving), while in dry weatherthe water-carts are kept busy. But can it besaid that any real supervision is exercised over theouter municipal districts of London as regards the state of the streets? Attention has just been called to the condition of the foot-way and carriage-way fronting Buckingham Palace. During wet weather, it is not too much to say, this space of ground is in a state of mud such as could scarcely be found in any other of our great cities, such, as Manchester, Glasgow, or Edinburgh. Naturally, when the dry and windy weather comes in,this mud becomes pounded into dust, and isthrown about in all directions, to the infinite discomfort of the passers-by.

Daily News, 10 March 1875

The dust was, of course, for the most part, dried horse dung.

The Eyes of the Victim

2012-02-09T03:17:00.000-08:00

I am fairly sure that the belief that the eyes of a murder victim might retain an image of the murderer pre-dates Victorian photography [anyone comment?]. Interestingly, though, the invention of the camera did little to dispel the myth; it may have even strengthened it by providing a 'scientific' explanation for the supposed phenomenon. Hence this from 1863:

PHOTOGRAPHY AND MURDER. Mr. Warner a London photographer in a letter to the Photographic News says: "On the 15th ultimo, after reading an account of the murder of the young woman, Emma Jackson, in St. Giles's, I addressed a letter to Detective-officer James F. Thomson, informing him that 'if the eye of a murdered person be photographed within a certain time after death upon the retina will be found depicted the last thing that appeared before them, and that in the present case the features of the murderer would most probably be found thereon.' I exemplified my statement by the fact of my having, four years ago, taken the negative of the eye of a calf a few hours after death; and upon a microscopic examination of the same, I found depicted thereon the lines of the pavement on the slaughter-house floor. The negative is unfortunately broken, and the pieces lost. I enclose you Mr. Thomson's reply, together with his permission for me to make any use I please of it. The subject is of too great importance and interest to be passed headlessly by, because if the fact were known through the length and breadth of the land, it would, in my estimation, tend materially to decrease that most horrible of all crimes - murder. In reply to the letter spoken of, Detective Thompson wrote: 'The secret you convey in your letter - photographing the eyes of a murdered person - is one of the greatest importance; but unfortunately it is unavailing in this instance for various reasons, three of which I will give you. 1. Life had been extinct some forty hours prior to my seeing the body of Emma Jackson. 2. The eyes were closed. 3. A post mortem examination has been made, and she has been buried - shell coffin - since Monday last. In conversing with an eminent oculist some four years ago upon this subject, I learned that unless the eyes were photographed within twenty four hours after death no result would be obtained, the object transfixed thereon vanishing in the same manner as an undeveloped negative photograph exposed to light. I did not therefore resort to this expedient.'

The Caledonian Mercury, May 15, 1863

The case of Emma Jackson was a grim precursor of the Jack the Ripper murders, remarkably similar in many ways, though now long forgotten. I have transcribed some of the detail below - beware! some of it is gorily forensic - taken from the Times, although there is much more to read in other papers. It provides a fascinating glimpse into the world of the Victorian brothel; part-time prostitution; how the mid-Victorians described such crimes (in gross detail); the desperation of the police to find a killer - even down to selecting a random drowned body from the Thames; and the willingness of a series of drunks and lunatics to confess to it.

ATROCIOUS MURDER IN ST. GILES'S
Some time on Thursday, probably about midday, an; atrocious murder was perpetrated in George-street, St. Giles's, one of the worst neighbourhoods in the metropolis. Itbecame notorious about 18 months ago in consequence of an attempt by a cab-driver to get a young woman who had been his fare into one of the brothels there, after hocussing her and robbing her of her clothes and the property she had about her person. In consequence of the resistance offered by the person who was in charge of the house the cabman was prevented from carrying out the worst part of his design, and in consequence of the disturbance which ensued he was captured, tried, and convicted.
    The circumstances connected with the murder are not very fully known, but it seems that about 7 o'clock on Thursday morning a man and a young woman, whose name is Emma Jackson, and whose friends live in the neighbourhood of Berwick-street, Soho, went to No.4, George-street, the door of which was opened to them by a servant, who had been aroused from her sleep by the knocking at the door. The man asked for a room, and they were shown up to the back room on the first floor, but the servant, being sleepy, failed to notice their appearance and can give no account of them. As there was perfect quietness in the room during the day no suspicions of any kind were aroused, but at about half-past 5 o'clock is the evening the servant girl went upstairs, and, finding the door unfastened, entered. On the bed she found lying the woman she had let in the same morning with her throat frightfully cut. The bed was saturated and the walls were spattered with blood. She immediately ran down and gave an alarm to the police, and a medical man was called in. He found that is addition to the windpipe having been severed enough of itself to cause death, there was another wound severing the carotid artery, and on the back of the neck two large stabs running obliquely towards each other. All the wounds had been inflicted with great force, and it is very certain that the girl struggled desperately for her life. No noise, however, was heard, a circumstance which is all the more singular on account of there being little coach traffic through the street. Moreover, the landlord, whose practice it was to sit up during the night, was sleeping all day in the back parlour, immediately under the room in which the murder took place. The murderer escaped, but by what means or when, nobody knows. When the body of the murdered woman was discovered life hail been extinct, in the opinion of the surgeon, for at least four or five hours. No instrument was found in the room, and the man, prior to his departure, appears to have carefully collected everything belonging to him.
    The deceased, Emma Jackson„ lived with her father, mother, and brother, in a little house immediately behind and connected with No. 10, Berwick-street, a butcher's shop in the possession of Mr. Andrew Osborn. Her father is a clerk out of employment, and her mother a shirt maker. The deceased is described by those who know her in the neighbourhood as a quiet, peaceable girl, but as being occasionally given to excesses. She would remain at home for weeks working hard, and conducting herself reputably, but at times she would, to use the language of her friends, "break out" and absent herself from home for days together, and go with anybody. She was a shirt maker, and in pursuit of that business earned a decent livelihood. After one of her periodical, fits of irreggularity she returned to her home about three weeks ago, and again prosecuted her ordinary calling until Tuesday last, when she again left home. She was last at her mother's house in Berwick-street at 8 o'clock on Wednesday evening. About 1 o'clock yesterday morning, long after they had retired to rest, Mr. Osborn's family was aroused by a violent knocking and ringing at the door. Mr. Osborn on going downstairs found two girls at his door, who communicated to him some of the particulars of the murder of his lodger. They told him that she had had her throat cut, and requested him to accompany them to George-street, where the murder bad been committed. He did not adopt that course, but went and communicated to Emma Jackson's mother the information he had received. The father and brother were then called, and immediately proceeded, with the police who had by this time arrived, to George-street where they identified the body of the unfortunate woman, who, they stated, was 23 years of age. The girls who had thuscommunicated the intelligence said they were intimately acquainted with the unfortunate deceased. One of these girls said she had seen Emma Jackson on Thursday morning in the company of a foreigner. who was having his boots cleaned at the corner of Greek-street and Compton-street, and that he had the appearance of a German baker, or sugar baker, with which class of people the neighbourhood abounds. That the murderer lived in the same neighbourhood as the deceased seems to be pretty clear, and the police are making anxious inquiries in that direction.
    The murder took place in the first-floor back-room, and the landlord, David George, occupies the back parlour, and has been laid up nine or 10 weeks with palpitation of the heart, which will somewhat account for his not having heard the screams, if there had been any. The Connor murder, committed 10 years ago, took place at No. 11 in the same street.Although every exertion had been made by the police authorities to discover the perpetrator of the murder, up to 11 o'clock last evening they had not succeeded in doing so.

Times 11 April 1863

THE MURDER IN ST. GILES'S.On Saturday evening Dr. Lankester, the coroner for the western division of Middlesex, commenced the inquest into the circumstances connected with the death of the unfortunate prostitute, Emma Jackson, whose murder in a low lodging-house and brothel in St. Giles's has excited such a painful interest. As will be seen, the inquiry was merely of a preliminary nature, there being very little evidence forthcoming at this early stage of the investigation beyond the usual formal proofs of identification of the body and of the circumstances under which it was found. These were taken at once, with a view to the post mortem examination of the deceased being ordered, that the remains might be removed as soon as possible from the low den in which the poor woman met her death, and round which great crowds have continued to assemble ever since. The event appeared to excite intense interest is the miserable neighbourhood in which it took place, and the tavern room where the inquest was begun was not only crowded to excess, but some hundreds of people were congregated outside while it was proceeding. The jury having been sworn,
    The CORONER said he had felt it his duty to call the jury together that evening, for though he by no means anticipated that they could do much more than open the inquiry, yet he had wished that begun at once, in order that the jury might themselves see the body in almost precisely the condition in which it was discovered in the room where the murder had been comitted. He had, the moment that the notice of the death was received by him, directed that the corpse should not be moved or touched till the jury hadseen it ; and he was sure he need not impress upon them the importance, after viewing the body, of also examining minutely the apartment in which it lay, and that which closely adjoined it. Having done this, he proposed on their return to take evidence as to the identity of the deceased, and also that of the medical gentleman who was called in upon the discovery of the body, and who would describe to them the condition in which he then found it. After that it would be necessary to adjourn the inquiry for a few days.
    The jury then proceeded to view the body--a spectacle of singular horror, as it lay in the dirty, squalid room, on a foul, rumpled bed, soaked through with half-dried blood. The room itself bore no tokens of a struggle, or rather its dirty poverty was such that no struggle short of one which smashed the furniture would leave many traces. Some slightstraggle, such as a woman might make in her death agony, had very likely taken place upon the bed, but even this is little more than conjecture. The reason of the remark made by the Coroner as to the necessity of examining the adjoining room was at once apparent to the jury when they had entered the chamber of death. The next room to it, in front of the house, looking out on George-street, was only divided from that in which the body lay by a thin plaster partition, with a frail door in the centre of so slight a kind that a person speaking even softly in one room could, as was proved by actual test, be distinctly heard in the other. Yet two young women were sleeping in this front room on the morning of the murder and heard no sounds of struggling up to the time when they rose from their beds, nor did the proprietor of the house, who was in the room immediately beneath that where the woman died, hear anything unusual, though he was in the lower apartment throughout all the day.
    On the return of the jury,
    The brother of the murdered woman, John Jackson, was examined, and stated that the age of the deceased was 28, and that she was unmarried. She worked at shirtmaking with her mother, with whom she lived, in Berwick-street, Soho. Witness saw her last alive on Sunday evening, at the Fox, in Wardour-street, where he was employed. She was then with some other persons, and had been drinking a little, though he was not aware that she was in the habit of drinking. The persons with her on that Sunday night were men. He knew nothing of where she was on the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, though he had seen the men who were with her on the Sunday since that date, and one of them he had seen as recently as that day (Saturday). He had seen the body when it lay, and identified it at once as that of his sister.
    Martha Curley, a very quiet and rather a respectable looking young girl, employed as a servant at the brothel where the murder was committed, was the next witness. She said she was servant to Mr. George, who kept the house in George-street. It was what she called a lodging-house. They took in people at all hours, without inquiry as to their characters. She had a young woman to assist her in the house at times, and to answer the door. Her name was Catharine Mulind. She remembered admitting the deceased into the house about 7 o'clock on Thursday morning last. Witness was not up when she came, and the street door was shut. She was made aware of the deceased and a man coming in by a young girl and a man who were going out. The latter called her and she got up, and found the deceased and a man coming up the stairs together. She did not take any particular notice of the man ; he was. about the middle height, but she could not tell his age. He had black clothes on, but she did not notice sufficiently to as whether he had cap on or a hat. The young woman asked her for a bedroom for two hours, and witness showed her and the man into the room on the first floor back—that in which the body was found. They said nothing more to witness. The man paid her a shilling, but did not speak a word that she heard. Witness afterwards put the hasp through the staple in their door on the outside and went to bed. There were two young women sleeping in the room in the front, adjoining that which the deceased and her companion had entered. There is a door leading from the front to the back room, and she thought that any noise made in the back room might easily be heard by those in the front. Witness did not get up again till past 11 o'clock, when Mulind called her. Witness placed the hasp in the staple of the door after the deceased and the man had entered, because it was their custom to do so, to prevent robberies.
    Examined by the CORONER.— She first she learnt of the murder was by her sending up Mulind in the afternoon of Thursday to find out why the parties had not left the room. Mulled came rushing downstairs back to her, saying there was a woman murdered in the back room. That was at about a quarter to 5 o'clock. Witness at once ran upstairs with Mulind, and they saw the deceased lying half across the bed, with her feet on the floor. She was lying on her back, with her head towards the foot of the bed. To the best of witness's recollection, deceased's arms lay over her chest, and she was covered with blood all over her head and neck. Witness came down at once and told Mr. George, who sent for the police. The body was not moved or touched till the police came, and they saw it exactly as she herself first saw it. When she went into the room after the discovery the back-room window was wide open, but it had been closed down when the police came into the room. The back-yard door was not fastened, and if the man who was with the deceased had dropped from the window into the back yard he could have let himself out by the front door unnoticed.
    Mr. John Weekes, surgeon, of 4, High-street, Bloomsbury, said,—I was called by the police at about half-past 5 on Thursday afternoon to the first-floor of No, 4, George-street, St. Giles's. I there found a woman lying dead on her back on a bed, with her feet, which were rigid, touching the floor. She was lying with her face uppermost, one arm across the chest and the other across the abdomen. She only had on her chemise, and it was turned low below the breasts. Some portions of the bed clothes were quite saturated with blood. These were the upper parts. The neck and back of the deceased were a mass of congealed blood. The arms and hands had very little blood upon them, but I did not notice which had the most. There is blood upon the arms now. I washed the blood from the face and neck, and then examined the body superficially. I found five wounds altogether. On the right side of the neck there were two wounds, one a little above the other. They were both incised wounds and very deep. The first, which is the largest, extended in an oblique direction and quite severed the windpipe. The second, although of less size, had laid open the internal jugular vein. The third and fourth wounds were both at the back of the head, and extended into the bones of the spinal column. The first and second wounds I have described would certainly have caused death ; the third and fourth at the back might not do so. All the wounds are of that character that I think it impossible the deceased could have inflicted them on herself—indeed, I am sure it could not have been done by her. A strict search was made for any knife or instrument with which the wounds might have been inflicted, but none was found. Judging from the oblique character of the wounds, I am quite positive that it was impossible for the deceased to have inflicted them on herself. Supposing the wound which severed the windpipe to have been inflicted first, it would have been almost physically impossible for the deceased to scream or cry out, whereas had either of the wounds in the back of the neck been the first inflicted she could have cried out. I believe the deceased had been dead some five or six hours when I saw her.
    At this stage of the proceedings the Coroner stated that he had directed a post mortem examination of the body to be made, as it might possibly turn out that one or other of the wounds beside that which had severed the windpipe had caused death, or even that poison might be detected in the stomach. In order that this examination might be made, and that in the meantime the police, who had the matter in hand, might gather fresh evidence to lay before the Jury on their next meeting, he suggested that the inquiry should stand adjourned to the afternoon of Friday, the 17th.
    The inquiry was then adjourned accordingly till that date. Up to last night no person had been arrested on suspicion of having committed this most cruel and deliberate murder. The police-officers charged with the investigation are very properly, and with a view to furthering the ends of justice, keeping secret all the clues which they possess towards discovering the murderer, of whom it is only necessary to say that they have now, from various sources and by joining. together small fragments of material evidence from all quarters, succeeded, they say, in getting a rather full, and, as they believe, an accurate description. We venture to think that the sooner this description is made public the better. Two or three years back when a similarly foul murder to this was committed by a foreigner at a brothel in the Haymarket, it was the publicity given to his description by the press which alone led to the murderer's detection on board a vessel at Gravesend about to sail on the following day for Montevideo. As in that case, so in the present a widespread knowledge of this murder's appearance, height and age might be of the last importance to the efforts of justice. Though, as we have said, the police are reserved as to the clues which they possess to the discovery of this cold-blooded ruffian, the public will be glad to hear that at present they feel confident of being able to trace him in the course of a day or so. Only one obstacle perplexes them, but that is a serious one —namely, the absence of any knowledge that any of the poor unfortunate's companions or intimates entertained ill-will towards her, much less had motives likely to lead to the commission of a murder so determined and apparently so deliberately resolved on. The idea of robbery—the motive in the caseof the murder in the Haymarket - is in this instance quite out of the question. The poor woman's clothes were scarcely decent, and money or ornaments she, of course, had none. At the close of the preliminary inquiry on Saturday a great deal of surprise and almost indignation was evinced by lookers on in the inquest room that the servant Catharine Mulind and the two young women who slept in the front room adjoining that where the murder was committed were not called on as witnesses. We believe that the reason they were not then called was because their testimony, if made public, might have materially interfered with the efforts of the police to arrest the murderer—a reason which, if founded on fact, is of course amply sufficient to have justified the coroner and the police in not calling them. As far as the case has yet been examined into the police are of opinion that the murder was committed early in the morning, certainly before 10 o'clock, and that the first dreadful wounds in the throat were in all probability given as the poor woman was sleeping, and the stabs in the back of the neck as she strove to rise before she fell backwards from weakness and loss of blood. Such a struggle, if the mere death agony of a creature without power to scream or call out may be called a struggle, would make no noise that would attract attention in a den of infamy, where altercations, blows, and cursings must have been frequent enough. That the murderer escaped. by the window is not considered likely. Such an attempt would have so certain to result in detection that it would have been madness for one trying to avoid notice to make it, though such an idea may have crossed the man's mind on finding the door fastened outside, and he very likely opened the window to reconnoitre in that direction before he abandoned the notion. That he succeeded in opening the door is evident from the witness Catherine Mulind finding it unfastened when she went up at a quarter to 5. No trace of the murderer, no signs of washing himself from blood were in the room, and when once he was free of the house he had ample time before him to destroy all the clothes he wore, which must, more or leas, have been stained with blood. All these things tell sadly against the search of the police, yet, still, as we have said, they express themselves hopefully of being, able to trace he man.

Times April 13, 1863

THE MURDER IN ST. GILES'S
Yesterday afternoon Dr. Lankester resumed the inquiryat the Oporto Stores, Broad-street, Bloomsbury, into thecircumstances connected with the murder of Emma Jackson.
    The CORONER said that last Saturday he opened the inquest for the purpose of taking the depositions of the principal witnesses.. The brother of the deceased said he knewnothing of the cause of death. The servant of the housesaid she remembered letting the deceased and a man intothe house, but, she being sleepy, did not take any particularnotice of the parties. She said that she went upstairs andfound the window wide open, but the door locked on theoutside. The Coroner then called,
   Dr. Weekes, who said that performed a post mortemexamination of the body. The face of the deceased waspitted with smallpox. The arms and hands were smearedwith blood, and there were slight stains of blood on boththighs. On the left buttock was a mark of the grasp of twofingers. In the neck there were four punctured wounds orstabs, two front and two behind. The first wound, abovethe centre of the upper bone of the sternum was one inchand a quarter in length, and extended upwards to the left ofthe trachea, dividing the trachea transversely for nearlythree-fourths of its circumference. The second wound wason the right side of the neck, and was three-quarters of aninch in length. There was no wound of the carotid artery.The third wound was a clear transverse cut, seven-eighthsof an inch long, and situated exactly in the middle of theleft side of the back of the neck. The distance betweenthe third and the fourth wound was an inch and, a half external. There was a considerable effusion of bloodon the membranes of the vertebrae, particularly to theright of the spine. There was a very clean cut three quarters of an inch long. The stomach was healthy in appearance. The cause of death, he believed, was partly by suffocation and partly by loss of blood, which had been effused in considerable quantities both from the wound in the internal juggular and the veins in part of the trachea. Thewound in the trachea would suffice to prevent the personfrom screaming, and the wound through the skin wouldprevent the ready escape of blood, and would naturallyassist suffocation. He thought deceased must have beenasleep when the first wound was inflicted, which has in thewindpipe. After the second wound, he believed the deceased was dragged into the position in which she was found.It was difficult to estimate the quantity of blood that waslost.
    By a Juror.—Would the first wound prevent the deceasedmaking a noise?—Witness thought it would.
    By the CORONER.—He had no doubt that when he saw thedeceased she had been dead from nine to 12 hours, and inhis opinion no intercourse had taken place, and that the injuries on the deceased were inflicted by a mere commonpocket-knife. He did not think the wounds were inflictedin the position in which the deceased was found, andthought that she must have been placed by her murderer,on receiving the second wound, in the position in which shewas found. She could have had no power of resistance orcalling out after the windpipe had been separated.
    Several witnesses were then called, among whom wereClara Mulinde, the assistant servant at 4, George-street,who gave evidence as to seeing the parties enter the house,but she did not particularly notice them at the time.After some further evidence, the jury returned a verdictof "Wilful murder against some person unknown."
    (From the Globe).
    Some information of an important character has reachedthe city and metropolitan police-stations respecting thesupposed murderer of Emma Jackson, and little doubt isentertained of the speedy capture of the man. On theafternoon of the day of the murder (Thursday, the 9th inst.)a man entered a shop in Stratford in a hurried and excited manner, and purchased a new shirt, the one he worebeing stained with blood, a circumstance which was remarked upon at the time by the shopkeeper. The man accounted for the fact by saying that he had a severe quarrelwith his wife, and that he carried on business in the City-road. Be then left in the direction of Epping Forest, andis supposed by the police to be concealed in some hollowtree there, following in that respect the example of Jonathan Gaynor, who murdered Mrs. White, at Chigwell, a few yearsago. The following is the description of the man as givenby the police :—About 40 years of age, 5ft. 6in, in height,fresh complexion, rather weather-beaten, dark sandywhiskers, clean shaved under the chin. Wore a pilot coatbuttoned close up to the chin. It is supposed by the policethat if he can get out of the forest he will make for sea.

The Times April 18, 1863

BOW-STREET — A man of about 5 feet 7 inches in height. stoutly built, but of haggard countenance, with sandy hair and florid complexion, and wearing a "tuft' or "imperial" on his chin, was brought before Mr. HENRY, charged upon his own confession with being the murderer of Emma Jackson.
    John Kell, police constable N 574, stated that about it quarter to 10 o'clock on Tuesday evening he was on duty at the old station-house in Robert-street, Hoxton, when the prisoner entered and said he wished to give himself up for murdering the woman Emma Jackson. in St. Giles's. Witness told him the inspector had removed to the new station in the Kingsland-road, whither witness offered to accompany the prisoner. As he had no constable to assist him, he sent a cabman to the nearest rank to fetch the waterman. Passing by a public-house, on the way to the station, the. prisoner wanted to go in to get a pint of beer, and as witness would not allow him to do so, he tried to get away, and witness was obliged to hold him very tight. At the station he refused to answer any questions or make any statement. By the inspector's order the witness took him in a cab to the station-house in Clarke's-buildings, George-streets St, Giles's. He had been drinking rather freely, but was not very drunk.
    The Prisoner – I was quite drunk. I had been drinking for two or three days, with some friends just returned from abroad. I have no recollection of what occurred. There is not the slightest foundation for what I said. My wife will prove that I was at.home on that night. Some months back I was thrown of a cab, and when I take a little drink it gets into my head.
    Inspector Williamson said he had no doubt that the prisoner's present statement was true, and that he had made the confession in a drunken frolic.
    Robert Ward, a carpenter, and Frederic Land, a painter, working for Mr. Davis, a builder, said the prisoner was in the same employ, and was at work with them on a job in Macclesfield-street on the Thursday in Easter week, the day of the murder. Ward said the prisoner came to work at 7 in the morning and was there all day. Land said he saw the prisoner at half-past 7.The prisoner was then discharged.
    Mr. Rivolta, solicitor to. the St. Giles Vestry, applied for warrants for the apprehension of the landlord of the house in which the murder was committed, No. 4, George-street, and the keepers of Nos. 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, and 10. in the same street, for keeping brothels and disorderly houses. The warrants were granted, and the inspector of nuisances, Mr. Braddick, was bound over to prosecute at the sessions.

The Times April 23, 1863

THE MURDER IN BLOOMSBURY .—Yesterday afternoon Mr. John Humphery, coroner for Middlesex, held an inquiry at Hoare and Co.'s taphouse, Lower East Smithfield, respecting the death of a man, aged about 30, who is supposed to have been the murderer of Emma Jackson, in George-street, St. Giles's, last April. Richard Reilly, examining officer in the Customs, said that last Monday evening he saw the body of the deceased floating past his boat, off the St. Katharine Docks. He assissted in getting it ashore. It appeared to be that of an Englishman rather than of a foreigner. The hands were tied together with twine, apparently by himself. The coat, trousers, and waistcoat matched. They were made of brown and gray crowd tweed. The coat was a lounging coat. The trousers had a Russel cord. A red shirt, a white all-round collar, and a black silk tie completed the dress. When searched, a fusee box, a leather belt, two pieces of comb, and a handkerchief were found in the pockets. No money or knife was found. The deceased was about 5 feet 7 inches in height. Inspector Henry Beckett, Thames police, said he was present when the deceased was found. He produced the articles found upon deceased. The pieces of comb were apparently of caoutchouc, and were of French manufacture. Witness should say that the deceased had been a clerk, not a labouring man nor a sailor. He was respectably dressed, and had on a red Garibaldi shirt. The Coroner said that be should take deceased to be a foreigner from his appearance. The boots had kid tops, and they were certainly more slightly fashioned than was usual with English ones. Mr. Perry, coroner's officer, said that several detectives had been down to see the body, and they had brought with them Margaret Curling, the servant who had opened the door of the brothel in George-street, Bloomsbury, for Emma Jackson and her murderer, on the morning of the 13th of April, and also William Stokes and Charles Henley who had caught a glimpse of the suspected person. The deceased's face, however, which on the recovery of the body was as pallid as the hands, had since become so much discoloured that they were unable to identify it. Although they had been subpoenaed they had just gone away without giving evidence. The Coroner said it was essential that they should be sworn and examined, and he should adjourn the inquest for that purpose. Meanwhile, the body should not be buried, but be taken to the workhouse, so that after a minute description of the deceased had gained publicity in the newspapers anyone might have the opportunity of identifying him - a matter of considerable importance, if the deceased was, is supposed, the murderer of Emma Jackson. The comb found in deceased's pocket was marked "Fauvelle a Paris - caoutchouc." It was about six, itches long, and was broken in two. A Large white cambric handkerchief was also in the pocket. One comer was torn off, evidently by design, and with the view of getting rid of a name or initials. The Coroner directed that it should be shown to the relatives of the murdered woman. The proceeding were then adjourned.

The Times May 7, 1863

THE BLOOMSBURY MURDER— On Saturday afternoon Mr. John Humphreys, coroner for Middlesex, concluded, at the Dock Hotel, East Smithfield, the investigation relative to the identification of the man whose body was found opposite the St. Katherine's Docks, in the river, last Monday, and whose general description appeared closely to correspond with that given of the murderer of EmmaJackson. The Coroner stated that as the change produced in the appearance of the deceased from decomposition had rendered the witnesses unable to form an opinion decisively as to whether he was or was not the suspected man, a new scientific process had been resorted to for the purpose of restoring the features to their pristine shape and hue. The experiment had been so far successful. Margaret Curley, of 4, George-street, St. Giles's, said that she had examined the deceased since the operation hand been performed, but that she did not recognize him as a person she had ever seen before. Charles Ansley, of 20, Peter-street, St. James's, said that he did not recognize the deceased. H. Stoke, shoe-black, was certain the body was not that of the man who was with Emma Jackson. Dr. B. Ward Richardson, of 12, Hinde-street, Manchester-square, said that he had, in conjunction with Dr. Edmunds made certain experiments on the body of the deceased. They could not form any opinion as to the time that had elapsed since death. The body seemed to be that of a man 21 years of age, whose beard and moustache had never been shaved. The hands were those of a person who had worked manually. The Coroner said that though the chemical experiments had not been as successful as could have been wished, on account of the extreme decomposition of the body, they had not been fruitless, as they had enabled the witnesses to arrive at the conclusion that he was not the man charged with the commission of the St. Giles's murder. The jury returned a verdict "that deceased was found drowned in the river, but how he came into the water there was no evidence to show."

The Times May 11, 1863

BOW-STREET. Edward Collins was brought before Mr. VAUGHAN having given himself up at Harlowe, Essex, as the murderer of Emma Jackson, who was found dead in George-street, St. Giles's, nearly a year ago.
    Mr. WIlliamson, the Chief Inspector of the Detective Department Scotland-yard, said the prisoner was brought to the police-office Scotland-yard by the Inspector Hammond of the Essex Constabulary, to whom he had given himself up at Harlowe. It appeared that he then stated that he had murdered Emma Jackson and was so miserable that he felt prompted to give himself up. He asked whether he was likely to be hanged. He was at first somewhat excited, but subsequently was much worse, and on the way to this court he became very violent. It took four officers to hold him. There was very little doubt that he was insane, and it was not believed that he committed the murder. He certainly did not answer the description of the man who was seen at the house. He now stated that he was not the person.
    Mr. VAUGHAN desired that the prisoner should be taken to the workhouse, there to be examined by the medical man as to his state of mind. He also directed that the persons who had seen the alleged murderer should have an opportunity of seeing the prisoner.
    The prisoner was then removed.

The Times March 22, 1864

At BOW-STREET, WILLIAM SQUIRES gave himself into custody for the murder of Emma Jackson, who was found dead in a house in George-street, Bloomsbury, about six years ago, and was charged upon his own confession before Mr. Vaughan yesterday morning, Police Constable 143 E stated that he saw the prisoner in Clarke's-buildings. He was drunk and shouting out "I am a murderer." Witness told him he should not say that unless it were true. The prisoner then took an oath that he had been taken to George-street by the woman Emma Jackson, and because she tried to rob him he stabbed her in the neck, not intending to kill her. He was then taken to the police-station and examined by Inspector Harnett, but the prisoner did not then feel inclined to answer the questions put to him. The prisoner in court denied that he had ever murdered Emma Jackson, but admitted that he had told the officer so. The prisoner's mother stated that when he was intoxicated he was like a madman. Mr. Vaughan remanded the prisoner for a week.

The Times January 25, 1871

ANOTHER CONFESSION OF MURDER. - A man who gave the name of William Squire, apparently about 40 years of age, gave himself into custody at Margate on Thursday night for murdering Emma Jackson, by cutting her throat, in 1862, at Clarke's-buildings, Tottenham-court-road. Yesterday he was taken before the magistrates on another charge, and when his statement was repeated he neither admitted nor denied it. He is detained for inquiries.

The Times November 8, 1879

At BOW-STREET before Sir James Ingham, WILLIAM SQUIRES a dull-looking poorly-clad man was charged on his own confession with the murder of a woman in George-street, St. Giles's, in the year 1863. The prisoner gave himself up to Police Constable Perkins, 380 W, in the Atlantic-road, Brixton, and stated that he had met his alleged victim named Emma Jackson in a public-house in neighbourhood of Drury-lane in the summer of 1863. After drinking freely they went to his rooms in George-street, St. Giles's, and during the night he saw her in the act of robbing him, whereupon he cut her throat with a razor. He afterwards went to America, and it had been supposed that the man who committed the murder was drowned, but he declared that such was not the case, and that he was the person. The prisoner was slightly intoxicated at the time of making the statement, and Mr. Superintendent Thomas said there was no reason to believe what he had said, but a remand was asked for and granted, that inquiries might be made.

The Times March 19, 1880

Inquiries were made, Squires was discharged - again . The murderer of Emma Jackson was never found.

He Wore a Brown Silk Dress

2012-02-07T02:56:00.000-08:00

A very typical court case, from the Daily News of Februrary 28, 1846, revolving around a man cross-dressing and cruising for sex. I'm assuming he was probably a 'rent-boy'; but I'm not sure if that's to be taken as read, or not ...

BOW STREET.—Yesterday a person, who at the station house had described himself as "Frederick Bentstone (or Bentson) a clerk, residing 19, Wickham-place, Kent-road," was placed at the bar before Mr. Jardine, charged with having been found loitering about the public highway in Cockspur-street, dressed as a woman. He wore a brown silk dress, a black velvet shawl, a fashionable bonnet, and false curls.
    The constable (56 A) who detained him deposed that having observed him loitering about Cockspur-street and Spring-gardens, from half-past 12 o'clock on Wednesday night until 2 o'clock in the morning of yesterday (Thursday), and moreover been informed that men disguised as women were in the practice of promenading in that part of the town, he told him he was fully aware that he was not what he appeared to be, and that unless he explained his motive satistfactorily of assuming a female dress, he should consider it his duty to take him into custody. Upon this he affected to be very indignant, and angrily affirmed that he was a woman. " Why," rejoined the constable, "your voice alone betrays you." "Oh,that is the effect of a cold and hoarseness," replied he, and the constable, telling him that if such wasthe case the night air would but increase the malady, took him to the station-house out of the cold " night air."
    The magistrate asked the defendant before him what he had to say in excuse for such extraordinary conduct, and ifhis object was a wise and honest one, why he refused giving his address to the constable?
    He replied that the dress he wore belonged to a lady of his acquaintance. On Monday night he was present at a masquerade in the self same dress, and having been much admired in it, he put it on again on Wednesday night, that some friends whom he had appointed to meet on that night might see and admire it also. He refused to give the constable his address, because he had no idea that it would turnout so seriously, and he had a great objection to involve his friends in any way.
    The constable here begged to add to his former statement, he observed the same person, attired exactly in the sameway, prowling about in Carlton-house gardens and on the steps of the York column.
    The prisoner did not deny that he had been there, andMr. Jardine said there was reason to suspect that he had assumed female attire for a less innocent purpose than attending a masquerade—in which perhaps, there might be no great harm, however silly it might be. However, to prevent a repetition of such practices, for a time at least, he should require him to find bail, himself in 50l. and two sureties in 25l. each, who would undertake for his being of good behaviour for the next six weeks.
    The prisoner made a sort of nondescript obeisance, and was removed to the cells.

Remembering Victorian London

2012-02-06T13:36:00.000-08:00

A brief but lovely reminiscence from the Times of 30 May 1930 - ending with a tightly-regulated Hyde Park in which 'perambulators might only choose certain paths'.

About 55 years ago I looked down with joy through my barried nursery window at Jack-in-the-Green, in his laurel-covered twoer with attendant chimney-sweeps dressed in gay paper costumes, dancing down Chesham-street on May Day. Next our nursery party sallied forth for the regulation walk to Hyde Park, passing on our way a consumptive crossing sweeper established on an up-ended box near a kindly area gate, and then an active sweeper at Pont-street, with a short stubby broom; he ran before you and swept. In Lowndes-place the crossing-sweeper wore an old red hunting coat and despised the perambulator. In Lowndes-square, the toll-bar keeper had a tall coat and gold braided top-hat. At Knightsbridge the crossing was variously held and indifferently swept. (Once it was all “up” because the wooden conduit-pipes for drinking-water were being replaced by modern ones). In Hyde Park perambulators might only choose certain paths and no cabs or trade carts could enter there.

Miss MIRA F HARDCASTLE, 4 Golf Links-avenue, Hindhead, Surrey

Fully Authorised Crossing Sweepers

2012-02-06T06:55:00.000-08:00

THE CROSSING SWEEPERS OF BELGRAVIA.-- Theauthorities of the Grosvenor district, which possesses a jurisdiction of its own, and comprises the localities of Grosvenor-place, Belgrave, Eaton, and Lowndes squares, andChesham-place, have just taken the initiative in organizingthe crossing-sweepers who occupy the many crossings inthat locality. For some time past none have been permittedto hold a "commission" or "carry brooms" in that neighbourhood without the sanction of the trustees; but yesterday each man was properly enrolled, and furnished with ablue cloth badge to fasten round the left arm, upon whichwere worked the letters G. P. D. (Grosvenor-place district), and a corresponding number to one which is registered atthe secretary's office against the wearer's name. Most ofthese men are old soldiers, and being of an active disposition, are very useful in carrying messages or posting lettersduring the "season" for the servants, when those functionariesare too busy to do it themselves. On account of this theyhave at last come to be an "institution" of this strictlyfashionable and aristocratic quarter, and it has frequentlyhappened that when a crossing-sweeper had been away onan errand some tattered stranger has opened shop underfalse colours, and the false assumption of being "connected"with the regular man, or "it's the same concern," and, having obtained something to carry, has carried it awayaltogether. To remedy evils of this character the presentorganization has been undertaken, and the vacancies willhenceforth be filled up by candidates of "established reputation;" so that, whenever they are employed upon anerrand, those employing them will have some guarantee;and the place cannot be temporarily occupied by an unknown sweeper. as they will be obliged to wear the badgewhen "on duty".

Times, 15 September 1854

A Wicked Luxury

2012-02-03T03:24:00.000-08:00

We may complain about the current bout of cold weather, but it's nothing compared to what our ancestors put up with ... for a cold spell in Victorian London could freeze water pipes (most houses only had water supplied for a few set hours per week), burst gas mains and generally cause chaos. Here's James Payn - an overly florid but interesting journalist - on a cold spell in the 1860s:-

May this 10th of January, whereupon the Home Correspondent begins this paper - upon which, for the first time for a fortnight, his stony fingers have been able to hold a pen - be henceforth a festival among readers; and yet not a white day, for the frost is gone, and, by comparison, a very summer has succeeded it. Ever since last year (or December 31), the Londoner has been obliged to restrict his washing within continental limits, for the water has not "come in" at all. The turn cock, who, in ordinary weather, is considered a useless functionary, something like an aquatic beadle, whose duties nobody understands, has of late become a person of importance. His deputy - for it is not to be supposed that so great a man would do any work himself - has been the cynosure of all neighbouring householders. When would his Eminence please to come and turn on the water from the main at the top of the street ? has been literally the great question of the day. It is understood that he will ring a bell in the public thoroughfare, to give notice when that ceremony takes place; but this he declines to do, and therefore our households are kept in a state of indescribable anxiety, and perhaps miss the favourable hour after all. The street-boys surround the unaccustomed fountains, and enjoy the spectacle; but our unfortunate cook, who is momentarily expecting the kitchen-boiler to burst for want of its native element, is unconscious of the supply until it is too late. Under these circumstances, hot water for the hands has become a wicked luxury, and scarcely to be procured even for necessaries - such as toddy. If we have had no water, however, we have had plenty of gas, which has "escaped" in all directions, and with such alacrity, that there has been none left at the jets. Dirt and darkness have therefore been the position of most people during the late "glorious weather"; while in the case of those few persons who possess any scientific knowledge, there has been added to these disadvantages the well-grounded apprehension of being suddenly blown into the air. It has been said that the world may be divided into knaves, fools, and fox-hunters, in sly disparagement, as I conceive, of this last class of our fellow-creatures; but there is this to be asserted in their honour, that at least they never rejoice with the Thoughtless or Malignant upon the setting in of Frost.

Hanging around with the Inner Circle

2012-01-22T12:57:00.000-08:00

An article on life in the Inner Circle in 1898, from the Windsor Magazine. Nice to see mention of the spring-operated station-indicators and weighing-machines (see pics below):

UNDERGROUND LONDON: A CHAT ABOUT ITS RAILWAYS.
By G. E. MITTON AND WILFRID KLICKMANN.
Illustrated by A. J. FINBERG.

HEAVY sulphurous smell, an atmosphere like a yellow fog in London, an orderly succession of earsplitting bangs, and the wave .of a green flag. This sounds like a description of a battle where artillery has been brought into play, but it is merely the scene of an underground station on the District Railway.

London is being still further riddled with railways : the electric, cutting right through the heart of the City and West-End, and the Brompton and Piccadilly —a diagonal line for the convenience of Clubland —are in immediate prospect. Whether these will affect the dividends of the existing companies remains to be seen. If the atmosphere is freer and the motion quicker, probably they will. Man will give up much to save his precious time; he will consent to be half suffocated for ten minutes, and temporarily deafened for the sake of half an hour. Yet the most ardent admirer of the railways cannot say it is joy to travel them. They are convenient, they save time, but that anyone should choose to live down in these stygian regions must pass comprehension. There are worse jobs. Perhaps the men who go round with scavenging carts have as much dirt a to their daily allowance as a driver on the Underground; but that men can be found to undertake this task is another mystery.

    I went tour on a tour of inspection in the underground regions to ascertain the views of the men themselves on the question, and was agreeably surprised to find that instead of a mournful round of endurance, they seem quite satisfied and enjoy their work.
    I commenced my raid in search of a man off duty. A friendly porter, impressed into the service, unearthed an engine-driver from a coaling-shed at the end of the platform and brought him to me. He was an honest looking fellow, delightfully grimy ; one felt one had got hold of the real article. I should not have liked him half so well if he had been cleaned up for the occasion. We sat and chatted together on one of the ample seats of the platform, and had the satisfaction of feeling that we were affording a gratis entertainment for the passengers in the constant succession of trains which every few minutes ran banging into the platform before us.
    My man needed very little pumping ; the porter had evidently given him a tip that he was expected to talk, for it came out spontaneously.
    "I've been on duty now five-and-twenty years. We begin by being a fireman, ye know, and that's at about eighteen or nineteen, and ye get on to be a driver. We get eight shillings a day. That's not bad pay, but then there's no pension ; ever such a little would be a help. Ye see we're on the same footing as policemen and other public servants, the responsibility is on us ; we've got to stand our own ground same as the captain of a ship, and it's wearing that is. We ought to have a bit to look forward to. I'm not an old man yet "—and I smiled as I met his cheery glance and vowed him in the prime of life.
    "But tell me," I continued, " something about your everyday life. We above ground think it bad enough to run along these dismal tunnels from one station to another, but to be all day on duty --"

    "Well, now, 'tisn't half as bad as ye make out," he said confidentially. "Ye get used to it, and think naught of it. And then it's arranged so's we aren't all day and every day on the Inner Circle ; one day maybe we're off to Putney or Richmond, and another to Ealing. Then one day a fortnight we have a day off, and then there's sheds; that takes up four hours, cleaning your boilers and such like ; there's only one day the week we go round and round the circle."
    "And how many times round then?"
    "It varies ; maybe five or six or seven."
    Seven times round the Underground swallowing an atmosphere too thick to breathe! the grinding of the brakes echoing 182 times at the stations! The slow dropping of water on the brain would be an infinitely preferable madness. I hastened to inquire if there was any break or dinner-hour off.
    "Oh no ; we get it when we can, answered, without deeming it any hardship that part of his daily diet should be augmented by smuts!
    "On days you run round the circle you come back to where you started from at the end, I suppose?"
    "Ay ; sign off where we signed on, that's it. Difficult to arrange where we're to go? Ay, I suppose it is, but we have naught do with that. We goes by the time-table. Hours? 4.30 in the morning to 2.15 in the afternoon. No, it's not the work I mind ; ye soon gets used to that. I'd as soon do it as anything. You've to keep awake, of course. I haven't ever had a collision, but I've saved three, and that's something! You'd like to hear of that? "
    I assented.
    "Well, the first was near Baker Street, where I nearly ran into a ballast train, and the next was some Great Western coal trucks near Earl's Court, only the third was a tunnel accident—I overtook a train."
    "I thought that wasn't possible."
    "They say it ain't," he remarked smiling. "But I'm speaking of a long while back, and I suppose it ain't possible nowadays. It was in a tunnel, and I saw the tail-lights ahead, so I clapped on the brakes, showed a red light and blew my whistle. No harm done; but if I hadn't a-been looking out I'd have crushed up against it and had them trucks a-top of my engine, and then it would have been marked up against me same as if it had been my fault. I've been a teetotaler the is twelve years," he remarked with sudden and startling irrelevance; perhaps he thought I suspected him of only seeing red lights which had no material existence.
    "Find that answer? " I asked.
    "Ay; and that's my train coming into the station now, or I'd have told you more."
    I let him go, but doubted his ability to tell me more. To an imaginative mind the dark tunnels of the Underground seem full weird horrors, but to the prosaic man, whose aim is daily bread, they dwindle into everyday facts devoid of fear.
    The next link in the chain was again my friendly porter, who gave me some intermediate notions of his own position. The porters' hours vary from 5 a.m. to 3 p.m. one day and 3 p.m. to 1 a.m. the next. The work consists chiefly of odd jobs, lamp cleaning — at which each takes his turn — coupling engines and shutting train doors; not much luggage about to bother a man. He is liable to be shifted about from station station, but may remain stationary (no pun intended) for a considerable time. His wages come to one pound one week and twenty-two shillings the next, the larger amount including a Sunday's work.
    Not many tips are there on the Underground or chances of increasing his income by secondary methods. But then there is the glorious prospect of the dizzy height of a guard's position looming before the humble porter. The man to whom I talked seemed impatient of dallying, and the reason was apparent when a strongly built official drew near to us.

"Yon's the inspector," said the porter with indicative motion. "He'll tell you a deal more than I can. I've only been on this job a short while, and he's been here this long while."
    I took the hint, and sauntered up to the man. He was a fine specimen of the product of discipline, combined with a habit of authority—a man on whose probity and respectability one would not be greatly disinclined to stake one's reputation.
    At first he seemed a little chary of my questions, but finding that I was not devoid of a sense of humour, he broke the ice by a good laugh, and we were on the best of terms. He had been inspector for some seven-and-twenty years, of which the last nineteen had been spent on the boards where he now stood. He had a fund of information and anecdote, and asserted readily that he could write a book of his reminiscences.
    The inspector himself has hours similar to those of the porters, varying from the earlier time ending at three one week, to the later beginning at that hour the next. He began his career in one of the railway signal-boxes, and is now responsible for the whole conduct of the station, exclusive of the booking-office.
    "Complaints?" he echoed, in answer to a suggestion of mine. " I should think there were. They'll complain of anything. But it's best to take it all in good part."
    "Chiefly?" I asked.
    "Chiefly? Why, missing trains, and so on ; and then they'll lay the blame on us, or the board man will have put up the wrong train in the indicator. He can't always tell, you know, which one is coming, though he knows which one ought to come, and if another runs in before it—why, the general public will never think of looking on the train to see for themselves, but will get in, and when they find they're wrong I'll hear about it. But as for questions -- you'd think they had nothing else to do! Old ladies are the worst " — with a smile; and he proceeded to mimic an imaginary conversation.
    "Which is the train for King's Cross?"
    "It'll come to this platform, ma'am."
    "When will it come?"
    "It'll be the next one in, in five minutes."
    "Which way will it come?"
    "This way."
    "And how many stations are there between here and King's Cross?"
    He looked at me and laughed. "That's it," he said—"over and over again. I generally tell them—it's best in the end. Then," he continued after a minute, "there are the people who will get out before the train stops. They'll pick themselves up and run, for fear of us summoning them."
    "You don't mind if they don't fall, I suppose?"
    "Oh no ; but we are down on them if they do. We have to keep some check on them or they'd be bringing an action against us for damages, saying that the engine moved on with a jerk, or some other excuse."
    "Have you ever had to give evidence in a case of that sort?"
    "No, but I've often enough had police-court cases arising from the railway, and they're bad enough! I'll tell you one of pickpocketing. A lady got out here in a great state and came to tell me she'd had her purse stolen. I asked her if she'd had anyone pushing up against her in a suspicious manner, and she said yes, an ill-looking fellow a few stations back. Well, as it happened, we were standing up near the steps, and could look the whole length of the platform, and I saw at the far end a fellow dodging about suspiciously on the very platform we were on, and I called her attention to him, and asked if he was anything like the one she had noticed, and she said he was the very man. Well, there stood then—it's done away with now—a sort of collecting-box for the booking-office, with a slit in it like a letterbox, and I saw this fellow brush up against it and drop something in the slit—I could almost fancy I saw something shine as he did it—anyway there wasn't much doubt but he'd hit on what he thought an original plan for getting rid of the purse, which might incriminate him. We marched down to him, and I told him what the lady said. Of course he said she'd made a mistake, and a lot more - I asked her if she would give him in charge. Oh yes, she would, rather ; so I collared my man, and went up for a policeman. There wasn't one about, so I walked him off to the office. On the way he kept asking me to let loose of him, and he'd go quietly. 'Yes,' says I, ' that's likely; but though my muscles are as good as yours, my legs aren't, and once I let you go I'd see you round the next corner.' Well, a detective came around to the station and opened the box, and there sure enough was that very lady's purse. That was an odd thing, wasn't it?"
    I remarked that the man must have been a fool to get out and stand about.
    "But he wouldn't think the lady would have got out at that same station, likely. And he was a good thief too, one that was wanted for other jobs of the same sort—a good one to catch. He got twelve months' hard."
    I inquired if the lady had remembered the inspector's services for good.
    "No," he answered, " but the Company did. I got half-a-sovereign and my expenses when I went to give evidence. I was very well satisfied. Oh, they treat us well enough - over a matter like that."
    At that moment a shrill short whistle sounded.
    "That's for me," said my companion. "I'm keeper of the cloak-room, and I have to go and attend to it ; but I'll come back."
    I sat down on one of the seats meanwhile, and jotted down a few notes of what he had said. It was not a bad place this station—wide and airy enough, and dry. A man might live comfortably at such a job. Life on the Underground is not all dirt and sulphurous atmosphere. In a station of the pattern of Blackfriars or Baker Street one's conceptions of the infernal regions might be greatly enlarged, but here there was nothing offensive. I remembered how, one dark winter's evening, I had seen a little newsboy hopping about - in the draughty dimness of one of these mentioned above, and had pitied him from the bottom of my heart. Yet on inquiry it turned out that he was not unhappy. It was eagerness to sell that first attracted my attention—he was so evidently a new hand.
    "But you don't make anything by the sale do you?" I asked.
    "Oh no," he answered. " It's all the same us; but if we got a commission I could make --" He paused.
    "You sell a great many papers?"
    "Why, a heap!"
    "How long are you here?"
    "From six in the morning to half-past six at night."
    "That's a long time. What do you think of it all? Rather gloomy sometimes?"
    "I don't know. It's cold at whiles."
    "Better than being at school?"
    "Better than being in the streets "—with warmth.
    "And what do you get for it?"
    "Six shillings a week."
    I added to his income for that week and received the grateful thanks of his bright little face, from which the baby roundness had not altogether departed.
    But this is a digression. The inspector completed his duties upstairs and returned to me again.
    "What do. you think I've been for now?" he asked as he approached. "A lady has lost her umbrella, a valuable one—ivory handle with a gold head. She says she left it at the booking-office, and the clerk says he's never seen it, and I told her if one of our men had come across it he'd have brought it to me. She's going to the lost property office."
    "And where is that?"
    "Moorgate Street for the Metropolitan, and Victoria for the District, then the Hammersmith and City have one at Notting Hill. She'll make inquiries. What else would you like to know?"
    "Collisions," I suggested, by way of giving him a fresh impetus.
    "Well, there aren't many of them. It's worked on the absolute block system. In some parts they have electric interlocking, so that it's impossible for a train to catch up another. We haven't that yet, but it's absolutely safe. I do remember a collision, but that was four-and-twenty years ago, when things weren't so perfect as they are now. I was in the cabin then, and it was by Hammersmith Junction. There's a decline there, and a Great Western engine was dragging a District train—they're not very powerful engines—and the train began to drag back down the decline. The junction had been signalled clear, but the train got across it again, and another ran into it ; no lives were lost, but there was a lot of breakage."
    For about the fifth time during our conversation an Inner Circle train ground slowly to a stop at the platform before us and suggested a fresh line of inquiry.
    "These guards haven't so much to do as on the bigger lines," I said. "No luggage."
    "No, but it's a worrying sort of business stopping every two or three minutes—it keeps them occupied ; they've got packages to sort too, and they'll be continually stopped. Now on an express a man'll get maybe a clear hour to get through in."

    Then I remembered suddenly the comparatively new indicators fixed in some of the District trains, which show the name of the station before arrival. I had always thought it part of the guard's duty to work these, for sometimes the indicator may pass over several flaps before it stops at the right one, and it seemed to me this must be done by human agency. The inspector put me right.
    "No, it's much simpler than that," said he. "There's a flap of wood sticking up between the lines, soon after the train leaves any station, and this strikes a spring on the bottom of each carriage as they pass over, and this sends the indicator round. When some stations belonging to a branch line have to be missed out, there are three or four of these, as many as are wanted, in a row."
    "But it must be exceedingly difficult to arrange."
    "Yes, I suppose so. If they answer we're going to have them on all the District lines."
    "Soon?"
    "Yes, soon ; but they won't be all round the circle, you know, because the Metropolitan haven't taken to them. "
    "And how can you tell if they answer?"
    "It is part of the guard's duty to report. There have been very few failures so far—hardly any. They come expensive at first, of course, but the advertisements have helped to pay."

II.—THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY SYSTEM. BY WILFRID KLICKMANN.

THE terror of the tunnel is a thing of the past. When London's vast underground organisations are considered, it seems incredible that England's great railways, at the time of their projection, had to face substantial opposition because tunnels were an essential feature. The passage through a tunnel of only a few minutes, it was urged, would be fraught with alarms, discomfitures, and liability to various diseases.
    Events appear to move more quickly and in an increased ratio as the world grows older. To-day the passengers by the Metropolitan Railway are said to number nearly a hundred millions per annum, the majority of whom accept the idea of tunnel travelling with as much equanimity as they buy a newspaper.
    Notwithstanding anathemas variously expressed, the Underground railway of London pursues the dark and noisy tenor of its way with an increased knowledge of its own importance, and a consciousness that it cannot be done without.
    Sometimes it is referred to as "that Underground" with terrible emphasis, but to the constant traveller it is technically known as the Inner Circle. Not all of these, however, know that the circle is formed by the union of two railways, the same lines or "metals " being used by both companies. Practically the southern half of the circle is pal t of the Metropolitan District Railway Company's system, the northern semicircle being owned by the Metropolitan Railway. To be exact : Aldgate to Kensington High Street (via King's Cross) } owned by the Metropolitan Railway; Kensington High Street to South Kensington } owned by the Metropolitan Railway and Metropolitan District Railway; South Kensington to Mansion House } owned by the Metropolitan District Railway; Mansion House to Aldgate } owned by the Metropolitan Railway and Metropolitan District Railway.
    The joint-ownership sections are known as the West and East Joint Connections, the lines for these portions having been duplicated.
    To have built this circle other than underground would have involved such an enormous initial outlay in the purchase (only for demolition) of expensive buildings on a succession of sites amongst the most valuable in the world, that not for a single moment could the idea be entertained. As it is, if all the spaces now represented by ventilating shafts were utilised for buildings, no small income would be assured. Not that such an alteration is desirable; on the contrary, were the companies able to add more ventilation, either by additions to the number of existent shafts, or by mechanical fans to create continuous currents of air in the tunnels where the traffic is most congested, the comfort of passengers would be increased.
    The directors are always endeavouring to improve the ventilation, and a cordial relationship subsisted between the Metropolitan Railway and a committee of the Board of Trade appointed early this year to report on this particular subject.
    The day after the Metropolitan Railway Company opened their first section, in 1863, no less than thirty thousand people travelled on the line. The accommodation has materially improved since then, for a picture published in 1862 in, I think, the Illustrated London News disclosed an interesting sight. A goodly contingent of passengers were seated in the old-fashioned open carriages, similar in design to the modern goods truck. These formed part of the trial train, and the view was taken near Portland Road station.
    The first section of the District Railway (South Kensington to Westminster) was opened in 1868. By adding here a little and there a little, way was made in 1884 for the first two trains to journey round the completed circle. A District train travelled on the inner rail while a Metropolitan train ran on the outer rail.
    The fact that there are now twenty-seven stations, distributed over a short distance of thirteen miles, testifies to the great utility, if not absolute need, of the system. Each station is daily the scene of surging crowds of people who are "something in the City," and people who are not, but would like to be - people with parcels, children, burdens and grievances. All have one purpose in common—a desire to leave that particular station at the very earliest opportunity, either by train or by staircase exit.
    No other railway in the world has so many stations proportionate to its short length as the Circle, and for promptitude and regularity in running, the service would be hard to excel. The secret is found principally in the smartness of the guards and platform executive. You must decide before the train comes in whether you travel by it. The man who hesitates is not lost, he merely waits for the next train. Snow, fog and inclement weather offer no hindrance to the Underground, for it simply revels in a fog. If necessary, it could supply one or two of its own on the shortest notice, with no diminution in strength if you take a quantity.
    Much has been done to lessen the evils consequent on the use of steam motive power, such as numerous outlets for the escape of fumes and the employment of engines designed to consume most of their own smoke. Of late years there has been very great improvement ; yet the friendliest of critics would reluctantly admit that a genuine appreciation of the flavour from the Inner Circle tunnel is an acquired taste in more senses than one. In spite of conditions which are decidedly an inconvenience to some, though others by habit disregard them, there is an enormous daily traffic on the Inner Circle, and to meet the demand the companies offer a magnificent leading line in penny fares. In fact, the work of the directors is beyond praise. They have reduced all their fares to such a low tariff that, were it not for unreasonable and extortionate shareholders, the day surely would not be far distant when the public would be asked to travel for nothing.
    Prior to the advent of the penny-in-the-slot machine there could be seen at every Underground railway station weighing-machines of the old original shape—veritable balances, in which one could be weighed and sometimes found wanting. It was a queer race of boys who manipulated the weights—the sort of pigmy you would naturally expect to find underground, and in looks not unlike a deformed undersized brother to Smith's bookstall boy. The species is now extinct, and the delicately-poised, red velvet cushions no longer tempt old gentlemen to weigh themselves in order to secure a comfortable seat while waiting for the train.
    It will be noticed that many of the carriages have large figures, 1, 2 or 3, on the doors to specify the class. For the sake of the younger generation, who may not have heard the legend, I crave permission from the seniors for mentioning the incident of the Irishman who repudiated the charge of travelling in a class superior to that for which he had taken a ticket. Said he, " I paid twopence for my ticket, and naturally got into a carriage with a 2 on it!"
     Visitors to London usually make early acquaintance with the Circle, for it is so planned that it unites nearly all the London termini of the great railways, and is a connecting link with every suburb of London. The old lady from the country, who begged the guard not to forget to put her out at London, did not realise that there are four hundred railway stations in our capital, and that it is about an hour's journey to cross London by train.
    Every railway has a distinguishing characteristic, be it a particular tint for its posters or a special colour for its engines. The Inner Circle, however, makes a special feature of advertisements, and a favourite amusement with passengers is to find the name of the station amidst the multifarious appeals to one's pocket and credulity which cover the walls. The advertising contractor before long will have entirely obscured the stations' names ; but provided they are known beforehand they can sometimes still be detected with a sharp eye. Who knows? Some day we may see the porters' uniforms embroidered with artistic suggestions of favourite brands, with medicinal remedies labelled over the parts affected. By paying a slight premium, advertisers' wares could be announced by the porters simultaneously with the destination of the train.
    At some of the Underground stations there are movable signals on the platforms giving a complete list of the stations at which the incoming train will call. An excellent contrivance, and one which other companies might follow with advantage. It saves numberless questions, and has appreciably improved the tempers of the porters. Another most useful device adopted by the District Railway is the marking of every ticket with either I or O and the erection of large signboards ALL TICKETS MARKED I (or O) THIS WAY. Notwithstanding these notices some people prefer to make assurance doubly sure by asking the long-suffering men at the barriers.
    As is well-known the platforms are reached by steep flights of stairs, at the bottom of which is the inevitable gate. By horrible ingenuity every gate is so hung that when shut it is out of sight of the would-be passenger hurrying down the steps. Londoners are used to having gates shut in their faces ; but to be at the wrong end of long descending vista, and see the gate closedby an invisible porter, is an exasperation. Some victims assume a stoical indifference, until a fellow-sufferer expresses himself in manner more emphatic than polite, when they may look towards him feelingly, with a "Thank you, sir ; I am obliged to you." Some discuss with the porter the ethics of the situation. Others again vent their wrath by impotently shaking the bars of the gate, and are all the calmer for the exercise, such ebullition of feeling causing a wicked joy in the breasts of the onlookers!
    It cannot be said that architecturally the stations are attractive. Occasionally you see a neat little pile like Portland Road station, but the majority are to be found discreetly retiring behind houses and shops, with an apologetic expression for their existence. No doubt there are people who eagerly devour the long lists of names forming the external adornment of stations, but so far as the writer's personal observation goes, most folks show a remarkable haste in departing as well as in arriving.

National Maritime Museum and Library

2012-01-22T06:38:00.000-08:00

A visit yesterday to the National Maritime Museum at Greenwich - a place I can shamefacedly confess I have never visited before - and a tour of the newly refurbished Caird Library.

The museum itself hosts all sorts of great stuff, from these relics of the doomed Franklin Exhibition ...

to a boat-pilotting simulator, where you can dock your vessel in Sydney or New York harbour, or choose to rescue drowning members of the public near Dover. [Hint - take your kids to that one!]

The Caird library has undergone a massive refurbishment, creating a state-of-the-art archive and study space for visitors. I particularly liked this arrangment, below

which is a device for seeing ships' plans - you move around the image on the small screen, and can blow up sections onto a much larger screen above (actually much bigger than my picture suggests). Apparently about 4000 of 1,000,000 of the archive's plans have been digitised; but there's more coming.

The library put a few of its treasures on display. The thing that caught my eye was this beautifully illustrated mid-Victorian diary, relating to a 3 month voyage to Australia in 1854. The pictures of the writers' cabin and the dining quarters were particularly lovely:

The tour ended with a behind-the-scenes look at the rolling stacks and a glance at the thousands of masters' certificates held by the library - currently awaiting digitisation by Ancestry.com - which are a family history treasure trove for those of you with maritime ancestors.

My thanks to everyone at the Caird Libray for a fascinating tour.

Going Underground in 1898

2012-01-21T15:50:00.000-08:00

The web abounds with the fascinating tales and photographs of modern 'urban explorers' who have plumbed the depths of the Fleet sewer and similar subterranean passage-ways, whether with the approval of the relevant authorities, or without. I have, however, found their earliest ancestor - a photo-journalistic account of the Holborn subways and nearby sewer, from The Strand of 1898. It's not a fascinating piece of writing, to be honest, but the photographs are occasionally interesting - at least, I like the one showing street names underground. Anyway, if London tunnels are your thing, cast an eye over this ...

Underground London

[From Photos. by George Newnes, Limited]

It is a time-honoured saying that, if you want to know anything about this great Metropolis of ours, you must not go to a Londoner in search of information. This is, no doubt, a trite remark, but the more one goes about, and the longer one lives, the more apparent becomes its truth. The foreigner—intelligent or otherwise—who comes to London is very properly inquisitive; he questions, he inquires, he seeks for all that is curious or interesting, with the natural consequence that, after a very few weeks' residence, he can often give points to the man who has lived in the "heart of the Empire" all his life. The average Londoner, on the contrary, is apt to take things very much for granted. He knows that, on the whole, matters affecting his safety and his health are well managed, and, such being the case, he does not bother his head much about the why and the wherefore. The vast organization, the capable administration, the host of details which have to be carefully thought out and rigorously applied—all these things are with the majority of people entirely overlooked. The end is good ; why bother about the means? Thus is it that the average Londoner, and not least the travelled Londoner, while he waxes enthusiastic over the wonders he has seen abroad—tells us about the admirable municipal arrangements which prevail in New York, and describes with animation the wonderful catacombs of Paris and Rome—remains in total ignorance' of the fact that here, in our great City, he might feast his eyes upon wonders no less remarkable did he but know of their existence. But it is useless to dilate in this vein ; the Londoner will not be persuaded to go and see the wonders which lie at his very door. Only through the medium of the ever-inquisitive journalist, always prying about in the dark places of the earth, does he sometimes learn about and admire these native wonders, of the very existence of which he had not hitherto dreamed.
    I am bound to admit that, so far as the nether world of the City was concerned, until a short time back I was not much better informed than the generality of my fellows. It is true I knew that there were such places as subways and sewers ; but that was about all. I had hardly the faintest conception of what they were like, and probably should have continued to remain in ignorance had it not been for a visit I paid them a few months back. Quite by accident I came across the "Report of the Improvement Committee of proceedings in connection with the Holborn Valley Improvement," which was issued five-and-twenty years ago, and desultorily turning over its pages, I was struck by the various references and diagrams in connection with the subways. The thing took my fancy : I discovered how ignorant I was of the underground arrangements which so I greatly add to the comfort and safety of those sojourning within the "one square mile"; and I determined, with as little delay as possible, to make of good the defect in it my education.
    So I applied to the City Commissioners of Sewers for the necessary authority, and right willingly was it accorded. The Chairman, Mr. H. G. Smallman, entered enthusiastically into the matter, remarking that if the thing was going to be done at all, it should be done thoroughly. Remember, this was the very first time that it had been proposed to write an illustrated article on the subject. The Chairman was rather dubious as to whether we should be able to get any satisfactory photographs of the sewers; but at all events, he expressed his willingness to do all he could to help us. So that we started on our task under the best of auspices.
    Behold us, then, one September afternoon assembled outside the large iron gate beneath Holborn Viaduct— that gate which most people have noticed, but the purpose for which it is used known to very few. Besides the Chairman, there were Captain Robert Gresley Hall, D.L., the Chairman of the Streets Committee ; Mr. D. G. Ross, the City Engineer ; and Mr. H. Montague Bates, the Chief Clerk to the Commissioners, who, according to Mr. Smallman, is virtually the " permanent chairman." The photographer, with his assistant and the writer, brought our little party up to eight all told. When the gate opened at our summons, Mr. W. J. Liberty, the City Inspector of Subways and—under the Engineer — head of all practical matters appertaining to them, was waiting to show us over his territory. The iron gate, through which the sunlight was streaming, closed with a clang, and walking up two or three stairs, we set out along one of the thorough-fares of the underground city.
    In the first instance, I experienced a feeling of disappointment. The reality was so different from what I had expected. My idea had been that a subway would prove as Mr Mantalini might have said, a "demnition deuced damp" sort of a place, smelling of the earth, dark and filled with an atmosphere resembling that of a charnel-house. And what did I see? A long, clean, and well garnished looking passage, dimly illumined by gas-jets (which, by the way, were specially provided for our visit), and having an atmosphere almost as healthy as that we had just left. But the feeling of disappointment soon gave way to one of admiration when we walked along the subway, and the uses of the various pipes which ran along one side were pointed out to me. They include the mains of the Gas, New River, Hydraulic Power, and Electric Light Companies, also the pneumatic tubes and hundreds of wires belonging to the G.P.O.; and the arrangements whereby the service mains are connected to the various houses show that simplicity which constitutes the high-water mark of mechanical ingenuity. The usual time for making the connection is half an hour, and in case of non-payment of rates, a house can be cut off from its gas, water, electric light, or power supply in a few minutes, and this, moreover, without the unfortunate tenant or the general public knowing anything about it.
    I was rather amused to notice that the names of the various streets under which we were passing were posted upon the walls, as were also the numbers of the houses served by the mains. Thus, in case of emergency or fire, all that has to be done is to cut off the service at the particular branch where the mischief has occurred. As we went along, the Superintendent explained to me the exceedingly ingenious manner in which the difficulties incidental to the construction of the subways had been surmounted, and also pointed out how they were ventilated and generally kept sweet and clean. But as this is not a technical article, I need not weary the reader with such details, interesting as they are to those with a knowledge of underground engineering. Perhaps the most interesting subway of them all is the length on the southern side of Holborn, between Farringdon Street and Shoe Lane, which is lighted by gratings, filled with glass lenses, placed at intervals of 40ft. These render it sufficiently light by day for the purposes of inspection and work. The only daylight which gets into the others comes through the ventilating gratings in the footway, and this has to be supplemented by artificial light. It might be thought, in view of the possibility of leakage from the gas mains, that working in the subways might not be unattended by danger. The idea certainly struck me, and I speedily inquired of the Superintendent whether it was safe to smoke. His answer speedily reassured me. Every morning, before any work is done, a most complete inspection is made; armed with "Davys," the Superintendent and some of his men make a complete tour of the subways, testing doubtful-looking places, and if anything wrong be discovered, speedily setting it to rights. And be sure an extra inspection is made before the arrival of any distinguished visitors.
    Presently, I was astonished to learn that we actually stood over the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway! There we were, after painfully making our way through a subway which necessitated our walking bent double, in order to avoid striking our heads against the girders, directly above Snow Hill Station. Yes, there is no doubt about it. As we wait we can distinctly hear a train come in and the porters calling out its destination. It seems exceedingly close, but closer still, above us, we can hear the footsteps of the people on the pavement in Snow Hill. It is rather uncanny this, and especially so when one learns that only 6in. separates us from the street above and only a bare ¼in. of iron girder (for we are literally in a girder) prevents us from falling some 40ft. on to the metals ! It is a novel experience (especially when the train is moving below, and the spot in which we stand is positively vibrating!), and we are glad to have had it, but everyone is obviously concerned in trying not to allow his sigh of relief to become too apparent when we resume our journey. If anyone looks pale, it must, of course, be attributed to the cramped position in which we have been standing!
    Shortly afterwards we arrived at a spot which, we were informed, was immediately under the Prince Consort's statue at Holborn Circus.
    Coming back to the Superintendent's office, I was shown a great number of coins nailed to the counter. These, I was told, came through the gratings placed at intervals for ventilating purposes. It appears that gentlemen who make a business of passing spurious coin sometimes find it necessary to get rid of their stock-in-trade with the utmost despatch; they drop the coins through the gratings under the impression that they will fall into the sewers and be effectually lost. Alas! for the guilty one's hopes, the coins are found shining on the clean stone floor of the subway, and go to swell the stock in the superintendent's office. I asked him whether other articles were ever found. He replied: "Yes, we get plenty of empty purses. This is what the light-fingered gentry do. They take them from the pockets, or so-called 'pockets,' of ladies, and after carefully emptying them, drop them down the shafts. We find most of these in the dark days of winter, and chiefly in the neighbourhood of crowded Smithfield. I seldom find a gentleman's purse ; they mostly belong to City work-girls. The professional thieves know that when these girls draw their scanty wages on Saturday, they usually go to the great markets at Smithfield to make their little purchases, and ply their nefarious trade accordingly."
    Another interesting object in the Superintendent's little room is the "Visitors' Book." In it the names of foreign visitors predominate ; during the last year or so, scientific men, engineers, and sanitarians from Brazil, Malta, San Francisco, Finland, Santiago, Cologne, Copenhagen, Sydney, and, in fact, almost every great city, have visited the subways. And in nearly every instance the visitor has written a few words expressing his surprise and admiration at what he has seen. I could have stayed a long time chatting to the Superintendent, but the shadows were already beginning to draw in, and it was time for us to start upon the second half of our journey.
    First he took me to the subway sewers which lie under Holborn Viaduct. These sewers are quite unique in their way. As nearly as possible they follow the natural slope of the ground as it descended originally from the hills to the level of Farringdon Street, and consequently between the underside of the subways and the sewer is a large space, and the effect, when looking up from the latter, is very striking. Standing in the sewer (by the way, one is able to traverse these sewers dry-shod, a platform running along one side) one seems to be in a lofty vault. It is, of course, pitch dark, for even the glimmer of light coming through the gratings in the roadway which relieve the murkiness of the ordinary sewers is absent here. The space under the road in Farringdon Street is utilized for business purposes, large cellars having been constructed, with which communication can easily be made from the houses in the vicinity. These sewers are ventilated by square openings and shafts, and receive all the drainage from the houses on the Viaduct. Very great care and ingenuity have been exercised in the construction of these sewers, and also in the disposal of the gas, water, and telegraph pipes in the subways ; in fact, everything is so easy of access that it is thought that only under the most exceptional circumstances will it ever be necessary to open up the roadway, and thus cause a hindrance to traffic and stoppage of business.
    Before going down into the ordinary sewers it was necessary for us to equip ourselves. First off came our boots, and over our socks and trousers went thick woollen stockings, and over these huge waterproof boots reaching to the thighs. The upper part of the body was covered with a rough blue smock, very similar to those worn by the coastguardsmen. In fact, there was something altogether nautical about the whole rig-out, the resemblance being heightened by the oilskin "sou'-westers" we wore on our heads. We were also provided with rough gloves, as we had to seize hold of things not very pleasant to the touch. Curious looking objects we were when fully dressed, although in one or two cases, which need not be particularized, the effect was decidedly becoming.
    When all were ready, out we sallied into Farringdon Street. About 100yds. from the Viaduct is one of the familiar iron plates let into the pavement, and this was our objective. Quite a crowd assembled to witness our descent; so large, indeed, was it that the kindly offices of two constables had to be requisitioned to enable us to get through. Many and diverse were the surmises with regard to our object. In spite of the fact that we were all smoking cigars, it never seemed to occur to any of the spectators that we were not the ordinary sewermen. Most of the bystanders thought something was wrong ; this opinion rapidly gained ground, and in a few seconds it was freely whispered around that we were a " rescue party" going to succour some poor fellow who had been overpowered by the noxious fumes down below!
    I am afraid, judging by the gingerly manner in which we went down the shaft, that we should not have been much good had any great difficulties been encountered. It was a primitive sort of ladder we had to go down, merely consisting of iron rings driven into the wall at intervals, and in our cumbrous and unaccustomed attire it was not a very comfortable job. However, we got down without any casualties, and, arrived at the bottom, found one of the sewermen waiting for us. He provided us each with a wooden sconce holding a candle, and thus provided we went along a short, sloping passage, at the end of which stood another guide, who assisted us to step down into the sewer itself.
    Down each one of us stepped into about a foot of swiftly flowing water ; the Superintendent of the Sewers, accompanied by some of his men, placed himself at our head, and in single file we commenced our novel march.
    I looked around me curiously. Down here the contrast presented with the clean and cheerful-looking subways was very great. Not, however, that there was anything particularly offensive about the sewers. The air, though close and hot, was not offensive, and there was little or no odour in the large main. But from my position in rear of our party, I could not help but be struck by the weird picturesqueness of the scene. The pitchy darkness of the arched passage in which we stood was dimly lighted up for a few yards around by our candles as we passed along, and the lights and shadows danced and flickered up the walls and along the surface of the water like veritable Will-o'-the-Wisps. Far ahead another beam of light—light of a whiter and more translucent character than that shed by our candles—shone steadily across the channel. It neither flickered nor wavered, but in the distance, sharply outlined against the grim background, looked like a piece of wide tape drawn tightly from wall to wall and just resting upon the surface of the water. As we approached it seemed to broaden out and its edges grew less sharply defined; the blacks and whites began to run into one another until, when we got close up to it, it expanded and diffused itself all around us, and we saw that the little beam we had seen from a distance really came from Nature's own magic-lantern—was, in fact, neither more nor less than the afternoon sunlight finding its way through the narrow interstices of a grating! Why had we no great "impressionist" in our party, someone blessed with the seeing eye and the cunning hand to have seized upon that picture, to have retained it, and finally to have reproduced it as a marvellous study in blacks and whites ? Certainly, no sun-lit ocean, no fog-enveloped city, no mist-laden stream could have furnished more fitting subject for a great painter than this beam of light in a City sewer.
    On we went, our progress necessarily slow, for the bottom was slippery, and the stream ran swiftly past our legs. My guide explained that when there was a heavy downpour of rain outside, the word was given, and the men all went up to the surface, for the rush of surface-water filled the main almost up to the roof, and the augmented stream came sweeping along with the rush and roar of a mountain torrent. "No." he said, "we don't have accidents; we can't afford to. If a man once got caught in such a torrent, there'd be no saving him, unless the water happened to be lower at a junction, and he managed to regain his foothold, otherwise he'd be carried along with the stream until it discharged itself in the river at Barking. That's where he'd be found ; at least, what was left of him."
    The water, as I have said, was only from 1ft. to 18in. deep, but after this little conversation I found myself taking particular care as to how and where I put my feet down. Presently the photographer ordered us to halt and arrange ourselves. He wanted to take a group. Then a difficulty arose : his camera would rest upon its stand, but where was he to find a support for his flash-light apparatus ? Happy thought - a human stand! One of the sewermen was requested to bend down ; upon his sturdy shoulders the apparatus was placed ; then we all waited patiently until the magnesium wire flashed out and made us all blink. Whether the picture was a success or not may be left to the reader to say. Possibly the subjects are not looking very well pleased, but when you are standing in a stream of running waters and can feel yourself perspiring profusely under a lot of unaccustomed garments ; while, moreover, the temperature is some twenty or thirty degrees higher than would be comfortable, and your eyes are getting a little strained by the curious half-light, it is by no means the easiest of tasks to obey the photographer's stereotyped command to "look pleasant." Our photographer, however, was a man of sense ; he did not waste unnecessary time in giving us minute instructions how to deport ourselves, but having once got us focused, "took us" without further ado.
    After being photographed, some of the party seemed disinclined to go much farther. So, leaving them in the broad main, the Superintendent, at my request, took me to some of the side-streets and by-ways of the underground city. As we went, I seized the opportunity of questioning him upon t occupation. He seemed to think it was healthy enough.
    "Oh, yes, men get knocked up sometimes, but is more often through catching colds than anything else. You see, it's hot down here and if men loiter about up above, especially in the cold weather, they're likely to get chills. No, we don't often have men on the sick list with fevers or anything of that sort. Why should we? Its healthy enough down here; you yourself can testify that the smell is no worse than that you often encounter in the open street. Now and then, of course, when at a bend or narrow passage, there's an accumulation of sewage, and the stream gets partially dammed, the men have a rather unpleasant job to perform ; but as a rule the work is not so objectionable as you would imagine. Yes, sometimes a man will stay down here for six or seven hours at a stretch, and they seem none the worse. Smoke ? Yes, as you see" (pointing to his pipe), "I smoke, and so do most of my men; possibly, if we didn't, the smells which we sometimes meet with might affect us more."
    We entered one of the branches, and conversation, except of the most limited description, became impossible. The roof was so low that we had to bend almost double to avoid damaging ourselves ; added to this, it was constructed on a sharpish incline, and the bottom being slippery, it was necessary to proceed with caution. As my guide explained, had it been a wet day this branch would have been quite unnegotiable; as it was, the water in it was only a few inches deep. This came from the surface, as I very soon saw, for at the top end was one of the gulleys covered with an iron grating, to be seen in the roadway.
    Back we went as we had come ; past the place where the main stream forks out into two branches, in which the current, of course, flows more slowly. Along one of these we went, then up another branch even smaller than the first and more difficult, for here the water was almost knee-deep, and was swirling and eddying like the river around the buttresses of one of the great bridges. Previously I had mentioned to my guide that if possible I should like to get a glimpse of some of the rats with which the sewers abound. He had explained that, though they come out more freely at night, he might to show me a few in one of the less-frequented portions of the sewers. And this was the place he had chosen.
    Painfully we made our way for some forty or fifty yards, and then, posting ourselves in a niche in the wall, we waited, but ne'er a rat did we see. Rather disappointed, we were just turning to go back, when I fancied I saw a dark shape flit past our feet. It may have been a rat or merely a shadow ; at all events, I started and nearly lost my balance. With a clutch at my companion, I regained it ; then, as I stood upright, found we were in total darkness. As I slipped, my sconce fell from my hand, and was now being gaily borne eastward at the rate of two or three miles an hour, and, in grabbing at the Superintendent, I had inadvertently extinguished his candle; and we had not a match between us! The only thing to do was to grope our way back in the dark. Luckily, my companion could have found his way about blindfold, and consequently laughed heartily at our predicament. He led the way, and I followed, touching him lightly every few yards to make sure I was in his tracks, as the darkness was so intense that I could scarcely distinguish him. Now, I have a curious fact to relate. The Superintendent declares it was my imagination, but at the time I could have sworn that though never a rat made his appearance when, with candles lit, we stood on the look-out, they simply came out in shoals and rioted about our feet when we were journeying slowly and painfully in the dark. Well, it may have been imagination, and perhaps the journey in the dark had played upon my nerves more than I cared to own.
    When we rejoined the rest of the party, they were all waiting and wondering what had become of us. They laughed heartily when we told our story, and frankly expressed their incredulity when I spoke about the rats. But they expressed no inclination to go and find out for themselves.
    And so back we all went to the shaft, and one by one climbed our way to the surface. And how glad were we to get there! It was an exceedingly interesting experience, and one, that it falls to the lot of few to have, and that I think all of us fully recognised. But after a couple of hours in the nether world, it was doubly delightful to feel the fresh breeze blowing on our cheeks, to hear the busy hum and clatter of the traffic, and to see once again the glorious blue sky over our heads.

London Society Underground

2012-01-16T15:46:00.000-08:00

First impressions of the London Underground, from 1863. The descriptions of railway food are priceless and still hold true today ...

LONDON SOCIETY UNDERGROUND.

     THERE is a class of prosy gentlemen whom the inexorable fates decree that we should meet sometimes at the corner of a street on a windy day, who come between us and the object of our affections at a botanical fete, and hold us metaphorically by the button on every inconvenient occasion, to tell us something which we have heard a hundred times before, or retail one of those remarkable adventures in which the chief characteristic is the constant recurrence of the first personal pronoun.
     It was my lot a short time ago to sit next an old party of this description at dinner. He wore that species of cravat the invention of which is due to the ingenuity (or, as some say, to the cervical disorders) of George IV., and which usually extends from the middle of the human chest to the tip of the chin; the only advantage apparently to be derived from its wear being that it sustains the head at an angle impossible to realize for five minutes together except by this means. Turning round to my side, as far as this eminently respectable impediment would permit, and when the fish (an excellent turbot) was removed, he addressed me very solemnly in the following strain:-
     'Ahem! We live in an age of progress. 'When we look around us and see the advancement - nay, the rapid strides which art and science have made - when we notice the gradual but steady development of those resources of nature which form at once the basis and incentive of human industry, we cannot fail to be struck with the superiority of English intellect in the nineteenth century over that which has appeared in any former age. It is to the present era we owe the application of that wondrous agent, steam. The manufacture and use of gas are also of recent date. It is only of late years that we have learnt to guide the electric fluid harmlessly from our public buildings and made it subservient to our will in transmitting messages from one end of Europe to another. Photography lends its valuable assistance to pictorial art. The talents of an Armstrong are brought to bear upon the science of modern warfare. Thanks to the genial influence of chloroform, our surgeons can now with ease pursue their interesting calling, and amputations - allow me to give you a leg of this chicken? - no? - welI, as I was saying, amputations are now fearlessly and skilfully performed. Then, again, look at the Metropolitan Railway. With what ease and rapidity can the denizens of this vast and thickly-populated city traverse its enormous area! Is it not a wonderful and awe-inspiring fact that man in the nineteenth century can be thus transported from - yes, from the Edgeware Road to Farringdon Street in twelve minutes for sixpence?'
     'Certainly,' said I; 'and I have heard that the first-class carriages are very comfortable, and the smell arising from the steam has been much exaggerated.'
     'You have heard!' exclaimed my neighbour, with some astonishment. 'Am I, then, to understalnd that my young friend has allowed so many weeks to elapse without examining this last achievement of engineering skill?'
     'Why, the fact is-' I began.
     'The apathy,' interrupted my friend in the obdurate cravat·- 'the apathy of the rising generation regarding scientific subjects is very remarkable. When I was a young man,' &c. &c. And here followed a long and somewhat severe comparison between the youth of 1863 und that of fifty years ago, in which I need scarcely say we of the present day came the worst off; and while the odious vice of smoking and the growing taste for bitter ale in our universities were severely censured, not a word was said about the now obsolete custom of taking snuff, nor of the peculiar habits of those 'three bottle men' who flourished so extensively in the Georgian era. Indeed I have often noticed that gentlemen who took quite kindly to the follies of their own day, are apt to be severest on the tastes of their descendants, and should any new narcotic be devised or alcoholic stimulant be introduced in the twentieth century, I make no doubt that such of us who survive to see that epoch will be equally forgetful of our own failings, and preach with great zeal against the vanities of 1900.
     However, on the subject of the Metropolitan Railway, I confess, my stiff-necked censor, to use a familiar expression, had touched me on the raw. I did feel somewhat ashamed that, whether owing to modern apathy or accident, I had not yet travelled by it, and determined to make my journey the next day.
     They are queer little buildings, those offices on the Metropolitan line; I mean, of course, that portion of them which crops up into the thoroughfare above. For the most part they resemble isolated police-stations, or half an establishment for baths and wash-houses come astray. There is something, too, of the telegraph-office air about them, and the casual passer-by would be divided in his opinion as to whether the little crowd of humanity which pours in and out of their portals had gone thither to obtain a summons, send a message to Timbuctoo, or wash itself. On entering the door, however, these doubts are dispelled. There are the traditional pigeonholes, labelled respectively '1st Class,' and '2nd and 3rd Class,' between which, on the occasion of my visit, a youthful railway official was dividing as much of his attention as could be spared from a round of bread and butter in his hand. A railway clerk must lead a strange, eventful, and yet monotonous sort of life. How many hundred different faces must peep in daily at those little windows! all momentarily and successively framed by the aperture into a vast collection of endless family portraits - I mean that great national family of which I suppose we are all brothers and sisters. I wonder, does our ticket-vendor smile more benignantly at the first-class casement than the third? Is he a physiognomist? He would have more experience than Lavater if he had the time to study all his models. Rich and poor, old and young, wise and ignorant, fair and ugly, bad-tempered and good, each address him in turn with various accents; but he has one answer for them all, and that is written on a bit of coloured cardboard. There is no time for colloquy, for interchange of sentiment, for forming friendships; sharp is essentially the word. 'What d'ye say? one second return to Gower Street? Sixpence.' Click, click, goes that awful machine; the change is banged on the counter; Viator seizes his ticket, and passes on to make room for the next man. Unhappy youth! perhaps that old plutocrat in blue coat and brass buttons may have no heir. Had you but the chance, you might cajole him into leaving you his investments in the Three per Cents, or that comfortable little property in South Devon. That smiling angel in the tulle bonnet, who nearly gave you a sovereign by mistake as she ungloved her pretty hand - who knows but her agitation at the moment was caused by seeing you, for the first, and probably for the last time? Ay! there's the rub.
     'Show his eyes, and grieve his heart.
      Come like shadows; so depart.'
cries the railway company, like the witches in Macbeth, and thus a score or so of fair visions appear and vanish daily before the distracted eyes of the employé. It must be a singular fate, I say, to stand empannelled in that ugly room, looking out upon mankind from a pigeonhole. Altogether, I think I should prefer being the hermit at Cremorne. When he has issued a certain number of acrostics, and collected a proportionate quantity of sixpences, he may shut up the Book of Fate, lay aside his beard and magic robes, and mingle freely in the mazy dance; but here, voe misero! one train succeeds another - every minute fresh passengers arrive - more tickets are wanted - the same demands are made all day - ' first class,' 'second class,' 'third class' - , 'sixpence,' 'fourpence ' 'twopence' - single fare, return fare - ordinary and express trains - click, click, click everlastingly. The gentleman who worked the Delphic oracle in the height of the season must have had an easy lot compared with this.
     I descend the broad stone staircase which leads some thirty feet below, and as I do so, leaving the genial morning air outside, become aware of a certain chill, which creeps upon me like the change one experiences in entering a cathedral on a summer's day. There is an unmistakeable smell, too, of railway steam, which increases as I proceed; and having at length reached the platform of the subterranean station, I am free to confess it is not a very cheerful place. I do not say that stations are so anywhere, as a rule. Adorn them as you will, they are but dreary tarrying-places at the best. A roof of corrugated iron and glass, columns and tie-rods of the same material, walls decorated with that species of light literature which sets forth the merits of cutlery, sixteen-shilling trousers, and restorative elixir, is not calculated to cheer the heart of man above ground, and, ici bas, a few strata down below the level of every-day life you must make up your mind for the worst. The family vault on a large scale, with a series of hip-baths introduced diagonally into it for light and ventilation from above ground, is perhaps the nearest description I can give as to the general aspect of the place. The hip-baths are lined with glazed tiles, and, to keep up the resemblance to their prototype, we find the leakage drained off at the lower end into a vessel something like a soapdish. A dense fog filled the place when I was there, and as the people waiting for the trains were seen wandering up and down the platform, one might have imagined them ghosts of the great unwashed, condemned to linger here in sight of those very lavatories which they neglected in their mortal life.
     The fog clears off, and I find myself standing by a live Metropolitan Rail way policeman, one of that order of gentlemen who appear either to be very affable and obliging, or precisely the reverse. In the present instance I must say I had every reason to be satisfied. He responded to my questions with great readiness and civility, standing, at the commencement of every answer, alternately on the right and left leg, and bending the other (like a pair of Sydenham trousers), in the professional attitude adopted by 'the Force.' How long had the Metropol'tan been hopened? Why, the Metropol'tan had been hopened about a month. (Right leg.) Did he consider the trains filled well? Yes, he did, and very well - 'specially mornings and evenings, with City men, and sich like. Yis - power o' traffic fust week - people corned to see what 'twas like, same as they would to see what any think was like, and always would do - 'twas human natur. (Left leg.) Had there been an accident? Yis, there ad been a accident; but, law bliss you, nothink to speak of. 'Twas exaggerated awful. There was more crams told about that there accident than anyone would suppose, now; and he wondered the papers was not ashamed of it. How did it happen? Well, it happened all along of a young hand as didn't know his work - in fack, he'd never been on a line before - leastways, not what you might call reg'lar dooty anywheres - let alone a tunnel: consequinlty, what could you expeck but a accident? (Right leg.) Couldn't say how he come to be put on - s'poscd 'twas somebody's fault; but, you see, in them matters you couldn't blame it on to anyone in partic'lar - of course not. And that's where it was, you see. (Left leg.) Was there much complaint about the smell of the steam? Well, there were - a little. The fack was, some people must have some think to cry out about. If they hadn't, they wasn't happy, some people wasn't. 'Twas the way o' the world. (Right leg.) But, law bless you, about this here smell - there was a deal o' fancy in these things. There was a gent down here last week as fancied he knew all about it (which it was a way some folks had got as must have a say in every think, whereas they only showed their ignorance), and he says, says he, 'What a ammirable idea it was this Metropol'tan, and what a conwenience it was to Londoners to have such a deal o' heavy traffic took off the streets.' 'Which, d'ye think it makes much difference?' says I. 'Think?' says he; 'why, there aint no call to think about it. You wouldn t know Oxford Street again,' he says, 'sich a alteration.' 'Really, now - sure of that?' I says. 'See it with my own eyes,' says he. 'Well,' I says, 'that's sing'lar,' I says; 'I'll make a note of that,' I says. 'And why is it sing'lar?' says he. 'Well, sir,' I says, , it's sing'lar, because we ain't begun to run no luggage trains upon the Metropolitan line at all yet,' I says. And that'll show you how far fancy goes in these here mutters. Stand back, if you please, sir - this is your train."
     On it came - the long flat engine putting at its head with subdued snorts, and glaring out of the dark abyss behind with two great fiery eyes. 'Edgeware-road ! Edge ---- ware-road!' shout the guards, emphasizing the last syllable after the manner of railway tradition. The carriage doors are flung open, and I have no sooner popped in and seated myself than they are shut again, and the train is in motion. One last gleam of daylight enters at the window, and then we plunge into the tunnel. Not into darkness, though - there is a good steady light from the gas-burner above, which enables you to read, should you be so inclined, as easily as you could by your moderator lamp at home; or you may lean back in the well-cushioned, comfortable seat of the most roomy railway carriage in England, and, forgetting that you have twenty feet of earth above you, contemplate your opposite neighbours. Mine was a timid, pretty girl of sixteen, taking her first subterranean ride in London, under her father's care. I saw the little delicate and ungloved hand creep gradually towards his whenever the signal-whistle was louder than usual, or when the train swayed slightly to and fro at its highest speed. Papa was absorbed in the 'Times,' and I don't think paid that attention to his pretty daughter which - well, which somebody else might have bestowed in his place. Ah, fair unknown - sweet stranger, in the seal-skin jacket, mauve-ribboned bonnet, and infinitesimal boots! - who shut the carriage-window when you complained of a draught? and who opened it again the instant you hinted at a headache? Who picked up that delicate little mouchoir of yours from the carpet? Who jumped out before the train stopped (in direct opposition to the advice of the Company), in order to assist you in alighting? You will read HIS initials at the conclusion of this article; and if, perchance, you should regret that, during your transit from Paddington to Newgate, you (very properly) did not reward his attentions with a single glance, remember that the slightest acknowledgment, conveyed (with papa's permission) to C. L. E., through the Editor of 'London Society,' will be still received with the deepest gratitude.
* * * * *
     In railway travelling, your first-class carriage does not, as a rule, afford much material in the study of character to the philosophic mind. That 'reticence' so strictly observed in the upper crust of English humanity is particularly noticeable here. The old coaching days, with 'four insides' and a jovial party on the roof, are universally admitted to have been much more conducive to 'interchange of sentiment and flow of soul' than this age of express trains and time-tables will ever be. lt is just the difference between a cosy family dinner and a state banquet in the City. We have ortolans, and choice Madeira, and peas in February at the one, but lack the genial spirit which attends honest port and mutton at the other. Yes - 'Persicos odi' - I prefer the humbler feast, and the ancient mode of travelling. The vehicles are more splendid now, the speed has increased tenfold - but the journey itself - alack! it is a dismal affair upon the best of lines. A gentleman in a white beard, who ate ipecacuanha lozenges the whole way, was shut up with us, and dubiously entertained the rest of the company by describing to his neighbour, sotto voce, the peculiarities of a fellow-passenger whom he once met on the Flamborough-cum-Crammingham line, and who, it would appear, was in the habit of travelling first class wherever he went with a second-class ticket. The best of it was, that our venerable friend, instead of commenting severely on the moral obliquity of this transaction, seemed to look on the affair as a tremendous joke, and laughed so heartily at the bare recollection of the circumstance, that half a lozenge nearly lodged in his larynx, and set him coughing for the rest of the journey; a fact which attracted the attention of an old lady in a brown front and black mittens, who sat next me, and who was distinctly heard to murmur something about 'a judgment' while he continued in this state of bronchial irritation.
     When we arrived at the Farringdon Street terminus, I felt rather ashamed at seeing everyone hurrying off to his or her destination in the City, while I had really none in that nor, indeed, in any other direction. I had simply travelled over the ground to see what this new Metropolitan line was like; and, being equally undesirous of exploring the ancient pens of Smithfield and of encountering Mr. Tennyson's 'merry March air' on Blackfriars Bridge (where I had, unfortunately, been detained exactly one hour and three quarters in an open carriage on the illumination night, on which occasion it blew pretty strongly up from the river) - having, I say, no definite plan or prospect before me, I consulted my watch, and finding it past one o'clock, I turned my attention to - lunch.
     I cannot say that hunger induced me to concentrate my energies in this direction, having made a very hearty breakfast a few hours before; but the fact is, I felt it incumbent on me to do something. Here had I alighted from a train, the passengers by which had already all disappeared on their several errands, with one solitary exception, viz. myself, and I only wanted to loiter about on the platform for a half-hour or so, and then go back again. I am naturally rather a nervous man; and when, while affecting the deepest interest in the construction of the vault above me, I became aware that I was being studiously watched by B 66 (a most intelligent, but perhaps somewhat officious, policeman), I felt extremely uncomfortable. The line had been opened too long to allow the supposition that I was here out of mere curiosity; and all the various other motives which might induce certain people to linger here crowded upon my memory. I had read in the papers how swindlers ('of gentlemanlike exterior') adopted such means to appropriate stray umbrellas and deserted parcels, and the horrible suspicion rose that I might be mistaken for a member of that body. As my eyes met the steady glance of B 66, I was conscious of becoming very hot and uncomfortable. To retire at this juncture would have been injudicious. There was only one other course open to me, and that was to - lunch.
     It has always been a mystery to me to what class of passengers our railway refreshments are offered. By the first and second class they are instinctively associated with indigestion. The third is accustomed to look upon them as expensive luxuries. I am not now alluding to the Farringdon Street terminus establishment, where I only partook of a sandwich and a glass of ale, and which, when regularly organized, will, I hope, prove an exception to the rule. But it is an incontrovertible fact, that at railway stations generally, and at London termini in particular, the 'commissariat department' is disgracefully managed. For a period of some weeks last year I was compelled (as the phrase goes), by circumstances over which I had no control, to lunch at a well-known terminus in this metropolis. No less than six separate rooms are devoted by the proplietor as bars and salles a manger to the accommodation of the public. The rooms are large and commodious, the servants numerous, and the appointments, to all appearance, good; yet the viands exposed for sale on the counter, the quality of the meat supplied for an early dinner, and the attendance of the waiters are, one and all, execrable. If you are inclined to ' feed ' at the bar, you will find nothing but stale pastry, musty ham, and flyblown buns. If you resort to the dining-room, you will be regaled with coarse-grained beef and flavourless mutton, underdone potatoes, and bad butter. The waiter will not approach you until five or ten minutes after you have called him; and when he does come, ten to one he will be munching the fragments of his own repast. The wretched man is always nibbling in sly corners, tossing off remnants of ale surreptitiously when he thinks no one is looking, and, in fact, having no particular or stated time for his 'meals,' partakes of one long and diffused refreshment throughout the day. As for the ladies behind the bar, they appear to have entered into a solemn compact not to wash their hands more than once a week, and to eschew the use of the nailbrush altogether. One damsel is in the habit of using a toilet-pin in a manner for which it was certainly never intended; another appeared to me one morning in the act of mending an old boot; a third, resenting some remarks which were made on the other side of the counter, once dashed half a glass of porter which she was drinking in the offender's face. Add to these peculiarities a. general sulkiness of demeanour, and yon may form some idea what it is to be waited on by these terrestrial Hebes. To give them their due, however, I will say that they all zealously defend the reputation of the establishment. 'The buns was always considered excellent,' - 'We never had no complaints of the pastry before,' - 'These ham sandwiches musty and dear! Well, you was the fust as said so,' and so on. There is one traditional article of food that they persist in tendering, and the bare recollection of which is enough to induce dyspepsia. It is a huge oblong box of half-baked dough, containing dice-shaped nuggets of cold pale meat and pork-fat. This is cut up into slices, revealing a crust of some half an inch in thickness, and is dignified by the name of veal-pie. I regret that I cannot add the name of the maker; but I strongly advise him to submit it, in case of war, to the authorities at the Horse Guards. A few of these destructive agents left by our commissariat within reach of a hungry regiment, would be admirably adapted for disabling the enemy at an hour's notice.
     Joking apart, the managers of our railway refreshment rooms hare reason to be heartily ashamed of the manner in which they cater for the public. Everything they offer for sale is as bad as it is dear, and dear as it is bad. A man may dine comfortably in the City for less than a miserable lunch costs at these places. Let the Metropolitan Company look to it; and as their carriages are more commodious, and their fares cheaper than on most lines, let them see what improvement they can effect in their restaurants.
* * * *
     Having at length, by an open and straightforward deportment, removed any false impression which may have existed in the mind of B 66 regarding my motives at the Farringdon Street terminus, I determined to return by the next train; and in order that I might lose no opportunity of seeing 'London Society' in every aspect, underground, I took a second-class ticket half the way back, determining to complete my journey by the third. I found my fellow-passengers more garrulous in these carriages than they had been in the first which I entered. Whether a half-cushioned vehicle encourages conversation more than one which is completely padded, or whether our English notions of 'genteel' reticence are confined to the upper circles, I cannot say, but in the second class, everyone was talking. Half the 'fares' had come in breathless, and were congratulating each other all round on having 'jist' caught the train. After all that has been said in favour of punctuality, its being the 'soul of business' and so forth, I doubt whether those over-precise people who are always to be found everywhere half an hour before necessary, can know the pleasure derivable from just 'saving the post,' catching the Ostend boat only a minute before it starts, or entering a theatre exactly when the curtain rises. There is a sort of triumph in the fact that you have wasted no leisure in attaining your object, that there has been no wearying delay in its accomplishment. There you are, just in the nick of time. The clock hand trembles on to six; the 'departure' bell is ringing on the shore; the last few bars of the overture are being played. Pop in your letter - jump on board - rush to your vacant scat. You are breathless, perhaps, and rather warm; but what matters. You are in time, hurray! I know the feeling of satisfaction which in short, I confess I am an unpunctual man myself.
     The guard had no sooner shut our door than the train was off. At full speed there is a peculiar vibration noticeable on the underground rail. The carriages are too wide and heavy to sway much from side to side, but there is a sort of undulating motion which is due either to the unevenness of the ground or to springs on which they are hung. This did not fail to evoke certain comparisons with the Gravesend boat, &c., among my fellow-travellers, who were also very facetious on the subject of accidents, alluding very pleasantly to the little contretemps which happened shortly after the line was opened, and concerning the particulars of which all appeared to have been credibly informed by 'parties as were in the train at the time.' One gentleman observed that a friend of his - a very decent sort of chap-had received a blow upon one of his 'peepers', 'which, in course, constitooted him,' continued our wag, 'a reglar eye-witness as you may say; but as the Comp'ny had done the handsome thing, and giv him five pounds by way of compensation, he (very wisely) didn't make no fuss about it.'
     A lady on the opposite seat, with a highly horticultural bonnet and a muff which looked like an electrified cat, here remarked that a cousin of her brother-in-law had a friend that knew the medical man who volunteered his advice on the occasion; but either this statement was received with discredit or its connection with the subject was too remote to elicit any general interest, so she did not say anything further.
     A third 'party' then assured us that he had himself only missed catching that very train by half a minute; which fact he seemed to look upon rather in the light of a loss than an advantage, and proceeded to explain that he had acquired, by constant practice, a habit of being generally late for every train, in consequence of having travelled many years on the Slocum and Dragwell line, where no train ever came in until about an hour and a half after it was due, except on one occasion, when it ran down and killed two bullocks by way of asserting its independence.
     When I entered the third-class carriage, I found it occupied by a man in a very loose overcoat and very tight trousers - so tight, indeed, as to give the casual observer an impression that they must be unripped at the scam before he could divest himself of that portion of his dress. This idea almost arose to conviction when one looked at his boots, which were the largest, the most creaseless, and more indicative of bunions than any which I ever noticed on the human foot. After these details, I need scarcely add that he was an omnibus driver, and, indeed, one by whose side it had often been my lot to sit when he was professionally employed in Oxford Street.
     Whether it was in grateful recollection of my cigar case, or because there was no one else to talk to, I cannot say, but he touched his hat and wished me good morning. I immediately, and after the approved English fashion, commented on the state of the weather.
     'Well, it is a fine day, sir,' he answered; 'but law bless you, what's the use o' fine days down 'ere? One day's as good as another for the matter of that. I never see such a game in my life.'
     Presuming that this was a metaphorical way of expressing his contempt for the Metropolitan line, I ventured to ask him whether he found it interfered with his business.
     'Interferes! in course it interferes,' said the charioteer, somewhat testily; 'interferes with every think. 'Tisn't only the 'buses it hinjures: look at trade.'
     'What do you mean?' said I.
     'What do I mean?' cried Mr. 'Busman; 'why, I mean that the shopkeepers on our line won't stand it much longer. How the doose are they to get their goods off now, I should like to know. See what a deal of chance custom they got through the 'buses. Spose a cove wants to get to Lunnon Bridge; well, he goes into Oxford Street to look out for a "Lunnon Genera1." Spose a "Lunnon General" don't come up exackly at the moment, he's not in a hurry, the cove isn't, but he waits a bit and valks on. Well, in course, by valking on he comes to look in at the shops. Say he sees a 'ankercher in a shop winder - I don't say a cove wants aankercher, but say he sees it - well, praps he likes it. Well, the 'bus ain't come up yet, and if he misses it there's plenty behind. Well, praps he says, "I should like that ankercher," he says, and in he goes and buys it. Well, you can't blame him, you see; it's human natur, and wot's more, it's trade. Now, I ask you, sir, as a gen'leman, can a cove act like that in this 'ere blessed tunnel? In course not; consequently trade suffers.'
     Here I made bold to suggest that the evil he complained of was one which would soon remedy itself, and that the population of London quite sufficient to support both modes of transit.
     'That's all vaa-ry well, sir,' retorted the malcontent; 'but trade is trade. Look here; if a cove--'
     How long he would have gone on I don't know, but at this juncture the train luckily stopped, and I heard the welcome shout of 'Pedding-ton, Pedding-ton,' which announced our arrival at the West End terminus.
     'Do we get out here, please?' asked a little old woman with a plethoric umbrella from a corner of the carriage where she had been dozing.
     'Well, my dear, that depends intirely on your own tastes and inclination,' said Mr. 'Busman, with infinite good-humour, as he opened the door; 'I dessay the Company'l take you back to Farringdon Street if you wishes it werry particlar, and waits there long enough. All I know is, I've took my first and last ride on this 'ere line. Good morning, sir,' and off he went.
     Such was my experience of 'London Society' underground.

     C. L. E. London Society, May 1863

Night Soiled

2012-01-16T06:53:00.000-08:00

I've been researching night-soil men recently, and it troubled me that I had stumbled upon no first-hand accounts of their work, apart from Henry Mayhew [see earlier post] until I stumbled across this letter, cited in this academic article.

My Dear Sir,

As an illustration of the frequency of the abominable system of cesspools, even in first class streets and towns, I am told on good authority, that in that small space in Piccadilly, near St. James’s Church, now being excavated for the foundation of the Museum of Economic Geology, no less than eight cesspools have been found, besides a large leak from a foul drain. How can a town be healthy with such abominations existing in wealthy districts?

The nightmen are a brutal set of men and fortunate will it be for the public if we can get rid of them. Last Thursday, I went to see an old cesspool emptied, the stuff in which had been accumulating for five years - my object being to inspect a process for disinfection. During the process of empying I saw one of the nightmen actually take up in hand a quantity of the night soil and swallow it ‘to see how it tasted’. After I left I understood, in fact, I have it in evidence under the signature of the nightman himself, one of the nightmen rubbed the night soil into his eyes ‘to see if it acted in the same way on the eyes as common night soil'. Could the chiffoniers of Paris classed among the ‘classes dangereuses’ equal these nightmen in their bestial habits?

Lyon Playfair
1 February 1847

The letter rests in the Edwin Chadwick collection at UCL (whose archivists kindly sent me a copy) and is from the eminent chemist Lyon Playfair, a supporter of Chadwick's sanitary reform agenda. Chadwick [see here for a brief bio] was an energetic but divisive civil servant, the 'architect' of the New Poor Law, and viewed cesspools as one of the great obstacles to improved sanitation in the capital. This letter, therefore, must have been grist to the mill - although one suspects he could never have repeated such a gruesome detail in a public forum.

Yet I rather feel for the 'bestial' nightmen. They had no modern notion of sanitation or hygiene and had been informed that the night-soil had been 'disinfected' by the latest chemical solution. Various 'disinfecting fluids' were being tried out in 1847 - including a 'Monsieur Ledoyen's mixture', one created by Sir William Burnett and 'Ellerman's Patent Disinfecting Fluid'. Unfortunately, these were all based on a Victorian notion of disinfectant - ie. they removed the smell of decomposing excrement - the 'miasma' which was believed to be the chief cause of contagious disease. Some were even poisonous (Ledoyen's mixture contained nitrate of lead, if I recall). If anything, the poor nightmen were simply testing the marvellous new solution - albeit in a rather gross fashion. Were they so 'bestial' as all that?

One of the most interesting things about cesspools that I've discovered is that the wealthy didn't necessarily bother with nightmen. After all, everyone disliked the smell and nuisance of emptying out 'soil' by hand, which is why it was illegal to do so during daylight hours. The solution for the larger properties in Mayfair was simple:-

The public are scarcely aware of the fact that many of the very best portions of the West End are literally honeycombed with cesspools. Many houses have from three to six or seven under them. In some porous neighbourhoods the practice is still when one cesspool is full to arch it over and dig another, to avoid the expense and trouble of removing the soil.

Metropolitan Sanitary Commission, First Report, 1847

Hence the reference to 'eight cesspools' above. Is there anything that money can't buy, eh?

Dreadful Accident

2011-12-20T07:41:00.000-08:00

DREADFUL ACCIDENT

Yesterday morning a person accidentally dropped his watch into the water-closet of the King and Queen public-house, Duke-street, Manchester-square, on which he offered 10s. to any one who would go down after it. A man named James Watkins, a nightman, embraced the offer, and went down, but remaining a longer time than was necessary, another man nammed Challice went down after him, when he continued there the same way; and on calling, no answer being received from their of them, a man named Turner consented to go down to ascertain the cause. A rope was accordingly tied round his body, and he was let down half way, when he called out to pull him up; they did so, and he was in a state of insensibility, and all but dead, and he now remains in a very dangerous condition. The boards were torn up, and the bodies of the other two were taken out quite dead and congealed blood coming from their noses. Mr. DAVIES, Surgeon, of 198, Oxford-street, attended and it appeared that the strong vapour caused by the closeness of the place caused their instant death on being let down. A Coroner's Inquest was held on the bodies. Verdict: "Died by Suffocation"

Morning Post, 14 July 1820

As Cold as a Frog

2011-12-16T01:48:00.001-08:00

Wednesday, 2 January. Since midnight, snow had silently fallen, to the depth of 6 to 8 inches; by breakfast time it was all over except a slight flaky dropping, & the day was calm & very cold. Nothing could be more beautiful; no change more complete & charming. The trees around the fountain near Garden Court were loaded with snow: an exquisite tracery of white branches, relieved against the dark red housefronts. But in the streets the transformation was greatest. All traffic, except afoot, was stopped; no cabs, no omnibuses, no waggons. The snow lay in heaps in the road; men were scraping & shovelling the footways; & people in thick coats & wrappers stepped noiselessly along. The Strand was as quiet and empty as a village street at nightfall; even the footpassengers were far fewer than usual. Here in the heart of London, & at midday, there was absolute cleanliness & brightness, absolute silence: instead of the roar & rush of wheels, the selfish hurry, the dirt & the cloudy fog, we had the loveliness & utter purity of new- fallen snow. It fell without force or sound; & all things huge & hasty & noisy were paralyzed in a moment. I walked along enjoying the wondrous lovely scene, the long perspective of houses, all grown picturesque & antique; their gable roofs white against a clear sky, & every salient cornice & lintel in their outline picked out in brilliant white; and beneath them, the tumbled & tenantless pavement of snow. It was like the quaint still London of old; one might have been arm in arm with Mr. Pepys, or even Mr. W. Shakespeare. And this state of things lasted all day. There were many crossing sweepers about: I noticed one near S. Clement Danes, a girl of 17 or so, in ragged but warm shawl, & a bit of an old bonnet, whose dark rough hair was covered with snow, & hung in a tangled white mass, like the foam of a waterfall, over her brown bonny face, as she stood with her broom under her arm, stamping & blowing her fingers.

Friday, 4 January. The cold out of doors at ten this forenoon was more intense, to my apprehension, than I ever remember. My beard froze, the nape of the neck, & the heart, seemed paralyzed, headache came on, & at the end of the short walk from here to Whitehall I was almost helpless. At 4, I walked westward, thinking to call on the Thackerays. The Horseguards Parade & the Mall were one sheet of snow, with paths trodden but not swept: a thick brown fog brooded over it, deepening the twilight; muffled spectral figures hurried to & fro across the slippery ground. . . . In Victoria Street a girl begged of me: a ragged tall lusty girl of 19, by name Caroline Randall, by trade an ironer; who has no home; who slept last night on a step in a sheltered corner, & felt 'as cold as a frog', she said.

Arthur Munby, Diary, 2 & 4 January 1867

From the Diary of Jacob Jones

2011-12-14T01:42:00.000-08:00

From the diary of Jacob Jones

Sunday, 15^th December

   A black day.
   A little before noon, a nervous-looking boy, no more than fourteen years of age, called at the house. He informed me that he had ‘come directly from Mr. Willis’. I suddenly had a presentiment that Mama Willis had unexpectedly died during the night – that she had been ill. And if Papa Willis lay prostrate with grief –
   I was wrong. It was news of a tragedy – the boy put in a cab and instructed to travel to sundry friends and relations with the dreadful information – but it came from another quarter entirely.
   Dear me! It is an evil thing to write it, but I suppose I must.
   Prince Albert has passed away.
   What news! Of course, the man was but flesh and blood; and we had heard all the reports concerning his health. Nonetheless, I felt a sense of profound amazement and great sorrow. A bulwark of our great Nation lost to us forever.
   I gave the boy a penny for his trouble and spent the afternoon in solitary reflection. D. suggested we close the shutters; I concurred.
   We went to evensong – though it is not our custom – and found the little church quite full. It would be uncharitable to suggest that the ladies wished to display their best black silk; but there was a good deal of that material in evidence. Dora, too, most fetching in her moirée.
   Dull service, awful choir. A dreadful intake of breath, from all present, when the customary prayers were said for the Queen and her family, and his name left absent.
   It is a salutary lesson that we all live on quicksand; nothing is sound or certain.

Girls and Boys and Work

2011-12-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

This feels illuminating: some 1851 census data quoted from 'A brief statistical sketch of the child labour market in mid-nineteenth-century London' (Continuity and Change 20 (2), 2005, 229–245) which shows the use of child labour (10-14 year olds) in London in 1851, for boys and girls. The first figure is the total in the 1851 census, the smaller figure is the percentage of children in that occupation, as opposed to adults (eg. 5.3% of female servants were aged 10-14). It reminds me again how many boys were 'messengers' of one kind or another in Victorian London, a major source of employment.

GIRLS

Domestic servant (General)	6424	5.3
Milliner	1021	2.3
Domestic servant (Nurse)	666	8.6
Seamstress	564	2.7
Artificial-flower-maker	501	18.4
Silk manufacture	420	5.1
Shoemaker	344	4.8
Tailor	260	3.1
Brush, broom-amker	230	19.1
Others engaged about publications	222	7.8
Washerwoman	203	0.6
Domestic servant (Inn servant)	157	2.8
Other paper workers	145	11.8
Domestic servant (Housemaid)	138	1.1
Other workers, dealers in silk	117	8.2
Cap-maker	107	8.4
Others providing dress	107	4.3
Others dealing in wood furniture	76	7.8
Embroiderer	76	5.4
Employed about messages	75	28.6

BOYS

Messenger, porter, not govt.	10472	31.7
Domestic Servant, General	958	4.7
Shoemaker	932	3.0
Labourer	833	1.7
Printer	498	4.8
Commercial clerk	477	2.9
Butcher	414	4.3
Tailor	403	1.8
Silk Manufacture	340	4.5
Carpenter, Joiner	270	1.2
Domestic servant (Inn servant)	266	3.3
Paper-stainer	248	17.2
Baker	240	2.1
Others dealing in drinks, stimulants	238	5.0
Plasterer	231	5.3
Law Clerk	229	4.0
Painter, plumber, glazier	200	1.3
Draper	194	2.6
Ropemaker	168	11.4
Grocer	163	2.1

Christmas For Sale

2011-12-11T01:50:00.000-08:00

In anticipation of the liberal expenditure of ready cash - the most interesting consideration of the season to a London trader - and which expenditure every shopkeeper is dutifully anxious to engross as far as possible to himseld; a thousand different persuasive devices are already placarded and profusely exhibited. "Christmas presents" forms a monster line in the posters on the walls and in the shop-windows. Infantine appeals in gigantic type cover the hoardings. "Do, Papa, Buy Me" so-and-so; so-and-so being blotted out in a few hours by "The New Patent Wig," so that the appeal remains a perplexing puzzle to affectionate parents, till both are in turn blotted out by a third poster, announcing the sacrifice of 120,000 gipsy cloaks and winter mantles at less than half the cost-price. Cheap Christmas books are a part of every bookseller's display; Christmas fashions fill the drapers' windows, and stand on full-dressed poles in the doorways. There are Christmas lamps, lustres, and candelabra; Christmas diamonds made of paste, and Brumagem jewellery for glittering show, as well as Christmas furniture for parties and routs, to be hired for the season-carving, gilding, hangings, beds; everything which, being wanted but once a year, it may be cheaper to hire than to purchase or to keep on hand.
    The slopsellers especially are in a state of prodigious activity, taking time by the forelock, and pushing their unwieldly advertising vans out in every direction, freighted with puffs of their appropriate Christmas garb - Hebrew harness for a Christian festival. These are a few of the broad palms thus early stretched forth to catch a share of the golden shower about to fall.
    But these and such as these are very minor and subordinate preparations. Eating and drinking, after all, are the chief and paramount obligations of the Christmas season. As the month grows older, the great gastronomic anniversary is heralded at every turn by signs more abundant and less equivocal. Among the dealers in eatables, one and all of whom are now putting in their sickles for the harvest, the grocer, who is independent of the weather, leads off the dance. Long before the holly and the mistletoe have come to town, he has received his stock of Christmas fruit, on the sale of which, it may be, the profit or loss of the whole year's trading is depending. For months past, he has been occupied at every leisure hour in breaking to pieces the rocky mass of conglomerate gravel, dirt, sticks, and fruit which, under the designation of currants, came to him from the docks; and it is not before lie has got rid of near half the gross weight, that the indispensable currants are fit to meet the eye of the public. This is one of the nuisances of his trade, and forms a ceremony which, as every housekeeper knows well enough, is but indifferently performed after all. The currants, tolerably cleaned and professionally moistened, occupy a conspicuous place in his window, along with the various sorts of raisins- Sultanas, Muscatels, and Valencias - dates, prunes, and preserves in pots, and candied lemons and spices, built up in the most attractive and gaudy piles and pyramids, edged round with boxes of foreign confections, adorned with admirable specimens of the lithographic art, and all ticketed in clean new figures at astonishingly low prices. The gin-shops, or, to speak more politely, the wine-vaults, now begin to brush up. They wash and varnish over their soiled paint, cleanse the out-sides and decorate the insides of their faded saloons; and concocting new combinations of fire-water, prepare for thirsty poverty new incentives to oblivious intemperance. Every third-rate inn and back-street public-house is the centre and focus of a goose-club, the announcement of which stares you in the face twenty times in the course of a day's walk. They owe their existence to the improvidence and want of economy of the labouring and lowest classes. A small weekly sum subscribed for thirteen weeks, entitles each subscriber to a goose; and by increasing his weekly dole, he may insure, besides the goose, a couple of bottles of spirits. The distribution of geese and gin takes place on Christmas-eve; and in large working establishments, where the goose-club is a favourite institution, and where, for the most part, the innkeeper is not allowed to meddle, the choice of the birds is decided by the throw of the dice, the thrower of the highest cast having the first choice. We will drop in at the hour of distribution, and witness the consummation of one of these affairs.
    But time rolls on, and the great cattle-show in Baker-street has come off. The pig of half a ton weight has held his last levee, and grunted a welcome to the lords and ladies of the aristocracy, and to hundreds of thousands of less distinguished visitors. The prize animals are all sold, and marched or carted off to their new owners. The periodical insanity of the butchers has been developed as strongly as ever. The love of fame glows beneath a blue apron as fiercely as beneath a diamond star; and determined to cut a respectable figure in the carnival which is approaching, Mr. Stickem does not hesitate to purchase a beast, which he knows well enough will hardly cut up for five-and-thirty pounds, at the cost of seventy. What of that? The bubble reputation outweighs the love of lucre, and if he is satisfied with his bargain, who shall complain? Happy is the butcher who has been enabled to purchase a prize-ox; he is not disposed to hide his candle under a bushel. If he have room in front of his shop, he will tether his dear bargain, during the short hours of daylight, to a post in front of his doorway-where, a good fat ox being a special favourite with the public, lie is patted and petted by them as they stop in groups to admire his vast proportions. The unwieldly beast, ornamented with ribbons and favours, gazes moodily around him, now plucks a mouthful of hay, and now utters a sonorous bellow - a lament for the pastures of his calf hood.
    Let us now transport ourselves to Covent-garden on the eve of Christmas-week. It is late on Friday night, and to-morrow is the last Saturday's market before Christmas-day. The market, which for the last two months has been redolent of the damp odour of the sere and yellow leaf, is now to blossom for a few short hours with renewed brilliancy. The bells of the city have not yet struck the hours of midnight, when from the various avenues which lead into Covent-garden, the sound of wheels is heard on all sides, and a continuous stream of carts and waggons pours into the open space, which, in less than an hour, is rendered impassable to any but adventurous foot passengers. At the first glance, the whole burden of the numberless wains appears one mass of evergreens; it looks as though Birnam Wood had actually come to Dunsinane. Immense quantities of holly and fir, with here and there a bough of laurel, show the demand of the Londoners for winter verdure. The mistletoe-bough, which has hung like an inverted goose-berry bush from the old apple-tree all the summer long, and a fine specimen of which is good at this nick of time for half-a- guinea, to say nothing of the kissing, which we don't presume to value, appears this year in quantities truly enormous, and, we should think, unprecedented. The market now presents a noisy and interesting spectacle. The bawling and roaring of drivers, the backing of wails to make room for privileged new-comers, the chaffering of dealers, who are not at all angry, passionate as they seem, the grappling feet of horses, and fifty minor sounds, perplex the ear, as much as the dim vision does the eye, of dark figures flitting rapidly about hither and thither, by the light of a hundred lanterns constantly dodging up and down, and the steady glare of the gas overhead. In the midst of all this apparent confusion, however, business is doing and done by wholesale. By three or four o'clock, a good half of the various wares, prickly as well as palatable, brought to market, are transferred to new proprietors, and are already off, most of them without breaking bulk, to different quarters of the town. Long before the dawn, the din has ceased altogether, and the cause of it has vanished. The traders of the market are mostly on the spot before four o'clock, and are now active in preparing the show of winter fruit, which is to adorn the tables of the wealthy in the coming festival. Before ten o'clock, the arcade is in trim for visitors and customers, and a tempting array of all that the depth of winter can produce is ranged in artistic order. There are apples of all hues and sizes, among which the brown russet, the golden bob, and the Ribston pippins, are pre-eminent. Among the pears are the huge winter-pear, the delicious Charmontel, and the bishop's-thumb. Then there are foreign and hot-house grapes, transparent and luscious; large English pine-apples, pomegranates, brown biffins from Norfolk, and baskets of soft medlars; Kent cob-nuts, filberts and foreign nuts of outlandish shapes, all gaily mingled and mixed up with flowers of all hues, natural and artificial, and both, and neither; bouquets of real grasses tinted to an unreal colour, immortelles that were never green, stained into evergreen; weeds and wayside flowers dried to death, and then dyed of various hues to live and blossom again, scented with delicious odours which nature never gave them; flowers cut from coloured paper, flowers modelled in wax, flowers of tinted cotton fabrics, flowers carved delicately from turnips and beet-root- all in bright and brilliant contrast with the dark-green holly and the sere and russet hue of the winter fruit. Notwithstanding this artificial attempt at colour, the show is, on the whole, much more suggestive to the palate than captivating to the eye. You cannot help noticing a prodigious number of sapling firs, some transplanted into pots, and trained, cropped, and clipped into regular shapes for Christmas-trees; most of these are sold naked as brought to market, but some few are loaded with fruit, oranges, lemons, and clustered grapes, and liberally adorned with imitative flowers and wreaths. The confectioners purchase these trees, and load the branches with choice delicacies under various disguises, and will present each member of a customer's family with an appropriate token of affectionate remembrance. This practice of plucking fruit from the Christmas tree, which is growing more and more prevalent in English families, is of German origin, and is said to owe its increasing popularity in England to the custom of the, royal family, whose Christmas-tree is pretty sure to be fully described in the fashionable journals.

Charles Manby Smith, Curiosities of London Life, 1853

Visiting Dickens' London

2011-12-08T09:42:00.000-08:00

The much anticipated Dickens and London exhibition opens tomorrow, and I was lucky enough to have a sneak peak today - solo! - accompanied by Andrew Marcus from the Museum's publicity team, and Alex Werner, Head of History Collections, the exhibition's curator. My especial thanks to Alex - it was incredibly generous of him to spare me the time, the day before the big event. Cheers!

Here's my review ... with some comments on layout and design, multimedia, and that crucial element, the actual content; then some final thoughts.

Layout and Design

The layout of the exhibition is straightforward and easy to follow, themed into sections which relate to Dickens's life and his works. These include areas devoted to death, the Victorian worship of house and home, and Dickens enduring passion for the theatre (as a young man, he famously considered becoming an actor; later in life, he would form his own highly regimented 'amateur' productions, both for pleasure and charitable purposes; and he spent his final years giving bravura 'readings' of dramatic scenes from his work to packed theatres and halls) . There are pieces of biography and Dickens's personal memorabilia scattered throughout, but the exhibition is more about showing the London which Dickens knew, through objects, printed material, art and video.

Multimedia

There are three video elements, none of which I had time to see at any length, but looked good:

1. giant projector screens at the entrance, showing 'dissolving views' (to use a Victorianism) of nineteenth century London photographs - ragged street sellers, London Bridge in rush hour &c.

2. an animation, using Buss's famous 'Dickens's Dream' as its source and inspiration

Dickens's Dream, by Robert William Buss, 1875

3. A film, The Houseless Shadow, tracing the paths of Dickens's famous Night Walks essay, taking us through modern London in his footsteps.

Contents

The contents of the exhibition are simply fabulous, to be honest. I particularly enjoyed the larger objects taken from the museum's collections. For example, various London street signs taken from coaching inns and the like. These decorative '3D' signs were peculiar antiquarian oddities in Dickens's time, but you will find them frequently referenced in his works. You can still see some in the wild, too, albeit reproductions: the goldbeater's arm referenced in A Tale of Two Cities, whose replica can be spotted on Manette Street in Soho (I believe the original is in the Dickens Museum); or the signs of Lombard Street, (re)erected for the coronation of George V in 1910 (see this grasshopper, for instance).

An original sign at the exhibition, from the Bull and Mouth Coaching Inn, St. Martin's-le-Grand.

More gloomily, how about a door from Newgate Gaol?


A cell-door from Newgate.

Or this watchman's box from Furnival's Inn where Dickens had rooms in the 1830s?

A watchman's box - of the sort which 18th and 19th C. rakes loved to topple over.

You can also see two of Dickens's writing desks (one from Gad's Hill, and one - I think - from Doughty Street, although I may have got that wrong); several pages of original manuscript, replete with crossings-out and additions - in particular, the magnficent first page of Bleak House, with its unforgettable description of the London fog and dinosaurs on Holborn Hill.

The choice of artwork has great range and depth - from the grand but familiar Applicants for Admission to a casual ward, by Luke Fildes to the weird garish colours and distorted faces of Arthur Boyd Houghton's Itinerant Singers (try zooming on the image below, for a scare), as well as some rare London scenes relating to Dickens's life and work ...

Itinerant Singers, by Arthur Boyd Houghton

Hungerford Stairs, by John Harley, 1830, the site of the infamous blacking factory
in which the young author had to labour; now the site of Embankment Station.

A rare view of Buckingham Street, by John Niemann, 1854, where Dickens lived briefly in 1834. David Copperfield lived here too. Note the York Water Gate in the background, still visible today.

What else? Well, let's think - copies of the novels in the original part-work format in which they appeared - a great idea, given this was how most readers first consumed Dickens's works. You may also notice a lovely - original - penny theatre depicting The Miller and His Men, the childhood story beloved by the great author. Copies of the playbills for rip-offs of Dickens's works (often performed before the ending of the book was published); cartes de visites of his friends and colleagues, and his mistress, the actress Ellen Ternan ... it's a long list, I promise you.

Final Thoughts

Was there anything that let the exhibition down? Well, I'm not sure about the giant video screens ... they seemed a bit wasted on showing blown up photos; and I wondered if more could be done. I'm not sure I saw everything that will appear on them, but I yearned to see Dickens represented in modern film or theatre - for instance, the 1920s silent version of Oliver Twist (which is marvellous) or the early eighties RSC Nicholas Nickleby. On the other hand, I'll lay odds you will be able to catch those at the BFI or similar at some point. Equally, on the tour, Alex mentioned how a copy of one of Dickens's books, pirated into Russian, was found on a dead Russian soldier at Sebastopol in 1857 - and I wondered if we'd see anything about Dickens translated into other languages, in other cultures. This is, however, the purest nit-picking on my part; and - looking at the catalogue, having come home - I find there were two dozen fascinating things that totally escaped me on today's whirlwind tour. In short, I must go back; and I would heartily recommend you make the effort to pay this exhibition a visit - it's a brilliant, intriguing display of industry, ingenuity and affection on the part of the museum and its staff.

Poor Married Man

2011-12-07T06:28:00.000-08:00

A very instructive popular music-hall ditty, c. 1870 (although it probably goes back further than that) for those planning to get married (found in full in A Book of Scattered Leaves by James G. Hepburn, on Google Books).

Poor Married Man

Oh, what sorrow a poor man's life is.
     Poor married man,
It full of trouble grief and strife is,
     Poor married man.
Soon as he's wed things sure to frown will.
Trades sure to go in country and town ill.
It's all up and down, down, down hill,
     Poor married man.

He goes to church brisk as a vulter.
     Poor married man.
With a "H" they ought to spell that Altar.
     Poor married man,
When wed the fair have fairly trick'd him,
Even the beadle grins to see how they nick'd him,
Cries there goes another Hymen's victim,
     Poor married man.

When single, he thought the parlour a slap room;
      Poor married man,
When married he smokes a short pipe in a tap room.
     Poor married man,
When he goes home, they're sure to bore him.
Tease and snarl, nag and jaw him,
And his eldest boy is good to floor him.
     Poor married man.

Visions of the workhouse landlord and broker.
     Poor married man.

Haunt his mind till he is nearly a croker,
     Poor married man,
Three children down with the scarlatina,
The measles seizes poor Georgina.
And a black man steps it with Angelina.
     Poor married man.

Soon after marriage he's sure to be hard up,
     Poor married man,
He begins to accumulate his uncle's cards up.
     Poor married man,
The feathers go pound by pound till the last one.
A brown sugar basin instead of a glass one,
The wedding ring gives place to a brass one,
     Poor married man.

Trousers wet and cradle rocking,
     Poor married man,
Buttonless shirt and feetless stockings,
    Poor married man,
He has no shirt, especially on one day,
When he lays at home without it on Sunday,
While the old gal rubs it out for Monday,
     Poor married man.

He lives on sodgers, rashers. faggots,
     Poor married man.
When in luck, block ornaments and chances the maggots,
     Poor married man,
Dreams of blow outs, kitchen clearings.
Fancies he's Lord Mayor, when eating tongue parings,
And longs for the time of cheap fresh herrings,
     Poor married man.

Last scene that ends the poor man's history,
     Poor married man,
He dies, how he liv'd had been a mystery,
     Poor married man,
Grim death comes kindly to relieve him,
Friends so poor, no time to grieve him,
And a parish egg chest perhaps may receive him,
     Poor married man.

Jumper

2011-12-05T06:54:00.000-08:00

SINGULAR MODE OF LIFE.—In a recent assault case brought before the Clerkenwell Police-court, a most extraordinary character appeared as a witness. This individual, whose name is Smith, is notorious about the purlieus of Field-lane and Saffron-hill as "The Jumper." The man is by profession a thorough subterranean rat-catcher, for tlae supply of those who keep sporting dogs. One half of Jumper's life is spent in quest of prey from the whole range of the sewerage of London. Furnished with a bull's-eye lanthorn, a good-sized folding trap, and a short rake, he enters the main sewer at the foot of Blackfriars Bridge, and pursues his dangerous avocation, waist deep in mud and filth of every description. The sewers literally swarm with rats, which he catches by hand, and places them in his cage as easy as if they were young kittens. His under-ground journeys extend for miles. He has been under Newgate, and along Cheapside to the Mansion House. He has traversed from Holborn to Islington, closely inspecting all the divergent passages or fragrant tributaries that fall into the "Cloacina maxima" of the mighty metropolis. In fact he would make an excellent chairman for the Board of Commissioners in Greek-street, under whose premises he has rambled in his pursuit of game. On one occasion an obstruction occurred to a drain at the foot of Holborn-hill, and "Jumper" being known in the neighbourhood, was applied to. Terms were speedily agreed upon; Jumper started off to the foot of Blackfriars Bridge, and in half an hour his voice was heard down the gully-hole; he speedily cleared away the obstruction, and received his reward, thus saving the expense of breaking up the roadway. It is not, however, to the rats alone that Jumper pays his attention: he frequently falls in with a rich prize, particularly in the City sewers. On one occasion he found a silk purse, containing gold and silver; on another a gold watch and seals, numbers of silver spoons, rings, and other articles of value. A few months since Jumper took on a pupil for the profession a person named Harris, one bred up to the horse-slaughtering business - but after a month's trial he gave it up, observing that he could stand a tidy bit, but he could'nt stand "that are," and so Jumper remains the "monarch of all he surveys." His right, however, has been disputed by one Lord Mayor, who threatened him with imprisonment on the ground of trespassing; Jumper, however, still pursues his fragrant calling. He has been three times attacked with typhus fever, but rapidly recovered on each occasion.—"Jumper" may be seen on Sundays, well dressed, and generally with a watch in his pocket, and, in short, he would make a very worthy and practical "commissioner of sewers." It may be added, that the rats bring him in from one shilling to eighteen-pence a dozen, and so conversant is he with their haunts or burrows, that he requires but a couple of hours' notice to produce any given quantity from a dozen to a hundred. Strange to say, this most extraordinary character is at present in good health, and follows his vocation with the greatest assiduity.

The Royal Cornwall Gazette, Falmouth Packet, and General Advertiser, October 3 1851

To the Editur of the Times Paper

2011-12-04T13:59:00.000-08:00

This appeared in the Times of July 5 1849 - is it real? The names attached suggest so - if so, then it's a rare instance of the voices of the poor entirely in their own, carefully considered, but mispelt, words. On the other hand, well - decide for yourself:-

THE EDITUR OF THE TIMES PAPER

Sur, May we beg and beseech your proteckshion and power, We are Sur, as it may be, livin in a Willderniss, so far as the rest of London knows anything of us, or as the rich and great people care about. We live in much and filthe. We aint go no privix, no dust bins, no drains, no water-splies, and no drain or suer in the hole place. The Suer Company, in Greek St., Soho Square, all great, rich and powerfool men, take no notice watsomedever of our cumplaints. The Stenche of a Gully-hole is disgustin. We all of us suffur, and numbers are ill, and if the Colera comes Lord help us.
    Some gentlemans comed yesterday, and we thought they was comishoners from the Suer Company, but they was complaining of the noosance and stenchs our lanes and corts was to them in New Oxforde Street. they was much surprized to see the seller in No.12, Carrier St., in our lane, where a child was dyin from fever, and would not beleave that Sixty persons sleep in it every night. This here seller you couldent swing a cat in, and the rent is five shilling a week; but theare are greate many sich deare sellars. Sur, we hope you will let us have our cumplaints put into your influenshall paper, and make these landlords of our houses and these comishoners (the friends we spose of the landlords) make our houses decent for Christions to live in.
    Preaye Sir, com and see us, for we are livin like piggs, and it aint faire we shoulde be so ill treted.
    We are your respeckfull servents in Church Lane, Carrier St., and the other corts.
    Tuesday Juley 3, 1849
    John Scott; Emen Scott; Joseph Crosbie; Hanna Crosbie; Edward Copeman; Richard Harmer; John Barnes; William Austin; Elen Fitzgerald; William Whut; Ann Saundersen; Mark Manning; John Turner; William Dwyne; Mary Aiers; Donald Connell; Timothy Driscoll; Timothe Murphy; John O'Grady; John Dencey; John Crowley; Margret Steward; Bridget Towley; John Towley; Timothy Crowley; John Brown; ... [etc]

London's Lost Museums

2011-12-03T05:58:00.000-08:00

I'm always fascinated by London's lost Victorian museums, which have either disappeared entirely or been snaffled up by the gaping maws of the V&A and Science Museum, or other big beasts. Coming across the 'Parkes Museum of Hygiene' which once dwelt at UCL (ok, not very interesting - might even still be there, for all I know), I then stumbled upon this article from the Times of March 11, 1936:-

LONDON'S UNKNOWN MUSEUMS
POTENTIAL TEACHING MATERIAL
SPECIAL L.C.C. SURVEY
FROM A CORRESPONDENT

Since his appointment as Organizer of Museum Services to the L.C.C. Dr. L. W. G. Malcolm has been engaged in making a survey of these institutions, as well as of the art galleries, and has prepared a report, which should be a revelation to Londoners of their numbers, variety, and value as educative factors, supplementary to class and book work in the schools.
    In a foreword to the report Mr. E. M. Rich, the Education Officer, states that while the contents of the museums of London, apart front their intrinsic worth, are of immense value as potential teaching material, a teacher, who wishes to make the be use of the exhibits for teaching purposes is at present faced with certain difficulties. It was with a realization of these difficulties that the L.C.C., which already has a system of educational visits to museums, recently set up a Museums Advisory Committee on which teachers of all types are serving; and at the same time appointed Dr. Malcolm as organizer. It is hoped that, by these measures, the difficulties confronting teachers will be solved.

LITTLE-KNOWN INSTITUTIONS

Dr_ Malcolm gives a list of 60 museums and galleries, some of which must be unknown to Londoners, even by name. There is, for instance, the Institute of Hygiene at 28, Portland Place; Dr_ Malcolm thus describes its contents:" Exhibits connected with food,clothing, and the house. In the clothing section are cases of Victorian and Egyptian clothing, pieces of cloth found during excavations in London, and a chart of historical clothing." A similar institulion, the Parkes Museum of the Royal Sanitary Institute, is also on Dr. Malcolm's list. It is at 90, Buckingham Palace Road, and its exhibits' are summarized as " A great variety of approved forms of apparatus and appliances relating to health."
    Another little-known institution is St. George's Nature Study Museum, in Cable Street, Stepney, which is open from noon to dusk and on Sundays from 3 p.m. to dusk in the summer. Dr. Malcolm describes the exhibits as "Living specimens, consisting of birds, mammals (chiefly British), reptiles, fishes, batrachians, molluscs, and insects, both terrestrial and fresh water; an observatory bee-hive, aquaria, a collection of living tropical fresh-water fish; and special seasonal exhibits."
    Perhaps London's smallest museum is Battersea Museum and Art Gallery, in the Central Library, Lavender Hill- The exhibits are housed in one room on the first floor, and consist of Battersea enamels, prints, and engravings of Battersea and the locality, china, carvings of local interest, and curios.
    Relics relating to the Crusades are to be seen in the Museum of the Grand Priory of the Order of the Hospital of St. John, at St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell; and at the Rotunda Museum, on Woolwich Common, there is a collection of artillery exhibits, representative types of armour, firearms, swords, native weapons, and models of bridges.
    A different type or museum is the Horniman, at Forest Hill, where there is an unrivalled collection of ethnological exhibits, including sections and series illustrating the ancestry of man and the classification of human races.
    An institution that occupies a place by itself is the Museum of Blindiana, Armitage Hall, Great Portland Street. "It contains," says Dr. Malcolm, " a comprehensive collection of books in raised types, apparatus and appliances for teaching the blind and for meeting their recreational, social, and industrial needs." Then there is the Donaldson Museum of the Royal College of Music, in Prince Consort Road, which houses a small collection of rare musical instruments. The Geffrye Museum, in Kingsland Road, Shoreditch, is well known to the general public. it was designed to assist the local furniture and wood-working industries, and among its treasures is the Wren Room from the Pewterers' Hall in the City.
    The Home Office has its own Industrial Museum in Horseferry Road, Westminster, where may be seen a permanent exhibition of safety, health, and social welfare methods and appliances. In the Jewish Museum, Upper Woburn Place, there is a collection of antiquities, illustrating Jewish religious practice, family Iife, and history, among which Anglo-Jewish objects predominate.
    Museums with personal associations are Carlyle's House, 24, Cheyne Row, Chelxca, in which the exhibits occupy 10 rooms; Dickens's House, Doughty Street, with many interesting relics of the famous Victorian novelist; Hogarth's House, Hogarth Lane, Chiswick, in which there :ire numerous prints and other objects relating to the artist; Johnson's House in Gough Square, with many relics of Dr. Johnson and his circle; the Keats Memorial House and Museum, Wentworth Place, Keats Grove, Hampstead, which has been organized on the same lines as the others ; Wesley's House in City Road, which was built by John Wesley in 1779, and in which he lived till his death 12 years later. This house has recently been restored to its eighteenth-century condition, and it contains, among other exhibits, old furniture of the period. . . . . The report may be purchased, price 4d., through any bookseller.

Has anyone ever come across this LCC report? What were the 60 museums listed?

Trumps!

2011-12-02T00:45:00.000-08:00

In case you missed them on my site or my twitter feed ...

Cholera

2011-12-01T04:31:00.000-08:00

Just came across some great figures, which, having been rearranged, show your chances of getting cholera in the 1832 epidemic, depending on your location in London .... [doubtless available elsewhere, but still] ... sorted by deaths as a percentage of population ...

Belle Isle

2011-11-29T06:32:00.000-08:00

More on the lovely air of Belle Isle (the area just north of King Cross station) in the mid-Victorian period ... you can find more about it, including a map, here.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir,- I have read the letter of "Clericus" in your journal of to-day, and I could not conceive that any, excepting either a proprietor of the horse slaughter-house, or one of the Patent Manure Company, would maintain for a moment that these nuisances could be otherwise than injurious to health. I can only meet his statements with facts within my own experience.
I have resided in Stanmore-street, Caledonian-road, for the last three years, and I must stay another twelvemonth, if I should survive so long in this filthy and offensive atmosphere. The evil has gradually increased until the effect is clearly showing itself by the desertion of the inhabitants of the surrounding neighbourhood, and if it is possible (which I do not believe) that no actual disease arisen, it produces nausea and vomiting to many people, of whom I am one, for on four recent occasions on my return home in the evening from the city, when the stench has been more suffocating than usual, I have positively vomitted in the gutter in the Caledonian-road. On several occasions two of my children, aged respectively 4 and 6, while playing in the back garden, have come indoors and complained about these smells, which often produced retching, and their health, as well as my own, has ben materially affected by those nuisances; and, without pretending to any medical knowledge, it strikes me that an atmosphere which causes nausea and sickness must be prejudicial to health, and that Nature herself indicates that one cannot breathe it with impunity, and it is a positive fact, as stated by one of the correspondent on this subject, that "It has a most deleterious effect upon the health of those who live within the area of its malign influence, rendering their very food unwholesome." Apologizing for the length of my letter,
I have the honours be, Sir,
Your most obedient servant,
THOMAS WATERS. 30, Stanmore-street, Caledonian-road, Sept. 28, 1855

Titles available in commercial/academic newspaper databases

2011-11-29T02:51:00.000-08:00

Here's a comparison I've just knocked up of what's available in the new British Newspaper Archive vs. the Thomson Gale produced databases that have been available to academics for some years. This is not exact, and I haven't checked year coverage (although one randomly selected title on the new database did seem to go back much further than Thomson Gale). The result is quite clear - the new BNA all but replaces the Thomson Gale database and add lots of new local titles. How interesting these new titles are, I don't know - my guess is that the Manchester Evening News, for example, is a major addition - are there any proper scholars able to comment?

This, found by Sharon Howard (ta, Sharon), explains the background to this change ... http://digitisation.jiscinvolve.org/wp/2011/11/29/1966/ ... hopefully universities will gain access to the new database shortly ...

Plain = Thomson Gale 19^th Cent. Newspapers

Blue = Thomson Gale Periodicals

Red = British Newspaper Archive

Aberdeen Journal | Aberdeen Journal

Aberdeen Weekly Journal

Age

Aldershot Military Gazette

Alexandra Magazine and Woman’s Social and Industrial Advocate

Atalanta

Aunt Judy’s Magazine

Ayr Advertiser

Bailey’s Monthly Magazine of Sports and Pastimes and Racing Register

Baner Cymru | Baner ac Amserau Cymru

Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette

Belfast News-Letter | Belfast News-Letter

Bell’s Life in London

Berrow’s Worcester Journal

Berwickshire News and General Advertiser

Big Budget

Birmingham Daily Post | Birmingham Daily Post

Birmingham Gazette

Blackburn Standard | Blackburn Standard

Boy’s Own Magazine

Boys of England

Boy’s Own Paper

Bradford Observer | Bradford Observer

Bright Eyes

Brighton Patriot | Brighton Patriot

Bristol Mercury

British Mothers’ Magazine

British Women’s Temperance Journal

Bucks Herald

Burnley Advertiser

Burnley Express

Burnley Gazette

Bury and Norwich Post | Bury and Norwich Post

Bury Times

Caledonian Mercury | Caledonian Mercury

Cambridge Chronicle and Journal

Captain: A Magazine for Boy and Old Boys

Carlisle Journal

Champion | Champion

Charter | Charter

Chartist | Chartist

Chartist Circular| Chartist Circular

Chatterbox

Chelmsford Chronicle

Cheltenham Chronicle

Cheltenham Looker-On

Cheshire Observer | Cheshire Observer

Chester Chronicle

Chester Courant

Child’s Companion

Children’s Friend

Chums: An Illustrated Paper for Boys

Cleave’s London Satirist and Gazette of Variety

Cobbett's Weekly Political Register | Cobbett's Weekly Political Register

Cork Examiner

Cornishman

Coventry Evening Telegraph

Cycling: An Illustrated Weekly

Daily Gazette for Middlesborough | Daily Gazette for Middlesbrough

Daily News

Dart : A Journal of Sense and Satire

Dawn

Derby Mercury | Derby Mercury

Derbyshire Times and Chesterfield Herald

Devizes and Wiltshire Gazette

Dorset County Chronicle
Dumfries and Galloway Standard

Dundee Advertiser

Dundee Courier | Dundee Courier

Dundee, Perth, and Cupar Advertiser

Dunfermline Press

Edinburgh Evening News

Elgin Courant, and Morayshire Advertiser

Elgin Courier

Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine

Englishwoman’s Review

Era | Era

Essex Newsman

Essex Standard | Essex Standard

Evening Telegraph

Every Boy’s Magazine

Examiner | Examiner

Exeter and Plymouth Gazette

Exeter and Plymouth Gazette Daily Telegrams

Exeter Flying Post

Falkirk Herald

Fancy, or True Sportsman’s Guide

Father william’s Stories

Figaro in London

Fife Herald

Fishing Gazette

Freeman's Journal | Freeman's Journal

Friendly Companion and Illustrated Instructor

Fun

Funny Folks

Genedl | Genedl

Girls Own Paper

Glasgow Herald | Glasgow Herald

Gloucester Citizen

Goleuad | Goleuad

Golf

Good Words for the Young

Graphic | Graphic

Halfpenny Marvel Library

Hampshire Advertiser

Hampshire Chronicle

Hampshire/Portsmouth Telegraph | Hampshire Telegraph

Hastings and St Leonards Observer

Hearth and Home

Hereford Journal

Hereford Times

Hertford Mercury and Reformer

Herts Guardian, Agricultural Journal, and General Advertiser

Horse and Hound

Huddersfield Chronicle | Huddersfield Chronicle

Hull Packet | Hull Packet

Huntingdon, Bedford & Peterborough Gazette

Illustrated Chips

Illustrated Police News | Illustrated Police News

Ipswich Journal | Ipswich Journal

Isle of Man Times | Isle of Man Times

Isle of Wight Observer | Isle of Wight Observer

Jackson's Oxford Journal

John Bull

Journal of the Women’s Education Union

Judy

Juvenile Companion and Sunday School Hive

Kate Greenaway’s Almanack

Kendal Mercury

Kentish Chronicle

Kentish Gazette

Kind Words for Boys and Girls

Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, Music and Romance

Ladies Fashionable Repository

Ladies Treasury

Lady’s Monthly Museum

Lady’s Newspaper and Pictorial Times

La Belle Assemblee

Lancaster Gazetteer | Lancaster Gazette

Leamington Spa Courier

Le Follet

Leeds Intelligencer

Leeds Mercury | Leeds Mercury

Leeds Patriot and Yorkshire Advertiser

Leeds Times

Leicester Chronicle | Leicester Chronicle

Leicester Journal

Leicestershire Mercury

Licensed Victuallers Mirror

Lichfield Mercury

Lincolnshire Chronicle

Little Folks

Little Wide Awake: A Story Book for Children

Liverpool Echo

Liverpool Mercury | Liverpool Mercury

Lloyd's Illustrated Newspaper | Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper

London Daily News

London Dispatch | London Dispatch

London Standard

Louth and North Lincolnshire Advertiser

Luton Times and Advertiser (1856 - 1876)
Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser

Manchester Evening News

Manchester Mercury

Manchester Times | Manchester Times

Merry and wise

Monrthly Pack of Evening Readers for Younger Members of the English Church

Moonshine

Morning Chronicle | Morning Chronicle

Morning Post | Morning Post

Morpeth Herald

Motherwell Times

Myra’s Journal of Dress and Fashion

Newcastle Courant | Newcastle Courant

Newcastle Guardian and Tyne Mercury

Newcastle Journal

Norfolk Chronicle

North Devon Journal

North Wales Chronicle | North Wales Chronicle

Northampton Mercury

Northants Evening Telegraph

Northern Echo | Northern Echo

Northern Liberator | Northern Liberator

Northern Star | Northern Star

Nottingham Evening Post

Nottinghamshire Guardian | Nottinghamshire Guardian

Odd Fellow | Odd Fellow

Operative | Operative

Our Little Dots

Our Young Folks Weekly Budget

Owl

Oxford Journal

Pall Mall Gazette | Pall Mall Gazette

Passing Events at Home and Abroad

Penny Illustrated Paper

Penny Satirist

Perry’s Bankrupt Gazette

Peter Parley’s Annual

Pick Me Up

Picture Politics

Pierce Egan’s Book of Sports

Pierce Egan’s Weekly Courier

Poor Law Unions’ Gazette

Poor Man's Guardian | Poor Man's Guardian

Portsmouth Evening News

Preston Chronicle | Preston Chronicle

Punch

Racing Illustrated

Racing Times

Reading Mercury

Reynolds's Newspaper | Reynolds's Newspaper

Rochdale Observer

Routledge’s Every Girls Annual

Royal Cornwall Gazette | Royal Cornwall Gazette

Salisbury and Winchester Journal

Salopian Journal

Satirist

Sheffield Daily Telegraph

Sheffield Evening Telegraph

Sheffield Independent | Sheffield Independent

Sherborne Mercury

Shield: The Anti-Contagious Diseases Acts Association’s Weekly Circular

Shields Daily Gazette

Southampton Herald

Southern Star

South London Press

Southern Star

Sporting Gazette

Sporting Times

Sportsman’s Annual

St. Nicolas Scribner’s Illustrated Magazine for Girls and Boys

Staffordshire Advertiser

Staffordshire Gazette and County Standard

Staffordshire Sentinel
Staffordshire Sentinel and Commercial & General Advertiser

Stamford Mercury

Standard

Star | Star

Stirling Observer

Storm-bell

Sunderland Daily Echo and Shipping Gazette

Sussex Advertiser

Tamworth Herald

Taunton Courier, and Western Advertiser

Tiny Tots

Tomahawk

Trewman's Exeter Flying Post

Union Jack

Walter’s Theatrical and Sporting Directory

Wells Journal

West Briton and Cornwall Advertiser

West Kent Guardian

West Middlesex Advertiser and Family Journal

Western Daily Press

Western Gazette

Western Mail | Western Mail

Western Times

Westmorland Gazette

Woman at Home

Woman’s Advocate

Woman and Wort

Women’s Penny Paper

Women’s Union Journal

Worcester Journal

Worcestershire Chronicle

World of Fashion and Continental Feuilletons

Wrexham Weekly Advertiser | Wrexham Advertiser

York Herald | York Herald

Yorkshire Gazette

Soho Drains

2011-11-28T08:27:00.000-08:00

You wouldn't necessarily want an attic room in Soho in the 1850s:

"The number of houses inspected has been 207, in which are situate 218 waterclosets, most of them fixed over cesspools, 20 open privies, 88 dustbins in yards, 78 ditto in vaults or areas, and 25 in kitchens under the stairs; these dustbins are kept in a comparatively clean state.
Throughout the neighbourhood it is important to observe that the houses are for the most part let out in lodgings; a separate family, and in some cases even two, are living in one floor, whereas but one watercloset or privy in the yard or area exists for the use of the whole house; consequently, in the rooms above the ground floor, portable cesspools or slop-pails are kept, into which night soil and dirty water and all refuse are thrown, and these are emptied about once a-day, either down a sink or into the watercloset or privy, and not unfrequently into a gully in the street. On the top or attic floor the occupants generally make use of the gutter for the emptying of these accumulations, which find their way down the rain water pipe into the paving in the yard at the back of the house, and sometimes into the footway in the street in front. It is a fact worthy of notice, that the greatest mortality has taken place in the upper floors of nearly all the houses. "

Report on Cholera in Westminster, 1854

Ten Years

2011-11-17T02:43:00.000-08:00

My compendious website of Victoriana www.victorianlondon.org is officially ten years old this week. So here's some not-so-fascinating facts about the site, and (not really) a competition for the artistically inclined ...

I started the site because I was writing a historical novel, and wanted to compile all the fascinating snippets of Victorian stuff I was finding in books. My original idea was simply to create a meta-index of all the indexes in my non-fiction reading. But that was tedious. So I began scanning the full text of Victorian documents. That was tedious too, but I'm a librarian by training, so I stuck with it. At some point between 2001 and 2011, it started to get out of hand. I will leave you to decide when.
I have written six or seven novels using the site as my electronic brain, but many more successful authors have found it rather handy. For example, it's credited in Michael Cox's The Meaning of Night and, most recently, Anthony Horowitz's The House of Silk. I do not receive their royalties. Boo.
The site was originally hosted on stokenewington.junglelink.co.uk for a few months in 2001 ... sites like this http://www.maberly.name/links.htm may need updating.
My best random connection was when a reader, searching the web, noticed an article on the site. It mentioned in passing a Victorian worthy who kept two inkstands made from the hooves of his favourite horses (as you do) engraved with the horses' names, in his office. The reader in question was the man's grandson and recalled the inkstands very welll from his grandfather's house; but, until then, he had never before understood why his grandfather treasured them, or what the names meant. You perhaps had to be there. Of course, now, I cannot find the article in question. I have the nagging doubt that I may have made this up.
My worst recollection related to www.victorianlondon.org is being persuaded to give what I thought was an informal chat to a class of history students at Dulwich College. It turned out to be the entire lower sixth, although, being Dulwich College, the year was called something antique and intimidating, like 'The Relieve'. More accurate would have been 'The Nose-Picking, Living-Dead-Eyed-Is-it-Lunch-Yet-Who-is-this-schmuck-Hormonal Teens'. I blame the parents. I still cannot pass Dulwich without a brief shudder. Not my finest hour.
The best thing that www.victorianlondon.org has obtained for me, apart from an enormous sense of spiritual peace and physical well-being [*WARNING: Site does not contain an enormous sense of spiritual peace and physical well-being] is two weeks in Perth, Australia, giving lectures to retireees and wandering around the Antipodes. I enjoyed both the lectures and the trip to a guilty degree.
The site currently averages 1,612 visitors a day.
Some recent questions asked of Google that led people to the site:
- why was victorian london smelly?
- who was queen in victorian london?
- what would a victorian maid call her master?
- what were the toilet habits of the victorians?
Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
I am pretty sure that site usage peaked in about 2005. I have some stats here http://www.victorianlondon.org/stats.htm which show a clear dip, although the current visitor numbers are not remotely comparable, as Webalizer is infinitely less reliable than Google Analytics, which I now use, and has always seemed to return about x3 what Google tells you. The reason for my certainty is more the numbers of emails which I receive, which is much fewer - my guess is that people spend less time 'browsing' the web at random for interesting and cool stuff, and more time on social media.
That said, site visitors still come from all over the world ... here's a map from the last month ...

As you can see, Mongolia needs to make more of an effort.

I hope you've enjoyed www.victiorianlondon.org as much as me these last ten years, although that's hardly likely.

Would I do it all again, knowing what I know now? Tragically, I fear I would.

COMPETITION

This is not really a competition, so don't get excited. It just occurred to me that it would be nice to have a picture of a cake on the site.

Would any of you fabulous artistic people out there be able to draw me a Victorian-themed cake?

The prize will be that it appears on front page of my website. This is not really a prize; but that does not matter.

Soot and Shelter

2011-11-15T11:01:00.000-08:00

The "Mall" and "Bird Cage Walk" although much altered are still in their general effect, such as you must remember them, with their long rows of elsm which are now in the first freshness of their young green leaves, and which look particularly beautiful contrasted with the stems and branches, that town smoke has made completely black. The leaves, I grieve to say, will soon feel the same influence, and then woe to the inexperienced wight who takes refuge from a pelting shower beneath their branches, for each leaf, as it is struck by a heavy drop, flings out a little sprinke of soot in its rebound, and this descending with the drop that had disturbed it, daubs, with most inhospitable smuts, the shelteree beneath. But even six weeks of London atmosphere, though it does much to spoil the daylight freshness of those trees, does not prevent them from being very beautiful on a moonlight night.

Familiar Epistles from London, Dublin University Magazine, June 1833

Lanny and the Lion

2011-11-07T10:18:00.001-08:00

"Landseer was a most delightful person, and the best company that can be imagined. My father and mother were quite devoted to him, and both of them always addressed him as "Lanny." My mother going to call on him at his St. John's Wood house, found "Lanny" in the garden, working from a ladder on a gigantic mass of clay. Turning the corner, she was somewhat alarmed at finding a full-grown lion stretched out on the lawn. Landseer had been commissioned by the Government to model the four lions for the base of Nelson's pillar in Trafalgar Square. He had made some studies in the Zoological Gardens, but as he always preferred. working from the live model, be arranged that an elderly and peculiarly docile lion should be brought to his house from the Zoo in a furniture van attended by two keepers. Should any one wish to know what that particular lion looked like, they have only to glance at the base of the Nelson pillar. On paying an afternoon call, it is so unusual to find a live lion included amongst the guests, that my, mother's perturbation at finding herself in such close proximity to a huge loose carnivore is, perhaps, pardonable. Landseer is, of course, no longer in fashion as a painter."

Frederick Spencer Hamilton, The Days Before Yesterday, 1930

The Finest Water in Mayfair

2011-11-07T09:23:00.000-08:00

I think I am right in saying that pumps and wells persisted as a source of water for many Londoners, well into the Victorian period, even as tap water became increasingly commonplace. This was not only in poor areas. The aristocracy of Mayfair might prefer to rely 'spring water'; at least, until they looked into it more closely:-

Parish pump in St. Paul's Churchyard.
We lived then in London at Chesterfield House, South Audley Street, which covered three times the amount of grund it does at present, for at the back it had a very large garden, on which Chesterfield gardens are now built. In addition to this, it had two wings at right angles to it, one now occupied by Lord Leconfield's house, the other by No.s 1 and 2, South Audley Street. The left-hand wing was used as our stables and contained a well which enjoyed an immense local reputation in Mayfair. Never was such drinking water! My father allowed any one in the neighbourhood to fetch their drinking water from our well, and one of my earliest recollections is watching the long daily procession of men-servants in the curious yellow-jean jackets of the "sixties", each with two large cans in his hands, fetching the day's supply of our matchless water. No inhabitants of Curzon Street, Great Stanhope Street or South Audley Street would dream of touching any water but from the famous Chesterfield House spring. In 1867 there was a serious outbreak of Asiatic cholera in London, and my father determined to have the water of the celebrated spring analysed. There were loud protests at this:- what, analyse the finest drinking-water in England! My father, however, persisted, and the result of the analysis was that our incomparable drinking-water was found to contain thirty per cent. of organic matter. The analyst reported that fifteen per cent. of the water must be pure sewage. My father had the spring sealed and bricked up at once, but it is marvel that we had not poisoned every single inhabitant of the Mayfair district years before.

Frederick Spencer Hamilton, The Days Before Yesterday, 1930

Fire!

2011-10-31T07:06:00.000-07:00

A brief article on firemen from All the Year Round. More on London firemen and firefighting here.

THE FIRE BRIGADE.

THE fire-engines of London, including the puffing Billies which make such a ferment of steam and smoke along the streets, now belong to the public, or at least will do so as soon as the recent statute comes into operation. Strange it may appear to continental nations that these invaluable aids to the security of our dwellings have hitherto been absolutely unrecognised by the government, the municipality, or any public body.
    For a period of ninety years there has really been only one statute in operation containing compulsory rules as to fire-engines; and this refers only to the little half-pint, squirts known to us as parish engines. It is to the effect that every parish must keep one large engine and one small, one leathern pipe, and a certain number of ladders. What the parishes might have done if no other organisation had sprung up, we do not know; but the insurance companies having taken up the matter, the parishes backed out, doing only just as little as the law actually compelled, and doing that little about as ineffectively as possible. It used to be fine fun to see the magnificent beadle and his troop of young leather-breeches drag the parish engine to a fire, and profess to pump upon the flames. But that fun has sadly waned; some of the engines have died from asthma or rickets, or have been laid up with rheumatism in the joints ; while others are so rusty and dusty, and the key of the engine-house is so likely to be lost, that we can afford to forget them altogether.
    No ; it is to the insurance offices, and not to any governing or official body whatever, that we are indebted for our capital fire-engines, and the small army of brave fellows who attend them. The system was a self-interested one, of course, in the first instance; seeing that the companies were not bound to take care of any property save that in which they were directly concerned. But the curious part of the matter is, that the companies have long ceased to feel that kind of interest, and have actually kept up the engines and the brigade-men at a loss, until the public authorities should fill up the gap. In the first instance, the fire insurance companies thought fire-engines an essential part of their establishments; seeing that the less damage was inflicted on the property for which they had granted policies, the less they would have to pay to the persons insured. They bought, each company for itself, as many fire-engines as they chose, and paid for as many men as they chose to manage them. When a fire occurred, out rushed these engines, with no paucity of heroic daring on the part of the men. But then two evils arose. Each corps cared only for such houses as were insured in one particular office, and deemed it no matter of duty to save adjacent property. The other evil was, that the men quarrelled with each other as to precedent claims for reward, and sometimes fought while the flames were blazing. To lessen if not re- move these evils, was the purpose of a very useful arrangement made about forty years ago. The managing director of the Sun Fire Office proposed that, without interfering with the independent action of the companies in other ways, they should place all their fire-engines in one common stock, to be managed by one superintendent, under a code of laws applicable to all the firemen; the system to be administered with due impartiality to all the partners, and paid for out of a common purse, to which all should contribute. It was a sagacious suggestion, proper to come from the largest of the companies. As some minds move more slowly than others, so do some companies fall in more readily than others with a new and bold scheme. At first the Sun, the Union, and the Royal Exchange were the only companies which entered cordially into the scheme; the others "didn't see it." Then the Atlas and the Phoenix joined. This limited partnership lasted till the year eighteen hundred and thirty-three, when all the companies assisted in the formation of the London Fire-Engine Establishment. Mr. Braidwood threw his energies into its organisation, and gallantly headed the brigade-men in their dangerous duties for some thirty years; but he fell in the great fire at Tooley-street four years ago a brave man dying at his post.
    The arrangement of this fire establishment is peculiar. Any insurance company may belong to it, on paying a fair quota of expenses; and the total number has gradually risen to about thirty. Each board of directors sends one or more delegates to represent it, and the delegates form a committee for managing the system. All the engines and apparatus, floating engines, and engine-houses, belong to the committee ; and out of the funds provided by the several companies, the committee pays the salaries of the superintendent, inspectors, and firemen. The metropolis has been divided into a certain number of districts, convenient as to size and relative position ; and each district has a station at which the engines are kept, with firemen always ready to dash out when their services are needed. These head-quarters of districts, to which the boys "run to fetch the engines," are at Watling-street, Tooley-street, Southwark Bridge-road, Wellclose-square, Jeffrey's-square, Shadwell, Rotherhithe, Whitecross-street, Farringdon-street, Holborn, Chandos-street, Crown-street, Waterloo-road, Wells-street, Baker-street, King'-street, and Horseferry-road. Captain Shaw, the present commander-in-chief of the brigade, pitches his camp at Watling-street. These stations have engines and men ready day and night. The general allowance is three engines, four horses, and about nine men to each station. Electric wires extend from station to station, affording means for communicating the news of a fire very quickly ; and the men pride themselves on the rapidity with which they can horse their engines and start off. The most prominent novelty in the organisation of the system is the steam fire-engine, which drives the water forth in a jet such as no engine worked by hand power can equal. During the International Exhibition, there was a grand field-day of steam fire-engines in Hyde Park, at which Marshals Shand and Mason, General Merryweather, and other steam magnates, showed what they could do. One engine shot forth three hundred gallons of water in a minute ; and another sent up a jet to a prodigious height, showing how useful such a power would be when a lofty building is on fire. In some of the steam-engines, such is the arrangement of the boiler and flues, the water can be raised from the freezing temperature to the boiling point in ten or twelve minutes. The attendant genii have not to wait for steam before they start ; they fill the boiler with water, light the fire, gallop away, frighten all the old women, delight all the boys, and nearly madden all the dogs ; and by the time they arrive at the scene of conflagration, the water boils and the steam is ready for working. Captain Shaw speaks highly of these steam fire-engines ; and more and more of them are to be seen rattling through the metropolis. All the engines, steam and hand, have their regular quota of apparatus stowed in and around them scaling-ladders, canvas sheets, lengths of hose, lengths of rope, nose-pipes, rose-jets, hooks, saws, shovels, pole-axes, crow-bars, wrenches, &c.
    Fires are multiplying quite as fast as the population, despite the tact that fire-proof construction of buildings is more adopted than ever. London heads the list with fourteen hundred fires annually ; Liverpool follows with three hundred, Manchester with about two hundred and fifty, and Glasgow with over two hundred. In America, New York and Philadelphia both range between three and four hundred ; Paris about equals Liverpool; Berlin and Hamburg each about equals Manchester. The difference between any one year and the next is never very considerable ; for a sort of law of human carelessness prevails, leading us to a pretty steady aggregate of mishaps. Captain Shaw will not include "chimneys" or "false alarms" among his fourteen hundred. In one of the recent years there were sixteen days with no fire, one day with nine fires ; but the average is between three and four fires per day. The late Mr. Braidwood tried to ascertain whether the social and industrial habits of the people lead to a predominance of fires at particular seasons, days, and hours. In one year, August was most disastrous, October least; Tuesday the most disastrous day, Wednesday the least. There is no reason traceable for this ; and as the disastrous months and days differed in other years, we may pass the matter by. There are reasons, however, connected with the social habits of Londoners in respect to fire and light, which render intelligible the statement that more fires break out about ten or eleven in the evening, and fewer at six or seven in the morning, than at any other periods of the day. As to the causes of fire, one out of every six or seven is set down either as "wilful," "suspicious," or "unknown." The known causes, besides the more obvious connected with flues, ovens, boilers, gas explosions, include "cinders laid by hot," "poker left in the fire," "reading in bed," " playing with lucifers," "cigar-ends and pipe-lights thrown down carelessly," "sun set fire to fusees," "cat upset linen-horse," "cat ignite lucifers," in fact, we are inclined to think that puss is made responsible for more sins than she really commits, in this as in other kinds of wickedness. The terrible crime of arson terrible in relation to the peril to innocent life it brings with it we say nothing of here ; the insurance companies suspect more than they openly accuse.
    In France, the system is military ; the sappers and miners, or sapeurs-pompiers, are the firemen when on home-duty, in whatever town it may be. The fire-engines are small, but very numerous ; and as Paris houses have more complete and lofty party walls than those of London, rendering the spread of fire from house to house less likely, the engines and the sapeurs suffice. In Germany, many of the larger towns empower the police to demand the assistance of the inhabitants in case of fire. A night-watch man is perched upon some high place; when he sees a fire he fires a gun, and telegraphs with lanterns ; the inhabitants then drag the fire-engines in the direction shown by him. In America, the volunteer system is adopted. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburg, San Francisco, and most of the large towns, have their respective volunteer fire-brigades. At New York there are no less than two thousand of these volunteers, grouped into eight, brigades ; and a dashing sight it seems to be when they have their annual procession through the city. Captain Leonard says that San Francisco is divided into a number of wards, each of which has its quota of engines, firemen, and hook-and-ladder men. A tocsin bell at the station of each ward gives the sound of alarm to the neighbouring wards, and the alarm of fire is thus speedily disseminated through the city. The firemen are a fine body of young men, in a smart yet suitable working dress, consisting of a red shirt and trousers, a belt, and a helmet, the latter indicating which corps the fireman belongs to, such as the First or Second Tigers. The fire-engines are generally beautiful models of their kind, very light, and in some cases deco- rated with silver ornaments. The larger engines are worked by steam, and send forth an immense body of water. By the rules of the several corps, a volunteer fireman, however engaged, is bound when the fire tocsin rings to don his helmet and red shirt and appear at his post. The hook-and-ladder men attend the firemen, and render service like that rendered by our admirable fire-escape brigade. The example of America is not wholly lost upon us here in England. The dock companies mostly possess private engines ; so do many of our large public establishments, and many large mansions. But the voluntary system, properly so called, is that which is intended to serve others as much as ourselves. Hodges's Distillery certainly takes the lead among such, so far as London is concerned. Well-appointed fire-engines, for steam as well as manual power, firemen clothed and accoutred at all points, an observatory whence a look-out is maintained all night, fire bells at the residence and the distillery, half a mile of hose or leathern water-pipe, horses and harness kept in such readiness that an engine can be sent off to the scene of a fire within three minutes after the fire-bell is heard, a lieutenant to command the men under the proprietor as captain there is something very gallant about this, and we touch hat to Mr. Hodges. This brigade has gone out to attend more than a hundred fires in twelve months, and not simply on the Lambeth side of the water. The example is spreading. Early in the present year it was stated that there were at that time forty-three Volunteer Fire Brigades in Great Britain, possessing seventy manual and steam fire-engines.
    There is something catching, not only in fire, but in the exciting enthusiasm connected with a large conflagration in London. One of our noble dukes has had a telegraphic wire laid from the nearest engine-station to his own bed- room, in order that he may jump up and go out to a house on fire, if so disposed ; and, not many weeks ago, the same nobleman gave an afternoon fete to all the firemen, on the lawn attached to his mansion. Nay, even the heir to the throne has donned the fireman's helmet, and ridden on the engine to the scene of a conflagration. In a recent fire on a small scale at Marlborough House, the royal fireman mounted on the roof, and did his duty. A fire levels all distinctions. More than one despotic king and emperor on the Continent has shown a relish for this kind of volunteer service, lending a hand, ordering the lazy, encouraging the timid, rewarding the brave, and doing hot battle to save a cottage.
    The insurance companies, we have said, wish to get rid of the cost and responsibility of maintaining the engines and the brigade. It is known that there is twice as much uninsured as insured property in the metropolis. The engine- men direct their gallant services equally to all houses and buildings, small and great, insured and uninsured. What is the consequence ? The companies do their best to extinguish fires in twice as many buildings with which they have no interest, as in those which are properly insured. If the brigade-men allowed a fire to blaze away because the house was not insured, what a public commotion there would be ! And yet the companies get no thanks for their unpaid service. There is no official recognition whatever of the brigade by any governmental, parliamentary, municipal, or parochial authorities.
    The London Brigade has received only a few augmentations in its strength during many years past, and is now too weak for the requirements of so vast a city. The companies refuse to strengthen it, because the non-insurers would get the lion's share of the benefit. Three years ago they addressed the Home Secretary on the subject ; they pointed out that there is no such anomaly in any other city in Europe or America, announced their intention of discontinuing their fire-engine establishment as soon as it could be done without public inconvenience, offered to transfer their establishment to some well-constituted public body on easy terms, suggested a small house-rate of a farthing or a halfpenny in the pound to defray the annual expenses, and expressed their willingness to render aid in every way towards the development of the new scheme. A committee of the House of Commons, in the same year, supported these recommendations, and named the Commissioners of Police as a fitting body to be entrusted with the work. In the years 'sixty-three and 'sixty- four the matter was well talked over ; and now we have an act (lately passed) which defines what is to be done. The Metropolitan Board of Works, and not the Commissioners of Police, are to have the management. On the first day of next year the new order of things will begin. The board are to build or buy new fire- engines and fire-escapes, or to buy up those now existing, whether from companies or societies, at their discretion. They will form a brigade of their own, and will pension off such of the brigade-men (if any) as they do not want. They may establish fire-engine stations at as many parts of the metropolis as they choose, and may make all necessary contracts with water companies and telegraph companies. They may draw up a scale of salaries, gratuities, and pensions for those employed by them in these duties. They may make arrangements with parishes for a transfer of parish engines and men. The government is to contribute ten thousand a year, on account of so many of the government, establishments being in the metropolis. The fire insurance companies are to contribute thirty-five pounds for every million sterling of property insured by them, as an honorarium for the new brigade's extinguishing of fires in insured property. The remaining expenses are to be defrayed by an additional halfpenny in the pound on the poor-rates. For the good working of the statute, intimate relations are to exist between the new brigade, the police, and the insurance companies, in all that relates to property under fire. Lastly a hint to those who neglect the chimney-sweeper a chimney on fire will entail a penalty of twenty shillings on the owner or occupier of the room to which the chimney may belong.

All the Year Round, September 2 1865

Women's Work

2011-10-20T07:43:00.000-07:00

Here's in what occupations women said they were employed for the 1881 census. Servants, milliners, dressmakers, laundresses are perhaps quite predictable. See if you can find how many miners, and how many doctors ...

7167412 Returned by Property, Rank and not by Special Occupation
1763207 Children under five years of age

1,230,406 Indoor Servant
357,995 Milliner, Dressmaker, Staymaker
302,367 Cotton Manufacture
176,670 Washing and Bathing Service
94,241 Schoolmistresses
92,474 Charwoman
81,865 Shirtmaker, Seamstress
63,801 Worsted Manufacture
58,501 Woollen Cloth Manufacture
52,980 Tailor
40,346 Agricultural Labourer or Farm Servant
39,695 Silk Goods Manufacture
35,672 Shoemaker or Dealer
35,175 Sub-Medical Service or sick Nursing
32,890 Lodging or Boarding House Keeper
32,785 Lace Manufacturer, Dealer
28,781 Draper, Mercer
28,605 Teacher, or Professor and Lecturer
27,983 Straw Manufacture
26,487 Inn or Hotel servant
26,422 Grocer
25,772 General Shopkeeper
21,510 Hosiery Manufacture
20,614 Farmer and Grazier
17,877 Earthenware
17,660 Costermonger
13,261 Glove Maker
13,051 Confectioner
12,709 Inn or Hotel Keeper, Publican
11,526 Hospital and Institution Service
11,376 Musician and Music Teacher
10,592 Bookbinders
9,138 Nail Manufacture
9,072 Hat Manufacture (not straw)
8,718 Paper Box and Bag maker
8,575 Tobacco, Tobacconist
8,277 Paper – Manufacture
7,985 Cabinet Maker, Upholsterer
7,853 Flax, Linen Manufacturer
7,817 Factory hand (undefined)
7,633 Baker
7,524 Machinist
6,855 Greengrocer
6,185 Fancy Goods (Textile)
5,989 Commercial Clerk
5,329 Provision, Curer, Dealer
5,261 Stationer
5,190 Carpet
5,176 Fustian Manufacturer, Dealer
4,888 Trimmings
4,686 Hosier, Haberdasher
4,461 Artificial Flower Maker
4,443 Milkseller
4,351 Tin goods
4,301 Office Keeper (not Gov.)
4,238 Factory Labourer (undefined)
4,185 Brush Maker
4,179 Warehousewoman (Not Manchester)
4,121 Button Maker
4,112 Umbrellas, Sticks, &c
3,932 Cotton, Calico Printer &c.
3,795 Nun, or Sister of Charity
3,753 Goldsmith and Jeweller
3,728 Beer, &c. Dealer
3,496 Butcher
3,465 Skins – Furrier
3,216 Civil Service (officers and clerks)
3,099 Miners – Coal
3,017 Municipal Parish Union or District Officers
2,893 General Labourer
2,738 Brick maker or Dealer
2,664 Coffee or Eating House
2,646 Midwife
2,611 Mixed Materials – Weaver
2,595 Turner, Box Maker
2,525 Cane, Straw – Basket Maker
2,520 Embroiderer and others
2,503 Steel Pen, Maker or Dealer
2,368 Actor
2,364 Gardener (not Domestic)
2,344 Bolt, Nut, Screw Maker
2,297 Hemp, Jute, Manufacture
2,255 Artisan (undefined)
2,228 Telegraph and Telephone Service
2,209 Metal Burnisher, Lacquerer
2,202 Printers
2,093 Rope, Cord Maker, Dealer
2,089 Quill, Feather Dresser
2,074 Needle, Maker or Dealer
2,035 Saddler
2,029 French Polisher
1,977 Others [?unclear, comes after Goldsmith, Lapidary]
1,933 Envelope Maker
1,921 China or Glass Dealer
1,903 Miners – Tin
1,891 Other Iron and Steel
1,887 Fireworks
1,880 Painter
1,840 Dyer, Bleacher &c.
1,777 Sacking, Bag, Maker and others
1,753 Cook (not Domestic)
1,743 Hair – Bristle worker
1,707 Church, Chapel, Cemetery, Officer or Servant
1,692 Glass Manufacture
1,672 Thread Manufacturer, Dealer
1,663 Old Clothes Dealer and others
1,660 Missionary Scripture Reader, Minister, Itinerant Preacher
1,610 Messenger, Porter, or Watchman (not Gov.)
1,583 Cutler, Maker or Dealer
1,539 Japanner
1,481 Net Maker
1,448 India Rubber Worker
1,439 Salesman, Buyer
1,438 Publisher, Bookseller, Librarian
1403 Rag Dealer
1,374 Blanket Manufacture
1,346 Portmanteau, Bag, Strap, &c.
1,309 Photographer
1,278 Pawnbroker
1,233 Tackle, Toymaker or Dealer
1,206 File, Maker or Dealer
1,186 Ribbon Manufacture
1,168 Coal Merchant or Dealer
1,159 Tape Manufacturer, Dealer
1,149 School service, and otherwise engaged in teaching
1,129 Newspaper Agent, News Room Keeper
1,128 Manufacturing Chemist
1,059 Art Student
1,006 Crape, Gauze Manufacture
991 Anchor and Chain Manufacture
982 Brass, Bronze
978 Timber – Dealer
955 Furniture Broker
906 Ironmonger, Hardware Dealer
838 Pewterer, &c.
801 Fancy Chain or Toy Maker, and others
783 Corn Flour, Seed Dealer
775 Watch and Clock Maker
768 Wigmaker, Hairdresser
759 Apprentice
748 Lodge, Gate or Park Keeper
738 Pipes, Snuffbox, &c
734 Nurserywoman, Seedswoman, Florist
731 Carman, Carrier and Carter
725 Ticket, Label Writer, and others
687 Spinning and Weaving Machine Maker
684 Mustard, Spices &c. Dealer
668 Poulterer
650 Cloth, Stuff, Dealer and others
631 Chemist, Druggist
599 College or Club Service
584 Prison Officers &c
563 Fishing rods, &c.
560 Currier
553 Civil Service (messengers &c)
525 Manufacturer Superintendent (undefined)
521 Wire Worker
520 Performers
511 Broker, Agent, and Factor
503 Lamp, Candlestick
495 Pin, Maker or Dealer
479 Mat Maker
479 Clasp, Buckle
477 Other Railway Servants
470 Flannel Manufacture
454 Painter and Glazier
452 Author, Editor, Journalist
445 Paper Stainer
440 Card maker
422 Wine or Spirit Merchant, or Agent
408 Shawl Manufacture
389 Dye, Paint Manufacture
387 Roads. Turnpike Gate Keeper
386 Ship Steward or Cook
381 Oil and Colour
379 Calico Dealer
378 Waterproof Goods and others
371 Brewer
353 Bargewoman or Waterwoman
353 Cheesemonger
352 Locksmith and Bellhanger
347 Blacksmith
337 Ginger Beer Manufacturer and Dealer
330 Surgical Instrument Maker
330 Carver and Gilder
304 Vegetable substances, Others
301 Engine Machine Maker
300 Corn Miller
300 Metal (undefined) Worker, Dealer
294 Fisherwoman
293 Other Service
286 Cellarwoman
281 Art, Music, Theatre Service
280 Lapidary
279 Soap Boiler
274 Canvas, Sailcloth
267 Miners – Copper
266 Comb Maker and others
255 Accountrement Maker
247 Persons occupied in Insurance
245 Miners – Lead and undefined
241 Musical Instrument Maker or Dealer
240 Omnibus and Cab owner, Livery Stables
240 Plumber
234 Music Publishers
231 Miners – Ironstone
227 Cork Cutter and Dealer and others
222 Chandler
220 Philosophical Instrument Optician
219 Gunsmith
216 Carpenter or Joiner
216 Coachmaker
212 Dog or Bird Dealer
206 House and Shop Fittings
195 Weighing Apparatus Maker
192 Undertaker, and others
191 Tools, Maker or Dealer
174 Crossing Sweeper
171 Railway. Pointswoman, Level Crossing
166 Map and Print Colourer and Seller
159 Animal or Bird Preserver
159 Salt. Maker or Dealer
158 Glue, Isinglass, &c. Maker
157 Ink, Blacking
155 Bone, Ivory &c. Worker
147 Gasfitter
142 Charcoal Burner or Dealer
141 Lead Goods
135 Lithographer
135 Builder
133 Literary or Scientific Service
122 Gunpowder, Explosives Manufacture
122 Clay, Sand &c. Dealer
119 Sugar Refiner
118 Silk Dyer
118 Silk Dealer
109 Dealer in Works of Art
108 Mason
103 Other Gamers, Maker or Dealer
103 Cooper
102 Oil Miller, Oil Cake
100 Law Clerks, or otherwise connected with
100 Saw, Maker or Dealer
97 Wheelwright
97 Drysalter
95 Paperhanger
91 Navigation service (on shore)
91 Tanner, Fellmonger
89 Accountant
85 Catsmeat Dealer, &c.
85 Bricklayer
84 Bank Service
77 Refuse Matters. Chimney Sweep
76 Bicycle Maker and others
75 Others, agricultural
74 Patten Maker
73 Pencil, Wood, Maker or Dealer
70 Harbour Dock or Lighthouse Service
64 Medical Student, or Assistant
64 Engraver
59 Auctioneer, Appraiser, House Agent
58 Railway Carriage maker
58 Maltster
55 Manure Manufacture
53 Agricultural Machine Maker
53 Die, Seal or Medal Maker
50 Inland Navigation
50 Hay, Astraw (not plait)
50 Copper Goods Manufacture or Dealer
49 Horse Proprietor and Horse Breaker
47 Sail Maker
46 Billiards, &c.
46 Plaster Manufacture
45 Gardener
45 Felt Manufacture
44 Wool, Dyer, Printer
41 Plasterer and Whitewasher
41 Whitesmith
39 Ships, Ship Builder
39 Lime Burner
38 Proprietor or Attendant, Agricultural Machine
33 Navy
33 Image Maker or Dealer
32 Type Cutter
32 Slate – Worker
30 Mine Service
28 Wood Carver
28 Woolstaper
27 Ship Rigger
27 Contractor
26 Electrical Apparatus Maker
25 Physician, or General Practitioner
25 Cattle or Sheep Dealer
24 Parchment Maker or Dealer
24 Zinc Goods
22 Floor Cloth Manufacture
21 Domestic Machinery, Maker and Dealer
20 Waterworks’ Service and others
19 Fossil Dealer
18 Lath, Hurdle Maker
17 Army Pensioners
17 Fuller
16 Sculptor
16 Manchester Warehousewoman
15 Reporter or Shorthand writer
14 Wheel Chair Proprietor
14 Slater
12 Copper and Steel Plate Printer
10 Hop Merchant
7 Alkali Manufacture
5 Merchants
5 Banker
4 Sword or Bayonet Maker

list of women's employments based on the 1881 census, taken from
The Englishwoman's Review February 15, 1884

A Night Out in Victorian Soho

2011-10-20T03:33:00.000-07:00

Caldwell's 'dancing-rooms' (essentially a night-club) was a Soho club of the 1860s, less flashy than the Holborn or Argyll Rooms, patronised by the working/lower-middle classes. It was at 32 Dean Street (the corner of Bateman Street, if the numbering still holds good).

Like most dance-halls, it was accused of being a haunt of prostitutes/women looking for unattached amusement - much the same thing, according to nineteenth century moralisers. You can find some more stuff about it on my site here where it generally comes out rather well, as opposed to the 'better class' establishments, such as the Holborn Casino, which does seem to have been a notorious pick-up joint.

This is what reminded me of it - a great account I've just stumbled upon, from its declining years:

If you have ever lost yourself in Soho, or been to the Royalty Theatre, you have probably seen this somewhat seedy-looking academy - and what it looked outside, it was in - for it was, without exception, I should think, the seediest, shabbiest, dirtiest, "tumble-downiest" place of amusement you could find in London. The price of admission stamped it in my mind. Fancy, eightpence. What a miserable sum! Sixpence sounds much more respectable. Once inside the turnstile, at which a melancholy man, who always had a glass of rum and water before him, presided, and up the staircase, where a spotted mirror or two, and some dirty, cracked, plaster statues kept up the seedy idea, you came to the dancing-room, a large bare apartment with everything in it in the way of decoration utterly gone to the bad. One end of it was a gallery where the "music" sat. Ye gods! What a band was that. "Seedy" to its very core - with its cornet always cracked and its other instruments either imbecile or drunk. There were two seedy waiters, too, most weak-kneed and flat-footed of their race; who - no liquor licence being attached to the place - were kept running to and fro, between it and the proximate public at the next turning. As to the usual audience, it well matched its surroundings. There was none of the flaunt and glare of the Argyll or the Holborn about it. Caldwell was largely supposed by that class of girl called, I believe, in select circles, "dolly-mops"; a sort of uninteresting and seedy edition of the Parisian grisette. Ballet girls out of an engagement and "slaveys" out for the night also patronised it; and the men who went there were almost, without exception, snobs or cads. Such is my idea of a place the Observer saw fit to gush about in a most sickening way last Sunday. The Holborn is at any rate lively, and you get good music, and something pretty to look at - but Caldwell's, faugh! the place was as dreary as a gospel-hall. I think it a good job is has gone.
What the young men who used to go there in the day and take private lessons in dancing will do without Caldwell's I don't know, and don't care; though I believe Mr. Bland and his daughters and Miss Leonora Geary are still ready to take them in hand if they like. At Caldwell's, I understand, the mysteries of the trois temps and the galop were imparted by a superannuated ballet mistress, who was too old and fat to arouse amongst her pupils anything like a wish to intersperse the learning of their steps with amatory amusement, and the ballet girls provided as "lady partners" for the more proficient were, I believe, always very lean and ugly, for obvious reasons. Poor girls! what they must have suffered. I can fancy nothing worse than to be the partner of an awkward clumsy lout who is learning to waltz, unless indeed it is to be the wife of a man like Mr. Ruskin, who is wholly wedded to his art. It is cruelty to allow girls to be roughly and hardly used. Idiots who cannot dance should buy a sixpenny "Guide to the Ball Room" and practice at home with a chair, then they can hurt no one but thermselves.

Sporting Times, September 30, 1871

How the Other Half Lives

2011-10-19T03:38:00.000-07:00

A nice piece of satire from Punch which reminds us that the Victorians themselves pondered the social and moral consequences of the gross inequalities between rich and poor in the ninteenth century:

Trumped

2011-10-14T06:36:00.001-07:00

Following on from the last post, I have created a 'top trump' style game using some of the pics, like one does ...

Heads of the People

2011-10-13T14:22:00.001-07:00

Some beautiful Victorian 'characters' from the great cartoonist, Kenny Meadows (1790-1874):

Islington Peep Shows

2011-10-13T03:55:00.000-07:00

Another example of why Upper Street, Islington, was known as 'The Devil's Mile' in the 1880s and 1890s:

At Clerkenwell, George Reid, described as a purveyor, living at Harrow-road, who had been apprehended on a warrant, was charged on remand with having, on the premises, 24, Upper-street, Islington, carried on an exhibition of pictures of a depraved and indecent charavter, contrary to public morals. Mr. C.F.Gill appeared for the prosecution on behalf of a society called the National Vigilance Society; and Mr. Westcott, solicitor, appeared for the defence. Evidence had been given by detectives of the N Division that in consequence of complaints they visited the premises in question, the shop of which was used as a cheap show, admission being one penny. The exhibition was a sort of peep-show, photographs being shown through lenses, which enlarged them. The magistrate, having inspected some photographs produced as samples of those at the show in question, said that, under all the circumstances, he felt bound to decide that the exhibition was of an indecent character, and fined the prisoner £20, or two month's imprisonment in default.

Times, 29 August 1892

Slangy Girls

2011-10-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

A guide to office etiquette for Edwardian office girls (London Journal, 1909):

SLANGY GIRL NOT WANTED.

No business man wants a secretary whom he cannot trust to see his business callers in his absences. A knowledge of good English and a courteous way of speaking are the things he wants in his representative.
    There are other little details of office manners which every business girl should know. In the first place, when you come to work in the morning. say good morning, individually or collectively, to your fellow workers. There is no need to be effusive about it, but it is a simple courtesy which is well worth while. If you are late, don't come hurrying in with "Gracious! Isn't this awful?" but say simply and frankly, to the head of the office, "Good morning, Mr. Mr. Blank. I'm sorry to be late, and I will make up the time this evening ." For it is office manners, and the best sort of office manners, to give your employers honestly all the time which they are paying you for. You owe them the ten minutes which you lost in the morning. You owe them the ten minutes you stayed out over your lunchtime. They will appreciate your honesty it you make it a point to see that their interests are protected.
OPINIONS TO BE GUARDED.
    Don't be familiar either with your superiors or inferiors on the office staff. Familiarity leads to gossip and office gossip is always bad for those taking part to it.
    You are not paid to make friendships or to chat with the rest of the office. Guard your opinions as to office conditions. The girl who sits at the desk next to yours, and who thinks the office manager a mean, partial thing, always giving the easiest work to someone else, may, if you agree with her, and let her know it, be unscrupulous enough to repeat your words to the office manager himself, or to someone else who can injure your prospects.
    You can be pleasant and polite to every one, but keep your own counsel—or you will be sure to wish you had.
    Don't get into the habit of criticising your superiors, even to yourself. Maybe the head of the firm is cranky and inconsiderate of you, but you must remember that you are only a small piece of a big mechanism, and that it is this mechanism which he is working with all his strength to keep mowing,
    He is struggling with problems of the gravest weight and importance, and when you misspell words and get figures wrong you are putting most trying little obstacles in the way of his success, and when he flies out at you and calls you inattentive and incompetent, he is only telling you the truth. Try to concentrate and make your work the big thing during work time.
    All girls should remember, too, that the office is not the place for manicuring, hair-dressing, or general 'prinking'. All that sort of thing should be done at home. How many business girls, during a lull in work, may he seen giving attention to their nails or readjusting their side-combs, and the like. Some girls even have little mirrors into which they may be seen looking anxiously whenever they get a chance.

Victorian Schooling

2011-10-04T08:20:00.000-07:00

If you're a teacher, or have kids, I strongly recommend that you read this - Extracts from the Diary of a Master of a London Ragged School, published in The English Journal of Education, Vol.IV, 1850.

EXTRACTS FROM THE PRIVATE DIARY OF THE MASTER OF A LONDON RAGGED SCHOOL.

[We insert this paper, which was not written for publication, because we hope that the simple narrative will convince some who need to be instructed of the great work to be done before the education of the people is effected.-ED.]

OCT. 29th 1849.-0n the way to the school this morning in company with —, who has been appointed to act as my assistant, we were saluted by women and boys as we went along in a most singular manner. I cannot say that the exclamations and gestures of these people were significant of disapprobation, but rather the reverse; however, their coarse and brutal manners had a most disheartening influence on me. I looked in vain for some manifestation of feeling that would enable me to "thank God and take courage." . . . It was a dismal scene . . . no appearance of thrift or industry . . . nothing but squalid wretchedness and dirt and idleness — the lanes leading to the school were full of men, women, and children: shouting, gossipping, swearing, and laughing, in a most discordant and unnatural manner. The whole population seemed to be on the eve of a great outbreak of some kind or another: ready for anything but work. . . . . These lanes are a moral hell. The place and the people beggar description. . . . . We prepared the school by placing benches in situations for the division of the scholars into four classes, and as they came tumbling and bawling up the stairs, we directed them to seats. Shortly after ten o'clock I spoke to them kindly, and then asked them to join with me in prayer. They knelt and followed me in the Lord's Prayer, with some few exceptions, in a not very improper manner. The decent behaviour to be met with in almost any school could not be expected here. I proceeded to read a collect, but the noise obliged me to stop.

* * * * *

Most of the children can read very well indeed. Some of them can write, and almost all of the first class can say the multiplication table well; they all promise to be expert at figures. In mere schooling they are not behindhand; but in decency of behaviour or in respect for the teacher, or in discipline of any kind, they are totally unparalleled. No school can be possibly worse than this. It were an easy task to get attention from savages: a white man's appearance would ensure him some sort of regard: but here the very appearance of one's coat is to them the badge of class and respectability:- for although they may not know the meaning of the word, they know very well, or at least feel, that we are the representatives of beings with whom they have ever considered themselves at war. This is not theory, but fact.

* * * * *

We were almost stifled several times by half-a-dozen of the neighbours congregating on the stairs and puffing tobacco smoke in volumes into the school. How the lungs of such emaciated youths could work so effectively is to me a mystery. One miserable boy, with scarcely a hair on his head, was somewhat puzzled to get out the letter of the alphabet to which my companion pointed, so he knowingly pulled out his tobacco-box and helped himself to a quid in a grave and veteran-like manner.
Their craving for stimulants is most saddening. Two of the biggest boys were complimented by me on the way in which they did a sum in compound addition. "Give us some coppers for a pint of beer," was the ready response.

* * * * *

In Scripture history I got a series of answers that are above the average in point of information of those which could be obtained in some national schools. But of what use that kind of knowledge can possibly be, unless it is brought to bear on the moral training and conduct of the possessor, I am at a loss to determine. It is a very easy thing to stuff these boys with Scripture history, or with anything indeed which is or can be made interesting; but it is a sad desecration of the subject and a sinful waste of time to give them mere facts. Be the result then what it may, I shall introduce the Church Catechism and teach them their duty from that. The system hitherto pursued has been worthless and criminal. If I do not succeed in teaching the catechism properly, I shall at least have the satisfaction that the boys know the words in which the ten commandments are given, and their duty towards God and their neighbour shall be so impressed on their memories that the day may come when these words, perhaps got off by mere rate, may bear good fruit. A school without a catechism is like a church without a creed.

* * * * *

I had occasion to punish a boy slightly this morning: he swore and blasphemed most horribly, and rushed from the school. I took little notice of this display, and sat down calmly to hear the class with which I was engaged read the Acts of the Apostles. I was suddenly startled by a large stone passing my ear. If it had struck me on the head, I must have been severely hurt. I got out of the reach of stones thrown through the window, and continued the lesson. Several followed-half-a-dozen at least. He was ready in the court with a brick in his hand, to have his revenge when I came out. With some difficulty I got out of the lane without being obliged to run. . . . . I walked some time in — —, and having thought over the matter, I considered it best to call at the police station, and ask for a convoy. This was readily granted; and followed at a short distance by the policeman, I returned to the school.
Without one exception, these boys are precocious. They require more training than teaching. The great city has been their book, and they have read men as such boys alone can do.

* * * * *

A child began to scream dreadfully. I said to his elder brother. "Pray take out the child." "Child," said he, "he aint no child; he's a man — look at him, for your own satisfaction, gentlemen," (bowing in a droll way to the class).
Several clergymen called in the afternoon, and they had scarcely left when a most distressing scene occurred. Two girls of twelve or thirteen years of age quarrelled, as it would appear, about a remark which one of the clergymen had made concerning a new frock which one of them wore. The first notice I had of this was to see the pair boxing most viciously: before I could get at them, they had hold of each other's hair, and were yelling most fearfully: they fought like furies. — took hold of one, and myself the other: but before we could separate them, one had received a severe, and I fear a lasting injury in the eye, and her nose bled profusely. I sent her home, and went again to work: but I had not been quiet for ten minutes, when a fearful outbreak took place. Seven women rushed into the school: the stairs were full besides: and outside, at least fifty women had collected. These were the mothers and friends of the girls who had fought. Having abused me in no measured terms — and if I mistake not, they collared me — they proceeded to fight. — remonstrated with one woman, and I with the other; so we stopped their battle. Our boys cheered most tremendously. The women swore and shrieked. Those outside (several men amongst them) responded. Never, surely, was such a noise heard before. 1 did not believe that human beings resident in this most Christian metropolis, could so behave. . . . . — held up his hands, and if he said anything I did not hear. We got our visitors out at last, and we could see they held an important meeting on the subject of their visit in the court below. But not being interested, we shut the windows to exclude the noise, and proceeded with our work. . . . . To compose the children, if possible, I proposed that we should have a little music, and — sang very sweetly the first verse of the Evening Hymn. We then invited the children to follow us, and we got through the first line or two very well — but a blackguard youth thought proper to set up on his own account, and he led off a long in this strain:- "O, Susannah, don't cry for me, I'm off to Alabama, With a banjo on my knee!" I need scarcely add that every boy followed this leader, ay, girl. and all, and I could not check them

* * * * *

After some time I spoke to them very gently and sadly, and having gained attention to some degree, I ventured to close the school with a very short prayer. I did so. Fearful to relate, in the midst of the Lord's Prayer, several shrill cries of "Cat's meat!" and "Mew, mew," added another fact to the history of this school.
So by the help of God we must both work harder. It is a post of honour. It is a forlorn hope.
30th Oct. 1849. — If possible the scholars were more unruly to-day than they were yesterday, but no serious outbreak took place. Before I got out of the locality I managed to empty my pockets, "Give, give," is the cry — I gave a lesson to-day on the duty of labour, and I pointed out the colonies as a good market. This was the first lesson which arrested their attention.

* * * * *

I had occasion to remark to a poor old woman who looks after the sewing, that I thought the girls were employed more at sampler work than was necessary. She tells me that they will not work cheerfully at anything else. They have no notions of thrift or of useful work. It is difficult to get them to make a shirt. I gave notice that in future I should expect to see more of them making and mending stocking. and shirts, and none of them who could not do such work well were to be allowed to waste their time in samplers. I mean to speak on this subject to some lady visitor should one appear, as I am not well-informed, perhaps, in the importance of. samplers. I think marking-ink would do the work better, and save time. At least, a shirt ought to be made before it is marked. May God help us! What a solemn charge is this!
All our copy-books have been stolen, and proofs exist that the school is used at night as a sleeping-room. We must get a stronger door to it. I must also get a tub to stand by the pump in the court, and a piece of coarse towelling and soap. My duties must resolve themselves into —
First - To see the boys and girls well washed and scrubbed,
Secondly.-To try to get prayers said decently.
Thirdly.-To give them a lesson in their duties and privileges, for they have many, and know none.
Fourthly.- Some religious .instruction.
Fifthly.-Reading.
Sixthly.-Writing.
Seventhly.-Arithmetic.

31st Oct. 1849.-Great noise, turbulence, and confusion, but no serious outbreak. The rev. the rector called and left without saying anything. A lady visited us this afternoon and waited for some time. I am at a loss to ascertain the motives which induce ladies to visit such a place, unless one is uncharitable enough to attribute them to mere curiosity, or to that morbid feeling, which makes such places as the Old Bailey, or the Chamber of Horrors, in Baker Street, attractive. We should get on much better without visitors. The children are so accustomed to be shown off, that they bristle up for the occasion, and fire their witticisms with more impudence than when no strangers are present. These boys and girls require to be sobered: all exciting influences should be avoided, and therefore I mean, if possible, to discountenance visitors. I gave a lesson this afternoon in geography in presence of some clergymen; I was attempting to get out the fact that we lived on an island called Great Britain. We spoke of England and Scotland and Wales as being countries close to each other. I got out that an island was a portion of land surrounded by water. Then I asked, "What do we live on?" — " On food, when we gets it," was the ready answer.
I bought some calico and asked the girls to make boys' shirts, which may be given away if they are ever finished. The material for three cost 2s. 6d., just tenpence a piece! The fact is being constantly forced on my notice, that these children are not so deficient in mere religious wordiness, if that is the word, as might be supposed. They have had a great deal of good schooling in a certain sense, or rather much labour has been expended in teaching them to read, write and cipher well. But I cannot believe that any attention has been bestowed in making this knowledge useful. They are utterly destitute of feeling or propriety; and their technical education, such as it has been, has not made them more civilized or better children. After all, the school must be looked upon as secondary to home teaching. It is apparently worse than useless to expect a man to be made better by merely learning to read and write. Those of our scholars who can do so best are decidedly the most depraved. One boy, who is quite as well schooled as the average number of boys at his age are schooled — (say twelve years of age) — said to me to-day, "Please sir, I'll go down on my knees and say The Lord Jesus Christ and the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost, for a halfpenny." Another, as we went along the lanes from school, called after us, "Glory be to the Father," &c. All this is very monstrous, and I am puzzled to find the cause for such impiety — there must be a cause — and until I can come to some conclusion on the subject I am at a loss to apply a remedy. I have prohibited the use of the words, "Praise the Lord, Hallelujah!" which they were very fond of shouting, and I have resolved to make their religious lessons as impressive as I can. I use the Lord's Prayer only in opening or closing school; and in the lessons generally I have attempted to introduce a sober solemn tone for that flippant, irreverent, thoughtless, gabbling manner to which they are very prone.
We almost shed tears to-day when we pondered over our work. — Sursum corda!
1st Nov. 1849.-Wrote to the curate, asking him to get us a tub to be placed near the pump and about the door of the school, &c. Being All Saints Day, we were bothered by many boys from the Romish school in the neighbourhood, as they had a holiday.
2nd Nov. 1849.-More confusion and excitement. Two lady visitors, who sat nearly the whole afternoon, without helping in the least but apparently enjoying the sad spectacle which our debased scholars presented. I am sorry for these ladies, as I cannot allow ourselves to be sport for them at such a sacrifice to the children under our charge. This making of our school a kind of public exhibition is most detrimental to its discipline and progress. It must be stopped. Are these ladies writing a novel? Surely they are not preparing themselves to be present at a public execution!
A boy, D—, called another boy a thief, on which the latter replied by a few cuffs; I separated them, and let the business of the school proceed. The mother of D— came into the school, to retaliate on the boy who had punished her son. I objected to this, and insisted that I would not have interference from without. The woman raged very much, and called me a blackguard. She declared that my bread was at an end; the authorities would turn me out, &c. N.B. —Avoid violent scenes in the school.

5th Nov. 1849.-Scarcely a boy to be found in the lanes, or near the school. They are off picking up pence by the exhibition of effigies, or Guys. Many of these have had a Roman Catholic training. Their fear of the priest seems very trifling. Kept the school open all the morning, and mustered about twenty; might have doubled that number had we admitted all that came, but I declined the honour of the National schoolboys' visits, and politely requested them to enjoy their holiday. Called on Mrs. P— as the name is pronounced — to ask kindly after her girl, who received the box in the eye last week. Mrs. P— is a highly respectable, judicious, and God-fearing woman-at least, she says so herself. She says that she is well known to the aristocracy, and despises the acquaintance of anyone who is not a lady. She gave the names of several persons of distinction with whom she is intimate. Mrs. P— is determined to keep her position, and preserve the fine feelings of her daughter, which have been carefully developed by a course of maternal training. Certainly, her daughter can box very well indeed; and the manner in which she tore her antagonist's hair the other day gives proof that she will keep her place amongst her compeers. Mrs. P— is not only disposed to be reserved towards her neighbours, and to move in a select circle: she is also very much inclined to be exacting. Kitty B— is no companion for her daughter, nor is widow —'s family fit to associate, or even to sit in the same school, with her child. Oh no ! Before Miss P— can return to my seminary, all the children of the families who are obnoxious to Mrs. P— must be expelled. "Don't the rector know Miss P—? in course he does; didn't he examine her eye? Don't the clargy respect Mrs. P— and her family; and Mr. P—, who never drinks his beer at the public-house, but has it brought home in his own jug, and drinks of a Sunday like a jintilman? Mrs. P— is not bigoted, nor is Mr. P—. God forbid. Don't he read the Bible, ay, does he; not like the tight-laced people upstairs, who hate the Bible as the Devil does holy wather." Here Mrs. P— produced a pocket Bible out of a drawer, in proof of her assertion. According to Mrs. P—, the widow D— who gave me the scolding on Friday, is a very bad character, and it also appears that the widow was very drunk on Saturday, and got put IN for six hours. What this means I cannot say, unless it be that she was taken to the police station for being disorderly. From another authority — our female assistant — I learn that — gave Mrs. D— fiye shillings on Friday. . . . The rector and his curates are sadly deceived by these people. I have no pretensions on the score of reading character, but I defy anyone who takes the least trouble to observe and compare what he hears from Mrs. P—'s own mouth to remain ignorant of the fact that her family make a very good business out of their respectability. The fight before alluded to was occasioned by some remarks respecting a frock which Miss P— wore. I was not quite unprepared for this development of Mrs. P—'s character; for, the last time my predecessor visited the school, he said to me when leaving, "I am going to visit Mrs. P—," "Then," answered loudly one of my hopeful children, "he is going to visit a sneak."

* * * * *

We could not make a school this afternoon: at three o'clock four boys and six girls of the first division alone were present. The attractions outside were overpowering. In addition to the lucrative employment afforded by the carrying about of effigies, or Guys, there were three funerals from the court, which were accompanied by the inhabitants. The deaths were occasioned by black fever, scarlatina, and measles. From what I hear, the locality is very sickly at present — no drainage-no water. Perhaps I should have given a holiday to-day,. but I wished to respect the feelings of the Romish population-a wish which they evidently did not understand. In short, they seem to have no feelings: they have fallen so low, that they derive a kind of happiness and independence from their very degradation. "Fears and sorrows," says Campbell, " fan the fire of joy," and this is true in a sense of which he did not dream. It seems as if the excitement caused by an excess of fear and sorrow produced happiness! More of this when I have time. I shall think over the assertion, and I cannot see why it should not be so. "An excess of modesty;" said the elder D'Israeli, "is an excess of pride." That paradox will do for a text. Any careful observer would come to another conclusion; and that is, that these people do not require the schoolmaster so much as they need some municipal act for the regulation of lodging-houses and dwelling-houses generally. The Society for Improving the Dwellings of the Lower Classes is one which, if properly supported and carried out, would work wonders. Preaching and teaching can never fructify in the heart or mind of a man who is never alone. It is almost cruelty to talk of virtue or decency to a being who is doomed to sleep and do everything else in a crowd.
Let anyone visit a lodging-house in this neighbourbood and he will never forget it. The woman who live in the room under our school (which has no strong door), tells me that she hears people moving about at night — houseless wanderers, who come there to sleep. They have not as yet stolen anything! It is thus they pay for their lodgings. We did lose some copy-books a short time ago; but I have a notion that they were not stolen, they were taken. I have a notion why.

* * * * *

Got on very well to-day, but I cannot say that the school improves. The scholars are always out of their element when no strangers are present; and I am glad we had none to-day. Had a conversation with Mr—, the district visitor, and having explained, or rather described to him the difficulty we encountered every morning and afternoon in getting the scholars together, and the very great trouble we had to get them OUT again, we determined to keep the school open all day, (that is, without having any recess at dinnertime). These people have no regular hours for meals, and our school resembles a club for poor children more than anything else. To-morrow, then, we shall assemble at ten, and keep school till three. The Romish school adopts this plan, and I have no doubt it will be found better than our present mode of breaking up the school from twelve till two.

* * * * *

The children have been sadly neglected. How could it be otherwise? From the system pursued, only two hours a day have been given, practically speaking, to teaching. It takes an hour to get the school together. Then a grand effort was made to swell the numbers present every afternoon between three and four, because the school was usually visited at that hour by the clergy and the curious. It was easy to do this with smart children too, for the Romish school having closed at three, many flocked in to witness, or be parties in the daily exhibition, and to get probably a present of money — a most injurious system this. By keeping the school open between twelve and two, and by closing at three, we may manage to do some good, and only one inconvenience will result from it; not an inconvenience to the teachers or the scholar., but to the ladies who drop in of an afternoon to get (I am grieved to say so) a little amusement after luncheon. Better far that these people should stop at home, or amuse themselves elsewhere.

• • • • •

It is a pity that our slates have no frames; as, apart from the slate when protected by a frame being kept from scratches, frames are useful in other respects. If one happened to be thrown at a person's head — as is sometimes threatened — a framed slate would not be so dangerous. I was threatened with some such thing to-day, and I slightly punished the offender; he contented himself by reserving his revenge for the present, at least he said so, but he dashed his slate on the floor and broke it to pieces, and having indulged in some foul invective — calling me, amongst other things, "a gallows Frenchman," he went again sullenly to work. Another told me to-day that the Catholic religion was a b—y sight better than mine. I expended five shillings to-day of my own money in having some black board put up. This will give us much ease, as the black boards speak well and effectively.

Had fires to-day, which was a source of great attraction. It is cruelty to turn these poor lads out in the middle of the day to shiver in some corner, for their parents are seldom at home until the afternoon. Few of them have a meal in the middle of the day, and that can easily be despatched in five minutes. Henceforward the — — school ought to be styled the — — Club House; and why should we not try to civilize them by a sort of club?
    An old lady called to ask me to visit her along with my boys, that we might sing over the corpse of her child. She says that she prefers singing very much to "dthrinking," — and one or the other ceremony she considers as absolutely necessary. I declined — not because I disapproved of her request, for some benefit might have accrued by acceding to it, — but for the very good and unanswerable reason that my pupils were not skilled in singing. I could not ask — to leave the school class to perform this odd duty. . . . . I spoke kindly and tenderly to the poor woman, and she left quite pleased with her reception. . . . . All our coals were stolen last night. The plan of keeping the school open all day answers remarkably well. When I told the children that it was twelve o'clock, and that those who had their dinner at twelve might go, several moved, but the majority returned in a few minutes: thirty-five of the scholars did not stir: this fact speaks volumes. The Romish clergy understand the natural history of these people better than we do. It is this management that will save our school. They must be allowed to go out and come in when they like. At prayers this afternoon we had better behaviour than usual. I closed the school without any uneasiness, and the boys left in a decent manner. Things are improving. It is the peep of day. We masters had the best of it to-day. I tried to teach the first division of my first class the use of arithmetical signs, and we wrought several questions from the black board in a very methodical and proper manner.
    It is a sad thing to turn anyone out, but I have reluctantly determined to get rid for the present of three or four of the most unruly boys. . . . . I used the cane for the first time to-day, with effect. These children cannot be managed well without some use of it. They do not form attachments readily, and their mode of' thinking is the reverse of amiable. What then is to be done? Am I to wait for order until they are capable of appreciating kindness? If so, I must wait a very long time. One other source of influence we have, but I have no heart to use it, although it has been resorted to by my predecessors; that is, to stop the allowance of bread which the rector's bounty awards. This begets a mean, selfish, and beggarly spirit, the very spirit which it is my mission to eradicate. I will not stop their bread. After all that may be said, Solomon was right — a little touch of the cane is the least injurious mode of punishment that can be adopted. It is over at once, and boy and master are not the worse friends for it. Were this a regular, well-appointed school, then my punishments, if needed, would be rare, but severe. Here no system can be adopted. Were I to punish some boy as he deserved, for the advantage of the rest, then my life would not be safe. Every boy, therefore, must stand alone. It is not a school, but a collection of poor ignorant outcasts, and they must be treated accordingly. When I speak of punishments, I would not be considered as using that term in the sense which it bears in a good public school, for anything so severe could not be attempted here. They would rebel at once, and we could not get over the storm. The first man who does his duty in this respect must resign in consequence. They will not be managed by sheer force nor by kindness — a mixture of all kinds of legitimate expedients must be used. A Miss — called this morning, and seemed to think that we had but a poor school. . . . . . No clergyman has visited us for the three last days.
     The school at — — has assumed a somewhat different character. I was obliged to expel two of the — (a family of gipsy extraction), Master —,and a most troublesome scrofulous boy (for the present), and being rid of them I insisted on order and decency of behaviour — the attempt has been successful. I make this remark without qualification; thank God, a great improvement has taken place. A better proof of this could not be adduced than the fact that the whole school can be kept quiet and attentive at a Bible lesson. Mr. — gave a lesson this afternoon, which lasted nearly an hour, and the children remained still and orderly throughout. A person of less tact or ability might not be able to do this, but the circumstance is worthy of record. In opening and closing the school, a wonderful change for the better has taken place. The children can now sing the doxology very nicely, and with much propriety of demeanour. They also get through their drill in a creditable manner, and I get perfect order, when necessary. at a given signal. How has all this been accomplished? I cannot boast of the means adopted —they have been frightened into subjection.
    Our school now numbers fifty scholars, who attend regularly. I begin to understand something of the natural history of them and their families, and what with the influence acquired over them by somewhat severe discipline I have those fifty under perfect subjection. More than this I cannot say.

Bashing the Police

2011-09-21T09:14:00.000-07:00

If you think of Victorian London as essentially a quiet, orderly, trouble-free place, you might want to think again. Here's two reports from the same day in 1871:-

MURDEROUS ASSAULT ON THE POLICE —James Buckley and John Gilbert, apparently about 18 years of age, were charged with an assault upon the police. —James Adkins, 122 S, saw the two prisoners in Albany-street. about half-past four in the afternoon, pulling two girls about indecently. He cautioned them and told them to go away. They refused to do so, and Gilbert struck him in the face. The constable took him into custody, and was immediately attacked by both the prisoners and 20 or 30 "roughs," who quickly gathered round and attempted to assist the delinquents to escape. A lady who feared that the policeman would be murdered ran in search of another police-constable, and found Thomas Gore, 161 S, who went to the assistance of the last witness. After receiving very severe injuries he, however, was unable to secure the men until a third constable, 43 S reserve, and two powerful men—Mr. H. Tilley, a corn merchant, of Slough, and Mr. B. Collett, a pianoforte-maker, of Tottenham-court-road—rendered efficient service by keeping off the crowd and helping to overpower the prisoners. Mr. Tilley saw one of the prisoners wrest the truncheon from the hand of one of the constables, who were both covered with blood, and, stepping back, throw the staff at the officer with such force that it would probably have killed him had the prisoner not missed his aim. Some of the crowd having knocked off the policemen's helmets, beat their heads against the wall.—Mr. D'Eyncourt sentenced the prisoners each to be kept to hard labour for six months for assaulting Adkins, and for three months for the assault on Gore.

MURDEROUS ASSAULTS ON THE POLICE. — Robert Jones, 21, a labourer, was charged with being drunk and riotous and assaulting Charles Coverley, Reuben Stage, and Richard Warn, constables of the B division in the execution of their duty. The prisoner's conduct, which was of a violent and brutal nature, was aggravated by a mob of 500 people, who placed every impediment in the way of the officers, and sought to release the prisoner by the use of sticks and stones. Prisoner went into the Markham Arms, King's-road, Chelsea, and demanded a pot of ale, but being refused challenged all present to fight. He was ejected, when, standing on the pavement, he attacked all who passed him. Coverley, 128 B, remonstrated with him, when he struck him on the chest, knocked him down, and kicked him. He declared that he would be taken to the station dead rather than alive, used the most horrid language, kicked; in all directions, and when Stagg, 379 B, arrived he bit him through the arm. The mob closed round the constables, threw granite cubes, and used sticks freely, and the respectable civilians present were afraid to assist the police on that account. Warn, 46 B, then joined his brother constables, but was bitten and kicked, and it required seven or eight men to convey the prisoner to the station.
Janes Groom was then charged with attempting to rescue and assaulting Coverley, 128 B.—It was clearly shown that while carrying the other prisoner this man struck and kicked Coverley, and begged of the violent crowd to prevent the prisoner being taken to the station-house.— Groom denied being the man, and the other prisoner pleaded drunkenness, and that he had been much knocked about.—Mr. Woolrych said that was the result of his own fiendish violence. The police must be protected from the attacks of such mad, drunken ruffians. He sentenced Jones to 16 weeks' hard labour for the three assaults and ordered Groom to pay a penalty of 30s , or one month.

Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper, April 16 1871

London Smells

2011-09-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

Two accounts of the stink of London in the 1850s/1860s:

Maiden-lane still reeks with all its inconceivable horrors of putrifying garbage. The traveller on the South-Western Railway, which always considerately stops its trains at the choicest nest of savours, can tell how - in Lambeth, seething under archiepiscopal nostrils - the laystall is succeeded by the knacker, who gives place to the glue-boiler, who is followed by some Gas Company - and how the varied bouquet is subtly penetrated and delicately diversified by the delicious fumes of ammonia, and rare titillating acids. Haggerstone boils its horses - Stepney volatilizes its human guano. Bow rejoices in chemicals. Paddington salutes us with mountains of vegetable decomposition - Bermondsey treats us to vats of mineral refuse. The Temple-gardens survey their choice "blue-jack"; whilst St. Paul's regales the devout with an undeniable tallow-melting concern at the Cathedral corner. White lead at Hackney is balanced by a delicious manufactory of corrosive sublimate at the opposite corner of the metropolis.

Morning Chronicle August 18 1852

By long resolution to live in bad smells we become as though we smelt not. We pass along as unconscious of the foulness of the air as we are of the roar of carriages in the street. A peculiarly loathsome whiff from some untrapped gully-hole may strike us, as the din of a ponderous railway van drawn by four horses at full trot may make us look round. But in an instant the sensations are lost, and the current of our thoughts flows on unrippled by smell or sound. Yet if we will but recall our absent minds to the scenes in which our bodies are present we shall speedily learn the reasons why our bodies suffer. The putrid stench of the gully-hole has not left the nostrils ere we may discover from the area of the house we are passing the distinctive odour of a long-unemptied dustbin. Anon, we have the sour smell of decaying vegetable refuse—potato parings and lettuce stalks, and such like; then under the parapet, or in the gutter, we detect a decomposing cat. Next, all too late to save, comes the cat's-meat barrow, with contents in a state of very "high" flavour. Then, by the side of the lamppost is a little heap of dust composed of the sweepings of the shop opposite, containing the essence of the exhalations and exuviae of half-a-hundred people for a summer's day; next to it is a mound of semi-dried mud, the sweepings of the streets after the last rainfall, composed of equal parts of animal exprement and of granite grit, which keeps it just open enough to favour rapid fermentation. As if this were not enough, at regular intervals there come by the watercarts, deluging the streets a dozen times a day with the pure element, ingeniously applied so as, in a physical sense, to make crossing the way in thin boots an perilous to health as in November, and in a chemical sense, to make the foul mud, steaming on the hot stones in the blazing sunshine, as generative of malaria as a Mississippi swamp. At length, confused with the mingled variety of odours, our nasal analysis becomes intolerable, and we welcome the distracting thoughts which shall again render us insensible to its discoveries. Only when we pass beyond the regions of streets and enter upon the green expanse of the Parks, or reach the shade of country gardens and leafy lanes, does the change in the atmosphere again force itself on our notice—and by the delight with which we expand our chests to drink in the health of the air, may we measure the slow, yet surely fatal, influence of the poisonous gases we have left behind.

Daily News August 9 1861

Tooley Street Fire

2011-09-20T08:49:00.000-07:00

One of the great, now largely forgotten, catastrophes of 19th century London was the Tooley Street fire of 1861, which engulfed the south bank of the river near London Bridge. The area was full of warehouses containing highly flammable contents. The resulting blaze could be seen from miles away, and resulted in the death of the fire bridge's chief, James Braidwood (whose funeral attracted thousands of mourners - he is buried in Abney Park Cemetery). Here is a great account of the aftermath:

Under the fallen floors of the warehouses and in the cellars underground was a vast quantity of combustible material. Casks of tallow yet remained to melt, while numberless bags of saltpetre and casks of oil and turpentine, with hundreds of tons of cheese, butter, sugar and bacon, were yet unconsumed. And still the people came in fresh thousands to view the sight. Dawn of Sunday found London-bridge still thronged with cabs, omnibuses, carts, waggons ,and vehicles of every description. Peripatetic vendors of ginger-beer, fruit and other cheap refreshments abounded, and were sold out half a dozen times over. Public-houses, in defiance of Acts of Parliament, kept open all night long, and did a roaring trade, and so, for that matter, did the pickpockets, who blended business with pleasure, and had a ready hand for anything remunerative in their particular line. But the fire, fortunately, had done its worst, though the flames continued to surge and roar with unabated fury for some time, the intensity of the fire at length visibly slackened. The efforts of the firemen were redoubled, and by four o'clock on Sunday morning all danger of its further extension seemed at an end. During the whole of Sunday thousands upon thousands of people flocked to see the ruins.
The scene of the calamity on Sunday presented all the appearance of an earthquake, rugged masses of brickwork and mounds of rubbish meeting the eye in all directions. In one direction might be seen a huge pile of cayenne pepper bags, sugar, ochineal, and hams; in another, mountains of half-consumed barrels of tallow, emitting a most noxious effluvium, and on turning round you confronted burning and smouldering barricades of jute, hemp, leather, cordage, sacks of potatoes, cheeses, sides of bacon, all intermingled in chaotic confusion. A great number of boats were busily occupied in scooping from off the water the large floating masses of tallow; one of the crews of these boats sold the amount thus obtained for 30l., another 18l. and so on, while that portion of the river-side population commonly called mudlarks were filling old sacks, saucepans, baskets, and other utensils, with the same materials. The value of the tallow shovelled up from the road and pathways in Tooley-street and taken away by the dust contractor is estimated to amount alone to several thousand pounds. The whole of Sunday and Monday was occupied in carting it away.

Reynolds's Newspaper, June 30th, 1861

It was also seen by marvellous diarist, Arthur Munby:

Between Epsom & Cheam, we saw from the train a great fire in the direction of London. A pyramid of red flame on the horizon, sending up a column of smoke that rose high in air & then spread, like that over Vesuvius. At Carshalton, where the villagers were gazing in crowds, as at all the stations, we heard that it was by London Bridge, at Cotton's wharf. At New Cross the reflection of the firelight on houses & walls began to be visible; & as we drove along the arched way into town, the whole of Bermondsey was in a blaze of light. Every head was thrust out of window, and the long black shadows of train and telegraph posts made the bright road look brighter.
   The fire was close to the station: dull brickred fumes & showers of sparks rose high between it and the river. The station yard, which was as light as day, was crammed with people: railings, lamp posts, every high spot, was alive with climbers. Against the dark sky southwards, the façade of S. Thomas's Hospital and the tower of S. Saviour's stood out white and brilliant; and both were fringed atop with lookers on.
   A few of the regular omnibuses had got, hut hardly, into the station: men were struggling for places on them, offering three & four times the fare for standing room on the roofs, to cross London Bridge.
   I achieved a box seat on one, and we moved off towards the Bridge, but with the greatest difficulty. The roadway was blocked up with omnibuses, whose passengers stood on the roofs in crowds; with cabs and hansoms, also loaded outside; with waggons pleasure vans & carts, brought out for the occasion and full of people; and amongst all these, struggling screaming & fighting for a view, was a dense illimitable crowd, which even surged in heaps, as it were, over the parapet of the bridge. From my perch I overlooked the whole scene: and what a scene! For near a quarter of a mile, the south bank of the Thames was on fire: a long line of what had been warehouses, their roofs and fronts all gone; and the tall ghastly sidewalls, white with heat, standing, or rather tottering, side by side in the midst of a mountainous desert of red & black ruin, which smouldered & steamed here, & there, sent up sheets of savage intolerable flame a hundred feet high. At intervals a dull thunder was heard through the roar of fire-an explosion of saltpetre in the vaults, which sent up a pulse of flame higher than before. Burning barges lined the shore; burning oil & tallow poured in cascades from the wharfs, and flowed out blazing on the river. A schooner was being cut from her moorings, just in time, as we came up. And all this glowing hell of destruction was backed by enormous volumes of lurid smoke, that rolled sullenly across the river and shut out all beyond. Just above the highest flames stood the full moon in a clear blue sky: hut except a pale tint in far off windows, not a gleam nor a shadow of hers could be seen. But the north bank, where she should have shone, was one fairylike panorama of agitating beauty. Every building from the Bridge to the Customhouse was in a glow of ruddiest light: every church tower and high roof shone against the dark, clear in outline, golden in colour: the monument was like a pillar of fire: and ever! window and roof and tower top and standing space on ground or above, every vessel that hugged the Middlesex shore for fear of being burnt, & every inch of room on London Bridge, was crowded with thousands upon thousands of excited faces, lit up by the heat. The river too, which shone like molten gold except where the deep black shadows were, was covered with little boats full of spectators, rowing up & down in the overwhelming light.
   So, through the trampling multitude, shouts and cries & roaring flame and ominous thunder, the air full of sparks and the night in a blaze of light, our omnibus moved slowly on, and in half an hour we gained the other end of the Bridge. All along King William St. and Cheapside the people were pouring in to see the fire, and eagerly questioning those who had seen it. And even far away in the dim streets where the houses were all in shade, every church tower that we passed reflected hack the light of the conflagration. Bow Church was ruddy bright: the dome of St. Paul's was a pale rose colour on its eastern side . . .
   No such fire has been known in London since the Fire of 1666: which, by the way, began at a spot exactly opposite this. Two millions, at least, of property destroyed: near eleven acres of ruin: many lives lost, among them the chief of the Fire Brigade. The fire was at his height two or three hours after I saw it: but it is still (Wednesday afternoon) burning furiously . . .
Arthur Munby, Diary, 22 June 1861

False Teeth

2011-09-20T06:51:00.001-07:00

NICHOLLS v. RUSSELL— ACTION FOR THE PRICE OF A SET OF ARTIFICIAL TEETH.

The plaintiff in this case is a surgeon-dentist in Sloane-street, Chelsea, and the defendant is connected with the theatrical profession. The action was brought to recover a sum claimed as the balance due for a set of artificial teeth supplied to the defendant.
    Mr. Digby Seymour and Mr. Houston Browne appeared for the plaintiff, and Mr. Pearce for the defendant.
    The plaintiff's case was that on two previous occasions he had made the defendant "machines" for his mouth, but had not been paid for them. On the 20th August, 1855, the defendant again applied to him for another "machine," and witness agreed to make him a set of teeth upon the condition that he should be paid for it. Witness was to charge what he pleased for the job, so long as he enabled the defendant to continue his profession of an elocutionist. Witness, after three weeks' attention to the defendant's mouth, extracting teeth, removing obstructions, and getting his mouth into a fit state to receive the teeth, made the set of tooth, and charged his usual price, 40 guineas. As was frequent when a person began to wear a set of artificial teeth, the defendant distorted the springs, and witness supplied a pair of new springs, the price of which was two guineas. About Christmas time defendant played Shylock at the Strand Theatre, and afterwards told witness that his voice had never been in a more satisfactory state than on that occasion. The defendant on that occasion wore the set of teeth supplied by the plaintiff. The defendant had paid 15l. on account, and the balance due was 29l. .2s.
    Evidence was given for the defence. The defendant asserted positively that the price agreed upon for the sot of teeth was 30 guineas. He also stated that the teeth did not suit him, that they hurt his mouth, interfered with his voice; and he could not eat with them. A deduction of 1l.. 5s. was also claimed for the old gold which the plaintiff had had handed to him in the shape of the frame of the old teeth. Evidence was also given that the sum of 30 guineas was a full price for a set of teeth, the usual price being 25 guineas.
    As to the old gold, evidence was given on both sides; on the one hand, that it was the custom of the dentists to retain the old gold ; and on the other hand that there was no such custom.
    The jury found a verdict for the plaintiff for 15l.

Daily News, June 17th 1857

Animal Cruelty

2011-09-20T06:09:00.001-07:00

George Lawson and Robert Holloway, carmen in the employ of Mr. Charles Starkey, dust-contractor of Agar-town, St Pancras, appeared to answer a summons at the instance of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals which charged them with cruelly beating the horses intrusted to their care. From the evidence of William Love and George Seaman, two officers of the society, it appeared that the on 25^th inst. they were on duty in the Aland-road, Kentish-town, when they saw the defendants driving a cart heavily laden with dust. On reaching a part of the road which is much broken up, the wheels of the cart sank nearly a foot in the ground, and one of the defendants, on the off side, with a short handled whip, flogged the horse most cruelly under the flanks and over the head, and when they flinched from the torture the other defendant, on the near side, beat them with a thick stick, the horses all the while struggling their utmost to drag the load, which they were unable to do, and which appeared still more to infuriate the defendants, who both beat them violently over the head and eyes. On examining the horses, which were old and worn out, the officers found them scored with weals under the flank, and other other parts of their bodies, and one of them had several places where the hair and skin had come off, apparently from recent blows, and which places were raw and bleeding. The magistrate said there was no doubt of the defendants guilty of the most cruel and wanton barbarity, and sentenced them to pay a fine of 20s. each, and costs, or a month’s imprisonment. Not being able to pay the fine, they were committed.

Morning Chronicle, March 2 1857

An Extraordinary Kind of Fish Sauce

2011-09-19T05:27:00.000-07:00

BOW-STREET; Curious Charge. - A tall, gentlemanly-looking man, who described himself as Major Bond, of the 2d Life Guards, and wore moustaches, was brought before Mr. Henry, charged with stealing part of a meat pie from the larder of the Union Club, Trafalgar-square. It was proved that some of the domestics of the establishment, finding the accused in the kitchen area, helping himself to the contents of the larder, called to the lamp cleaner to give him into custody. This was done, and 521 A broutht him to the police station, where he produced a bottle of fish sauce, which he stated was his own invention, and for which he was endeavouring to get an order from the club. He stated that the pie was his own, and continued eating it, so that a very small portion of the stolen property remained f'or identification. From the manner of the accused, who seemed to treat the charge with perfect indiftereuce, and with little respect for the Court, his worship entertained some doubt as to the soundness of his mind. He appeared to ridicuie this notion, and stated that he was well known in London. He knew Sir Richard Mayne, and his predecessor, Colonel Rowan, who was betrothed to his (prisoner's) mother's sister, and would have married her, but she died, and he remained a bachelor for ever afterwards. Mr. Henry: Where. do you reside? Prisoner: At 20, Kensington-gore, and a lovely spot it is—garden behind, and the park in front; arid, oh, such a splendid views of the ladies in Rotten-row from the upper windows. Mr. Henry: I do not see your name in the Army List, nor in the Directory as a resident in Kensington-gore. The prisoner: But you'll find the name of Eaton there, I suppose, and I lodge with him. With respect to the army, you are mistaken, or there's a misprint. Mr. Henry said he should remand him for a few days, in order to ascertain who were his friends, and whether he is perfectly sane. The prisoner demanded the remainder of his pie, and £5 for the damage done to his coat by Thompson, the lamp cleaner at. the club, in taking him into custody. Shortly. before the close of the court, a gentleman, who stated that he was the prisoner's brother, had an interview with the magistrate. He stated that his brother was not in the army himself, although he had relations there, but was a clerk in the Bank of England, and had been on leave of absence for the last month, chiefly on account of his state of mind. The family were anxious to make some arrangements for his safe keeping, as there could be no doubt as to his insanity. One of the delusions under which he laboured was, that he had discovered an extraordinary kind of fish sauce. Mr. Henry said he had just been conveyed to the prison, where the medical officer would be directed to examine him, and of course would see that every attention should be paid him that his condition of mind might render desirable.

The Era, May 1853

A Perilous Position for a Female

2011-09-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

A PERILOUS POSITION FOR A FEMALE.--William Myerscroft, alias William Wilson, a respectabte-looking man about forty years of age, surrendered, in discharge of his recognizances, to answer, an indictment charging him with stealing a silk scarf, the property of Laurina Smyth. — Laurina Smyth, the prosecutrix, was called, and deposed that she was a dressmaker, and resided in Church street, Stoke Newington. She had given the name of Lucille Montague when before the committing magistrate, but her right name was Laurina Smyth. On the evening of the 6th of August she was returning from Charlotte street, Fitzroy square, to Stoke Newington. It was a very wet evening, and about nine o'clock, when passing down Holborn, she was accosted by the prisoner, who made some observation on the state of the weather. She paid no attention to him at first, but eventually she was prevailed upon to go into a coffee-shop or tavern for shelter, and whilst there the prisoner called for half a quartern of brandy. Witness took a glass of the brandy, and they remained in the coffee-room for about twenty minutes. She said that she was going to the Bank, to get a bus to take her home. The prisoner said he was going the same way, and offered to accompany her. A few moments after they left the coffee-room she became quite unconscious of everything, and did not recover her senses until towards the middle of the night, when she found herself in a house of ill-fame, in the neighbourhood of Hoxton, and the prisoner in the room with her. When she saw the position she was in, she requested the prisoner to leave the room, but he would not do so, and thereupon she called a female belonging to the house to come up to her, and feeling very ill she requested a glass of water. She then took off her bonnet and scarf, which she left on a chair in the room, and again requested the priaoner to leave, but he declined to do so. She then told the young woman that she wished the prisoner to leave the room. She told witness if she came down stairs she would soon get rid of him. She went down stairs and into the back parlour. The woman of the house then called out to the prisoner that she (prosecutrix) was gone off. The prisoner then came down, and being told that witness had run away, he ran out after her into the street. Prosecutrix went up stairs to the room as soon as he had gone, when she missed the scarf. Upon this she followed the prisoner and gave him in charge, and when the policeman had him in custody prisoner took the scarf from his hat and gave it to him. — Cox, N 60, corroborated the prosecutrix's evidence with reference to the finding the scarf in the prisoner's hat — Mr. Holloway, of 244, Strand, gave the prisoner a good character.— The jury tound the prisoner guilty, and he was sentenced to one month's hard labour.

Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper, September 1st, 1850

A Wild Boar, or possibly Furious

2011-09-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

ACCIDENT. - On Thursday afternoon, a little boy, eight years of age, the son of a person named Bateman, of Holywell-lane, Shoreditch, was attacked and wounded by a boar kept on the premises of Mr. Little, the dust-contractor of Shoreditch parish. The boar had long had the exclusive range of the dust-heaps and grew to an enormous size. The boys in the neighbourhood were in the habit of teazing him; and on Thursday evening, the little boy in question being at play on the same dust-heap with the boar, the ferocious animal knocked him down, and inflicted a terrible wound in the child's thigh with his tusks. - The boar, as if conscious of the wrong he had committed, immediately retreated from the yard, and concealed himself on some other premises. But a number of men, armed with pickazes, shovels, &c. went in pursuit and the animal's place of retreat being discovered, a general attack upon him commenced, and terminated in his death. The child is recovering.

Morning Chronicle, Dec 30, 1826

Gaslight Signs

2011-09-11T09:56:00.001-07:00

Gaslights were often used to advertise places or products in the late Victorian metropolis (see example) ... but this is the first I've heard of them working as street signs. If you know more about this, I'd be fascinated to hear about it ...

The following report was presented by the surveyor to the Commissioners :— I beg to report that, in pursuance of your instructions, I have permitted Messrs. Powell, of the Whitefriars Glass Works to fix tablets bearing the names of streets in certain of the public lamps within the city of London.
    These tablets are formed of glass roughed upon one side, having the letters which compose the names of the streets impressed upon the with other side. The letters are filled up with black metallic colour, burnt in the general surface of the tablets, and the names of the streets are easily discernible at night when the lamps are lighted.
    The public lamps in which the tablets have been placed are situated at the S.W. end of Cornhill, the S.W. end of King-street and the N.E. end of Queen-street, Cheapside; the corners of Ludgate-hill, Fleet-street and Farringdon-street, and at the southern end of the Old Jewry.
    They appear to answer their purpose exceedingly well, and are, I think, likely to be very serviceable in directing strangers after day-light.
    There is a scarcely a street or public thoroughfare within the city of London which is not already provided with street tablets, and the public lamps, owing to the narrowness of the footpaths, are frequently so near to them, that they can be read after daylight, but there are many localities in which these tablets can be placed with advantage to the public lamps.
    It is not, I think, probable that tablets so placed will in this metropolis supersede entirely the ordinary street tablets, as the size of the letter, owing to the dimensions of the lamps, is very limited, but as their price is so very small, it becomes well worthy of consideration whether they might not be used extensively as adjuncts to the present tablets.
    ... The members expressed the opinion that the plan adopted by the surveyor would be very serviceable in directing the foreigners and other strangers with whom the metropolis will soon abound.

Times, March 19 1851