wear a brass plate in front of his cap, with the name and abode of his
master engraved thereon. The boys were accustomed to beg for food and
money in the streets; but by means of the badges, the masters were
traced, and an improvement in the general condition of the apprentices
followed. But the early morning is still disturbed by the long-drawn
cry, "Sw-e-e-p." This, and the not unmusical "ow-oo," of the jodeling
milkman--all that is left of "milk below maids,"--the London milk-maids
are usually strongly-built Irish or Welsh girls--and the tardier and
rather too infrequent "dust-o" are amongst the few unsuppressed Cries of
London-town. They are tolerated and continued because they are
convenient, and from a vague sense of prescriptive right dear to the
heart of an Englishman.
[Illustration: "_Ow-oo!_"]
Until quite recently, the flower girls at the Royal Exchange--decent and
well-behaved Irishwomen who work hard for an honest living--were
badgered and driven about by the police. They are now allowed to collect
and pursue their calling in peace by the Wellington statue, where their
cry, "Buy a flower, sir," is heard, whatever the weather, all the year
round. "Speshill 'dishun, 'orrible railway haccident," the outcome of an
advanced civilization, is a cry that was unknown to our forefathers. Our
forebears had often to pay a shilling for a newspaper, and the newsman
made known his progress through the streets by sound of tin trumpet: as
shown in Rowlandson's graphic illustration, a copy of the newspaper was
carried in the hatband.
[Illustration:
_Rowlandson Delin. 1819._
"_Great News!_"]
"C'gar lights, 'ere y'ar, sir; 'apenny a box," and "Taters all 'ot,"
also belong to the modern school of London Cries; while the piano-organ
is a fresh infliction in connection with the new order of street noises.
And although a sort of portable penthouse was used in remote times for
screening from heat and rain, the ribbed and collapsible descendant
thereof did not come into general use much before the opening of the
present century; hence the cry, "Any umbrellas-termend," may properly be
classed as a modern one.
In the crowded streets of modern London the loudest and most persistent
cry is that of the omnibus conductor--"Benk," "Chairin' Krauss,"
"Pic'dilly"; or it may be, "Full inside," or "'Igher up"; to which the
cabman's low-pitched and persuasive "Keb, sir?"--he is afraid to ply too
openly for hire--plays an indifferent second. Judging from Rowlandson's
illustration, his predecessor the hackney coachman shared cabby's
sometimes too pointedly worded objection to a strictly legal fare.
The "under-street" Cries heard in our own time at the various stations
on the railway enveloping London, in what by courtesy is termed a
circle--the true shape would puzzle a mathematician to define--form an
interesting study. While a good many of the porters
[Illustration:
_Rowlandson Delin. 1819._
"_Wot d'yer call that?_"]
are recruited from the country, it is a curious fact that in calling the
names of the various "sty-shuns" they mostly settle down--perhaps from
force of association "downt-tcher-now"--into one dead level of Cockney
pronunciation.
As one seldom realizes that there is anything wrong with one's own way
of speaking, pure-bred Cockneys may be expected to quarrel with the
phonetic rendering given; however, as Dr. James Cantlie, in his
interesting and recently published "Degeneration amongst Londoners,"[10]
tells us that a pure-bred Cockney is a _rara avis_ indeed, the
quarrelsomely inclined may not be numerous, and they may be reminded
that the writer is not alone in his ideas as to Cockney pronunciation.
Appended to Du Maurier's wonderfully powerful picture of "The Steam
Launch in Venice" (Punch's Almanac, 1882), is the following wording:--
_'Andsome 'Arriet_: "Ow my! if it 'yn't that bloom-in' old Temple
Bar, as they did aw'y with out o' Fleet Street!"
_Mr. Belleville_ (_referring to Guide-book_): "No, it 'yn't! It's
the fymous Bridge o' SIGHS, as BYRON
went and stood on; 'im as wrote OUR BOYS, yer know!"
_'Andsome 'Arriet_: "Well, I NEVER! It 'yn't much of a SIZE,
any'ow!"
_Mr. Belleville_: "'Ear! 'ear! Fustryte!"
This paragraph is from the London _Globe_ of January 26th, 1885:
"Spelling reformers take notice. The English alphabet--diphthongs and
all--does not contain any letters which, singly or in combination, can
convey with accuracy the pronunciation given by the newsboys to the cry,
'A-blowin' up of the 'Ouses of Parliament!' that rent the air on
Saturday. The word 'blowin'' is pronounced as if the chief vowel sound
were something like 'ough' in 'bough'; and even then an 'e' and a 'y'
ought to be got in somewhere."
There are twenty-seven stations on the London Inner Circle
Railway--owned by two companies, the Metropolitan and District--and the
name of one only--Gower Street--is usually pronounced by "thet tchung
men," the railway porter, as other people pronounce it. ["Emma
Smith,"[11] while not a main line station, may be cited here simply as a
good example of Cockney, for 'Arry and 'Arriet are quite incapable of
any other verbal rendering.] They are cried as follows:--
"South Kenzint'nn."
"Glawster Rowd."
(owd as in "loud.")
"I Street, Kenzint'nn."
"Nottin' Ill Gite."
(ite as in "flight.")
"Queen's Rowd, Bizewater."
(ize as in "size.")
"Pride Street, Peddinten."
"Edge-wer Rowd."
(by common consent the Cockney refrains from saying "Hedge-wer.")
"Biker Street."
"Portland Rowd."
"Gower Street."
"King's Krauss."
(Often abbreviated to "'ng's Krauss.")
"Ferrinden Street."
"Oldersgit Street."
(no preliminary "H.")
"Mawgit Street."
"Bish-er-git."
"Ol'git."
"Mark Line."
"Monneym'nt."
"Kennun Street."
"Menshun Ouse."
"Bleckfriars."
"Tempull."
("pull-pull-Tempull.")
"Chairin' Krauss."
"Wes'minster."
(One sometimes hears "Wes'minister": a provincialism.)
"S'n Jimes-iz Pawk."
(ime as in "time.")
"Victaw-ia."
"Slown Square."
(own as in "town.")
Country cousins may be reminded that the guiding letters =I= or =O= so
boldly marked on the tickets issued on the London underground railway,
and, in the brightest vermilion, as conspicuously painted up in the
various stations, do not mean "Inner" or "Outer" Circle, but the inner
and outer lines of rails of the Inner Circle Railway. Though sanctioned
by Parliament more than twenty years ago, the so-called Outer Circle
Railway is still incomplete, its present form being that of a
horse-shoe, with termini at Broad Street and Mansion House, and some of
its principal stations at Dalston, Willesden, and Addison Road,
Kensington.
[Illustration: TICKETS MARKED
I☞
THIS WAY]
[Illustration: TICKETS MARKED
☜O
THIS WAY]
It has before been said that everything that could be carried has, at
some time or other, been sold in the streets; and it follows that an
approximately complete list of London Cries would reach a very large
total. From its mere length and sameness such a list would moreover be
apt to weary the reader; for not all cries have the interest of a
traditional phrase or intonation which gives notice of the nature of
the wares, even when the words are rendered unintelligible by the
necessity of vociferation. But a few of the most constant and curious
cries may be interesting to note.
[Illustration: "_Hot Spice Gingerbread!_"]
"'Tis all hot, nice smoaking hot!"
You'll hear his daily cry;
But if you won't believe, you sot
You need but taste and try
[Illustration: "_Old Cloaths!_"]
Coats or preeches do you vant?
Or puckles for your shoes?
Vatches too me can supply:--
Me monies von't refuse.
[Illustration: "_Knives to Grind!_"]
Young gentlemen attend my cry,
And bring forth all your Knives;
The barbers Razors too I grind;
Bring out your Scissars, wives.
[Illustration: "_Cabbages O! Turnips!_"]
With mutton we nice turnips eat;
Beef and carrots never cloy;
Cabbage comes up with Summer meat,
With winter nice savoy.
Holloway cheese cakes!
Large silver eels, a groat a pound, live eels!
Any New River water, water here?
Buy a rope of onions, oh?
[Illustration: "_Sand 'O!_"]
Buy a goose?
Any bellows to mend?
Who's for a mutton pie or an eel pie?
Who buys my roasting jacks?
Sand, ho! buy my nice white sand, ho!
[Illustration: "_Buy a Live Goose?_"]
Buy my firestone?
Roasted pippins, piping hot!
[Illustration: "_Cherries, O! ripe cherries, O!_"]
A whole market hand for a halfpenny--young radishes, ho!
Sw-e-ep!
[Illustration: COVENT GARDEN.
"_Fine Strawberries!_"]
Brick dust, to-day?
Door mats, want?
Hot rolls!
Rhubarb!
Buy any clove-water?
Buy a horn-book?
Quick (_living_) periwinkles!
Sheep's trotters, hot!
Songs, three yards a penny!
Southernwood that's very good!
Cherries O! ripe cherries O!
Cat's and dog's meat!
Samphire!
All a-growin', all a-blowin'.
Lilly white mussels, penny a quart!
New Yorkshire muffins!
Oysters, twelvepence a peck!
Rue, sage, and mint, farthing a bunch!
Tuppence a hundred, cockles!
Sweet violets, a penny a bunch!
Brave Windsor beans!
Buy my mops, my good wool mops!
Buy a linnet or a goldfinch?
Knives, combs, and inkhornes!
Six bunches a penny, sweet lavender!
New-laid eggs, eight a groat!
[Illustration: "_Sweet Lavender!_"]
Any wood?
Hot peas!
Hot cross buns!
Buy a broom?
Old chairs to mend!
Young lambs to sell!
Tiddy diddy doll!
Hearth-stone!
Buy my nice drops, twenty a penny, peppermint drops!
Any earthen ware, plates, dishes, or jugs, to-day,--any clothes to
exchange, Madam?
Holly O, Mistletoe!
Buy my windmills for a ha'penny a piece! [a child's toy.]
Nice Yorkshire cakes!
Buy my matches, maids, my nice small pointed matches!
Come, buy my fine myrtles and roses!
Buy a mop or a broom?
Hot rolls!
Will you buy a Beau-pot?
Probably of Norman-French origin, the term "beau-pot" is still in use in
out-of-the-way country districts, to signify a posy or nosegay, in which
sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, as rosemary, sweet-briar, balm,
[Illustration: "_Chairs to mend!_"]
roses, carnations, violets, wall-flowers, mignonette, sweet-William, and
others that we are now pleased to designate "old fashioned," would
naturally predominate.
[Illustration: "_All a blowin'!_"]
Come buy my sweet-briar!
[Illustration:
_Rowlandson Delin. 1819._
"_Any Earthen Ware; buy a jug or a tea pot?_"]
Any old flint glass or broken bottles for a poor woman to-day?
[Illustration: "_Fresh Oysters! penny a lot!_"]
Sweet primroses, four bunches a penny, primroses!
Black and white heart cherries, twopence a pound, full weight, all round
and sound!
[Illustration:
_Rowlandson Delin. 1819._
"_Buy my Sweet Roses?_"]
Fine ripe duke cherries, a ha'penny a stick and a penny a stick, ripe
duke cherries!
Shrimps like prawns, a ha'penny a pot!
Green hastings!
[Illustration: "_Fine large Cucumbers!_"]
Hot pudding!
Pots and kettles to mend!
'Ere's yer toys for girls an' boys!
Brick-dust was carried on the backs of asses and sold for knife-cleaning
purposes at a penny a quart.
[Illustration: "_'Ere's yer toys for girls an' boys!_"]
The bellows-mender, who sometimes also followed the trade of a tinker,
carried his tools and apparatus buckled in a leathern bag at his back,
and practised his profession in any convenient corner of the street.
Door-mats of all shapes were made of rushes or rope, and were sold at
from sixpence to several shillings each.
The earliest green pea brought to the London market--a dwarf
variety--was distinguished by the name of Hasteds, Hastens, Hastins, or
Hastings, and was succeeded by the Hotspur. The name of Hastings was,
however, indiscriminately given to all peas sold in the streets, and the
cry of "green Hastings" was heard in every street and alley until peas
went out of season.
The crier of hair brooms, who usually travelled with a cart, carried a
supply of brushes, sieves, clothes-horses, lines, and general turnery.
All cleanly folk must like my ware,
For wood is sweet and clean;
Time was when platters served Lord Mayor
And, as I've heard, a Queen.
His cry took the form of the traditional tune "Buy a broom," which may
even now be occasionally heard--perhaps the last survival of a street
trade tune--taken
[Illustration:
_Rowlandson Delin. 1819._
"_Curds and Whey!_"]
up separately or in fitful chorus by the men and women of a travelling
store. The Flemish "Buy a Broom" criers, whose trade is gone, generally
went in couples or threes. Their figures are described by Hone as
exactly miniatured in the unpainted wooden doll, shaped the same before
and behind, and sold in the toy shops for the amusement of the little
ones. In the comedy of "The Three Ladies of London," printed in quarto
in Queen Elizabeth's reign (A.D. 1584), is this passage:--
"Enter Conscience with brooms at her back, singing as follows:--
New brooms, green brooms, will you buy any?
Maydens come quickly, let me take a penny."
Hot rolls, which were sold at one and two a penny, were carried during
the summer months between the hours of 8 and 9 in the morning, and from
4 to 6 in the afternoon.
Let Fame puff her trumpet, for muffin and crumpet,
They cannot compare with my dainty hot rolls;
When mornings are chilly, sweet Fanny, young Billy,
Your hearts they will comfort, my gay little souls.
Muffins and crumpets were then, as now, principally cried during the
winter months.
Hot pudding, sweet, heavy and indigestible, was sold in halfpenny slabs.
Who wants some pudding nice and hot!
'Tis now the time to try it;
Just taken from the smoking pot,
And taste before you buy it.
The cry "One-a-penny, two-a-penny, _hot_ CROSS BUNS!" which,--now never
heard from the sellers on Good Friday,--is still part of a child's game,
remains as one of the best instances of English quantitative metre,
being repeated in measured time, and not merely by the ordinary accent.
The rhubarb-selling Turk, who appeared in turban, trousers, and--what
was then almost unknown amongst civilians--moustaches, was, fifty years
ago or more, a well known character in the metropolis.
Sand was generally used in London, not only for cleaning kitchen
utensils, but for sprinkling over uncarpeted floors as a protection
against dirty footsteps. It was sold by measure--red sand, twopence
halfpenny, and white a penny farthing per peck. The very melodious
catch, "White Sand and Grey Sand, Who'll buy my White Sand!" was
evidently harmonized on the sand-seller's traditional tune.
"Buy a bill of the play!" In the time of our great grandfathers, there
were no scented programmes, and the peculiar odour of the play-bills was
not due to the skill of a Rimmel. Vilely printed with the stickiest of
ink, on the commonest of paper, they were disposed of both in and
outside the theatre by orange-women, who would give one to a purchaser
of half a dozen oranges or so. In Hogarth's inimitably amusing and
characteristic print of _The Laughing Audience_, a couple of robustly
built orange-women are contending, with well-filled baskets, for the
favour of a bewigged beau of the period, who appears likely to become an
easy victim to their persuasions.
"Knives to grind" is still occasionally heard, and the grinder's barrow
(_vide_ that depicted in Rowlandson's illustration on p. 59), is much
the same as it was a hundred years ago. At the beginning of the century
the charge for grinding and setting scissors was a penny or twopence a
pair; penknives a penny a blade, and table-knives one and sixpence and
two shillings a dozen.
Rabbits were carried about the streets suspended at either end of a pole
which rested on the shoulder.
The edible marine herb samphire, immortalized in connection with
"Shakespeare's Cliff" at Dover, was at one time regularly culled and as
regularly eaten.
The once familiar cry of "Green rushes O!" is
[Illustration: "_Cherries, fourpence a pound!_"]
preserved only in verse. In Queen Elizabeth's time the floors of
churches as well as private houses were carpeted with rushes, and in
Shakespeare's day the stage was strewn with them. Rush-bearing, a
festival having its origin in connection with the annual renewal of
rushes in churches, was kept up until quite recently, and may even still
be practised in out-of-the-way villages.
The stock of the "'arthstone" woman, who is not above doing a stroke of
business in bones, bottles, and kitchen stuff, is usually on a barrow,
drawn by a meek-eyed and habitually slow-paced donkey.
The London Barrow Woman ("Ripe Cherries"), as preserved in the cut from
the inimitable pencil of George Cruikshank, has long since disappeared.
In 1830, when this sketch was made, the artist had to rely on his
memory, for she then no longer plied her trade in the streets. Her wares
changed with the seasons; but here a small schoolboy is being tempted by
ripe cherries tied on a stick. There being no importation of foreign
fruit, the cherries were of prime quality. May dukes, White heart, Black
heart, and the Kentish cherry, succeeded each other--and, when sold by
weight, and not tied on sticks, fetched sixpence, fourpence, or
threepence per lb., which was at least twopence or threepence less than
charged at the shops.
[Illustration: "_Ripe Cherries!_"]
The poor Barrow Woman appears to have been treated very much in the same
manner as the modern costermonger; but was without his bulldog power of
resistance. If she stopped to rest or solicit custom, street keepers,
"authorized by orders unauthorized by law," drove her off, or beadles
overthrew her fruit into the road. Nevertheless, if Cruikshank has not
idealized his memories, she was more wholesomely and stoutly clad than
any street seller of her sex--with the one exception of the
milkmaid--who is to be seen in our day, when the poor London woman has
lost the instinct of neatness and finish in attire.
"Hot spiced gingerbread," still to be found in a cold state at village
fairs and junketings, used to be sold in winter time in the form of flat
oblong cakes at a halfpenny each, but it has long since disappeared from
our streets.
"Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol" was a celebrated vendor of
gingerbread, and, according to Hone, was always hailed as the king of
itinerant tradesmen. It must be more than a century since this dandified
character ceased to amuse the populace. He dressed as a person of
rank--ruffled shirt, white silk stockings, and fashionable laced suit of
clothes surmounted by a wig and cocked hat decorated with a feather. He
was sure to be found plying his trade on Lord Mayor's
[Illustration: "_Tiddy Diddy Doll._"]
day, at open air shows, and on all public occasions. He amused the crowd
to his own profit; and some of his humorous nonsense has been preserved.
"Mary, Mary, where are you _now_, Mary?"
"I live two steps underground, with a wiscom riscom, and why not. Walk
in, ladies and gentlemen. My shop is on the second floor backwards, with
a brass knocker at the door. Here's your nice gingerbread, your spiced
gingerbread, which will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and
rumble in your inside like Punch in his wheelbarrow!" He always finished
up by singing the fag end of a song--"Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol;"
hence his nickname of Tiddy Doll. Hogarth has introduced this character
in his Execution scene of the Idle Apprentice at Tyburn. Tiddy Doll had
many feeble imitators; and the woman described in the lines that follow,
taken from a child's book of the period, must have been one of them.
Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol,
Tiddy Diddy Doll, dumplings, oh!
Her tub she carries on her head,
Tho' of'ener under arm.
In merry song she cries her trade,
Her customers to charm.
A halfpenny a plain can buy,
The plum ones cost a penny,
And all the naughty boys will cry
Because they can't get any.
[Illustration: "_Large silver eels!_"]
Fifty years ago "Young Lambs to Sell, two for a penny," which still
lingers, was a well known cry. They were children's toys, the fleece
made of white cotton-wool, attractively but perhaps a trifle too
unnaturally spangled with Dutch gilt. The head was of composition, the
cheeks were painted red, there were two black spots to do duty for eyes,
and the horns and legs were of tin, which latter adornment, my younger
readers may suggest, foreshadowed the insufficiently appreciated tinned
mutton of a later period. The addition of a bit of pink tape tied round
the neck by way of a collar made a graceful finish, and might be
accepted as a proof that the baby sheep was perfectly tame.
Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell.
Two for a penny, young lambs to sell.
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I wouldn't cry young lambs to sell.
Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell,
Buy my Young Lambs and I'll use you well!
The later song--
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend.
If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I'd leave off crying old chairs to mend--
--is obviously copied from the original cry of "Young Lambs to Sell." In
addition to a few tools, the stock-in-trade of the travelling
chair-mender principally consisted of rushes, which in later days gave
place to cane split into strips of uniform width--a return to more
[Illustration: "_Young lambs to sell._"]
[Illustration: "_Buy my fine Myrtles and Roses!_"]
ancient practice. The use of rush-bottomed chairs, which are again
coming into æsthetic fashion, cannot be traced back quite a century and
half. The chairs in Queen Anne's time were seated and backed with cane;
and in the days of Elizabeth the seats were cushioned and the backs
stuffed. Many years ago an old chair-mender occupied a position by a
stone fixed in the wall of one of the houses in Panyer Alley, on which
is cut the following inscription:--
WHEN Y HAVE SOVGHᵀ..
THE CITY ROVND
YET STILL THIS IS
THE HIGHSᵀ.. GROVND
AVGVST THE 27
1688
Being entirely unprotected and close to the ground, this curious relic
of bygone times, which is surmounted by a boldly carved figure of a nude
boy seated on a panyer pressing a bunch of grapes between his hand and
foot, is naturally much defaced; and that it has not been carried away
piecemeal by iconoclastic curiosity-hunters, is probably due to its
out-of-the-way position. Panyer Alley, the most eastern turning leading
from Paternoster Row to Newgate Street, slightly rises towards the
middle; but is not, according to Mr. Loftie, an undoubted authority on
all matters pertaining to old London, the highest point in the city,
there being higher ground both in Cornhill and Cannon Street. In
describing Panyer Alley, Stow indirectly alludes to a "signe" therein,
and it is Hone's opinion that this stone may have been the ancient sign
let into the wall of a tavern. While the upper is in fair preservation,
the lower part of the inscription can hardly be read. When last
examined, a street urchin was renovating the figure by a
heartily-laid-on surface decoration of white chalk; and unless one of
the numerous antiquarian or other learned societies interested in old
London relics will spare a few pounds for the purchase of a protective
grating, there will shortly be nothing left worth preserving.
"New-laid eggs, eight a groat," takes us back to a time when the best
joints and fresh country butter were both sixpence a pound.
Years ago the tin oven of the peripatetic penny pieman was found to be
too small to meet the constant and ever-increasing strain made upon its
resources; and the owner thereof has now risen to the dignity of a shop,
where, in addition to stewed eels, he dispenses what Albert Smith
happily termed "covered uncertainties," containing messes of mutton,
beef, or seasonable fruit. Contained in a strong wicker basket with
legs, or in a sort of tin oven, the pieman's wares were formerly kept
hot by means of a small charcoal fire. A sip of a warm stomachic liquid
of unknown but apparently acceptable constituents was sometimes offered
gratuitously by way of inducement to purchase. The cry of "Hot Pies"
still accompanies one of the first and most elementary games of the
modern baby learning to speak, who is taught by his nurse to raise his
hand to imitate a call now never heard.
The specimens of versification that follow are culled from various books
of London Cries, written for the amusement of children, towards the end
of the last century, and now in the collection of the writer:--