We thought long and hard about whether to publish this on our blog, but agreed that, despite being almost unbearable to read, it was merely one short extract which doesn’t even come close describing the horrors that slaves endured during the Georgian Era on a very regular basis but decided it needed to be shared. We do however warn you from the outset, this does not make for easy reading.
This extract comes from a newspaper article published in September 1806, but it is also available to read in Volume 3 of the work written by Dr George Pinckard. His 3 volumes are available to read online (see below).
This work, which would be interesting at any time, derives a peculiar interest at the present moment, from the light which is thrown on that great question, respecting the African Slave Trade, and the system of slavery which it feeds in our West-Indian colonies, now passing under the review of the legislature of this country. The facts recorded by Dr Pinckard, are the result of his own personal observation, serve strikingly to develop the real nature of colonial bondage and are therefore entitled to particular attention from the public. The following extract will furnish a specimen of the kind of information which is to be derived from these interesting volumes, while it will afford fresh proof of West Indian humanity. The circumstances detailed in it are stated to have occurred on the estate of an English planter at Demerara, where Dr Pinckard himself was stationed at the time, and are as follows:
Two unhappy negroes, a man and woman, having been driven by cruel treatment to abscond from the plantation at Lancaster, were taken a few days since, and brought back to the estate, when the manager, whose inhuman severity had caused them to fly from his tyrannical government, dealt out to them his avenging despotism with more than savage brutality. Taking with him two of the strongest drivers, armed with the heaviest whips, he led out these trembling and wretched Africans early in the morning, to a remote part of the estate, too distant for the officers to hear their cries; and there, tying down first the man, he stood by, and made the drivers flog him with many hundred lashes, until, on releasing him from the ground, it was discovered that he was nearly exhausted; and in this state the inhuman monster struck him with the but-end of a large whip, he fell to the ground; when the poor negro, escaping at once from his slavery and his sufferings expired at the murderers feet. But not satiated with blood, this savage tyrant next tied down the naked woman, on the spot by the dead body of her husband, and with the whips, already deep in gore, compelled the drivers to inflict a punishment of several hundred lashes, which had nearly released her also from a life of toil and torture.
Hearing of these acts of cruelty, on my return from the hospital, and scarcely believing it possible they could have been committed I went immediately to the sick house to satisfy myself by ocular testimony; when alas! I discovered that all I had heard was too fatally true: for, shocking to relate I found the wretched and almost murdered woman lying stark naked on her belly, without any coverings to the horrid wounds which had been cut by the whips, and with the still warm and bloody corpse of the man extended at her side, upon the neck of which was an iron collar, and a long heavy chain, which the now murdered negro had been made to wear from the time of his return to the estate.
The flesh of the woman was so torn, as to exhibit one extensive sore from the loins almost to her hams; not had humanity administered even a drop of oil to soften her wounds. The only relief she knew was that of extending her feeble arm in order to beat off the tormenting flies with a small green bough, which had been put into her hand for that purpose by the sympathizing kindness of a fellow slave. A more shocking and stressing spectacle can scarcely be conceived. The dead man and the almost expiring woman had been brought home from the place of punishment, and thrown into the negro hospital, amidst the crowd of sick, with cruel unconcern. Lying on the opposite side of the corpse was a fellow sufferer in similar condition to the poor woman. His buttocks, thighs and part of his back, had been flogged into one large sore, which was still raw although he had been punished a fortnight before.
The owner was challenged about the severity of his manager’s action and said that the slaves only got what they deserved. The law of the colonies restricted slave owners to lashings of up to a maximum of 39, but the fine being so small for excessive use meant that 100 lashes were very commonplace.
In today’s world gin has seen something of a resurgence, with gin bars popping up everywhere and flavoured gins becoming the drink of choice for many. So how do you take yours? Pink perhaps, with a tonic, ice and a slice – sound good, yes? Well, if we take you back to the 18th century we can offer you gin, but would have been a somewhat weaker gin than you’re used to today, as it was only about 30% proof – but how does the addition of oil of turpentine and sulphuric acid oil of vitriol (better known today as sulphuric acid or drain cleaner!) sound? No takers then, presumably? Despite this, gin became the drink of choice for the poor, including children, although, people really had little idea of what it was they were actually consuming.
We can but hope that lessons have been learnt since the 18th century as can be seen in Hogarth’s caricature of Gin Lane which shows just what the effects of it could be. The detail in this caricature show the link between poverty and the demon drink, with people taking anything they owned to the pawn broker just to raise enough money to worship at ‘The Temple of Juniper’ and to feed their addiction to ‘Juniper water’ or ‘Madam Geneva’ as it was often referred to as.
Gin became much more the drink of choice for England in the 1720s as it came from Holland, whereas, although available, it was brandy that had been the number one best seller, but as brandy was from France whom the British had been at war with, people were much more suspicious of anything French.
Gin houses were popping up everywhere, you could pretty much buy it in all the shops in London. It was even sold from wheelbarrows and ‘pop-up stalls’.
There were several Acts of Parliament designed to raise revenue, but also to reduce the obsession for gin drinking, the first being in 1732, when an Act was passed raising the retail tax to five shilling per gallon, but this didn’t stop people finding the money from somewhere, beg, borrow or steal, to buy what had arguably become an addiction.
The consumption of gin was becoming a real problem, with more women than men drinking it. The death rate was higher than the birth rate and infertility was on the rise. Hence the name ‘mother’s ruin’ a term for gin, which survives to this day.
Gin drinking even led to one famous case heard at the Old Bailey where gin led to an horrific event. Just in case you’ve never heard of it, Judith Defour found herself on trial for the murder of her two and half year old daughter, Mary Defour, otherwise Cullinder.
Judith had placed her daughter in a London workhouse, but on the 27th February 1734, she took the child out for a few hours as she was permitted to do. Then she met up with a friend who was simply named Sukey.
The court document records the tragic story:
On Sunday night we took the child into the fields, and stripp’d it, and ty’d a linen handkerchief hard about its neck to keep it from crying, and then laid it in a Ditch. And after that, we went together and sold the coat and stay for a shilling, and the petticoat and stockings for a groat. We parted the money, and join’d for a quartern of gin.
Judith and her friend simply left the child to die in a ditch. Defour was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death on February 27, 1734. She was hanged at Tyburn on the 8th of March 1734.
Two years later in 1736, the famous Gin Act came into force. The tax paid by the retailer was raised to a whopping twenty shillings per gallon and the price of holding a spirit licence also increased. It was reported in The Scots Magazine in 1743, that:
The number of gin retailers in Westminster, Holborn, the Tower and Finsbury division, exclusive of London and Southwark was 7,044 plus 3,209 alehouses that did not sell spiritous liquors, and besides a great number of persons who retailed gin privately in garrets, cellars and back rooms or places not exposed to public view.
This increase in tax led to rioting in the streets of London. The passion for gin remained and was forced underground, so in 1743 the government had little choice to but to loosen its restrictions and allowed gin-shops to operate under the same terms as ale-houses.
According to the Ipswich Journal of October 1736, licensees found ways of avoiding paying this hefty tax by selling the drink using somewhat fancy names, i.e. implying that it wasn’t actually gin, such as ‘Cuckold’s Comfort’, ‘Make shift’, ‘The Ladies Delight’ and ‘Sangree’.
The Gin Acts of 1736 and 1742 failed to be effective with an increase in crime, violent and the production of illegally distilled gin – it was a failure and was repealed.
People were actively encouraged to shop to the law anyone they believed to be producing or selling gin illegally, this simply led to more violence. In 1738 the next Gin Act all but outlawed gin and made it crime to attack informers. Yet again, it simply drove the trade underground.
By 1743 the population of England was just over six million and some seven million gallons of spirits was being consumed by them, a tenfold increase in only sixty years. Half a penny’s worth of gin was having more effect on a person than a pint of strong beer, which cost three times as much, so it’s hardly surprising people switched to the cheaper option.
The 1743 Gin Act failed too, as informers were being paid a £5 reward to inform, but those caught were being fined £10, which of course most simply couldn’t afford to pay, so the Commissioners ran out of money to pay informers.
The government eventually realised that there were major problems associated with gin drinking and in 1751 they bought in the Gin Act as a way to reduce consumption but raising taxes and fees for retailers to £2 and made licences only available to inns and taverns. Actively promoting of beer and tea as alternatives and eventually the mass craze for gin subsided and people simply switched their choice of beverage.
London Journal, Saturday, March 9, 1734
Caledonian Mercury 10 January 1744
The Scots Magazine 01 April 1743
Chester Courant 29 December 1829
A Collection of such Statues relating to his Majesty’s Customs 1734
Allegory of Drink: Effects of Intemperance (verso) British School. Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
As you will probably be aware by now, we have been busy researching Dido Elizabeth Belle and as part of this, we have looked at those within the inner circle of her extended family. This has led us to look at Sir Thomas Mills, who was reputed to be the ‘nephew’ of Lord Mansfield. We have tried to find confirmation as to Mills actual connection to Lord Mansfield, but without any success so far. Some accounts record him as Lord Mansfield’s ‘nephew’, others as a ‘consanguineal relative’ and others that he was really Lord Mansfield’s ‘illegitimate son’. Neither appear to be true.
He seems to have appeared from nowhere and the only clue as to his identity is that he had a sister, Elizabeth, who died in Edinburgh according to the newspapers on May 9th 1775, however, there’s no obvious burial for her.
It appears that Mills was born in Scotland around 1736-1738 to a mother who never left her native country. To date, we’re unable to place Lord Mansfield in Scotland, but who knows, maybe he nipped back across the border for a brief liaison and Mills was the result, but it does seem highly unlikely.
Whatever the relationship, Lord Mansfield was extremely fond of him. He regularly dined at Caenwood House. Sylvester Douglas (Lord Glenbervie), a prominent lawyer and diplomat wrote of Mills, that he was illiterate but frank, friendly and dashing and had served with ‘distinguished bravery’. Mills was given the post of Governor of Quebec after his military service, it appears that Lord Mansfield had a hand in arranging this position.
It is rare for us to take such an immediate dislike to someone we write about, but this character is one with very few redeeming qualities. He was a spendthrift and it appears a liar too; spent money like water, getting himself and his family into debt. Everything we’ve read about him seems to be negative, so it seems strange that Lord Mansfield had such a soft spot for him, unless there’s something we’re missing!
We then came across this beautiful miniature by Sir Joshua Reynolds, which is of a Lady Elizabeth Mills, née Moffatt, who was baptised 29th January 1756 at St Mary Woolnoth, London, the daughter of Andrew and Katherine (née Creighton) Moffatt. Her father, Andrew was a merchant and both he and his brothers were heavily involved with the East India Company.
The family lived at Cranbrook House in the extremely affluent area of Ilford, Essex, opposite Valentines and next to Highlands, an area where all the well-to-do families who were connected with the East India Company lived.
In November 1774, Elizabeth married Sir Thomas Mills, when she was just 18, a marriage which would prove to be an interesting one.
A marriage settlement was made by Elizabeth’s father of some £10,000 (just under one million today) but despite this large sum of money, Mills continued to spend more than he earned and even had to be bailed out by his father-in-law on more than one occasion, to the extent that Andrew Moffatt made provision in his will of 1780, for his siblings, daughters and grandchildren, but specifically mentioned that his son-in-law was indebted to him to the tune of £5,000, a debt which he wanted to be reimbursed to the estate as soon as possible, he was clearly not impressed by his son-in-law! It was slightly strange, as he also left Sir Thomas £100. Which seems to make little sense in light of his debt. Andrew also left 20 guineas to his good friend Lord Mansfield for him to buy a ring in memory of him and money for Elizabeth’s sole use, exclusive of her husband.
Despite our view of Sir Thomas, Elizabeth must have felt something for him, as the couple produced three children – Andrew Moffatt Mills born just over 9 months after they wed; Elizabeth Finch Mills (1776) and finally Catherine Crichton Mills (1779).
According to the Oxford Journal of July 1772
When Sir Thomas was returning home in a chair, he was surrounded by four street robbers in Windmill Street, Haymarket, who stopped the chair, and one of them presented a pistol and demanded his money. Sir Thomas told them that he would not be robbed and endeavoured to seize the pistol, at this point one of the assailants fired, he missed Sir Thomas who burst open the chair door and attacked the robbers who then fled. There were no watchmen nearby and the chairmen didn’t even try to assist to apprehend the robbers.
Was this a ‘set-up’? It seems highly likely, in our opinion.
Sir Thomas Mills died 23 February 1793 and left no will and it appears with no money either to leave, but despite what the newspapers said, he was not named as a beneficiary of Lord Mansfield’s will, who died 20th March 1793.
His wife Elizabeth died in June 1816.
History tells us that the Moffatt family were plantation and slave owners in Jamaica, as the family went on to make claims in 1832 for monies owed for freed slaves.
Amongst the wonderful resource of the ‘George III Papers’ which are now in the public domain, we came across some early account books for the teenager, Princess Charlotte of Wales, which make fascinating reading. Perhaps it’s just us, but don’t you just love rifling through old account books and diaries? It’s amazing what you can learn about people’s lives, that they’d never expect to be divulged.
We thought we would share with you just a few of the purchases made with her £10 a month ‘pocket-money’, given to her via Lady de Clifford, who replaced Lady Elgin as her governess. We did, however, notice that Charlotte managed to boost her monthly allowance, not by doing odd jobs, but from winnings made from playing card games – yes, she did make some loses too, in fact one week in particular she lost fourteen shillings each day, but overall it looks as if she this pastime was quite lucrative and she was clearly an accomplished card player, but not so good at chess, the only entries denote losses made and never any wins.
Much of her pocket-money was spent on charitable donations mainly to the poor, entries show a wide variety of such payments made most months, such as
Gave to a poor woman 10 shillings and six pence
Gave to a little girl one pound one shilling
A poor man five shillings
To a sailor two shillings and three pence
To a fisherman two shillings
She also clearly enjoyed reading as she paid twelve shillings for a German book, plus a further four shillings and sixpence to have it bound, then a few days later she spent five shillings on a book of maps. There were also regular payments for bibles and ten shillings and six pence for a copy of The Pilgrims Progress.
Charlotte clearly took an interest in art, as there were regular payments made to Paul Colnaghi, the appointed print seller to the Prince Regent who employed him to arrange the Royal Collection.
For some unknown reason she on 15th July 1808 she paid two pounds two shillings for 4 blackbirds – we have absolutely no idea what that was about!
As you would expect for a teenager she was becoming aware of fashion and jewellery. Eye jewellery was very popular and to keep up with the trends of the day Charlotte purchased ‘an eye with garnets’ at two pounds twelves shillings and sixpence. A coral necklace, perhaps the one worn in this miniature.
Two red leather purses at a cost of fifteen shillings and six pence. A silver snuff-box at two pounds, eleven shilling and six pence and a slightly cheaper tortoiseshell snuff-box. Quite regular payments were made to a Mr Duncan, a tailor.
An umbrella, a parasol and a bonnet were bought for the autumn of 1808 and a pair of spectacles early 1809 along with a frock, a gown and some handkerchiefs.
Charlotte appear to have been taken an interest in music as she paid four pounds, eight shillings and six pence for a flageolet and nineteen shillings for a flute.
Less likely purchases for a Regency teenager included two swords, one of which she had engraved, a knife, and a medal of Lord Nelson. Quite who all of her purchases were for we will never know, but it’s a fascinating read.
In our latest book, All Things Georgian, one of our stories relates one of the two sub-governesses to Princess Charlotte of Wales, a Mrs Martha Udny and coincidentally we have come across various references to payments made to her, simply referred to as Mrs U, in the account books.
Account book of Princess Charlotte of Wales – GEO/ADD/17/82
Princess Charlotte. Inscribed 1807 by Charlotte Jones. Royal Collection Trust. Princess Charlotte gave this portrait to her sub-governess, Martha Udny, in 1807 when she was 10 years old.
‘Mary Linwood was to needlework; what Chippendale was to carpentry’.
She was the daughter of Matthew Linwood and his wife Hannah Turner, (daughter of John Turner, a silversmith in Birmingham). The couple were married in Birmingham 19th May 1753, Matthew’s occupation was that of a linen-draper at that time.
The couple produced 6 children: Matthew (1754), Mary (1755), Samuel Whalley (1756), Sarah (1758), John (1760) and William (c.1762), but in March 1783 Matthew died. When Mary was only 9, her mother, Hannah opened a private boarding school in Leicester, and upon her death, Mary continued to run it for a further 50 years.
Matthew the eldest son and in turn his son, Matthew were to become a plater and buckle maker silversmiths in Birmingham, whilst two of Mary’s brother’s, Samuel Whalley Linwood and his brother, William, went off to Jamaica to make their fortune.
It was here that Samuel met a mulatto girl, Priscilla Reid and the couple produced four children George, 1788; Mary 1789; Jane 1791 and James 1794). Samuel died in Jamaica and was buried at Kingston on 11th June 1801. He must have had some financial help from his mother, Hannah, as in her will of 1805, she made specific reference to his death and monies owed amounting to over £750. Equally, she ensured that his four offspring were provided for. Whether she ever met these grandchildren we may never know.
Apart from taking over as the matriarch of the family, acting as a witness at her sister, Sarah’s marriage, sorting out the will for her sister when her husband, Samuel Markland died, Mary was renowned for her undoubted talent for producing tapestries creating stitches of different lengths on fabric made especially for her. Her works were mainly copies of works by the likes of Joshua Reynolds and in particular, Gainsborough.
It was at the end of 1844 that Mary was taken ill, with influenza during her annual visit to London for an exhibition of needlework. She was so ill that she was taken back to Leicester in an invalid carriage and died just before her 90th birthday.
The Ipswich Journal reported that many poor families would miss her benevolence. It reported that for at least the previous thirty years Mary would rise no later than 4.30am to capture as much daylight as possible and would work until sunset. She was described as possessing:
singular energy and enduring vivacity and was apparently producing work for well over fifty years. She was also well-known for dancing locally to see out the old year and welcome in the new year.
A Mr Gardiner said of her that:
Miss Linwood’s mode is analogous to that of a painter. She sketches the outline, then the parts in detail and brings out the whole of the design by degrees. I once saw her at work, accoutred as she was with pincushions all around her, stuck with needles, threaded with worsted of every colour, and having once touched the picture with a needle, instead of a brush, she would recede five or six paces to view the effect. Leicester was a convenient place for dyeing her worsteds, but still, there were some she could not obtain, but being a woman of great genius, she set to work and dyed them herself. Her works were displayed in London for almost forty years. They were arranged in two galleries on the north side of Leicester Square. A small room called the ‘Scripture Room’ opens from the first gallery. In this smaller room, there is ‘The Judgement of Cain’ and a copy of Carlo Dolci’s ‘Salvator Mundi for which she was offered and refused three thousand guineas. The judgement of Cain was her last piece of work and took her 10 years to complete and was finished when she was 75. She was also to meet Napoleon and Josephine on one of her visits to Paris.
Mary exhibited her work around Europe including France and Russia, where Catherine the Great offered £40,000 for the whole collection.
In her will, she bequeathed £100 to Leicester Infirmary, the remainder of her estate to family members. She bequeathed the Salvator Mundi to Queen Victoria, who accepted. She asked that if her works were not sold in one lot to a private collector that they should be split up and sold, with the proceeds being divided equally between seventeen recipients.
Mary died on 2nd March 1845 and was buried, at St Margret’s church, Leicester at which she was a regular attendee and where her parents were also buried.
24D65/A4. Burial of Matthew Linwood senior parish register, 7th March 1783. St Margaret’s Leicester
The History and antiquities of the county of Leicester. Compiled from the best and most ancient historians (1795-1815) Matthew Linwood. Died 28th February 1783, aged 56.
Familysearch Jamaica parish registers
Miss Linwood’s gallery of pictures in worsted, Leicester square
Legacies of British Slave Ownership
Bailey’s western and midland directory; or, merchant’s and tradesman’s useful companion for the year 1783.
Exhibition of Miss Linwood’s pictures at the Hanover Square concert rooms. Admittance one shilling. 1798
A catalogue of the pictures, sculptures, models, designs in architecture, prints etc exhibited by the Royal Incorporated Society of Artists. 1776
To mark the birth 200 years ago today of the future Queen Victoria we thought you might like to know a little more about the event itself.
Interestingly, she was born on the same date as her paternal grandfather, King George III, whose birthday was later changed to 4th June when the calendars were altered to the new Gregorian style from the Julian style.
We came across quite a detailed hour by hour account in a newspaper of the day to share with you.
The Duchess of Kent continued her airings in Kensington Garden to last Thursday. On Friday her Royal Highness was slightly indisposed, in which state she continued on Saturday and Sunday, when the symptoms of her Royal Highness giving birth to a Prince or Princess increased.
In the morning the Duke of Kent left Kensington Palace for Carlton House, to inform the Prince Regent of the state of his Royal Duchess. The room appointed for the confinement of the Duchess is on the east side of the palace, close to which is a public path from Kensington Gardens, which, as it would subject her Royal Highness to be disturbed by various noises, the gate leading to it was closed by command of the Prince Regent.
Dr Davis, the physician to the Duke and Duchess, having had the honour of being appointed accoucher to the Duchess, frequently visited her Royal Highness. On Sunday the doctor visited the Duchess three times, the last visit was at seven o’clock in the evening, when he returned to town.
At twelve o’clock the Duchess, and those in attendance upon her, being of the opinion that the time of her delivery was approaching fast, the Duke of Sussex’s carriage was sent off for Dr Davis at his residence in George Street, Hanover Square and the doctor returned in the carriage with all possible speed. At the same time messengers were sent off to the Members of the Privy Council appointed to attend upon this occasion, with summonses commanding their attendance agreeably to the laws of England for Royal births.
The Marquis of Lansdowne was the first Privy Counsellor who arrived, and he reached the Palace at a quarter before two o’clock Mr Canning arrived next at two o’clock, The Duke of Wellington came about a quarter of an hour after. The Duke of Sussex entered from his apartment in the Palace about the same time. Earl Bathurst, the Bishop of London and the Chancellor of the Exchequer followed. The Chancellor did not arrive until about three o’clock, owing to his being at Blackheath on a visit to his mother.
The Members of the Privy Council sat in the saloon adjoining the Duchess’s chamber, where, at a quarter past four o’clock they were satisfied of the delivery of the Duchess of a female child, which was testified by the following certificate:
The undersigned hereby certify, that her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent was safely delivered of a female child, living, at a quarter past four o’clock in the morning of the 24th day of May 1819.
Signed David Davis, J Wilson – Domestic Physicians to their Royal Highnesses.
The room appointed for the nursery in the palace is that which was the North drawing room.
Expresses were sent off to the Prince Regent, the Duke and Duchess of York, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Princess Sophia of Gloucester, the Princesses Augusta and Sophia at Windsor.
The Duke of Kent has shown the most marked affectionate attention towards his amiable Duchess and did not retire to rest till nine o’clock, although His Royal Highness had been up the whole of the night and had very little rest on the preceding night.
Dr Davis remained in attendance till ten o’clock. The following statement of the event was issued from the Palace:
24th May 1819
The following Noblemen and Gentlemen, of his Majesty’s Privy Council attended at the accouchement of her royal Highness the Duchess of Kent – His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, his Grace the Duke of Wellington, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Noble the Marquis of Lansdowne, the Right Hon. Earl Bathurst, The Right Hon. George Canning, the Bishop of London and the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
At a quarter past four o’clock, a.m. her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent was safely delivered of a Princess.
Lieut. General and Comptroller
In addition to the above, General Weatherall, General More and Captain Conroyd, were in attendance. The Earl of Liverpool called at the Palace about eleven o’clock to make his respectful enquiries.
Dr Davis visited the Duchess again between two and three o’clock, after which the following bulletin was issued –
Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent and her infant continue in a favourable state.
David D Davis
Monday, three o’clock
A few days later the Morning Post reported
Considering the high destiny of the Royal infant, there is nothing which is more calculated to enhance the satisfaction of its parents in particular, and the nation at large, next indeed to that of its having been born in Old England, than this event. Should she be ever elevated to the throne of this mighty Empire, it must be the wish of every sincere lover of this country, that she may reign like her venerable grandsire, in the hearts of its inhabitants. The nation already begins to indulge the hope that the infant may be baptised by the much loved and cherished name of Charlotte.
The press didn’t get their wish when she was christened on June 24th 1819 as Princess Alexandrina Victoria, in the Grand saloon of Kensington Palace using the Royal gold font which had been moved from The Tower of London and the crimson velvet coverings from The Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace.
To find out a little more about Queen Victoria you might enjoy a couple of articles we wrote a while ago:
We have previously written about the very popular invention of the Georgian bathing machines, so it’s time to take a look at what people wore to take a dip in the sea. It was in the Regency era that swimwear became really popular and very much a fashion item with the newspapers of the day advising potential bathers of what they ought to be wearing to be à la mode.
Clearly there was an issue with women sharing bathing wear and so a Mrs Bell of 26, Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury came up with new invention in 1814 by creating what she called the ‘Ladies Bathing Preserver’. Its aim was:
To relieve Ladies from the nauseous idea of wearing the bathing coverings furnished by the women at the sea-side, from which dangerous permanent illnesses have arisen, in consequence of their being worn by ALL KINDS of persons, however they be afflicted. Mrs Bell’s bathing preserver is made quite in a novel manner, to which is attached a cap, to be removed at pleasure, made of a delicate oil silk, the keep the head dry. The preserver is made of such light materials, that a lady may carry it in a tasteful oiled silk bag of the same size as an ordinary lady’s ridicule.
In her advert she told potential buyers that she also:
…sold her newly invented Circassian corset, bathing and sea-side walking dresses, which enable ladies to dress and undress themselves in three minutes, without any assistance, and prevents, so much recommended by physicians, the change of taking cold by too long delay in dressing.
The Circassian corset claim might have been a good marketing strategy because this type of corset had certainly been invented by the turn of the century, if not slightly earlier, so by the time Mrs Bell was advertising it, it wasn’t new!
The Circassian Corset is the only one which displays, without indelicacy, the shape of the bosom to the greatest possible advantage; gives a width to the chest which is equally conducive to health and elegance of appearance.
The Morning Post of 1st August 1815 tells its readers what they should be wearing for the month for seaside bathing:
Sea Side Bathing Dress: This very elegant dress is composed of the newly introduced Berlin silk. It is made in the form of a pelisse, and is so contrived that the stays, petticoat, and pelisse are all put on in a few moments. A flounce of green gauze, crape, or muslin, edged with an exceedingly pretty silk trimming, ornaments the dress; which, when on, is so finished and elegant that no one could suppose it was possible to adjust it in a few moments. A Leghorn hat ornamented with a plume of straw colour feathers, and green plaid leather boots, finish this dress, which we look upon as a chef d’oeuvre in its way, since, independent of the advantage which it is to a lady to be able to dress and undress so quickly, the most fastidious belle must confess that nothing can possibly be more becoming than this Sea Side Bathing Dress. The Wellington corset, with which it is worn, is admirably adapted to display in the most easy and graceful manner the natural proportions of the shape; and the tout ensemble of this elegant and useful habit is simple, tasteful and in the highest degree appropriate.
For anyone wondering, like us, what the Wellington corset was, then the Kentish Gazette, 6 September 1814 has the answer. It was designed specifically for women who were pregnant or who had had children as it would repress that fullness which some ladies find rather troublesome in the present style of dress.
The Liverpool Mercury, in 1830, carried the following description of a new invention to aid swimmers and non swimmers to float in the sea, by the Abbé de la Chapelle which he called a ‘Scaphander’.
It was a type of jacket of cork, composed of cork and fastened round the boy by means of leather thongs, which pass between the thighs and over the shoulders. That the body of the swimmer may be in equilibrium with an equal volume of water, a jacket of this kind ought to contain TEN POUNDS OF CORK. It is added that the inventor, with this cumbrous jacket on, could hold a bottle and glass in his hands when in the water (now this is just what I need!).
Today we are thrilled to welcome to our blog, Sophie Guiny. Sophie is a Wedgwood collector and researcher. She is also the newsletter editor for the Wedgwood Society of Washington, D.C.
In May 1759, 260 years ago this month, 29-year old Josiah Wedgwood founded his own pottery works. Born in a family of potters in Burslem, Staffordshire, young Josiah was struck by smallpox and the resulting damage to his leg (which would eventually be amputated) left him unable to operate a potter’s wheel. He turned his attention to design and experimentation with new clays and glazes, improving on known techniques and creating new styles and ceramics bodies, including the now iconic jasperware, which Wedgwood perfected around 1775. In both pursuits, women played a critical role as patrons, artists and factory workers.
Josiah Wedgwood’s sense of innovation extended to marketing his wares in what was a crowded market. As the quality of his creamware (a type of ceramic made of pure white clay with a clear lead glaze) had garnered him royal orders, he petitioned Queen Charlotte for the right to use her name in selling his products. Starting in 1763, Wedgwood’s creamware was sold as Queen’s ware, and the Queen’s patronage became very visible on all advertising materials.
The Frog Service commissioned by Empress Catherine II of Russia in 1773 is a good case study of the role of women in Wedgwood’s business. First, as with the naming of Queen’s ware, Josiah Wedgwood aggressively courted royal and aristocratic female patrons, as they had the ability to influence the taste of other women, both in the aristocracy and in England’s burgeoning middle class. In a letter to his partner Thomas Bentley, Wedgwood muses, “Suppose you present the Duchess of Devonshire with a Set and beg leave to call them Devonshire Flowerpots.” This was never to be. But having Catherine the Great as a repeat customer (she had already ordered a service in 1768) was a marketing coup for which Wedgwood was prepared to incur financial losses.
The Frog Service comprised 952 pieces, and was to be decorated with a different view of England on each piece, an extremely ambitious task. The only repeating designs would be the border and the frog emblem, as the service was destined for a palace known as “Frog Marsh.” To realise the service, Wedgwood had to hire numerous skilled painters, which included a number of women: factory records show that at least half a dozen women were employed to paint the Frog Service, working on both the borders and the centre landscapes. The highest paid woman, a Mrs Wilcox, was paid eighteen shillings a week, which is just over half of what the highest-paid man earned (thirty-one shillings).
Wedgwood catered to a variety of tastes, and was always trying to introduce new styles. Many pieces were decorated with classical designs, inspired by antiquity, and modelled by such noted artists as John Flaxman Junior and George Stubbs. It is worth noting, however, that in the 1787 company catalogue, Wedgwood gives a place of pride to designs made by three women artists: Elizabeth, Lady Templetown, Lady Diana Beauclerk, and Miss Emma Crewe. All three were gifted amateur artists, and their designs were used exclusively to decorate the very fashionable jasperware.
Lady Templetown, often misspelled as “Templeton”, perhaps based on Josiah Wedgwood’s own frequent misspelling in his letters, was inspired by sentimentalist literature (such as Laurence Sterne’s novels) and traditional domestic activities. Born Elizabeth Boughton in 1747, she came from an aristocratic, if not particularly wealthy, family and married Clotworthy Upton in 1769. In 1776, in recognition for his services to the royal family, Upton was made Baron Templetown of Templetown, County Antrim in Ireland, and Elizabeth became the first Lady Templetown. Left a widow with three children in 1785, she managed her family’s Irish estates until her son’s coming of age, and retired to Rome where she died in 1823.
Her drawings caught the eye of Josiah Wedgwood who commissioned several designs from her starting in 1783. In a letter to Lady Templetown dated June 27, 1783, Josiah Wedgwood expresses: “a wish to be indulged in copying a few more such [figure] groups” in addition to what she had already lent him. She provided drawings or cut-outs in Indian paper of her designs, and William Hackwood, a sculptor employed by Wedgwood, modelled the actual reliefs to be applied on the jasperware. The etching below, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, is based on one of Lady Templetown’s series of cut-outs on the theme of Domestic Employment. The jasperware version of this design (which is the mirror image of the cut-out) is on the teapot at the top of this post.
Emma Crewe’s designs were quite similar in inspiration to Lady Templetown’s, but much less is known about her life. She was born in 1741 and was the sister of John Crewe, a Member of Parliament and a staunch supporter of Whig party leader Charles James Fox. It is likely that these personal acquaintances played a role in Emma’s designs being used by Wedgwood, as Josiah Wedgwood was also a committed Whig.
Lady Diana Beauclerk’s designs were of a different style, although they too feature boys and cherubs at play. She was born Lady Diana Spencer in 1724 in one of Britain’s most prominent families: she was the great-granddaughter of the first Duke of Marlborough and grew up at Blenheim Palace. In 1757, she married Lord Bolingbroke, but her unhappy marriage was dissolved in 1768. That same year, she married Topham Beauclerk. The Beauclerks were part of the literary and artistic society of the time, counting among their inner circle such luminaries as Horace Walpole and Joshua Reynolds, and her life was the source of some gossip, which had been featured on this blog. Lady Diana Beauclerk died in 1808, having spent the last years of her life mostly blind and in much reduced circumstances (her husband Topham died in 1780).
According to Beatrice Erskine’s 1903 Lady Diana Beauclerk Her Life and Work, the first contact between Lady Diana Beauclerk and Josiah Wedgwood occurred in 1780 through their mutual friend Charles James Fox.
It is likely that Josiah Wedgwood chose to hire women artists and to publicise their work because he thought that it would appeal to the market, showing a softer side than scenes inspired by the Iliad, or portrait medallions of Roman emperors. Wedgwood has reproduced Domestic Employment and Bacchanalian Boys countless times since the eighteenth century, showing the long-lasting appeal of the more feminine designs.
However, Josiah Wedgwood was ahead of his time on many social and political issues, from his commitment to the anti-slavery movement to his position in favour of the independence of the American colonies, and was involved in the latest scientific research of his time through his membership in the Lunar Society. So it is not inappropriate to think that hiring women artists may have gone beyond commercial considerations and reflected Josiah Wedgwood’s progressive positions.
For more on this topic:
The Wedgwood Museum is part of the World of Wedgwood experience in Barlaston, Staffordshire
Both the British Museum and the V&A have large collections of Wedgwood, including works by women designers
The Frog Service is in the collections of the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg
The most comprehensive reference book is Robin Reilly, Wedgwood (two volumes), Macmillan & Co, 1989.
In this post, we thought we would play a quick game of ‘sixdegrees of separation’. For anyone who is unaware of the concept, you will no doubt be familiar with the phrase ‘it’s a small world’ and it so it is. It’s been quite surprising that throughout our research, we’ve noticed just how relatively small London was in the 18th century. Everyone who was anyone knew each other and this has become quite obvious whilst exploring the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle.
So, in today’s game we show the close connection between Prince George (later George IV) and Dido Elizabeth Belle. On the face of it, they would appear to be poles apart, George, the then-future monarch and Dido the daughter of a mulatto slave. But the distance between them is only a few steps.
We begin the game with Prinny, who, in the early 1780s had a relationship with our lovely courtesan, Grace Dalrymple Elliott, who gave birth to a daughter who, Grace claimed was his. Georgina was the only illegitimate child that Prinny made payments to, so perhaps that was his way of acknowledging that she was his.
Now, Grace counted amongst her closest friends, Lady Seymour Worsley, for those who haven’t come across her before, she’s the one who found herself in court in February 1782, for criminal conversation, a euphemism for sex.
Amongst the men with whom Lady Worsley allegedly had an affair, was George, Viscount Deerhurst, later to become the 7th Earl of Coventry. Deerhurst was a bit of a ‘player’ and had previously eloped to Gretna Green with Lady Catherine Henley.
His father the then, 6th Earl of Coventry, totally disapproved of his son’s behaviour and banished him from the family home, so George took himself off to stay on the Isle of Wight, at Appuldurcombe, the home of Sir Richard Worsley and his wife, Lady Seymour Worsley – big mistake! He apparently ended up having a relationship with Lady Worsley (he was one of many, she was rumoured to have had well in excess of 20 lovers), but it was her infidelity with George Maurice Bisset that was the final nail in her coffin and she found herself in court, but George, Viscount Deerhurst, also found his name on this list of people with whom she had allegedly had ‘criminal conversation’.
Lord Mansfield was the trial judge in the case of Crim. Con. and he was also the guardian of Dido Elizabeth Belle. The trial took place in February 1782, so no doubt Dido, aged 20 would have been fully aware of it.
To add to the royal connection, Lord Mansfield, counted George III amongst his friends and a regular visitor to Caenwood (Kenwood) House, so it’s perfectly feasible that the royal family would have met or at least seen Dido. So it really was a small world.
Try this game for yourselves and if you can make connections like this from people in the 18th century we would love to hear from you as there must be plenty more out there.
For anyone not familiar with Harriette Dubochet who used the assumed surname of Wilson whilst alive, (although when buried her baptismal name was given) we would definitely recommend both volumes of her memoirs published in 1825, as they make fascinating reading and are online via Internet Archive.
Harriette lived life to the full and was virtually penniless at the end. Her death certificate gives cause of death as ‘old age’, although in all likelihood a cause of alcohol related disease might have been more accurate. As well as finding religion toward the end of her life, she also found the bottle. She was apparently extremely fond of brandy, to the point of dependency and was reported to have been having a tipple or several just 24 hours prior to her death.
We came across this extract from Frances Wilson’s book, The Courtesan’s Revenge and wanted to check out what became of Harriette’s siblings and possibly find Harriette’s burial.
Harriette’s place of burial has always been something of a mystery, but we can now reveal that she was buried at Brompton Cemetery and the location of her grave is still visible.
The newspapers were not at all kind to her in life as can be observed in this article about her in 1826.
The present appearance of this unfortunate woman makes it difficult to conceive that she could ever have been attractive, either as to person or manner: her features are now ugly and coarse, her person bad and her manners vulgar, with a harsh discordant voice.
A correspondent informs us that the notorious ‘Harriette Wilson’ resides at Chelsea and has become a convert to Popery, and is a very active promoter of the objects of the virtuous priesthood! What next? Is she a candidate for the office of a Lady Abbess, or Principal of a Nunnery?
And even more derogatory about her death:
We have now done with this woman, and we hope no stone will be erected to commemorate her memory and disgrace the place of her burial.
Back to her memoirs, she thought nothing of naming and shaming the gentlemen in whose company she and three of her sisters, Amy, Frances, better known as Fanny and Sophia spent much of their youth.
When Harriette wrote to the Duke of Wellington advising him she was about to publish her memoirs and that to keep his name out she wanted money from him, his famous response was reputed to have been ‘publish and be damned‘, so with that she went ahead and published (the famous phrase is probably not strictly accurate).
We’re not planning to revisit the memoirs in this article as there’s already more information about Harriette and her memoirs online than you can shake a stick at. We will, however, say that in a letter we came across, Harriette was described as being ‘the worst and wickedest bitch in the world’.
Harriette was one of 15 children (11 girls and 4 boys, not all of whom survived childhood), born to Amelia Gadsden, not Cook as previously named elsewhere, Amelia was raised by John Cook and his wife, which is probably where the error has come from and John James Dubochet, a Swiss coal merchant.
We have noticed that John seems to have had several occupations including that of a stocking cleaner, a mathematician and watch maker, but we have found no evidence to support this, on the children’s baptism and in his will, proven in 1826, he continued to give coal merchant as his occupation.
Little is known of several of Harriette’s siblings in particular that of the boys. The family seems to have been of mixed repute.
Rose (1799 – ?)
After her baptism there appears to be no proof that she survived into adulthood.
Known in Harriette’s memoirs as Diana, remained single and taught the piano from her home 34 Chapel Street, in the St Marylebone area of London.
Mary (1784 – ?)
Mary was referred to as Paragon, in Harriette’s memoirs. She married an Irish gentleman, Richard Borough(s), in 1812 in Dublin, and the couple went on to have four children, Mary, John, Henry and Augusta Sophia. At least one child was baptised in France so it looks likely that they remained there at least until Richard died at Calais in 1847.
Charlotte (1801 – 1873)
Charlotte, born 1801, married a surgeon and apothecary, William Jones Percival in 1825. The couple moved about with William’s business, from Poplar to Soham, Suffolk and finally to Birmingham to raise their family, where William ultimately took on the post of surgeon at the Kings Norton and Union Workhouse. After his death Charlotte moved to Aberystwyth to live with one of her three daughters, Mary Sophia and her husband the renowned Dr Charles Rice Williams and it was there that she died in 1873.
Julia Elizabeth (1814-1883)
Like her sister Jane, Julia also remained single and spent her later life living with her, by then, widowed sister and former courtesan, Sophia, Lady Berwick (1794-1875), at 7 Clarendon Crescent, Leamington Spa, Warwickshire. After the death of her sister, Julia moved to The Mansion, Richmond (now home to Richmond Golf Club).
Frances (Fanny) (1782-1815)
Also a courtesan who, according to Harriette, produced three children with her lover, then upon his death, moved on to have a relationship with a Colonel Parker, who in all likelihood was John Boteler Parker, the son of Sir Hyde Parker. She took his name as if they were married although they were not. Frances was buried in 1815, at Kensington as Frances Parker, her assumed surname.
Amelia, aka Amy (1781-1838)
Amelia, like her sisters, was a courtesan who had a relationship with George Campbell, 6th Duke of Argyll, with whom, according to Harriette she had a son around 1810, although there’s appear no proof of this and no baptism that we have found so far.
She did however marry the musician Nicholas Robert Charles Bochsa, in 1818 despite him still being married to the Marquis Ducrest’s daughter who was, apparently still alive. Bochsa was both famous and infamous throughout the Georgian and Victorian eras!
He was believed to have been born around 1789 in France, where he studied music at the Paris Conservatoire. Regarded as a child protégé he could play both the flute and piano competently, by the age of just seven. In 1813, he apparently became harpist to the Imperial Court, however, by 1817 he allegedly became involved in counterfeiting, fraud and forgery and fled to London to avoid being prosecuted. In his absence he was sentenced to twelve years hard labour and a fine of 4,000 Francs, so clearly, he was unlikely ever to return to his place of birth.
By 1821, the couple were the height of respectability, with Bochsa, in 1822, becoming one of the founders of the prestigious Royal Academy of Music, London together with John Fane, 11th Earl of Westmorland.
He was however, required to sever his ties with the Academy when news of his previous misdemeanours were discovered and two years later he was bankrupt, but became the musical director of the King’s Theatre, London. Newspapers began reporting that he not only committed the crimes of forgery and fraud, but also that he was a bigamist. We can find no proof of the final accusation, but there was probably some truth in his dubious reputation, as he found himself with a five-pound fine, this time for assault.
On 27th December 1837 Amelia died at her home, 2 Orchard Street, St Marylebone from an inflammation of the intestines and was subsequently buried at Kensal Green Cemetery.
Bochsa eloped with Mrs Anna Bishop, the wife of Sir Henry Rowley Bishop. Frances Wilson, in her book, queried whether Bochsa had eloped with Anna Bishop prior to Amy’s death; the jury’s out on that one, but clearly he wasn’t with her on the day she died as her death was not witnessed by him, but by a John Knight, a collector, who lived there with his wife, Sarah, eight children and their servants.
Bochsa and Bishop left England and reappeared eventually on the other side of the world, having spent the subsequent years touring Europe, America, Mexico and then Australia, where Anna appeared on stage as his protégé. They continued to perform on the stage until his death in 1856, in Sydney.
Harriette’s male siblings were Charles Frederick (1791 -?), Henry Cook , John Emmanuel and George Edward. Very little is known about the first three boys and in all likelihood Charles died during childhood, although there is no evidence of a burial for him.
John Emmanuel (1790-1821)
Apart from his birth and death, the only snippet of information about John comes from the marriage entry for his sister, Sophia, where he was present as a witness.
Henry Cook (1804-1855-9)
After his baptism, there is little known of Henry, apart from one mention of a brother to Lady Berwick in Naples, Italy in 1848. We eventually discovered his death dated simply as being sometime between 1855 and 1859, in Naples (British Armed Forces and Overseas deaths and burials records).
George married Christiana Hadden in 1816 and the couple had 4 children. At the baptism of their youngest child, George was a piano maker, then, by the time his youngest daughter married he had died, but had been ‘of the Treasury‘.
We also wrote a guest post a while ago about Harriette. In case you missed it why not hop over to Mike Rendell’s blog to find out more.
The London Gazette 1839
Berkshire Chronicle, 14 March 1829
John Bull 10 May 1840
Bell’s New Weekly Messenger 06 April 1845
Croome Collection at Worcestershire Archives.
The National Archives; Kew, England; Prerogative Court of Canterbury and Related Probate Jurisdictions: Will Registers; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1708
Following on from our previous articles about career choices in the eighteenth-century, from 1761, we have some more to share with you, so, here goes.
The boy, intended for this business, ought to be genteel, active and obliging. To have sweet breath and a light hand. The business of a barber is shaving and making periwigs. The former requires these qualifications and the latter, some ingenuity to imitate all the various fashions introduced by the folly of mankind. But in this trade little learning is necessary. Reading, writing and the common rules of arithmetic being sufficient. There are, however, some periwig makers who do not shave.
The barbers and periwig makers also make a kind of periwig for the ladies; among which they have imported a sort, impudently called the French, as if they intended to affront all the fair who wore them, Téte Moutons, or sheep’s heads. But the English ladies, from their complaisance for that nation, wear the wig, give it the French name and pocket the affront.
Cutting and curling of hair is also another branch of the barber’s business, though others apply themselves wholly to it and are therefore called hair cutters. The wages of a journeyman barber are but small, but if he has a good set of acquaintance and can be settled in a shop advantageously situated, he may set up with fifty pounds.
This is a very useful and extensive business, bellows being not only made for families, but also for organs, for blowing fresh air into mines and for carrying on a great number of mechanic arts, in many of which they are of very different sizes and constructions, and some of the prodigiously large. It is a profitable business for the master.
They make blue of indigo mixed with cheap materials for the use of the calico printers and dyers, and for bluing of linen when washed, but have nothing to do with the fine colours used in painting. It is a laborious business and is imagined to hurt the nerves. Those who keep shop get a good living. They take an apprentice from ten to twenty pounds, but they give low wages to a journeyman who works from six to eight.
The making of playing cards is a very easy business and requires neither judgment, strength nor ingenuity. It consists of pasting several sheets of paper upon each other and then printing off this card paper from wooden blocks. After which the court cards are coloured, the paper glazed and the cards cut out.
The chocolate maker
As the making of chocolate is hard work, mostly performed over a charcoal fire, which is apt to affect some constitutions, the boy who is to be put apprentice to it, ought to be strong and hardy. Chocolate is made of a fruit called cacao produced in the West Indies and other parts of the world. This is a kind of nut about the size of a walnut, which being stripped of its thin shell is worked upon a stone, till it is equally mellow, and then put into tin moulds in which it hardens, and from them receives the form of cakes. To perfume it they mix it with venello (vanilla).
The making of combs is divided between two branches – the ivory and the horn comb makers. The ivory comb makers buy the ivory plates, rasps them to a proper thickness and saws the teeth. They also make combs of box, tortoiseshell and sometimes of horn, in which case they buy the horn ready prepared.
The horn comb maker cuts the ox’s horn into several rings and splits each, when hot, pulls them open and then pressing them between hot iron plates until they are of a proper thickness, shapes them, and afterwards saws the teeth. The horn comb maker does not make combs of ivory etc.
Dial plate enameller
Those of this business make enamelled dial plates, which they sell to the watchmakers. They take the brass plates, cover them with white enamel when wet, make the numerals, and fix the enamel by fire.
This is a very nasty, stinking trade, much exposed to wet and cold, therefore not fit for weakly lads. The fellmongers buy up the skins of sheep and lambs, from which they discharge the wool, make the sheepskins into pelts, leather for breeches, alum leather etc. They take from five to twenty pounds with apprentices, who require only a common education. They give very poor wages to their journeymen.
The hatter or hat maker
The hatters, or hat makers, are those who work the wool, hair or fur into a proper substance for a hat. This is called felt. It is very slavish work, the men being continually stopping over the steam of a hot kettle and requires strong lads, who are taken apprentice with ten or fifteen pounds and frequently with nothing. But when out of their time, they may get, as journeymen fifteen or eighteen pounds a week, or set up in this branch with one hundred pounds.
This is a branch which requires very slender abilities to become a master of. He is partly a turner and buys his glass from the glasshouse. There are not many of them, though there are more hourglasses made than is generally imagined, especially for the sea, there not being a ship without several kinds of them, such as hour, half hour, quarter hour and minute glasses. The master will take an apprentice with five pounds who when out of his time may earn ten or twelves pounds a week or with twenty pounds may set up for himself.
The ink maker
Those who are solely employed in making black and red writing ink and ink-powder are but few in number because most retail stationers make ink to supply their own customers. The ink makers take no apprentices since whatever their secrets they may be possessed of it is in their own interest to keep them concealed.
The Loriner or bit maker
The loriner makes bits and all the ironwork belonging to a bridle, together with the stirrups. It is an ingenious and laborious branch of the smith’s business and the beauty of the work consists of filing and polishing.
This is a profitable business and requires a boy of activity and industry. The pastry cooks of London have many of their shops elegantly fitted up with carved work, gilding and looking glasses. They daily make all kinds of pastry and sometimes also deal in confections and jellies. They take ten or twenty pounds with an apprentice, who, when out of his time, may have about twenty pounds a year and his board by serving as journeyman, or if he sets up as a master, it will require 300 pounds at least to fit up a genteel shop with built-in ovens etc, but he may set up in a less splendid manner with a hundred pounds.
Snuff Box maker
The use of snuff has naturally produced the introduction of snuff boxes which are made not only of all kinds of metal, either plain, chased or embellished with stones, enamel, shells etc but of ivory, coal or even paper. This has introduced several different trades some of which the makers take ten or twenty pounds with an apprentice, in others not more than five pounds.
During the eighteenth and into the nineteenth-century it became fashionable and beneficial to enjoy the pleasures of swimming in the sea so, in order to preserve modesty, bathing machines were invented. These allowed the swimmer to enter the contraption fully clothed, undress and get into the water virtually unseen; to swim then return to the machine to get dressed again and leave through the entrance they had arrived through – all very discreet.
Scarborough, Yorkshire was reputed to have been an excellent place to swim in the 1730s, but as to whether they had bathing machines we’re really not sure. Certainly, by the 1770s as you can see above, the bathing machine was very much in evidence.
The first reference we came across of a bathing machine was in the Caledonian Mercury, dated 14th August 1750, although such a machine was believed to exist prior to this.
That the BATHING MACHINE will, from Monday next, be attended close from half flood to half ebb, every lawful day by Thomas Weir Carter in Leith; his station with the same is to be upon the sands to the west of the glasshouse, in order to carry such ladies and gentlemen who want to bathe. And no weather needs to stop the use of it, as by the contrivance persons may bathe securely, without being any ways exposed to the weather. It will hold four persons easily, furnished with pins to hang up their clothes, and clean napkins will be there ready for rubbing.
In 1754, the Whitehall Evening Post carried an advertisement for the
New invented machine for bathing in the sea. The machines move on four wheels, on which is erected a commodious dressing room, furnished in a genteel manner. The machine is contrived, that the persons who bathe descend from out of the above room into the bath, which forms itself in the natural sea, seven feet in length and five in breadth, all enclosed and railed, which renders it both secure and private. The machine during the last season met with genteel approbation; and in order to make still more useful, the proprietors have this season provided an additional machine with proper conveniences for bathing at all times. A woman is appointed to attend the ladies if desired.
As the fashion for swimming in the sea along with its reputed benefits grew, more and more coastal towns had their own machines, set up on the beach from Tynemouth, in the north, to Brighton in the south and everywhere in between.
One of the most famous people to develop a bathing machine was a Quaker, Benjamin Beale. However, in 1767 there was an immense storm in Margate and his bathing machines were damaged, as they had been twice before, in 1763 and 1764. His loss on this occasion was estimated to be worth over £1,000 and it totally wiped out his business. So much so that Sir John Shaw and a Dr Hawley, of Great Russell Street, sought assistance for him, to enable him to rebuild his business. This was successful and the business was rebuilt, and Benjamin continued his trade until his death in 1775.
As the fashion for sea swimming caught on others developed their own business too, such as these trade cards shows for the ‘The Dunn’s machine’ and ‘The Phillpot’s machine’.
In 1770, Margate became so popular that it even produced its own holiday guide containing
a particular account of Margate, with respect to its new building, assemblies, accommodations, manners of bathing, remarkable places in its neighbourhood and whatever else may be thought necessary for the information of strangers.
Swimming in the sea was a risky affair and there were quite a few incidents recorded of accidental death due to drowning. Other incidents were less dramatic, but somewhat embarrassing, such as the one noted in the St James Chronicle of 1778 when a bathing machine containing ten people capsized. Most escaped to shore… but minus their clothes. There were also reports of people having a few too many drinks, climbing into the bathing machines to sleep off their excesses and the tide changing and them waking up the next morning to find themselves in the sea.
Apparently, in 1794, two dignified ladies decided as a wager to swim from one bathing machine to another, one was seized with a cramp, but not being out of her depth was rescued. Hopefully, the wager wasn’t too high!
Men and women were segregated for the sake of women’s modesty, but occasional incidents happened where women had to be saved by a gentleman when they swam out of their depth – a few red faces there then!
Here’s a bit of newspaper gossip for you from The Public Advertiser, October 1791.
Man caught in bathing machine with woman, both naked at the time.
Sorry to spoil your fun, it transpired that they were actually husband and wife, but still, it made the newspaper.
Of course, when in Weymouth, the royal family enjoyed a swim, especially George III but apparently his daughter, the Princess Royal, less so as she appeared to feel the cold more and looked half-frozen after her swim.
To finish we couldn’t resist sharing this image of Prinny, The Prince Regent – no words!
Bathing Machine on Southsea Common. c1788. Yale Centre for British Art
Admit it – many of you are scratching already, aren’t you? I was whilst writing this if I’m honest. One of our readers asked about turpentine being used to kill head lice and this set us off to find out more about the subject and somehow ending up looking at how they dealt with bed bugs (buggs as they were known, somewhere we lost that second ‘g’) in the eighteenth century.
They were clearly a major problem, with many cures being offered to eliminate these little critters such as this from ‘The family jewel, and compleat housewife’s companion or, the whole art of cookery made plain and easy’ by Penelope Bradshaw in 1754.
If your room is very bad, take a pound of rolled brimstone, if there’s only a few, then lay it on the charcoal and get out of the room as fast as you can, or it will take away your breath. Shut the door close, with the blanket over it; and be sure to set it so as nothing can catch fire; if you have any India Pepper throw it in with the Brimstone. Do not open the door under six hours, and then let the door stand open an hour before you go in to open the windows, then brush and sweep your room very clean, wash it well with boiling water. Get a pint of spirits of wine, a pint of spirit of turpentine and an ounce of camphire, shake all well together, and with a bunch of feathers wash your bedstead very well, sprinkle the rest o over your feather-bed and about the wainscot and room.
If you find great swarms about the room, and some not dead, do this over again, and you will be quite clear. Every Spring and Autumn wash your bedstead with half a pint, and you will never have a bug; but if you find any come in with new goods, boxes etc only wash your bedstead and sprinkle it all over your bedding and bed, and you will be clear, but be sure to do it as soon as you find one. If your room is really bad it will be well to paint it.
Here we have an advert from the Daily Post of Thursday, May 18, 1738 from a gentleman offering to eliminate the critters:
Whereas I have for several years, with success, made it my business to destroy those numerous vermin call’d BUGGS, at a reasonable price, being done without the least damage to either bed, bedding or furniture, be the same ever so good; and what is used is without any offensive smell. I likewise undertake hospitals, or other large buildings, and after I have destroyed them, if any should happen the following year to be brought in by people’s cloaths, from other houses, which may happen to new furniture rather than to those I have cured and cleaned, owing to the Power of Nature of what is used, then and in such case I promise to cure them gratis. Those noble persons waited upon my directing to me, JOHN WILLIAMS, at the following coffee-houses, viz. Janeway’s in Cornhill, Richard’s near Temple-Bar.
And this one from Peter Braniff in the Public Advertiser, Saturday, May 17, 1760.
BUGGS, be the ever so intolerable, are effectively destroyed, no cure, no money by Peter Braniff at Number 4, the upper end of Union-court, Holborn, opposite St Andrew’s church; and as his name is so well-known to thousands of people of the best rank, who have employed him to their satisfaction, he refers them for a character before he is employed, which can be had in any division or neighbourhood all over London. Further satisfaction, to enquire at the British Lying-in Hospital, or the City of London Hospital.
So, how much did it cost to get rid of beds buggs – well, that of course varied upon the size of the room and quite frankly, Peter Braniffs’ charges were confusing to say the least, but given that he had a wife and six children support he would have wanted to make as much money as possible. (Peter died in 1769, of consumption, possibly an occupational hazard).
From 5 shillings to seven shillings and six pence, to ten shillings and six pence, to five shillings and some a guinea. Those who please to favour him with their commands, shall be waived on, and shall have twelve months’ time for trial, provided the sum be large. N.B. What he makes use of has no smell neither does it hurt the furniture, and if no alteration is made after he has done, the Buggs will never return, nor breed any more in them during life.
Of course, institutions such as hospitals and the workhouse were expected to maintain high standards of cleanliness, as we see here in this extract from ‘An Account of several work-houses for employing and maintaining the poor’ 1732:
Nurses take care to search all the beds for fleas, buggs and other vermin, once a week, of oftener if occasion; and to have all their beds made, and to sweep and clear their respective wards, every Monday between the hours of eight and ten; that every ward be washed once a week or oftener, as need shall require, and the windows be kept open in all, except the sick-wards, every day during dinner, to air the rooms, except in very rainy weather.
Sleep well tonight everyone and don’t let the bed buggs bite!
If you’d like to find out about flea traps follow the highlighted link – it’ll only make you scratch even more, you have been warned!
With the turn for the century, fashions began to change from the tight-laced bodiced dresses to a softer, flimsy and floating style, often made from lightweight fabrics. Presumably it was this change of style that required women to preserve their modesty, so, on that note we’re delighted to welcome a new guest to our blog, Sarah Waldock, who describes herself as ‘a Regency romance author with a morbid interest in drains and underwear’.
The post has come about following conversations we’ve had with Sarah Waldock, about one of our previous articles regarding whether Georgian women wore knickers or not! So we’ll hand over to her to tell you more.
This goes back to an assertion I made that yes, there were drawers worn by ladies in the Regency period as I had seen ads for them. Only when I uncovered the following ad, two words – invisible dresses – leaped out at me.
Radford’s Hosiery, 52 Cheapside
All manner of hosiery, gloves, flannels, drawers, ladies’ invisible dresses….
So going a bit further, I found
Mrs. Morris, once Mrs. Robertshaw, invisible dresses, petticoats, drawers and waist coats of real Spanish lamb’s wool, Welch Flannel Warehouse, 100 Oxford Street.
Plainly Mrs. Morris is a cut above Mr. Radford, being in Oxford Street where you pay three guineas a lungful to breathe [not that Cheapside was especially cheap; the name comes from the same source as Chapman, a peddler, from OE for goods for sale].
Digging around, I initially discover Mr. Radford advertising as far back as the 1st of January 1806 both the ‘Newly invented’ invisible petticoat and drawers, which is the earliest mention of drawers I had yet to find – at that point.
And then a bit of luck.
An unnamed seller advertises on Tuesday 17th September 1811;
New-invented invisible dresses [I hear you say, hang on, Radford and Morris had them in 1810; it’s the way of making them which is new invented] all in one, of a superior style for ladies and children … for ready money only, at no. 16 Poultry.
All in one, which is interesting; it suggests that invisible petticoats and waists have been combined. And in the same year, 21 December, 1811, Mr. Radford is back with his own take on this:
New-invented Brunswick invisible dresses that are such a preventative against colds and are patronised by the Royal Family.
There are also ads from him advertising them for ladies and children, reinforcing the idea that these are practical garments, no mere modesty pieces. These garments are for warmth to prevent the silly and fashionable chits in muslins from dying of pneumonia at winter balls.
I then looked up ‘Brunswick’ in the ‘Fairchild Dictionary of Textiles’. It gave me:
“A twilled wool and cotton fabric similar to cassimere”[Cassimere was a soft woollen twill cloth invented in Bradford and often combined with cotton, silk or mohair].
Now, Mr. Radford was also advertising cotton invisible petticoats in June and July of 1806, so maybe they were there as modesty pieces as well. I don’t have any more on that, nor on whether they were stockinet flesh coloured garments, like the drawers mentioned by Nicky Roberts in ‘Whores in History’ [Harper Collins 1992] to be worn under the notorious dampened muslins. It wasn’t mentioned. However I am seeing, I hope not spuriously, a connection between drawers and invisible gowns, which is an impression strengthened by a few more ads.
And this one from Mrs. Robertshaw [before she was Mrs. Morris] is the winner.
30th September 1806
SPANISH LAMBSWOOL INVISIBLE PETTICOATS
Mrs. Robertshaw begs leave to inform those ladies that found their invisible petticoats shrunk last winter that she has a kind so much improved that she will warrant them never to shrink even in the commonest wash, at the same time will be found equally as soft, pliant and warm. Everybody that has tried them allows them to be a much pleasanter article than ever before invented, being so very elastic[a word merely meaning at the time having some stretch or give] and of so beautiful a white, and, like all these comforts will add quite as little to size as her patent lambs’ wool so much approved of last winter. Likewise invisibles and stays all in one; well adapted to ladies that are confined; also under waist coats and drawers of the same description.
The ad goes on to invite mail order purchase, but what seems suggestive here is that the drawers are also for warmth as the implication is that they are also lambswool [and possibly either knitted or woven as a knit-weave like gents’ pantaloons]
The implication is also that this is not the earliest date.
So this is the ad I found, on 21st October 1805.
Spanish lamb’s wool invisible petticoats; Mrs. Robertshaw…. large assortment of her large assortment of real patent invisible petticoats which ladies will find soft, warm and pleasant at the same time adding little to the size.
Patent. A suggestive word, though I have a gut feeling that a lot of advertisers threw it around without applying for a patent. However, it does suggest that warm underclothes under skimpy top clothes was a recent response to the changes in fashion, having to be lightweight themselves rather than adding a quilted petticoat as one might do in earlier times.
The latest ad I found was in 1815, Friday 22nd December. Mrs. Morris is no longer reminding people that she was Mrs. Robertshaw before.
Ladies opera dresses, drawers, waistcoats, invisible petticoats – Mr. [sic] Morris manufacturer to the Royal Family respectfully informs those ladies that have patronised her patent invisible petticoat, opera under-dresses, drawers and waistcoats …. that she has manufactured an entire fresh and extensive assemblage.
I searched up to 1820 but could find no more ads. But after 1816, the year without a summer, the climate warmed up. Could it be that woolly longjohns and flannel petticoats disappeared for a lack of need for them?
As to earlier, in 1804 Mr. Radford was bad-mouthing those who sold inferior quality whilst proclaiming his own cheap but quality hosiery. He mentions flannels again. Was this a euphemism for flannel drawers? I haven’t tracked that down.
On 13th November 1804 he is advertising elastic cotton and other drawers in with his hosiery, gloves, lace mitts and lace sleeves. He is mentioned on 12th May 1803 as a hosier, and taking on the rent somewhere in an article too faded for me to read.
Mrs. Robertshaw however turns up in December 1804, or rather, Mr. W, Robertshaw does, at the same address, 100 Oxford Street, with a hosiery and pantaloon warehouse with fresh Spanish lambs wool and Angola waistcoats and drawers. Mrs. Robertshaw.
…begs the attention of the ladies to her patent Bath and elastic lambs wool petticoats and drawers, which ladies will find soft, warm and pleasant at the same time to add very little to size.
So, they are not yet invisible! Bath was a soft woollen cloth comparable to superfine; Bath suiting was often used for men’s jackets. It moulded nicely to the muscular form of the Corinthian.
Apart from the existence of W Robertshaw, Hosier, 100 Oxford Street in January 1804, the Robertshaws too disappear. Two families of Hosiers, whose brief, decade-long production of underwear excites the interest two hundred years later.
In a recent article, we looked at disability in the 18th-century and about people with no arms using their feet as an alternative, some of whom created the most beautifully delicate watch papers. One of our readers asked what more we knew about watch papers, our reply being –’not very much!‘
Always up for a challenge though, we set about seeing what else we could find, and we confess, this article is a little self-indulgent with some lovely images of watch papers which remarkably have survived in some cases for over two hundred years, most will have been lost or damaged over time, making survivors quite rare.
It was believed that initially watch papers were a form of protection for the mechanism itself, which may well be correct, they then developed into the equivalent of a trade card, which for our regular readers you will be aware that we have looked at before and have a great interest in. Early eighteenth-century watch papers appear to have been made of either paper or very fine linen. This developed in the later part of the century to include crotched or silk watch papers.
Watch papers would have been a fabulous of advertising your wares, inside the watch so every time the wearer opened it they would see an advert for the watchmaker and see what else they sold. As you can see from this image:
The Cambridge Intelligencer September 1795 carried the following advertisement
COPPERPLATE PRINTING IN GENERAL
Barford begs leave to inform his friends and the public, that he prints mezzotints, fine engravings, banker’s cheques, tutor’s bills, watch papers and music.
The British Museum has several watch papers and this one was used by John Oglethorpe, born 1823, who appears on the census returns as being of Kirkby Thore, Cumbria where was he described himself as a watch cleaner and repairer, a trade he would have learnt from his father Samuel.
This beautiful watch shows the watch paper placed inside with the makers’ name clearly visible both on the mechanism itself and on the advert on the watch paper – Thomas Bullock of Claverton Street Bath, who we discovered was trading there in 1770.
The next belonged to Camerer and Cuss, New Oxford Street. The watch paper is very plain, and we haven’t been able to locate the company, however, it nicely fits into the Georgian era, as they were trading ‘since 1788’.
Our next one shows the watch paper of a gentleman by the name of Goldsworthy. He was an Edward Goldsworthy of Exeter, who died in April 1824, aged 73 in Chelsea.
Edward was working in his home city of Exeter and here we see him in 1788 taking on an apprentice clock-maker.
Tempus Fugit! This one seems a little morbid, reminding you of impending death each time you open the watch. It is an advert for George Frankcom of Portsea, Hampshire. Frankcom must have moved to Hampshire after completing his apprenticeship which he began in 1792.
To finish, we have very kindly been given a stunning watch paper to include, by Mike Rendell (Georgian Gentleman)
Richard cut it out when his first wife died – it must have taken hours. It shows her coffin in a template, with her name, age and date of death. I still have the pen knife he would have used to make it (i.e. the knife he used to make pens from quills). It is incredibly sharp even after 250 years! He must have had excellent eyesight – and a very steady hand).
The Georgians enjoyed nothing more than a spectacle be it the ‘freak shows’ or the sight of new animals, but something which caught their attention in the 1780s was a pig … no ordinary pig, but one who could perform tricks, so we thought as a bit of light relief, we would share a few anecdotes about this curious animal and leave you to draw your own conclusions as to the truth of any of it.
By all accounts the pig had previously been owned by a Scotsman, Samuel Bisset, although there were also reports that it was a native of Ireland, educated in Chester, so, we’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions from that.
After the death of Bisset, the pig became the property of a John Nicholson, who toured the country with his ‘learned pig’. The pig was not the first creature who he had worked with, oh no! Nicholson possessed a peculiar power over animals, he taught a turtle to fetch and carry, a hare to beat a drum with its hind feet; he taught six cocks to perform a country dance; his three cats to play several tunes on the dulcimer with their paws and to imitate Italian opera, but he became best known for conquering the natural obstinacy and stupidity of a pig by teaching him to unite the letters of any person’s name, count the number of people in the room, the hour and minutes of any watch, etc.
Mid 1784, Nicholson took the pig on tour, covering Leeds, Wakefield, The Assembly Rooms in Derby, Nottingham, Northampton and onward to London.
In April 1785 however, Nicholson was invited along with his learned friend to attend Brooks’s gentlemen’s club, one of the oldest in London, to perform at a private exhibition, which according to the newspapers didn’t go quite as expected:
A good deal of confusion arose to the master of the pig and the company present, from the improper questions which were put to this grunting philosopher. He counted the company well enough; but when he was asked how many Patriots were present, snorted at every member, and looked around for fresh orders.
How many are there present who are six pence clear of encumbrances? The pig stood still.
How many honest gentlemen? The pig would not stir.
Here the master was obliged to apologise and in a confounded passion whipped the pig and beat a hasty retreat.
Despite this slight hiccup, by all accounts this was a lucrative little earner for Nicholson as he was reputed to be making over one hundred guineas a week with his ‘grunting philosopher’.
There was great excitement when it was announced that the learned pig was visiting a town, with newspapers giving all the hype you would expect.
We hear from Colchester, that there is arrived in that place, and to be seen during the fair, that most sagacious animal the learned pig, that so long and so deservedly engaged the attention of the nobility and gentry at Charing Cross and afterwards at Sadler’s Wells, where he met with universal applause to the end of the season. The above curiosity is expected in Ipswich as soon as Colchester Fair is over.
We couldn’t resist including this article from the Chester Chronicle of 1792.
Nicholson’s learned pig has, we hear, lately arrived from Oxford, where he was admitted a fellow of Brazen-Nose* college, and is now returned to his seat at Bunbury, in this county, with those two profound marks of erudition A.M. annexed to his name – the learned in that neighbourhood say ‘it would do your heart good to hear him grunt Greek’.
The idea of a performing pig was not restricted to just this one, apparently there were several, but who knows. As we’ve said, the concept of a talking pig was a money spinner, but also a great excuse to poke fun at the government, nobility and academia, so we’ll end this with a little ditty we came across.
Gruntledum, gruntledum, gruntledum, squeak,
I hope very soon to be able to speak;
Thou’ my gristly proboscis I find that I can
Already cry ‘aye’, like a parliament man:
Like a maid I can squeak, like a lover can whine,
And snort like an Alderman laden with wine.
Gruntledum, gruntledum, gruntledum, squeak,
I hope very soon to be able to speak.
* In case you wondered, no this is isn’t a typo on our part!
Cumberland Pacquet, and Ware’s Whitehaven Advertiser 21 September 1785
The Royal Humane Society was founded in London in 1774 by two eminent medical men, Dr William Hawes (shown in the header picture at the bedside) and Dr Thomas Cogan, who were keen to promote techniques of resuscitation.
We think of resuscitation as something relatively modern, however, in 1775, The Royal Humane Society produced a booklet entitled ‘Address for extending the benefits of a practice for recovery from accidental death’.
It would appear that after several fatal drownings they felt it beneficial to write a booklet to advise people how to assist someone who appeared to be dead and a variety of techniques that could be used to revive them. We thought we would share some with you.
Firstly, the body should, if found outdoors, be taken by hand cart or other means available indoors where it would be warmer. It should be stripped with all speed, warmed in blankets in front of a fire, gently moved and shaken. Rubbing the body, especially the backbone, the belly, the breast, neck and head is one of the most efficacious operations. Some recoveries it is said were owed to that alone. It should be performed with cloths, often of flannel, warmed and sprinkled over with brandy, rum or gin and a volatile spirit.
A bed warmed naturally or artificially is of great use or stone bottles filled with hot water, also heated bricks, wrapped in a flannel should be efficaciously laid at the feet, sides and hands.
The next stage was to blow smoke of common tobacco into the intestines via the bowels. It was said to be easier to administer with the use of a fumigator. Bellows could be used to force up either vapour or common air. The use of tobacco should only be used on strong bodies i.e. men. For weak and delicate persons i.e. women and children, the use of dried rosemary, marjoram and mint should be used instead. At the same time, the belly must be gently moved and pressed upward with the hand. This must be continued until signs of life are obtained.
The idea was to get the blood circulating again. This should be continued for an hour or two.
Do not become discouraged if it takes longer
Towards the latter end, volatile spirits and salts may have a beneficial effect. Wine and cordials had the greatest effect once the body had recovered a little from its insensible state but must be given at not more than a spoonful at a time and must be allowed to go down slowly.
Bleeding should not be omitted once the blood has warmed up enough to get a drop out of the veins. However, before the blood was liquified this would have no effect and once circulation had started. The use of ligatures necessary to stop blood loss would counteract the attempt to revive circulation.
Next, we have the eighteenth-century version of what today we refer to as Cardio Pulmonary Massage, better known as (CPR) or mouth-to-mouth. It was a Dr John Fothergill, of Yorkshire, who gave a lecture to the Royal Society in London in 1745 about mouth-to-mouth.
To put blood in motion force air in at the mouth, holding the nose and stroking the breast, to distend the lungs and raise the chest with the hand to them act on each other and produce motion, are happily attempted: also, such irritation which causes retching and sneezing, are properly excited in the throat and nose with a crow feather, or some stimulating drug.
The booklet reports that many recoveries despaired of were obtained by an uninterrupted treatment of five or six hours duration.
The air of the room in which the treatment is performed being better than that immediately breathed by the operator, a small clean bellows may be used by a second person, while the first holds it in the mouth and keeps the nostrils closes. Some dextrous persons attempt to convey the air through a metal pipe, called a ‘cannula’, having a crooked end, which with the finger, they cautiously guide into the wind-pipe, to produce a more immediate effect.
The public was advised that if anyone appeared to have died suddenly either by choking, drowning, strangulation or suffocation they should immediately be taken to the nearest hospital or parish workhouse where treatment could be administered. Watermen were advised that if they found a body which appeared not to have been in the water for long that they should carefully roll it or hold it upside down to remove the water from inside the body.
One of the main concerns that people naturally had, was about people being buried alive. This guide attempted to prevent such events from happening.
A man recuperating in bed at a receiving-house of the Royal Humane Society, after resuscitation by Dr William Hawes and JC Lettsom from near drowning. Watercolour by R. Smirke. Wellcome Library
Not all women in the eighteen-century were able to marry a wealthy aristocrat, in fact very few did, the majority had to hold down a job as well as running the home and raising children. We thought today we would follow on from an earlier article in which we looked at eighteenth-century careers and have picked out a few of the career options listed in Joseph Collyer’s book of 1761, that were deemed suitable for girls and women, of which of course, there were only a limited number, far fewer choices than for men.
There are several sorts of basket-maker. Some who form baskets of green oziers (willow), chiefly for the use of gardeners. These are the most considerable branches; for some of the masters employ many hands, and also rent large ozier plantations; which not only produce sufficient for themselves, but many to spare. This part of the work requires no other abilities but strength and application. Another sort of basked makers make finer works with rods stripped, split, halved and dyed; or with split cane or dyed straw of various colours. The workers in the finer sort of baskets, which are chiefly to be found in the turner’s shops, require less strength and more ingenuity. This is chiefly carried out by girls and women who make the smaller wares.
This was once a trade of universal use, but now bodices are worn by none but the poorer sort of women and girls in the country. They are made of canvas and whale-bone or cane and sometimes leather. Women are principally employed in making them; they can get six or seven pounds a week and require no great qualification. Their apprentices are generally parish children, whom they take with little or nothing. As their dealings are mostly in the country, they require a pretty large stock; most of them now deal also in ordinary stays, by which means they make a handsome livelihood.
The greatest part of the mohair, silk and horsehair buttons are made in the county and sent up to shops in town. Those made here are chiefly livery buttons, or some patterns particularly bespoke. Those who work at this are chiefly women, who are paid by the dozen and are able to get but a poor living. The boy or girl designed for the business of making gold and silver buttons ought to have some fancy and genius, that they may be able to invent new fashions. They should also have good eyes and a dry hand. The lace-man furnishes them with all the material for his buttons, except the moulds and pays him for the work when done.
These are shopkeepers who make and sell caps for men or women to travel in and also men’s morning caps. They deal in many sorts of millinery goods, such as ladies’ hats, bonnets, cloaks, cardinals, short aprons, hoods, handkerchiefs, or almost anything made of black silk or velvet. Their apprentices ought to be smart girls of a genteel appearance, they should work well at their needles and be ready accomptants. They serve only five years and are kept the first part of their time close to the needle. Once qualified they may be cap-makers but may also be shop women to the milliners, the haberdashers or to any buying and selling trade proper for women.
Child’s coat maker
This branch of business is generally performed by women and is a pretty profitable employ. They take ten or fifteen pounds with a girl; who ought to be ingenious, handy and a tolerable needle-woman. The boning part is hard work for the fingers, but the rest is easy enough. As the apprentice must appear neat and gentle, and, when out of her time, must depend on a good acquaintance this trade is not fit for the children of people in low circumstances; but for those a little above the vulgar it is a very proper one. A journey-woman may get a pound a day in summer, but they are generally out of business some of the winter months.
Fan painting is an ingenious business and requires skill in drawing, in perspective, in the proper disposition of the lights and shades and in laying on the colours. This business is however almost ruined by the introduction of printers fan-mounts. Therefore it would be a pity that any ingenious girl, who has a taste for drawing should be put apprentice to it.
The gilding of metals is a very profitable and at the same time a dangerous business with respect to those who perform the work, occasioned by the quicksilver used in this art, which is apt to affect their nerves and render their lives a burden to them; whence the trade is but in a few and some of them women. Gilding is performed with the following amalgam of gold and Quicksilver. The gold is then heated in a crucible and when just ready to flow, three or four times the weight of quicksilver is poured upon it and immediately quenched in water, both together become a soft substance like butter. When the artist intends to gild, the piece is rubbed with aqua fortis and then covered with the amalgam. When is all covered over and smother it is held over a charcoal fire, by which means the mercury evaporates and the gold remains upon the piece. The artist then rubs off all the roughness and at the same time spreads the gold with an instrument called a scratch brush, the work is then burnished to give the colour wanted.
Quilting is chiefly performed by the women, but there are some masters, who employ a number of women and girls in making bed quilts for the upholsterers. The women of this business not only make bed quilts but quilted petticoats. They either take poor girls as apprentices, whom they keep for the sake of their work or have a small for learning those grown up, whom they afterwards pay about ten or twelve pounds a week.
These are more frequently women than men. They make tassels for pulpit cushions, window curtain cords and for a variety of other uses. These tassels are made of gold or silver thread, silk, mohair or worsted, worked over a mould. When tassels were worn by the ladies to their mantels, this was exceedingly good employment, and many families go a genteel maintenance by it, but now, I believe, it is hardly worth learning. The masters take girls out of the schools and parish children with little or no money who, if in good hands, may, when out of their time, be able to get six or eight pounds a week as journey-women, or may set up with a very little. All materials being found from the lace or worsted men.
Thirty years ago this business gave many women in London genteel bread; but now the ladies cannot be dressed with elegance, except by a French barber, or one who passes for such, by speaking broken English, adjust and curls their hair at the exorbitant price of a crown or half a guinea a time. Our grandmothers thought it bordered on immodesty to appear with their heads uncovered; but probably our grandchildren, despising such narrow prejudices, may not be ashamed of going naked from the waist upwards or of having men chamberlains or dressers. I believe the few women, who now cut hair, cannot live by the employment and therefore need to say nothing of the terms on which they teach others.
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As we’ve discussed in previous articles, those pesky Georgians struck again with their diverse ways of taxing people. We have previously looked at a whole range of taxes from hair powder tax and window tax that were implemented during the 1700s, but we came across a tax which appears to have proposed from much earlier than we had thought – the dog tax.
This was initially proposed in 1758, along with, interestingly, a bachelor tax which was a tax on bachelors aged over 25 and widowers under 50 having no children.
Returning to the dog tax, in our research, we have never come across an Act of Parliament that has been so divisive nor taken Parliament quite so long to pass – nearly forty years!! Parliament simply could not agree on the best way to implement it.
Initially, the plan was relatively simple.
A tax for one dog of 1 shilling, for two dogs 5 shillings and for every dog between two and ten 5 shillings each. Between twenty and forty – £10 and for more than forty – £20.
Clearly this was an extremely unpopular option and eventually, after four years of debate, the whole concept was dropped in favour of a horse tax.
However, it reared its head again in the 1782 budget which said that there was to be:
An annual tax of ten guineas on every pack of hounds and five shillings for every other game dog.
This bill took a further two years to be passed by Cabinet and to then be heard in Parliament by which time they had firmed up the actual tax, which of course had increased and was more specific. It is interesting to note that a ‘guide dog’ was to be exempt.
The dog-tax bill, it is said, has passed in the Cabinet and we apprehend will be carried into the House at the ensuing Meeting of Parliament.
Greyhounds and Lurchers are to be paid for at the rate of twenty shilling each
Pointers and all other dogs of sport, ten shilling each
And dogs of different descriptions, such as mastiffs, lap-dogs etc five shillings each.
Blind men’s dogs should be exempted for the tax.
A person who keeps a flock of sheep, can very well afford to pay for his shepherd dog.
It all went quiet for a while as this proposal was thrown out by Parliament, as the collection of such a tax was deemed too difficult. However, feelings around the country ran high about the taxation of dogs, both for and against as can be seen in this letter to William Pitt the Younger, in March 1791.
Finally, according to the Staffordshire Advertiser of 19th March 1796, William Pitt gave his support to a dog tax. The tax of two shillings and sixpence (half a crown), was to be paid by all dog owners, with just a few exceptions.
This was not the end of it, however, as the battles on either side of the argument continued, so much so that even Parliament itself commented on that fact that this proposal had been kicked around for nearly forty years – clearly, they couldn’t agree on how or if to implement it.
A simple proposal was put forward that with the exception of guide dogs that everyone who owned a dog should pay a flat tax of two shillings and sixpence, which was estimated would generate an income of £125,000 per annum.
But no! This option was not suitable. Goodness, how this debate dragged on, it even became so dramatic that there was talk in Parliament of possible bloodshed across the Kingdom over it! One of the main problems appears to have been the emotional attachment we have to dogs.
Finally, we found the wording of the Act, in a newspaper dated 11th June 1796. This was nothing like keeping it simple. If it could be made complicated, then Parliament really did manage to achieve this. See what you make of it. We think it’s as clear as mud and the reference to guide dogs appears to have vanished.
The words of the Act are “That from and after the 5th day of July 1796, every person who shall keep any Greyhound, Hound, Pointer, Setting Dog, Spaniel, Lurcher or Terrier or who shall keep two or more dogs, of whatever description or denomination shall be charged and assessed annually with the sum of five shillings for each Greyhound, Pointer, Setting dog, Spaniel, Lurcher or Terrier;
and also, for each dog, where two or more dogs shall be kept, and every person who shall inhabit any dwelling house, assessed toto any of the duties on inhabited houses, or on windows or lights, and shall keep one dog and no more, such dog not being a Greyhound, Pointer, Setting dog, Spaniel, Lurcher or Terrier, shall be charged and assessed annually, with the sum of three shillings for such dog.
There are clauses which provide, that the duty shall not extend to dogs not six months old, and that gentlemen keeping hounds may compound for any number, on paying this year fifteen pounds, and every subsequent one, twenty pounds; as it is understood only three-fourths of the tax are to be collected this year.”
It’s no wonder that people began to complain about it and try to find loopholes to avoid paying – and in this instance below – winning. This remained in place until 1882.
A gentleman near Warwick, who keeps only one dog merely for the purpose of a house-dog, returned it as such to the Surveyor of Taxes. That return was objected to because, it was insisted, the dog, of a spaniel kind, was liable to the higher rate of duty, the same a sporting dog. The gentleman remonstrated; stating that the dog not being, in his opinion, a true sporting spaniel, but a common mongrel, did not, therefore, come within the letter of the Act of Parliament; and, at all events, not being trained nor even used for the purpose of sporting, most certainly did not fall within the spirit and meaning of the act. The remonstrance was, however, unavailing: and notice of an appeal was given. The case was heard before the Commissioners at Wellesbourne, when, without a moment’s hesitation, it was decided against the Surveyor of Taxes.
As it’s Valentine’s day we thought we would have a romantic post, however, this has become a confusing one instead and one for which we don’t as yet has a conclusive answer. Everywhere we have looked to find out more about tiered wedding cakes or bride cake as it was previously called, there appear to be two different accounts as to who the cook was that originated it.
There are accounts in national newspapers, magazines and blogs with different versions. One says the tiered wedding cake first came about in 1703 and was made by a cook named Thomas Rich of Ludgate Hill who, as an apprentice, fell in love with his master’s daughter, married her and baked a beautiful tiered cake for the wedding based upon the steeple of nearby St Bride’s church.
The other version is very nearly the same story, except that it relates to a William Rich. The only difference is the date, William (1755-1812) of 3 Ludgate Hill, was said to have married the daughter of his boss, one Susannah Prichard in 1776.
Whilst we’re unable to validate any information about the first possible candidate, as apprenticeship indentures didn’t begin until 1710 we can’t prove that there either was or there wasn’t a Thomas Rich of Ludgate Hill who was a cook, but we have, however, found records for a William Rich, who was apprenticed as a cook, but much later. On that basis alone he appears a more likely candidate.
We have also found the marriage allegation and bond for William to a Susannah in 1776. This is where the story begins to unravel. Firstly, Susannah Prichard (born 1758), was the daughter of a Davis Pritchard, a peruke maker, not a cook as we were expecting to see if the story was true.
Secondly, we have found that William was born 23rd March 1754 in Long Newnton, on the Gloucestershire border with Wiltshire, the son of Stiles Rich and his wife Mary Neale. Next, we found the Freedom of the City Admission paper for William which supports that we had found the correct person as it confirms him as the son of Stiles Rich, a yeoman in Wiltshire. The document confirms that William, aged just thirteen had been apprenticed to William Stiles, a cook, for seven years from 9th April 1767, so married his bride some two years after completing his apprenticeship.
It doesn’t mean for one minute mean that William didn’t make the cake for his bride, Susannah, but it does disprove the theory that she was the daughter of William’s master – wrong name!
William and Susannah lived at 4 Ludgate Hill, not number 3 as others have stated, but number 2, as this was confirmed in the register for St Bride’s church where the couple had seven of their children baptised. Their eldest child, Mary Ann Elizabeth Moon Rich was baptised in 1777 just nine months after their marriage, with their youngest child, Margaret being born 1801, 34 years after their marriage. They had a total of twelve children.
William died 24th January 1811 and not 1812 as we have seen recorded elsewhere and left a very lengthy will providing for his family and friends. We do know that he died quite a wealthy man, so his baking skills were profitable, and that he was commissioned to bake for the great and the good of the day. We also know from the newspaper report of his death that he had clearly diversified from just baking into being a dealer of venison too. Susanna died the previous year and both were buried at St Bride’s church.
It’s easy to see how the story has become confused over the years and whatever the truth it’s a lovely story of boy meets girl, boy makes a beautiful tiered wedding cake for their big day, so let’s leave it at that and assume that there is a grain of truth in it. A fragment of Susannah’s wedding dress and a party dress belonging to her seems to have survived and was on display at St Bride’s church at some time.
We know that Mrs Raffald’s wrote a recipe for bride cakes which involved layers of cake with a filling, almond icing, then sugar icing, but there’s nothing to confirm that this involved using layers of cake to make tiers. It seems perfectly feasible that William adapted this recipe and created several of Mrs Raffald style cakes tiered up to look like the nearby St Bride’s church for his own wedding. This may be a myth, but we quite liked it.
The court and country confectioner: or, the housekeeper’s guide. Mr Borella. 1770
In 1761, Joseph Collyer developed a careers guide for parents including information about the requirements for being an apprentice. He stressed the importance of good education of course, but it also began with a ‘how to’ guide for new parents describing how the mother should establish a moral code for children and ensuring that they behaved well from infancy, including discipline. Mothers should take care not to create groundless fears in the child, such as making the child afraid of the dark, telling him idle tales of ghosts, hobgoblins and haunted houses. She should instil the principles of religion and virtue. She should help shape not only their bodies but their minds too. The book offers guidance on many trades, so here are a just a few of them with more to follow in future articles.
The first three occupations that Collyer considers are Divinity, Law and Physic.
In a nutshell, if the child is likely to be easily led into drink, women and other vices then divinity would not be the right careers path and law would be a much better option as people are more forgiving of these vices. They would need to be fluent in Hebrew, Latin and Greek. To study ethics and moral philosophy and to apply himself to the Holy Scriptures and be good at public speaking in order to deliver sermons.
To enter the legal profession a boy would need to have a quick understanding. A lively wit and volubility of speech. He should have a great command of temper and a sincere love of justice. They must learn languages and read the works of great orators. Upon leaving university he must enter one of the four Inns and apply himself to the laws of the country.
The physician – the youth intended for the study of physic ought also to have an extensive genius, particularly clear perception, a found judgment and a retentive memory. He should have the liberal education of a gentleman. He should have a tender compassion for his fellow creatures. Well versed in the dead languages, skilled in natural philosophy, anatomy, botany, pharmacy and chemistry. A periwig is essential headgear for a doctor as it imparts an air of gravitas and his patients will trust him more than wearing any other type of wig.
Collyer moved on to the other trades rather than professions and outlined various occupations and what a master would expect to be paid for training their new apprentice. For most apprentices, the amount paid was between five and ten pounds. The book runs to well over two hundred pages, so far too many occupations for us to cover in this post so it may be one we will return to if people find it of interest.
A boy designed for this trade needs only a basic education, with no great mental abilities being required. The art of his trade is learnt by feeling the tempering of the steel. However, it requires a good deal of strength. It is a very profitable business for the master.
The boy, designed for this useful trade, ought to be of an honest disposition, and both strong and industrious; since the apprentices in London are obliged to carry out great loads of bread by day and to work had most of the night. The money given with an apprentice is from 5 pounds to 20 pounds. The journeymen have 6 or 7 pounds a week and their board, and a master cannot well set up with less than 100 pounds considering he is obliged to give credit.
A cat-gut spinner is a necessary article in several trades; in the making of whips, the stringing of violins etc. But yet, cat-gut spinning is a very mean, nasty and stinking trade, that requires no genius or abilities. None but the poorest children are put apprentice to it, and when out of their time, they are able to earn only very mean support.
The boy designed for this business, which is the lowest degree of liberal painter, ought to learn to draw and to form a just knowledge of the nature of light and shade; and this may serve as a sufficient preparatory for his being put apprentice; when, if he be bound to a proper master, he will learn, though he has no very extraordinary genius, to obtain a tolerable notion of painting in general, a sufficient knowledge of colours, and the manner of mixing them. To exhibit the folds of a garment in such a manner as to show the materials of which it is composed, whether woollen, linen, silk or velvet.
Though this business does not require a very great genius, yet those who are eminent in their way and employed by a celebrated limner (portrait painter), may frequently earn a guinea a day.
Fan Stick Maker
This is a business for weakly boys. Fan stick makers are employed by those who keep a fan shop and make sticks of ivory, tortoiseshell, wood etc. Many fans now are brought ready mounted from the East Indies and sold here extremely cheaply and have almost ruined this branch of the business.
Iron Hoop Maker
This is a class of Smith solely employed in making iron hoops for large vessels belonging to the brewers and distillers. It is a laborious, noisy and requires no extraordinary abilities.
This business has but of late years been carried on in shops, but they are now pretty numerous. The muffins are cakes made of white flour and used at the tea-table. It is a tolerable business for a master; though a poor one for a journeyman. They take poor lads from the parish or others with no money; who the first part of their time cry the muffins through the streets early in the morning, and again in the afternoon; and also work hard when they are making these cakes.
These keep shops and make wooden clogs as well as pattens. It is an easy light business and requires few talents, and very little learning is necessary. It is enough, if the boy designed for it, can write a plain hand and understands the first rules of arithmetic. When he has completed his apprenticeship, he may earn twelve pounds a week.
The boy, who is designed for this business, would do well to learn to draw and to obtain some knowledge in perspective before he becomes an apprentice. There is great variety in this piece of furniture, serving both for ornament and use; and therefore, there is some room for a boy of genius to exert his talents. The master, who are but few in number, generally keep handsome shops. The make their own frames, which they mount with gilt or painted leather etc and the sometimes deal also in cabinet and chair makers goods. They take about twenty pounds with an apprentice and if they keep a genteel shop, employ several hundred pounds in trade.
His is an ingenious branch of the Smith’s business, consisting of making ironwork belonging to the carriages, coaches and chaises. The nicest and most curious part of their work are springs for the spring coaches and other vehicles of pleasure. There is great variety in this business.
In a later article, we’ll share some of the jobs available to women.
We came across an engraving posted on social media by Dr Hannah Greig recently and for those of you who know of our propensity for disliking unsolved mysteries we were immediately intrigued and wanted to see if there was any more information about the woman depicted.
The engraving was produced by Robert Thew, historical engraver to His Majesty Prince of Wales and the British Museum had dated the engraving as being sometime between 1778 and 1802. We double checked the parish records to make sure when Robert Thew died and found his burial on 10th July 1802 so we knew that this engraving must have been produced out prior to this date.
The Manchester Mercury, June 10th, 1794.
Exhibited before the King and queen
To all who are admirers of the extraordinary productions of nature.
Just arrived and may be seen, by many number of persons, in a commodious caravan, in a field, adjoining the race ground on Kersal Moor, from eleven o’clock in the morning till nine in the evening.
Born without arms, and will work with her toes, in a complete manner as with hands and arms, she cuts watch papers, opens watches and put the papers in.
This curious artist threads her needle well and does wonder of the age excel!
She, with her TOES, exhibits more to view
Than thousands, with their fingers, ev’r can do;
The numbers flock to see her ev’ry day
And each, amaz’d go satify’d away.
Checking through the newspapers, sure enough, we found her burial in the Lancaster Gazette, April 21st, 1804, so assuming her age was roughly correct then she was born around 1760. From her burial, we know her name was Mary and that she was the wife of John Morrall. The trail goes cold at this point as there as quite a few possible marriages which could be for them.
Suddenly, at Bury, Mrs Morrall, aged 44; a woman well-known throughout the kingdom, as an extraordinary production of nature, having been born without arms. She could cut the small watch papers and devices, in the most ingenious manner, with a pair of scissors, by means of her toes. She appeared in a public exhibition, in good health, so recently as at last Salford fair.
We did however come across some other people who were in a similar situation to Mary Morrell who used their feet in a like manner including the wealthy Mary Evans and a Miss Hawtin of Warwickshire.
True Briton, Tuesday, June 25, 1799.
A marriage took place on Tuesday celebrated at Wells, which excited a considerable degree of curiosity and entertainment. The bride, Mary Evans, was born without arms but enjoyed the use of her feet in such a manner as to be able by her toes to cut out watch-papers and work at her needle with singular facility. For many years past she has attended the principal provincial fairs as a show, and thereby acquired a fortune of nearly £800. She is now between 30 and 40 years of age, of very diminutive stature, and with a countenance certainly not overcharged with feminine loveliness; added to these, her eyes are weak. But love, imperious love, who knows no discrimination of rank or person, impressed this spinster with passions ardent and animated. The driver of her caravan, a young man named Simpson, was the object of her choice; time had made him familiar to her deformity, and to her riches. On Tuesday last they were married amidst an immense concourse of spectators. During the ceremony some difficulty arose as to the disposing of the ring, the bride not having a finger on which to place it, but as the earnest solicitations of the parties, this form was dispensed with.
Norfolk Chronicle 30th October 1784.
Miss Hawtin, the celebrated Warwickshire young lady, born without arms, and will mark with her toes as a compleat manner s with arms and hands, she also cuts curious watch papers etc.
As shown in the header image, we have the artist, Miss Sarah Biffin (1784-1850) and a snippet of her biography courtesy of Bell’s Weekly Messenger, 24th May 1830:
Sarah Biffin was born at East Quontoxhead, in Somersetshire, on the 25th October 1786. Her father was a draper and she was reared with much care and tenderness under the immediate eye of an affectionate mother, and in the society of four brothers and sisters, until her nineteenth year, when from the improvement she made in drawing, unaided by instruction, and the circumstance of her being enabled to work at her needle, write and, and in fact, execute with more than ordinary facility (notwithstanding the want of arms), the duties that devolve on females of the middling class it was determined to accede to her wishes, by placing her with an artist named Dukes. This individual soon adopted a very profitable course, and Miss Biffin exhibited in every part of the United Kingdom.
Of the perfection to which Miss B. has arrived as an artist, the best proof that can be adduced is, that the Duke of Sussex presented her with the largest medal at the Society of Arts in 1821. Early in life, she was honoured by the particular attention of Lord Morton, and to that nobleman, who was himself an excellent artist, Miss B, is much indebted for the wonderful progress she made in the art. His Royal Highness the Prince of Orange was amongst the number of her patrons, and, during a visit to Brussels, he sat for his miniature, with which he was much satisfied, that his Royal Highness presented Miss B, with a sum of money far exceeding her demand.
On the 6th September 1824, Miss B was married, by the Rev. Mr Hole, at Killton, Somerset, to a Mr William Stephen Wright, a gentleman who had been long attached to her. At the ceremony of marrying a lady without arms may be looked upon by some as a matter of difficulty, the following mode was adopted. Mr. Wright was desired to the ring against the should of the lady, and afterwards, having put it on a gold chain which she wore around her neck, it was placed in the bosom.
Curiously, their entry in the marriage register has been crossed through with no explanation provided. All the details match those of the newspaper report except for the date itself which wasn’t quite correct. It was reported some years later though, that although married they never actually lived together and went their separate ways. There were rumours, which Sarah strenuously denied, that her husband had made off with her money.
Whilst the people we have looked at were regarded as ‘human oddities or freaks’ at the time, with the public at large often paying money to see them at the likes of Bartholomew’s Fair, it’s interesting to note that their absence of limb(s) is not the main focus of the reports it’s almost an aside. The focus is on what they could do and about the skills they developed to live a full life.
Sarah Biffin (October 1784 – 2 October 1850), painted by herself. Wellcome Library
Here’s a new one for you. What did a calenderer do? Any ideas? We hadn’t, so off down the proverbial rabbit hole we disappeared to find out more.
When you’ve visited a stately home and wandered into the bedrooms with those immense four-poster beds, like this one at Houghton Hall, have you ever wondered how on earth they cleaned the drapes around the bed – or is that just us (rhetorical)? We have looked at beds and bedding in a previous article, so we thought this subject required further investigation.
Looking at the sheer amount of fabric they must have been incredibly heavy, can you imagine trying to climb up there, take them down and wash them by hand? We have visions of several servants attempting to do this precariously balancing on ladders.
But no, if you were wealthy you would employ a calenderer to do part of this process for you at around 12-15 shillings per bed which equates to roughly the wages to employ a tradesperson for 5 days in 1790.
Calenderers, also known as calico glazers (the term appears to be interchangeable), would visit the home and were often described as ‘journeymen’ (we should point out at this stage that our research has shown that quite a few women also carried out this type of work), unstitch the drapes, from the bed frame, take down the canopies and bedding. The fabric would be washed by the domestic servants, then the calenderman (person) as they were often termed, would apply the final process and rehang the fabric. It was a process that would have been carried out for the most affluent in society. We noted that Dido Elizabeth Belle had her mahogany bed at Kenwood House, ‘washed and glazed’ for 12 shillings.
Glazed or shiny chintz originally known as calico, was the favoured style of the eighteenth-century for bed drapes and curtains. The fabric would be scoured and washed, then stretched. The material would be starched with a special solution and finally, the glaze, similar to a waxy substance would be applied using a machine with heated rollers, known as a calender to give it a lovely sheen.
It would have been a very time-consuming job to unpick the curtains and drapes, carry out the process, then restitch everything back into place. Despite this, it was a relatively cheap job to do, around 12 shillings. This was because although labour intensive, labour was cheap at that time.
London had relatively few calenderers, unlike Manchester which seems to have had plenty, but there were quite a few calico glazers. The job of calico glazer required a seven-year apprenticeship to be undertaken, so a skilled trade. Quite a few of these companies went bankrupt as we’ve found them appearing in the newspaper lists, so it doesn’t look to have been the most lucrative of occupations.
It wasn’t just drapes that were calendered as we can see from this advertisement from The Morning Herald, January 25th, 1793:
Clout. Calenderer and Calico-Glazer. No, 10 King Street, Golden Square, facing the chapel begs leave to inform his friends and the Ladies in general, of Chintz, Muslins, Dimities, Cotton and Linen Gowns and Dresses, in the most elegant manner, without taking to pieces, on the following terms.
N.B Wanted an apprentice or any young man, that would wish to learn the above business; none need apply who cannot command a small premium.
In The Morning Post and Fashionable World of September 21, 1795, we see Mr Bunting of 41, New Bond Street offering his services as:
Silk dyer, Calenderer and Glazer to Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales.
We came across several newspaper advertisements by women, including the family firm of Wrights, which included the three daughters of Mrs Wright, the owner, who took over the business upon the death of their mother. We have looked for wills for all the calenderers that we’ve found and not one, so this leads us to conclude that in all likelihood they didn’t have enough to make it worthwhile leaving one.
Sources not mentioned
Records of London’s Livery Companies Online Apprentices and Freemen 1400-1900
Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser (London, England), Wednesday, February 8, 1775
Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser (London, England), Saturday, May 2, 1778
Public Advertiser (London, England), Saturday, May 13, 1780;
We are delighted to welcome The Early Dance Circle to the blog. On Friday 1st March they have their Annual Lecture, with this year’s guest speaker our good friend and fellow Pen and Sword author, Georgian Gentleman, Mike Rendell. So, to find out more about the event we hand over to Sharon, from the centre, to tell you more:
Join us on the dance floor of history – Learn how to dance Britain’s heritage or come to enjoy watching and help to pass it on.
If you love dance and want to safeguard and pass on its earliest forms in the UK and Europe, join us now. You can help us to secure a thriving future for early dance.
The Early Dance Circle (EDC) is a UK charity that aims to promote the enjoyment, performance and study of historical dance in the UK and beyond. Formed in 1984, it counts individuals and groups, both amateur and professional, among its members. We believe that a knowledge of earlier forms of dance helps enrich the cultural life of the UK, by accessing a heritage of international importance that belongs to us all, but has been until recently largely forgotten.
Our website, Early Dance Circle, offers information about classes & teachers, all our many events (including an Annual Early Dance Festival) our publications and lots of free resources about the 500 years of dance history in the UK and the rest of Europe. We have sponsored a free annual lecture since 1988.
Our Annual Lecture for 2019 will take place on
Friday 1st March 2019 at 7.15pm
Best foot forward – Georgian Style: Waltzing through History
Mike will look at dance in the Georgian era from a social history point of view – its importance, what it was like to go to Bath, to the Pantheon, to Almacks, what people wore, how they travelled, the role of the Master of Ceremonies, the growth of Masquerades – and finally some press reaction to the introduction of that grossly immoral and shocking dance, the waltz.
Mike is the custodian of a vast array of family papers dating back to the early 1700s. After he retired, he published The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman: The Life and Times of Richard Hall 1729-1801 (2011) about his Georgian ancestor. Currently working on no fewer than three books, Mike is known to 18th Century enthusiasts through his highly varied blogs on life in the Georgian period. He speaks regularly in the UK and abroad.
To reserve your free place, please book on Eventbrite (click here).
As we’re sure you have probably read in the news recently, an eighteenth-century ice house or ice well has been discovered in London.
The egg-shaped cavern, 9.5 metres deep and 7.5 metres wide, had been backfilled with demolition rubble after the terrace was bombed during the war, requiring three months of careful excavation before its structure could be fully revealed.
It appears to have originally been constructed in the 1780s for use in connection with the brewing industry, but it was taken over by a William Leftwich, who used it as an ice well. At the turn of the century, it was mainly the affluent who had an ice house or possibly a well on their land, places such as Chatsworth, Petworth and possibly Kenwood, but William’s idea was on a much larger scale, his aim was to supply commercially, so we thought we would try to find out a little more about his life and business.
William was born July 1770, the son of William and Martha Leftwich, née Barns of Aldford, a village in rural Cheshire. At the end of January 1785, William was apprenticed to James Reynolds, a pastry cook living in Tower Street, London.
Having completed his apprenticeship he became a confectioner and established shops in Fleet Street and Kingston upon Thames (which is where his two youngest children were baptised).
It was in 1795 at St Marys, Newington, Surrey that William married Susanna Ricketts, some eight years his junior. The couple went on to have many mouths to feed, which, being a pastry cook must have helped –William Henry and Thomas Robert (twins) (1796), George (1799-1802), Susannah (1801), Thomas (1803), Eliza (1806), Martha (1807), George (1810), Mary Ann (1813) and finally Charles (1815).
Goodness! William’s wife died in 1818 leaving him to not only run his confectionery business but also to raise the children – so, not an easy task.
Britain had developed a taste for ice in drinks such as sherry cobblers, mint julep and iced desserts and the likes of William struggled to keep dairy foods cool, as did fishmongers. Working class men who owned a donkey or horse and cart would club together, pay rent to the landholder so that when the water was frozen they could collect ice from their water supply which they could then sell on to fishmongers and confectioners for a small profit.
‘Homegrown’ ice was reliant upon the country having a cold winter, thereby allowing ice to be gathered from the frozen rivers, so was unreliable and quantities were somewhat limited.
William hit upon an idea to import ice from Norway and with that, in 1822, he went to Norway where he purchased a large quantity of ice and in May 1822, he chartered a vessel, ‘The Spring’ to sail to Norway to collect it. Apart from the obvious problem of the ice melting it also created problems for customs as when the vessel returned they had no idea how much tax to charge him, so a charge of 20% was levied on his cargo. Concerned by such a high levy William then decided to send vessels elsewhere, mainly America and in doing so, the importation duty was reduced to 5%, making the whole operation more profitable.
It was suggested to him that he had a large well dug on Little Albany Street. This would hold some 1,500 tons of ice. The ice was thrown in and descended on a platform, the waste due to melting, filtered through the sand layer and fell into the space below, from where it ran off by means of a pipe into a deeper and smaller well by the side of the large one. The water, by the means of machinery, was pumped up to supply several neighbouring houses with a fresh supply of water.
The ice was drawn up in buckets and onto a cart (the weight of the cart having previously been determined), then the whole load weighed again to determine the weight of the ice itself. The cost of ice varied between 2 shillings and 2 shillings and 6 pence a load. William also had a further two wells constructed, one being in Wood Street.
As well as selling to London, William also sold to amongst others, the towns of Bath, Cheltenham and Bristol.
ICE six inches thick and remarkably clean. – WILLIAM LEFTWICH begs leave to inform the Nobility and Gentry that they may be SUPPLIED with ICE of a superior quality for cleanliness than that usually sold. Delivered at their houses in any part of London, in quantities of not less than 18lbs, at 2d. per lb., or 14s. per cwt. Orders received at 162, Fleet-street, and at the Ice-well, Park-crescent-mews, New-road, punctually attended to. Taverns, Coffeehouses, and Clubs on moderate terms.
Morning Post, 31 March 1826.
William took the trouble to explain in his newspaper advertisements how it could be used to preserve beef during hot weather.
William was quite the entrepreneur and made himself and his family a handsome profit and by 1835, William was a ‘Purveyor of Ice’ to His Majesty, as we see in this newspaper advertisement.
ICE – The Nobility, Gentry, Club Houses, Hotels, Tavernkeepers, Confectioners, Fishongers, and others are respectfully informed that WILLIAM LEFTWICH, 43, Cumberland Market, Regent’s Park, Purveyor of Ice to his Majesty, has just imported, and will continue to import, SPRING WATER ICE from Norway, the best frozen, clearest, and most durable that can be obtained, at very low prices, which will be in proportion to the quantity required.
Morning Post, 6 April 1835.
In 1841 we find William living a comfortable life at 43, Cumberland Market, Regent’s Park, with two of his daughters, Susanna and Martha, which was where he was to remain for the remainder of his life. Two of his sons, William and Thomas lived on the same street with their respective families, both still working in the family, with all supplying ice to affluent families in the area.
William was died November 1843 and was buried on 23rd November 1843, at Kensal Green. He died leaving an extremely detailed will in which he provided for all his surviving children. His sons continued the business for some considerable years to come.
Online baptism, marriage and burial registers, census returns, wills and the apprentice register
To all our lovely readers, we send a massive ‘thank you‘ for all your amazing support during this year and our best wishes to you all for this holiday season. We will be taking a blog break until January 8th when we will return with plenty more stories for you and some exciting news too!
If you haven’t sorted those last-minute Christmas pressies for history-loving friends and relatives, then they might like one of our books.
This article tells you a little more information about our special offers on them.
We thought we would leave you with some of the most popular articles from this year to have a read through if you find a little time to put your feet up with a cuppa (and find out how it was made in the 18th-century), a coffee, hot chocolate or something a little stronger.
One of the things we really enjoy doing during our research is to look at the advertisements in the newspapers of the day to see what sort of items were for sale. Don’t you just wonder what it would have been like to go back in time and visit some of the shops? Perhaps a visit to the perfumier would be worth a visit, especially to get away from the pungent odours of eighteenth-century London.
From the late eighteenth-century onwards, people would have carried a vinaigrette containing a sponge soaked in perfume or vinegar, to mask the unpleasant odours from the streets, such as this lovely one depicting Newstead Abbey, the ancestral home of Lord Byron.
Perfumiers weren’t quite what we view them as today. Yes, they sold perfume, but they also catered for other essentials required by both men and women.
In this post, we take a look at some of the ‘essentials’ that every self-respecting man or woman would have owned. In the late 1770s, Mr Lewis Hendrie owned a shop in the Haymarket area of London and these are some of the items he sold and it’s always great to see some prices bearing in mind that one shilling would have been the equivalent of about £5 in today’s money.
These would have been priced at around one shilling each, usually white or brown almond and were used to whiten the skin and to prevent chapping. White almond was slightly more expensive than brown almond.
These came in a variety of fragrances, such as jasmine, orange, rose, violet or simply ‘common hair powder’. Also, tooth powder, powder bags, powder masks and puffs.
A powder for the face which answers all the intents of white paint, without having any of its pernicious effects. 8 shillings per pound (and sold in smaller quantities).
And combs for hair, for shaving, toothbrushes and tongue scrapers. Body brushes and oil silk bathing caps.
Soaps & Waters
These again came in several varieties such as Castille, Windsor, Naples. Improved soap for shaving with a brush. Double distilled lavender, Hungary, honey and other floral scents.
Almond, Rhodium, Jasmine, Rosemary and shaving oil.
We weren’t quite sure how shaving oil was used and found a reference to it some ten years prior to Mr Hendrie’s advertisement which described it as ‘the best thing ever invented for the purpose of having or washing fine lace and greatly useful where there is a scarcity of water. Price 6 pence or 1 shilling for a larger bottle’. Not a cheap product then!
Orange, lemon, bergamot and bouquet.
Miscellaneous items such as
Genuine Bear’s Grease:
the only certain remedy to make hair grow thick and to prevent it falling out – one shilling and six pence an ounce.
Tragically, yes it was made from the rendered down fat of young bears.
A composition to take off superfluous hair from the forehead and eyebrows. Takes off hair instantly, 6 pence a stick. For a while, in the eighteenth-century, it was fashionable to remove forehead hair, although we’re not quite sure as to why you would want to do that.
Best French rouge, two shillings and sixpence per pot, which is about the same amount as a skilled tradesperson would earn for one day’s work.
A pomatum that destroys nits in the hair, warranted without the least injury to the person. One shilling per pot.
A liquid, that without injury will dye grey or red hair to a glossy black or brown. This came with a money back guarantee, if it didn’t work!.
Pen knives, scissors, powder knives, tweezers, toothpicks, patches and patch boxes and snuff boxes.
Crimping, curling, nipping, pinching, toupee irons, hair rollers and hair ribbons, but no products such as heat protector or hairspray existed! In 1783, a Mr F Day advertised a new type of styling comb to replace the ‘frizzing comb and curling iron’ which he claimed produced a better result than either of the existing products. He was selling these newfangled combs at three shillings each.
There was no such thing as a nail bar in the Georgian era, but if you wanted your finger or toenails to look good, you could visit a chiropodist. As well as treating corns and warts, they also offered products described as ‘ivory-nail models’. They were described as being as ‘portable as a tooth-pick case, which forms the nails on the hand into an agreeable shape’. They were priced at ten shillings and sixpence and came with directions for use. Were these the first false nails? If these weren’t for you then you could buy fine steel nail-nippers at five shilling per pair.
They were nothing if not entrepreneurial, for example, in 1794 we have Mr Nosworthy of Queen Street, Norwich, a perfumier, who expanded his business to include everything you needed for sewing, toys for children, crockery and cutlery, stationery, fashion accessories such as purses, fans, parasols, umbrellas and perfumed gloves.
Perfumed gloves date back at least a century and had a more sinister use; they were coated in a form of poison, but we’ll leave the rest of that to your imagination.
Adult only items!
Although we haven’t spotted any adverts for them, condoms would have been readily available for sale from the likes of Mrs Phillips and Perkins, on Half Moon Street in London or from Miss Jenny who sold second-hand, washed ones. The other retailers would have been apothecaries or barbers. They were made from lamb’s caecum and often tied with a ribbon.
The same went for sex toys, relatively recent discoveries have shown that there was a demand for dildos too, these were often purchased by upper-class women and made of wax, horn or leather, wood or ivory.
If only we could have gone back in time to visit their shops. They almost sound like modern-day department stores, where you could spend hours buying everything you didn’t realise that you needed. Oh, and of course perfume!
Part of the reason we started looking at shops, apart from our own curiosity, was that we were lucky enough to have discovered the inventory for Dido Elizabeth Belle’s husband, John Davinière and whilst it’s still in the process of being translated into English with the help of Etienne Daly, we can share with you some of the items listed within the jewellery section of it. Sadly, it is simply a list of items that he owned at the time of his death with very little by way of description, but the fact that they were silver implies that they would have been quite expensive.
There were 3 rings, two kept together and one on its own which we suspect was more than like Dido’s wedding ring. A carriage clock, a silver enamelled toothpick; a silver necessaire, scissors, a type of silver braid, perhaps John received an honour of some sort, but there are no further clues as yet to indicate what it related to.
Whilst it isn’t clear as to whether the silver necessaire was a man or woman’s it would have been a small container which held small items perhaps for sewing such as small scissors, a thimble, possibly a vial of perfume. For a man, it would perhaps contain scissors, a small knife and an earpick.
Public Ledger or The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence, October 13, 1761
Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette, 14 November 1793
Bury and Norwich Post, 06 August 1794
Morning Herald and Daily Advertiser, November 15, 1783
Straw hats were fashionable for women of all social classes, from very plain for the lower class to ones highly decorated for the elite throughout the Georgian era with many being imported, mainly from Italy and Germany, but Bedfordshire became the major manufacturer for straw hat making in England.
Imported straw hats were valuable commodities, as reported in this extract from Tenby in 1750:
In the night of the 3d inst. The weather being very tempestuous, a ship was cast away and beat to pieces of a point of land about three miles to the south-west of this town, and no persons saved or yet seen; nor do we know of anything of value saved. The country people have taken up a great number of straw hats and some loose juniper berries.
And this one from Applebee’s Original Weekly Journal, 1st July 1721.
Some days after one William Allen was committed to Newgate gaol, being charged upon oath, as also on his own confession, upon violent suspicion of stealing fifty Leghorn straw hats, the goods of Captain Andrew Elcam.
In the early 1700s we were importing straw hats, from Leghorn, Italy and Hamburg, Germany; for example, in just one week, 15th – 22nd April 1728, London saw the arrival of 287 dozen straw hats and by 1731 this had increased to 636 dozen which decreased 480 dozen by the turn of the century.
Woodstock, September 16th, 1774:
Whereas a silver watch, with a silver chain to it, was this day offered to be sold to a tradesman in this town by a very suspicious person, who said her name was Ann Brown, about twenty years of age, of brown complexion, short stature, dressed in an old green gown, checked apron and straw hat, who is committed to prison for further examination.
It was clearly a very lucrative trade to be in, as in 1747 a Mr White, of Newgate Street, a wealthy dealer in straw hats died and according to his will he left in excess of £5,000 (about half a million in today’s money).
In 1751 in Constantinople and the surrounding areas there was a great plague, so, in order to prevent the spread into England ships and their crews were quarantined for 40 days and all goods on board the ships had to be opened and aired to remove any possible contamination, goods included goat hair, wool, raw silks, straw hats and all goods packed in straw.
The Oracle and Public Advertiser of 23rd January 1795 reported that the manufacture of straw hats was now being performed by prisoners, who were earning substantial sums from making such items.
Anyone who was anyone would want to wear the latest fashion and the fashion for September 1795, Morning Dress was:
The hair in small curls and ringlets, white satin ribband drawn through it. Straw hat, variegated with a Vandyke border; rose-coloured handkerchief over it, tied on the left side with a bow; green veil.
From the turn of the century straw hats, à-la-Pamela were popular for informal wear and widely worn well into the 1810s. In August 1815, La Belle Assemblée reported on the continued popularity of the chapeau à-la-Pamela, worn far back on the head with a tulle and lace cap underneath.
La Belle Assemblée of 1820 produced a detailed article about straw hats, but here we have just a snippet from it:
Leghorn hats were still in vogue and worn with a simple plume of marabout feathers and were made to turn up behind and turn down again. They would have been adorned with ribbons or bows. Straw hats were often worn with flowers of two colours and adorned with corn poppies with a bunch of ears of corn.
You only have to take a cursory glance at John Collet’s ‘Bath Fly’ to see how popular the straw hat was! We can see 4 in this picture alone.
Hull Advertiser and Exchange Gazette 19 September 1795
When you begin to research a person’s life, especially one who has frequently been written about, you suddenly find that you’ve opened a real can of worms with more and more information toppling out every day. This has never more so than in the research into the life and extended family of Dido Elizabeth Belle with many new facts being found. The more time we’ve spent down this proverbial rabbit hole the more we have managed to piece together.
Her father, Sir John Lindsay is well-known to anyone who knows anything about Dido and if they didn’t know that Sir John had several illegitimate children, then they probably know about his high achieving naval career. Our interest in his career has merely been a sideline, we needed to know more about his career in order to validate elements of Dido’s life.
We know that Sir John was the younger son of Sir Alexander Lindsay, of Evelick and his wife Amelia Murray, the sister of Lord Mansfield who lived in what today is a ruined castle at Evelick, Perth, Scotland.
We know that they had also two daughters, one being Margaret, who married the famous artist Allan Ramsay.
We know that his elder brother Sir David Lindsay inherited the title from his father.
We know that Sir John’s other sister, Katherine, married Lord Henderland and that Sir Alexander’s children were nephews to Lord Mansfield.
Why are we telling you things you probably know? Well, we could argue that that is the whole point, it’s all pretty well documented, you can find all of this is in books and online in a matter of minutes if you wanted to, such being the power of the internet!
It wasn’t until we started trying to find exact dates for the baptisms of Sir Alexander’s children (with no luck whatsoever), that annoyingly, we realised that none of them appeared to have been baptised, which seems extremely unusual for that period in time. We don’t seem to have fathomed that one out. Nor, so far, does there appear to be any record of a marriage for Sir Alexander to Amelia although we’re sure they were legally married.
All references we have seen about Sir John Lindsay state that he was the younger son i.e. one of two sons. What does, however, seem to have been almost completely air-brushed out of the family history is Sir Alexander’s middle son – William Lindsay. We stumbled across his existence by chance and began to delve further and have only found two references to his existence in books, but why?
Well, in all likelihood, William who was born 18th December 1734, left Scotland when aged just 16 and set off for a role in the East India Company. Sir Alexander had an heir – David, so it fell to the second son to take a different path in life.
How do we know of his existence? Because it was his uncle, William Murray, later to become the 1st Lord Mansfield who confirmed it in a letter written in 1750. The letter was written from Lincoln’s Inn to the all-powerful East India Company (EIC) when William was being sent out to India to make his fortune and was as confirmation of his age and explaining that the EIC wouldn’t find a baptism for the boy, as none existed. The document also confirms that William had successfully undertaken a course in mathematics and book-keeping.
William appears to have been posted as a lieutenant to, what was then known as British Bencoolen in Sumatra (now Bengkula). We then came across the sad report of his death in the EIC records. He was suffering from mental health issues and was being returned home to Britain by ship when he died at sea around September 1779.
His death appears to have made even more tragic as he left 3 orphans when he died. So far we haven’t been able to trace these children nor find out what became of them. We know that a committee met to discuss their plight decide what was to be done with them, but they concluded that more information was required from Scotland before any decision could be reached.
Given that both Sir John and William were in the EIC we wondered whether the two brothers would ever have met up; of course, we have no idea but it would be good to believe that if they did and that they exchanged news about both families. We do wonder what, if anything Dido knew of her uncle or of her cousins.
For a complete list of articles written to date about Dido Elizabeth Belle and her family follow the highlighted link.
Jervise, Andrew. The history and traditions of the land of the Lindsays in Angus
British India Collection
Government House & Council House, Fort Marlborough, Benkulen, Sumatra, 1799 Yale Centre for British Art
Harriet was born in Sligo, Ireland in the early 1800s. Her mother died in 1816, leaving her an orphan. It is reported in one account that she was put out to service, in another, simply that being orphaned, she put on her brothers’ clothes and, dressed as a boy, changed her name to John Murphy (her mother’s maiden name) as she feared travelling alone as a female and set off to seek employment.
Her first job was as a cabin boy during which time she accidentally fell overboard, and fearful of being discovered she escaped to shore and ran away. She then took employment as a footboy to a Rev. Mr Duke where she remained for a year, during which time one of the maids, assuming Harriet was a boy, fell in love with her. The maid told her employer that she had discovered John was really a woman. Upon questioning, Harriet swore that the maid was mistaken and that he was a male but Harriet/John had no option but to move on.
She sailed on board a ship to Liverpool and assisted a Mr Lowther with driving his cattle to Leicester. Having travelled as far as Shardlow, Derbyshire she left Lowther and took up employment at the Navigation Inn, Shardlow, working for a Mr Clarke. After only a couple of months, still masquerading as a man, she was beaten up by one of the other servants for being Irish.
Harriet then moved on and worked as a groom to James Sutton Esq. at Shardlow Hall. This was a good position, and all went well until there was some sort of altercation and Harriet left under a cloud.
During her time in Shardlow, Harriet gained employment at the local salt works and lodged in the nearby village of Aston-on-Trent, with a Mrs Jane Lacey who had a daughter, Matilda (born 1808). Matilda found herself pregnant by the village butcher, a married man, but she was also in love in love with John aka Harriet.
Somehow, Mrs Lacey discovered that John was actually Harriet – blackmail began. Mrs Lacey told Harriet that if it was discovered that he was a she, she would be transported (i.e. sent to Australia on a convict ship). Mrs Lacey arranged for Matilda’s child to be raised as if the child were John’s and that John should marry Matilda.
In a state of distress at the prospect of marriage, Harriet sought employment just over the border in Nottinghamshire. At Chilwell, near Beeston, just 8 miles away, she worked for a bricklayer and first learnt to carry the hod, which she was very successful at since she had become accustomed to doing manual work. She was well-respected by her master and fellow workmen. This peace was shattered when Matilda’s mother wrote a letter to the master, saying that John had abandoned Matilda. The employer, a moral man dismissed John.
Worried about being discovered, Harriet agreed to Mrs Lacey’s demands and married Matilda at the parish church at Aston-on-Trent on 25th August 1823. John didn’t find it easy trying to maintain a wife, child and Matilda’s mother and began to seek work away from home and this often drew the attention of the parish officers towards him, until eventually, he left.
John went on to meet a woman who became his confidante, and upon telling her the story, she procured for him suitable female clothing and Harriet divorced herself from her matrimonial troubles. Harriet was described as short, stout, good-looking and stated to be in her twentieth year but was perhaps somewhat older.
It is interesting to note that another child, Mary was born in 1826, with no father’s name being given, the child being described as a bastard.
Then a son, George, who was baptised in the north of the county at Hayfield, 19th August 1827, this time both parents, John and Matilda Murphy were named. We’re not totally certain that this was their child though.
The 1827 baptism is doubly curious because, prior to that date, John had become Harriet again and married John Gardiner, a widowed silk weaver at Derby on 17th October 1825.
In April 1830, Matilda married again too, under her maiden name, but only a few months in February 1831, an entry appears in the burial register for Aston for a Matilda Browne, so it’s relatively safe to assume that she died. Interestingly, a couple of weeks later a baby, Jane Browne, aged just 6 months was also buried, so presumably, this was their daughter.
As to what became of Harriet and her husband we have no idea, they seem to have vanished into thin air. Perhaps after all the publicity, it’s hardly surprising?
Captain Rock in London, Or, The Chieftain’s Weekly Gazette, Volume 1
Perthshire Courier 14 July 1825
Bury and Norwich Post 02 November 1825
Parish registers Hayfield and Aston-on-Trent
Derbyshire Times and Chesterfield Herald 15 March 1930
Courtesy of University College Dublin, Special Collections via Twitter
Following on from one of our blogs about Dido Elizabeth Belle, one of our lovely readers made us aware of this unusual painting titled, Young Woman with Servant which is on display at Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art.
Why unusual? It is odd on so many levels. For starters the subject matter, it is titled ‘young woman with servant’ so which is the young woman and which the servant? Whilst looking at it, we found ourselves almost playing a game of ‘spot the difference’.
Let’s look at each woman in turn. The seated woman is wearing no jewels apart from very plain earrings and a jewel on her apron. The artist has made her face appear somewhat one-dimensional and she’s staring into the distance. Would she really have been the one holding the fruit? The hat with flowers is such, a typical wide-brimmed day hat.
The servant: she is dressed in all her finery, notice the detailed lace around the neckline and the arms of the dress, much more elaborate than the lace which the other woman is wearing. She wears no hat, instead, a form of headdress with a fashionable feather in it and a jewel. And those jewels! She is much more adorned than her seated companion, wearing an elaborate necklace and earrings too. Her hand resting on the naked skin of the other woman – would a servant ever be allowed to do that? A symbol of intimacy, surely not acceptable at that time? She is also looking directly at the artist (and viewer) and appears much more three-dimensional.
The setting itself looks to be a hothouse or possibly an artificial grotto. There is fruit in the seated woman’s apron and the orange just about to be picked and added to it. Notice the chair that the ‘mistress’ is sitting on.
We have tried to find a similar example of that period, but without success, although there are reproductions of virtually the same chair dating from the late 1800s which describe it as Rococo (1725-1755), possibly French or Italian, playful, ornate and curvaceous, with a shell-shaped back and serpent arms.
So, it does rather beg the question, is the young woman standing really a servant or an equal? It has also been given the title, Two Society Women.
The painting appeared in a Sotheby’s catalogue of sales dated 19th November 1986, which gave it a different title, Ladies Gathering Fruit, c.1750, so we contacted Sotheby’s hoping for some more information on its provenance, but unfortunately, they were unable to provide responses to individual questions, so we were no further forward. We also approached Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art and are still hopeful of a more positive response from them.
We then decided to research the artist himself, Stephen Slaughter for more clues.
Stephen was born in London in January 1697, one of five surviving children of Stephen and Judith Slaughter. Their other children were Edward, Catherine, Mary and Judith.
Very little seems to be known about his life and as such he warrants very few mentions in books, only half a dozen entries in the newspapers of the day, a brief resume in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biographies and a short entry on Wikipedia.
Slaughter studied under the famous Godfrey Kneller, then travelled abroad to France and Flanders, returning to England around 1732. He then moved to Dublin for a number of years, returning to London in the 1740s.
In 1745 he was appointed Surveyor of the King’s Pictures (George II), with a salary of £200 per annum (around £24,000 in today’s money). From 1748 until his death in 1765, Slaughter spent time on picture restoration. He was buried on 2nd April 1765 at Kensington.
Just to set the record straight here, only one of his female siblings married and that was his sister, Judith.
There has been much debate as to whether she married the artist John Lewis, but we can confirm that she didn’t – she married a Paul Lewis, when she was aged just 16, as confirmed by the marriage allegation dated 4th January 1726, St Giles in the Field.
Judith was widowed by the time her brother Edward wrote his will in April 1770. We can confirm, however, that the artist, John Lewis’s wife was Mary as named in his will, proven 1781.
Each of the siblings left their estate to the next in line with Catherine being the last to die in 1786.
Suggestions have been made that this is a portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle with Lady Mary Milner. This seems extremely unlikely as the two women look to be of similar age and Lady Mary was considerably older than Dido.
If we accept that it was painted by Stephen Slaughter then he died when Dido was a mere toddler so it couldn’t possibly be her in the painting. So either way, as much as we would like it to be a portrait of both women, the theory falls flat on its face.
The portrait raises far more questions than it answers, so if anyone knows anything more about this painting, we would love to hear from you.
UPDATE 9th March 2019 – A Painting Within a Painting
Well, we did ask people to get in touch if they knew any more about the painting and we were contacted by Sheila Graham-Smith who is presently researching it, which set us disappearing down another rabbit hole. To cut a long story short, we knew from the Sotheby’s sale catalogue that there was a familial connection between the Manvers family of Thoresby Hall and the Butterfield family at Cliffe Castle, so arguably the painting could be of someone from either side of the family, or simply a painting purchased by someone in the family for its aesthetic value.
Purely by chance we came across this painting by Marie-Louise Roosevelt Pierrepont (1889-1984), of Thoresby Hall, which is a painting of her daughter, at Thoresby.
To the back of the painting you will clearly see that she had painted in Slaughter’s painting, ‘Ladies Gathering Fruit’ (alternatively titled, Young Woman with Servant). The location of the painting whilst at Thoresby was not taking pride of place, merely hung at the end of a corridor.
We contacted Thoresby who were able to confirm that, whilst not on display, they do hold the painting by Marie-Louise Roosevelt Pierrepont, a prolific artist and that the location depicted was Thoresby Hall and not Cliffe Castle as queried by ArtUK, but that they don’t know anything more about the original.
We have now reached another dead-end with research in terms of identifying either of the sitters, but hopefully we’ll get there eventually.
Ancestry.com. London and Surrey, England, Marriage Bonds and Allegations, 1597-1921[database on-line]
Known as the ‘rock houses’ they are a well-known feature of the town of Mansfield, Nottinghamshire in the East Midlands and only a few miles away from Newstead Abbey, home of Lord Byron.
Rumour has it that Robin Hood and his Merry Men had used the rock houses as hiding places – true or not we will never know (it’s a great legend though), but either way, they were extremely old, cut into the local sandstone and were used as homes until the beginning of the 1900s.
Robert Watson (1779-1839) and his wife Elizabeth née Moor, were one such couple who lived there in the early part of the 19th century. As Robert died prior to the first census taken in 1841, unfortunately, there is no information about his early life, occupation etc, we do however know that they had six children – William, Robert, Mary, John, Elizabeth and their youngest Sarah, who was born in 1810.
Their lives would not have been easy, all eight of them living in such a small dwelling, trying to make ends meet to avoid the poor house. It was often thought that these houses were the modern equivalent of squats, however, this was not the case as confirmed in a letter of 1843 from the Poor Law Commission Office, which stated
In an 1813 newspaper report, we learn that whilst those rock houses had probably been there for a long time they were by no means safe and the newspaper article reported that
a melancholy accident happened at one of the rock houses – as Robert Watson with his family were partaking of breakfast the roof suddenly fell in and completely buried one of his children, about three years of age, it was dug out of the ruins dreadfully bruised and dead – the rest of the family escaped unhurt.
That child was their youngest daughter, Sarah. By 1841, Elizabeth Watson was widowed but remained in the family dwelling, after all, where else could she have gone?
By this time the small community numbered just under 100 people, many were stone masons, framework knitters and chimney sweeps. One of the main occupations prior to 1841 was that of besom maker (a broom made from twigs, tied with a stick), but by 1841 only two remained – John Cheesman and Joseph Freeman.
One of the framework knitters (an occupation we have looked at previously) was George Gilbert (1779-1853), who lived there with his wife Sarah and their grandson a John Day, aged 12, according to the 1841 census, their son had died in childhood and their daughter Roseanna had married the son of the neighbouring family, Robert, son of Robert and Elizabeth Watson who we mentioned earlier.
Sarah’s marriage to Robert took place at St Peter and St Paul church, Mansfield on March 1st, 1826, so, a long and happy life ahead of them, or so you might think, but this marriage was to be very short-lived.
At the end of August 1826, Robert Watson appears to have moved from Mansfield to Uppingham, Rutland, (with or without his new bride is unclear) at which time he was arrested for robbery along with a companion Henry Jones. It was alleged that they broke into the slaughter-house of a Mr Fludyer and stole a butcher’s frock, an apron and a piece of venison which was discovered wrapped in the frock. Both Robert and Henry were committed to trial at Oakham at the following session. GUILTY AS CHARGED.
Robert, a stonemason, was sentenced to transportation, despite petitions from his parents Robert and Elizabeth, of Mansfield, who stressed that he was of good character, from a large family and that he had never been in trouble before and how distressed the family would be if he were to be imprisoned.
The court was having none of it and Robert was sent to The York, a hulk or prison ship to await transportation, where he remained until April 1827 when he boarded TheMarquis of Hastings and began the long voyage that was to take him to New South Wales where his sentence of seven years was to take place. The convict register of New South Wales described Robert as 5 feet 9 inches, brown hair, ruddy complexion, grey eyes, missing one of his upper front teeth.
Quite how good his conduct was we may never know, but it can’t have exactly been exemplary, as six years into his sentence in 1833, he was sent to Norfolk Island, for life. This was however rescinded at the beginning of 1841 and he was given a Certificate of Freedom.
So, what of his new bride? Did she await his return? Well, it appears that Roseanna continued to live in one of the rock houses but wasted little time finding a replacement for Robert, clearly, she felt he would never return.
A little over two years after Robert’s departure Roseanna presented her first child for baptism, at the same church in which they had married, so clearly the child was not Robert’s son and no father was named in the register, a performance which she repeated virtually every two years until 1844, on each occasion Roseanna gave her address as Rock House, so she had obviously remained there after husband had been transported. At some stage, she took up with a John Day, as to whether he was the unnamed father of her children, who knows, but her eldest son, named John, was with his grandparents on census day in 1841.
People continued living in the rock houses until the turn of the century, they are now sadly derelict and overgrown – such an interesting piece of local social history, all but disappeared.
Nottingham Gazette, 18 June 1813.
Draft letter from the Poor Law Commission to Richard Goulding. MH 12/9360/63
The Lincoln, Rutland and Stamford Mercury, Friday, September 01, 1826
New South Wales, Australia, Certificates of Freedom, 1810-1814, 1827-1867
Rock Houses by A.S Buxton. With thanks to Mansfield Museum who hold the copyright.
We are thrilled to welcome back the author of Regency Cheshire, Sue Wilkes who explores the county during the age of Jane Austen and Walter Scott; Regency Cheshire is now available on Kindle. Here’s a brief look at one of Cheshire’s most famous Regency-era architects.
Thomas Harrison (1744–1829), a Yorkshireman of humble origin, learnt his craft in Italy during the early 1770s.
Harrison’s works brought a restrained classicism to the city. His first major project was the Castle site, home to the civil and crown courts, county gaol, and an army garrison. Prison reformer John Howard, who visited in 1788, likened conditions in the cells (which housed debtors and felons) to the Black Hole of Calcutta.
In the summer of 1784, Cheshire magistrates, following a country-wide typhus epidemic the previous year, held a design competition for a new gaol within the castle. Thomas Harrison, now in his early forties, won the 50-guinea prize for his plans. Preliminary work began on site in 1788.
Harrison’s new gaol was laid out in the shape of a half-octagon fanning out from the Shire Hall. When the building was finally completed in 1801, conditions had greatly improved. The gaoler’s house looked out over an exercise yard; the cells, nine ft. by seven ft., were built in two-storey blocks along the inside of the perimeter wall. Robert Southey commented on how comfortably the jailor was housed:
The new jail is considered as a perfect model of prison architecture… The main objects attended to are, that the prisoners be kept apart from each other, and that the cells should always be open to inspection, and well ventilated so as to prevent infectious disorders… The structure of this particular prison is singularly curious, the cells being so constructed that the jailor from his dwelling-house can look into every one…The apartment from whence we were shown the interior of the prison was well, and even elegantly furnished; there were geraniums flowering upon stands, – a pianoforte, and music-books lying open – , and when we looked from the window we saw criminals with irons upon their legs, in solitary dungeons: – one of them, who was intently reading some devotional book, was, we were told, certainly to be executed at the next assizes…
Although Harrison’s design was very beautiful, it wasn’t necessarily secure; five prisoners escaped in the spring of 1802, and another five absconded in November 1807.
Harrison’s beautiful Propylaea Gateway, inspired by the Acropolis in Athens, was the crowning glory of the Castle complex. The gateway, with its Doric porticos and massy columns, is a high point of Greek Revival architecture in England.
Harrison’s new Shire Hall, with a grand façade of a Doric portico in fine ashlar stone, formed a harmonious whole with the prison buildings. Work continued on the Castle site for the rest of the decade; a new Armoury and Barracks (the present day Regimental Museum) for the garrison was added.
Harrison was also asked to revamp the city’s last surviving medieval gate, the Northgate. It housed the city gaol and had a dire reputation. This mouldering pile had a dreadful dungeon thirty feet below street level.
The Northgate was demolished and replaced by Harrison with a ’light, elegant structure of white stone.’ He also designed a new city gaol and House of Correction, built between 1806 and 1808, close to the medieval walls, but these buildings no longer survive.
Harrison was a very busy man in Chester during the Regency era. Thomas repaired the crumbling fabric of Chester Cathedral and refurbished the Exchange. His elegant Commercial News Room on Northgate St was a quiet haven for gentlemen wishing to peruse the daily newspapers. At Chester’s famous racecourse, the Roodee, he designed the first permanent grandstand to give genteel race-goers some protection from the weather. His skills were also greatly in demand for private homes.