Читать книгу Recollections of a Busy Life: Being the Reminiscences of a Liverpool Merchant 1840-1910 - William Bower Sir Forwood - Страница 6

Near Sandhills Station there stood a large house, surrounded by trees, the residence of John Shaw Leigh, one of the founders of the present Liverpool. I remember being taken to see the icehouse in the grounds, which formed a sort of cave. Walton was a very pretty village, and remained so until a comparatively recent date; its lanes were shaded by stately trees, amid which there nestled the charming old thatched cottages which formed the village. The church, the mother church of Liverpool, was a landmark for miles, and amid its rustic and rural surroundings was picturesque and romantic. Near at hand were Skirving's nursery gardens, quite celebrated in their time.

The southern end of the town preserved its suburban aspect for a much longer period. Aigburth Road and its great elm trees remained untouched by the builder of cottages until quite recent times. Prince's Road was made in 1843, and was margined on either side by fields, which for long years remained in a more or less ragged condition, some of the land being occupied by squatters, living in wooden tenements such as we are familiar with when property lies derelict, past cultivation, but not yet ripe for the builder.

Aigburth Road and St. Michael's Hamlet retained their charming and picturesque features until such a recent period that I need not dwell upon them. Few towns had more attractive and beautiful suburbs; now the tramways have encouraged the building of small property in every direction, and suburban Liverpool is almost destroyed. The area available for residences has always been limited to the east and south, owing to the proximity of St. Helens, Wigan, Widnes, and Garston. It would have been a wise policy if our City Fathers had set apart a sanctuary for better-class houses, from which tramways were excluded, and thus avoid driving so many large ratepayers to the Cheshire side to find a home.

My sketch of Seaforth and its neighbourhood would not be complete unless I say a word about several rather celebrated houses which existed in the district. One was Seaforth Hall, long known as "Muspratt's folly." Mr. Muspratt, who built the house, and who lived and at the age of 96 died in it, had the prescience to see that the sandhills, which he bought for a nominal price, would some day become a part of Liverpool, and he had also the enterprise to erect one of the finest houses about Liverpool. Another important house was Seafield, near Waterloo, the residence of Dr. Hicks; it was surrounded by a large park. This has since been laid out and built over, and is now known as Waterloo Park. The third interesting house was Seaforth House, the residence of Sir John Gladstone, and where his famous son spent his young days. In the 'seventies Mr. Robertson Gladstone, the brother of the Premier, had a scheme to modernise the old family house, which his brother, Mr. W. E. Gladstone, who owned the property, allowed him to carry out. Mr. Robertson Gladstone was my colleague on the Watch Committee, and he invited me to go out with him to see the alterations he was making, which I found comprised the construction of a large circular saloon in the centre of the house. This was a very fine apartment, but it ruined the rest of the house, making all the other rooms small and ill-shaped. The house never found a tenant, and some years after, when Mr. W. E. Gladstone sold his Seaforth estate, it was pulled down.

When Mr. Robert Holt was Lord Mayor, in 1893, Mr. W. E. Gladstone visited Liverpool to receive the Freedom of the City. He sent for me to the Town Hall, and said he understood I was the chairman of the Overhead Railway, and he wanted to know where we had placed our station at Seaforth. I told him it was on the south side of the old Rimrose Brook, and gave him some further particulars. He at once replied, "I remember as a boy catching what we called 'snigs' in the Rimrose Brook, and from what you tell me your station is on the north side, and as a boy I played cricket in the adjoining field, from whence in the far, far distance we could see the smoke of Liverpool." From enquiries I have made I find Mr. Gladstone's memory as to the position of the brook was more accurate than my own. It was a considerable stream and the cobble-paved highway of Crosby Road was carried over it by a high white stone bridge. Before leaving the Town Hall Mr. Gladstone asked me if I knew Seaforth House. On my saying yes, he replied, "What a mess my brother Robertson made of it!"—alluding to the incident already mentioned.

Perhaps I may here interpose another recollection of Liverpool's great son. When the late Lord Derby was Lord Mayor I was deputed to assist him when my services were required. One day he sent for me and showed me a letter he had received from Mr. Gladstone expressing his wish to address a Liverpool Town's meeting on the Bulgarian Atrocities. Mr. Gladstone, in a magazine article, had recently used strong language in reference to the Sultan of Turkey, calling him an assassin. Lord Derby considered it would not be proper for such language to be used at a Town's meeting, but he added, "Mr. Gladstone was above everything a gentleman, and if he received his promise that he would avoid strong language he would be quite satisfied and would take the chair." Mr. Gladstone at once assented. The meeting was held in Hengler's Circus. It was crowded from floor to ceiling. Mr. Gladstone arrived with Mrs. Gladstone, and after a few introductory remarks by the Lord Mayor, Mr. Gladstone rose to speak. Walking with the aid of a stick to the front of the platform, placing his stick upon the table, he clutched hold of the rails and "let himself go," and for an hour and a quarter he poured out a perfect torrent of eloquence which held the audience spellbound. It was a great oration, remarkable not so much for what he said, as for the marvellous restraint he was evidently exercising to avoid expressing himself in the forcible language which he considered the circumstances demanded. He was much exhausted after this great effort; Mrs. Gladstone had, however, some egg-flip ready, which seemed to revive him. This was Mr. Gladstone's last great speech; it was fitting it should be delivered in his native city.

There was another house at Seaforth which I must also mention, Barkeley House, the residence of Mr. Smith, commonly known as "Square-the-Circle Smith," from the fact of his claiming to have solved this problem. Mr. Smith was the father of Mr. James Barkeley Smith, who for many years did good work in the City Council. A sketch of the Seaforth of those days would not be complete without a reference to Rector Rothwell of Sefton, reputed to be one of the most beautiful readers in the Church; he drove down to the shore in his yellow gig, winter and summer, and bathed in the sea. Another grand old man was Archdeacon Jones, who succeeded his son as the Incumbent of Christ Church, Waterloo, and who died at the age of 96. I look back upon his memory with reverence, for he was a charming man; his presence was dignified, his features refined, almost classical, and he was endowed with a soft, silvery voice, and, both as a reader and preacher, he was greatly appreciated. I must mention a touching little incident. About two years before he died he broke his leg. I called with my wife to see him; before leaving he begged us to kneel down and he gave us his blessing, expressed in simple but beautiful language, and spoken with deep feelings of love and kindness.

I must now revert to my story. The railway from Waterloo to Southport was opened in July, 1848; it was called the "Shrimpers' Line," and it was thought it would never pay, as there was apparently no traffic. I remember, as a small boy, seeing the first train start from Waterloo; the occasion was a visit made by the directors to inspect the bridge over the river Alt, and my father was one of the party. The train consisted of two first-class coaches, and it was drawn by three grey horses, driven by a man seated on the top of the first coach. Some time after I saw the first locomotives brought from Liverpool. The Crosby Road was good enough, but the roads leading from the main Crosby Road to Waterloo were simply sandy lanes, and along these the heavy lorries, which carried the locomotives, had to be hauled. It was a work of great difficulty, as the wheels of the lorries sank up to their axles in the deep sand.

The railway was opened from Waterloo to Southport for some years before it was extended to Liverpool. To-day this line is probably the most profitable part of the Lancashire and Yorkshire system.

In 1849 my father bought a house in Edge Lane, then a very charming and attractive suburb. After passing Marmaduke Street, Edge Hill, there were no houses in Edge Lane on the south side until Rake Lane was reached. Here were the residences of Sir John Bent, Mr. George Holt, and others. The north side of Edge Lane, from the Botanic Gardens up to Laurel Road, was fringed with villas, surrounded by large gardens containing many fine trees, and the houses in this part were large and handsome; many of them still remain. Among those who then resided in Edge Lane were James Ryley, William Holt, F. A. Clint, Simon Crosfield, Mr. Lowndes, and Dashper Glynn. Mr. Heywood lived in Edge Lane Hall, then considered a house of much importance, surrounded as it was by a pretty park.

The principal events which dwell in my memory as having taken place at this time are the Fancy Fair held in the Prince's Park, in aid of our local charities, a very brilliant affair; and the opening of the great exhibition of 1851 in Hyde Park. It was a matter of grave consideration with my parents if I was of sufficient age to appreciate the exhibition, but in the end I was allowed to go to London; and I can only say, for the benefit of all youngsters of 10 and 11 years, that I greatly enjoyed that magnificent display, and it produced a lasting impression upon my mind. I recall at this day every detail. The wonderful show of machinery impressed me most, but the weaving of cloth and the various industrial processes were all of absorbing interest to my youthful mind, so much so that on one day I lost my party, and had to find my way back to our lodgings. Fortunately, half-a-crown had been placed in my pocket for this contingency, and with the help of a friendly policeman I had no difficulty.

The building of the church of St. John the Divine, at Fairfield, greatly interested me, and during my holidays I was taken up to the top of the tower to lay the first stone of the steeple. When the church was consecrated in 1854, Bishop Graham, of Chester, lunched at the "Hollies," my father being the chairman of the Building Committee.

After spending two years at a dame's school at Kensington, I was sent to the upper school of the Liverpool Collegiate. I was placed in the preparatory school, under the Rev. Mr. Hiley. From the preparatory school I proceeded to the sixth class. My career was by no means distinguished; four times a day I walked up and down from Edge Lane to school. My companions were Tom and Hugh Glynn; they, like myself, made but little headway. Dr. T. Glynn is now one of the leaders of our medical profession, and a short time ago I asked him how it was that we as boys were so stupid. He replied that our walk of eight miles a day exhausted all our physical and mental energies, and we were left good for nothing; and I might add we had in those days little or no relaxation in the shape of games. There was a little cricket in the summer, but this was the only game ever played, so that our school-days were days of unrelieved mental and physical work, which entirely overtaxed our strength. The Rev. J. S. Howson, the principal of the Collegiate, was very much beloved by the boys. I was a very small boy, but not too small for the principal to notice and address to him a few kindly words; in after life, when he became Dean of Chester, he did not forget me. His sympathy and love for boys and his power of entering into their feelings made him a very popular head-master.

At the age of 14 I was sent to Dr. Heldenmier's school at Worksop, in Nottinghamshire, where the Pestalozzian system of education was carried on. It was a celebrated school; many Liverpool boys were there with me, the Muspratts, Hornbys, Langtons, etc., and though we worked hard we had plenty of relaxation in the workshop and the playing fields, besides long walks in the lovely parks that surround Worksop, and which are known as the Dukeries. During these walks we were encouraged to botanise, collect birds' eggs, etc., and the love of nature which was in this way inculcated has been one of the delights of my life. The noble owners of these parks were most kind to the boys. We were frequently invited to Clumber, the residence of the Duke of Newcastle, who was Minister of War. The Crimean war was then being waged, and we considered the duke a very great person; and a few words of kindly approbation he spoke to me are among the sunny memories of my school days. The Duke of Portland, who was suffering from some painful malady, which caused him to hide himself from the world, was also always glad to see the boys, and to show us the great subterranean galleries he was constructing at Welbeck; but our greatest delights were skating on the lake at Clumber in winter, and our excursions to Roch Abbey and to Sherwood Forest in the summer. The delight of those days will never fade from my memory. We used to return loaded with treasures, birds' eggs, butterflies, fossils, and specimens of wild flowers. In the autumn Sir Thomas White always gave us a day's outing, beating up game for him; this we also greatly enjoyed; and how we devoured the bread and cheese and small beer which the keepers provided us for lunch!

We were taken by the directors of the Manchester, Sheffield and Lincolnshire Railway to the opening of the new docks at Grimsby. The directors had a special train which stopped to pick up the boys at Worksop. Charles Dickens was of the party. On the return journey, I was in his carriage; he gave me a large cigar to smoke—the first, and the last cigar I ever smoked, for the effect was disastrous.

My school days at Worksop were happy days. We spent much time in studying the natural sciences; we became proficient in joinery and mechanics; and there was a nice gentlemanly tone in the school. My great friend was George Pim, of Brenanstown House, Kingstown, Ireland. We never lost sight of each other. He entered the office of Leech, Harrison and Forwood, and became a partner with us in Bombay, and afterwards in New York; he died there in 1877, at the age of 34. A fine, handsome, bright fellow; to me he was more than a brother, and his like I shall never see again. The friend of my boyhood, of my young manhood, my constant companion; he was a good fellow.

Richard Cobden's only son was at Worksop, a bright, handsome boy. His father doted upon him, and often came down to visit him, when he took some of the boys out to dine with him at the "Red Lion"; he was a very pleasant, genial man, fond of suggesting practical jokes, which we played off on our schoolmates on our return to school. Poor Dick Cobden was too full of animal spirits ever to settle down to serious school work. He had great talent, but no power of application. He died soon after leaving Worksop.

When at Worksop I distinguished myself in mathematics, and my master was very anxious I should proceed to Cambridge, but my father had other views, and thought a university training would spoil me for a business career. I have ever regretted it. Every young man who shows any aptitude should have the opportunity of proceeding to a university, but in those days the number of university graduates was small, and the advantage of an advanced education was not generally recognised. Life was more circumscribed and limited, and a level of education which suited our forefathers, and had made them prosperous men, was considered sufficient: more might be unsettling. The only thing to be aimed at and secured was the power and capacity to make a living; if other educational accomplishments followed, all well and good, but they were considered of very secondary importance.

Our home life was quiet and uninteresting, very happy in its way because we knew no other. Our greatest dissipations were evening parties, with a round game of cards; dinner parties were rare, and balls events which came only very occasionally. Sundays were sadly dull days; all newspapers were carefully put away, and as children we had to learn the collect and gospel. Our only dissipation was a short walk in the afternoon. Oh! those deadly dull Sundays; how they come up before me in all their depressing surroundings; but religion was then a gloomy business. Our parsons taught us Sunday after Sunday that God was a God of vengeance, wielding the most terrible punishment of everlasting fire, and only the few could be saved from his wrath. How all this is now happily changed! The God of my youth was endowed with all the attributes of awe-inspiring terror, which we to-day associate with the evil one. It is a wonder that people were as virtuous as they were: there was nothing to hope for, and men might reasonably have concluded to make the best of the present world, as heaven was impossible of attainment. In my own case, partaking of the Holy Communion was fraught, I was taught, with so much risk, that for years after I was confirmed I dare not partake of the Sacrament. What a revolution in feeling and sentiment! How much brighter and more reasonable views now obtain! God is to us the God of Love. We look around us and see that all nature proclaims His love, and the more fully we recognise that love is the governing principle of His universe, the nearer we realise and act up to the ideal of a Christian life. Love and sympathy have been brought back to the world, and we see their influence wrought out in the drawing together of the classes, in the wider and more generous distribution of the good things of life, and in the recognition that heaven is not so far from any of us. We see that as the tree falls so will it lie; that in this life we are moulding the life of our future, and that our heaven will be but the complement of our earthly life, made richer and fuller, freed from care and sin, and overarched by the eternal presence of God, whose love will permeate the whole eternal firmament.

Charles Kingsley was one of the apostles of this new revelation, which brought hope back to the world, and filled all men with vigour to work under the encouragement which the God of Love held out to us. It has broadened and deepened the channels of human sympathy and uplifted us to a higher level of life and duty.

During my school days I spent several of my summer holidays in Scotland with my mother, who was a patient of Professor Simpson in Edinburgh, and usually resided two or three months in that city. One summer holiday I stayed with old John Woods, at Greenock. He was the father of shipbuilding on the Clyde. He was then building a wooden steamer for my father to trade between Lisbon and Oporto. Another summer holiday I spent with Mr. Cox, shipbuilder, of Bideford, in Devon, who was building the sailing ship "Bucton Castle," of 1,100 tons, for my father's firm. The knowledge of shipbuilding I obtained during these visits has been of incalculable value to me in after life. Another of my summer vacations was occupied in obtaining signatures to a monster petition to the Liverpool corporation praying them to buy the land surrounding the Botanic Gardens, and lay it out as a public park. I stood at the Edge Lane gate of the Botanic Gardens with my petition for several weeks, and I obtained so many signatures that the petition was heavier than two men could carry.

I am glad to think it was successful, and the Wavertree Park has contributed greatly to the pleasure and enjoyment of the people of Liverpool, and has been the means of preserving to us the Botanic Gardens. I think it was one of the most useful things I ever accomplished.