Tag: Franco-Prussian War

An Italian displays a touch of bravura in court, but it does him no good

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St Margaret & St John’s Workshops in Westminster c.1875

Frederic Calvi was an Italian immigrant in London. Calvin worked as an engineer, and was presumably quite  skilled or reliable one as it was reported that he was ‘in constant work’. So it is something of a surprise to find this otherwise respectable working-class man in front of the Police Court magistrate at Marlborough Street on  charge of deserting his three children.

The case was brought by the Westminster Poor Law Union as it was them that had picked up the costs of supporting the children. And the costs were considerable. Mr Tett, the settlement officer for Westminster, claimed that they had spent £40 on caring for the Calvi children.

Having made some enquiries into the engineer’s situation Mr Tett assured the court that there was no need for him to have dumped the three children on the parish, as Calvi earned plenty of money and was well able to support them.

However, there was no mention of a Mrs Calvi so perhaps the children had no mother and Frederic was a lone parent. If that were the case, and if he didn’t have other relatives in England, then he might well have struggled to maintain a living and look after his family. There were plenty of Italians in London (as I’ve found in several past posts) but most of those recorded in the press were working as musicians.

Had Calvi come over on his own and married here? Or had he brought his family with him? This might be important as without an extended family or support network any change in his circumstances might throw him (and his children) into poverty.

In court before Mr Newton, Frederic was adamant that he needed the parish’s help. He had fallen sick he said and so was unable to provide for his children. That was the reason he’d taken them to the workhouse. He added that ‘it was well known that in England innocent people [like himself] were condemned’.

His attitude in court probably didn’t help him. Here was an occasion to throw yourself on the mercy of the justice, not to defy the system. But Frederic was clearly a proud man, or a callous one who cared little for his kids. Either way his actions and his attitude hardly endeared him to Mr Newton.

The policeman that had brought him in added that the Italian engineer was bullish when arrested. He said the prisoner declared he ‘was a Bismarck and would get over it’. What did that mean? It was probably a reference to ‘a rare stumble’ by the German chancellor in 1875 when his aggressive diplomacy nearly led to war on the continent of Europe as he attempt to force France to abandon rearmament backfired. Thereafter Bismarck proceeded with utmost caution. Calvi was indicating that in future he would do the same.

Sadly for him (and his three children) Mr Newton was not in the mood for second chances. He found the engineer guilty of deserting his children and sent him to prison for a month at hard labour. Exactly how that helped the situation or eased the strain on the Westminster parish purse (which would now have the children for another month) I’m not clear.

Calvin displayed a cavalier attitude on hearing the sentence however. He turned to the magistrate and challenged him to a game of billiards.

‘Double or quits’, he shouted, ‘He would be sure to get off’.

[from The Standard, Monday, November 22, 1875]

A glimpse into history: an Irishwoman’s flight from the siege of Paris in 1870

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Parisian women queue for food during the Prussian siege of Paris, 1870

Sometimes the cases that are reported in the London Police Courts reveal glimpses of the wider history that was taking place both in Britain and around the world.

In July 1870 Napoleon III, emperor of the French, declared war on the kingdom of Prussia. Napoleon’s decision to take on his powerful European neighbour was prompted by his failing popularity at home and the (inaccurate as it turned out) advice of his generals. The Prussians (under Bismarck) saw the war as an opportunity to push forward the cause of German unification and, ultimately, begin to shape the continent in their favour.

The war went badly for the French from the start and ended in ignominious defeat at Sedan at the end of August, just over a month after it started. Napoleon was deposed and national government was declared which continued to resist the Prussian forces. This led to the siege of Paris which lasted until it too surrendered on 28 January 1871. In the aftermath of the war Prussia annexed Alsace-Lorraine and left  festering sore that when combined with mutual distrust and competing imperial ambitions, contributed to the outbreak of the First World War in August 1914.

Within all national and international conflicts of course there are personal stories and individual tragedies. An unnamed Irish woman (a ‘native of Cork’) appeared at the Marylebone Police Court in mid September 1870 having fled Paris and the advancing Prussian forces. Her husband was a French national she explained to Mr Mansfield, the sitting magistrate, and had been forced to remain in Paris to man the defences.

She described the situation in the French capital:

‘bills were posted up on the walls stating that those that did not wish to expose themselves to the siege must leave. My husband is a tradesman, and he was bound to go to the fortifications. I had no means of subsistence, and I had to leave and go to my mother at Cork’.

Sieges were hard on all the occupation of a city and the Paris siege was notable for the hardships the French suffered. There were later reports of people starving and eating cats and dogs and even the animals in the Paris zoo. Ultimately the siege led to further revolution and civil war, so it is no surprise that those that could opted to flee and become refugees.

The woman had traveled to London with her five children but had run out of money and was now desperate. That she turned to the Police Courts is indicative of the public’s use of the the London magistracy as centres of advice and aid in a crisis. Sadly for her, there was little Mr Mansfield could, or was inclined, to do for her.

She told him she was staying at a house at 57 Praed Street and had applied to the French authorities for help on several occasions. They had simply directed her from one ‘society’ to another; in all probability with the country at war and Paris under desire there was little they could do to help the Irish wife of one of their citizens. But the lady believed that there was more to it than this; she felt they didn’t want to help her because she was Irish and ‘they say they have so many of their own country-people to see to’.

Since Ireland was still part of the British Empire she therefore sought support from the British state. Mr Mansfield replied that the best he could do, since several charities had not helped her, was send her to the relieving officer at Paddington. In other words she could enter the workhouse. That was clearly not something she, as a ‘respectable’ tradesman’s wife, wanted to do. Mr Mansfield said he would send her instead to see Archbishop Manning’s chaplain, to see what he might do for her.

Archbishop Manning had a good reputation in Victorian London. As the senior Catholic cardinal in England and Archbishop of Westminster he had considerable influence. In 1889 he intervened and helped broker a settlement to the Great Dock Strike and so hopefully he (if his chaplain was prepared to get him involved) he may well have helped a fellow Catholic find the means to return home to Ireland and thence perhaps to France once the situation had claimed down. Presuming, of course, that the lady’s husband survived both the siege and then the Commune and its overthrow in May 1871.

[from The Morning Post, Saturday, September 17, 1870]

An excitable militia man and the shadow of Napoleon III

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In mid July 1859 there was something of a panic about a potential French invasion of Britain. This had been stirred up by the press after Louis Napoleon had become Emperor Napoleon III in 1852 and had operated as an autocrat for the first six or so years of his reign. As Louis Napoleon (the nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte), he had been elected president in 1848 but had seized power in a coup d’etat when he was denied the opportunity to run for a second term.

Invasion fears may well have prompted some in England to enlist in the army or the local militias. The latter were not ‘proper’ soldiers although they played an important role in defending the state throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. They never enjoyed the popularity that the Navy or Army did however, even in the hey day of Victorian militarism.

In July 1859 Reynold’s Newspaper reported several views from other papers about the situation in France. Reynold’s was notably more radical than many of its competitors and often served an audience that was more plebeian in character. The Morning Advertiser warned that ‘the country is in imminent danger of invasion from the ruler of France’ and a force of over 100,000 men. The Daily News wrote of ‘Louis Napoleon’s perfidy’ and noted that the governments ‘of Europe regard him with increased suspicion and dislike’. Even the sober Times claimed that ‘war and peace hang by a thread’.

Meanwhile in Bethnal Green the over excited militia seem to have been trying out their martial skills on the local passers-by.

On Monday 18 July an iron merchant named James Webster appeared in court to complain about a brutal assault he had suffered on the previous Saturday evening. Webster, who worked at premises in Digby Street, stood in the witness box at Worship with his head bandaged in black cloth.

He told Mr D’Eyncourt, the sitting magistrate, that he was on his way home from work at about half past 5 o’clock when he encountered several members of the Tower Hamlets Militia. They might have been a bit ‘tipsy’ he said, but he wasn’t sure. One of them threw a hat at him which hit him in the face and fell to the floor. He reacted by kicking it out of his way and carryied on walking.

As he went a few yards he felt a ‘heavy blow’ on the back of his neck, which knocked him off his feet. He got up and grabbed hold of the man he thought was to blame, a militia private by the name of Charles Lowe. As the two grappled others joined in and he described a scene of chaos with several men rolling around on the ground before he was overpowered and subjected to what seems to have been a pretty brutal kicking.

Webster told Mr D’Eyncourt that:

‘As I lay on the ground I was beaten and kicked so badly about the body that I am covered all over with bruises and cannot lie down with ease, and also, while I lay on the ground’ a woman had ‘somehow got her ear into my mouth and so nearly bit the upper part of it off that it only hung by a mere thread, and I have been since obliged to have it sewn on’.

This woman was Anne Sherrard who was described as married and living in Old Ford, a poor area of Bethnal Green associated with the new industries on the River Lea and the railways. Both Ann and Charles Lowe appeared in court to answer the charges against them.

Mr D’Eyncourt clearly thought this was a particularly serious assault because he chose not to deal with it summarily, as most assaults were, but instead sent it on for jury trial at the next sessions.  He noted for the record that:

‘This is a most brutal assault and it is high time that these raw recruits should be taught better; men like these fancy that as soon as they have a soldier’s coat they must commence fighting someone immediately, whereas an actual soldier would not be guilty of such infamous conduct’.

D’Eyncourt then was drawing a clear line between the professionals and the amateurs and finding the latter a much poorer specimen overall. History tells us that there was no invasion in 1859 or indeed ever again in British history to date. Had there been we might have been able to see how private Lowe and his companions fared when confronted by a real enemy rather than a perceived one. As for Napoleon III, his reign was the longest in French history after 1789 but came to the end in ignominious defeat by the Prussians at the battle of Sedan in September 1870. He ended up living out the rest of his life in England, but not as an all conquering victor but as a former head of state in exile.

[from Reynolds’s Newspaper, Sunday, July 24, 1859]

This one is for Bill and Jim, and their family – I can only think that Charles must have been a very distant relative, and not at all like his modern ancestors.

A new gunpowder plot is foiled at Blackwall…or so the newspapers would like you to think

The title of the article covering the Thames Police Court’s business for the 5 December 1870 is almost worthy of the modern phenomenon of ‘click bait’. As the Urban Dictionary puts it, click bait is:

‘An eye-catching link on a website which encourages people to read on. It is often paid for by the advertiser (“Paid” click bait) or generates income based on the number of clicks’.

The Standard’s headline was: SHIPPING ILLEGAL QUANTITIES OF GUNPOWDER TO FRANCE. Given that the article appeared in 1870 I wondered if it might have something to do with the tensions on the European continent at that time.

In July 1870 France declared war on its aggressive neighbor, Prussia. Prussian troops then won a string of stunning victories until it finally destroyed French resistance at Sedan on 1 September. A day later Napoleon III dissolved the Second Empire and the Third Republic was declared on the 3rd.

France had not surrendered yet so the Prussians besieged Paris and continued to mop up French resistance elsewhere. Paris fell at the end of January 1871 and in March the short-lived Commune attempted to govern a part of the capital before it was ruthlessly destroyed by the French Army during La semaine sanglante” (“The Bloody Week”) in May 1871.

So I wondered if this headline pointed to London’s involvement in supplying armaments to the French forces fighting the German invaders. However, as is often the case with the Police Courts, the truth is sometimes more mundane or at best, hard to unpack.

William Munday was a carrier – in other words he was what we might call today a haulier; someone tasked with transporting goods from A to B. On the 24 November 1870 a clerk from the North Western Railway asked Munday to transport a quantity of gunpowder to Blackwall Stairs, so it could be loaded on a ship.

Munday agreed and 5 tons of gunpowder was duly loaded up on his waggons. This was huge amount of course and we shouldn’t be surprised that there were regulations governing the movement of explosive and other dangerous materials in the 1800s.   One statute in particular (23d & 24th Vict. cap. 139) covered this and was created to protect the public. This act included provisions about making, selling and transporting gunpowder, but also the manufacture of fuses, and the sale of fireworks. Anyone breaking the terms of the act (and Munday seemingly had) could be prosecuted and fined.

However, Munday said he had never transported gunpowder before and was not aware that he had broken any rules. His solicitor told Mr. Paget, the Thames Police magistrate, that his client had ‘inadvertently violated the law, and he submitted a very small penalty would meet the justice of the case. There was no blockade-running or a violation of the laws of neutrality’ (a clear reference to what was going on in France).

Mr. Paget was a little at a loss to know what to do. He studied the Act of Parliament and could see no obvious offence but at the same time he felt the Thames police were justified in stopping and seizing Munday’s cargo of 100 barrels of gunpowder. The act stated that the power to punish under the legislation rested with justices sitting at Quarter Sessions not in Petty Sessions of the Peace (as Police Court magistrates did). This changed in 1861 when a new law amended this one and power was passed to men like Mr. Paget.

In the end Munday was released along with two of his men, and probably vowed never to accept such a dangerous cargo in future. Whether the explosive got to France is unknown, just as we have no idea whether it was intended for the war or for some more mundane purpose.

[from The Standard, Monday, December 05, 1870]

A case of French fraud at Bow Street

With the imminent European referendum looming  talk of foreign criminals filling up our prisons or being set free to prey on our homes and families have been bandied about by both Brexiteers and Remainers. Under the auspices of the EU Britain currently benefits from the European Arrest Warrant which allows member states to extradite wanted criminals for trial at home. The idea of extradition is nothing new of course, the principle having been in existence in ancient Egypt, but the EAW supposedly makes the process easier.

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In 1872 Adophe Fijax, a French national,  appeared before Sir Thomas Henry the sitting magistrate at Bow Street. Fijax, a decorated hero of the Franco-Prussian War (he had earned the Legion D’Honneur) was accused of fraud. He spoke no English and so his counsel (Mr Walter Sleigh) translated for him.

Fijax had been defrauding the insurance company he worked for and offered nothing by way of a defence. Indeed he had already written to his employers to admit his guilt. Mr Sleigh asked the court if his client could be ‘sent back to France immediately’. Sadly. Sir Thomas replied that this was impossible. The terms of the extradition treaty between Britain and France ‘made it imperative that prisoners should remain 15 days after committal at the House of Detention to enable them to enter a petition’. The magistrate thought this to be a ‘great pity’ but his hands were tied.

In consequence poor M.Fijax was committed, sent to prison and bail refused (as was common apparently, in all extradition cases).

[from The Morning Post, Saturday, June 13, 1874]