ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Recollections of Old Liverpool. James Stonehouse
Читать онлайн.Название Recollections of Old Liverpool
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4057664627490
Автор произведения James Stonehouse
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
G. A. Stephens was an actor, who, after playing about in the provincial highways and bye-ways of the dramatic world, went to London, where he was engaged at Covent Garden in second and third rate parts. He was a man of dissipated habits, but a jovial and merry companion. He wrote a great many very clever songs, which he sang with great humour. He got the idea of the lectures on “Heads” from a working man about one of the theatres, whom he saw imitating some of the members of the corporation of the town in which he met with him. Stephens, who was quick and ready with his pen, in a short time got up his lecture, which he delivered all through England, Scotland, Ireland, and America. He realised upwards of £10,000, which he took care of, as he left that sum behind him at his death, in 1784. He was at the time, a completely worn-out, imbecile old man. Many of the leading actors of his day followed up the lecture on “Heads,” in which they signally failed to convey the meaning of the author. I saw him, and was very much amused; but I do not think he would be tolerated in the present day. The elder Mathews evidently caught the idea of his “At Homes” from Stephens’s lecture.
Brownlow-hill was so called after Mr. Lawrence Brownlow, a gentleman who held much property thereabout. Brownlow-hill was a very pleasant walk. There were gardens on it, as, also, on Mount Pleasant, then called Martindale’s-hill, of which our friend Mr. Roscoe has sung so sweetly. Martindale’s-hill was quite a country walk when I was a little boy. There was also a pleasant walk over the Moss Lake Fields to Edge Hill. Where the Eye and Ear Infirmary stands there was a stile and a foot-path to the Moss Lake Brook, across it was a wooden foot bridge. The path afterwards diverged to Smithdown-lane. The path-road also went on to Pembroke-place, along the present course of Crown-street. I have heard my father speak of an attempt being made to rob him on passing over the stile which stood where now you find the King William Tavern. He drew his sword (a weapon commonly worn by gentlemen of the time) which so frightened the thieves that they ran away, and, in their flight, went into a pit of water, into which my father also ran in the darkness which prevailed. The thieves roared loudly for help, which my father did not stop to accord them. He, being a good swimmer, soon got out, leaving the thieves to extricate themselves as they could. There were several very pleasant country walks which went up to Low-hill through Brownlow-street, and by Love-lane (now Fairclough-lane). I recollect going along Love-lane many a time with my dear wife, when we were sweethearting. We used to go to Low-hill and thence along Everton-road (then called Everton-lane), on each side of which was a row of large trees, and we returned by Loggerhead’s-lane (now Everton Crescent), and so home by Richmond-row, (called after Dr. Sylvester Richmond, a physician greatly esteemed and respected.) I recollect very well the brook that ran along the present Byrom-street, whence the tannery on the right-hand side was supplied with water. At the bottom of Richmond-row used to be the kennels of the Liverpool Hunt Club. They were at one time kept on the North-shore.
CHAPTER II.
I was very sorry when the Ranelagh Gardens were broken up. The owner, Mr. Gibson, was the brother of the Mr. Gibson who kept the Folly Gardens at the bottom of Folly-lane (now Islington) and top of Shaw’s Brow (called after Mr. Alderman Shaw, the great potter, who lived in Dale-street, at the corner of Fontenoy-street—whose house is still standing). Many a time have I played in the Folly Tea Gardens. It was a pretty place, and great was the regret of the inhabitants of Liverpool when it was resolved to build upon it. The Folly was closed in 1785. Mr. Philip Christian built his house, now standing at the corner of Christian-street, of the bricks of which the Tavern was constructed. The Folly was a long two-storied house, with a tower or gazebo at one end. Gibson, it was said, was refused permission to extend the size of his house, so “he built it upright,” as he said “he could not build it along.” The entrance to the Gardens was from Folly-lane, up a rather narrow passage. I rather think the little passage at the back of the first house in Christian-street was a part of it. You entered through a wooden door and went along a shrubberied path which led to the Tavern. Folly-lane (now Islington) was a narrow country lane, with fields and gardens on both sides. I recollect there was a small gardener’s cottage where the Friends’ Institute now stands; and there was a lane alongside. That lane is now called “King-street-lane, Soho.” I remember my mother, one Sunday, buying me a lot of apples for a penny, which were set out on a table at the gate. There were a great many apple, pear, and damson trees in the garden. When the Friends’ Institute was building I heard of the discovery of an old cottage, which had been hidden from view as it were for many years. I went to see it—the sight of it brought tears in my old eyes, for I recognised the place at once, and thought of my good and kind mother, and her friendly and loving ways. Where the timber-yard was once in Norton-street, there used to be a farm-house. The Moss-lake Stream ran by it on its way to Byrom-street. I can very well remember Norton-street and the streets thereabout being formed. At the top of Stafford-street, laid out at the same time, there was a smithy and forge; the machinery of the bellows was turned by the water from the Moss-lake Brook, which ran just behind the present Mill Tavern. There the water was collected in an extensive dam, in shape like a “Ruperts’ Drop,” the overflow turned some of the mill machinery. Many and many a fish have I caught out of that mill-dam. The fields at the back, near Folly-lane, were flooded one winter, and frozen over, when I and many other boys went to slide on them.
The Folly Gardens were very tastefully laid out. Mr. Gibson was a spirited person, and spared no expense to keep the place in order. There were two bowling-greens in it, and a skittle-alley. There was a cockpit once, outside the gardens; but that was many years before my time. It was laid bare when they were excavating for Islington Market. When I was a boy its whereabouts was not known; it was supposed to have been of great antiquity. How time brings things to light! The gardens were full of beautiful flowers and noble shrubs. There was a large fish-pond in the middle of a fine lawn, and around it were benches for the guests, who, on fine summer evenings, used to sit and smoke, and drink a sort of compound called “braggart,” which was made of ale, sugar, spices, and eggs, I believe. I used to sail a little ship in that pond, made for me by the mate of the Mary Ellen. I one day fell in, and was pulled out by Mr. Gibson himself, who fortunately happened to be passing near at hand. He took me in his arms dripping as I was, into the tavern and I was put to bed, while a man was sent down to Church-street, to acquaint my parents with my disaster, and for dry clothes. My mother came up in a terrible fright, but my father only laughed heartily at the accident, saying he had been overboard three times before he was my age. He must have had a charmed life, if he spoke true, for I don’t think I could have been above eight years old then. My father was well acquainted with Mr. Gibson, and after I had got on my dry clothes, he took us up to the top of the Gazebo, or look-out tower. It was a beautiful evening, and the air was quite calm and clear. The view was magnificent. We could see Beeston Castle quite plainly, and Halton Castle also, as well as the Cheshire shore and the Welsh mountains. The view out seaward was truly fine. Young as I was, I was greatly struck with the whole scene. It was just at the time when the Folly Fair was held, and the many objects at our feet made the whole view one of intense interest. The rooms in the tower were then filled with company. Folly Fair was held on the open space of ground afterwards used as Islington Market. Booths were erected opposite the Infirmary and in Folly Lane. It was like all such assemblages—a great deal of noise, drunkenness, debauchery, and foolishness. But fairs were certainly different then from what they have been of late years. They are now conducted in a far more orderly manner than they were formerly. I went to a large one some years ago, in Manchester, and, on comparing it with those of my young days, I could hardly believe it was a fair. It seemed to be only the ghost of one, so grim and ghastly were the proceedings.
I recollect the celebrated Mr. John Howard, “the philanthropist,” coming to Liverpool in 1787. He had a letter of introduction to my father, and was frequently at our house. He was a thin, spare man, with an expressive eye and a determined look. He used to go every day to the Tower Prison