“The Churchwardens of the parish of St. Clement, in this city, summoned a vestry meeting on Tuesday last, at the request of the parishioners, to take into consideration the best means of detecting impositions on the funds raised for the relief of the poor, when it was agreed that six persons should be appointed to visit the poor of the said parish alternately, to ascertain the justness of their claims, and that the names of all persons receiving relief in the said parish should be printed, with the number of their families and the amounts they received. It is confidently hoped that if every parish was to adopt the same line of conduct, our poor rates would be considerably reduced for the next quarter.”
This short report appeared in the Norwich Mercury in September 1826 and describes what we might now call an attempt to investigate benefit fraud. Parishioners in St Clement had asked for a vestry meeting to consider possible “impositions” upon the money raised for poor relief. It was agreed that six people would take turns visiting recipients to assess whether their claims were justified. This was effectively a small team of local investigators, although without computers, central records or the opportunity to spend several months designing an official logo. But they had a mission to ensure that no-one was defrauding them.
The parish also proposed printing the names of everyone receiving relief, together with the size of their family and the amount they received. The methods would perhaps present certain difficulties under modern ideas about privacy and dignity, but the underlying combination of eligibility checks, home visits and a desire to reduce welfare expenditure feels remarkably familiar two centuries later.
This map shows the empty site in 1884, shortly after Norwich City Gaol was demolished. The land on what is now Earlham Road is today occupied by the city’s Roman Catholic cathedral, but 200 years ago this month the newly completed gaol was at the centre of a substantial argument reported by the Norwich Mercury. The dispute concerned alleged departures from the building contract, work that had apparently not been completed and thousands of pounds in additional charges.
The article reads:
“At the adjourned Sessions, on Wednesday last, Alderman Crisp Brown, we are given from authority to understand, spoke nearly as follows:—He said he had a painful task to perform; but as justice had been denied him in another place, he was obliged to bring it before the Court. Many tradesmen in the city had informed him there was something very improper going forward at the new gaol, with respect to deviations from the contract. He had at various times recommended that a surveyor of eminence, and a stranger, should be employed to survey the works and report to the committee—but this was always strongly opposed by the chairman. In the month of June last he (Alderman Brown) sent for Mr. Richard Brown, the real architect, who formed the plan for our new gaol, and he was accompanied by Mr. Thos. Bird, a surveyor.
They pointed out great deviations, examined the bill of extras, amounting to 2300l. and discovered many things charged as extras which were positively included in the contract: amongst them were twelve iron doors, charged 72l. The iron frames to the cell windows, which by the contract were to have the outer rims and horizontal bars made of hammered iron, were all cast in one piece, which enabled the contractors to execute them at little more than half the expence, and yet not a shilling was deducted. The locking stones to the cell doors, 14 inches long, 14 inches wide, and 9 inches thick, were all left out and no deductions made, &c. &c. &c. He had these gentlemen in attendance upon the spot, with the plans and specifications in their hands, and ready to point out the various deviations, and he begged they might be admitted into the committee-room—but this request was refused. Subsequently he (Ald. Brown) gave a copy of Brown and Bird’s remarks upon the extra charges, & an order was entered in the book that enquiry should be made as to their correctness.—A most extraordinary plan however was pursued. They were sent to Messrs. Mears and Blyth, the contractors, to answer the observations—but they refused to give any answer, although the charges were heavy against them; nor could he (Mr. B.) get any answer whatever from the chairman. There was another glaring imposition, in the deductions for work not executed, with respect to 24 sets of iron louvre blinds to prison wings, and 8 iron doors, 54l. The doors amounted to 48l. leaving only 6l. for the louvre blinds, which the contractors themselves had estimated, when they made the contract, at 64l. 8s. making a difference of 58l. 8s. There were other extraordinary charges, such as 441l. for extra locks, and 284l. for extra brick-work. He had frequently requested to be informed where this extra brick-work was to be found, but could never obtain an answer.
All he wanted was that equal justice should be done to the contractors and to those who were to raise the money. But how was he treated? Why instead of going into the enquiry to ascertain the correctness of the charges, or receiving answers as promised him, the chairman told him (Ald. Brown) that the charges are not correct, and used very unbecoming language, with the evident design of deterring him from pursuing the enquiry. He therefore was compelled to stand up now in Court, in defence of his own character and in defence of his fellow citizens, who were called upon to raise 15,000l. this quarter for the maintenance of the poor, and therefore great care should be taken that they did not pay more for the new gaol than the contractors were entitled to.
The gaol was now finished, and besides the 2300l. for extras already claimed, there were more coming forward to the amount of about 2000l. He should therefore strongly recommend that they follow the example of the justices in the county, who had the whole work of the castle surveyed by a stranger; and therefore he moved that a surveyor of eminence, and a stranger, be employed to survey the new gaol. This was seconded by Alderman Bolingbroke; but in consequence of several magistrates having left the court to attend a committee, the debate was adjourned.”
I’m quite amused by the “he had frequently requested to be informed where this extra brick-work was to be found, but could ever obtain an answer”, which sums up the whole sorry story.
The contractors were playing fast and loose, but just as things were getting excited a number of magistrates left to attend another committee, so the debate was adjourned. Even £4,300 in disputed building charges was apparently no match for the gravitational pull of another meeting, but perhaps they had better snacks at that one. It’s a sign that public contracts have long since proved challenging to keep under control and I do wonder whether they found the missing brickwork.
This notice appeared in the Norwich Mercury in September 1826 and relates to the manors of Bixley and Arminghall, immediately south of Norwich. It announced that game on the two estates was being strictly preserved and warned people against hunting or shooting there. In the language of the period, “sporting” meant pursuing animals such as hares, pheasants and partridges rather than participating in an especially vigorous game of bar billiards.
What makes the notice more interesting is the distinction it draws between “qualified” and “unqualified” people. Under the Game Laws then in force, the right to kill game was largely restricted to men with substantial property interests, certain long-term leaseholders and the eldest sons of esquires or men of higher social rank. Merely possessing a gun and finding a conveniently positioned pheasant was therefore insufficient in the eyes of the wealthy.
Those legally qualified to shoot were politely “requested” to stay away from the estates, while unqualified people were warned that they would be prosecuted without further notice. Being qualified did not give anyone the right to enter another person’s land, but the difference in tone is revealing. Wealthy sportsmen received a courteous announcement, while everyone else was informed that the authorities would be dealing with them and prosecution was likely.
The property qualification was abolished by the Game Act 1831, just five years after this notice appeared, although shooting still required the appropriate permission and certificate. It is a small snapshot of a different time, when hunting rights were determined by wealth, property and the apparently vital matter of whether someone’s father was sufficiently grand. You don’t get that in bar billiards.
This isn’t revolutionary stuff, but it is some of the earliest reporting of cricket scores that I’ve encountered, appearing in the Norwich Mercury in September 1826. Three separate matches are reported, including two between Attleburgh and a combined Caston and Griston side, followed by ten gentlemen, joined by Heyhoe of Shipdham, playing against Swaffham Club. I’m not a cricket expert, but the totals seem rather low by modern standards. Perhaps the quality of the bowling was exceptionally high in early nineteenth century Norfolk.
The newspaper uses the historical spelling Attleburgh, although the town is now generally known as Attleborough. The former has always made more sense to me, as that is how it is pronounced. The Swaffham game was likely played at the Racecourse Ground, which has some importance in the history of Norfolk cricket, with a tradition of the game being played in the town as early as 1700. Matches were recorded at the Racecourse Ground from 1797, while Norfolk teams played there between 1844 and 1850. Wikipedia notes that the location has now been lost, although I suspect it could be identified using older maps. That is a rabbit hole I won’t enter today, but I don’t think it would be a particularly deep one.
I now rather fear that historic cricket scores will start accumulating on this blog, as though it doesn’t already contain enough random piffle.
This newspaper article was in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this week, reporting that Mr Snasdell had died from drowning. Not only do I like the word se’nnight, meaning a seven day period, but I particularly like the “the vital spark had fled” to describe his death.
The individual was Thomas Snasdell and he was buried in Mundesley on 7 August 1826, although he lived in Norwich. He had been born in 1782 and although not mentioned in the article, he married Ann Clarke on 6 September 1824. I will have to work out how to put the phrase “the vital spark had fled” into this blog somehow, it’s a phrase that I feel needs to return.
This article appeared in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this week and relates to the court cases that had been heard in Walsingham. I can’t find out anything about Rose Crask, she doesn’t appear in any records that I can find.
As for the details of this case, this was a period of different moral values, although the court cases at the time show that breaches were not uncommon. At the time a woman described or charged as a “lewd woman” was usually being treated as sexually immoral, disorderly or involved in prostitution, although it can relate to any of them.
The label might be applied to a woman found soliciting, keeping company with known prostitutes or criminals, living outside accepted domestic arrangements, behaving indecently in public or repeatedly coming to the attention of parish officers and magistrates. It was a broad and highly moralistic description, reflecting a period when poor and unmarried women were closely policed and could be punished as much for their reputation and way of life as for any clearly identified criminal act. Indeed women in general at this time could be invisible, which has transpired to be the case for finding out anything more about Rose.
This notice was posted in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this week and it relates to the newly established turnpike road between Wells-next-the-Sea and Fakenham. This notice relates to a regular meeting of the trust, but the turnpike was new having been created by an Act of Parliament earlier in 1826, and this belonged to the final generation of turnpike trusts established in England. The period often described as ‘turnpike mania’ had largely taken place between the 1750s and the 1770s, while the last completely new English turnpike trusts would be authorised in the 1830s. In other words, Wells was something of a latecomer to a transport revolution that had already transformed much of the country, which perhaps seems fitting for this quieter corner of Norfolk.
The trust was more complicated than its name suggests. Rather than simply improving a single road between Wells and Fakenham, it administered a small network of connected highways. There were two principal routes from Fakenham to Wells, the western road passing through Egmere and the eastern route through Little Walsingham. A further branch ran from Walsingham through Great Snoring to Langor Bridge, where it joined the existing Norwich to Fakenham Turnpike. Early mapping also shows a branch westwards from Fakenham towards Hillington via Sculthorpe, although this appears never to have become an important part of the trust and later largely disappeared from its records. I’ve resisted vanishing completely down this rabbit hole, although I suspect there’s an entire series of blog posts waiting to be written about the trust.
Like every turnpike trust, its powers came from Parliament. The trustees could levy tolls, improve existing highways, acquire land where necessary and borrow money against future toll income. Unlike parish-maintained roads, which depended upon local labour obligations that varied enormously in quality, turnpikes introduced a more centralised and professional system of highway management. The trustees themselves were unpaid local gentlemen, merchants and landowners, but they appointed paid officers including surveyors, clerks and treasurers to administer the roads.
One particularly fascinating aspect of the Wells trust is that its minute books survive from the very first meeting. These reveal that deciding where to place tollgates proved surprisingly contentious. Bryant’s 1826 map shows the initial gates at Wells, Warham, Kettlestone and on the Sculthorpe road approaching Fakenham, broadly reflecting the trustees’ original decisions. However, almost as soon as toll collection began in the spring of 1827, travellers demonstrated an impressive enthusiasm for avoiding payment and that was considered most sub-optimal. By July the trustees were recording “very frequent evasions” and they were busy ordering additional gates across side roads to block alternative routes around the toll bars. Human ingenuity, it would appear, has always been remarkably effective when faced with paying road charges and judging by the repeated attempts to stop people avoiding the tolls, the trustees probably spent rather more time discussing human inventiveness than road engineering.
The arrival of the railways gradually undermined the economic justification for many turnpike trusts across Britain, and Wells was no exception. As traffic patterns changed during the second half of the nineteenth century, the toll system became increasingly difficult to justify. The Wells to Fakenham Turnpike Trust was finally wound up in 1881, ending fifty-five years of independent management. Responsibility for the roads returned to public authorities, while the tollgates disappeared into history.
Today, the milestones remain the easiest evidence that the trust ever existed and I wouldn’t at all be surprised if I decide that I need a friend to drive me to them to have a look. But they tell only a small part of the story. Behind them lay decades of meetings, arguments over gate locations, complaints about toll evasion, financial management and continual maintenance of roads that were vital to the economy of north west Norfolk. I’m fairly sure that these meetings would have been quite vibrant, but a bit of drama is good for the soul.
As an aside, I won’t say any more about the Fleece Inn in Wells, where the turnpike meeting was held, as it was one of the ten pubs that Roy, Jen and I visited a couple of weeks ago and those posts remain in the increasingly well-populated unwritten post blog queue.
I rather liked this advertisement which was placed in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this month. It reads:
“TO THE LOVERS OF THE FINE ARTS.
THE Nobility, Gentry, and Public of Norwich and Norfolk, are respectfully informed, that a
Splendid Collection of ANCIENT PICTURES
Will be opened for Exhibition during the Assize Week and a short time succeeding, at the Assembly Rooms, Norwich.
The Paintings are selected from the Works of the most esteemed Masters of the Italian, Dutch, and Flemish Schools. — Among the former will be found a splendid Picture by Titian, in his early style, with others by Caracci, Pietro da Cortona, Canaletti, &c. &c. The latter will include fine Specimens of the most pleasing character, and of Cabinet size, of the following Masters: — Rubens, Rembrandt, Both, Pynacker, Netscher, Cuyp, Decker, Zorg, Schweikhart, B. Gael, P. Potter, Poelemburg, Stoik, Snyers, De Vlieger, &c. &c.
The Exhibition will be opened from Ten in the morning till Four in the afternoon.
ADMITTANCE — ONE SHILLING.”
The exhibition was aimed at “the Nobility, Gentry, and Public of Norwich and Norfolk” and I think it’s evident that they were expecting really only people from what they might have called at the time the educated and wealthy classes. And even within that the nobility came first, the gentry were safely in the middle and the public were graciously permitted to bring up the rear, provided they had a shilling and behaved themselves near the Titian.
This feels like an early art gallery type set-up, there are some quite impressive artists in that list and the Assembly Rooms would have been quite the cultural hotspot that week. A shilling would have been approximately the equivalent of £7 today. I also went to look into the etymology of the word ‘ancient’ and have ascertained that in the art world of the time, it just meant ‘Old Masters‘ as the paintings weren’t that old at the time.
The Assembly Rooms are still there and they have long been part of the city’s cultural centres, so in that respect not much has changed. It’s a shame I can’t find a list of what artworks were displayed though, it all sounds rather decadent.
The below article appeared in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago.
“Doctrines of the New Jerusalem Church.
ON Sunday, July 9th, THREE DISCOURSES will be delivered at Crook’s Place Chapel, by the Rev. W. Mason, in which it will be shewn what are the views of the New Church in regard to the Quality of that Faith which justifies, and the true nature of Justification — Who the Lord’s Sheep are, and the Goats contrasted with them — and The Nature of the Christian’s Conquest, and the Rewards promised to the Conqueror.
Service to commence in the morning at half-past Ten, Afternoon at half-past Two, and Evening at half-past Six o’clock.”
The New Jerusalem Church was the Swedenborgianism religion and some of this story links to the St Mary the Less church on Queen Street which I’ve written about before. In short, that church was closed during the Reformation, then given to the religious refugees from the Netherlands to use as a cloth hall, with the building being used for services given in French until 1832. It was then leased to the New Jerusalem church of Swedenborgians who remained here until 1852 and they then moved to Park Lane to a building constructed for them. The church was already though in decline at this stage which is rarely the ideal moment to embark on a new building project and in the 1920s they transferred the building to the Mormons and although it was used by another religious group, it was then sold to become a private residential building. It was never fully converted into a home but is no longer used for religious purposes.
This article from 200 years ago tells a little of the story before the Swedenborgians moved to St Mary the Less, it appears that they were using Crook’s Place Chapel. This is in an area of the city that was changed heavily following the Second World War, but Crook’s Place Chapel appears to have been demolished in the 1880s. And back to the article, it’s an interesting look back that there would have been three services held that day for those interested in finding out more about the church. Those attending would have been no doubt fascinated by the discussions about faith, sheep, goats and conquest, but they probably got to have a nice little sit down.
There were concerns nationally about the stability of the Church of England, with the Church Building Acts of 1818 and 1824 trying to fund new Anglican churches. The Norwich Mercury article captures quite nicely this period of religious competition and general anxiety about picking the right religion.
200 years ago this week the Norwich Mercury printed this article:
“On Monday, during the election, Samuel Chenery, a lad of 16, was detected in picking the pocket of a gentleman, in the market, and lodged in the Vagrant Room in the Hall, where he soon after cut his throat. He was conveyed to the Hospital, and died on Wednesday morning.—Verdict, insanity.”
I’ve written numerous times about how Norwich 200 years ago was a city troubled with crime, poverty and mental instability. I assume that he was taken to St. Andrew’s Hall, which was the city’s workhouse at this time, which is where Samuel Chenery killed himself.
The lad was Samuel Haywood Chenery who was born on 19 March 1810, the son of Thomas Chenery and Elizabeth Chenery (nee Haywood). He was baptised on 25 March 1810 at St. Paul’s church in the city, a war damaged building unnecessarily pulled down in the 1970s for the flyover.
Samuel was buried at St. Augustine’s Church in Norwich on 25 June 1826, although those who died through suicide often weren’t buried in Church of England graveyards. I’m not entirely sure that there would have been a grave to him if the family were poor, but if there was, it’s not there now. Samuel’s Dad, Thomas, died on 12 April 1821 at the age of just 49 and is also buried at St. Augustine’s Church. Samuel’s Mum, Elizabeth, died on 16 May 1852 at the age of 80 and is also buried at the same church.
I do wonder how many times Samuel has been thought of over the last 200 years, whether he has been included in other family trees or his memory has been recorded elsewhere. But it appears from the information available that he was desperate financially and was unable to cope with what life had given him. At 16 years old, he was just a child.
