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The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter VIII.

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CHAPTER VIII. This chapter takes us through the council elections in 1835 up to the end of 1836. Again, no mention of family, even though by this stage there were five children. Three teenagers, a ten-year old, and a six-year old, with one more daughter to come. The Municipal Reform Bill had followed the 1832 Reform Bill which extended the franchise, and reformed constituencies, and had re-organised local government. In Liverpool’s case, it increased the electorate to all rate-payers changing the corporation from a self-selected group of freemen.

 

In December, 1835, municipal affairs were creating much stir in Liverpool. The Municipal Reform Bill had become law in the preceding September, sweeping away all close corporations and restoring to the citizens their ancient municipal rights. The Corporation of Liverpool, which had usurped these privileges since the twenty-sixth year of the reign of Elizabeth [1586 – two hundred and fifty years] , had been composed of forty-one self-elected members, altogether irresponsible in their management of local transactions. Freemen alone had the right of voting for the mayor and electing the member to represent the borough in Parliament. Accordingly, the Liverpool corporation strenuously opposed the passage of the Municipal Reform Bill. It petitioned Parliament to be heard in its defence against the report of the commissioners on the state of municipal bodies, but the Legislature paid no heed to its prayer and made no exemption in favour of the borough. Henceforth every ratepayer who had resided three years in the town was entitled to have a voice in its government.

The town itself was divided into sixteen wards, each ward to elect three councillors. Mr. Walmsley was invited to stand for Castle Street, and in his address to the electors he stated his tenets. ” The principles I shall advocate at the board will be based upon my earnest conviction that civil and religious liberty is most consistent with Christianity, and I hold that the interests of mankind are best advanced by the man whose conduct in social life shows him to be guided by the rule of doing unto others as he would they should do to him.” ” My support,” he continued, ” shall be given to measures having for object the distribution of equal privileges, the reduction of local burdens, the extension of education, and the employment of the corporation funds in a way that may best conduce to the improvement of the town.”

The election took place amid considerable excitement. The first return showed the Liberals at the head of the poll in Castle Street Ward, Mr. Walmsley heading the list. At half-past four, Mr. James Branker announced the result. Forty-three out of forty-eight councillors were Liberals. Henceforth Mr. Walmsley’s position was no longer merely that of the private citizen amassing wealth for himself and family — he was a member of a body on whom devolved the duty of legislating for the general good. As member of the watch committee, he noticed that though the ” Old Charlies “ had nominally disappeared, and had been replaced by one hundred and thirty watchmen with superintendents and inspectors, they were for the most part aged and inefficient, nor were they worked on the crime-preventive principle.

The plan laid before the council for the new police was modelled on Sir Robert Peel’s organisation of that of the metropolis. Let us leave Mr. Walmsley to speak for himself as to the manner in which he took the lead in this.

” I resolved to arouse public attention and stimulate public opinion to the pitch necessary for vigorous and decisive action. To do this I set about exploring through all their ramifications the dens of crime in the borough. My position enabled me to command the aid necessary for this purpose. It was a loathsome task to undertake, but I pursued it to the end, hunting vice through all its windings till I traced it to its nurseries, and it was often at the risk of personal danger that I made this survey. Many a time, too, have I felt a sickening recoil as the mournful and appalling spectacle unrolled itself before me. I saw for myself how gradual and easy was the descent to crime, how bright-faced boys became trained thieves in time. I saw with what facility stolen property could be converted into money. I entered mean obscure shops in by-streets and lanes, where rags and secondhand dresses were exhibited in the windows, and in the back rooms of which glittered the booty the receivers had bought from thieves. I went down into damp, dark cellars, unfit for human habitations, where men and women lived huddled together. These were necessarily the headquarters of disease and crime. Step by step, I collected my information, and accumulated proofs of my assertions ; then I embodied the whole in writing, and laid it before the municipal board. “

” When I read my report on the state of crime in Liverpool, the council refused to believe it. The amount of vice in the town, I calculated, cost society upwards of seven hundred thousand pounds to maintain. There were more than two thousand notorious male thieves, besides twelve hundred boys under fifteen. There were several hundred receivers of stolen goods. Some laughed at the report, deeming such a state of things impossible, others contended that it must be founded on mistaken statistics. The matter might have dropped here, but I demanded a committee of inquiry, and it was granted. The result was such as I had anticipated. I had understated rather than overstated my case. There was no over- colouring in the picture.”

” A discussion ensued in the town council as to whether the report should be published. Some feared that it would fix a stigma upon Liverpool ; others, on the contrary, maintained that it would redound to its credit, as being the first town that had boldly confronted the evil It was finally decided that five hundred copies should be printed. The subject was taken up and was much talked about, not only in Liverpool, but in other places, and the statements it contained appeared so incredible that again doubt was thrown upon its veracity.”

An eminent member of the British Association, taking a decided stand against it, afforded Mr. Walmsley the opportunity he sought. He wished to secure publicity to his report ; to show that crime is for the most part the result of wretchedness and ignorance, from whose taint many might be rescued if a proper system of police existed. At the following year’s meeting of the Association in Liverpool, he read a paper in which again he discussed the state of crime in the town. He dwelt upon the pernicious effects of cellars crowded with human beings, and called attention to the thousands of such cellars that existed in Liverpool. Evidence was there to support his statements. It is sufficient to chronicle as one result of his efforts in this direction, that an Act of Parliament was passed, and the cellars of Liverpool were condemned.

” I was now appointed,” says Mr. Walmsley, “ chairman of the Watch Committee. Fifty-three only of the old watchmen were retained. Two hundred and eighty new men were added to the force, under the orders of one head-constable, responsible for the conduct of the whole body, and having under him a staff of superintendents and inspectors. Mr. James Michael Whitty, late superintendent of the night watch, was appointed head-constable. His tact and experience greatly aided me in framing a code of rules and regulations that have stood the test of practice. To give the new force a sense of the dignity of its office was my first care. Superannuated and infirm men were no longer to fill its ranks. Each member of it was to be a picked man, bearing a high character before being enrolled. It was trained to be preventive so far as was involved in its being directed to watch closely all that had a tendency to corrupt morals. It took me three years to mature a code of regulations, and personally to inspect the carrying out of its details. Many hours of the day, and frequently large portions of the night, I devoted to the task.”

From Mr. Whitty’s own lips we have noted down the following testimony of Mr. Walmsley’s services in the organisation of the police. “ I had practically studied the question, and was thoroughly acquainted with what ought to be done. Mr. Walmsley knew this, and listened to me with great deference, soon mastering all details as thoroughly as I did ; so that when the new police was to be formed he became chairman of the watch committee. No abler man ever presided. He was indefatigable, and used to go his rounds with me night and day, taking great interest in the efficiency and discipline of the force. There was a strong opposition on the part of the mob, but gradually we overcame all difficulties. The police of Liverpool was established. It was regulated for the most part on the same principle as the London constabulary, but fewer men did the work better. Other towns sent down inspectors to obtain information, but very few succeeded in mastering its details. The Liverpool police force was the first established out of London, and Mr. Walmsley mainly contributed to this.”

One incident will show how Mr. Walmsley met the opposition of those hostile to the new system. No attempt to reform the morals and condition of the lower classes can ever be effectual, that does not include the surveillance of public-houses. The new police force was authorised to enforce very stringent regulations. The enemies of the reform council declared this an insult to the trade, and an infraction of justice by the municipality. The publicans announced their intention to convene a meeting to protest against the tyranny of the new police, and to censure the watch committee.

Before the day appointed for the meeting, at Mr. Walmsley’s invitation, a deputation of publicans waited upon him. He listened to the tale of their supposed grievances. In his answer he at once touched the right chord, appealing to their sense of right. In the words of the publican who related the interview : “Mr. Walmsley showed us that there ought to be no divided interests in a town, that each class of civilised society depends on the other. He pointed out the great injury done to morals by disorderly public- houses, making us ashamed of our opposition to the police, and changing it into a desire to co-operate with it, in putting down customs that were a disgrace to the trade.” The deputation left with a sense that they had been practised upon by those who persuaded them that publicans were specially oppressed.

When the day appointed for the meeting came round to publicly protest against the new police force, to censure its organiser, the purport of the assembly was changed. The few promoters who spoke only did so to withdraw their names. Hearty praise was given to Mr. Walmsley, and before separating, the meeting passed a resolution ” that all publicans would henceforth join to help the police in the fulfilment of its duties.”

The diminution of crime in Liverpool at the close of the first year was the best answer that could be made to the attacks on the police. The learned Recorder, on the occasion of the quarter sessions, October, 1836, congratulated the jury upon the present calendar not containing a moiety of the  cases set down for trial that did that of the previous year.

He ascribed this result to the new police force, organised in the town and trained on the principle of prevention. The grand jury made a presentment recording its high approval of the new system, of the way each man brought before the jury had given evidence, and the activity displayed in the detection and suppression of crime.

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter VII.

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CHAPTER VII.  This chapter introduces George and Robert Stephenson to the story, it takes us from 1825 to 1830. Josh is still being a corn broker, but is increasingly diversifying his business. “Mr. Sanders” is actually Joseph Sandars (1785-1860) another Liverpool corn merchant. This chapter also covers the Rainhill trials, and the death of William Huskisson – the world’s first fatality caused by a passenger train. Getting the chance to invest with the Stephensons at this stage was the equivalent of investing in Apple in 1976, or Facebook in 2004.

Between 1825-26 the famous George Stephenson took up his residence in Liverpool. This most remarkable man, of whom the world was to hear so much, came there simply as principal engineer of the company formed by Mr. Sanders for constructing a railway between Liverpool and Manchester. “ It took longer at that time,” says Mr. Walmsley, ” for the Manchester manufacturers to get their cotton from Liverpool than it had done for the same bales to come from America to England. The canal company, strong in its monopoly of transit, took life easily, stored the bales on their arrival until their turn for delivery came. No remonstrance could induce them to add to their number of boats, or to increase their speed, or reduce the rate of freights.”

Bridgewater Canal

Mr. Sanders was, as Mr. Walmsley records, the first of our merchants who took up the scheme for constructing a railway between Liverpool and Manchester. Gifted with energy, foresight, and tact, he possessed in a higher degree than I ever met in any man the power of personal influence. By him the subscriptions for preliminary expenses were collected, and to him the first great experiment owed its original impulse. He never relaxed his efforts, though the scheme encountered fierce opposition, till he brought together a body of men fully competent to carry the enterprise to a successful issue. Still more valuable than his efforts to promote the railway scheme was the moral support he gave George Stephenson at the board. His firm friendship and absolute faith in him inspired them with confidence, and that the directors should believe in their engineer was the more important, for the reason of their own utter ignorance of the details of the undertaking they had embarked in. Doubts and difficulties were constantly arising, which Stephenson’s lack of education disabled him from grappling with. He had no doubts, but others must be convinced, and the difficulty he had in expressing himself so as to demonstrate to others the feasibility of a scheme that was clear to his own mind, rendered Sanders’ staunch consistent support of the utmost value.

We need do no more than refer to the various interests that leagued themselves together against the great railway innovation, or to the superstitious dread with which it was regarded by many. The best engineering capacity in the kingdom declared Mr. Stephenson’s plan for uniting Liverpool and Manchester utterly impracticable. The projected railway must cross the heaving bog of Chat Moss, run through the rock called Mount Olives, and be carried by viaducts over rivers and valleys — in short, be driven right through all that obstructed its progress. In the face of such antagonism and such difficulties it was most assuredly necessary that the directors should feel confidence in their engineer, almost amounting to blind faith.

Chat Moss

” I had frequently heard,” says Sir Joshua, “ through Mr. Sanders of this singular man, who though often at a loss how to demonstrate by argument, had a homely mode of illustration of his own, that sometimes threw a flood of light upon a tedious discussion. For example, one day the board had been divided on the question whether the train should be drawn along or propelled from behind. “

” Stephenson took a piece of white chalk, drew a line on the table, fastened a bit of twine round the ink- stand, and bade the directors try the experiment themselves, to push and then draw the bottle over the line, and judge which was the easier mode of proceeding, and which produced the least friction. The experiment was conclusive.”

” Curiosity induced me to make Mr. Stephenson’s acquaintance. At that time I shared the fears of those who regarded the railway scheme as Utopian, but I soon learnt to have entire faith in Stephenson’s genius, and better still, I learnt to love the man, to revere his truthfulness and honesty, and value his brave tender heart. A close friendship ensued ; we spent much of our time together, and I never met a truer friend, a more consistent man, or a more agreeable companion. Our lives henceforth became in a manner bound up together.” Further on Sir Joshua says : ” There was a zest about him, a rugged outspokenness, a flavour of pungent homely humour. His speech was sharp and quick, his manner often abrupt. What he said he asserted positively, laying down the law. It was the self-reliance of a man whom experience had taught to have faith in himself. Sometimes this self-reliance might degenerate into obstinacy, but it was the obstinacy of conviction, not of conceit.”

This earnestness gave a freshness and simplicity to Stephenson’s manner that inspired a feeling of mingled tenderness and reverential enthusiasm in those who knew him well. His very foibles were dear to his friends ; they were part of him, and all his ways were expressive of ,the man. Lovingly and respectfully they spoke of him as the ” old man.” ” It was delightful to hear the old man converse on subjects familiar to him,” says Sir Joshua. ” His Northumbrian burr had a sort of cadence in it. He was not a book-reading man, but Nature had kept her book open for him to read, and every line of it he had studied. Nothing escaped his keen eye out of doors. He observed everything, and his memory was extra-ordinary. What he had once seen or read he never forgot. Geological strata, differences of soil, varieties of cattle, the construction of a bird’s nest — all were taken note of, all were thought over. Even on questions relating to speculation on philosophy and theology, his words gave evidence of deep meditation.”

” Geology was the topic he most delighted in. He loved to dilate on the great age of the earth. He had his hobbies and theories, some of the latter strikingly profound. One was that trees were nourished rather through their leaves than through their roots. His theory about coal, that it contained within itself the sun’s rays, as it were preserved, has become a received fact of science.”

” On the subject of politics, he was generally reticent. He had a certain disdain for it as a hopeless confusion, void of any law that he could grasp. Philosophers and children alike found delight in listening to him ; intellects in contact with his felt the stimulus of his powerful mind, and hearts felt refreshed by the simple poetry of his. It was sincerity combined with genius that attracted men ; and as for children, Stephenson had always a hospitable knee for them.”

” It was a joyous sight,” continues Sir Joshua, ” to see the great engineer with young people. They would hold on to his hands, trot by his side, or clamber about him as he taught them. He would tell them of ‘ the birds,’ who next to them held the warmest place in his heart, ‘ flying away when the cold blast came, and coming again when the sun shone.’ Taking up the most every-day manifestations of Nature, a bit of chalk or quartz, he would, step by step, lead them upwards with the most persuasive arguments and illustrations, speaking to them of nature in a way that made it a living book to them.”

Stephensons Rocket

“In the early part of October, 1829,” proceeds Mr. Walmsley, “came off” the trial of the engines, competing for the prize of five hundred pounds offered by the railway directors for the best steam locomotive manufactured in England. Rainhill was the scene of the trial. A level piece of railway two miles long was to be run over backwards and forwards twenty times.

 

Four engines entered the lists. Mr. Erickson’s ‘Novelty’/ Mr. Hackworth’s ‘Nonpareil’/ Mr. Bustail’s ‘Perseverance’/ and Mr. Stephenson’s ‘Rocket.’

On the appointed day, crowds assembled to witness the contest. The ‘Novelty’ was the first called out. It was a beautiful piece of machinery to the eye, but false in principle, and Mr. Stephenson knew this. As he and I stood together alongside his trial engine, someone who had witnessed the performance of the ‘Novelty ‘ came up breathless from the speed at which he had run. ‘You are beaten, Stephenson,’ he shouted out, ‘there’s no chance for the “Rocket” The ” Novelty ” has surpassed all our expectations. It has run at the rate of twenty-four miles an hour.’  

‘ How many carriages were attached to it ?’ asked Stephenson, quietly.  ‘ None,’ was the reply.

The ‘ old man ‘ gave a low laugh, then patting his engine with confiding affection, said : ‘ Is that all? The ” Rocket ” will go thirty miles an hour, carrying a whole train behind it. ‘

When its turn came, the ‘ Rocket ‘ fulfilled its master’s expectations. The prize was won by Stephenson.”

The 15th of September, 1830, at Liverpool, saw the inauguration of a new order of things. It was a brilliant day. Flags were flying ; soldiers marching to the strains of martial music, the sun shining on their weapons and uniforms, and on the holiday garbs and gear of the crowd ; all going in the direction of the new railway, leaving the streets of Liverpool to unwonted silence and solitude. Mr. Walmsley had gone with Mr. Stephenson. They were both expected back in the afternoon, but the afternoon waned, and still no sign of the returning spectators. No tidings of the day’s events had come. Groups began to form and rumours to fly vaguely. Messengers were despatched and contradictory reports spread. Night came at last, and with it the announcement of the cruel tragedy which had inaugurated the day’s proceedings. Mr. Huskisson, the advocate in Parliament of railways, had fallen a victim to the new order of things. 

William Huskisson M.P. 1770 -1830

Referring to Sir Joshua’s notes, we give his account of this ill-omened tragedy.

” Huskisson was in the train, the engine of which, named the ‘ Northumbrian,’ was driven by Stephenson. The Duke of Wellington was in the state carriage. The accident occurred at Parkside, where the ‘ Northumbrian ‘ had drawn up on a line of rail. “

” Here the eight trains that formed the procession were to pass in review before the Duke. Already the ‘Phoenix,’ driven by Robert Stephenson, and the ‘ North Star ‘ had passed There was to be an interval of a few moments, and then the ‘ Rocket ‘ driven by Mr. Locke, was expected. The excitement was immense. In spite of the placards warning passengers not to quit their carriages, men found it impossible to sit still — they got out to talk. The Duke of Wellington, seeing Mr. Huskisson standing on the bank close to the line, held out his hand to him; while they were shaking hands a shout rose from the guards, and was taken up all along the line, ‘Get in, get in ! ‘ A train rushed past ; the passengers in the carriages half thrust themselves out of the windows. “

” Someone had been knocked down. The ‘ Rocket ‘ passed on, and a mangled body was dragged from off the rails. It was Mr. Huskisson. “

” The pageant, the triumph, was now turned into a funeral procession. Stephenson drove the dying man to Eccles, putting his engine to its highest speed. The Duke of Wellington and his colleagues wished to return at once, but the directors, fearing the damage that the panic would cause to the railway interest if the ‘Northumbrian’ did not get to Manchester, persuaded them to go on.”

” At Manchester, the scene was very different from that which Liverpool had presented in the morning. At Liverpool, thousands in holiday gear had cheered the departing train ; at Manchester, thousands greeted its arrival with hootings.”

” A public demonstration had been got up against the Duke of Wellington, who was at the head of that active determined Tory party opposing Parliamentary reform, and Manchester had no representative in Parliament. Brickbats and stones were flung at us. The Iron Duke bore the attack with consummate indifference, and thus the journey and inauguration closed in painful contrast with its outset.”

”Tragic as was the occasion, Stephenson could not resist a quiet thrill of satisfaction as he remarked to me, on returning to Liverpool, that the ‘Northumbrian ‘ ‘ had driven Mr. Huskisson to Eccles at the rate of forty miles an hour. Five years ago,’ he added, ‘ my own counsel thought me fit for Bedlam for asserting that steam could impel locomotives at the rate of ten miles an hour.”

Huskisson Memorial, St James Cemetery, Liverpool

” Mr. Huskisson was buried on the 24th of September, at St. James’ Cemetery. People then remembered that when he opened the burial-ground, one short year before, he had been so impressed by the beauty of the site and the stillness of the place, that he remarked to those around him that, when his hour came, he would like this burial-ground to be his final resting-place. And there they now laid him.”

We next come to the account of an enterprise, the course of which illustrates George Stephenson’s extraordinary tenacity of purpose and Sir Joshua’s unwavering faith in him :

” When Robert Stephenson was superintending the construction of the Leicester and Swanington Railway, he came to the conclusion that coal was to be found in the Snibstone Estate, near Ashby, which was then in the market. His father concurred in his belief. A close observation of the surrounding country brought home the certainty to him that rich beds of unworked coal lay beneath the corn and turnip fields of Snibstone.”

“ Stephenson bought the estate, and then invited Mr. Sanders and me to take shares in the undertaking. We relied so implicitly on his judgment that we at once complied. The sinking began. One day Stephenson was superintending the work, when a farmer came to him : 

” ‘ I thought as much, sir,’ he said, looking at the preparations made ; ‘ I thought you were after coal, but you did not know that we have tried that dodge already and failed.’ The man evidently relished the manner in which the landowner had got the better of the engineer. “

” ‘ Oh I ‘ replied Stephenson, in his deliberate way, ‘ I thought as much ; I saw your old workings away yonder. And what made you fail, mon ; what beat you?’ “

” ‘ Only a river of water, that you’ll come to/ replied the farmer, laughing.”

” ‘You’re easily beaten, mon,’ said Stephenson, pointing to some pumping-engines and a mass of cast- iron tubbing, prepared in anticipation of such an eventuality. ‘We don’t care for your river,’ he added, with a humorous twinkle in his eye and a slight increase of the burr. “

“The next time the farmer came to look at the works, he found all had come to pass as Stephenson had anticipated. The water had burst into the shaft, but it had been pumped up and beaten back by the process called ‘ tubbing,’ practised at that time in the Northumbrian mines only.”

” So far Stephenson was victorious, but a greater difficulty was ahead; one that it was impossible to have foreseen, and which most men would have considered insuperable. A bed of green-stone, hard as granite, of unknown thickness, ran right through the land that the shaft now pierced. The contiguity of the estate to the Forest Rocks rendered this obstacle all the more serious, in that its thickness could not be estimated. Stephenson examined the unlooked-for obstacle, declared that it was but an overlap of green- stone, and persisted in asserting that coal lay below.”

” They set to work again — Stephenson confidently, and I with unshaken faith in him. Mr, Sanders in this instance did not share my fait. The process of boring was distressingly slow. Only a few inches could be pierced through daily. Sanders loudly protested, declaring the enterprise foolhardy. Stephenson was hurt. He could not demonstrate the existence of coal, he could only reiterate his assertion that it was there. With almost childish petulance he would entreat me not to allow Sanders to write to him; repeating, in his letter to me, ‘ That coal is there, on one side, coming close up to the Forest Rocks, and extending in the opposite direction. This obstruction is but an overlap of stone. Success will come if we will but persevere.’ Desirous of letting the ‘old man ‘ work on, unshackled by criticism, I offered at this crisis to buy up Mr. Sanders’ share. This offer testifying my confidence in the enterprise, removed his doubts, and he declined to sell out. Stephenson never forgot the reliance I showed him on this occasion. For many months we still bored on, without coming to coal. I confess the sight of the cold green- stone sometimes chilled my heart. “

Then I would ask : ‘Well, George, do you think you will ever come to coal?’

” ‘ I’ve no doubt of overcoming all difficulties,’ the ‘ old man ‘ would answer, with such quiet confidence that all my doubts would vanish. After nine or ten months the reward came, the green-stone was pierced through and a rich bed of coal was found beneath. “

” Another curious incident belongs to this story of the Snibstone mine. The original purchase had only included some seven hundred acres of land. Stephenson asserted that a coal bed extended over at least six hundred acres more. Just as the agreement to work the main seam was being completed, it struck Stephenson that other beds besides the main seam might exist

” ‘ What if such prove the case ? ‘ he asked the owner.

” ‘ Pay for the main seam, which you know exists, and you are welcome to all you find besides,’ said the landlord.

” ‘ Have you any objection to insert this in the agreement?’ asked Stephenson.

” ‘ Not in the least ! ’ replied the landlord, laughing, ‘and I’ll only ask from you a peppercorn rent for ninety-nine years.’ “

” This was done, and subsequently fourteen seams of coal were found, which under the agreement became the property of the partners.”

There is a portrait of Mr. Stephenson in the collection bequeathed by Sir Joshua Walmsley to the South Kensington Museum. It was taken some years after their first acquaintance by Mr. Daniel, an artist from whom Sir Joshua expected great things.

George Stephenson by William Daniels, 1846; V and A Collections

 

 

It represents a spare elderly man sitting very upright, as was Stephenson’s wont — active, observant, shrewd. It is a kindly face, guileless, yet with rare acuteness stamped upon it. Friends smile when they look upon it, for it is the faithful representation of the great and simple man they loved, who in age and success never lost the quiet zest for natural things he imbibed in the unconventional life of his childhood and youth.

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter VI.

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CHAPTER VI. This chapter covers a period from the mid 1820’s until Josh’s retirement from the Corn Trade. It’s unclear when he stopped being a corn broker because all Hugh Walmsley tells us is a reference to 1833 and ” some years after [that] he retired.”  It is slightly odd that there is no mention of family because by 1830, five of the six Walmsley children had been born, and even if Hugh didn’t mention his brothers and sisters, he might have mentioned himself.

At the close of the third year the partners changed positions. Mr. Walmsley, now becoming principal, took the management of the town business, Mr. Booth attending the country markets.

” I determined,” he says, ” now that the control of affairs had passed into my hands, to make the firm the first brokerage business in the town. To attain this I adopted a new mode of conducting it. My partner and I were buying brokers, receiving orders from all parts of the country, and charging a small commission. We ran no risk of debt. I now made it a practice personally to inspect every bag of grain, to compare the bulk with the sample, and to become responsible for the quality and shipment of the whole, charging a small commission for so doing. This involved great personal labour, but I did not shrink from it. To this I added the habit of calling in person at the offices of the leading merchants of Liverpool, to ascertain what they had for sale and what they desired to purchase.”

George Dock, and the Goree Warehouses

“I had done this in the days of my humble beginning; and then I had learned the value of personal intercourse, and the value too of doing my own work myself. To be at my post early in the morning and late in the evening, to allow no hour of the day to find me unprepared for business, to be ready to answer every question promptly and accurately that might be put to me in connection with the corn trade ; these were the rules I took to accomplish the aim I had set before myself, and I did not swerve from them. For years my dinner was sent daily over from home to my office, in a tin box resembling those in which soldiers’ rations are carried, and kept warm by means of hot water. It was a movable feast, swallowed when time permitted.”

This strict and thorough attendance to duty soon began to reap its reward. After some years, nearly the whole monopoly of the brokerage business had passed into our hands. Enemies, jealous of this monopoly, occasionally sought to undermine the credit of the firm; but Mr. Walmsley instantly confronted slander, and at once refuted it, as in the following instance. “One day,” he says, ” our banker sent for me, and told me he had heard bad reports of my partner and myself — that we were deeply engaged in rash and ruinous speculations ; and he insinuated other irregularities. I listened quietly, returned to the office, and called for our books.”

” These I carried to the banker, and bade him examine them. From these I proved that my partner and I had remained simply brokers, that we had never bought or sold on our own account, that our means were good, and that no speculation endangered any other man’s money. Fully convinced, the banker gave the name of his informant. He was one of the best-known corn merchants in Liverpool, who had taken an unaccountable dislike to Mr. Booth. With the books under my arm I proceeded to this gentleman’s office, told him what I had heard, and requested him to examine the accounts and transactions which I laid before him ; should he find himself in error in the assertions he had circulated, I requested he would make what amends he could. This straightforward proceeding abashed the enemy. He examined the books, and the examination resulted in his becoming one of our customers, and remaining to the last a staunch friend of mine.”

Other interests besides those of business were entering into his life ; for during these years Liverpool was growing in population and increasing in trade. Public life was astir and betrayed by many symptoms the liberal tendencies that ere long were to transform the political and social aspects of the country. Meetings were held to raise subscriptions for the Spaniards, whose constitution had been attacked by the French.

Ardent appeals were made for money and sympathy for the Greeks in their struggle for independence — a struggle glorified by the death of Byron. This growth of Liberalism in Liverpool Mr. Walmsley watched with keen interest. He attended and spoke at the meetings called to express abhorrence of the slave trade. In common with many Liverpool merchants, the blot that had once sullied the commerce of the town he felt as one upon his own honour. Nowhere did Wilberforce’s endeavours to abolish slavery in every colony of England find more hearty support than in Liverpool.

In his spare hours Mr. Walmsley attended meetings called to consider the subject of the Corn Laws. In a memorandum, dated somewhere about 1826, he notices ” that the most advanced reformers had not dared as yet to advocate a total repeal ; a moderate fixed duty being as yet the most startling innovation they dared to propose.”

Liverpool Mechanics Institute

In 1826 Mr. Walmsley joined the Liverpool Mechanics’ Institute, and shortly after was elected president But these institutions, which spread quickly over the country — thanks to the exertions of men like Dr. Birkbeck and Mr. Brougham – did not effect the good expected ; although men of science and talent often gratuitously gave their time to them, becoming themselves teachers.

In 1827 the famous sliding scale [of duty on the price of corn]  came into operation, and its actual working may be understood from two instances drawn from Mr. Walmsley ‘s notes.

“ One year the harvest give every promise of being favourable, but as to this I could judge from a tour made through the agricultural districts. Naturally the sliding scale ran up to its highest point. From my personal observation I felt sure this prospect of plenty would not hold good, and that there would be a deficient harvest. Whilst others waited the action of the sliding scale, I despatched agents to buy up foreign grain and ship it for England as quickly as possible. Thus my ships would have the start in the race which I knew must soon be run. The vessels left Tamboff, two of them arriving just as the deficit I had foreseen sent the tax imposed down to the nominal price of one shilling a quarter. Head winds and a succession of storms delayed the others. Had all arrived in time, a large fortune would have been realised. As it was, the cargo of the two ships first entering not only covered all loss, but left a handsome profit on the whole.”

Singularly enough, while thus profiting by the working of the sliding scale, Mr. Walmsley by his presence and by his speeches at public meetings protested against it, and was one of the first in Liverpool to advocate repeal of the Corn Laws, and previous to the formation of the Anti-Corn-Law League, delivered lectures on the subject

“ In 1833 I fully realised,” Mr. Walmsley writes, “ the depth of folly and cruelty this tax on bread involved. The sliding scale had remained stationary so long at its highest figure, no foreign corn entered the port, and the warehouses were full of bonded grain thus kept out of the market. A large share of this belonged to me. A sudden fall in the scale announced a deficiency. The price of food rose with great rapidity, so that soon pale thin faces might be seen in the streets. To let loose the bonded corn would avert famine.”

At the last moment the storehouses were thrown open, but it was found that the wheat had been so long kept that it was rotten, and the starving people watched as load after load was thrown into the Mersey. The sad tale of “Walmsley’s corn” was long remembered, and served as a war-cry when the final agitation compelled the repeal of the Com Laws.

So far Mr. Walmsley’s career had been prosperous, but now from brokers they aspired to be commission agents. Evil times came, and some of their heaviest advances remained uncovered. Failure followed failure, and they lost considerably. In one, the firm lost twenty-five thousand pounds. [Present-day value £32.5m] In twelve months the fruit of years of toil melted away and ruin seemed imminent.

” I alone,” he writes, ” was aware of the full extent of the danger. Neither my partner nor our banker was cognisant of it. My wife alone shared the anxiety with me, and I resolved if only I could work through never again to meddle with speculation. The danger was tided over, and the firm emerged with diminished funds but untarnished credit. It was no easy task to return into the old groove, but once more we became simple brokers, and at the end of seven years won back all that had been lost.”

Mr. Walmsley now separated from his partner, carrying on business on his own account, and some years after he retired, having achieved moderate competence.

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter V.

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CHAPTER V.  This is early in the 1820’s, and a rather bizarre chapter. At this point, Josh and Adeline had two very young children, so there has to be some very strong reasons for him to be following a debtor all the way to France. The story raises almost as many questions as it gives answers. Was he owed a lot of money, was the debtor a member of the family? The reference to ” the riot and hard drinking going on of a Sunday afternoon in the lower parts of Liverpool,” has a certain irony given that Adeline’s family, the Mulleneux were distillers in the city for a number of generations, and her brother John Robinson Mulleneux was a “porter brewer”.  The Sunday League was a cause Josh took up in the 1850’s to open museums to the people on Sundays – their object, they said, was “the moral and intellectual elevation of the people”.

The terms of the partnership were that Mr. Walmsley should begin by receiving one-third of the profits. With this stimulus he set to work, determined to make the firm respected through Liverpool, and to earn the wealth that would give him power and justify the confidence placed in him. Mr. Booth had been two years in business when Mr. Walmsley joined him, yet as broker he had not made much progress. Soon, however, the firm felt the influence of the strong hand that now had the principal guidance of its affairs.

During the first two years, it was part of Mr. Walmsley’s business to attend the country markets. There he met the farmers, and learned from them the condition of the agricultural districts. By this intercourse, combined with his keen observation, he gained a rare tact and foresight in harvest prospects. This, added to his singular knowledge of grain, was destined to prove invaluable to him later on, when the sliding- scale system came into operation, and when success in the trade was to depend chiefly on a happy calculation of the forthcoming harvest. These years amongst the farmers taught him other lessons besides.

“ I learned then,” he says, ” the fact that an abundant harvest was looked upon as a calamity by the growers of corn. They did not disguise that they regarded as a disaster what the people in the manufacturing towns deemed a blessing. To them agricultural plenty signified the agriculturist’s distress — low prices of wheat and high rents. Coming from a manufacturing town, where dearness of bread meant almost starvation, the antagonism between the interest of the mass of the people and that of the agriculturists impressed me strongly. It first turned my thoughts to principles which eventually ruled my whole course of life, and emphatically brought home to my heart the truths that unity of interest in a nation can alone ensure its welfare.”

Towards the close of Mr. Walmsley’s first year of partnership, an incident occurred that called forth so many traits of his character, and the circumstances of which illustrate so forcibly the manners of the day, that we give in full his account of it, only reserving the name of one of the principal actors therein.

” Several cargoes of grain for various merchants had been sold to a young dealer in Liverpool, who seemed to be doing well and enjoyed good credit. Suddenly he disappeared, a debtor to a large amount.”

” A meeting of creditors assembled, and I was asked to follow the debtor. I accepted the charge, determining if it were possible to find the man, recover the money, and reclaim the defaulter by representing to him the ruin he entailed upon his family, and persuade him to return and meet his creditors. That night I reached Congleton only to find myself too late. Taking with him his horse and gig, the defaulter had ere this reached Birmingham. To Birmingham I followed. It was difficult for a stranger to trace out one individual in a crowded city ; but I ascertained that my man had passed the night there, and leaving his horse and gig behind him, had taken the coach to London. Into that gig I stepped, using the same coachman. Time, however, had been wasted at Liverpool ; and when I reached Gerard’s Hall, Basing Lane,[was an inn, and coffee house in the City] it was only to find that the fugitive, after remaining there one night, had taken his carpet-bag and had sought the security of the London streets.”

” What was to be done by a stranger in the great city, without so much as a letter of introduction to help him ? The police was a force somewhat more numerous and more active in limb than the watchmen in Liverpool ; but it was not yet reformed by Sir Robert Peel, and there were peculiarities in its organisation. Before long it was borne in upon me that an impartial observer might be justified in the belief, that it was a body cunningly devised to protect malefactors rather than to prevent crime and pursue offenders. No help could I expect from this quarter, and how without its aid could track my offender ?”

” I ordered a number of handbills to be printed, offering a ‘handsome reward ‘ to any informant. Thereon the personal appearance of the young defaulter was elaborately portrayed. Who was to circulate these handbills, and to whom were they to be given ? I resolved to circulate them myself. “

” For three weary days I walked through the London streets from early morning till late in the evening, giving to every cabman on every stand one of my printed bills. When the drudgery of the day was over, I went to places of public amusement, not for the sake of the entertainment, but to scan the faces of those present. Late on the third night I was returning home tired, but satisfied I had done what man can do to fulfil my mission, when I overheard the following dialogue between two porters standing at the door of my inn.”

“l say, Jim, that chap from Liverpool thinks himself mighty clever, with his handbills, and his a-trudging through the mud ” said one, “ but don’t he wish he may get it ? “

” Removing the short clay pipe from his mouth, the fellow addressed puffed out a long wreath of smoke and laughed, “ Ay, ay ; does he take us for fools with his ”handsomely rewarded?” Don’t we know what that means — just nothing at all. If he’d said he’d give a “ fiver,” we’d ‘a found his individual sharp enough. Bill ? “

“ That ‘ud a bin two pun ten each,’ Bill was calculating, when I turned away deeply mortified. They were right ; my efforts had been thrown away, for I had overlooked the essential condition of success.”

“ Next morning I was up before dawn, rectifying my mistake. I obliterated the ‘handsomely rewarded” and wrote down, ‘five pounds,’ in the bills in my possession, directing new ones to be printed. Then once more I set out to distribute those myself, placing two in the hands of my unconscious counsellors. From the police I expected little; five pounds was too modest a sum to waken up their dormant faculties. ! My second tramp, with the golden promise held out of a ‘ fiver’ proved as fruitless as the first. I was contemplating returning to Liverpool a beaten man, when one day, sauntering down Cheapside, still distributing my handbills, a tap on the shoulder made me look round, and the pleasant sight of the genial face, broad-brimmed hat, and stiffly cut coat of the Quaker friend from Liverpool greeted me. ‘ Thee won’t find him here,’ he said, and he proceeded to tell how a letter from the fugitive to his wife had been intercepted. It was dated Brighton. He was on his way to America, and he asked her to join him there.”

“Forgetful of past failure, I started off in pursuit. At Brighton I found the runaway had gone to Dieppe. Days passed before another vessel sailed. I had now provided myself with a London detective, a shrewd and experienced man, for ignorant as I was of the habits and laws of France, to have followed alone would have been useless. At last we started for Dieppe, there to learn that the delinquent had gone on to Havre. Thither we followed, and that night ascertained the fugitive was still there. The net was tightening round his feet. I knew the man and the haunts he would choose. In the third restaurant we entered we saw him at dinner with some American friends. The man I had sought for days through the London streets, whom I had pursued across the sea was there, only divided from me by a thin partition. I sprang forward to seize him, but the detective’s hand held me back.”

“We are not in England ; their ways are not ours,’ he said. ‘We must go at once before the commissary of police, make our declaration, and leave the capture to them.”

” To the commissary accordingly we went. The defaulter could not be arrested for debt, but we had a hold over him for travelling under a false passport. I offered to remain under the surveillance of the police until papers were procured from England. Orders for arrest were issued, and we were politely bowed out. I had a presentiment of being baffled ; but when I asked if there was any danger of escape, the commissary laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and assured me that at ten o’clock on Monday morning, if I came to the police-office, I should find my prisoner waiting for me. There was nothing to be done but to obey.”

” The following day was Sunday. I strolled along the quay, the cliffs, and the town. It was a beautiful day, and all the inhabitants of Havre had turned out of doors. They thronged the jetty, and strolled about the shore. Whole families were out together, from the little children tumbling about to the grandfathers playing with them. The merry-go-rounds were in full swing, violins were scraped, ninepins were being knocked down, games were going on in all directions. What fresh clean caps the women wore ! The men had clean ‘ blouses,’ the very fish-women had extra long earrings and bright stockings under their short petticoats. Sunday was evidently considered here a day of gladness. Priests in long black robes were going in and out amongst the crowd chatting with their parishioners, and enjoying the surrounding brightness. I retired to a lonely cliff, overlooking the sea, painfully impressed with the scene. Yet I could not but acknowledge that I saw no trace of drunkenness here, that the amusements were all innocent. With painful distinctness I contrasted the bright spectacle with the riot and hard drinking going on of a Sunday afternoon in the lower parts of Liverpool ; there the labourer drank himself to sleep or to temporary madness, here the working man spent the day in innocent recreation with his family. That Sunday the germ was planted that later on expanded into the Sunday League.”

” Punctual to our appointment, Monday morning at ten we presented ourselves to the commissary of police, only to find my foreboding realised. The prisoner had escaped. The police, piqued at their failure, made every possible effort to retrieve it.”

” Expresses were sent out in every direction, but the fugitive slipped through the noose thrown around him. Had he seen me that Saturday night, and secreted himself in some outward-bound vessel for America? By the commissary’s order, every vessel in the port of Havre was searched, and at every search I was present At last one day an American ship was weighing anchor. Suspicion was aroused. We boarded her, and searched every nook and cranny. Suddenly I detected a space between two bales; pushing my hand down I clutched a human head, and triumphantly dragged its unfortunate owner from his place of refuge. He was not the man I sought, but a murderer for whom the police had long been on the look-out With this incident ended my search. I had failed, and my failure had been caused by some foolish formality. The insufficiency of the police, the intricacies of the system as it then existed, were forcibly brought home to me on this occasion.”

” Some time elapsed before tidings were obtained of the fugitive. It then appeared that he had seen me that Saturday night at Havre. As he was jovially dining with his friends he had caught sight of me. All the time he had been aware that he was pursued, and that I was his pursuer. During that time, where- ever he went, he declared afterwards, he carried two pistols — one to shoot me with, the other to shoot himself, rather than surrender his person. That Saturday night he had fancied himself safe, and had left his portmanteau and pistols at his inn ; while we were making our report he escaped, not returning to his hotel, but making for Dieppe, from thence to England, then on to America. The pistols and portmanteau were found by the French police, and handed over to me. I did not know then what work the weapons were intended for ; my object had been to persuade the man to come home, boldly meet his creditors, and save his reputation. I thought I had arguments strong enough to prevail ; but it was fortunate we had not met face to face, for the man who had vowed to kill me was reckless and desperate, and would assuredly have kept his word.” 

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter IV

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CHAPTER IV.  This all takes place between 1816 – 1819.

The young couple took a house in Gloucester Street, at a rental of seventeen pounds per annum; the furnishing of which proved no easy matter, but by his old age there was no greater delight to Sir Joshua than the retrospect of these happy days, to tell of their many straits, and the difficulty they had to make the two ends meet, of their various vicissitudes and unvarying affection.

It was a time when the bare necessaries of life were hard to get, for the harvest of 1816 proved the worst England had known for years. The Corn Laws of 1815, prohibiting the importation of grain until homegrown wheat had reached eighty shillings per quarter, increased the distress. Misery was widespread over the country ; in Liverpool we find twenty thousand persons depending upon parish relief for support, and to feed this starving multitude the rate of one shilling and threepence levied upon the pound. As it inevitably happens, the heaviest burden fell upon small incomes, and accordingly it became imperative upon Mr. Walmsley to devise some means by which to increase his.

“My first resolve,” he says, ” was that my duty to my employers should not be interfered with, nor the time I owed them encroached upon. To solve this problem of reconciling the two conflicting interests seemed no easy matter, yet it was not long before I hit upon a plan, and I set to work at once. At the county markets, of which Warrington and Manchester were the principal, I was getting well known. My discrimination in grain had earned me a reputation. I now determined to try some modest speculations on my own account. I therefore bought small packets of rice, arrowroot, Indian corn, and disposed of them at those markets. My plan succeeded beyond my expectations. It saved us from penury. Those small speculations in grain succeeded so well in the county markets that I took a room, or rather a barn, in South John Street. There, in the early morning, I weighed out my packages and carried them to their various destinations. I was never a moment behind time at Messrs. Carter and Piers’ office, although before this regular business hour I had often done a hard morning’s work. I never slackened my energy in my employers’ interest, and in the early hours I was earning more than double the salary they allowed me. Thanks to Peter Evans’ training, on the Corn Exchange I was recognised as a first-rate judge of cereals. By plunging my hand into a sack, I could recognise by the touch alone the quality and kind of grain it contained.”

Queens Dock, Liverpool

To this period belongs an incident which Sir Joshua often related :

“ One morning, very early,” he said, ” I issued out of my modest warehouse, carrying a heavy bag of rice on my back. It was destined for Mr. Harrison, a ship-biscuit baker, residing close to the dock. The percentage on it would be barely two shillings. I quietly wended my way — few passengers being in the streets as yet — when suddenly on approaching Queen’s Dock, I found myself surrounded by a crowd of porters, shaking their fists in my face, yelling that I was encroaching on their rights, that I was taking the bread out of their mouths. They threatened to throw me and my bag into the river. The crowd of furious men was swelling. The expression of their faces, their gestures, told me that the execution of their threat was imminent. No help could be looked for from the ‘ Old Charlies.’  For one moment I was startled, then I leaned my back and my bag up against a wall. I shouted at the top of my voice, bidding them be still. I told them, I too was poor, poor as the poorest of them. I was the last who would encroach upon the poor man’s rights, but I claimed that right for myself — the right to earn honestly what lay in my power. I told them what percentage this bag of rice would bring me, scarce enough to pay one of them to carry it to its destination ; and this I could not give, for it would be the price of my dinner.”

“The words appealed to the men’s sense of fair play, and their yells were turned to cheers. When I moved on they walked behind me in procession, hurrahing lustily. Mr. Harrison, attracted by the noise, came to his door to ascertain its cause. He was not a little astonished to see his expected rice-dealer coming towards him, his bag hoisted on his back, surrounded by a cheering crew of dock-porters. He could scarcely believe his eyes, but when I told him the story of that morning’s adventure, he offered there and then to take me into partnership. The days of my apprenticeship however not being ended, I could not accept his offer.”

Circumstances were brightening in the little household in Gloucester Street When, after two years, the eldest son was born, [Again this is a little hazy with the facts, Joshua Walmsley II was born in 1819, four years after the marriage, and Elizabeth Walmsley, the eldest daughter was almost two.] Mr. Mulleneux, who had been watching his son-in-law’s career, forgave the two offenders. His daughter’s husband might be poor, but he was made of the right stuff; his principles and aims were upright and manly, and his determination to carry them out indomitable.

The following is the account Sir Joshua gives of his coach-travelling days, as Messrs. Carter and Piers’ salesman :

” The speed at which coaches travelled now was very different from the slow old days of my childhood. Once I remember having left Liverpool at seven in the morning, breakfasting at Prescott, dining at Warrington, taking tea at Hallam’s Green, eating Eccles cakes at Eccles, and reaching Manchester at eight. The thirty-six miles had taken thirteen hours to perform. Now the thirty -six miles were accomplished within three hours and a half. Travelling had become safe too. Highwaymen were almost an extinct race. During the time I travelled thrice weekly between Liverpool, Warrington, and Manchester, there was but one coach robbery on record, and by a sort of poetic justice the robbed man was himself his employer’s robber. The hours of travel we often spent in playing whist. There was a Quaker whose name was well known in Liverpool, a worthy member of the Society of Friends. He often travelled down by the Warrington coach, or in the gig. He did not play whist himself, but he lent his great- coat to be spread on the players’ knees to form a temporary table. He also held the candle for them when it was too dark to distinguish hands. With unaccountable interest he watched the game, and often when I was about to play a wrong card he would jog my elbow, a hint I always followed.”

Mr. Walmsley had long been following with keen interest the progress of steam navigation. He foresaw that this marvellous propelling power would usher in a new era in commerce. Men’s minds were divided on the subject, some holding the expectation of any great change for the better resulting from it to be visionary, whilst others watched and half believed.

Mr. Egerton Smith, in the columns of The Liverpool Mercury, strenuously advocated the use of steam to tow sailing-vessels out to sea. Pointing to the ruinous delay caused to merchants by the prevalence of north-west winds off the coast, detaining whole fleets for weeks in the Mersey, he urged that by the use of steam they might be towed out and go on their way, and also that during calms the river and docks might be relieved from momentary pressure.

Gradually he went further and collected evidence to prove how steam might be applied to sea-going ships.

” The famous Dr. Lardner vigorously opposed the idea. He admitted that on the calm waters of the great American rivers it might work, but to apply it to ocean-going ships was insanity. At a lecture, to which I listened with breathless attention, the doctor laughed to scorn the notion of steam as an ocean- going motive power. He stated boldly and decisively that not only was it an impossibility, but that it would ever remain so, that no vessel ever could cross the Atlantic and carry her own coal. This he theoretically demonstrated to the satisfaction of his hearers and himself. On the 30th June, 1815, I formed a unit in a great crowd assembled on the frontage towards the river. About noon of that day arrived the first steamboat ever seen on the Mersey. I shall never forget my emotion as I watched the strange ship ploughing the waters, and sending puffs of smoke upwards in the air.”

Beaumaris and the Menai Straights

He records his first trip in a steamer :

“ One of the first steamships seen on the Mersey was placed at the disposal of the mayor, Jonathan Hollinghead, and the municipality, in order that by means of a short trip to Beaumaris and back they might satisfy themselves of the practicability of steam as a motive power. A ticket was offered me, and I gladly availed myself of it. It was a glorious day, but just sufficient sea on to make the plunging of the vessel testify to the power of the engine. The destination was reached in safety, and the mayor and his guests landed, visited this lovely and romantic spot, then once more embarked, and the St. George steamed out of the little harbour amid the wild cheers of the inhabitants, who crowded the shore to behold the crowning wonder of the age. The afternoon sun was shining brightly, the sea had gone down. On deck a bounteous repast was laid, the host’s jovial merriment communicating itself to all his guests. Presently two Manx herring-boats were seen luffing up into the wind, their sails shivering to slacken their way, in order that the fishermen might gaze on a vessel advancing without sails. Willing to gratify them, the captain slackened speed, and the St. George steered right between the two tiny craft. The boats, as it neared them, both filled and stood on the same tack. The breeze was fair, and they easily kept way with the steamer, one to starboard, the other to port. Suddenly, one of our party seized an apple and flung it at one of the fishermen. Another and another followed, then a volley, and the mania spreading, apples, oranges, cakes were thrown in a perfect storm. It was the broadside of the ship-of-war together with the file-firing of the marines. The mayor forgot his dignity and shouted with glee. Aldermen and common-councilmen grew young again, and grave grey-haired men pelted and shouted like children. A moment the fishermen were staggered and utterly bewildered, then with a howl of vengeance, they seized upon their finny prey, and the air grew dark with herrings. They fell in showers upon the assailants, the deck was slippery with them, the table was covered with them, still on they came, thicker and faster.

‘Go ahead full steam !’ shouted the captain, and the St. George obeyed, drawing out of Herring reach, while the mayor gave a parting cheer, and hurled his hat in defiance in the direction of the Manxmen, whose responding shouts were heard as the lost hat bobbed up and down on the waves.”

Thus a naval encounter marked Mr. Walmsley’s first trip to sea.

The time of his apprenticeship now approached its close. He could choose his future path. Messrs. Carter and Piers offered him a liberal salary to remain. Mr. Harrison was ready to take him into partnership. There was a third opening for him : Mr. Booth, a gentleman he had often travelled with, who had begun business two years before, also offered to make him his partner. It had often occurred to Mr. Walmsley that a first-rate and secure business might be got together in the corn trade by buying brokers. Mr. Booth agreed to the plan, and Mr. Walmsley closed with the offer. His reputation at the different markets, his knowledge of all his future customers, had formed for him an extensive commercial acquaintance, and he felt sure of success.

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter III

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CHAPTER III. – This is 1815. On Saturday 24th June, six days after the Battle of Waterloo Joshua Walmsley and Adeline Mulleneux got married at St. James’ church in Toxteth. He was twenty-one years old, she was nineteen. It’s not quite the romantic tale uncle Hugh tells us below. As can be seen from the marriage register, it was a conventional marriage, the banns would have been read aloud on three Sundays before the wedding ceremony, and not a rush straight to the church to find a vicar to marry them instantly. This is however a chapter that contains almost all the detail about any sort of personal life.

When Joshua Walmsley obtained the long-wished-for post, he had a stronger incentive to push his fortune than the remembrance of his father’s prognostics — the only woman he had ever loved had promised to become his wife. We can dwell but lightly on the details of this story of a love that began in childhood, and endured to the last day of a long and eventful life.

” When I was seven years old,” he says, ” I met at a dancing-school Adeline Mulleneux, aged six. She was the daughter of a wealthy wine merchant. I remember we noticed each other the first day of my arrival. Soon after I was allowed to escort her home from the dancing-school, and very proud I felt to be her protector. We played together in the old court, and we loved each other. A story is still told how a portrait of Adeline, as a baby, was shown to me. It represented her sitting in her mother’s lap, grasping three enormous cherries in her tiny fingers.  “Do you like it?’ asked Mrs, Mulleneux. After gazing solemnly at it for a long time, it is related that I answered: ‘Yes, but I like herself much better.’  The family bantered little Adeline on the conquest she had made ; but we were soon separated, for the state of my father’s affairs obliged him to send his children into the country. Years elapsed, and we met again at Mr. Knowles’ school Adeline Mulleneux, who was now eighteen, came there to take drawing lessons, and as I was the principal teacher, we met. Once more we became intimate, and once more we loved each other. When I took my seat on the high stool in Mr. Carter’s office, with a salary of forty pounds [present-day value about £35,000], and a prospect of seventy [present-day value about £75,000] in four years, she had promised to become my wife when I should be in somewhat more prosperous circumstances.”

” I now took a modest lodging at Edge Hill, and resolved to live upon one shilling a day [That works out to £18,5s. per year which would have a present-day value about £16,500]. Bread and milk for breakfast, a penny roll and a basin of soup were my daily bill of fare. My duties were those that fall to apprentices in a large establishment — the post- office, petty cash, and the copying of letters. I thought the time must still be very far off when I could walk into Mr. Mulleneux’s house and ask the rich merchant to give me his daughter. But I had her promise and knew it was steadfast enough to stand any test, and for my part, above all other prizes, my mind was set to win this one.”

Here then we find the young man in possession of the long-coveted berth in a merchant’s office. The old days with their irksome duties have passed away, leaving only wholesome traces of their hard discipline. His new duties were subordinate, and could train him to be only an ordinary clerk, and in this routine he might have remained for years, but he determined to make himself of special value to his employers. His natural energy spurred him on ; and then there was, too, that secret incentive, that goal which he kept ever in view, and which, sooner than he thought, was to crown the runner with victory. Thus he tells how he set about acquiring a knowledge of grain, which was the qualification of most value in the office of Messrs. Carter and Piers : —

” Old Peter Evans was their warehouseman. He was a practical man of the old school, and liked to see a lad eager to learn, and when I questioned him about samples of grain he answered readily. Peter was willing to teach me all he knew. Twice a week before breakfast, and long before my appointed hour for work, he and I used to meet and go together to the stores and ships. The old man would take samples and show them to me. The number and variety of grain at first bewildered me. It seemed a hopeless task trying to learn to distinguish them all. But perseverance conquered in the end. Peter now began to take pride in a pupil who was mastering the mysteries and intricacies of grain. He grew ingenious in devices to puzzle me, till at last I was a match for all his resources. Then he would take a handful of every sort of grain and pulse — English, Irish, Scotch, foreign — and spreading them before me, ask the quality, weight, and condition of each ; of what county, province, and country they were, with such observations as the case required. All the while he watched me from under his shaggy eyebrows, and would give a satisfied growl when the answer proved correct.”

” Peter prided himself on possessing a knowledge of grain beyond anyone in Liverpool, and I was on the way of becoming as great an adept as himself. No one knew of these early meetings in the stores and ships, and my employers wondered at my sharpness. Customers also soon discovered my proficiency, and sometimes consulted me in preference to old Peter.”

” Scarcely had I been a year in Mr. Carter’s service when the traveller and salesman, Mr. Robinson, a very able man, gave notice, on his entering into partnership with one of the leading merchants of Liverpool. This was a serious loss, and Mr. Carter, puzzled how to fill up the vacancy, consulted his retiring salesman. Mr. Robinson pointed me out as the man best fitted to fill the post. Accordingly it was offered to me, but no mention was made of an increase of salary, although my predecessor’s had been a large one. Morally speaking, however, the rise was a great one, and I closed with the offer at once.”

The year 1815 was a memorable one for England and Liverpool. Peace with America was restored. On a brilliant spring morning in April, the British flag flying at her mainmast, the American at her mizen peak, the Mild sailed up the Mersey — the first American vessel, come on a peaceful enterprise, that had entered the port for nearly three years. Some months later came news of Waterloo and of Bonaparte’s final downfall. But the year was to be marked for the young man by an event, more important to himself personally than the vast changes which were gradually being effected.

Mr. [Hugh] Mulleneux refused to sanction his daughter’s engagement. The wealthy merchant had more ambitious views for his child than a marriage with a poor clerk with no apparent prospects ; but the lovers were not to be deterred by such considerations. They were willing to wait, but determined to be faithful to one another. According to the ordinary course of events, there could hardly be a more unrealisable romance than was theirs. Any jury of wise men would have given a unanimous verdict against the marriage. A poor clerk, with a salary of fifty pounds per annum, and a prospect of seventy pounds, whose compulsory economy amounted to extreme privation, offering himself to a lady of position and expectations, with no other plea than that she loved him.  Family prejudices and family prudence had to yield to it, nevertheless, and it was not the modest lover who precipitated the crisis. They met one day and spoke to each other in presence of Mr. Mulleneux. That afternoon, Mr. Walmsley received a note bidding him attend next morning at the office of Mr. Mulleneux’s eldest son[also called Hugh]. Never did a day of more perplexing foreboding break upon the course of true love, for the note was couched in terms that showed some decision was pending.

The account of that interview and its result we give in Mr. Walmsley’s words :

” I went at the appointed hour with a beating heart : what new turn of affairs did this meeting bode? In a corner of the room Adeline sat, brightening the dingy office to me. Young Mulleneux’s expression was very stern as he looked at me, and, pointing to his sister, said :

‘ Are you prepared to marry this lady?’

The question was meant for a clincher. The thought of my poverty rushed full upon me ; but there was no sign of fear in Adeline’s face.

‘ Yes,’ I answered boldly.

” But when, sir ? ‘ asked my interlocutor derisively.

‘ At once,’ I replied quietly.

“ Perhaps I had better send for a coach ? ‘ said young Mr. Mulleneux ironically.

‘ We can walk,’ I answered undauntedly, going up to my betrothed. There was no faltering in the hand she laid upon my arm. To St. James’ Church we accordingly walked ; but none of the necessary preliminaries had been gone through, and the clergyman refused to perform the ceremony. We made an appointment to be at church the next morning at half-past ten.

Matters having reached this pass, Mr. Mulleneux made no further opposition. ‘ Let them marry,’  he said, ‘ but I will never see them again.’

 

At half-past ten next morning we met at the altar. The ceremony was performed. Adeline Mulleneux and I plighted our troths to each other. Then we parted ; I to return to my work, my wife to go to the house of friends, but not to her home.

” On my entering the office, Mr. Carter’s greeting showed he knew the reason of my late arrival. ‘Are you aware of the cost of living ? ‘ he asked me with a grim smile.  I knew the cost well ; and, although I was supremely happy, I was not without misgivings.”

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley Chapter II

Will GrayLeave a comment

CHAPTER II. – This chapter covers 1809 to 1814. It is also the final mention of Josh’s sister, in the sentence “His sister was a teacher in that town.”[Liverpool]. All in all, she is only mentioned in three sentences in the entire book, and never named.

The Exchange Buildings, Liverpool

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.”

St George’s Dock Liverpool

“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 incognito 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 Colquit.”

” 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.”

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 [quarter of a pint] 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.”

” 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 reassured 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 dismissed 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 efforts, 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.”

” 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.”

”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.’  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.”

The life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – Chapter I

Will GrayLeave a comment

CHAPTER I.  1794 until 1811. This first chapter contains some of the few, very few, details about Josh’s family.  In part it covers Josh’s “ half-gipsy, half-sportsman life led on Stanemoor” [his words] up in Cumbria. It is so fantastical that it probably owes more to C19th romantic novels rather than real life. He was, without doubt, highly successful in business leaving an estate of £140,000 when he died in 1871 [a modern equivalent of just over £ 97m.] Whether he really managed to get there from a few shillings in his pocket in 1811, or was rather creating a rags to riches story is almost irrelevant.

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Custom House Liverpool

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.

12th_earl_of_derby
Edward Smith-Stanley, 12th Earl of Derby 1752 – 1834

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 sweepstake horse 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. oats-porridgeSometimes 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.

Apple orchard at Brogdale Farm, used alongside top crops feature, Apples.

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.

stainmore-1
Stanmore

” 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.

brace-of-grouseThe 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.rye-bread-and-cheese 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.’  “

An Anti-Corn-Law Leaguer. The Life of Sir Joshua Walmsley – The Spectator review 1880

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This may seem a slightly curious place to start, but it’s as good as any to introduce Uncle Hugh’s book about his father. A great deal of the review is very fair indeed, and the Life of Sir Joshua raises almost as many questions as it provides answers. The first chapter which in part covers Josh’s “ half-gipsy, half-sportsman life led on Stanemoor” up in Cumbria is so fantastical that it probably owes more to C19th romantic novels rather than real life. He was, with no doubt, highly successful in business leaving an estate of £140,000 when he died in 1871 [a modern equivalent of just over £ 97m.] Whether he really managed to get there from a few shillings in his pocket in 1811, or was rather creating a rags to riches  story is almost irrelevant. He had a curiously Zellig-like ability to be somewhere around some fairly extraordinary events throughout the C19th, and the luck or nous to invest very early on with the Stephensons.  The book is a surprisingly good read, large sections of it are from Sir Josh’s notes and diaries, and it’s certainly massively better than at least one of Uncle Hugh’s other books  “The Ruined Cities of Zululand”.  I will be posting each chapter, in a series, to let the work speak for itself, and then try to discover more about the man himself.

 

Sir Joshua Walmsley, M.P. 1794 -1871

 

AN ANTI-CORN-LAW LEAGUER.

The Life of Sir Joshua Walmsley.

By his Son, Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley,

London; Chapman and Hall. 1879.

No doubt, Mr. Walmsley has thought, and probably with truth, that the public would be impatient of personal details in the life of a man only known to them as a politician ; but then, he should have called his book, “The Political Life of Sir Joshua Walmsley.” The Paddington station-master might almost as well call a careful journal of all that happens at his station—royal entrances and exits, and the like, with which he is largely concerned—his life, as Mr. Walmsley call the book before us the life of his father. With the exception of his boyhood, we hear nothing of his private life, except a shooting episode. Two pages are thought sufficient in which to summarise the events of the four years which followed his retirement from public life. We hear nothing whatever of personal or family life, of his religious opinions, of his social relations or influence, of his tastes and pursuits at home, or of his holiday wanderings abroad. We hear nothing of his wife, after his marriage, till his death ; and nothing of children ; nor of friends, except such friends as were joined with him in public affairs. In fact, we gather that Sir Joshua’s whole soul was first in business, then in municipal work, and finally in helping to bring about those great political and fiscal reforms which were to benefit the country by putting the necessaries and comforts of life within easier reach of the people. But of Sir Joshua Walmsley himself we seem to have no picture, except as an ambitious and hard-working politician, who threw all his weight into the scale of the Liberal party.

His life—if we are to call it a life—will interest all politicians, especially Liverpool people, who remember the stirring years in the earlier part of the century, from 1826 to 1846, when municipal reform, the opening of the first railways, and the great measure of this century—the repeal of the Corn Laws—kept England—and particularly the North of England, whence emanated the Anti- Corn-Law League—in a state of excitement and action that was stimulating and spirit-stirring. In all this work Sir Joshua took a very active and useful, if not a very distinguished part, though we cannot remember him as a speaker. Bright and Cobden, indeed, or Cobden and Bright—for one was as great in lucid and logical exposition as the other was eminent for force and eloquence—threw all their fellow-workers into the shade; but Walmsley had a clear head, an iron constitution, and an invincible will, and was one of the most efficient members of the indomitable and victorious band of Anti-Corn Leaguers and Parliamentary reformers.

His early life was curious, and illustrates remarkably his tenacity of purpose. It is not perhaps altogether the most pleasing trait in his character that he seems to have been much impressed by the worldly wisdom of his father, and especially by an act and an aphorism of that father’s, and to have been largely influenced by them through life. The young Joshua had brought down a few crabs with a stone ; his father at once aimed instead, and with success, at some fine, sweet apples, and remarked to his son, “Remember, through life, my lad, that an apple is as easily felled as a crab.” On another occasion he had asserted confidently that “Jos will be Mayor of Liverpool some day,” and these words, he used to say, “rang in his ears.” His father died when his son and daughter were only thirteen and twelve; leaving them—owing to sad reverses— penniless ; they both became teachers in the schools where they had been pupils. Joshua’s engagement was at a school amongst the moors of Westmoreland, and his employer, the head master, being a good shot, united with the profession of school- master the curiously incongruous one of purveyor of game to the large towns. Joshua proved an infinitely better shot, however, than his employer, and in future led a hard but to him almost a fascinating life,—camping-out on the moors and driving home his cartload of game ; alternating this employment with that of making up his master’s books. But his ambition was not satisfied with a life so little likely to lead to anything better, and he returned to Liverpool, and sought—till he was penniless, and indebted to his kind landlady for subsistence—for a situation. One was found at last in a school, and he rose in the good graces of his employer ; but ambition was a very active force in Mr. Walmsley’s constitution, and he declined a partnership in the school, worth £400 a year, for a clerkship in a corn merchant’s office worth £40, bat which seemed to him to offer better chances of future wealth and influence. He rose rapidly, was offered a partnership in another house, and his marvellous knowledge of the grain-trade enabled him to make, lose, and remake a large fortune, and retire, according to our calculation—but there is a sad scarcity of orderly dates—at about fifty years of age. His affections seem to have been as tenacious as his purposes. He engaged himself, when a small boy at a dancing-school, to a little girl of seven, and he afterwards married her, and at the close of life attributed to her influence and. wisdom much of his varied success.

Mr. Walmsley seems to have had a strong personal friendship. for three considerable men—whose friendship in return reflects honour upon him – George Stephenson, Richard Cobden, and Joseph Hume; and it is one of the book’s merits that we hear – almost as much of Hume and Cobden as of Sir Joshua himself. Of the great engineer, with whom Sir Joshua made a business journey to Spain, we have several interesting anecdotes. We select the following, which the present writer, who had the pleasure of knowing Stephenson, recognises as very characteristic :

“The travellers’ way now lay across France, and in this part of their journey occurred the two following incidents. We crossed on foot, says Sir Joshua, “the chain bridge suspended over the Dordonne. Let us go over it again,’ said Stephenson, when we had reached the other side. Accordingly, over it again we went, the ‘old man’ walking very slowly, with head bent down, as if he were listening to and pondering over every step he took. The bridge is unsafe ; it will give way at the first heavy trial it meets with,’ he said, decisively, at last. We had better warn the authorities, your name will carry weight,’ I replied. We went to the mayor, we were- politely received, and we related the object of our visit. The mayor shrugged his shoulders with polite incredulity ; he assured us that the engineer who had built the bridge was an able man. Stephenson urged his warning, supporting the interpreter’s words with gestures and rough diagrams drawn on the spot. Still the French official shrugged his shoulders, looked incredulous, and finally bowed us out. Only a few months later Stephenson’s warning came true. A regiment of soldiers crossed the bridge without breaking step, the faulty structure gave way, and scores of men in heavy marching order were hurled down into the eddies of the rapid river below, where. many were drowned, before means of rescue could reach them. Another day we passed by a French line in process of construction ; the navvies were digging and removing the soil in wheelbarrows. Stephenson remarked that they were doing their work slowly and untidily. Their posture is all wrong,’ he cried ; jumping out of the carriage, with the natural instinct that impelled him to be always giving or receiving instruction, he took up a spade, excavated the soil, and filled a wheelbarrow, in half the time it took any one of the men to do it. Then further to illustrate that in the posture of the body lies half the secret of its power, he laid hold of a hammer and mallet, and poising his figure, he threw it to an immense distance before him ; challenging by gestures the workmen, who had now gathered round him, and were curiously watching him, to do the same, but they one and all failed to equal the feat. The interpreter explained the lesson to the navvies, and told them who their teacher was. Ste-vim-son !’ the name went from mouth to mouth. The intelligent, appreciative Frenchmen gathered close around him, and broke into vociferous cheers, such as I thought could only proceed from British lungs, until the echoes rang around us on every side.”

And while we are speaking of Sir Joshua’s friends, we must quote an anecdote, which, his son tells us, he was fond of repeating, illustrative of Mr. Hume’s popularity amongst the “working-classes :”—

” A strike had been resolved upon by the London cabmen. The night was wet and miserable. On leaving the scene of our labours, we saw through the rain a reassuring assemblage of four-wheelers and hansoms. No sooner, however, did we hail the cabs, than with a loud halloo the drivers impelled them in various directions. Hume and I were walking arm-in-arm. ‘We’ll give old Joe a lift,’ shouted three or four retreating cabbies drawing up their horses. They actually fought for the privilege of giving him a lift ; and since I was walking with him, I was allowed to get in, and so shared the advantage of his popularity.”

Before leaving Sir Joshua’s friends and acquaintance, we must record his spirited account and sagacious opinions of a party of patriots with whom it was his chance to spend an evening, and of whom, at that time, all England was speaking. The quotation is part of a narrative in Sir Joshua’s own words :—

“One morning, in February, 1854,” he narrates, “a gentleman was introduced into my study. On looking at his card, I found it was Mr. Saunders, the United States Consul. We had never met before. He intimated to me that his object in calling was to invite me to meet Mr. Buchanan, the American Minister, and some political friends. It was against my rule to accept invitations of a political or party character. I asked Mr. Saunders who the guests would be ; the list was as follows :—Mazzini, Garibaldi, Louis Kossuth, Walsh, Pulski, Ledru Rollin, Count Woxcell, and Orsini. I could not resist this catalogue of fiery names and accepted the invitation. At 25 Weymouth Street, Portland Square, the singular gathering took place. Mazzini sat at our host’s right hand. His appearance was very impressive and characteristic. His eyes, burning in his wasted countenance, his high, narrow forehead, spoke of a mind lofty and pure, but wanting in variety and flexibility. His whole appearance indicated a man of few ideas, but these ideas sublime and true. It was a never-to-be-forgotten sight, this group of patriots assembled together,—the simple, manly, honest face of Garibaldi, the attenuated features of Woxcell, the grave and handsome countenance of Kossuth, the beautiful young head of Orsini. The dinner was genuinely American in the abundance and costliness of its service. The wit, the humour, the vivacity of the conversation, were delightful, but so long as servants were present I knew the talk was superficial. When the cloth was removed and the servants had left the room, the doors were closed. I noticed they were double doors. Then a toast was given; it was to ‘Humanity.’ Mazzini was the first to speak. His austere eloquence, lit with flashes of enthusiasm, profoundly impressed me. It was like listening to the utterances of the old Hebrew prophets. He sketched the dark part of humanity, trodden down by kings and priests. Then came the struggles of the people for liberty. He saw streaks of the dawn in the present. In the future lay the glorious day of a regenerated humanity, free, self-respecting, -on whose banner the word Duty’ was inscribed. It was from his beloved Italy that he looked for this new revolution to come. Each one of the party, after him, rose and addressed the gathering. And the theme of every speaker was his country’s sufferings in the past and present, and his aspirations for it in the future. All spoke ‘freely, as men who had cast off restraint, and who were convinced of the accomplishment in the future of their object. In discussing their country’s wrongs, they frankly discussed the means by which they proposed to redeem and deliver her. From these means I should over shrink. But at such a moment, the reasoning power of the Listeners was carried away on this torrent of fiery zeal, impassioned patriotism, and persuasive eloquence. As patriot after patriot spoke, each seemed to press on to a higher and ever higher view of the subject in hand. After Mazzini, Kossuth addressed us in a speech full of power; but his eloquence was more flowery than Mazzini’s, and left less impression upon me. He was too much of a poet to guide up the dangerous height to which he had climbed. His friend Pulski was more of a man of business, and ever proved himself a sound patriot. Of all that night’s discourses, Garibaldi’s simple and straight- forward words moved me most. Ho seemed to take the wisest view of the coarse to be pursued, and to bring to the service of the subject the greatest amount of practical knowledge. His address, more unpretentious, was, to my mind, more convincing than the others. Orsini looked like a man inspired by, and resolved upon, his purpose. He spoke with much seeming sorrow of the necessity for deeds which be himself was prepared to accomplish. I shall never forget how young and handsome he looked that night, and I am persuaded that the wisest course Napoleon could have pursued would have been to have pardoned him. Of Ledru. Rollin I did not conceive a high idea. The impression he made upon me was that of a disappointed politician, rather than that of a patriot. Count Woxcell represented Poland. An exile for many years, he was so poor as often to lack the necessaries of life, yet he never complained. That night he had .evidently risen from a bed of sickness. His fine features contrasted with the exhaustion and feebleness of his frame ; death was stamped on his countenance; but his mind was bright with hopes of his country’s redemption. As he spoke of Poland’s sufferings, tears flowed down his pale cheeks.”

Those who know what were the views of Mr. Hume and Mr. Cobden know pretty nearly Sir Joshua Walmsley’s. He looked, evidently, in his Parliamentary career, as Member for Leicester, to their guidance, but was not wanting in independence and originality. He did not for instance, heartily concur in Cobden’s enthusiasm for non-intervention, though it is curious to note that he bought an interest in the Daily News, at Mr. Cobden’s suggestion, for the purpose of pressing this theory, for which, Mr. Cobden thought, the country was getting ripe. What would he say now?  Mr. Hume was eager for Parliamentary and Mr. Cobden for financial reform, and Sir Joshua seems to have shared the eagerness of both, but in a more moderate degree ; his readiness and energy were remarkable, and as in the struggle to repeal the Corn Laws, so in the subsequent efforts for financial and representative reform, Hume and Cobden, and the many other noble workers of that party, were vigorously and effectively backed by Walmsley’s business powers and knowledge, and by his wonderful faculty for success. But perhaps the great work of his life was the fierce and successful, but most laborious, attack he made on the dens of vice in his native town of Liverpool – of which he was afterwards mayor – accompanied by his reorganisation of the police, and succeeded by his earnest and successful efforts in favour of the education of the poor, which, in his view, alone went to the root of the matter, and on which he relied for the future freedom of his town from that army of beggars, paupers, and evil-doers which ignorance alone can generate and nourish, and education alone can ultimately stamp out.

The above text was found on p.17, 10th January 1880 in “The Spectator” 

Alderman Richard Sheil (1790 – 1871)

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On the 26th February, 1871, Alderman Richard Sheil passed away at the ripe age of eighty years. For fifty years he had been a prominent figure in every Catholic movement. Born in Dublin, in 1790, he was a member of the same family which gave to Ireland the brilliant writer and M.P., Richard Lalor Sheil. After spending many years of his life in Hayti, Mr. Sheil came to Liverpool, and carried on large business with great success. No Catholic movement was complete without his presence, whilst his interest in public matters was so intense that the Tory Corporation paid him the compliment of naming one of its public parks with his surname. One of the first three Catholic councillors, the first Catholic alderman, he had the unique honour of being the first to re-enter the Council and again become the only Catholic alderman. Dark complexioned, he looked like a Spanish monk, and his merchant friends used to say of him that he had missed his vocation. His warm Irish temperament and mellifluous brogue made him a host of friends in all parties which he with kindly wisdom turned to account for the benefit of his co-religionists. Indeed, had he so desired even a Conservative majority would have elected him to the honourable position of the Chief Magistracy. To do honour to his memory, and as an acknowledgement of his signal services to the Church, the Vicar-General sang the Requiem Mass in the absence through illness of the Bishop. His mortal remains were interred in Anfield Cemetery.

This is from the Catholic History Of Liverpool,  by Thomas Burke; Liverpool : C. Tinling & Co., Ltd., Printers, 53, Victoria Street.  1910