On Saturday the 16th of February, at the Pro-Cathedral, Kensington, was celebrated the marriage of the Marchese Mattei, of Capua Palace, Malta, and the Middle Temple, and Miss Teresa Bagshawe, daughter of his Honour Judge Bagshawe, K.C., of 249, Cromwell-road.The ceremony was performed by the Right Rev. Dr. Bagshawe, Bishop of Nottingham, uncle of the bride, assisted by the Rev. Michael Fanning and the Rev. J. Bampton, S.J. During the Nuptial Mass Gourod’s Ave Maria and Niedermayer’s Pater noster were sung by Signor Caprili. The bride wore a white satin dress trimmed with orange-blossoms, and with a long court train of while satin. Her ornaments were a long pearl chain and a diamond pendant, the gifts of the bridegroom. A special blessing was sent from the Holy Father by telegram from Cardinal Rampolla.
The bride was given away by her father, and was attended by four bridesmaids, the Misses Gertrude and Helen Bagshawe, her sisters; Miss Hilda Bagshawe, her cousin, and Miss Mildred Turnbull. The bridesmaids’ dresses were of white crepe de chine over white silk, trimmed with cream lace, and gold belts. Their hats were of black chiffon trimmed with white roses, and they wore gold curb bracelets set with turquoises, and carried bouquets of two shades of Parma violets, the gifts of the bridegroom. Mr. Paul Strickland attended the bride-groom as best man. The guests were numerous, and among those invited were his Grace the Duke of Norfolk, K.G., H.E. the Turkish Ambassador, the Charge d’Affaires for Italy, Sir E. T. Reed, M.P., Lady Sykes, Sir Donald and Lady Macfarlane, Sir J. Montefiore, Mrs. Latter, Mr. and Mrs. Field Stanfield, Mr. and Mrs. C. W. Bagshawe, Madam O’Grady, Major and Mrs. Blacker, Mr. and Mrs. H. K. Bicknell, Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Stanfield, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Turnbull of Whitby, Mr., Mrs. and Miss Jessop, the Rev. Francis Stanfield, Canon Gordon, Canon Bagshawe, D.D., Canon Rymer, Mrs. John Grace, Mrs. and Miss Fuller, Miss Eyre, Mr., Mrs. and Miss Spielmann, Mr. and Mrs. Doughty Brown, Mr. and Mrs. B. Cuddon, Mr, T. M. Turnbull, Mr. Murland Evans, and Major O’Connor (Militia), R. A. M. S.
The presents included the following : Bridegroom to bride, diamond pendant, long pearl chain, sapphire and diamond ring, diamond ring, gold muff chain set with turquoises, diamond and emerald pendant, garnet and white sapphire necklace, &c., &c. ; brothers and sisters of the bridegroom, old Georgian silver tea and coffee service and tray; Judge Bagshawe, ivory crucifix ; Mrs. Bagshawe, bronze benitier, silver candlesticks ; his Grace the Duke of Norfolk, K.G., emerald and diamond brooch ; H.E. the Turkish Ambassador, gold fruit spoons ; Sir D. and Lady Macfarlane, embossed silver toilet set and case ; Lady Sykes, silver candelabra; Mr. and Mrs. Field Stanfield, turquoise and diamond bangle ; Misses G. and H. Bagshawe, calling-bag, Mr. and Mrs. H. K. Bicknell, silver coffee service; Major and Mrs. Blacker, large silver-framed mirror ; Sir J. Montefiore, old Florentine gold tea-spoons ; the Misses Muriel and Gladys Bagshawe, “Oakes,” Derbyshire, silver card-case ; Mr. and Mrs. E. H. Stanfield, silver sugar-sifter ; Lady Knill, Victorian scent-bottle ; Lady Mathew, old silver wine-taster ; Dr. and Mrs. Jessop, silver-framed mirror ; Mr. and Mrs. A. J. Walton, gold-mounted umbrella ; Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Turnbull, silver rose-bowl ; Miss Turnbull, silver sugar-basin ; Lady Austin, sapphire and diamond bangle; Mr., Mrs. and Misses Fuller, pearl brooch ; Mr. and Mrs. Michael Grace, old silver vases ; Mrs. John Grace, silver cake-basket ; Lady Mary Milbanke, silver taper-holder ; Judge Bacon, Japanese vases ; Mr. Paul Strickland, Venetian bowl ; Canon Gordon, portrait of his Holiness Leo XIII. ; Mr. J. R. Bagshawe, oil painting ; Mrs. Latter, silver tea-spoons ; Miss Stanfield, jewel-case; Father Stanfield, table-writing set.; Dr. and Mrs. Bagshawe (Hastings), silver scent-bottle ; Mr. Wainer and clerk, silver tantalus ; Servants at Cromwell-road, statue.
The above text was found on p.28, 23rd February 1901 in “The Tablet: The International Catholic News Weekly.” Reproduced with kind permission of the Publisher. The Tablet can be found at http://www.thetablet.co.uk .
If you are driving from Enfield towards Stoke Newington down the A10, a little to the south of White Hart Lane, you find yourself on Bruce Grove. It’s all fairly run-down now, but on the right-hand side there is a small terrace of late Georgian houses which includes No. 7. which was one half of a pair of symmetrical villas, built in the late 18th or early 19th century and part of a consecutive group (1-16). It became the Tottenham Trades Hall in 1919. Currently it is derelict. On the front wall facing the street is Tottenham’s only blue plaque. The house also has a great view south, and east, across the Lee river valley, and the City, and East End. It must have been a great place to watch clouds, although Luke Howard was only there for the last twelve years of his life.
This is almost my most favourite English Heritage plaque in London; it is certainly one of the most thought-provoking, and probably one of the coolest, possibly only rivalled by this pair in Brook Street.
It’s a staggering thought that one man classified all the main cloud types in 1803, and more to the point what did people use before – fluffy? straight? round?
Luke Howard was born in London on 28 November 1772, the eldest son of Robert Howard and his wife Elizabeth, Robert Howard was a lamp manufacturer. Luke was a Quaker, later converting to the Plymouth Brethren. He was educated at a Quaker school at Burford, in Oxfordshire and was then apprenticed to a retail chemist in Stockport, just outside Manchester. He set up his own pharmacy in Fleet Street in 1793. In approximately 1797, he went into partnership with William Allen to form the pharmaceutical company of Allen and Howard in London. A factory was opened on the marshes at Plaistow, to the east of London. The partnership was dissolved in 1807 and the company became Howards and Sons in 1856. He spent the years 1824 to 1852 in Ackworth, Yorkshire, and died in Tottenham in 1864.
He made a number of significant contributions to the subject of meteorology besides his cloud classification, and published “The Climate of London” (first edition 1818, second edition 1830), “Seven lectures on meteorology” (1837), “A cycle of eighteen years in the seasons of Britain” (1842) and “Barometrographia” (1847). But the most important was “On the modification of clouds” in December 1802.
The success of Howard’s system was his application of Linnean principles of natural history classification [i.e. using Latin, and that species were grouped into genera (singular: genus), genera were grouped into orders (higher level groupings), and orders into classes. Classes in turn were parts of “kingdoms”, of which he, along with his contemporaries and predecessors, recognised three: mineral, plant, and animal. Species bore a double (or “binomial” name) — the first term of which gave their genus, and the second their species.]and his emphasis on the mutability of clouds.
But he named clouds, and I’d be really, really proud if I’d done that.
“On the modification of clouds” 1802 introduced three basic cloud types:
Cirrus (Latin for a curl of hair), which he described as “parallel, flexuous, or diverging fibres, extensible in any or all directions”.
Cumulus (meaning heap), which he described as “convex or conical heaps, increasing upward from a horizontal base”.
Stratus(meaning something spread), which he described as “a widely extended, continuous, horizontal sheet, increasing from below”.
He combined these names to form four more cloud types:
Cirro-cumulus, which he described as “small, well-defined roundish masses, in close horizontal arrangement”.
Cirro-stratus, which he described as “horizontal or slightly inclined masses, attenuated towards a part or the whole of their circumference, bent downward, or undulated, separate, or in groups consisting of small clouds having these characters”.
Cumulostratus, which he described as “the cirrostratus blended with the cumulus, and either appearing intermixed with the heaps of the latter, or super-adding a widespread structure to its base”.
Cumulo-cirro-stratus or Nimbus, which he called the rain cloud, “a cloud or system of clouds from which rain is falling”. He described it as “a horizontal sheet, above which the cirrus spreads, while the cumulus enters it laterally and from beneath”.
Luke Howard is almost family as well; his son-in-law, John Hodgkin junior (1800-1875) is a first cousin, five times removed.
Early Struggles — Arrival in Liverpool — The Aspect of the Town — “Old Charlies” — Press-gangs — Privateers — Sufferings of the Inhabitants — No employment — Sets up a School — War with America — Commercial Vicissitudes — Mr. Knowles’ School — Walmsley refuses Offer of lucrative Partnership — Resolves upon a mercantile Career — The first Rung of the Ladder.
THE LIVERPOOL OF HIS BOYHOOD.
Two years before, in company with Mr. Ainslabie, young Walmsley had visited Liverpool. “I found
my native town much altered,” he says. ” Dale Street had been widened ; a new, and what seemed to me a very stately edifice — the Exchange — had been built, and the Athenaeum, in Church Street, replaced the old news-room in Bates’ Hotel, at the lower end of Lord Street. The pipes from the waterworks of Bootle did duty for the water-carts going from door to door, as I remembered them in my childhood. Although there were trees in Church Street, a windmill on the top of Duke Street, hedgerows and lawns beyond Rodney Street, which was then an outskirt of the town, pasture-land where Cornwallis Street is now, and though it was open country beyond Lime Street, yet Liverpool seemed to me a magnificent city. Its principal streets — Lord Street, Church Street, and Bold Street — were then un-flagged, the only footway they could boast of being composed of pebbles stuck on end. At night the town was lit by oil-lamps, few and far between, that flickered and blew out when the wind was high. It was guarded by a police composed of sixty old men, known as the ‘ old Charlies,’ so aged and feeble, that the inhabitants could only account for their filling the post by supposing that, when men were considered too decrepit for any other employment, they were elected guardians of the public safety.
The inhabitants of Liverpool at that time were ninety thousand, and seven thousand sailors in the port. Such was the Liverpool of that day. But even then there were vast docks — St. George’s Dock being the last in one direction and the Queen’s Dock in the other ; nor must I forget the ‘ Old Tower,’ used as a debtors’ prison. On the other side of the Mersey was Birkenhead, where the old Priory stood alone, fields stretching away all round it. That side of the river was almost terra incognita few, unless compelled to do so, caring to trust themselves in the small ferry- boats. It was war-time then, and I gazed with awe at the seventy-five guns looming black in their embrasures, mounted on the North Fort. I sometimes walked off towards Bootle, to see another smaller fort
mounting some nine or ten guns. But above all I was never wearied watching the docks, the shipping, and the old guardship the Princess. The press-gang was so active it was unsafe for landsmen to be abroad after dark. Morning might find them on board the Princess, vainly endeavouring to soften the heart of the captain — the genial, hard-drinking old sailor — Sam
” There were constant fights going on between the sailors and the press-gang men. At times these riots were so serious that the volunteers had to be called out. Sailors homeward bound in merchantmen, to escape being caught, would go ashore on reaching the rock at the mouth of the Mersey, and make their way to Everton, or some adjacent village, for safety. Privateers sailed out daily, and occasionally returned followed by a captured prize. Often, too, the sound of guns might be heard on the river ; for the French trying to lay an embargo on the coast, merchant vessels had to sail under convoy, when some dashing frigate, taking charge, would fire into any obstinate
skipper that refused to obey the pennant. This hubbub of adventure, warfare, and commerce contrasted strangely with the half-gipsy, half-sportsman life I led on Stanemoor. During that holiday, two years ago, I had sought for employment, but 1809 was a year of commercial panic. The Berlin decrees were telling on the trade of the port, with all the dire consequences Napoleon had foreseen. Prices were at famine height. While such a state of things existed, merchants had neither the desire nor the enterprise to take in new hands. My efforts to find employment had failed.”
CHOICE OF A LODGING.
Now, in 1811, with a meagre purse and scarcely a friend to look to, the young man was once more on his way to Liverpool. His sister was a teacher in that town, where also his father’s brother lived ; but the latter was poor and had a large family. Joshua Walmsley resolved not to seek out his relations until he had found a situation. Should mercantile occupation fail him, he would try his fortune out in the Indies : some merchants, whose names he remembered, had promised his father to find employment for him out there. Resolving these projects in his mind, he travelled on towards Liverpool and the future. ” I decided,” he says, “to go to a house in Manisty Lane, where I had lodged with Mr. Ainslabie. The people had been kind to me then, and I would seek them out now. And so when the coach drove into the place, and the narrow streets of my native town passed before me, my mind was made up, and I felt not altogether friendless in it. I gave the guard one
shilling and sixpence, and had a shilling left. I was not mistaken, the good folks were poor ; but they welcomed me and listened to my story. I made a clean breast of it ; told all I had borne till I could bear it no longer, and said I had now come to seek my fortunes here. It was at once agreed that I should have a bed and my meals with them, and that I should pay them when I had found employment — time enough then. They gave me hope and courage, although there was no disguising it, these were bad times for Liverpool. The poor had no bread, and they told me peas, potatoes, and rice had been bought in large quantities by a committee of benevolent men, who sold them at reduced prices to the needy. The quartern loaf was selling at one shilling and sixpence ; a paper was circulating, calling on the rich to use flour sparingly, to allow no pastry
in their houses, and to use no bread that had not been baked twenty-four hours, also to give reduced rations of oats to their horses. Bacon that some time ago was fourpence a pound was now one shilling and twopence, and cheese had risen in proportion. These were hard times for the poor of Liverpool, but the dock trustees had raised a loan to employ as many hands as they could during the winter. The honest couple had in no way exaggerated the distress, and they were among the poor.
EFFORTS TO GET EMPLOYMENT.
” Next morning when I awoke I realised that now, indeed, life was beginning in earnest for me. Immediately after breakfast I set out on my quest The sight of the vast docks and the shipping somewhat re- assured me. Surely there must be some humble berth that I could fill which might prove a stepping-stone to the future. Young, strong, active, fairly educated, resolved to give the best that was in me in exchange for a salary that would enable me to live, my hope of success seemed to me based on reasonable ground.
‘ That day I went to several warehouses, knocked at the doors of many offices. At some I was dis-
missed with a curt refusal, at others I was asked for references. I had none to give. This first day was a complete failure, without one glimpse of encouragement. From morning to night for several days I went from office to office, from warehouse to warehouse. In the evening, wearied after the fruitless day’s tramp, I lost hope, but with the morning it revived. There must be surely some berth,some work for me in this huge commercial world, and that berth and that work I would find. They must not be lost for lack of searching.
” At last hope began outright to wane. The East Indian scheme proved a failure ; the merchants had forgotten their promises. The same answer met me everywhere. Times were bad and I had no references. On the tenth morning I heard of a vacant situation. It was not at a merchant’s office but at a pawnbroker’s.
Still, it was an opening, and might serve to keep the wolf from my door. By means of it I might at least obtain the needed references. I went, determined to take what I could find. The master was a Jew, he offered me scarce enough to sustain life, in exchange for which I was to give continuous labour from early morning till a late hour of the night, including in this the cleaning of the boots and shoes of the establishment. I could not stand this last clause, and broke off negotiations instantly. Then at last I lost heart.
That night I faced the truth ; my boots were worn out — my money spent — I was living on charity. It had almost broken my heart, returning weary and worn out night after night to have to tell my kind hostess the sad tale of my daily failure, but she had always bidden me to cheer up. This night I saw it could go on no longer, so I determined I would see my aunt and uncle next day.
‘ They lived in Toxteth Park. He was a clerk in the post-office, and she a bright hard-working woman, helping her husband to bring up their six children by keeping a night-school. She received me kindly. It was not right, she said, I should be dependent upon strangers. If, after further eflforts, I failed in procuring what I had so set my heart upon, she advised me to try a night-school. Till then she invited me to remain with them.
OPENS A NIGHT-SCHOOL.
” The thought of opening a night-school was galling to me. Teaching was weariness and a slavery. To return to it was returning to the bondage I had escaped from. It was death to all the dreams and
hopes I had nurtured for two years, and an abandonment of all chance of fulfilling my father’s prophecy.
After a few more desperate and bootless efforts to find a berth in a merchant’s office I set myself to carry out my aunt’s suggestion. I took two small rooms in Toxteth Park. I made it known in every house in the neighbourhood that I had opened a night-school for adults. My training at Kirkby Stephen had stood me in good stead. Soon my two rooms were filled so that they could hold no more. My reputation as teacher spread, and day work came besides. I taught writing and arithmetic in a gentleman’s school in Rodney Street. Still, my few spare hours were spent in seeking for that longed-for clerkship, no matter how modest it might be, in a merchant’s office. I was soon
in what might be said to be flourishing pecuniary circumstances. I paid off my debts to my friends in
Manisty Lane and to my aunt.”
War had broken out with America, and was involving the commercial world in chaos. Men who
were rich in the morning were beggars by night, and vice versa ; a victory or a defeat determining the issues. As may be imagined, it was a period of intense excitement and widespread distress. In his new career, Mr. Walmsley had made the acquaintance of Mr. Knowles, a gentleman who kept one of the larger schools in Liverpool, a man of large connections and much experience of the world. His principal teacher having left him, Mr. Knowles offered the, vacant post to the young master of the night- school.
To accept the offer seemed like riveting the chain of bondage. The very precariousness of his present mode of existence appeared to Mr. Walmsley a sort of pledge that it was not to last for ever. ” The idea was intolerable to me,” he says, ” that life should go on a prolonged weary repetition of Kirkby Stephen. The pay also was smaller than my own earnings. I hesitated. ‘ I shall use all my influence to procure you mercantile employment,’ said Mr. Knowles, knowing well the bait he was offering.
DECLINES A LUCRATIVE PARTNERSHIP.
”That moment the bargain was struck between us. Lower pay than what I earned by my night-school and daily lessons; but the hope that promise held out was better than money.“I accepted. Eighteen months elapsed, during which Mr. Knowles gave no sign that he remembered his promise, and accordingly I remonstrated. In answer, he offered me a partnership in the school — partnership in this school meant four or five hundred a year. Two years ago, I had entered Liverpool with a slender knapsack on my back, with a well-nigh empty purse, and high hopes. It might be thought that these hopes were more than realised in this proposal. At twenty, to receive the offer of a post worth four hundred a year.For one moment only I hesitated, and then I respectfully but firmly declined the offer. Had I accepted, I knew my fate would have been sealed.
A fate that would have been bondage to me.” The singleness of purpose that had actuated the young man throughout this period of his life was sure to have its reward.
In Mr. Knowles’ school were two boys of the name of Carter. Their father was a large grain merchant in Liverpool. Mr. Walmsley had gained the boys’ affection, and was occasionally invited down on a Sunday to their father’s country house in Wavertree; for Wavertree was then broad country, miles distant from any street of the town. The spring of 1814 had come — a spring that seemed to inaugurate an era of peace and revived commerce. Bonaparte had taken leave of his Old Guard in the court of the palace of Fontainebleau, and peace was signed between France and England. In that month of May, Liverpool began to participate in the trade with India, the monopoly of which had, since the time of Queen Elizabeth, belonged to the East India Company. The
Kingsmill, on the 27th May, 1814, was the first ship that ever sailed from Liverpool to India. There was hope also now that our differences with America would speedily be settled. Bright days were coming at last.
In this improved condition of affairs an opportunity presented itself for Mr. Walmsley to make his
wishes known to Mr. Carter. The grain merchant wanted a clerk. The salary was forty pounds to
begin with, rising ten pounds annually, and the contract was to last four years.
” I had just refused four hundred a year,” he says, ” but here was an opening to the career I had so long coveted, and though the salary was so small, I offered myself to Mr. Carter, and was accepted. The contract was signed. For four years I was bound to serve Messrs. Carter and Piers, at the above-named salary. It was a modest sum. But what cared I ? Had I not fed upon rye bread and wheelbarrow cheese for weeks together, and slept on the wild moors, with a donkey-cart for shelter on rough nights? All I thought of was, that it allowed me to plant my foot upon the first rung of the ladder, and it would be no fault of mine if I did not reach the topmost. My father’s words rang in my ears, ‘Remember, lad, an apple is as easily felled as a crab,’ and his other prophecy as well, like that of Bow bells to Whittington ; “Jos will be mayor of Liverpool some day.”
ENTERS A MERCHANTS OFFICE.
On the 12th June, 1814, I turned my back upon Mr. Knowles’ school and my usher life for ever, and
took my place on the high stool in Mr. Carter’s office.
Early Days— Father’s Prophecy — Knowsley School — Boyish Recreations — The Earl of Derby — His love of Sport and homely Kindness — Leaves Knowsley for Eden Hall — No Recreation there — Attack upon an Orchard — Surrender of Assailants upon Conditions — Violation of the Treaty — Schoolboy Retaliation for Breach of Faith — Wrestling Matches — The Father’s Death — An Anecdote of the old Man — Reduced Means — Becomes a Teacher — A Sporting Adventure— Young Walmsley a good Shot — Provides Game for Eden Hall — Is attended by similar odd Characters — Leaves School.
Joshua Walmsley was born September 29, 1794, in Concert Street, Liverpool His father was a builder, a man of considerable ability and enterprise, whose affairs prospered during the boy’s early childhood. He had extensive premises in Berry Street, and possessed quarries of freestone in Toxteth Park, and of marble in Kilkenny. Many fine buildings were erected by him in Liverpool. Mrs. Walmsley is described as a woman of energy and ability. On one occasion, when her husband was absent for two years in Ireland, she managed his affairs so skilfully that on his return he found them in a more prosperous condition than when he left. A girl, one year the boy’s junior, completed the household.
Among the reminiscences of early days recorded in the notes Sir Joshua Walmsley has left, is the vague recollection of a large workshop filled with busts, statues, and architectural ornaments, where he and his sister used to carry on their merry games, and where on one occasion, with the help of his little playmate, he carved a monumental stone for a deceased favourite cat. These were happy days, but trouble came in the shape of family dissension and failing business; the husband and wife separated, and the children were sent to Christleton, near Chester.
Here the brother and sister attended a day-school, but their real intellectual food was supplied from another quarter. The people with whom they lodged were connected with the stage. Shakespeare’s plays were the constant study and theme of conversation in the house, and before the lad could read well, he was able to declaim long passages from the tragedies and comedies, and before he understood the meaning of the word history, Julius Caesar, Coriolanus, Henry V., and Richard III. were living heroes to him.
At the end of two or three years the children returned to Liverpool, and were sent to day-schools, but the candid record tells how young Joshua was self-willed and impetuous, chafing against discipline, and not a very diligent scholar. “ One day,” he says, “ my schoolmaster chastised me brutally. My father’s indignation on seeing the bruises was roused to such a pitch that he horsewhipped the man who had inflicted them. I never forgot this. From that day I gave up my vagrant habits, and love for my father was deepened by gratitude.” In spite of all his shortcomings, the keen-sighted old man discerned signs of character that pointed to a bright future for his son. “Jos will be Mayor of Liverpool,” he used to say in the boy’s hearing.
To be mayor of his native town was the highest dignity the Liverpool builder’s imagination could picture, and this faith in his son brightened the latter years of his life. The boy, whose ambition had been kindled by reading and learning Shakespeare’s plays, listened with a swelling heart to these predictions. “ They sank into my soul,” he says, “and I resolved that the day should come when they would be fulfilled.”
In his own old age. Sir Joshua, alluding to his father, writes : “ I do not know any earthly gratification I would have enjoyed more than ministering to his declining years, and witnessing his joy when seeing me fulfil those predictions which his own trust in me had no slight influence in bringing about the realisation of.”
Joshua was next sent to Knowsley School, where he spent the three brightest years of his boyhood. There he formed many life-long friendships, none of which was more fruitful of happiness than that of his future brother-in-law, Mr. James Mulleneux. Of Mr. Baron, the master, he speaks with affection and respect.
We have some pleasant glimpses of this school life and its play hours. A favourite amusement of the boys was to make apple-pies with fruit and flour bought out of their own pocket-money. They dug ovens in the ground, heated them, and baked their pastry. No doubt dirt was an ingredient of the composition, but it mattered little. The pies were relished by the young cooks with a gusto that no feast or fare of after years could boast. Knowsley School stood on the borders of Knowsley Park. One day, while the boys were intent on their apple-pie making, a quaint but elegant old gentleman made his appearance. His carefully-brushed hair hung down in an elaborate cue. He wore silk stockings, silver buckles, and a beautifully-cut coat The grave aristocratic manner of this stately presence awed the boys, and they paused in their pie-making operations. Presently, however, their shyness wore off, for the gentleman seated himself on a large stone in their midst, and began talking to them like any ordinary mortal.
It was the Earl of Derby. The boys had often heard of him, for (be it understood we are speaking of four generations back) he was famed for his love of cock and dog fighting and other sports. [At a dinner party in 1778 held on his estate “The Oaks” in Carshalton, Lord Derby and his friends planned a sweepstakehorse race, won the following year by Derby’s own horse, Bridget. The race, the Epsom Oaks, has been named after the estate since. At a celebration after Bridget’s win, a similar race for colts was proposed and Derby tossed a coin with Sir Charles Bunbury for the honour of naming the race. Derby won, and the race became known as the Derby Stakes.]
He questioned the lads about their cooking, and gave them culinary hints which, when followed, improved the flavour of their pies. After that he often came to see them, and the boys would gather round him and listen to his anecdotes and advice. Then rising to leave he would tip the lads all round. Needless to say that the old gentleman with the grand genial manners became a great favourite. Little did the son of the Liverpool builder then foresee that he would one day become acquainted with the earl’s son, would work in the House of Commons with his grandson,[who was Prime Minister three times] and in his latter years be on a friendly footing with his great-grandson, the present Earl of Derby. But the pleasant days at Knowsley were coming to an end. The terms at Mr. Baron’s school were too high for Mr. Walmsley’s reduced means. With a sad heart his son received the tidings that he must leave Knowsley School for one in Westmoreland.
Eden Hall, as the establishment was called, merits a brief description, as a type now unknown in England. From twenty to twenty-five pounds per head was the yearly sum paid by one hundred and thirty boys for board, lodging, and education. ” Breakfast at Eden Hall,” writes Sir Joshua, “consisted of a slice of black rye bread, a large proportion of bran entering into the composition. As a rule it was sour. In addition, a large boiler was placed on the table half filled with water, and into this two gallons of milk had been poured, and some handfuls of oatmeal added. Its contents were shared by the one hundred and thirty hungry lads. Sometimes oatmeal porridge replaced the contents of the boiler, and a teaspoonful of treacle was allowed as a great treat. Three times a week we had a limited amount of meat for dinner ; on other days, potatoes, black bread, and cheese. This cheese had grown so hard with age we nicknamed it ‘ wheel- barrow trundles’ ; the third meal consisted of another slice of bread and of the ‘ trundle ‘ cheese. For a certain number of hours daily we were turned into agricultural labourers, working on a large farm belonging to our master. We were a healthy set,” continues Sir Joshua, “ our constitutions hardened by outdoor life and labour. Some boys complained, some ran away, but none were ill, and only one death occurred during the six years I stayed there.”
The neighbouring orchards naturally suffered from the inroads of this healthy and hungry tribe. One instance of these exploits to show the spirit that animated the school. ” A magnificent crop of apples attracted the boys’ attention. They were in a neighbouring farmer’s orchard. The temptation was very great, so the robbery was planned and fully carried out. Being the prime mover in the affair and principal leader, I assumed the most dangerous post. Another boy and myself were still in the tree, throwing the fruit down to our accomplices, when the infuriated owner, who had been on the look-out, appeared amongst us. All fled save we two unfortunate delinquents up in the tree. The farmer leant his burly form against the trunk, but we refused, like Mrs. Bond’s ducks, to come down to be killed. Both parties held out for some time. At last terms were agreed upon between us. The farmer was to forgive the offence if I, from my retreat in the branches, pledged myself in the name of the whole school never to molest his property again.
The promise was given, and the pledge accepted. We came down, returned to our schoolmates, and in presence of all assembled, the transaction was related and ratified. A law was passed that for the future property belonging to this farmer should always be respected. This edict would have been obeyed to the letter, but next morning the farmer came to the school and made his accusation before the master, picked out the two chief culprits, and demanded our punishment. A mitigation of the sentence was offered if we gave up our accomplices ; but this we refused to do, and we were flogged. The next day the farmer’s orchard was bare of fruit, and one of his finest trees lay full length upon the ground. The masters themselves looked leniently upon the act, as one of retributive justice consequent on a breach of contract.”
The pupils of the school contested matches in football, cricketing, and other games, with the townspeople, and in the majority of cases came off victorious. At all times Westmoreland has been noted for its wrestling, and to excel in this, as in other sports, was a point of honour with the school. When one of their number was declared by his master to be their best man in muscle and address, he would march into the town and throw down his gauntlet in presence of the inhabitants. This consisted in pulling the bell in the public market-place, and waiting there till a rival champion appeared.
The sound of the bell was perfectly understood by the townsfolk. It was a challenge to any antagonist who would offer himself for the best of three falls. The match was conducted in the most friendly manner, with perfect good humour, and the beaten lad went home to town or school to practise again, and when ready to toll the market -bell once more.
In 1807, young Joshua was rapidly mastering what advantages the school afforded, when the tidings reached him that his father was dead. It had been some time since the lad had seen him; but when they had been last together a circumstance occurred which, though trifling, was destined to have an influence on his whole life, and be in a manner the key-note of all his future conduct. He writes : ” My father and I were walking down the Wavertree Road together, when we entered an orchard where the trees were laden with fruit. Taking up a stone, I threw it into a small ill-grown tree, bearing some wretched crabs, but it brought nothing down. My father stooped, picked up the stone, and threw it into another tree, the apples of which were very fine. Two or three fell at his feet. ‘My lad,’ he said to me, pointing to them, ‘ remember through life that an apple is as easily felled as a crab.’ This occurred the last day my father and I were together, but his simple words produced an impression upon me that was never forgotten.”
The father left no fortune, and thus at the respective ages of thirteen and twelve the brother and sister found themselves penniless on the world. They became teachers in the schools where they had been pupils. This exposed him to bitter mortifications, and many a lonely hour did the boy spend upon the moors brooding over his situation. One day as he mused in this melancholy mood, his father’s words flashed with sudden significance across his mind — “Remember, lad, an apple is as easily felled as a crab.” At once his resolve was made ; life seemed suddenly to have an aim ; duty, however irksome, should be fulfilled, every spare hour should be devoted to self-culture. He would bear sneers and insults with what patience he could command, keeping ever in view the higher standard of life his father’s words were intended to convey. His determination was rigidly carried out, and it was not long ere the sneers and jests had to make way for respect and trust on the part of teachers and pupils.
Soon after, Mr. Ainslabie, the head master, entrusted him with the school accounts, and also assigned to him the task of making out the bills for the boys’ parents. This extra labour, although it brought with it no remuneration, gave him a practical knowledge which was of much value to him in after life. It brought him also into constant direct intercourse with the head master, and this in its turn led to a new phase in the lad’s existence, which tended still more to develop in him powers of self-denial and self- reliance. We shall let him tell the incident that led to this new epoch in his career.
” Once past the small town of Kirkby-Stephen, the country extended for miles in heather-covered moors. Thickly tenanted with grouse, they stretched wild and desolate for a great distance towards Bowes. Mr. Ainslabie shot over these moors, and one day took me with him to carry his spare gun. We had gone a weary way, and the sportsman had not yet had one successful shot. Mr. Ainslabie at last sent me to the other side of one of the tarns to flush grouse for him. A party of gentlemen, with guns, dogs, and keepers, were strolling over that part of the moor. One of them, perceiving me, stepped forward and asked me did I not know I was trespassing, and that I had no right to walk about carrying a gun ? Quite unembarrassed, I explained my position, said I had not fired a single shot, but was simply carrying my master’s gun. My interlocutor dismissed me with a caution, and showing me the boundary line bid me not trespass again, even though I should not fire a shot.
The gentleman who thus addressed me was, strange to say, Lord Stanley, son of the kind old earl of my Knowsley school-days. However, it happened that before I reached the limit of the forbidden ground a grouse rose at my feet. The temptation was great; in an instant my finger was on the trigger. I fired, and to my delight and surprise the grouse fell. I heard a loud laugh behind me ; all my sportsman instincts were aroused. I resolved to try my luck again. Keen eyesight and unerring precision served my turn, and with my single gun I brought down three brace of grouse. Great was the astonishment of Mr. Ainslabie, who, waiting for me, had shot only one brace, when I appeared and laid the spoil at his feet ! ”
The vision of a new quarry now opened upon the master. The steady aim and cool nerve of this young fellow must be turned to account. Grouse and fish fetched good prices in the market, and a dead shot at Eden Hall would be a valuable acquisition. Forthwith young Walmsley was sent to the moors to turn his talent to account. They stretched far and wide towards the north, the sweeping shadows of the clouds alone varying the purple monotony of the heather, with here and there a black tarn full of fish that no one thought of disturbing. Thus Sir Joshua describes his life among the moors :
” My gun, ammunition, a bag wherein to bestow the game, a luncheon consisting of a slice of black bread and a piece of wheelbarrow trundle cheese, composed my equipment, and very soon the funds of Eden Hall so profited by my gun, that instead of the day being spent on the moor and the night in my bed in the dormitory, it came to pass I was sent of on excursions of a fortnight’s duration. A donkey cart was allotted to me to carry the ammunition and a considerable amount of black bread and trundle cheese. A companion, by name Francis, was also given me. This Francis was the “Smike “ of Eden Hall. He a tall athletic lad of respectable parentage, whose father, having placed him in the school, completely neglected him. After some time, from pupil he became the drudge of the establishment, performing all the repulsive work of the place It was a lucky day for poor Francis, that on which that Mr. Ainslabie found out my sporting capacities ; for to spend days and nights on the moors was release from captivity for our ‘Smike.’ His duty was to carry the gun and fishing-gear.
We dragged the tarns by night, and when a goodly cargo of grouse had been shot Francis would harness the donkey to the cart, and taking charge of game and fish, would deliver all to the head master. We got no share of the booty, but if our provisions were exhausted, Francis would receive a fresh supply of black bread and trundle cheese, with which he would rejoin me at our headquarters on the moor. It was usually by the side of a stream or by one of the tarns that we encamped. The donkey unharnessed found his own provisions during the daytime, while at night he would be tethered near. If the weather was fine we slept in the open, if wet or windy we turned the donkey-cart and slept under its friendly shelter. By sunrise we were afoot again, and after a bath in the stream, and a breakfast of black bread and cheese hard as flint, on to our hunter’s life again. Each meal consisted of the same unvarying fare washed down with water. Scrupulously, as if the master’s eye had counted every bird and fish, we sent home all the game we killed. Between each campaign I returned to the school-room, studied, taught, and had charge of the bills.”
We suspect that this Spartan life in the wild moorland did more to fit young Walmsley for the future that lay before him than could any school or college of the time. When the two lads that shared it together met in later years, one was a knight and a member of parliament, the other – the humble Smike -a prosperous magistrate.
In the spring of 1811, a misunderstanding between young Walmsley and his master’s brother brought this chapter of his career to a close. The lad longed for a wider field of action than the Eden Hall School opened the prospect of, yet he would have waited longer ere taking the decisive step had not this quarrel occurred.
“One morning, in the spring of 1811, carrying all my worldly goods — they were not a heavy load — I bade farewell to Eden Hall. I travelled by carrier as far as Kendal, then took an outside seat on the conveyance that at Warrington met the Liverpool coach. After I had paid my fare but a few shillings remained in my pocket. Yet my heart beat high with hope as I turned my face towards the scene of my future labours ; and all the way I seemed to hear my father’s words : ‘Jos will be mayor of Liverpool some day.’ “