SRFN Miscellany: Henry Burstow: Reminiscences of Horsham: 6

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Henry Burstow: Reminiscences of Horsham

52	Reminiscences of Horsham.

"What do you want to beg for, my man?" he then asked the beggar. "I've had my kettle stolen, Sir, and I want to buy another." "How much is a kettle?" "Eighteen pence, Sir." The squire gave 1s. to the beggar, who, instead of thanking him for it, cheeked him for another 6d. "Pook him off, Potter," said the old gentleman, "pook him off, pook him off." Beggar pooking was not always an easy job. My eldest brother was one day at Guildford, where he was accosted by a beggar. "You come from Horsham, don't you?" "Yes," he replied. "Is old Potter, the Beggar-pooker, still alive?" "No," replied my brother, "he's dead." "Oh is he," said the beggar, "then I can go to Horsham again; the last time I was there that old — pooked me all the way down the Bishopric out of the town, but when we got to the bottom I up with my fist and knocked him head over heels. I bolted off then, and have never been there since." The first professional policeman at Horsham was Gower, whom we boys regarded — at first — with fear, appointed October, 1839. Afterwards, with him, was Tuppin; then came Green, the first superintendent; he was cross-eyed and broken-winded, and was promptly nick-named "Old Blowfly." Another public servant, though not an officially-appointed one, was Ned Hall, the waterman. At a time when each household depended for water upon its own well, and that, perhaps, not a deep one, the supply was rather precarious. Well water at Horsham, too, was very hard, and most people used to save all the rain water they could for washing purposes, &c. With his pony cart and barrel old Hall could always in summer time do a good trade in water, which he used to fetch from the river, selling it at a half-penny per bucketful, and with a wooden trough, fitted behind the barrel, watering the streets, charg-

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	53

ing 1d. per time for watering the road in front of a house. This money the old man used to collect once a week; at the house of those who did not pay he used to cut the water off, making the streets into an interesting patchwork of wet and dry. The most thoroughly disliked man in Horsham was one Charles Feist, a native, afterwards better known as "Greenacre." He was a shoemaker by trade, but in this sedentary occupation of leather working he was unable to satisfy his ambitions, and so, getting attached to a lawyer's office, very soon picked up enough knowledge of law to make it useful to himself and extremely unpleasant to others. He thus became known as "Lawyer Feist." A big fat man, with a red face and whiskers; with his appearance, hard heart, loud voice, determined manner and unscrupulous character, he was, in different ways, an object of terror alike to the poor and well to do. He fulfilled the unpleasant office of bum bailiff with a callousness and dishonesty hardly credible. His duty once took him to the house — or rather hovel — of a poor labourer at Two-Mile-Ash, who had got into debt, and whose wife was lying ill abed with a new baby. Armed with his legal process, and untouched by the pitiable circumstances, he literally took the bed from under the poor mother and child. Such inhuman conduct is sure to breed a desire for vengeance, and shortly afterwards the friends of this poor woman had their chance of making it. Meeting old Feist at a fête up in the old cricket ground, in North Parade, they surrounded him, and breaking off the legs of some of the seats, belaboured him right and left to such an extent that he was laid up for some time; yet though this castigation softened his skin it did not soften his heart, for in 1837 he paid one of his professional visits to a Mrs. Jenkins, the wife of a

54	Reminiscences of Horsham.

labourer at Wild Goose. This unlucky pair had placed themselves in the power of the machinery of the law, and as one of its merciless cog-wheels Feist went to grind out of them the creditors' dues. His character had preceded him, his visit was anticipated, and its result was tragic indeed. Burdened by debt, by the perpetual struggle for the bare necessities of life — as indeed most labourers were burdened at this time — and by a large family, which she was shortly expecting to increase, the unfortunate woman, in her rage and despair, met the hardened limb of the law with an axe, and threatened to cleave his skull if he did not retire; but this threat she lacked either courage or opportunity to carry out, for instead she fell dead at her tormentor's feet. This incident gave him his execrable nickname, "Greenacre" — a fiend of that name having just been capitally punished in London. This nickname stuck to him for the rest of his life; fortunately he left no descendants to inherit either it or his bad qualities. Quite a different specimen was poor Billy Claytor, the simpleton referred to on page 42. He was Horsham's odd handy man: with his lisping tongue, perpetual smile, soft tread, civil and obliging ways, he had the manners, without the hypocricy, of Uriah Heep, and always seemed to be, without using words, unnecessarily apologising for his existence. He maintained himself, in bachelor simplicity, on the few shillings he earned till middle life, when he inherited about £450. This little windfall developed his manly virtues, which were quickly appreciated by a stranger, a young London lady, willing to share his joys — and his cash. Immediately after marriage they set about dissipating both, and as soon as the latter was exhausted, the lady left him to do his best with his sorrows and empty pockets alone. He returned to boots and window cleaning in a chastened and philo-

Recollections of Henry Burstow.

sophic mind. The following lines, by an esteemed Horshamite, were written upon Billy's return:—

WILLIAM CLAYTOR: HANDYMAN OF HORSHAM.

Poor Claytor is come back again,
And well enough he might,
Four hundred pounds and more, 'tis plain,
He's fooled away outright.

Poor fellow, he begins to see
The sad effects of folly,
Reduced again to poverty
He feels quite melancholy.

With plenty he was not content,
He needs must cut a swell,
And by that means his money went,
And that he knows full well.

Not only that, he took a loft
At Herring's, near the Square;
He furnished it with carpets soft,
And trinkets rich and rare.

He bought two watches and a clock,
And glittering chain and seals,
A silver-mounted music box
To cheer him at his meals.

A fine pianoforte quite new,
Of mahogany 'twas made,
Elegant chairs and tables, too,
Were tastefully displayed.

A quantity of books he bought,
Among them Shakespeare's plays;
Napoleon's life, and how he fought
The English in old days.

The room in fitting up, 'twas said,
Cost thirty pounds, or more;
Saucepans and pots beneath his bed,
He had at least a score.

He bought a dozen pairs of shoes,
Clothes more than he had need;
'Twas his delight to read the news
And smoke his favourite weed.

His room complete, he must invite
His neighbours in to tea,
And new-made friends came every night
His little room to see.

Reminiscences of Horsham.

He always kept a little gin,
A little port and sherry,
When any of his friends came in
He liked to make them merry.

But music Claytor could not play,
Though music he had plenty;
His education I should say
In music had been scanty.

He could the barrel organ play,
And sure you can't deny it,
You'd laugh to hear him grind away
That grand old tune, "Be Quiet!".

For want of elbow grease and oil,
For want of proper care,
His furniture began to spoil
Though none the worse for wear.

But Claytor's was a batchelor's life,
And that he could not bear,
He longed to take himself a wife
His happy lot to share.

Says he! this chance I'll not let slip,
To change my single life,
To Brighton town I'll take a trip
To seek me out a wife.

And there he went a month or two,
And then came back again,
He said that Brighton was no go,
He could no wife obtain.

Said he, there was, beyond dispute,
A lot of ladies there,
But as I thought that none would suit,
I thought I'd try elsewhere.

To visit London now he turned
To seek a wife — the elf;
Soon with a lady he returned,
More foolish than himself.

He soon made her his wife, and she
Like him must cut a dash,
And thus between them both, you see,
Away went all their cash.

His furniture he now must sell,
His books and music too;
To watches, chains, and seals as well,
He now must bid adieu.

Recollections of Henry Burstow.

All sold, to London town again
They both go off together;
While she his money could obtain,
Her love was tough as leather.

A year passed by, then back again
Poor Claytor comes once more,
To everyone it is quite plain,
As bad off as before.

He's left his pretty wife behind,
His money is all spent,
He's only now to call to mind
How foolishly it went.

His money gone, his wife away,
He's in a pretty plight,
Few in this town I think will say,
But that it serves him right.

Another harmless character was poor Harry Lambert. Most Horsham people of old and middle age still carry in their minds impressions of his extraordinary appearance, but few can remember when he was born. I can see him now an infant in the lap of luxury, dressed in fine silks and satins, being wheeled about in a perambulator by his nurse. As he grew up it became evident Dame Nature had been somewhat remiss in her favours to him, and had left him in a rude and unfinished state physically and mentally. As a mature individual his low brow, thick black hair and ragged whiskers, squint eyes, hollow cheeks, lantern jaws — from which proceeded a voice that would silence a factory hooter — and his carbuncle close to his nose, rivalling it in size and beating it in colour, all combined to make a face that would turn bankrupt even the beautifying powers of the late Madame Rachel. But his attractions were not all upon or in his head. Had a pair of giant hands taken hin by the head and heels and pulled him out straight he would have been tall. but he appeared rather undersized. He was hump-backed, with his chin where his chest ought to have been, and knock-kneed; each foot grew a crop of corns and a bunion,

58	Reminiscences of Horsham.

and these, with his rigid ankles and knee joints, both fixed at an angle of about 60 or 70 degrees, and a kind of bobbing forwards and backwards at the waist imparted a very peculiar gait as, dressed in his suit of black with frock coat and pot hat, he went his way about the Town. A first chapter of Genesis scientist, a book of Revelations philosopher, and a staunch thirty-nine articles theologian, Harry cultivated sufficient confidence in himself to give his views on these subjects to the clergy, afterwards, as he used to say, "hearing them spoke from the pulpit word for word." He had his humorous side, too, and was always composing conundrums. "When the sun shines on the north side of the old Church steeple, what will be the length of a piece of string?" Such was the kind of problem with which, to his delight, he would puzzle some of his friends, whilst with original astronomical observations he would astonish and enlighten others. Poor Harry, he had need of some such pleasures, for he was the butt of everyone's practical joke, and was induced to go on many "owl-catching" and other expeditions that turned out most uncomfortable for him. On one of these occasions Harry was stripped naked and painted green all over; another time he was pegged down on the ground with croquet hooks and treated with various indignities. His love adventures, too, were numerous and entertaining; many well-to-do ladies have at one time and another been the object of his sincere affection, but they were all, alas, also sources of great disappointment. Intensely desirous of success in his last amorous affair, Harry sought the aid of two friends — a fatal request; — these were trusted to convey his letters to the new object of his love, and always brought him back the most satisfactory answers. By means of these letters a meeting of Harry and his new love was arranged for one dark night under the Normandy

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	59

wall, whence an elopement was also planned. Harry was there at the appointed time, and his susceptible heart was soon put into a flutter by the appearance, just over the wall, of a bonnet — the bonnet. Bidden to approach his lady, he obeyed, only to get the Arun Steam Mill flue cleaner in his face and a bucket of water all over him. Two lesser lights among Horsham extraordinary characters were Allen Aldridge, the Old Church organ blower, who in many respects resembled Harry Lambert, and "Foot'em" Jenkins, window cleaner, truck shover, &c., remarkable for his short legs, upon which his ready-made trousers appeared like extended concertinas, and his long splay feet. Everyone of these three individuals was interesting in himself; when they combined to entertain the public the fare provided was rich indeed. This they once did on Good Friday afternoon, about 1879, when they ran a race, arranged by a few sportive individuals, from the "Hurst Arms" Inn to Thornton's Beer Shop (now known as "The Stout house"), on the Carfax, for a gallon of stout. I give a caricature, by a well-known Horsham Artist, of this famous event. [ facing page ] Another Horsham couple who used to entertain us boys at the fairs and clubs around were old Joe Wright and his young wife — Joe was twenty-five years older than she; — they made quite a respectable pair, and were very affectionate to each other. Dressed up and assisted by his wife, Joe used to excite our admiration by his wonderful tricks: his most astonishing feat was that of submitting to be shot at by his wife. "Now Joseph," she used to say, "I am going to shoot you!" "What for, my dear?" Joe would ask, alarmed; her only reply was a bang, as she pulled the trigger of a big pistol. Joe jumped as if shot, and then, unhurt, he would hold up between his finger

60	Reminiscences of Horsham.

and thumb the very bullet she had shot (so we supposed) which, marvellous to relate, he had caught in his hand just as it was about to enter the region of his heart!!! Quite a notorious character was old Whiting, the sweep, and quite as notorious a place was the beershop he kept, a dilapidated old house on the south side of East Street, just about where the "Bridge House" now stands, which was known as the "Beggars' Lodging House." Here many beggars, who had been pleading disease and poverty in the daytime, would enjoy a beefsteak and onion supper, and spend a rollicking evening together. Besides beggars, tramps, and later, German bands, old Whiting had thousands of other inmates, with whom, or rather with which, the place was tremblingly alive. The more respectable inhabitants used instinctively to pass by on the other side of the road; but to some of the youths of the town the place was attractive enough, for there they could drink and gamble, and play "bumble-puppy" and "devil among the tailors" until very late at night, and all day on Sunday. It was, in fact, the resort of bad characters in the town; night rows were frequent, sometimes serious, occasioning many visits to the Town Hall by old Whiting, whence he always returned heavier in heart but lighter in pocket after being interviewed by the magistrates and settling up with their legal adviser and clerk, Mr. Dewdney Stedman. Notwithstanding heavy fines, and the fact that he could neither read nor write, the old man with his equally illiterate but very careful wife, his disreputable beershop, and chimney sweeping, managed to save several thousand pounds. Two of the most notorious characters I ever knew were Charley Price, known as old "Patch Price," and Charlotte Venn, known as "Cherry Ripe." Price was an ugly little brass-whisker'd man with a club-foot;

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	61

dressed in a pot hat, red neckerchief, white smock frock, drab breeches, and white stockings; on his good foot he wore a low shoe with a flash buckle; on his other foot he had a thick boot. Venn was the mother of Hewett, the murderer of Smith, and no one who knew her could wonder at her breeding a criminal son. She wore a black coal-scuttle bonnet, a fancy-coloured shawl, short dress, and white stockings. This precious couple used to attend the fairs, markets, club feasts, &c., in Horsham and the neighbouring villages, each with a basket, Price selling pies and cakes, and Venn selling sweetbread, whelks, fruit, &c., &c. Price was always quarrelsome, and drunk as often as he could get enough liquor to make him so; frequently the pair would get drunk together, and then the public ear would be assailed by the most awful specimens of mutual execration. Charley had a well-to-do sister, who lived in a nice little house in Brighton Road, and when he had drunk all his money he used to replenish by serenading her with such shocking language that she used to jerk him money out of the bedroom window to get rid of him. At election times his voluble and abusive tongue, well moistened, would produce words hot enough to make Satan jump; he always appeared on nomination and polling days, when, mounted on someone's back, through being so short, he would hurl his very choicest at whichever candidate had been unfortunate enough not to secure his services. Charley Price was the last man put, as an offender, in the Horsham Stocks, a punishment he had many times before sustained, always for the same sin — drunkenness — and the last time he ever got sober in this way was about 1834. The Stocks used to stand on the Gaol Green, somewhere near where the Bandstand is now; soon after Price's last occupation of

62	Reminiscences of Horsham.

them they were burnt in a spree on the 5th November. New ones were made, but never contained the legs of an offender; they were kept at the south end of the Town Hall, and were used but once when Bunk Dumbrell and Walter Burstow got into them for the purpose of being photographed by Mr. T. Honywood, the captain of the Horsham Fire Brigade, who introduced the new art into Horsham. They were many years afterwards fixed in their present position on the north west corner of the Carfax. Punishment by Pillories and Stocks was legally abolished in 1837. But though offenders ceased to be put in the Stocks, the treatment they afterwards received was not much better; they were confined in what used to be called the black hole, a dark dungeon place under the Town Hall, reached by steps leading down from the street. I've seen many a prisoner given a shove down into the miserable place, where he had to remain, visible to the public through iron bars, till bailed out or tried. Males were confined on the West side and females on the East side of the building. Compassionately disposed people would sometimes give the unhappy prisoners tobacco or cakes or what not through the iron bars. Children, too, would sometimes give them trifles in much the same way as they would give to animals at a menagerie. This treatment of prisoners continued till the new Police Station was built in 1846, just east of where the County Gaol in East Street had stood. Another instrument of cruelty on the Carfax, the Bull ring, was practically neglected longer ago than is popularly supposed. It is true the last bull was baited as late as 1813. Many people appear to think that this "sport" was frequently and regularly indulged till that year, but it was not so. Mr. Gilburd, my old master, who was born in 1804, told me

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	63

he well remembered that in 1813 the bull ring was quite covered over with dirt and grass, and had to be "found" for this last occasion, and that he could remember no previous indulgence of the pastime. This evidence would seem to prove that several years elapsed between the last and the next last occasion, and we may further infer that the "sport" had already fallen into disrepute when Mr. Warner, the hatter (afterwards known as "Bull" Warner), and others, in the exercise of their humane feelings, set up an agitation against it, and organised sufficient sentiment in the town to put a stop to it here for ever. Quite as widely spread, if not so widely believed, is the legend that the bulls liked being bated, and if not fetched in good time would break loose and go up the Carfax "on their own." The last bull did not appear to be at all well-disposed, and upon his appearance young Gilburd, with all the alacrity of youth, hopped over the fence that then lined the west side of the Carfax, and climbed a tree, whence he watched the last exhibition of this kind of barbarity at Horsham. Another public exhibition of barbarity, also the last of its kind at Horsham, took place on the 6th April, 1844, when John Lawrence was hanged for the murder of Mr. Solomon, superintendent of Police at Brighton. From time immemorial all executions for the County of Sussex had been carried out at Horsham in public, and always attracted large crowds of people. There had been no execution here since 1836, when Shepherd and Sparshott, two young men, were hanged together. Lawrence's execution was fixed for Saturday, 6th April, at 12 o'clock noon, the day of Horsham Teg Fair this year; April 5th, the usual fair day, being Good Friday. East Street, from Park Street right up past

Reminiscences of Horsham.

the Gaol, was thronged with people, estimated at about 3,000, including myself, all waiting to see the sight; many of them had walked in long distances and from all quarters. Among them was Lawrence's brother; I did not see him, but was told he was drunk and boasting that he was a greater scoundrel than the condemned man, though he had never committed murder. Mr. Kenrick, the curate, did a very sensible thing in prevailing upon the school masters in the town to march the scholars up Denne Park, out of the way, so that they should not witness the scene; but a great many children, and women too, were present. Costermongers from Brighton and elsewhere were selling gingerbreads and oranges. "If any man says I'm idle, let him wheel this truck of oranges up from Brighton. These are beautiful oranges. They'll melt in your mouth like butter, run down your throat like a wheelbarrow; they are sugar outside, brandy in the middle, and the rind will make you good boot soles." Old Whiting, at his beer-shop, nearly opposite the gaol, was doing a roaring trade, and expressing a wish that a man were hanged every day. Pedlars were walking to and fro, singing and selling printed copies of the following "Last Dying Confession":—

Good people all I pray draw near,
A dreadful story you shall hear:
Overcome with grief and fear,
I am condemned to die.
I do lament, and sore repent,
The evil deed which I have done;
My time is come, my glass is run,
I now behold my setting sun—
All in the prime of life.

Chorus—

John Lawrence is my name,
To grief and shame,
I brought myself this world may see,
Young men a warning take by me,
At Horsham, on a fatal tree,
Alas! I am doomed to die.

Recollections of Henry Burstow.

I was brought up at Tunbridge Wells,
Where once in honesty I dwelt;
But now, alas, how sad to tell,
For murder I must die.
As you may read, a dreadful deed
I did commit in Brighton Town,
Where I went pilfering, rambling down;
But hark! I hear that dreadful sound—
Lawrence! prepare to die!

Chorus.

As through the Brighton streets I rolled,
A piece of carpet there I stole;
The justice on me did seize hold,
Oh! fatal was that day.
You understand, poor Solomon
I with a deadly poker slew,
And took away his life 'tis true;
And there, exposed all to my view—
My victim I beheld.

Chorus.

'Twas thus I murdered in his prime,
A father dear and husband kind,
And caused him for to leave behind—
How awful to unfold;
Borne down with grief to sigh and weep,
Eleven orphan children dear,
Besides a tender wife we hear,
For which my end is drawing near—
Oh Lord! look down on me!

Chorus.

To Lewes I was sent at last,
Tried, and the dreadful sentence passed;
I was guilty found, and quickly cast,
To die upon a tree.
I do bewail, in a gloomy gaol,
My fatal end is drawing nigh,
To thee, Oh Lord, I pray on high,
To grant me fortitude to die,
Upon the fatal tree.

Chorus.

Adieu, my aged mother dear,
Don't grieve for me, dry up those tears,
For I must stay no longer here,
I'm numbered with the dead.
The fatal tree now bends to me,
While English justice loudly cry,
Blood for blood, prepare to die,
I see grim death before my eye,
Awaiting for his prey.

Chorus.

Reminiscences of Horsham.

Good people all in each degree,
I pray that you'll be warned by me,
And shun all evil company
Before it is too late.
I assure you all, 'twas my downfall,
From honesty, alas, to stray,
And to bad company I gave way,
On me have mercy, Lord, I pray,
And all my sins forgive.

Chorus.

THE MOTHER. — TO HER CONDEMNED SON.

It was in Brighton, as you may see,
There was committed a tragedy,
By one John Lawrence, all in his prime,
He did commit the dreadful crime.

As Mr. Solomon was standing by,
He with the poker did him destroy,
He took his tender life away,
Then asked for a knife himself to slay.

[ Mother. ]
Farewell, my son, my only son,
Thy short life course is almost run,
And fast the hour approaches nigh
When you, my darling son, must die.

Although thou, alas, art much to blame,
And brought thyself and me to shame;
Although the world thy name despise,
Thou art still precious in my eyes.

Though all mankind thy foe shall be,
Yet I will fondly cling to thee;
A love a mother's heart can feel,
Not words, but actions, can reveal.

I nursed thee in thy infancy,
And watched thy useful tendency,
And fondly hoped to see that day
When you my kindness could repay.

But ah! a sad reverse has proved,
The child whom I so fondly loved,
Is doomed to die a death of scorn—
I wish my son had ne'er been born.

The tears shall never leave my cheek,
Some lonesome residence I'll seek,
And with my aged locks of snow
Will to the grave in mourning go.

The gallows — a ghastly-looking affair of timber and

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	67

canvas, both painted black— was erected on the west front of the County Gaol, which stood just east of where the Railway Bridge in East Street is now, on the north side of the road, with the front facing Denne Park. A large body of London Police patrolled up and down in front of the Gaol. At 12 o'clock the prisoner, pinioned and in a very penitent frame of mind, appeared, and mounted the scaffold. A white cap was put over his head, and the rope round his neck; then, whilst the chaplain was reading the Burial Service, the bolt was drawn, and the last malefactor executed at Horsham went to his doom. The body was buried "within the precincts of the gaol," just about where the Jireh Chapel in Park Terrace East now stands. When the gaol was pulled down, in 1845, the body was exhumed and temporarily taken to the "Queen's Head" stables, where it excited the curiosity of a good many peole, who paid 2d. to see it. Subsequently it was buried in the west end of the old Churchyard, where the bodies of scores of victims of the scaffold at Horsham had preceded it. I give a reproduction of a painting by myself of the front of the Sussex County Gaol at Horsham, just before it was pulled down in 1845. The cross X shews the spot where Lawrence was executed. [ facing page ] Horsham began its agitation for railway service in 1834. The first line proposed and surveyed for was named the "Grand Southern Railway," better known, perhaps, as "Stephenson's Railway," and was to have been made from London through Dorking, Horsham, and Shoreham, to Brighton. Much excitement was caused in the town by the prospect, and the large house now known as Sussex House, formerly called the Pioneer, opposite the Tanyard footpath, which was built as the prospective "Railway" Hotel, still stands a monument to the

68	Reminiscences of Horsham.

speculative enterprise called forth. But though the town supported the scheme by public meetings and favourable evidence at the Government Enquiry, it fell through, chiefly, I have been told, because the price asked for the necessary land was so much higher than that of the alternative Three Bridges scheme, which was adopted. Nothing further was heard again of Horsham railway accommodation till 1838, when meetings were held to support the proposal of a branch railway from Horley. That also fell through, and not till 1844 did there again appear any further prospect, when three different schemes were brought out, viz.: a direct London to Portsmouth line through Horsham; a continuation of the "Epsom Atmospheric Railway" through Dorking to Horsham; and a branch line to Three Bridges. The Portsmouth line seemed to promise most benefit to the town, but the branch line appeared most likely of realization, and as the townspeople had waited now so long and got somewhat impatient, a petition signed by over 500 of them in favour of this was presented to Parliament. A Bill embodying its principles was presented to the House of Commons on the 6th June, 1845, and, without opposition, became law on the following 5th July. On Monday morning, the 19th Feb., 1848, the new line was opened for traffic. The station terminus here was but a little plain wooden structure standing about midway between the present Station and the "Railway Hotel." A great many people went up to see the departure of the first train. There was no ceremonious send-off, but there was a public dinner at the "King's head" in the afternoon, at which Mr. Henry Padwick presided. I was present when the first train steamed out of the station. It was not a very long one, but as the first journey was free of expense it was very full. Some of the cars were covered and some were open; these latter — the 3rd class — were at

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	69

once nick-named "rubbish carts." When steam was put on the wheels of the engine would not bite the rails, and the train would not move, but the application of a little sand made matters right, and amid cheers the first trainload of people started its interesting journey. Three events every year were always looked forward to and well kept up when I was a boy, and for many years afterwards. They were May Day, July Fair, and 5th November Bonfire Day. May Day, or Garland Day, was a very jolly time for us youngsters, not only because it was a holiday, but also because we used to pick up what seemed to us quite a lot of money. Early in the morning we would get up our best nosegays and garlands, some mounted on poles, and visit the private residents and tradespeople. We represented a well-recognised institution, and invariably got well received and patronised. People all seemed pleased to see us, and we were all pleased to see one another, especially if the day was fine, as it now seems to me it always was. At Manor House special arrangements were made for our reception, and quite a delightful old-time ceremony took place. Boys and girls gaily decked out for the occasion, a few at a time used to approach the front door, where a temporary railed platform was erected, and there old Mrs. Tredcroft, a nice-looking, good-hearted old lady used to stand and deal out to each and every one of us kind words and a few pence, everyone curtseying upon approach and upon leaving. Old Mrs. Smallwood, who lived in a quaint old cottage in the Bishopric, always used to go round on May Day with an immense garland drawn on a trolley by two or three boys. On the top of her little model cow, indicative of her trade — milk selling. Gaily dressed up herself in bows and ribbons, she used to take her garland round

70	Reminiscences of Horsham.

the town, call upon all the principal residents and tradespeople, to whom she was well known, and get well patronised. This old lady lived nearly 100 years, and until she was 96 regularly carried milk round to her customers in buckets suspended from a yoke on her shoulders. On this day, too, we had Jacks-in-the-Green. The chimney sweeps used to dress up in fancy costumes and in evergreens and flowers, and, accompanied by a fiddler or two, parade and dance all round the town and neighbourhood. There were two sets of Jacks-in-the-Green when I was a boy, the Potter and the Whiting parties, and considerable rivalry existed between them. Lady Shelley used to patronise them handsomely by giving them plenty to eat and drink, and a good round sum of money. She one year gave the Whiting party a new set of dresses, fitting them out in a very gay manner. The children, with their flowers and garlands, finished their part of the day's proceedings about noon, but the Merry-Andrew parties kept the game going all day, getting merrier and merrier as time went on, till the evening when, the fiddlers still scraping away, and now producing sounds so queer that it was comforting to reflect that they had no smell to them, they would all retire to old Whiting's beershop and finish up. The youth of to-day can have no idea of what the Horsham July Pleasure Fair was like seventy years ago, nor of its importance as a means of providing fun and entertainment. Entertainments and shows for the working classes were very scarce; now and again a circus would come round, and there were the few Friendly Societies' feasts. The Broadbridge Heath Club feast was perhaps the best of its kind; nearly all the Rookery people and a great many other Horsham people used regularly to patronize it. The members, most of them in white round frocks, some

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	71

in their fluffy old beaver pot hats, some carrying a new willow stick partly peeled, and every one decorated with a coloured ribbon bow, used to march in to a service at the Old Church, then back again to Broadbridge Heath to their feast and amusements: but none compared in attractiveness to the July Fair. The business part of the fair was confined to one day only, but the pleasure fair lasted any number of days from three to nine. It began always on the 18th July, and if that fell on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, the fair finished on the following Saturday; but if it fell on Friday it began on that day and continued till the following Saturday week. On these days the country people flocked into the town by hundreds and thousands. The Carfax, from North Street right down to the Town Hall, from London Road to South Street, and from East Street to West Street, the whole available space was covered with all sorts of booths, shows, cheapjacks, roundabouts (chiefly worked with a winch by hand), and shooting galleries; boxing and acrobatic performances; fat women and living skeleton shows; drinking booths, pickled salmon tents, whelk and fruit stalls, all doing brisk business with crowds of people the day long. The proprietors of these shows and stalls, their families and assistants, used to live in their caravans and tents in the Carfax during the fair; their crude sanitary arrangements being a source of much annoyance and sometimes of disease to the permanent residents there. The drinking booths used to have a bush out over the entrance to indicate the nature of the trade done within; several houses, too, on July and November fair days used to put out boughs, and were known as "bough houses," or temporary drinking shops. As a boy I used to go out in the country for people and get bushes and small boughs of trees to be used for this purpose.
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