Part 3
We then pass Squire’s Brewery at the entrance to Lincoln Road, where the Liberal Club and Masonic Hall now stand, and we go to Boroughbury; all beyond the malting formed part of Squire’s Brewery, going past what is known as the “Square Pond.” The houses there, including a large part of the Catholic Church and other buildings, are actually built upon that which was, in 1833 (and many years afterwards), covered with water. I was intimate with Mr. Buckle, who succeeded Mr. Squire in that brewery, and I was permitted to fish in the pond as often as I pleased. I have stood upon that spot which is now a public road and have caught pike and eels, and used to have very capital sport there. In the winter time it was a favourite resort, not thrown open to the public altogether, but still, with great liberality, it was allowed to be used for skating. I was very unlucky one day. It was just after a gentleman had bought the house, afterwards Mrs. Willoughby’s (now shops erected by Mr. W. D. Nichols), and the grounds about it, was walking in his grounds, when he saw me pull out a large pike, and he was so enchanted with it, he thought it would be a great benefit to his property, and to my disgust, but the pleasure of Mr. Buckle, he bought the pond and merged it into his private grounds. I never caught any pike there again!
Passing the outskirts of the town, we pass the great Tithe Barn, Boroughbury, an interesting and attractive specimen of antiquity and a good specimen of that kind of barn. You go up that junction of Lincoln Road to Dogsthorpe, and there past the last house until you come to two or three cottages, then belonging to a retired tailor, named Mitchell, and people had been profane enough to christen those cottages “Cabbage Row.” What connection there is between a tailor and cabbage, I don’t know.
Crossing the fields now laid out by the great roads of the Land Company, and which at that time were the most secluded fields around Peterborough, and going down Crawthorne Lane you came to a junction—a little lane at the back of Boroughbury, now a wide street behind St. Mark’s Villas, which runs up to Park Road, and there four roads met, where there was a little tombstone which was known as the “Girls’ Grave.” A girl was buried there, with a stake through her body, without Christian burial. The place was very well known, and for long remained in the midst of a potato garden belonging to one of the cottages there.
You go as the crow flies to a place called Frog Hall, in front of St. Mary’s Vicarage, one of the cottages remained till 1904, and the place had a very unsavoury reputation. It was inhabited by squatters, gipsies, and travellers, and was one of the least desirable parts in that neighbourhood. Then came a row of cottages known as Burton’s Row, where Peterborough attempted to travel past its boundaries and get into the country.
Going back, we come to the Cemetery, but at that time all were grass fields let out as accommodation ground, and quite secluded. A little further on were the Gas Works. Now they ARE Gas Works. When I came they were, as compared with the present, in about the same proportion as a small kettle to a large steam engine boiler. A gentleman named Malam—a Hull man—used to supply all the little towns in the country, and used to contract with the inhabitants to supply gas for them. There was no Act of Parliament, or anything of that sort, but permission from the Local Authorities to break up the streets and roads was all that was required, and he chanced it. I think Mr. Sawyer used to give as much time as he could spare from his own business, until he became, as the town increased, by purchase, the owner of the works, and he then gave his whole time and attention to them, and a very nice property it developed into by the time the present company took it off Mr. Sawyer’s hands.
That is the history of gas in Peterborough. This brings us back to the Long Causeway and the Market Place. Not the market now, as I recollect it! Up to the year 1848 the farmers attending the market used to cool their heels in the open air in front of the Town Hall, hot or cold, wet or dry, rain or snow, blowing or still, there they stood, till the Theatre, now the Corn Exchange (since largely added to), became vacant, and it occurred to some agricultural gentleman that they could be much more comfortable in every way if they could form a company, and they did so, and I think no one will doubt that is an improvement. On the Long Causeway, the Cattle Market was the principal institution of the place, and I will tell you why. On Saturdays that place was wholly given up to them. There they were; nobody paid anything; anybody who had cows or horses to sell brought them there. They became the proprietors of the street for that day.
Our widest and best street was spoilt; because if there is one thing more certain than another it is that the female mind most intensely abhors anything approaching contact with horned animals. Somehow or other, it seems to disturb that equanimity which appears to be utterly indispensable to a lady when she is going what she calls “shopping,” and it would take away all her ideas to think she was going to meet a restless-looking cow or a doubtful looking ox. It takes away all notion of colour, shape, and measure, or whether the thing will wash or not. The consequence was, the Long Causeway was practically abandoned on market days, and it was not much more used on other days for shopping purposes, because in anything like changeable or damp weather the atmosphere of the street was what I have heard ladies describe (not meaning to be complimentary) as “smelly.” Therefore, naturally, there was great rejoicing among the inhabitants generally when that street was restored to a cleanly wholesome state by the construction of the Cattle Market.
The Wednesday Cattle Market had a very peculiar growth. It was set up without the smallest authority about 1845 or 1846 by an old gentleman named Dean, who was a retired farmer, and an enterprising auctioneer named Dowse, who kept the “Greyhound.” They suggested that fat stock should be brought, and it came more and more, until it grew into that excellent stock market, which became one of the best in the Kingdom. There was no foundation for it but that of custom. When the new market was proposed, the farmers invited the then authorities, the Improvement Commissioners, to construct it for them, but they made their bow and said, “If you want a market, make it for yourselves.” It was made by a limited company, and it has since fallen into the hands of the authorities, and Broadway constructed through it.
We have another market which has grown up, and that is the present Wednesday Market on the Market Place, which I think is one of the greatest curiosities that ever comes under one’s notice. It does no harm to anyone. I went there recently, and I saw an extraordinary medley of things exposed for sale. I wondered at first if they were to be given away! I could understand anybody wishing to sell them, but wondered who could wish to buy them. It is one of the things no one can understand. But it affords the means of getting rid of most undesirable things, call them furniture, or anything else! It puts me in mind of a shop in the Market Place at Great Yarmouth, where they say you may buy anything. A visitor, a clergyman, was told he could get anything he wanted. He said, “I want a pulpit.” “Well,” his friend said, “go in and try.” He went in and said, “Do you happen to have a pulpit?” and they said, “Well, we do happen to have a pulpit.” And I think I have seen everything in our Wednesday’s Market except that. I have not seen anything so useful as a pulpit!
I have spoken of our accommodation for the living. What do we do for the dead? We have the Cemetery, which has been considerably enlarged since it was first formed in 1852 or 1853, and the rapid increase of the Cemetery suggests the difficulty of the disposal of the dead in a creditable and satisfactory manner with our increasing population. The old burial ground was opened in the year 1802, and it is one of the peculiarities of this peculiar place, and of the old jurisdictions here, that the old Parish Church appears to have had in ancient times no burial ground belonging to it, a thing that very seldom happens, for the burial ground of the Parish of St. John the Baptist was outside the Minster, which is an extra parochial district. This remained up to 1802, when the burial ground in Cowgate was formed. If you go into it sometime (I am very fond of looking at the tombstones), you will find the oddest peculiarities of language and literature as inscriptions on the tombstones, but I cannot say I have ever found much to admire. You will find a collection of legends which are common all over the country, commencing with
Affliction sore, long time he bore, Physicians WAS in vain.
Next to it:
Pale consumption gave the silent BELOW, etc.
In our graveyard in Cowgate there is an epitaph upon old Mrs. Thomas, by which you are informed, that
Making carpets and beds she did pursue With care and industry is very true, The established religion she did profess In hopes, through Christ, of Heaven to possess.
Such rubbish as that, under the veto of the present Cemetery Commissioners, will, I hope, soon disappear. But there is one in the Cathedral graveyard (the existence of which is not generally known), on the tombstone memorial of an old family of this place, and I trust it will not be allowed to disappear. It is very superior to what they generally are. It is on the right just as you go through the Arch by the Deanery, and is to the memory of one of the Richardson family:
Stranger pass by nor idly waste your time In bad biography or bitter rhyme; For what I am, this cumbrous clay ensures, And what I was, is no affair of yours.
The old gentleman, as you see, has carried his cynical humour to the grave with him. It was quoted in an article in “Blackwood’s Magazine” on “Monumental Inscriptions” a few years since.
[Picture: Peterborough Market Place A.D. 1795. N. Fielding of Stamford. Specially drawn from a painting in Peterborough Museum]
PART THE THIRD.
NEWSPAPERS.—DISTEMPER.—GUILDHALL.—HANGINGS.—DARING BURGLARIES.—A LOCK-UP STORY.—AN ALIBI.—THE MUD CASE.—WHEN THE RAILWAYS FIRST CAME.—RETROSPECTIVE.
IN my former Notes I alluded to the Post Office. Well, the first Post Office I recollect was a little room about 10ft. square—I think it has been altered since—in one of those houses at the back of the “White Lion” gates. An old gentleman lived there who was Postmaster, and I think he was assisted, being rather infirm, by his daughter, and I have been told it was the amusement of a little grandchild or a little boy accustomed to visit him, that by way of a treat he was allowed to catch letters in his pinafore, and as a grand treat he was allowed to stamp them. At that time the Post Office establishment consisted of the Postmaster, the lady who assisted him, and the letter carrier, who, as some of you recollect, was Mrs. Waterfield, a tidy woman, who had a little basket in which she carried letters. By degrees the establishment got on. You will bear in mind that at that time we were not troubled with Post Office Orders. There was no way of conveying 5s. or 6s. in stamps, or by order, from one part of the country to another. The present Post Office consists of palatial buildings, since their enlargement in 1904, and great departmental accommodation, the smallest room of which is larger than that old Post Office altogether. It would not do now to catch letters in a pinafore, as their number is many millions a month. There are telegraph messages, Post Office Orders, and Savings Bank business. The Postmaster and old woman have grown into a Postmaster at £500 a year, Chief Clerk, a very important personage, the Assistant Superintendent (Postal Department), the Assistant Superintendent (Telegraph Department), 7 controllers, and a staff numbering altogether nearly 350, with 66 sub-Post Offices—a pretty good number. A great deal of the business is forwarding mails passing through Peterborough, as a convenient centre for such purposes.
Then, as to newspapers, we used to have once a week the “Stamford Mercury,” a very good paper, full of advertisements and local news, but the “Stamford Mercury” was always conducted on this principle: “Opinion is quite free in this country, and we are going to dictate to nobody,” so you never have editorial articles in the “Stamford Mercury.” They used sometimes to select leaders and bits of intelligence from other papers, generally of one way of thinking. Then we used to have the London papers. They cost 7d. each. London papers used to come down the day after publication, after they had gone the round of the club houses, the hotels, and the London eating houses. Those that had been in the eating houses used sometimes to come in rather a greasy form. Now we can have the “Times” on our breakfast table, or earlier if wished. After a time some gentlemen thought we were very benighted in Peterborough, and two of them, very much in advance of their age, started what we should now call a Society paper of a very pronounced type called the “Peterborough Argus.” The first one heard of it was, after one or two publications, that a solicitor had inflicted upon the responsible Editor a sound thrashing for a libel. The case went to the Northampton Assizes, and although the verdict was not quite “served him right,” the publisher got damages of very small amount. It was one of the most scurrilous papers in its way, and at length it became intolerable.
We now have in Peterborough four newspapers, besides a most ample supply of daily newspapers. It has been very interesting to witness the growth of Peterborough newspapers, particularly that of the ADVERTISER (the first in the field—in 1854) from its small two pages to the very satisfactory form in which it now appears, with its mid-weekly auxiliary, the CITIZEN. There was also a difficulty as to supply of books. There was a book club, the Church Porch Club, existing fifty years ago, and one or two others, but somehow or other literature did not thrive very much in Peterborough. One gentleman retired from the book club, and when asked why he gave up he said “The fact is I cannot eat suppers any longer.” It does not strike me as a good reason to give up reading, because one would have thought he could have read better without his supper. However, they were not then so badly off for newspapers as they were 150 years ago.
I mentioned just now the “Stamford Mercury.” I have before me a copy of the “Stamford Mercury” a friend has kindly lent me, that I might extract a little valuable comparison. What should we think if our intellectual food came from sources such as that we got, for instance, in the year 1730, as seen in the “Stamford Mercury.” It then had a most aspiring title, as you will see:—“The STAMFORD MERCURY, being Historical and Political Observations on the Transactions of Europe, Together with Remarks on Trade.” Here is this little sheet—a good-sized sheet of letter paper, one-eighth taken up by the title and an illustrated figure of “Mercury.” Another eighth is literally taken up by “Bills of Mortality of London for the week or month,” and from it I wonder what some of the diseases of that day were. One person died of “Headmouldshot,” one of “Horse Shoehead,” and amongst other things there is very large mortality attributed to “teeth.” Another eighth of that paper is taken up with price lists, giving the rate of exchange between London and Madrid, also between London and Cadiz, etc. Then prices of goods at “Bear Key.” Another eighth is given up to observations upon the affairs of Europe: “Our Government has received advice from Florence that Princess Dowager Palatine has renounced all her pretentions to the succession in favour of Don Carlos,” and such pieces as that, and then the other half is taken up with advertisements. It is a curious thing that in one advertisement we are told “To Let, the Three Tuns, an old accustomed inn on the Market Place at Peterborough, Northamptonshire,” that being the site where the present Stamford and Spalding Bank now stands. That was in 1730.
Twenty years later, in 1755, there is an Ipswich paper, and to show how history repeats itself, for the consolation of our farming friends, we are told that amongst other Acts just passed was one to continue several laws relating to the distemper then raging among the horned cattle in the Kingdom. There is nothing new under the sun. We have had it before, and no doubt they said in that time legislation very much interfered with the markets. Another curious thing in the paper is this: “The ship the Royal George was put out of the Dock to go to Spithead.” Was this the Royal George that “went down with twice 400 men”? Public news was important just then. There are details as to watching the French Fleet. Those were very anxious times, but the peculiarity of those papers is that they gave you so little of what may be called local news. Our own local papers give you ample City News and a Complete Chronicle of the affairs of villages; but you may look through those papers and find nothing approaching local news excepting this:—
“By a letter from Thirsk in Yorkshire we learn that very lately a terrible shock of earthquake was felt, inasmuch that several large rocks were removed to considerable distances; several large grown elms were swallowed up by the earth so that no part of them remained to be seen but the uppermost branches. A man driving a cart near the place, the horses were so much frightened by the shock that they broke loose from the carriage and ran away. The horses seem to have behaved very sensibly.”
Then there is an advertisement which strikes one as rather peculiar, because I think if some of the ladies now-a-days happened of this misfortune you would hardly put it in the paper:—
“Lost out of Tom Shave’s London caravan between London and Ipswich (but supposed to be dropped between here and Colchester) a small black trunk, containing a pink silk gown, with a pink sarsenet lining, a blue silk quilted petticoat, a pink silver lined child’s hat, a white chip hat with pink ribbons, a pink silk skirt, two pair of white cotton stockings, two shifts, two lawn handkerchiefs and owner’s other things, with a hoop petticoat tied on the outside.”
Now, we have lived in the days of the crinoline, but I never saw one tied on the outside!
To return to the City of Peterborough, we come to the Town Hall. When I first knew it, it was used as a Sessions House, but it did not belong to the magistrates, the feoffees being the owners. It was also used as a County Court until the present new building was erected. Speaking of the County Courts, for many years there was no summary jurisdiction for settling small debts and quarrels, and one really wonders how the world got on, but one feels certain there must have been a vast deal of injustice for the want of that which really, comparatively speaking, now brings justice home to everybody’s own door. Just think in 1810 how difficult it was to get.
The Magistrates of the Liberty of Peterborough had a general commission of gaol delivery. There are people living in Peterborough who recollect a man being hanged on Butcher’s Piece, against the North Bank, under sentence by the local magistrates, and I should imagine there was as much heard of it as there is news given in this scrap of print. In 1820 an Act of Parliament was passed enabling Magistrates at local jurisdictions to commit persons charged with capital offences for trial at the Assizes. In the Peterborough Court no counsel used to appear, and just imagine what a sensation would be excited if we were now told by our Court of Quarter Sessions that by authority of their Charter they were going to hang a man. I recollect when I was a boy at school, just before I came to Peterborough, I have been into the Old Bailey, and I have seen put into the dock at the close of the Sessions 15 or 16 men and women, all of whom were sentenced to be executed. Sheep stealing, horse stealing, cow stealing, forgery, robbing a dwelling house to a certain amount were all at that time capital offences, and you would see in the London newspapers that the Recorder of the City had been down to Windsor to make his report to the King, and that there were so many cases of death sentences, all of which his Majesty was graciously pleased to respite, except some who were to be executed as a deterrent example.
There is a novel of Theodore Hook’s which gives a most striking account, partly humorous, and partly tragic, of the proceedings and sentences at the Old Bailey in those days. One recollects in the course of his professional experience many cases of interest. Many striking cases of daring burglaries have been dealt with in Peterborough. At Glinton a house was broken into by five or six people, most convincing evidence was given of their violence and intimidation, and the coolness of the witnesses on the trial of the prisoners. The witnesses, as they very frequently are, were ordered out of Court, and as they were called they pointed out and identified particular prisoners. After this had been done two or three times, the gentlemen in the dock changed their positions, thinking that probably the witnesses had been tutoring one another, and that they would then defeat them; but it did not answer, and it being pointed out to the jury, it sealed their conviction, convincing them that the witnesses were accurate, and not tutored. The same thing was mentioned in the papers a few days ago as having occurred when the prisoners were in the dock in Dublin for the Phœnix Park murders. Another case occurred where a gang who had been the terror of the district, all strangers, broke into a house, the Thirty Acre Farm, at Fengate, and striking coolness and courage was shown by a girl who was pulled out of her bed and threatened with death to compel her to open her box and produce her money. She afterwards identified her assailants, some by their voices even. Then there was the robbery at Orton Stanch. The money taken by the woman there for tolls was brought to Peterborough weekly, and one night the place was broken into and the cash box stolen.
There was a man called Jack Hall who had settled in this part of the country, and was connected with others of Yaxley, who committed several robberies in the district. Hall turned informer; he was arrested for something else, and gave information, and Stretton and a man named Humberston were taken separately. They were first allowed to see, but not speak to, each other, and were put into separate cells. Mr. Preston, who used to keep the lock-up at Fletton, locked the door of the passage dividing the cells, but was careful to leave a policeman in the passage, where he could hear any conversation between the prisoners. Towards morning he heard one signal, the other “Hist! Jack, what are you in for?” “The Stanch,” was the reply. The other said, “Jack Hall’s split upon us.” “Never mind” was the answer, “we must deny it altogether.” This conversation was proved at the trial at the assizes, and was relied upon to confirm the evidence. The prisoners’ counsel complained of the way these men had been trapped, but Lord Justice Campbell, who tried them, pointed out that they were not asked to say what they did, and they were convicted and sentenced to transportation for life.