SRFN Miscellany: Henry Burstow: Reminiscences of Horsham: 5

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SRFN: Miscellany:
Henry Burstow: Reminiscences of Horsham

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	45

Another event that was celebrated on a large scale at Horsham was the coming-of-age, on Saturday, the 7th October, 1843, of C. G. Eversfield, Esq., of Denne Park. The whole parish was then one scene of rejoicing; a large white flag was fixed at the top of the Church steeple early in the morning, which was ushered in by a merry peal on the Old Church bells. The day was beautifully fine and not cold. At 12 o'clock the band paraded the town, and then marched to the Vicarage, where 750 children were waiting; all joined in singing the "Old Hundredth," accompanied by the band, and then marched to Denne Park. Every person in the parish had an invitation to be present, and over 3000 people accepted it. All sorts of sports and amusements were provided, one of which was that of racing by boys after Dutch cheeses down the big hill. On Monday evening there was a grand display of fireworks on the Gaol Green, including a large set piece on a frame, "CHARLES GILBERT EVERSFIELD," and a dinner to tradesmen at the "Richmond Arms Hotel," presided over by Mr. William S. Stedman, solicitor. Young Mr. Eversfield was absent from these festivities, though at home on Monday and Tuesday, the 8th and 9th January, 1844, when two fancy-dress balls were given, one in a large room temporarily built close to the mansion, the other at the "Richmond Arms Hotel." Jullien's celebrated Orchestra, from London, provided the music at both, which were attended by large numbers of the nobility and gentry, who came in their pair-horse and four-horse carriages from all round the neighbourhood. A very similar celebration took place in 1822, my father told me, upon the coming-of-age of Robert Aldridge, Esq., of St. Leonard's Forest. Everybody who chose to go was most generously entertained. These festivities lasted a week, beginning on Monday,

46	Reminiscences of Horsham.

the 1st July. The Church bells were rung every day. Tuesday was the great day, when 7,000 people were present. A huge baron of beef, 35 stone, was roasted in the open air. Between 700 and 800 sat down to dine at two tables, one 150 feet long, and another, horseshoe-shaped, 320 feet long, both under canvas. One interesting feature of the dinner was the presence of four old people sitting together, whose combined ages totalled 375 years; Widow Edwards, 100; Reuben Baker, 95; John Lamper, 90; John Hunter, 90. Dr. Rickword, of the Carfax, presided and the "Sussex Band of Music" played the "Roast Beef of Old England" and other tunes. Amusements of all kinds, donkey racing, walking the bowsprit, climbing the greasy pole, were provided, as were also many hogsheads of ale, and at 10 o'clock at night 'twas impossible to walk in any direction without stumbling over the inanimate devotees of "John Barleycorn"; the most prevalent idea of the scene was said to be that of the dead and dying on the field of Waterloo. Speaking of Waterloo reminds me there were several Waterloo veterans in the town and neighbourhood when I was a boy. Every year on the anniversary of the great battle, June 18th, these old soldiers, about 20 or 30 of them, including Old King Cole, Cobbler Will, and Jim Shoubridge, who had left a leg in Belgium, and manfully stumped along with the wooden substitutes. Afterwards all were treated to a good substantial dinner at one or other of the public houses, sometimes "The Oak," at Warnham, by Mr. Broadwood, of Lyne. These old chaps used to find a lot to talk about and settle, and usually finished up late at night at the "Lamb," where they drank a lot more liquor than they had shed blood at the battle of Waterloo.

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	47

I remember my father speaking of Horsham's last flash Town Crier and Beadle, old Dan Roberts, whose portrait I give. [facing page] From my father's description he was the most gorgeous person the town ever possessed — famous not only for his magnificent appearance in blue cloth coat with red collar and large gilt buttons, broad brimmed pot hat with gold band, plush breeches, yellow silk stockings and low shoes with silver buckles, but for his big nose. This worthy, like most people at Horsham in the old days, had a great regard for the Public Houses, and frequently enjoyed a drink at the "Anchor" with the Duke of Norfolk — who, as Lord of Horsham, was his master — when he visited the town. He was one day, I have been told, standing in Middle Street, contemplating the "Punch Bowl," his favourite house, from the other side of the street, allowing his imagination to run inside among the bottles of spirits and bottles of beer. So lost was he in these pleasant rambles that he did not notice the approach of a team of horses and a waggon, till the carter shouted "Hi, master, will you turn your head so that I can get my team down the street?" "Oh, certainly," replied old Dan. He then seized his nose with both hands and turned it down the street, alongside the shop windows, so that the team could pass. My eldest sister, when she was cross, used to draw sketches on paper of old Dan and his nose, an exercise that relieved her feelings and invariably brought the whole household to smiles. At the "Punch Bowl" the customers once arranged a Nose Club Meeting and Competition; Dan was awarded first prize, and my father, who enjoyed the possession of a pretty good "beak," came next — he was, however, given but fifth prize; there was no second, third, or fourth. The first Town Crier I remember was Mills, a shoemaker; after him came old Dolly Wood, born

48	Reminiscences of Horsham.

in 1800, also a shoemaker. He possessed an excellent and clear carrying voice; I have, when walking round the Mill Bay, oftentimes heard him crying in West Street, and could distinguish some of the words he spoke. In the forties, when the price of flour had fallen 1½ d. per gallon, the Horsham Millers laid their heads together and agreed to reduce the price but ½ d. per gallon. Some of the wags engaged Dolly to cry round the town for three consecutive days: "Oyez! Oyez!! On account of the cheapness of corn, the liberal millers of Horsham have kindly consented to reduce the price of flour ½ d. per gallon." This little job must have afforded him considerable satisfaction, as he was not only well paid, but could also enjoy the reflection that when his father kept the Town Mills, he earned the reputation of the "honest miller." After Dolly Wood's death Mills was again the name of the crier. He also had an excellent voice, which he retained to the last, dying but a few years ago, upwards of ninety years of age, the oldest crier in the kingdom. Closely allied to the Town Crier, by the nature of their appointment, were the Night Watchmen. The last two in Horsham were Jack Sayers and Isaac Aldridge. To these two worthies the custody of and responsibility for the town during the night were committed. Many times I have heard them cry out in their nocturnal peregrinations, "'Tis past 12 o'clock, and a stormy night," or similar remarks according to the facts upon the time and weather. There was another kind of Night-watching that used to be regularly undertaken at Horsham, as indeed elsewhere generally, and that was watching for "Resurrection Men," or body-snatchers: men who used to prowl round Churchyards, after dark, to dig up freshly-buried bodies and, at a price, carry them to London to be sold for dissection. People

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	49

who could afford it used to pay two or three men 2s. 6d. or 5s. each night to watch for a fortnight the grave of their departed relative, to see the body was not stolen; many times the old cottages on the edge of the Churchyard, and the Belfry itself, have been used for this purpose. Jack Sayers, better known as "Jack Chaff," was a chaff-cutter by trade, and used to nearly always carry his chaff-box and cutter about with him on his back. He was a comical, happy kind of customer, always singing or whistling, yet frequently getting into hot water over something or other. One Sunday he went to Church service the worse for liquor. The beadle, in his uniform, told him to go out. "What," he exclaimed, "be putt out by a livery sarvant; no, that I wunt." But put out he was though; in fact, he was too drunk to offer much resistance. On another occasion he was up before the magistrates, to whom he was well known, for a debt of some kind (this was before the days of County Courts). "Why don't you pay?" he was asked. "Well, gentlemen, the fact is I'm stiver-cramped." "Stiver-cramped! what does that mean?" "It means, gentlemen, that I'm satchel-sprung." "Well, what does that mean?" "What, don't you gentlemen know what that means? It means I'm augur-plugged." The magistrates laughed, and let him off as lightly as they could. "Good old Isaac," as Aldridge was called, besides following his trade, that of carpenter, held other offices in the town. Up to about 1840, when the Fire Brigade was organised, with tradesmen in pot hats as firemen, Old Ike was Horsham's only fireman, and had sole charge of the small squirting apparatus that we boys admiringly called an engine. This was kept in an old shed where Manor Place is now, and I think must have been the identical engine presented to the town in 1780 by Lady Irwin, of Hill's Place, "an

Reminiscences of Horsham.

engine capable of throwing 120 gallons of water a minute." This formidable instrument used to take old Ike about three-quarters of an hour to put together and get into working order when its services were required at a fire. He was also organ-blower and bell-ringer at the Old church till he died. He further undertook the repairs of the Church steeple, putting new shingles where wanted. But important as these offices seemed to us, it was as big drummer to the old Band that Ike used to afford us the greatest satisfaction. When there was a band job on he would be sure to have sought inspiration in an extra glass or two, and then he would delight us boys by his extraordinary drumstick flourishes, and his industrious accompaniments to the band's favourite melodies — "Hearts of Oak," "Bonnie Dundee," "Bonnets of Blue," "Rory O'More," "The Brighton Camp," &c. These tunes, with perhaps a few others, used to constitute the Band's repertoire. Music in band parts being in manuscript only was hard to get and very expensive. It appeared, too, to be the subject of much misunderstanding among the bandsmen, and some of the harmonies were certainly rather hard for the public to appreciate, especially towards evening at the Broadbridge Heath and other club feasts where the Band was engaged to play. I give here a list of performers with instruments in the old Band, about 1835 or 1840:—

Edward Potter, sen., Trafalgar Road	. . .	Flute and Fife.
Edward Potter, jun., Trafalgar Road	. . .	Clarionet (leader).
Abraham Lintott, Normandy	. . .	Clarionet.
George Lintott, West Street	. . .	Clarionet.
Edward Peters ("Darby"), The Common	. . .	Key Bugle.
William Potter, Trafalgar Road	. . .	Key Bugle.
James Potter, Trafalgar Road	. . .	Trumpet.
Joseph Potter, Trafalgar Road	. . .	Trombone.
Harry Potter, Trafalgar Road	. . .	Trombone.
Old Wyndham, Queen Street	. . .	French Horn.
Peter Potter, Trafalgar Road	. . .	Serpent.
Isaac Aldridge, London Road	. . .	Drum.

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	51

There was yet another official in the town familiar enough in my boyhood's days, but whose occupation will seem a queer one to the present generation. I refer to the "Beggar-pooker." At that time there were lots of sturdy beggars about, hardened to their career, experts at poaching and promiscuous foraging. They were better fed and happier than many hard-working country labourers. Sometimes they would have a donkey to carry their kit, cooking utensils, &c., and often a tent with which they would encamp on one or other of the many strips of roadside waste land, which as yet had not been thoroughly taken by the landlord of the adjoining property. In the towns as well as the country these beggars were frequently a great nuisance. They would, perhaps, get a foot in the doorway of a private house, and by threats obtain from timid people money or food. There were as yet no police who could be sent for, but it was one of the duties of the Parish Constables to move beggars away, a duty they dare not refuse if they were offered the fee of 1s. This duty they delegated to the Beggar-pooker. The last two, both of whom I can remember, were Ned Potter and Tim Scott. Old Ned was a capable officer, whose assistance out of the parish the beggars didn't much relish; but Scott had the character of a malingerer. I have seen them many times ridding the town of troublesome rascals. For this purpose they were armed with a pole about 6ft. long and nearly as thick as the wrist, and if the gentry to be helped out of the town did not move at the desired pace when requested, they would find the pole tickling their ribs or the smalls of their backs. Old Potter was one day pooking a beggar away up the North Parade, when Squire Tredcroft happened to be walking down towards his residence, Manor house. "What are you pooking there, Potter?" he asked. "Man been begging, Sir," was the reply.
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