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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
OF
BIRMINGHAM
AND
BIRMINGHAM MEN.
REPRINTED FROM THE "BIRMINGHAM DAILY MAIL,"
WITH REVISIONS, CORRECTIONS, AND ADDITIONS.
By E. EDWARDS.
BIRMINGHAM:
MIDLAND EDUCATIONAL TRADING COMPANY LIMITED.
1877.
[_All Rights Reserved_]
These sketches, with the signature "_S.D.R._," were originally
published in the _Birmingham Daily Mail_ newspaper. The earliest were
written, as their title indicated, entirely from memory. Afterwards,
when the title was no longer strictly accurate, it was retained
for the purpose of showing the connection of the series. It must be
understood, however, that for many of the facts and dates in the later
sketches the writer is indebted to others.
The whole series has been very carefully revised, and some errors have
been rectified. The writer would have preferred to remain _incognito_,
but he is advised that, as the authorship is now generally known, it
would be mere affectation to withhold his name. He hopes shortly to
commence the publication of another series.
_December_, 1877.
CONTENTS.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF BIRMINGHAM 1
THE BULL RING RIOTS, 1839 19
GOSSIP ABOUT ROYALTY 37
BIRMINGHAM BANKS, OLD AND NEW 45
JOHN WALSH WALSH AND THE ASTON FETES 69
G.F. MUNTZ, M.P. 79
JOSEPH GILLOTT 89
HENRY VAN WART, J.P. 101
CHARLES SHAW, J.P. 108
ROBERT WALTER WINFIELD, J.P. 116
CHARLES GEACH, M.P. 125
WILLIAM SANDS COX, F.R.S. 132
GEORGE EDMONDS 140
CHARLES VINCE 155
JOHN SMITH, SOLICITOR 164
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF BIRMINGHAM.
It is a fine autumnal morning in the year 1837. I am sitting on the box
seat of a stage coach, in the yard of the Bull-and-Mouth, St.
Martin's-le-Grand, in the City of London. The splendid gray horses seem
anxious to be off, but their heads are held by careful grooms. The metal
fittings of the harness glitter in the early sunlight. Jew pedlar-boys
offer me razors and penknives at prices unheard of in the shops. Porters
bring carpet-bags and strange-looking packages of all sizes, and, to my
great inconvenience, keep lifting up the foot-board, to deposit them in
the "front boot." A solemn-looking man, whose nose is preternaturally
red, holds carefully a silver-mounted whip. Passengers arrive, and climb
to the roof of the coach, before and behind, until we are "full
outside." Then the guard comes with a list, carefully checks off all our
names, and retires to the booking office, from which a minute later he
returns. He is this time accompanied by the coachman, who is a handsome,
roguish-looking man. He wears a white hat, his boots are brilliantly
polished, his drab great-coat is faultlessly clean, and the dark blue
neckerchief is daintily tied. His whiskers are carefully brushed forward
and curled, the flower in the button-hole is as fresh as if that
instant plucked, and he has a look as if he were well fed, and in all
other respects well cared for.
Looking admiringly over the horses, and taking the whip from his
satellite, who touches his hat as he gives it up, Jehu takes the reins
in hand; mounts rapidly to his seat; adjusts the "apron;" glances
backward; gets the signal from the guard, who has just jumped up--bugle
in hand--behind; arranges the "ribbons" in his well-gloved hand;
produces a sound, somehow, with his tongue, that would puzzle the most
skilful printer in the world to print phonetically, but which a Pole or
a Russian would possibly understand if printed "tzchk;" gently shakes
the reins, and we are off.
As we pass toward the gateway, the guard strikes up with the bugle, and
makes the place resound with the well-known air, "Off, off, said the
stranger." Emerging upon the street, we see, issuing from an opposite
gateway, a dozen omnibuses, driven by scarlet-coated coachmen, and laden
entirely with scarlet-coated passengers. Each of these men is a "general
postman," and he is on his way to his "beat." As the vehicle arrives at
the most convenient point, he will alight and commence the "morning"
delivery. The process will be repeated in the evening; and these two
deliveries suffice, then, for all the "country" correspondence sent to
London.
Leaving them, our coach passes on through busy Aldersgate Street, where
we are interrupted frequently by droves of sheep and numerous oxen on
their way from Smithfield to the slaughter-houses of their purchasers.
On through Goswell Street, alive with cries of "milk" and "water
creeses." On through Goswell Road; past Sadler's Wells; over the New
River, then an open stream; and in a few minutes we pull up at "The
Angel." Here we take in some internal cargo. A lady of middle age, and
of far beyond middle size, has "booked inside," and is very desirous
that a ban-box (without the "d") should go inside, too. This the guard
declines to allow, and this matter being otherwise arranged, on we go
again. Through "Merrie Islington" to Highgate, where we pass under the
great archway, then newly built; on to Barnet, where we stop to change
horses, and where I stand up to have a look at my fellow outside
passengers. There is not a lady amongst us. Coachman, guard, and
passengers, we are fourteen. We all wear "top" hats, of which five are
white; each hat, white or black, has its band of black crape. King
William IV. was lately dead, and every decently dressed man in the
country then wore some badge of mourning.
During the whole of that long day we rattled on. Through sleepy towns
and pleasant villages; past the barracks at Weedon, near which we cross
a newly-built bridge, on the summit of which the coachman pulls up, and
we see a deep cutting through the fields on our right, and a long and
high embankment on the left. Scores of men, and horses drawing
strange-looking vehicles, are hard at work, and we are told that this is
to be the "London and Birmingham Railway," which the coachman adds "is
going to drive _us_ off the road." On we go again, through the noble
avenue of trees near Dunchurch; through quaint and picturesque Coventry;
past Meriden, where we see the words, "Meriden School," built curiously,
with vari-coloured bricks, into a boundary wall. On still; until at
length the coachman, as the sun declines to the west, points out, amid a
gloomy cloud in front of us, the dim outlines of the steeples and
factory chimneys of Birmingham. On still; down the wide open roadway of
Deritend; past the many-gabled "Old Crown House;" through the only
really picturesque street in Birmingham--Digbeth; up the Bull Ring, the
guard merrily trolling out upon his bugle, "See the Conquering Hero
Comes;" round the corner into New Street where we pull up--the horses
covered with foam--at the doors of "The Swan." Our journey has taken us
just twelve hours.
And this is Birmingham! The place which I, in pleasant Kent and Surrey,
had so often heard of, but had never seen. This is the town which, five
years before, had vanquished the Conqueror of the Great Napoleon! This
is the place which, for the first time in his life, had compelled the
great Duke of Wellington to capitulate! This is the home of those who,
headed by Attwood, had compelled the Duke and his army--the House of
Lords--to submit, and to pass the memorable Reform Bill of 1832!
My destination was at the top of Bull Street, where my apartments were
ready, and a walk to that spot completed an eventful day for me. I had
come down on a special business matter, but I remained six months, and a
few years later came again and settled down in Birmingham. My
impressions of the place during those six months are fresh upon my
memory now; and, if I write them down, may be interesting to some of the
three hundred thousand people now in Birmingham, who know nothing of its
aspect then.
Bull Street was then the principal street in Birmingham for retail
business, and it contained some very excellent shops. Most of the then
existing names have disappeared, but a few remain. Mr. Suffield, to
whose courtesy I am indebted for the loan of the rare print from which
the frontispiece to this little book is copied, then occupied the
premises near the bottom of the street, which he still retains. Mr.
Adkins, the druggist, carried on the business established almost a
century ago. He is now the oldest inhabitant of Bull Street, having been
born in the house he still occupies before the commencement of the
present century. Mr. Gargory--still hale, vigorous, and hearty, although
rapidly approaching his eightieth year--then tenanted the shop next
below Mr. Keirle, the fishmonger. His present shop and that of Mr.
Harris, the dyer, occupy the site of the then Quakers' Meeting House,
which was a long, barn-like building, standing lengthwise to the street,
and not having a window on that side to break the dreary expanse of
brickwork. Mr. Benson was in those days as celebrated for beef and
civility as he is now. Mr. Page had just opened the shawl shop still
carried on by his widow. Near the Coach Yard was the shop of Mr. Hudson,
the bookseller, whose son still carries on the business established by
his father in 1821. In 1837, Mr. Hudson, Sen., was the publisher of a
very well conducted liberal paper called _The Philanthropist_. The paper
only existed some four or five years. It deserved a better fate. Next
door to Mr. Hudson's was the shop of the father of the present Messrs.
Southall. All these places have been materially altered, but the wine
and spirit stores of Mrs. Peters, at the corner of Temple Row, are
to-day, I think, exactly what they were forty years ago. The Brothers
Cadbury--a name now celebrated all over the world--were then, as will be
seen by reference to the frontispiece, shopkeepers in Bull Street, the
one as a silk mercer, the other as a tea dealer. The latter commenced in
Crooked Lane the manufacture of cocoa, in which business the name is
still eminent. The Borough Bank at that time occupied the premises
nearly opposite Union Passage, which are now used by Messrs. Smith as a
carpet shop. In all other respects--except where the houses near the
bottom are set back, and the widening of Temple Row--the street is
little altered, except that nearly every shop has been newly fronted.
High Street, from Bull Street to Carrs Lane, is a good deal altered. The
Tamworth Banking Company occupied a lofty building nearly opposite the
bottom of Bull Street, where for a very few years they carried on
business, and the premises afterwards were occupied by Mrs. Syson, as a
hosier's shop. The other buildings on both sides were small and
insignificant, and they were mostly pulled down when the Great Western
Railway Company tunneled under the street to make their line to Snow
Hill. "Taylor and Lloyd's" Bank was then in Dale End. The passage
running by the side of their premises is still called "Bank Alley."
Carrs Lane had a very narrow opening, and the Corn Exchange was not
built. Most of the courts and passages in High Street were then filled
with small dwelling houses, and the workshops of working bookbinders.
Messrs. Westley Richards and Co. had their gun factory in one of them.
The large pile of buildings built by Mr. Richards for Laing and Co., and
now occupied by Messrs. Manton, the Bodega Company, and others, is the
most important variation from the High Street of forty years ago. The
narrow footpaths and contracted roadway were as inconveniently crowded
as they are to-day. The house now occupied by Innes, Smith, and Co. was
then a grocer's shop, and the inscription over the door was "Dakin and
Ridgway," two names which now, in London, are known to everybody as
those of the most important retail tea dealers in the metropolis. Mr.
Ridgway established the large concern in King William Street, and Mr.
Dakin was the founder of "No. 1, St. Paul's Churchyard."
New Street is greatly altered. At that time it was not much more lively
than Newhall Street is now. The Grammar School is just as it was; the
Theatre, externally, is not much altered; "The Hen and Chickens" remains
the same; the Town Hall, though not then finished, looked the same from
New Street; and the portico of the Society of Artists' rooms stood over
the pavement then. With these exceptions I only know one more building
that has not been pulled down, or so altered as to be unrecognisable.
The exemption is the excrescence called Christ Church, which still
disfigures the very finest site in the whole town.
Hyam and Co. had removed from the opposite side of the street, and had
just opened as a tailor's shop the queer old building known as the
"Pantechnetheca," and the ever-youthful Mr. Holliday was at "Warwick
House." The recollections of what the "House" was then makes me smile as
I write. It had originally been two private houses. The one abutted upon
the footway, and the other stood some thirty feet back, a pretty garden
being in the front. The latter had been occupied by Mr. James Busby,
who carried on the business of a wire-worker at the rear. The ground
floor frontages of both had been taken out. A roof had been placed over
the garden, two hideous small-framed bay windows fronted New Street, and
a third faced what is now "Warwick House Passage." The whole place had a
curious "pig-with-one-ear" kind of aspect, the portion which had been
the garden having no upper floors, while the other was three storeys
high. The premises had been "converted" by a now long-forgotten
association, called the "Drapery Company," and as this had not been
successful, Mr. Holliday and his then partner, Mr. Merrett, had become
its successors. It was in 1839 that the first portion of the present
palatial building was erected.
A few doors from this was the office of _The Birmingham Journal_, a very
different paper then from what it afterwards became. It had been
originally started as a Tory paper by a few old "fogies" who used to
meet at "Joe Lindon's," "The Minerva," in Peck Lane; and this was how it
came about: _The Times_ had, early in 1825, in a leader, held up to
well-deserved ridicule some action on the part of the Birmingham Tory
party. This gave awful and unpardonable offence, and retaliation was
decided upon. Notes were sent to several frequenters of the room that,
on a certain afternoon, important business would be "on" at Lindon's,
and punctual attendance was requested. The room at the appointed time
was full, and the table had been removed from the centre. The ordinarily
clean-scrubbed floor was covered with sheet iron. A chairman was
appointed; and one gentleman was requested to read the obnoxious
article. This over, a well-fed, prosperous-looking, fox-hunting iron
merchant from Great Charles Street rose, and in very shaky grammar
moved, that _The Times_ had disgraced itself and insulted Birmingham,
and that it was the duty of every Birmingham man to stop its circulation
in the town. This having been seconded, and duly carried, another rose
and proposed that in order to mark the indignation of those present, the
copy of the paper containing the offensive leader should be
ignominiously burnt. This, too, was carried; whereupon the iron-dealer
took up the doomed newspaper with a pair of tongs, placed it on the
sheets of iron, and, taking a "spill" between the claws of the tongs,
lighted it at the fire of the room, and ignited the ill-fated paper,
which, amid the groans and hisses of the assembled patriots, burned to
ashes. This ceremony being solemnly concluded, the "business" began. It
was deplored that the "loyal" party was imperfectly represented in the
town. It was considered desirable that the party should have an "organ"
in the town; and it was decided to open a subscription there and then,
to start one. The necessary capital was subscribed, and a committee was
formed to arrange with Mr. William Hodgetts, a printer in Spiceal
Street, for the production of the new paper. Mr. Hodgetts subscribed to
the fund to the extent of L50, and the singularly inappropriate name for
a _weekly_ paper, _The Birmingham Journal_, was selected. The first
number appeared June 4th, 1825. The editor was Professor Bakewell. It
continued in the same hands until June, 1827, when Mr. Hodgetts paid out
the other partners, and became sole proprietor. He enlarged it in 1830,
at which time it was edited by the well-remembered Jonathan Crowther. In
1832 it was sold to the Liberal party. _The Argus_, in its issue for
June, 1832, thus chronicles the fact:
"THE JOURNAL.--This newspaper is now the property of Parkes,
Scholefield, and Redfern. It was purchased by Parkes in February
last for the sum of two thousand pounds, and was delivered up to him
on the 25th of March last. Poor Jonathan was unceremoniously turned
out of the editorial snuggery into the miserable berth of the
Editor's devil. 'Oh, what a falling off is here, my countrymen!' And
who, think ye, gentle readers, is now Editor of _The Journal_? An
ex-pedagogue, one of the New Hall Hill martyrs, a 'talented' writer
that has been within the walls," &c., &c.
This seems to point to George Edmonds; but I cannot find any other
evidence that he was ever editor. Be that as it may, Crowther
remained, and the paper was published at the old office in Spiceal
Street as late as May, 1833, when it seems to have been removed to New
Street, and placed under the care of Mr. Douglas. In May of that
year, Mr. Hodgetts published the first number of _The Birmingham
Advertiser_. Meanwhile, Mr. Douglas sat in _The Journal_ office,
in New Street. It was a little room, about 10 ft. by 6 ft., and
the approach was up three or four steps. Here he reigned supreme,
concocted Radical leaders in bad taste and questionable English, and
received advertisements and money. The whole thing was in wretched
plight until about the year 1844, when--Mr. Michael Maher being
editor--Mr. Feeney, who was connected with another paper in the town,
went to London, saw Mr. Joseph Parkes, and arranged to purchase _The
Journal_. Mr. Jaffray soon after came from Shrewsbury to assist in the
management, and with care, industry, and perseverance, it soon grew to
be one of the very best provincial papers in the country.
The Post Office occupied the site now covered by Lilly and Addinsell's
shop. The New Street frontage was the dwelling house of Mr. Gottwaltz,
the post-master. A little way up Bennetts Hill was a semicircular
cove, or recess, in which two people might stand. Here was a slit,
into which letters were dropped, and an "inquiry" window; and this was
all. There were seven other receiving houses in the town, which were
as follows: Mr. Hewitt, Hagley Row; Mr. E. Gunn, 1, Kenion Street; Mr.
W. Drury, 30, Lancaster Street; Mr. Ash, Prospect Row; Mr. White,
235, Bristol Street; Miss Davis, Sand Pits; and Mrs. Wood, 172, High
Street, Deritend. Two deliveries took place daily--one at 8 a.m., the
other at 5 p.m. The postage of a "single" letter to London then was
ninepence; but a second piece of paper, however small, even the half
of a bank note, made it a "double" letter, the postage of which was
eighteenpence.
Between Needless Alley and the house now occupied by Messrs. Reece and
Harris, as offices, were three old-fashioned and rather dingy looking
shops, of which I can tell a curious story. Rather more than twenty
years ago, the late Mr. Samuel Haines acquired the lease of these
three houses, which had a few years to run. The freehold belonged
to the Grammar School. Mr. Haines proposed to Messrs. Whateley, the
solicitors for the school, that the old lease should be cancelled;
that they should grant him a fresh one at a greatly increased rental;
and that he should pull down the old places and erect good and
substantial houses on the site. This was agreed to; but when the
details came to be settled, some dispute arose, and the negotiations
were near going off. Mr. Haines, however, one day happened to go
over the original lease--nearly a hundred years old--to see what the
covenants were, and he found that he was bound to deliver up the plot
of land in question to the school, somewhere, I think, about 1860
to 1865, "well cropped with potatoes." This discovery removed the
difficulty, the lease was granted, and the potato-garden is the site
of the fine pile known as Brunswick Buildings, upon each house of
which Mr. Haines's monogram, "S.H.," appears in an ornamental scroll.
The Town Hall had been opened three years. The Paradise Street front
was finished, and the two sides were complete for about three-fourths
of their length; but that portion where the double rows of columns
stand, and the pediment fronting Ratcliff Place, had not been built.
The whole of that end was then red brick. Prom the corner of Edmund
Street a row of beggarly houses, standing on a bank some eight feet
above the level of the road, reached to within a few yards of the hall
itself, the space between them and the hall being enclosed by a high
wall. On the other side, the houses in Paradise Street came to within
about the same distance, and the intervening space was carefully
enclosed. The interior of the hall was lighted by some elaborate
bronzed brackets, projecting from the side, between the windows.
They were modelled in imitation of vegetable forms; and at the ends,
curving upwards, small branches stood in a group, like the fingers of
a half-opened human hand. Each of these branchlets was a gas burner,
which was covered by a semi-opaque glass globe, the intent being,
evidently, to suggest a cluster of growing fruits. Some of the same
pattern were placed in the Church of the Saviour when it was first
opened, but they, as well as those at the Town Hall, were in a
few years removed, greatly to the relief of many who thought them
inexpressibly ugly.
Nearly opposite the Town Hall was a lame attempt to convert an ugly
chapel into a Grecian temple. It was a wretched architectural failure.
It was "The School of Medicine," and, as I know from a personal visit
at the time, contained, even then, a very various and most extensive
collection of anatomical preparations, and other matters connected
with the noble profession to whose use it was dedicated. From the Town
Hall to Easy Row the pathway was three or four feet higher than the
road, and an ugly iron fence was there, to prevent passengers from
tumbling over. On this elevated walk stood the offices of a celebrated
character, "Old"--for I never heard him called by any other name--"Old
Spurrier," the hard, unbending, crafty lawyer, who, being permanently
retained by the Mint to prosecute all coiners in the district, had a
busy time of it, and gained for himself a large fortune and an evil
reputation.
Bennetts Hill was considered _the_ street of the town, architecturally.
The Norwich Union Office then held aloft the same lady, who, long
neglected, looks now as if her eyes were bandaged to hide the tears
which she is shedding over her broken scales. The Bank of England has
not been altered, though at that time it was occupied by a private
company. Where the Inland Revenue Offices now stand, was a stone barn,
which was called a news-room. It was a desolate-looking place, inside
and out, and it was a mercy when it was pulled down. At the right-hand
corner, at the top, where Harrison's music shop now stands, there was,
in a large open court-yard, a square old brick mansion, having a brick
portico. A walled garden belonging to this house, ran down Bennetts
Hill, nearly to Waterloo Street, and an old brick summer-house, which
stood in the angle, was then occupied by Messrs. Whateley as offices,
and afterwards by Mr. Nathaniel Lea, the sharebroker. At the corner of
Temple Row West was a draper's shop, carried on by two brothers--William
and John Boulton. The brothers fell out, and dissolved partnership.
William took Mr. R.W. Gem's house and offices in New Street, and
converted them into the shop now occupied by Messrs. Dew; stocked it;
married a lady at Harborne; started off to Leamington on his wedding
tour; was taken ill in the carriage on the way; was carried to bed at
the hotel at Leamington, and died the same evening. His brother took to
the New Street shop; closed the one in Temple Row; made his fortune; and
died a few years ago--a bachelor--at Solihull.
The present iron railings of St. Philip's Churchyard had not then been
erected. There was a low fence, and pleasant avenues of trees skirted
the fence on the sides next Colmore Row and Temple Row. I used to like
to walk here in the quiet of evening, and I loved to listen to the
bells in St. Philip's Church as they chimed out every three hours the
merry air, "Life let us Cherish."
A few weeks before my arrival, a general election, consequent upon the
dissolution of Parliament by the death of the King, took place. The
Tory party in Birmingham had been indiscreet enough to contest the
borough. They selected a very unlikely man to succeed--Mr. A.G.
Stapleton--and they failed utterly, the Liberals polling more than two
to one. The Conservatives had their head-quarters at the Royal Hotel
in Temple Row. Crowds of excited people surrounded the hotel day
by day and evening after evening. One night something unusual had
exasperated them, and they attacked the hotel. There were no police
in Birmingham then, and the mob had things pretty much their own way.
Showers of heavy stones soon smashed the windows to atoms, and so
damaged the building as to make it necessary to erect a scaffold
covering the whole frontage before the necessary repairs could be
completed. When I first saw it, it was in a wretched plight, and it
took many weeks to repair the damage done by the rioters. The portico
now standing in front of the building--which is now used as the Eye
Hospital--was built at this time, the doorway up to then not having
that protection.
From this point, going towards Bull Street, the roadway suddenly
narrowed to the same width as The Minories. Where the extensive
warehouses of Messrs. Wilkinson and Riddell now stand, but projecting
some twelve or fifteen feet beyond the present line of frontage, were
the stables and yard of the hotel. On the spot where their busy clerks
now pore over huge ledgers and journals, ostlers were then to be seen
grooming horses, and accompanying their work with the peculiar hissing
sound without which it appears that operation cannot be carried
on. Mr. Small wood occupied the shop at the corner, and his parlour
windows, on the ground floor, looked upon Bull Street, the window
sills being gay with flowers. It was a very different shop to the
splendid ones which has succeeded it, which Wilkinson and Riddell have
just secured to add to their retail premises.
The Old Square had, shortly before, been denuded of a pleasant garden
in the centre, the roads up to that time having passed round, in front
of the houses. The Workhouse stood on the left, about half way down
Lichfield Street. It was a quaint pile of building, probably then
about 150 years old. There was a large quadrangle, three sides of
which were occupied by low two-storey buildings, and the fourth by a
high brick wall next the street. This wall was pierced in the centre
by an arch, within which hung a strong door, having an iron grating,
through which the porter inside could inspect coming visitors. From
this door a flagged footway crossed the quadrangle to the principal
front, which was surmounted by an old-fashioned clock-turret. Although
I was never an inmate of the establishment, I have reason to believe
that other quadrangles and other buildings were in the rear. The
portion vouchsafed to public inspection was mean in architectural
style, and apparently very inadequate in size. From this point I do
not remember anything worthy of note until Aston Park was reached, in
the Aston Road. The park was then entire, and was completely enclosed
by a high wall, similar in character to the portion remaining in the
Witton Road which forms the boundary of the "Lower Grounds." The Hall
was occupied by the second James Watt, son of the great engineer.
He had not much engineering skill, but was a man of considerable
attainments, literary and philosophical. His huge frame might be
seen two or three times a week in the shop of Mr. Wrightson, the
bookseller, in New Street. He was on very intimate terms of friendship
with Lord Brougham, who frequently visited him at Aston. The favourite
seat of the two friends was in the temple-like summer-house, near the
large pool in Mr. Quilter's pleasant grounds. The village of Aston was
as country-like as if located twenty miles from a large town. Perry
Barr was a _terra incognita_ to most Birmingham people. Erdington,
then universally called "Yarnton," was little known, and Sutton
Coldfield was a far-off pleasant spot for pic-nics; but, to the bulk
of Birmingham people, as much unknown as if it had been in the New
Forest of Hampshire.
Broad Street was skirted on both sides by private houses, each with
its garden in front. Bingley House, where the Prince of Wales Theatre
now stands, was occupied by Mr. Lloyd, the banker, and the fine trees
of his park overhung the wall. None of the churches now standing in
Broad Street were at that time built. The first shop opened at the
Islington end of the street, was a draper's, just beyond Ryland
Street. This was started by a man who travelled for Mr. Dakin, the
grocer, and I remember he was thought to be mad for opening such a
shop in so outlandish a place. The business is still carried on by
Mr. D. Chapman. Rice Harris then lived in the house which is now the
centre of the Children's Hospital, and the big ugly "cones" of his
glass factory at the back belched forth continuous clouds of black
smoke. Beyond the Five Ways there were no street lamps. The Hagley
Road had a few houses dotted here and there, and had, at no distant
time, been altered in direction, the line of road from near the
present Francis Road to the Highfield Road having at one time curved
very considerably to the left, as anyone may see by noticing the
position of the frontage of the old houses on that side. All along
the straightened part there was on the left a wide open ditch, filled,
generally, with dirty water, across which brick arches carried roads
to the private dwellings. "The Plough and Harrow" was an old-fashioned
roadside public-house. Chad House, the present residence, I believe,
of Mr. Hawkins, had been a public-house too, and a portion of the
original building was preserved and incorporated with the new portion
when the present house was built. Beyond this spot, with the exception
of Hazelwood House, where the father of Rowland Hill, the postal
reformer, kept his school, and some half-dozen red brick houses on the
right, all was open country. Calthorpe Street was pretty well filled
with buildings. St. George's Church was about half built. Frederick
Street and George Street--for they were not "Roads" then--were being
gradually filled up. There were some houses in the Church Road and at
Wheeleys Hill, but the greater portion of Edgbaston was agricultural
land.
The south side of Ladywood Lane, being in Edgbaston parish, was pretty
well built upon, owing to its being the nearest land to the centre
of the town not burdened with town rating. There was a very large and
lumbering old mansion on the left, near where Lench's Alms-houses now
stand. Mr. R.W. Winfield lived at the red brick house between what are
now the Francis and the Beaufort Roads. Nearly opposite his house was
a carriage gateway opening upon an avenue of noble elms, at the end of
which was Ladywood House, standing in a park. This, and the adjoining
cottage, were the only houses upon the populous district now known
as Ladywood. At the right-hand corner of the Reservoir "Lane" was
the park and residence of Mr. William Chance. Further to the east, in
Icknield Street, near the canal bridge--which at that time was an iron
one, narrow and very dangerous--was another mansion and park, occupied
by Mr. John Unett, Jun. This house is now occupied as a bedstead
manufactory. Still further was another very large house, where Mr.
Barker, the solicitor, lived. Further on again, the "General" Cemetery
looked much the same as now, except that the trees were smaller, and
there were not so many monuments.
Soho Park, from Hockley Bridge, for about a mile on the road to West
Bromwich, was entirely walled in. The old factory built by Boulton and
Watt was still in operation. I saw there at work the original engine
which was put up by James Watt. It had a massive oak beam, and it
seemed strange to me that it did not communicate its power direct, but
was employed in pumping water from the brook that flowed hard by, to
a reservoir on higher ground. From this reservoir the water, as it
descended, turned a water-wheel, which moved all the machinery in the
place. It is not, perhaps, generally known that the same machine
which was employed here in 1797 in making the old broad-rimmed copper
pennies of George the Third is still at work at Messrs. Heaton's,
coining the bronze money which has superseded the clumsy "coppers" of
our forefathers.
Coming towards the town, from Hockley Bridge to the corner of Livery
Street, many of the houses had a pretty bit of garden in front, and
the houses were mostly inhabited by jewellers. It was in this street
that I first noticed a peculiarity in tradesmen's signboards, which
then was general through the town, and had a very curious appearance
to a stranger. Few of the occupiers' names were painted on the
_faciae_ of the shop windows, but in almost every case a bordered
wooden frame, following the outline of the window, was fixed above
it. Each of these frames stood upon three or four wooden spheres,
generally about the size of a cricket ball, and they were surmounted
by wooden acorns or ornaments. The boards were all black, and the
lettering invariably gilt, as were also the balls and the acorns.
This, however strange, was not inconsistent; but there were hundreds
of frames in the town stretched across the fronts of houses, and fixed
to the walls by iron spikes. Every one of these signboards, although
altogether unnecessary for its support, had three gilt balls
underneath. There was another peculiarity: the capital letter C was
invariably made with two "serifs"--thus, C--and for a long time I
invariably read them as G's.
Coming up Livery Street, which then was filled on both sides of
its entire length by buildings, it was pointed out to me that the
warehouse now occupied by Messrs. T. Barnes and Co. was built for a
show-room and warehouse by Boulton and Watt, and here their smaller
wares had been on view. Where Messrs. Billing's extensive buildings
now stand, was an old chapel, built, I believe, by a congregation
which ultimately removed to the large chapel in Steelhouse Lane. It
was used as a place of worship until about 1848, when Mr. Billing
bought it, pulled it down, and utilised its site for his business. The
whole area of the Great Western Railway Station was then covered with
buildings, and one, if not more, small streets ran through to Snow
Hill. Monmouth Street was very narrow. Where the Arcade now is,
was the Quakers' burial ground. Opposite was the warehouse of Mr.
Thornley, the druggist, who had a small and mean-looking shop at the
corner, fronting Snow Hill. At the opposite corner was a shaky-looking
stuccoed house, used as a draper's shop, the entrance being up three
or four steps from Steelhouse Lane.
Mr. George Richmond Collis had recently succeeded to the business, at
the top of Church Street, of Sir Edward Thomason, who was dead. It was
then _the_ show manufactory of Birmingham. The buildings--pulled down
seven or eight years ago--were at that time a smart-looking affair;
the parapet was adorned with a number of large statues. Atlas was
there, bending under the weight of two or three hundred pounds of
Portland cement. Hercules brandished a heavy club, on which pigeons
often settled. A copy of the celebrated group of the "Horses of St.
Mark" was over the entrance. Several branches of Birmingham work
were exhibited to visitors, and it was here I first saw stamping,
cutting-out, press-work, and coining.
There were then I think only ten churches in Birmingham. Bishop
Ryder's was being built. The Rev. I.C. Barrett had just come from
Hull to assume the incumbency of St. Mary's; the announcement of his
presentation to the living appeared in _Aris's Gazette_, October
8th, 1837. I was one of his first hearers. The church had been
comparatively deserted until he came, but it was soon filled to
overflowing with an attentive congregation. There was an earnest tone
and a poetical grace in his sermons which were fresh to Birmingham in
those days. His voice was good, and his pale, thoughtful, intelligent
face was very striking. He was a fascinating preacher, and he became
the most popular minister in the town. The church was soon found to
be too small for the crowds who wished to hear, and alterations of an
extensive nature were made to give greater accommodation. Mr. Barrett
had then the peculiarity in his manner of sounding certain vowels,
which he still retains--always pronouncing the word "turn," for
instance, as if it were written "tarn." I remember hearing him once
preach from the text, 1 _Cor._, iii., 23, which he announced as
follows: "The farst book of _Corinthians_, the thard chaptar, and the
twenty-thard varse." Although still hale, active, and comparatively
young-looking, he is by far the oldest incumbent in Birmingham, having
held the living nearly forty years.
St. George's Church then looked comparatively clean and new. A curious
incident occurred here in May, 1833, an account of which I had from
the lips of a son of the then churchwarden. Birmingham was visited
by a very severe epidemic of influenza, which was so general that few
households escaped. Nor was the epidemic confined to mankind; horses
were attacked, and the proprietor of "The Hen and Chickens" lost by
death sixteen horses in one day. So many of the clergy and ministers
were ill, that some of the places of worship had to be closed for a
time. St. George's, which had a rector and two curates, was kept open,
although all its clergy were on the sick list. It was feared, however,
that on one particular Sunday it would have to be closed. Application
had been made to clergymen at a distance, but all, dreading infection,
were afraid to come to the town, so that aid from outside could not
be had. A consultation was held, and one of the curates, although weak
and ill, undertook to conduct the devotional part of the service, but
felt unable to preach. An announcement to be read by the "clerk" was
written out by the rector, and was, no doubt, properly punctuated. At
the close of the prayers, the next morning, the clerk arose, paper
in hand, and proceeded to read as follows, without break, pause, or
change of tone: "I am desired to give notice that in consequence of
the illness of the whole of the clergymen attached to this church
there will be no sermon here this morning 'Praise God from whom all
blessings flow.'"
John Angell James was then at the head of the Nonconformists of the
town, and was in the prime of his intellectual powers. He was very
popular as a preacher, and the chapel in Carrs Lane was always well
filled. Mr. Wm. Beaumont, the bank manager, acted as precentor,
reading aloud the words of the hymns to be sung and the notices
of coming religious events. Mr. James had a powerful voice and an
impressive manner, and occasionally was very eloquent. I remember a
passage, which struck me at the time as being very forcible. He
was deprecating the influence which the works of Byron had upon the
youthful mind, and, speaking of the poet, said: "He wrote as with
the pen of an archangel, dipped in the lava which issues from the
bottomless pit." Mr. James was not a classical scholar; indeed, he had
only received a very moderate amount of instruction. He was intended
by his parents for a tradesman, and in fact was apprenticed to
a draper at Poole. I believe, however, that the indentures were
cancelled, for he became a preacher before he was twenty years of
age. For myself, I always thought him an over-rated man. There was
a narrowness of mind; there was a want of sympathy with the works of
great poets and artists; and there was an intense hatred of the drama.
There was, too, a dogmatic, egotistic manner, which led him always
to enunciate his own thoughts as if they were absolutely true and
incontrovertible. He was not a man to doubt or hesitate; he did not
say "It may be," or "It is probable," but always "It is." He was a
good pastor, however. During his long and useful ministerial career of
more than half a century, he had but one fold and one flock. He was
a firm disciplinarian; was somewhat of a clerical martinet; but his
people liked him, and were cheerfully obedient; and he descended to
the grave full of abundant honour.
Timothy East, of Steelhouse Lane Chapel, was a man of far greater
mental capacity and culture. His sermons were clear, logical,
conclusive, and earnest. It is not generally known that he was a
voluminous writer. He was a frequent contributor to some of the best
periodicals of his time. He wrote and published, under the titles,
first of "The Evangelical Rambler," and afterwards of "The Evangelical
Spectator," a series of exceedingly well-written essays, the style of
which will compare favourably with that of the great standard works
of a century before, whose titles he had appropriated. His son,
the present Mr. Alfred Baldwin East, inherits a large share of his
father's literary ability. Those who had the pleasure, a few years
ago, to hear him read his manuscript of "The Life and Times of Oliver
Cromwell," had a rare intellectual treat. Some of its passages are
worthy of Macaulay. I wish he would publish it.
Of the newspapers of that time, only two survive, at least in
name--_Aris's Gazette_ and _The Midland Counties Herald_. The latter
had just been started. For a short time it was called _The Birmingham
Herald_, but this was soon altered to its present title. It was
published on the premises now occupied as Nock's refreshment bar,
in Union Passage. It had four pages then, as now, but the paper
altogether was not much larger than the coloured cover of _The
Graphic. The Journal_, although its name is lost, still lives and
thrives as _The Weekly Post_. The two others are defunct long ago.
One, _The Philanthropist_, was published in Bull Street by Mr. Hudson;
the other was _The Birmingham Advertiser_, which, on the purchase
of _The Journal_ by the Liberals, had been started in 1833 by Mr.
Hodgetts, in the Tory interest. It was edited by Mr. Thomas Ragg. It
ceased to be published in 1846.
The Grand Junction Railway, from Birmingham to Liverpool and
Manchester, was opened July 4th, in the year I am writing of (1837),
and on this line, in October of that year, I had my first railway
trip. The "Birmingham terminus" of those days is now the goods station
at Vauxhall, and it was here that I went to "book my place" for
Wolverhampton. I entered a moderate-sized room, shabbily fitted with a
few shelves and a deal counter, like a shop. Upon this counter, spread
out, were a number of large open books, the pages of each being
of different colour to the others. Each page contained a number
of printed forms, with blank spaces to be filled up in writing.
On applying to the clerk in attendance, I had to give my name and
address, which he wrote in two places on the blue page of one of the
books; he then took the money, tore out a ticket, some four inches by
three, and left a counterpart in the book. I was then shown to my
seat in the train, and on inspecting at my leisure the document I was
favoured with, I found that in consideration of a sum of money
therein mentioned, and in consideration further of my having impliedly
undertaken to comply with certain rules and regulations, the company
granted me a pass in a first-class carriage to Wolverhampton. I
returned to Birmingham by omnibus after dark the same evening,
and passing through the heart of the Black Country, made my first
acquaintance with that dingy region--its lurid light, its flashing
tongues of intercessant flame, and its clouds of stifling, sulphurous
smoke.
Such, rapidly sketched, were my impressions of the place which was
destined to become my future home. It is very different now. From
the large and populous, but ugly town of those days, it is rapidly
becoming as handsome as any town in England. Situated as it is,
locally, almost in the centre of the country, it is also a great
centre commercially, artistically, politically, and intellectually.
From the primitive town of that time, governed by constables and
bailiffs, it has become a vast metropolis, and may fairly boast of
having the most energetic, far-seeing, and intelligent Municipal
Council in the kingdom. Its voice is listened to respectfully in the
Senate. Its merchants are known and honoured in every country in
the world. Its manufactured products are necessities to nearly every
member of the vast human race; and it seems destined, at its present
rate of progress, to become, before many years, the second city of the
Empire.
THE BULL RING RIOTS, 1839.
On Sunday, the 14th of July, in the year 1839, I left Euston Square
by the night mail train. I had taken a ticket for Coventry, where I
intended to commence a business journey of a month's duration. It
was a hot and sultry night, and I was very glad when we arrived at
Wolverton, where we had to wait ten minutes while the engine was
changed. An enterprising person who owned a small plot of land
adjoining the station, had erected thereon a small wooden hut, where,
in winter time, he dispensed to shivering passengers hot elderberry
wine and slips of toast, and in summer, tea, coffee, and genuine
old-fashioned fermented ginger-beer. It was the only "refreshment
room" upon the line, and people used to crowd his little shanty,
clamouring loudly for supplies. He soon became the most popular man
between London and Birmingham.
Railway travelling then was in a very primitive condition. Except at
the _termini_ there were no platforms. Passengers had to clamber from
the level of the rails by means of iron steps, to their seats. The
roof of each of the coaches, as they were then called, was surrounded
by an iron fence or parapet, to prevent luggage from slipping off.
Each passenger's personal effects travelled on the roof of the coach
in which he sat, and the guard occupied an outside seat at one end.
First-class carriages were built upon the model of the "inside" of the
old stage coaches. They were so low that even a short man could not
stand upright. The seats were divided by arms, as now, and the floor
was covered afresh for each journey with clean straw. The second-class
coaches were simply execrable. They were roofed over, certainly;
but, except a half-door and a low fencing, to prevent passengers from
falling out, the sides were utterly unprotected from the weather. As
the trains swept rapidly through the country--particularly in cuttings
or on high embankments--the wind, even in the finest weather, drove
through, "enough to cut your ear off." When the weather was wet, or it
was snowing, it was truly horrible, and, according to the testimony
of medical men, was the primary cause of many deaths. There were no
"buffers" to break the force of the concussion of two carriages in
contact. When the train was about to start, the guard used to cry out
along the train, "Hold hard! we're going to start," and 'twas well he
did, for sometimes, if unprepared, you might find your nose brought
into collision with that of your opposite neighbour, accompanied by
some painful sensations in that important part of your profile.