HISTORY
BARNET FAIR
On 6th February
1588 Queen Elizabeth I granted a charter to the Lord of the Manor
of Barnet (Charles Butler and
"his heirs and assigns") the right to hold a weekly market on Mondays
and a twice yearly fair. The reason for the
fairs was a way of bringing people together and of course by bringing a large
number of people in one place there
were criminals on the prowl who would steal and drunks and fights were common.
All fines for these offences were
paid to the Lord of the Manor so he probably looked forward to the twice yearly
events. Over the years Barnet fair
became popular as unlike the present fair it was becoming famous as the place
to go for livestock, especially horses
and cattle.
| An
early picture of the Barnet horse fair |
In 1758 John Tomlinson, The Lord of the Manor of Barnet was granted permission
to change the dates of the fairs
from June to April for the first one and from October to September for the second
due to it being better for business.
Animals were driven from all over the country to the Barnet fairs, with Cattle
from Scotland, cows from Devon and
ponies from Wales. The September cattle fair was held in fields near Wood Street
(until 1909) and various fields around
the town were used for herding and displaying the livestock. In September 1834
it was reported in The Times that Barnet
Fair was the largest cattle market in all of England with up to 40,000 animals
on offer and £100,000 being taken in trade
on the first day.
By the mid 18th century Barnet
fair had become associated with horse racing and races were held on the last
three days
of the event. The course they ran on was where the present high Barnet station
now is and the last race held there was
"The Barnet Stakes" on September 6th 1870. But the fair carried on
and the animals kept coming, usually to the land
opposite High Barnet station.
 |
By becoming more popular and with large amounts of money available crime became
on the increase and in 1874
The Barnet Press reported that 20 plain clothes detectives, 4 sergeants and
44 policemen from London were brought
in to be on duty at the fair. This probably did not work very well as in 1888
there was a serious attempt to close down
the fair on the grounds that it had become a nuisance but local businessmen
got together a petition that stated
" It has been ascertained that an average of over 20,000 persons attend
Barnet on each fair day and expenditure in
the town and neighbourhood alone is estimated at upwards from £10,000
to 312,000 among tradesmen and farmers"
This was only from
the September fair as the April one had ended in 1881 when the area around Wood
Street became
part of Barnet common. The Home secretary decided that there were insufficient
reasons to close the fair and the local
people were pleased with the outcome.
| As
you can see from this old photo the railway station is in the background |
The place were Barnet
fair resides has changed over the years. In 1859 the horse fair was held on
land to the east
of the railway, between Potters lane and the Meadway, In 1929 development saw
the fair move across Barnet hill to
fields to the south of Bedford Avenue and 2 years later it moved to a field
adjoining Pricklers hill. In 1934 the fair was
once again moved on due to development to field in Barnet Lane, with a the horse
fair in one field and the pleasure fair
in another. In 1935 four people were killed by a lorry at Barnet fair (for full
report see below)
| The
days when Barnet fair was not hidden in a field somewhere |
This is more or less where the
fair as we know it today is held but the horse fair has declined with this year
(2005) there
being only about 20 horses for sale in a field at the far end of Mays Lane.
With the demise of the use of the horse it would
be the pleasure fair that was to keep alive the yearly event and to this day
September is the time of the year
when we can
walk up to our necks in mud but still enjoy a part of the past.
 |
Below is a report
on Barnet Fair in the Victorian times
written by James Greenwood, 1881 [first published 1875]
I HAVE been at Barnet Fair on the great day of all - the ~ Costermongers' Carnival;
I have talked to many of those
participating in the festivities, but as any narrative of the events must greatly
depend on colour and phraseology,
I think it better that the story should be told to you in the terms and answers
given to the friendly inquiries I made
of one in particular among the confraternity.
"Barnet Fair comes on a Wednesday, and, of all the days that are in the year,
there is not one that can come up to it;
leastways, I mean with the thousands wot move in that spear of life the same as
your humble servant. Christmas i
sn't nothin' to it. There's nothin' stirrin' at Christmas. There isn't nothin'
in season but ice cartin' and holly and
mistletoe; and, though the last mentioned as a picture looks very well piled up
in a barrer, it isn't werry festive
servin' it.,. out in pennorths, and everybody so stronary awaracious arter the
bits wots got lots of berries on to
'em. No; Christmas time ain't a jolly time for the costermonger it's a starvin'
time. It's a time when, symbolikle
speakin', the wolf scratches the door open and walks off with anything wot he
can stick his hungry teeth into.
Easter and Witsun is a little better; but then a man is glad to make the most
of his yearnins to make up for what
h'is gone back. I got back, and I ain't ashamed to own it. The wolf wot I was
speaking of, after eating up mine and
the missus's Sunday togs, to say nothing of a green and brass fender and our American
clock, ackshurly entered
the stable and seized on the pony for rears of rent; and, if it hadn't been for
my brother Joe, wots in the coal way,
and consequently doing werry tidy in the winter time - but I'm diwergin' from
my subjeck.
"I'm in the fish way myself, consequently Wednesday suits me to a tick. Wednesday
ain't a fish day among our
customers. It's a rum thing, but poor people don't take kind to fish - not naturally
kind, I mean. They'll hold off from
it as long as they've got ha'pence enough to get a scrag of meat at the butcher's;
and so, d'ye see, as the Saturday
night's wages generally hold out till the middle of the week, it ain't no use
inwestin' heavy in fish, till Thursday or
Friday, when my customers is down to the knuckle-bone, as the wulgar saying is;
so, as I said before, Wednesday
couldn't suit me better if it was made to measure for me. Not that I should stop
away from Barnet, even if the day
didn't fit me. No fear. It's only once a year, and even Guy Foxes have their day
once per annum.
It's uniwersal, from the New Cut, Lambeth, to Dog-row, at Mile-end. It would be
good for weak eyesight to find a
stall or a barrer that day from one end of Brick-lane to the other.
"There's two ways of going to Barnet, like there's two ways of doing everything.
You may take the rail for it - but
that's not my way. I ain't a proud cove, but, cert'ny I should look down on any
one that I knowed as was capable of
keeping up the anniwersary in that shabby kind o' way. Mind you, I don't hold
with extrawagance; and though it
was all right havin' them four new spokes put in the barrer wheels (Joe Simmon
s wife being a hounce or two
heavier than a hinfant, and my old gal rapidly growin' cut o' that silf-like figger
she had when we was courtin'),
there's no denying, as it was werry much like pomp and wanity, havin' the wehicle
painted yeller with a picking
out of green. But her mind was bent on havin' every thing to match her shawl and
bonnet, and, as she tenderly
r emarked, bless her hard workin' 'art: 'We don't kill a pig every day, Samuel:'
wich so touched me that I went the
whole annimal, and had it warnished as well.
"It was a neat turn-out, cheerful without being owdacious. The sun was shinin'
brightly, and we wasn't squeezed
for room, being only four in a barrer, which is better than being so crowded that
you are obliged to sit on the
prowisions, to say nothing of the temtation to get the two-gallon bottle empty,
and chucked out as an encumbrants
before you're five miles on the road. It's a longish trot between Mile-end and
Barnet, but long before we got to
Whitechapel Church there was wisible signs of the horsspishus occasion.
There was carts and wans, and regler four-horse drags, loaded and looking as 'ansome
as many a time I've seen
my barrer when there was a glut of collyflowers, and they was goin' reasonable,
and all in the highest of spirits,
as might be seen from the way in which many of em had already got their paper
garlands round their hats, and
horsehair mustaches and jolly noses. I likes to see it.
There is a lively sarsiness about it that aggrawates the perlice without givin'
'em sufficient excuse to be down
on yer, which is very comfortin' to be'old; but I beg it to be understood that
it isn't what in superior langwidge
might be called 'nobby.' It's a hindication of a mind not much above pennywinkles
or creases, or any of them
lower branches of the purfession what's hawked in baskets.
No reglar pony-and-barrer coster would behave as sich. Him and his missus, if
he's got one, should on such an
ewentful occasion be a pair of patterns and examples to the uncultiwated, and
let em see, without cheeking 'em
or appearing to be toffs, what is the spectable thing to do. It's better to have
a drain at home, if it's only half a pint
a rum amongst four, before you start, and then you can blow your bacca and enjoy
the lively chaff you meets with
in the crowded parts of the roads like a gen'leman. We only made five halts on
the road; the last one being more
for the sake of getting a bit of raw steak [-307-] for Simmon's eye that he got
in the heat of argyment with a cat's
meat man wot threw a turnip at his missus, just the t'other side of Whetstone.
"We didn't drive right into Barnet, being otherwise purvided. We drew up
under a hedge a yard or two out of the
traffik, and got out the meat-pie and that, with the new dawg's-paw horsecloth
for a table-cover, and picknicked
in a manner that I wager made 'em wot stood round a'most bust with envy. A werry
comfortable hour that was.
We was not alone under the hedge. There was several other parties wot I had met
at the markets wet had brought
their wittles; and, bein' friendly and open to deal, it was a chunk o' pie for
a bit o' cold pickled pork, or a cold baked
tater for a cold biled 'un, or a ingun for the worth of it in cheese, as fair
and friendly as possible. After which, and
the rest of the' beer wot was in the bottle, we was in a proper frame of mind
to get towards the fair.
There was only one thing that clouded my cup of 'appiness goin' along, and that
was the sight of them Manor of
Barnet fellows outside of the Queen's Arms. Three of 'em - two with p'liceman's
staffs, and one - him wot had the t
oes peepin' out of his boots and was smoking a dirty short pipe - that carried
a sort of little barber's pole, striped
blue arid white, with 'M. B.' lettered on it. I knew 'em again direckly, having
had wot was werry nigh a row with 'em
on the Monday, when I bought the werry pony wot I'm driving now, and was bringin'
him home. It was all about
payin' a penny toll, and all who had bought a horse had to pay it, and everybody
kicked at it. No pike - no giving
you a ticket - no nothing; only him with the dirty short pipe that looked like
a drover out o' work, and the other
two chaps in their shirts and trousers, and with their sleeves tucked up and flourishing
them staffs as though
goadin' of you not to pay the penny, so that they might get an excuse to have
a shy at you. I don't object to tolls
when it's all reglar and there's a pike to show for it - and I spose it is reglar
since the perlice [-308-] allowed it;
but swelp me goodness ! if I was a lord of a manor, and I wanted to screw a penny
out of a poor cove wot
couldn't afford it, I would contrive to put by enough out of the profits to alter
the cut of them toll takers."
"I never approaches Barnet Fair but I feels proud of the purfession I belongs
to, and grateful to my country.
I believe it does me a jolly lot a good, and kinder clears off the bile that twelve
months at wariance with the
perlice natarally afflicts a cove with. I ain't always proud of my country and
them as governs it, and anybody
that has been fined twice - once five, and once fifteen shillings - because his
honest barrer was called a
'obstruckshon,' can enter into my feelings; but when I comes in sight of Barnet
Fair I feels my werry
neckhankesher growing too tight for me, because of what Simmons ses is the emoshuns
swellin' in my
throat. Here, I ses to myself, is a trybute to the wirtue of the British Costermonger!
Bartlemy had its fair,
but it was 'bolished. Camberwell had its fair, and quite a 'spectable class went
to it, mecanicks and their
families, but somehow it grew ugly, and it was 'bolished too. Then there was Greenwich.
Gents went to
Greenwich with tall hats and collars and cuffs, and females dressed in the wery
height of fashion, but
Greenwich was 'bolished. The townpeople complained of the orful goings on, and
the perlice was down
on it.
But our fair, the fair wot's kep going by the London costermonger, is as flourishing
and rosy as ever.
A proper sort of fair
Barnet is. It's snug, in the fust place. It's so down in a hole that you might
clap a lid on the top, of it and
shut it all in. Then there's nothing stuck up about it; no doing the grand and
playing the lady and gen'leman;
a good solid cut-and-come-agin kind o' fair; a pleasant mixshure of the comforts
of home with the
amoosements one has got a happytite for.
It's a hexcellent place for grub. You can buy a cooked bloater all hot and a chunk
of bread for threeha'pence,
or you can go as high as eighteen-pence for a feed off the joints and unlimited
wedgatables. We had had our
peck; but really, comin' on a booth where there was werry tidy-sized thumb-bits
of bread and bacon and a
pint o' beer for fourpence, it looked so nice that Simmons and I went in and had
a snack just out of hadmiration
of the thing, while Mrs. S. and my old lady took a turn on a roundabout which
was worked by steam, and played
a organ.
"It isn't a fancy fair by a long ways, that wot is here at Barnet. It's all
as real as two 'apence for a penny. It wouldn't
do if it was. The eddication and sperience of the costermonger is of a kind that
spiles the play of his 'magination.
Therefore there's no gipsies telling fortunes. Ha, ha! Just picter my old girl
being got over by an old guy with a
pack o cards, and chisselled out of sixpence, to have her 'tivity cast. She'd
find summat harder than a 'tivity cast
at her if she was to try it on. Just imagine one of that old lady's male relations
trying the three-card trick, or prick
in the garter, or the one little pea' on one of us! They know better than to try
it.
They may hang about the outside of the fair and try to catch a Johnny Wopstraw
or two, but they never try it on
the lads of our school. You might walk through and through the fair and not meet
one of the gang in question
if you looked for him. There's hardly one of us lads that couldn't give any on
'em a chalk and then beat 'em at t
he game he was sweetest on. It is that as keeps Barnet Fair so wirtuous. I did
see one lark of this pattern. One
of them sleight-of-hand young men that work the purse and money trick. He was
up on his stool with that pouch
wot's got such a awful lot of 'arf-crowns in by his side, and his cuffs tucked
up and his decoy in his hand, patterin
away like a steam-engine, and trying to conwince them wot was listenin' how werry
foolish they was not to grab
at the chance of buyin' seven-and-sixpence, placed in the purse before their werry
eyes, for the ridiculous sum
of 'arf-a-crown. Simmons and I stood by, and Simmons jogs me, and ses, 'Blest
if there isn't Long Ned Spankers
' boy a listenin' with his mouth open,' and the willain will nail him sure as
eggs ain't chickens!' And sure enuf there
was young Ned - he's as long a'most as his father, and stiffish built for a lad
of seventeen, but a awful fool at
business. I was sorry to see it, for his father's sake, but I ses, 'Let him bite
if he's green enough; p'raps it'll do
him good.'
So the young man with the purse kept the game up; of course he had spotted young
Ned, and talked at him till
he'd almost talked him off the little 'ead he's got. At last the lad pulled out
his 'arfcrown. 'Look here,' ses he,
'let's have no mistake about this ere; the seven and sixpence is in the purse?'
'Listen for yourself; can't you hear
it jinkin'?' ses the chap. 'It ain't a swindle. Mind yer, it won't be good for
you if it's a swindle,' said young Ned.
'It won't be good for you, you mean,' grinned the young man; 'catch hold.' And
young Ned did catch hold, and
parted with his two-and-six. When he opened the purse there was three pennypieces
in it. 'Where's the three
'arfcrowns ? he asked savage-like. 'Ah, that's the trick,' grinned the young man
with the purses. 'Oh, is that the
end of it?' asked young Ned, with a twist of his wisage that made me hope some
good of him. 'That's the end
of it - unless you'd like to have another shy,' returned the aggrawatin' fellow,
laughing with the rest. It's the
neatest trick you ever see, I'll wager.' 'I'll back the one I'm goin' to show
you for twice the money,' said the
young barrer-man; and makin' a spring at the chap on a stool, he had him down
and with his head in chancery
afore you could count six. 'The sitiwation was embarrassin,' as they say in the
newspapers; and swearin' that
it was all a joke, the purse dodger gave him back the 'arfcrown and sneaked off
rapid. I hope his father won't read
this, for on condition of young Ned spendin' a shillin' in a couple of pots of
beer we promised not to tell him.
"Then there's the shows. Barnet Fair sets a example in that line sich as
other places of public amoosement might
get a wrinkle out of. Women's tastes ain't like men's; their ideas of enjoyment
being natarally more delikit.
At Barnet they manages to suit all parties, and gives em a opportunity of pairin'
off so as to suit their tastes.
For instance, while the missus went to the wax work, me and Simmons was in the
next tent having a game at skittles;
then we took a turn in Sluggers' sparrin'-booth, while the ladies passed a pleasant
'arf-hour in the Star Ghost carawan
and got their blood froze for a penny, which, considerin the 'eat of the afternoon,
wasn't dear. After that, by way of
restorin' their sperits, they went to see the four-legged duck and the big-headed
child and the livin' skellington;
Bill and me meanwhile enjoyin' ourselves in a wan where there was a Kaffir eating
live rats; by which time we
was ready for tea and a relish with it.
"After that, findin' ourselves in cheerful company, and a fiddle comin' in,
we had a song and then a dance. Lots of
dancers, and werry glad we were that beer was sold on the premises, and I believe
we should have kep' it up later
than we did, had not that confounded cat's-meat man that Simmons fell foul of
in the morning poked his ugly 'ead in,
on which Simmons, who had got the liquor aboard, wanted satisfackshun for his
black eye. That was only fair; so
while the women found their shawls they settled their little difference outside,
after which we ordered the barrer,
and by means of steddy drivin' and stoppin' to breathe the pony at every place
that had a sign-board hanging out,
we managed to get back to Mile-end just in time to get a partin' drain before
the houses closed."
 |
And THE DELIGHTS
OF BARNET
was written by James Greenwood in 1874
Had it been the railway station
nearest to Donnybrook at the time when the celebrated fair of that district is
in full swing,
it would not have so much surprised me; but in peaceful England, within twelve
miles of Charing Cross, to find the road
impeded by a gang of men and lads crying "Who'll buy a stick? Who'll have
a ground-ash for a penny? What gen'leman
haint got a stick?" was somewhat amazing. The proposition so earnestly pressed
was the more alarming from the aspect
of the sticks offered for sale. No make-believe dandy shams, varnished and tasselled
were they, but stout twigs of timber
in the bark, and wanting only a prog at the end to make them worthy the handling
of a bullock drover. "Who'll 'ave a
ground-ash ? Here yer are, sir! You'll want it." This was by no means what
I had bargained for, my mission being one of
peace; but the individual who made the last offer accompanied it with a wink so
significant that it seemed the extreme of
rashness to disregard it. So I bought a ground-ash and took the road, the dust
of which was already dotted all over like
a sheep-run with the impressions of other ground-ashes that had gone before.
It was the first of the Barnet Fair days; but business before pleasure. This was
Monday, and the time-honoured and
dearly-cherished carnival of the London costermonger was not until Wednesday.
There was much business to do in
the interval. Between the Whetstone side of Barnet and the common, the meadows
were teaming with cattle-little black
oxen, old-fashioned and tough-looking, from Wales, and Highland steers, and Devons,
and Herefords, and dairy cattle,
to say nothing of sheep. But a glance at the enormous crowds that the railway
brought to Barnet, made it evident that
though nine-tenths meant business, it was not in the sheep and oxen line.
There is a solemn deliberation of gait, a slowness of eye, a solemnity of visage
about folks who deal in beef and mutton
producing animals, that makes it impossible to confound them with those whose
hearts are fixed on horses. There is a
smartness, a glibness, a springiness of the legs in the latter that would as ill
fit the former as tandem harness would a
bullock team. The dress of the two is markedly different. The man of bucolic tendencies
has a disposition to be loose in
his attire. His ample wide-awake admits of side winds to keep cool his solid calculating
head there is room to thrust in a
hand between his neckerchief and his throat. It doesn't in the least matter if
his coat is three sizes too large for him, or
that the laces of his boots are slack even to slovenliness. On the contrary, with
a certain class of persons the possession
of a horse, or a pony, or a donkey - nay, the mere hankering after one, induces
a contraction of the habiliments which it
seems impossible to resist. Every article of attire must fit as tight on the wearer
as the skin of the well-beloved quadruped
adheres to its body. His bullet head in his all-round hairy cap fits like a pudding
in a basin. He winds lengths of white
woollen cloth about his neck, so that it looks like surgical bandaging. His jacket
is buttoned tight up, and it is a miracle
how he contrives to thrust his enormous feet through the ridiculously narrow legs
of his corduroys. Of this sort were
the great majority of the merry troopers who tramped over the mile that lies between
the railway station and the
Fair-ground.
I will have nothing to say respecting the oxen and sheep. I don't know a teg from
a wether, and I have not the
remotest idea what a full-mouthed stock ewe is like. I passed on the road a printed
placard testifying that David Jones,
from some remote place in Wales, would hold his black cattle market on a piece
of land behind some inn ; and a
little farther on, through a gap in the hedge, I saw chalked on a board the mystic
inscription, " Cow Fair ; traps a
shillin'." But I had come on purpose to see the horses, and I pushed on.
Presently I obtained a glimpse of them.
From the main road the horse-field at Barnet presents a spectacle to describe
which is as difficult as it is at first
sight to understand it. I already knew what a horse-market was like - a metropolitan
market, that is to say-and was
prepared to find this one slightly uproarious; but that first glance brought me
to a standstill. The horse-field was
distant about two hundred yards or so ; and what I saw from the main road was
a gradual slope ascending from
the front, on which was a row of refreshment booths; the most capacious and prominent
of them being kept by
prize-fighters, whose names in full, or affectionately abbreviated, are inscribed
on flags which flutter out bravely f
rom the top of the tent poles.
On the summit of the slope, exactly opposite, are other refreshment booths ; and
I may here mention, though
unhappily without being able to explain the singular gastronomic fact, that the
staple viands at Barnet fair are
roast pork and roast goose. The consequence is that the prevailing aroma of sage
and onions is very striking.
T he tent-keepers are proud of this feast of pork, and make all the display of
it they can. Suspended above the
heads of those who sit at the dining-tables are mighty joints of the recently-slaughtered
animal, and exposed at
the farther end is the kitchen and the powerful cooks, with bare and hairy arms,
looming moist and shiny in a
mist of well-basted crackling.
On a slope between the two ranges of tents the horse fair is held ; but at a distance
it appears like a tremendous
battle between horses and men. It is one heaving sea, quadrupeds and bipeds being
so wedged together as to
be terribly suggestive of crushed ribs and mangled bodies trampled under foot.
It is a chaos of manes and hoofs,
and tails and heads, open mouths and teeth on which the sun glistens, and waving
human hands and arms.
There is an incessant bobbing up and down of human heads - gaol-cropped some,
hideously tangled and
uncombed others - the mouths of the owners being almost as wide open as the horses'
mouths, but with far less
innocent intent. What materially assists the fanciful imagination bent on framing
to itself the picture of a field of
battle is the brilliant display of pennons of crimson and yellow and green affixed
to what from the roadway might
easily be mistaken for pike-staves. These gay fluttering things rise high and
then fall as though suddenly struck
out of the hand that grasped them, and all in the midst of clouds of brown dust
that betray how fiercely the war is
raging, and amidst the warlike noise, the neighing and screaming of horses, the
agonised howls and yells of men,
the clapping of hands, and the stamping of feet.
It is, indeed, a fearful and wonderful sight this fair: but it must be admitted
that a closer inspection somewhat spoils
the romance with which distance invests it. You scramble across an intervening
meadow; you trespass at this spot
on the premises of a railway company who have sliced their right of way from the
previously not over large and
ancient horse-field, and here you are at the very verge of the arena. Then you
discover that all this horrible din - all
this roaring and raving - this Bedlamitish shrieking and howling-is simply the
accompaniment of the sale of certain
harmless and inoffensive quadrupeds. In the distance it looked a fierce struggle
between the four-legged and the
two-legged - a struggle in which the chances of victory were about equal; but
a nearer inspection at once destroyed
this pleasant delusion. At a glance it became certain that the two-legged brutes
had the best of it. It is a fact no less
remarkable than melancholy, that when human nature sinks to the extreme of abasement,
so that its blunted intellect
is but little superior to what is called instinct, it takes infinite delight in
torturing animals that are only beneath it in so
far that they go on four legs.
The horse especially is an object of this impish hostility. Any one who recollects
old Smithfield market, or, for that
matter - for we have not improved in this respect to the extent some folks may
think - any one whose misfortune it
has been to pass through the northern market of Islington on a horse-market day
- cannot fail to have observed the
pleasure which certain savages of the human species take in ill-using any unlucky
nag that is there trotted out to
display its paces. It has to run up and down a lane edged on either side with
enemies, each one of whom thinks
himself unlucky, and deprived of a treat, unless he can administer to the bewildered
animal a prod with a spiked
stick, or a slash with a sharp-thonged whip. Should he be baulked in this, he
seeks solace in shouting and yelling
after the escaped victim, as though it were some satisfaction to affright him.
The cruel propensity of this barbarous tribe is held somewhat in check by the
presence of the police and the market
inspectors.
But at Barnet these are wanting. It is a grand day with the horse-torturing fraternity.
They gather on the horse-field
hundreds strong, with no man to check them in their wicked freaks. It must be
a dreadful day for the poor beasts.
One can easily imagine that dreary company of worn-out horses standing under the
shed in Mr Atcheler's yard, and,
while they wait their turn to be fetched into the pole- axing- department, beguiling
the tedious time by telling stories
of their past experiences. There are horses whose knees have been broken in omnibuses;
horses that can recount
dreadful experiences of night cabs one, perhaps, that brings tears into the eyes
of the others by relating the harrowing
story of a blind horse in a brick field. But presently one that has not yet spoken
says, in a hoarse whisper; "Friends,
were you ever at Barnet? Was it ever the fate of anyone here to spend a livelong
day in that field of horror?" They have
heard dark rumours of it, some of them ; but now they lay their heads together,
and listen with staring eyes till the
horrifying narrative is at an end ; and then, with a shiver of sympathy, they
resign themselves to their fate, blessing
t heir stars that they have been spared such an infliction, and edging quite cheerfully
towards the door that will be
presently opened by a man with a red axe in his fist.
I do not mean that this is so - I merely submit the possibility of such equine
communing. Horses are wonderful
creatures. Everybody has heard of the Arab steed that gnawed his tether through
with his teeth, and then, seizing
his master bound hand and foot, carried him in triumph off the battle field to
the bosom of his family. It is said to
be on the records of the Veterinary College that an equine patient of theirs committed
suicide by dashing his brains
out against the wall, unable any longer to endure the pangs of toothache. Just
imagine then, a creature capable of
such reasonable behaviour - a helpless, friendless victim in Barnet field - in
the hands of his persecutors. I am afraid
to make a guess at the number of horses that were in that one field. Probably
there were a couple of thousand,
exclusive of the immense droves of ponies, unkempt and fresh from the Welsh mountains.
Closely huddled together,
however, as were horses and men, space had yet to be made in which to shew them
off, as possible purchasers
came up, and then ensued the demoniac spectacle already hinted at. Let the reader
imagine a row of horses, tethered
so closely by each other that their sides touch, and further that there is a grey
horse among them. Some one wishes
to view the grey horse, and straightway its head is loosed, and it is backed out.
Then the fun begins. To the calm
observer it seems that what the possible purchaser desires to be convinced of
is that the grey horse is of such a
patient disposition that no amount of goading or exasperation can drive him raving
mad. If this is so, the test is as
honestly severe as can be desired. A long and strong rope is affixed to the creature's
headstall, -and the first
manceuvre is to give a tremendous tug at this, and at the same time, a cruel sting
with the whip, and then, when
t he poor beast starts back in terror, "Yah! hi! hi! yah!" is shrieked
in insulting mockery at his frantic efforts to
break away.
But by this time other demons appear on the scene, and now I learn the secret
of the flags before mentioned. They
were not pennons attached to pikestaffs, but simply yards of stout coloured calico
made fast to long hazel sticks.
Experience has proved that with this ingenious instrument a horse, purblind with
age, and desperately indifferent
to blows, may be startled out of its wits, and made to exhibit a frantic activity
which the unsuspecting buyer may
be persuaded arises from the skitishness of youth. While the unhappy grey is resenting
these tugs at the rope
which threaten to tear away its upper lip, another tormentor rushes at him behind,
and, by a dexterous movement
of his red flag, causes it it to go snap, snap, with a noise like so many pistol
shots. So urged, the grey springs round,
and encounters a yellow flag snapped before its eyes, with a fiendish yell of
"Yah! hi! yah! hup!" and if he has any
spark of spirit in him he now rears on his haunches, only to be speedily brought
to his four feet again by a tug at
the rope.
All the time that the tortured and terror-stricken animal is panting and sweating
under these various injuries, there
are eight or ten of the gang performing a dance about him, yelling out sounds
indescribable, and with their sticks
executing a lively imitation of the drum on theii~ hard felt hats and caps. And
be it understood, this is going on in
twenty different parts of the field at one and the same moment. Of course, these
trials do not invariably result in a sale,
but when the transaction does so terminate, it appears to be the custom to celebrate
it in the same manner.
"Sold again! Yah! hi! yah! hip! Sold again!" and the confederates engage
in a dance of delight, flapping their flags,
rattling their sticks, and flinging their cap, or that of any bystander, for they
are not in the least particular, up in the air.
But I think the most curious spectacle, and the most amusing, only that there
was a touch of pity in it, was to be seen
among the Welsh ponies. They are disreputable, shabby looking, shaggy little animals,
with tangled manes, and their
ears exhibiting that interior fluffiness that bespeaks the uncultivated colt.
Wild as they are, however, they are not tethered.
They stood in droves of, say, fifty each, and the most scientific picketing would
have failed to bring them closer together
or more compact. They made a ring, with their noses towards the centre, and their
tails outward; and there they stood,
shifting a little way to the right or left when the great roaring mob came pressing
against them, but remaining as firmly
side by side as though they were strung together. So docile and quiet did they
seem, that any one unacquainted with
their peculiarities might have wagered that he would have fetched out one and
led it home as quiet as a sheep.
He would have speedily discovered his mistake, however. As I gazed on the apparently
timid flock, and mused on the
gentleness of nature in all things mountain-born, an individual who was standing
by inquired of Mr Reece, the proprietor,
the price of a bay pony, the size of a small donkey. Eight pounds was the price
asked, and Mr Reece cryed to his man
Davis to fetch the animal out. Davis was a stiff-built young fellow, with broad
shoulders and a weight that must have
almost equalled the pony's; and it surprised me to see him "pull himself
together," as the vulgar saying is, and take
up another hole in his waist strap before he commenced the job.
Then he made a manful leap into the midst of the drove, and pinioned the bay in
a twinkling. One arm was round its
neck, while his right hand firmly grasped it between the nostrils. The suddenness
of the assault seemed for a moment
to fill the pony with dismay. It suffered itself to be dragged away from its comrades
for a short distance, but then,
recovering its presence of mind, it made a stand. It reared up on its hind legs,
with its mane bristling and its eyes glaring,
and its mouth viciously open. It was a fair stand-up fight between Davis and the
pony; and from the cool manner of the
former, it was plain that it was no more than he had bargained for. To release
his unfortunate nose, the pony reared
high, but Davis's grip was sure. The pony reared higher still, and rolled over,
but Davis rolled with him, puffing and
blowing, all the time sharply reprimanding the perverse little brute in the Welsh
tongue. It wanted to get back to the
drove. It had been brought up in the drove, and felt no terrors while permitted
to remain there. Its struggles, its
agonised gasps and snorts, told how painfully it felt the severance, while the
scared looks of its comrades were
significant signs that they heard, and deplored their inability to help. It was
only when the frantic little bay had been
dragged by a dozen strong hands out of sight and sound of the herd, that it consented
to stand on its four legs, and
to permit the halter, that was symbolic of its future condition of slavery, to
be slipt over its ears.
Nor was this an exceptional instance of the courageous determination evinced by
the Welsh ponies to resist to the
last the subjugating hand of man. Before I left the horsefield, I witnessed at
least a dozen of these man-and-pony fights;
and in no instance did the animal yield without a struggle that caused infinite
amusement to the fiends of the calico flags
and the other merciless howlers and yelpers, whose violence increased as the business
of the day grew hotter. It soon
grew too hot for me. An hour since I had come to be grateful to the vendor of
"ground ashes for his friendly hint. But,
lacking the heart to inflict unceremonious blows on every hoof that came dangerously
near me, and having some
regard for an old established corn on a middle toe, I made my way back across
the railway, and so gained the
comparatively peaceful high road.
 |
| Doing a deal at the horse
fair |
And also about
Barnet Fair was
"UNSENTIMENTAL JOURNEYS"
or "BY-WAYS OF THE MODERN BABYLON" by James Greenwood,
1867
THE COSTERS' CARNIVAL.
In a little alley, which offers a convenient and near "cut" from our
street to the main road, resides our greengrocer.
He is a most wonderful man, being at once the most shrewd, and shiftless, and
idle, and everlastingly active fellow
that ever was born. Ours is a new neighbourhood, and we are very glad to patronise
Mr. Tibbits and his perambulating
store. Blending with the music of the morning muffin-bell you may hear his melodious
voice chanting in praise of his
cabbages and his plums of "Arline." At midday he may be seen retailing
coals, in the afternoon toiling to some
carpet-ground with a cartload of dirty carpeting, and his early evenings are
consumed in moving goods or servants'
luggage. After that he disappears, and is seen no more that night except by
the policeman and such of the public as
may happen to be abroad at midnight. Then he is drunk-not helplessly so, inasmuch
as he is able to keep his legs by
hanging heavily on to the chorus of the last rollicking stave sung at "The
Jolly Sandboys"-but very tipsy indeed,
beyond question.
This was so last night, the night before, any and every night; yet to-morrow
morning, certain as the rising sun, and
even before the sun has risen, Mr. Tibbits will be again afoot and at work.
It is the invariable habit of this indefatigable
one-this cabbage-bawling, carpet-beating, gravel-carting, coal-selling, goods-removing,
servants'-box-conveying,
"Jolly Sandboy"-boosing person, who never seeks his own door until
that of the public-house is closed against
him-it is this man's custom to work fifteen hours, to waste five, and take no
more than the little remainder for rest,
summer and winter, all the year round. It must be so. Covent Garden is a "
solid" seven miles from Mr. Tibbits's
abode, which makes the double journey fourteen, to say nothing of market stop-pages
and a load to take home.
Mr. Tibbits has but one holiday a year, and that is at Barnet autumn fair time.
It was only within the last few days
that I became acquainted with the fact that he gave himself this holiday.
On the morning of Tuesday week his voice was unheard in the street, and we thought,
to be sure, that the poor
man was ill. Happening, however, that morning to avail myself of his short-cut
alley, I was agreeably surprised to
perceive a German band before his door, which it was only natural to suppose
would scarcely be allowed if
anything very terrible ailed the poor greengrocer. On arriving opposite his
shop my mind was set quite at ease
as regarded apprehensions as to Mr. Tibbits's state of health, though I could
not quite make out the state of
affairs; for there, arrayed in bran-new corduroys and a starched and snowy shirt,
was our worthy greengrocer
himself, adjusting his blue bird's-eye neckerchief by aid of a bit of looking-glass
stuck against the wall.
The cause of his banishment from the little parlour behind the shop was evident,
a gorgeously-bonneted head
being there visible " putting itself to rights" in the glass over
the mantel-shelf.
Having arranged the neckerchief to his satisfaction, Mr. T. donned a waistcoat
of elaborate design and of the
pattern known as "the dog's-paw;" and, with his thumbs hooked in the
armholes thereof, came to the door,
with his hair radiant of bear's-grease and his face beaming with happiness,
to view the musicians; wagging his
head like a loyal subject as the tow-haired vagabonds squeaked and squealed
from their brazen instruments
that magnificent anthem, "God bless the Prince of Wales," after the
performance of which he appeared much
relieved, and producing a half-gallon can from under the shop-counter, and inviting
the instrumenta1ists
to chink, inquired if they knew something " a little rousier," whereon
they stuck up "Annie Laurie," but had
scarcely proceeded as far as " Maxwelton braes" when Mr. T. imperiously
waved them to silence.
"That's a rare rouser, that is," said he, with mild sarcasm; "ain't
you got sense enough to serve your customers
with wot's in season ? Something in this style, now;" and clearing his
throat, Mr. T. favoured the astonished
Teutons with the first verse of the ancient stave-
"Ere older
you grow, here's a song you should know,
I'd advise you to buy and to larn it,
T'other day 't happened so, with a friend I did go
To see the famed races of Barnet.
Sing fol-de-rol fol-de-rol-lay."
It needed not the appearance
at this juncture of Mr.Tibbits's cart and horse (the former clean washed and
with
three Windsor chairs ranged in it, betokening " a party," and the
latter with his mane and tail neatly plaited and
tied with cherry-coloured ribbon) to explain the mystery. The cat was out. Our
greengrocer was going to Barnet
fair. Without doubt this was his holiday of the year. Christmas was nothing
to him, for, as I distinctly recollect,
he left word the day before " that if extra fruit or anything was wanted,
he should be open all day;" on Derby
Day he was bawling green-peas and gooseberries; on the Mondays of Whitsun and
Easter he was seen at
a neighbouring fair with his cart, and up to his elbows in damaged dates, driving
a roaring trade.
What was there about Barnet Fair that could attract our hard-working greengrocer
so powerfully ?
I was still puzzling over this problem when I reached the main road (the Holloway
Road, which is the direct line to
Barnet), and a glance revealed the fact that Tibbits was but one of a thousand
bound for the ancient battleground
whereon, four hundred years ago, the great Earl of Warwick was defeated and
slain. The highway was alive with
Barnet fair-goers, and to a man they were of the Tibbits sort; though, as a
rule, and if appearances might be
trusted (and surely on such a day they might), not nearly so well to do. Rattling
down the road as it presently
did (with three on the cart-seat and the Windsor chairs all occupied-four gentlemen
and two ladies in all, the
former enjoying at once a " chaw" and a smoke out of their cheroots,
and with dahlias decorating the breast
button-holes of their velveteen coats), Mr. T.'s equipage outshone by many degrees
the generality, which were
costermongerish
in the extreme. Donkey carts and donkeys were decidedly the majority; handbarrows
with elongated handles
to attach a quadruped between, and burdened with four and even six hulking men
and women, to say nothing
of the big stone bottle and the bushel-basketful of victuals.
Donkey drays, "half-carts," " shallows," and every other
sort of vehicular device peculiar to costermongery,
had its representative, drawn by every known shape in equine nature-donkeys
fat, and sleek, and prizeworthy,
and donkeys spavined, lame, and chapfallen, and looking as though they had been
stabled in a damp cellar till
mildew had seized on their hides; ponies, fast-trotters, glossy-coated, long-tailed,
and frisky, and poor wizened
things with that haggard, careworn expression which is the old, ill-used pony's
peculiarity; young fiery horses,
which were hard to hold in, and splay-legged, Roman-nosed, ancient brutes, which
were hard to hold up;
"kickers," "roarers," " jibbers;" vixens of fierce
blood, and who could do anything but behave themselves,
and meek, languid, washed-out horses, with drooping ears, drooping eyes, drooping
everything, too deeply
settled in melancholy to be stirred by whipcord, and who swung one leg before
the other like clockwork horses
wound up to their best, and never blinked an eye, let their drivers batter their
ribs how they might, and curse and
swear in a way calculated to startle them, if anything would.
So that, taken as a whole, the road presented a very lively picture; and people
said it was many years since there
had been such a "Barnet," and generally attributed the improvement
to the abolition of turnpikes. Why should not
I go to Barnet Fair ? True, I had no fast trotter and light-springed cart, nor
even a donkey and barrow; but the railway
was close at hand, and for an insignificant 198 Unsentimental Journeys; or,
sum I might, in a very few minutes, be
translated quietly at my ease to the coveted spot.
I went, and arrived there about noon. My first impression was my last, and still
remains-viz., that Barnet Fair is a
disgrace to civilisation. I have witnessed a Warwickshire "mop " fair;
I have some recollection of "Bartlemy; " I was
at Greenwich when, on account of its increasing abominations, the fair that
so long afflicted that Kentish borough
was held for the last time; but take all these, and skim them for their scum
and precipitate them for their dregs, and
even then, unless you throw in a very strong
flavouring of the essence of Old Smithfield on a Friday, and a good armful of
Colney Hatch and Earlswood sprigs,
you will fail to make a brew equal to that of Barnet. It is appalling.
Whichever way you turn-to the High Street, where the public-houses are-to the
open, where the horse-" dealing"
is in progress-to the booths, and tents, and stalls-brutality, drunkenness,
or brazen rascality, stare you in the face
unwinkingly. Plague-spots thought to be long ago "put down" by the
law and obliterated from among the people,
here appear bright and vigorous as of old-card-sharpers, dice-sharpers, manipulators
of the " little pea," and
gentlemen adept at the simple little game known as "prick the garter."
Wheels-of-fortune and other gaming-tables
obstructed the paths. "Rooge-it-nor, genelmen; a French game, genelmen;
just brought over; one can play as well
as forty, and forty as well as one. Pop it down, genelmen, on the black or on
the red, and, whatever the amount,
it will be instantly kivered! Faint heart never won fair lady, so pop it down
while the injicator is rewolving! Red wins,
and four half-crowns to you, sir; keep horf our gold is all we ask; our silver
we don't wally! " Not in a hole-and-corner
way this, but bold and loud-mouthed as goods hawked by a licensed hawker.
Disgusting brutality, too, had its representatives in dozens. There were the
tents of the pugilists, where, for the
small charge of twopence, might be seen the edifying spectacle of one man bruising
and battering another; there
was the booth of the showman who amused the public by lying on his back and
allowing three half-hundredweights
to be stacked on the bridge of his nose; there was the gentleman who put leaden
pellets in his eyes, and drove rows
of pins at a blow into a fleshy part of his leg; and there was a lean and horrible
savage (a "Chicksaw," the showman
said he was, "from the island of High Barbaree ") who ate live rats.
Decidedly, this was the show of the fair. An iron-wire cage, containing thirty
or forty rats, hung at the door, and
beside it stood the High Barbarian, grinning, and pointing at the rats, and
smacking his blubberous lips significantly.
The sight was more than the people could stand; they rushed and scrambled up
the steps, paying their pennies
with the utmost cheerfulness; and, when the place was full, the performance
was gone through to their entire
satisfaction. The High Barbarian really did eat the rats. He set the cage before
him, and, thrusting in his hand,
stirred the animals about till he found one to his liking, then he ate it as
one would eat an apple.
It was among the horses, however, where the chief business was doing, as may
be easily understood when it is
remembered that fully nine-tenths of the thousands that swarm the town and the
fair-ground have in view the sale,
or purchase, or "swop" of a horse, mule, or donkey. Go to the horse
market in Copenhagen Fields any Friday,
and it will be found that the chief difficulty the market officers encounter
in the exercise of their duty consists in
the presence of a score or so of donkey-dealing ruffians, who set law and order
at defiance; a slangy, low-browed.
bull-necked, county-cropped, spindle-legged, lantern-jawedbig-chinned, long-waisted,
tight-breeched crew, lithe
and muscular, carrying a thick ash stick with a spike at the end of it, and
utterly refusing to be " regulated." Let the
reader imagine such a crew, multiplied a hundredfold at the very least, and
sprinkle amongst them a few butchers,
a few soldiers, and more than a few blowsy, flashily-dressed costermonger women,
and a hundred or so decent
looking folk who have come innocently to Barnet to buy a horse; make a mob of
these, and distribute amongst it
all the riff-raff and rubbish in the way of horse and donkey flesh to be found
within twenty miles of London, and a
feeble realisation of the picture presented at the end of the High Street, looking
into the space where the horse fair i
s held, will be the result. Some such scene as this is presented to the eye;
but who shall describe the bedlam Babel
of sound that arises from the busy, ever-shifting, motley mob ? Fifty negotiations
towards a sale are taking place at
one and the same time, each one accompanied by an amount of yelling, and bellowing,
and whip-slashing, and
whistling which must have been pleasant to the ears of the " Chick-saw"
rat-eater, as reminding him of the habits
and customs of his tribe.
Such a thing as a "quiet sale" is unknown at Barnet. The big-chinned
one, with the battered white hat and the
t hongless whip, suddenly perceives a timid person of milkmanish mould furtively
eyeing a gaunt, wall-eyed
quadruped which he (the big-chinned one) has for sale. Instantly he slips the
brute's halter from the post, and,
vaulting on his back, proceeds to execute several daring feats of horsemanship,
not the least of which is dashing
amongst the crowd, which is quite unprepared for the manoeuvre.
A dozen of the horse-dealer's friends are on the alert and strenuously exert
themselves to bring out the "points" of
the animal for the milkman's inspection; they shriek, they make hideous whistlings
on their fingers, they clap their
hands, they take off their hats and drum frantically on the inside with the
butt-ends of their whips; and, when the
intended purchaser is supposed to have arrived at a proper appreciation of the
animal's valuable qualities, his rider
dismounts as abruptly as he mounted, and, leading the panting steed up to the
milkman, ejaculates, "Four pun' ten !"
Should the milkman buy, you cannot miss the fact. " Hoi, hoi! sold again!
sold again !" is roared by the partisans of
the wall-eyed one's late owner, who immediately crowd around him to receive
the reward of their meritorious exertions.
 |
 |
| The Barnet horse fair 1931 |
 |
 |
This is a report from the London
TIMES for Monday September
9th 1935
Four people were killed by a lorry at Barnet Fair
A police-constable and three other persons were killed and four injured when
a heavily laden motor lorry mounted
a footpath, scattering the crowd, as it emerged from Barnet Fair late on Saturday
night.
The names of the dead and injured are:-
Dead: Police-constable James Thompson, 37, Mays Lane, Barnet: Mr. W Hudgell
and his wife, Campsbourne Road,
Hornsey; and Jean Hudgell 10, their daughter, who suffered injuries from which
she died in Wellhouse Hospital.
Injured: John Jones 29, Derwent Villas, High Road, Whetstone; Miss Emily Oliver,
26 Derwent Villas, High Road,
Whetstone: Miss Ellen Kirby, Campsbourne Road, Hornsey; and Miss Beatrice Pain,
Summers Row, North Finchley.
Miss Oliver and Miss Kirby were detained at the hospital. Mr Jones and Miss
Pain were able to leave after treatment.
The Lorry was about to pass a stationary tramcar when a motor car drew out from
an open space. A collision occurred
and the lorry mounted the footpath, which was crowded with people. Police-constable
Thompson, who was directing
traffic near by, saw the danger. He rushed to the footpath, and flinging out
his arms, pressed the crowd back from the
path of the lorry. Many persons were saved from death or injury by the policeman's
action. He himself was struck down
and received multiple injuries, from which he died soon afterwards in hospital.
About a dozen people were knocked
down and lay on the ground, some of them badly hurt. The injured were removed
in ambulances to hospital.
Eye-Witnesses' account
An eye-witness of the accident informed a Press representative that a man in
the crowd had told him that he owed his
life to the dead policeman. Mr James Maxwell stated: I saw at least nine people
who were knocked down in the crowd,
and I picked up one young lady who was bleeding from the head and put her down
on the grass. Mr James Jones said
that his brother, John Jones, one of the injured, gave him an account of the
smash when he was taken home after the
accident. John Jones said that when he saw the lorry he made a dive to one side,
but was too late and was struck down.
The lights of the lorry flashed on to the crown and people shouted. He remembered
no more until he was in hospital.
The lorry regained the roadway, but as it did so there was a second collision
with a small car. When the lorry mounted
the pavement its load of cement bags was flung into the roadway.
Police-constable Thompson, who was married, with three children, had been in
the police force about 15 years.
Inquest on four victims
Friday, Sep 13, 1935 pg. 6 Barnet Lorry Accident
The inquest on the bodies of the four persons who were killed outside Barnet
Fair ground on Saturday night, when a
motor lorry mounted the footpath, was held at the Wellhouse Hospital, Barnet
yesterday.
A verdict of manslaughter was returned against the driver of the lorry, who
was committed for trial and allowed bail.
The victims of the accident were:- Police-constable James Warrender Thomson,
Mays Lane, Barnet, 32; William
Hudgell, 41 and his wife Minnie Hudgell, 41, of Campsbourne Road, Hornsey; and
Jean, their daughter, aged eight.
Four other persons were injured: Mr. Vyvyan Wells appeared for the relatives
of the Hudgells. Mr R Armstrong Jones
represented Mr Elliott Grover, the driver of one of the motor cars concerned.
Mr. A C Ponsford represented the widow
and children of P.C. Thomas and Mr F Soskoe the lorry driver. Mr E R NcNab watched
the proceedings on behalf of
the owners of the lorry. The lorry driver, John Brooks, Southward Park Road,
Bermondsey, said he was employed
by Bulk Deliveries Limited, Hackney.
On September 7 he began his duties at South Mimms at 2.30am after having rested.
He went to Chichester, arriving
at 7.30.a.m. and with him was Robert Blake. He continued his journey to Brighton
and Lewes, leaving Lewes at 1.30
for London, and stopping for food on the way. He also called at his home.
He was told to leave the load on the lorry until Monday morning, and went on
to South Mimms to spend the weekend,
arriving about 7.45. He went to the Beacon Cafe, where he had a meal staying
there until 11.p.m.
He was at the cafe for the whole of the time, except for a quarter of an hour
when he was in the Middlesex Arms,
where he had half a pint of beer. That was the only alcohol he had that day.
When three men asked him to give them
a lift to London he said, 'Certainly, jump in'.
Two of the men sat on the seat and the third on the lap of one of them.
The Coroner - There were four of you in the drivers cab - Yes, sir.
Up to the time of reaching Barnet, the witness added, the lorry was in good
runner order, and the brakes were all
right. Going down Barnet Hill which he knew well his speed was about 20 miles
an hour. He changed into third gear,
and the lorry's speed slightly increased.
He tried to apply his footbrake halfway down the hill, but it did not respond.
He pulled on the handbrake but it did not
act. He saw cars and a tramcar in front of him. There were people walking up
Barnet Hill on the pavement. The near side
of the road was blocked, and when he found he could not stop he took the offside.
Passing Fairfield Way he heard a
crash.
He felt his front offside wheel strike the kerb. At the time it was very difficult
for him to see on account of the cement
flying into his face. The lorry came to rest underneath the bridge.
Brooks denied that he said to a police officer, 'I had nobody else on the lorry
with me' His speed at the bottom of the
hill would be about 30 miles an hour,
Mr Armstrong Jones.- Do you say that with two people on your left and
with a third sitting on the knees of one of them,
you had proper control of your handbrake on the left-hand side and of your gear
lever? - Yes
Replying to further questions by Mr Jones, the witness said he did not know
that he went practically head on into his
clients car and turned it completely A Very long day
Mr E. B. Knight (for the Commissioner of Police) - You had had a very
long day. Had you had any sleep during the
day? - About half an hour, between Chichester and Brighton.
Did you sleep in the lorry? - No, at the side of the road.
Is not the explanation of this that you were going down Barnet Hill at a very
much faster speed than 20 to 25 miles
an hour? - No.
I am suggesting the speed was 30 to 40 miles an hour going down the hill? -
No. Arthur William Wise, Mount Pleasant
Road, Lewisham, said that he hired lorries from other haulage contractors. On
September 7 Brooks telephoned him
and the witness instructed him to go to Lewes and pick up a load of cement.
He understood from Brooks that he intended 'stabling' the lorry at Bermondsey
that night, and he had no idea that
Brooks was going to South Mimms.
Frederick Charles Stanton, Ordell Road, Bow, one of the men riding in the lorry,
said that they asked Brooks to give
them a lift to Barnet Fair. The lorry went down Barnet Hill at between 15 and
20 miles an hour and gathered speed
gradually. Suddenly he heard the driver say that the brakes had gone.
Edward Charles Gore and Benjamin Woolf, both of Bow who were also in the cab
of the lorry, estimated the speed
at the top of the hill at about 20 miles and hour.
Police constable Foster said that he saw pedestrians scattered to the right
and left. As the lorry 'flashed by' he
noticed that the cab contained more than one person. Brooks told the witness
that he did all he could. He was in
third gear and the lorry was still in it.
A motorist's evidence
Elliott Grover, Byng Road, Potters Bar, said that the lorry came out behind
a tramcar, crossed the road, and
mounted the kerb. To avoid the lorry the witness tried to squeeze the front
of his car into Fairfield Way, but owing
to the number of pedestrians he could only just get into the corner.
The lorry hit his offside front dumb iron and pulled the car round so that the
front wheels were on the southbound
tramlines and the rear wheels on the northbound lines. The lorry carried on
under the bridge and struck another
car in the back.
He estimated the speed of the lorry as it was going across the road at 40 miles
an hour. When it struck his car the
speed would be 30 miles an hour.
Police-constable Harris, Yeo, Whetstone, said that he saw a motor lorry
go towards the crown on the footpath.
Police constable Thompson, with arms outstretched, moved towards them as if
to push them back. The lorry ran
into the crown, scattering the crowd, and he lost sight of Thompson.
Police constable Ralph Kerrison said that Thompson was standing in the
road close to the kerb facing the crown,
both arms extended endeavouring to force them out of the way of the lorry. The
lorry mounted the footway and
ran into the crowd, including Thompson.
The witness added that he went to the lorry and looked into the cabin, but there
was no one there. Brooks appeared
and leaned on the radiator, holding his head. The witness said: 'Do you know
you have knocked several people
down?' Brooks made no reply. The witness then said: Where are your three mates?
and he said: 'Oh, they got out
and ran back' round, facing the direction from which it had come.
Tribute to dead constable
The Coroner (Mr. T. Ottaway), summing up paid a tribute to Police constable
Thomson. He said: Here you have a
young constable who was engaged in shepherding foot-passengers across the road,
and it seems to me that this
young officer, if he had thought of himself, could have got into safely, because
apparently he saw this vehicle
coming upon him. But
rather than desert duty, he was seen trying to press people back on to the pavement
out of
the way, and it was while he was going this that he was struck fatally.
The jury returned a verdict that
Brooks was guilty of gross negligence. They added that they considered the
conduct of the three men accompanying him on the lorry was highly reprehensible
and deserving of censure.
In a rider the jury expressed
their appreciation of 'the gallant act of Police constable Thomson in the sacrifice
of
his life in the execution of his duty.
The coroner told Brooks that a verdict of manslaughter had been returned against
him, and he would be committed
for trial at the next Hertfordshire Assizes. Brooks was allowed bail in his
own recognisance of £50.
Follow-up reports:
Four killed by lorry Monday Sept 9 1935
Lorry driver sent for trial Saturday Oct 5 1935
Alleged Manslaughter of Four Persons Wednesday Nov 13 1935
Driver convicted of Manslaughter Thursday Nov 14 1935
| How the travellers came
to Barnet Fair in 1921 |
