‘Oh nonsense, I scarcely touched you’: a gentle nudge out of the door

Paternoster_Row_London

It can’t have been much fun being a solicitor’s clerk in the Victorian period. In fact I doubt its that much fun now but at least you probably aren’t as exposed to causal violence as Albert Jones was in 1886.

He was sent out to serve a writ and demand for money on a publisher and arrived at Messrs Eyre Bros at 4 in the afternoon of the 18 October. The writ was made out against a Mr G Butcher and Albert duly served it at his office in Paternoster Square, close by St Paul’s Cathedral.

Mr Butcher was not amused. Having asked a series of questions about the writ (which seems to have been part of a long running legal dispute) he said:

‘Can you convey a message to Mr. Kelly?’

Albert replied that he could but said he had been instructed by his superior to tell Butcher that ‘if he had anything to say he had better see him in person’.

‘Does Mr. Kelly expect me to pay this?’ Butcher asked.

Having been told that he did the publisher went on to say:

‘’He wont get a halfpenny of it, and tell him from me that if ever there was a liar in the world he is one’.

As Albert turned to leave, placing his hat back on his head, Butcher kicked him sharply in the rear, propelling him forwards and out of the door. This prompted the clerk (or perhaps his employer) to press charges for assault, and so Butcher found himself up before an alderman at the Guildhall Police court.

‘Did the kick hurt you?’ Jones was asked.

‘It did hurt for a few moments’, the clerk replied.

‘Oh nonsense, I scarcely touched you’, came the response from the dock. ‘I simply put my foot up to assist you getting out of the office a little faster’.

With laughter ringing out in court Butcher might have enjoyed this small victory had the magistrate not then handed him a fine of 40s.

[from The Standard, Wednesday, November 17, 1886]

‘You talk so fast, you flower girls’: more Eliza Doolittles in the Police courts

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We’ve met London’s small ‘army’ of flower girls before in this blog. The young women that sold flowers at Covent Garden or St Paul’s were not considered ‘respectable’ and that may well have been the reason Professor Higgins chose one of their number for his experiment in elocution. For his ‘Eliza Doolittle’ we have – in January 1886 – three girls all of whom were prosecuted at the Guildhall Police court for obstructing the streets of the City of London.

Kate Moore, Julia Moore (presumably her sister) and Anne Smith were summoned to the City magistrate court for ‘exposing flowers for sale on the footway’ and thereby causing an obstruction to passers-by. The girls were selling flowers on Paternoster Row, near Cheapside, and they’d caught the attention of police constable Francis of the City force.

He seemed to have made it his mission to move them on and told the alderman magistrate that he’d received ‘a great number of complaints’ from ‘ladies of being’ that the girls had been selling their wares aggressively on the street. I suspect that PC Francis was also fairly convinced that the flowers were not only thing the women were offering for sale.

The association of flowers girls with prostitution was  well established in the 1800s as was the location of St Paul’s and Covent Garden. As Kate protested in court that they’d been doing nothing wrong and merely trying to support themselves and their families the alderman (Sir Andrew Lusk) interrupted her:

‘You talk so fast, you flower girls; I don’t know whether you are fast yourselves, but you talk very fast’.

His implication was that the young women were immoral at best; morally corrupt at worst and, either way, in the wrong.  The City chief police inspector, Tillock, added that the women had chosen a particularly poor place to trade, especially as they stood together. To them this may have represented strength in numbers, to the police it looked intimidating and for the public it created an obstruction.

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Sir Andrew (right) was clearly enjoying the opportunity to show off his comedic side to the watching public and press:

‘You think you make a nice bunch of flowers, I suppose’ he told them before fining them 2s costs and warning them that a sliding scale of penalties awaited them if they didn’t heed this warning. Next time they would pay a fine of 26d, rising to 5(with costs of 2s each time to be added). He probably thought that be letting them off a fine on this occasion he was being lenient but it mattered little to the trio of young women as they had no money anyway.

Kate told the court that they had not earned 2 shillings in the whole week. Sir Andrew was unmoved, ‘pay the money, or go to prison’ he warned them.

[from The Standard, Monday, January 11, 1886]

Deterring the souvenir hunters at Temple Bar

Dismantling-of-Temple-Bar

I own a small piece of the Berlin Wall, from Checkpoint Charlie. Well at least that’s what it says it is on the attached postcard a good friend gave me some years ago. The reality is that it could be a piece of concrete from any twentieth century structure such is the demand for mementos from the past. In the aftermath of the fall of the wall in 1989 many thousands of its pieces were taken home, treasured, sold or otherwise traded as relics of the old communist regime. Across the collapsing Soviet Union similar symbols of power were torn down, often to enter the market in souvenirs.

Human beings seem to like to keep relics of the past, some grim (like parts of the rope that hanged criminals) or sacred (such as the bones of saints), or otherwise memorable (the broken goalposts at Wembley removed by Scottish football fans springs to mind). So in 1878 when Temple Bar was being taken down – brick by brick – it is not surprising that some people thought they would like a piece of it.

Temple Bar used to mark the entrance to the City of London, one of several gates that once marked the limits of the city. Some sort of bar (perhaps just a chain or wooden beam) existed in the 13th century but by the late 14th it had become a fixed stone structure marking the entrance to the legal quarter, hence its name of Temple Bar.

The gateway survived the Great Fire in 1666 but was pulled own and rebuilt (possibly by Christopher Wren, no one seems to be entirely sure) in 1669. You can still see the 17th century gateway (which used to display the heads of traitors atop it) in Paternoster Square, by St Paul’s Cathedral.

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But it had stood, from the medieval period, in Fleet Street, and by the early nineteenth century Fleet Street had become such a busy thoroughfare, and the city had expanded so much, that Temple Bar was simply too narrow a gateway in and out of old London. In addition the Royal Courts of Justice was beginning construction in Fleet Street and the two circumstances cemented a decision to remove the gateway.

The Corporation of London opted to keep the gateway until they could decided what to do with it rather than destroy it completely. So on 2 January 1878 workmen began to carefully dismantle the structure, ‘brick by brick, beam by beam, numbered stone by stone’.  Which brings us back to the desire for ‘relics’ and the proceedings at Guildhall Police Court on Saturday 5 January 1878.

Reynold’s Newspaper reported that:

‘A man named Bell prosecuted for having wilfully damaged the stonework at Temple Bar, now in the process of removal. It was stated that the practice of chipping off pieces of stone from the building, with a view to keeping them as relics, was an exceedingly common one’.

The alderman magistrate decided enough was enough and, with the intention of deterring other souvenir hunters, he imposed a hefty fine of 40s on the unfortunate Bell with the threat that if he didn’t (or couldn’t) pay up he must go to prison for three weeks at hard labour.

It took 11 days to complete the removal of Temple Bar and two years later, in 1880, the City set up a memorial to mark its original site; a griffin on top of a tall pedestal now stands in Fleet Street where the gateway once did. The dismantled parts of Temple Bar eventually found their way to Hertfordshire and the estate of Lady Meux at Theobalds Park. It stayed there until the City repatriated it in 2004 to its present location.

There are no severed heads on Temple Bar these days. Well not as write at least…

[from Reynolds’s Newspaper, Sunday, January 6, 1878]

NB the history of Temple Bar cited above owes much to the Temple Bar website [http://www.thetemplebar.info/history.html]

You can use this site to search for specific crimes or use the Themes link in the menu on the left to look for areas or topics that interest you. If you are interested in a particular court (such as Bow Street or Marylebone) you can also limit your search to one court in particular. Please feel free to comment on anything you read and if something in particular interests you then please get in touch. You can email me at drew.gray@northampton.ac.uk