R.D.Blumenfeld on the Fire Brigade

December 29th, 1901

The fire brigade came dashing down the Strand at Wellington Street to-day with the usual wild cries of "Hi! yi! hi! yi!" which always creates a sensation in the streets. One of the engine horses came down on the slippery pavement, but the men had the team going in an incredibly short time. The suggestion so often made that the firemen should abandon their wild and alarming cries and substitute a gong is bitterly opposed by the firemen. They have always yelled "Hi! yi!" and they always will do so.

R.D.Blumenfeld on the rise of smoking

October 28th, 1900

A plumber's assistant came yesterday morning to repair a leaking drain pipe. I noticed that he smoked many cigarettes. I mentioned this later to Mayo Gunn, who was manager of the St. James's Gazette, but has now joined his relatives, the Wills, of Bristol, in the tobacco business. He says working men are taking more and more to cigarettes, which are so much cheaper since the introduction of machinery. A man named Bernhard Baron [late head of Carreras] brought over a machine a few years ago and he turns out thousands per hour. He is likely to make a fortune.

December 10th, 1901

I remember going to Vienna about ten years ago to be shocked at the sight of several women smoking cigars. We appear to be progressing towards that end here. After dinner last night at the Carlton I saw four women in the lounge smoking cigarettes quite unconcernedly. One of them had a golden case, and she was what is called a chain smoker. Dr. Gunton, who was with me, told me that most women now smoke at home. "That's what makes them so nervy," he said, " but when I tax them with over-smoking they nearly always deny it."

R.D.Blumenfeld on Suburban Youth

October 26th, 1900

Shopkeepers in the Burlington Arcade are again complaining about the obstruction caused at the Piccadilly entrance by the young bloods from Tufnell Park and Acton and Tooting Bec, who congregate there after five o'clock in the afternoon, all dressed up in frock coats, highly polished hats and lavender gloves. They stand tightly wedged together leaning on their gold and silver-mounted sticks, looking bored and imagine that they give the impression to passers-by that they are all heirs to peerages and great estates and are just out for an airing. This afternoon I saw young X., one of our clerks, in the languid group. Now I know why he is always so anxious to get away before five. A strange fad.

R.D.Blumenfeld on Omnibus Racing

December 17th, 1901

The police are very active now in suppressing omnibus racing, which is becoming dangerous. I was on a Road Car omnibus to-day in Whitehall. A London General Company omnibus pulled up alongside. Next came a pirate. They all started at once, and the drivers lashed the horses into a gallop, the while the vehicles rocked like boats. The passengers got excited, and one man's top hat blew off. When we got to Trafalgar Square the Road Car was leading by a length, and the pirate, with his starved horses, was one hundred yards behind. The new rate of a penny from Charing Cross to the Bank seems to act as a magnet to the former point, and the rivals take great risks in getting there first.

R.D.Blumenfeld on Skirts

October 7th, 1900

Mrs. Williamson, who edits the Onlooker, a society gossip paper, had all the women in the Row staring at her. She had some sort of contraption hooked to her skirt to hold it up, thus freeing her hands. She explained that the necessity for holding up the present-day long skirts affected the wrist. " I know many women," she said, " who suffer from 'skirt wrist.' "

October 14th, 1900

The fashion writers in the office are agitated about the suggestion that women's skirts should be shorter. They have gone about interviewing the managers of the great shops, and they are all against it. I have received a note from Paquin on this subject to the effect that short skirts are "ungraceful and unbecoming, and so distinctly inconvenient." He says that the skirt two inches off the ground is all right for dry weather, as it leaves both hands free, but not so in muddy weather. Dare to leave it alone and it hangs full and heavy at the back, gathers in all the rain and mud, sweeping wet and uncomfortable round the ankles. Attempt to hold it up and it is too short to reach with any comfort, and becomes most tiring with the twist and drag of it, whereas a really long skirt is lightly thrown over the wrist or arm, and gives no further trouble. The short skirt, to be safely left alone in muddy weather, says this fashion dictator, needs to be at least six inches off the ground ; and who dares to wear it!

R.D.Blumenfeld on Radio

October 3rd, 1900

These Post Office people are very conservative. I heard Sir William Preece, the chief engineer of the Post Office, deliver himself to-day of an unequivocal statement that "wireless telegraphy is not, and cannot be, a commercial success." In spite of the delicate and interesting experiments of young Marconi, who is half Italian and half Irish, Preece held that wireless telegraphy cannot supersede the present wire system. "It may be used under exceptional circumstances by the Army and Navy, but commercially it is impossible."

R.D.Blumenfeld on Dressing for Success

Friday, November 14th, 1890

Unfortunately I was what was called "improperly dressed." I have not conformed to the rule that in order to have the entrée in the City one must wear a silk hat and a frock coat. I have been disporting myself in a bowler hat and tweeds, while I still further trangress by wearing light flannel shirts instead of white linen. It is something of a fad to be wearing these loose garments, but I am pleasing myself, and not Dame Fashion. I frequently notice that my loose-fronted shirt is the object of comment among people, who think that one is uncivilised unless the manly bosom is adorned with a stiff white shirt. So I presented myself at the Bank and, handing in my card, asked to see the Governor, Mr. Lidderdale. A functionary in a frock coat, who took my card, scrutinised me suspiciously, boggled at my tweed suit and brown shoes and my outrageous shirt, and then turned on his heel to fetch a colleague, also in a frock coat. He, too, looked puzzled, but I insisted, and finally they took in my card.

R.D.Blumenfeld on the Lord Mayor's Show

Monday, November 10th, 1890

This has been a considerable holiday, for it is Lord Mayor's Day, and all London gave itself up to the celebration. There was a procession from the Mansion House down Fleet Street and Charing Cross to Trafalgar Square, and then back along the Embankment, a wonderful circus-like pageant, particularly attractive this year, because one of the Sheriffs in the Lord Mayor's entourage is Augustus Harris, the manager of the Drury Lane Theatre, and he, with his stage manager, Arthur Collins, has made the historic procession more theatrical than it has ever been. "Gus " Harris, in his green and gold carriage of state, was wildly cheered all along the route, for he is immensely popular. The Lord Mayor, Mr. Alderman Savory, is a wholesale chemist, I believe. He looked very fine in the great golden coach drawn by magnificent horses, and driven by an enormously fat coachman in gorgeous livery, all gold and satin and pink silk. The aftermath of the show was a fine harvest of drunkenness. The Strand at eight o'clock to-night was agog with a milling stew of so-called merrymakers, which means that there was general license and intoxication. The "donah" girls from the shops and factories, all dressed up in great hats, bobbing with so-called ostrich feathers, find great amusement in assailing innocent passers-by with jets of water from little leaden squirts. It is wisest to appear to like it.

R.D.Blumenfeld on where to eat

Friday, October 3rd, 1890

I do not find many places to dine. There is the Cafe Royal, in Regent Street, a first-class restaurant much frequented by French refugees ; Verrey's, a bit more sedate; Scott's, at the top of the Haymarket ; the St. James', given over to the jeunesse doree; and Simpson's, in the Strand. You cannot get a meal anywhere after ten o'clock  at night, except at old Dolaro's supper club, in Percy Street, off the Tottenham Court Road, where the prices are high and no change is given. Selina Dolaro, his wife, who used to be a comic opera singer, is the chief barkeeper. You can also get a fair meal at the Continental Hotel, at the foot of Regent Street, but it isn't a very ideal place. If an average Londoner has a visiting friend, he either takes him to his house for lunch or dinner, or to his club. The clubs are usually crowded at seven, the dinner hour, during the season. Just now they are deserted, for 90 per cent of the members are on the moors in the North, shooting grouse and partridges. It is good to be in London again. I love to sit on the top of an omnibus watching the vista of black silk hats, like dark poppy fields. You can no more separate a Londoner from his top hat and his shiny black brief bag, which every self- respecting Briton carries to and from his office, than you can separate the Ethiopian from his skin. Had lunch at Groom's, in Fleet Street to-day, with Mr. Cock, Q.C., a famous lawyer. Groom's is a funny narrow little shop frequented mostly by lawyers from the adjoining Temple. You get an excellent chop for a very small sum. 

R.D.Blumenfeld in Hyde Park

Wednesday, June 29th, 1887

I spent from five o'clock until seven this evening watching the spectacle of London society airing itself in Hyde Park. There can be no more wonderful sight anywhere. Certainly there is no place on this earth where there can be seen at one time so many gorgeous equipages, such beautiful horses, and such a display of elegance. Queen Victoria, who is said not to like London, and is therefore seldom seen in the capital, has been out every day of this momentous week. She drove into the Park at a quarter-past five - all traffic being waved to one side - in a great C-springed landau with outriders and gentlemen riding alongside. Shortly after she was followed by the Princess of Wales [Alexandra] a most beautiful woman whose great popularity with the people, especially the women, is in no doubt. There were hundreds of carriages, landaus, barouches, victorias, curricles and private hansoms, and such horses! The powdered and bewigged foot- men in front and behind the vehicles, the red, blue and yellow plush of breeches, the silk stockings of the flunkeys, the flashing buckles just like a fairy tale. The great thing to do, if you are a " blood " and in the swim, is to lean over the iron rails and be recognised by milady as equipage after equipage rolls by in lordly grandeur. There was not a shabby-looking turn-out to be seen. It is one of the worst of social misdemeanours to send a carriage and pair into the Park indifferently accoutred.

R.D.Blumenfeld on How to Spot a Guardsman

Monday, June 27, 1887

There was present at luncheon a tall, extremely well-dressed young man, with whom I returned to town in a hansom cab. I noticed that part of his forehead was very much sunburned, but one part, from the hair to the nose above the right eye, was of a different colour. This is "the swagger mark " indicating the soldier. It comes from the pill-box, which protects only a small portion of the head and forehead from the sun; a much-coveted distinction. On the way he told me that he is a private in the 2nd Life Guards, and that "the gentlemen of the Guards " are permitted to go out off duty in mufti if they so desire. A large number of these Guardsmen, however, prefer to go out in uniform, shell jacket, very tight overalls, and pill-box askew on head, ready to be hired for afternoon or evening by nursemaids to "walk out." There is a regular, fixed tariff. Household Cavalry for afternoon out in Park, half-a-crown and beer. Brigade of Foot Guards, eighteen-pence and beer. Royal Horse Artillery, two shillings. Other services, a shilling. The fact that there is a big demand is shown by the large number of females at barrack gates early in the afternoon and evening waiting to engage escorts.

R.D.Blumenfeld on English Girls

Sunday, June 26, 1887

The river was crowded with rowing boats and punts, and for long distances the banks were lined with houseboats blooming with flowers. The house-boats appear to be the special summer resort of the well-to-do, who live on them throughout the summer. What struck me particularly was the athletic prowess of so many young women, who were astonishingly adept at rowing and punting, and seemed to be quite capable of handling their boats as well as the men. That I take it is the reason why English girls are so fresh complexioned and free in their movements. It is a fact that you see fewer white-lipped and waxed-cheeked girls than anywhere else, in spite of tight-lacing, which is as prevalent here as in France or the United States. But the women play tennis and go for long walks. They are not restricted by convention as in other countries.

The Case of Miss Cass

Another quote from R.D.Blumenfeld's 1887 diary:

Everybody here appears to wildly excited over the experiences of a certain Miss Cass, a simple seamstress, who went for a walk in Regent Street, and was arrested and locked up by a policeman on the charge of annoying men.

The annoyance, of course, was a charge of soliciting. Her case became a cause celebre. In retrospect, it looks like a fairly clear case of mistaken identity, where the policeman and, subsequently, the magistrate, persisted with their belief in Miss Cass's guilt, beyond any evidential justification. The Pall Mall Gazette ran with the headline, 'The Police Outrage in Regent Street', since the charge of street prostitution, if levelled against a respectable woman, was incredibly serious and damaging. The case was even debated in parliament, before the Home Secretary. Here's the Hansard report outlining the initial details of the case:

With regard to the facts of the case, Miss Cass was a young woman who until the last six weeks had spent all her life in Stockton, in the county of Durham, where she had borne an irreproachable character. Six weeks ago she had come up to London with her late employer, a draper in a large way of business in Stockton, and set about finding work in the trade which she had previously followed. About three weeks ago she had obtained employment with Mrs. Bowman, 19, Southampton row, who was also a person of irreproachable character. He had been favoured with a visit from the vicar of the parish, who had assured him that she was a constant attendant at the church and pious and moral in her character. He mentioned this because he was aware that some aspersions had been cast upon the character of Mrs. Bowman. Miss Cass had been about three weeks in Mrs. Bowman's employment without ever having been outside the house, except on one occasion, on the, night previous to that which she was arrested, and then only for a few yards to post a letter. About 8.30 on Coronation Day she had gone out to make some purchases at Jay's. She walked through some back streets, down Tottenham-court-road, and so to Regent street, calling at the house of a friend, whom she found out. Finding Jay's shop closed, she walked down Regent-street, threading her way through the somewhat crowded street. Suddenly she was seized by a policeman and dragged to Tottenham-court road police station. She was of course greatly surprised, and thought at first the policeman was doing this more as a joke than anything else, but he informed her that he was going to charge her with solicitation. She was taken to the station and entered in the book as a common prostitute. The police-constable stated that he had seen her on several previous occasions about the streets soliciting gentlemen in the same manner as that in which she was alleged to have acted that night. When she had been charged, the police-officer went to Mrs. Bowman's house and informed her in the most offensive manner possible that a young woman lodging with her had been taken up for prostitution. Miss Cass was bailed out, and on the following morning was brought before the police magistrate.

The magistrate took the policeman's side, but Mrs. Bowman spoke bravely in defence of her employee and the magistrate had little choice but to back down. However, rather than announcing that Miss Elizabeth Cass was a victim of a mistake by the policeman, the magistrate left her with these words:

"I believe she was out for an improper purpose. If you are an honest girl, as you say you are, don't walk in Regent-street at night after 9.30, for if you do, next time you are caught here, you will be sent to prison or fined."

In other words, in the magistrate's mind, any single woman on the streets after dark was, de facto, a prostitute. Miss Cass and Mrs. Bowman launched a complaint against  the police. Here's Miss Cass's account of the incident:

"With regard to the assertion that the evidence of the constable distinctly established three cases of solicitation, there is no truth in it at all. I saw nobody. I spoke to no one; and no person spoke to the, except the policeman. I did not attract any one's attention, and did not say a word to any one after leaving the house. I did not make the purchases I had intended, as the shops were closed. I am a stranger to London. I knew the affair took place near Jay's, but did not know I was in Regent-street. I was not aware of the character imputed to that neighbourhood, and had no idea that single young women ran any risk. I did not "take hold of two other gentlemen," and I did not bear the expression used in the street. "It is very hard I should be stopped. It is the third time I have been stopped in this street." There was no gentleman standing near the constable to use these words. What happened was this. The policeman said,"I want you." I could not speak for a moment, and could only say there was some mistake. He replied, "Oh, no; I have been watching you for some time." I again said, " You have made some mistake." He retorted, " Oh, no, I have not; I know you well enough." I could not do anything but repeat that it was a mistake. He took hold of my arm and led me down a side street. There was no crowd. At the police station, in a little room, he stared at me, and I asked if he would send for my employer, and he said, "Oh, she'll come," and added, " You don't know me, do you?" I replied that I did not, and he said, "I know you, and have known you for some time." I had never seen him before. When be caught hold of my arm in the street I asked him to let it go, as I would walk along with him. He retorted, "I must take hold of your arm, for if I don't you will say so in the morning, and they will complain that I allowed you to walk alone." I could only exclaim, "In the morning!" in great surnnse. I have been here three weeks, and have only been about two months in London, having stayed six weeks at Manor Park, with some people who had had a shop at Stockton, where I was with them as first hand for two or three years, until they gave up. I stopped on with their successor for nearly a year, so, practically, I was in the same situation for nearly four years. Previously I had been with another dressmaker of Stockton for nearly a year, and I held a situation before that in the same town for four and a half years. I am twenty-three years of age. My parents live at Stockton. Whilst staying in Manor Park I came to London once or twice, and once in the afternoon went with my former employer to Regent-street. I had good characters from all my places."

Part of the problem was, undoubtedly, that the main thoroughfares were a good place to pick up ladies of a certain character. If Miss Cass was a little confused, or simply taking a slow stroll through the crowds, she was an easy target for an over-enthusiastic officer of the law. The Jubilee celebrations also created an unusual mix of people on the streets, which may well have confounded police preconceptions of the role of women in public at such an hour. The wilful and ultimately rather emancipated Nancy in Gissing's In the Year of Jubilee, set in 1887, has an interesting dialogue early in the book, talking to her bookish friend Jessica:

'Well, will you come to-morrow?'

'Ye-es; if you'll go somewhere else with me in the evening.'

'Where to?'

'To walk about the streets after dark, and see the crowds and the illuminations.'

Nancy uttered this with a sly mirthfulness. Her friend was astonished.

'Nonsense! you don't mean it.'

'I do. I want to go for the fun of the thing. I should feel ashamed
of myself if I ran to stare at Royalties, but it's a different thing at night.
It'll be wonderful, all the traffic stopped, and the streets crammed with people,
and blazing with lights. Won't you go?'

...

'But we should have to be out so late.'

'Why not, for once? It needn't be later than half-past eleven.'

Nancy broke off and gesticulated.

'That's just why I want to go! I should like to walk about all night, as lots of people will. The public-houses are going to be kept open till two o'clock.'

'Do you want to go into public-houses?' asked Jessica, laughing.

'Why not? I should like to. It's horrible to be tied up as we are we're not children. Why can't we go about as men do?'

'Won't your father make any objection?' asked Jessica.

Later, if memory serves, she manages to fulfil her wish and wander through nocturnal London. One wonders if Gissing had Miss Cass in mind.

Ultimately, Miss Cass and Mrs. Bowman levelled a charge of perjury against PC Endacott, which was heard at the Old Bailey [full text here]. We learn from the court report that Endacott was on 'special duty' and tasked to 'bring in prostitutes'. A clerk deposed 'in that part of London there are more charges with regard to annoyances in the street from women, than any other part of London—I have known as many as 20 or 30 in a day, in a great many Endacott has given evidence'.  The constable was ultimately found innocent of wilful perjury (though it was widely accepted that he had mistaken the woman's identity) and returned to the force on full  pay.

As for Miss Cass herself, by the time of the trial, she was known as Mrs. Langley, married to a former beau from Stockton. In Victorian terms, that definitely counts as a happy ending.

The unmentioned possibility is that, of course, Miss Cass was simply trying to chat up one or more men in  Regent-street, not for financial gain but for — what? The fun of it? In the excitement of the moment? To find a new boyfriend? This, of course, would also have damned her as utterly immoral; and so we can never know.

R.D.Blumenfeld visits the Music Hall

Friday, June 24, 1887

Came home late after an evening at the Argyll Music Hall in Piccadilly [present site of Trocadero Restaurant], where I heard a singer poke fun at the German princes who marry into the British Royal Family. Most of the artists appear to make their appeal with songs about "booze" or how they beat "the old woman," presumably the wife. The best part of the show was the chairman, who sits below the stage, announces the performers, pounds his gavel for order, and consumes endless and various drinks at the expense of people in the audience who like to let their friends see that they know the chairman.
    It was very warm in the theatre. I asked for a long drink of lemonade, which here is called "lemon squash." The waiter brought it, luke-warm. "Will you get me some ice, please?" I asked. "Get you what, sir?" he asked in turn. "Ice." "Why?" "To make this stuff drinkable." And then he burst into laughter. "We don't keep it," he said indulgently. I cannot understand how these people exist without ice. I have not seen a chip of it since I landed. As for ice cream, they barely know what it is except at expensive restaurants. The poor only get ale and winkles.'

R.D.Blumenfeld on the Underground

Thursday, June 23rd, 1887

I had my first experience of Hades to-day, and if the real thing is to be like that I shall never do anything wrong. I got into the Underground railway at Baker Street affter leaving Archibald Forbes' house. I wanted to go to Moorgate Street in the City. It was very warm - for London, at least. The compartment in which I sat was filled with passengers who were smoking pipes, as is the British habit, and as the smoke and sulphur from the engine fill the tunnel, all the windows have to be closed. The atmosphere wa a mixture of sulphur, coal dust and foul fumes from the oil lamp above; so that by the time we reached Moorgate Street I was near dead of asphyxiation and heat. I should think these Underground railways must soon be discontinued, for they are a menace to health. A few minutes earlier can be no consideration, since hansom cabs and omnibuses, carried by the swiftest horses I have seen anywhere, do the work most satisfactorily.

R.D.Blumenfeld on Drinking Culture

Wednesday, June 22, 1887

I think it a strange habit for business men of all ranks to knock off at eleven o'clock in the morning and go out to a public-house for a drink. I notice this particularly in the City in the neighbourhood of the Bank. Champagne at sixpence a glass appears to be the favourite tipple.

R.D.Blumenfeld on Buffalo Bill

Wedneday, June 22, 1887

"Buffalo Bill" Cody is showing his Wild West at Earl's Court. He is living in rooms at 86, Regent Street, over Hope Brother's shop, and there he finds himself embarrassed by an overwhelming mass of flowers which came hourly from host of female admirers. He has had an astonishing success, both "artistically" and socially, and can now wear evening dress and adjust a white tie with as much skill as he could skin a buffalo calf twenty years ago. He is possessed of a sense of humour too, and laughs at himself as well as at the snobs who are attracted by his titles and his prairie hair.
    His mantel-shelf is covered with invitations to "Colonel the Honourable W.F.Cody." Little do they know that the highest Army rank he ever held was that of scout-sergeant, and that the "colonel" was bestowed on him by the Governor of Nebraska when he made Bill a member of his local staff: while the "honourable" comes from his term as member of the Nebraska State Legislature, which is something like the Essex County Council. They all take the title of "honourable." Bill is modest and unassuming. He told me to-day: "I've been readin' about Bret Harte and Tom Thumb the dwarf, how they were lionised here for a while, but only while there was excitement about 'em; so I'm taking no chances."

R.D.Blumenfeld on the Golden Jubilee

R.D.Blumenfeld was a famous newpaper-man (see Wikipedia). He came to England in the 1880s from America, and, consequently, his diaries, written with a certain journalistic flair, from a stranger's perspective, contain numerous great insights into life in the Victorian capital.

I'm going to digitise some bits and pieces from them, so here goes ... we start with his experiences of the 1887 Golden Jubilee:

Tuesday, June 21, 1887

Wonderful day for Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee celebration. I spent most of last night wandering through the streets to observe the decorations and preliminary illuminations. The gas-lit streets looked brilliant. Holborn, which with great enterprise, has electric street lighting, particularly attractive; walking from the Inns of Court Hotel in Holborn at eight o'clock this morning in order to take up my place in thre window at the foot of Haymarket, opposite Her Majesty's Opera House [now Carlton Hotel], bu the crowd was so dense that I could get no further than Waterloo Place, facing my window, and that I was stuck in the heat until long beyond noon after the procession had passed. I climbed up the statue of King George, but could not maintain myself and came down. But I got a good view of most of the procession. The Queen's face was hidden from me by a sun-shade. The crowd round me seemed to be much interested in a dour-faced, heavily-kilted royal gillie who sat behind. He looked unperturbed and rather grim. A good many onlookers mistook him for John Brown, but he died some years ago.
    I thought the German Crown Prince [Emperor Frederick], in his silver helmet  and shining cuirass, the most striking figure in the procession. Thhe young Princes, Edward [Duke of Clarence] and George [King George V], were a popular feature in their naval uniforms. It was my first glimpse of some of the Ministers. I had never seen Lord Herschell, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Randolph Churchill, Lord Knutsford, Mr. Matthews, the Home Secretary, nor Lord Spencer, who is generally known as the Red Earl by virtue of his enormous red beard.
    In the crowd beside me stood George Giddens, an actor who is appearing at the Criterion Theatre with Mr. Charles Wyndham in David Garrick. He knew every one in the procession, and I was not obliged to refer to my programme sheet. Giddens had been invited to sit in a window of the Opera House, but could not reach it. I recognised one of the lucky ones in a window of the steamship office where I had also taken a place. This fortunate one who had come earlier was Mr. James G. Blaine, the American Secretary of State, the famous "plumed knight," who would have been President but for the disastrous phrase: "Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion," which an ardent supporter of his launched against the Democratic Party, and so lost the Roman Catholic vote to Mr. Blaine.
    I drove round London to-night in a curricle with Walter Winans inspected the fireworks. I have never seen so many people; certainly never so many drunken ones.