Personal Recollections of Birmingham and Birmingham Men | Page 2

interrupted frequently by droves of sheep and numerous
oxen on their way from Smithfield to the slaughter-houses of their
purchasers. On through Goswell Street, alive with cries of "milk" and
"water creeses." On through Goswell Road; past Sadler's Wells; over
the New River, then an open stream; and in a few minutes we pull up at
"The Angel." Here we take in some internal cargo. A lady of middle
age, and of far beyond middle size, has "booked inside," and is very
desirous that a ban-box (without the "d") should go inside, too. This the
guard declines to allow, and this matter being otherwise arranged, on
we go again. Through "Merrie Islington" to Highgate, where we pass
under the great archway, then newly built; on to Barnet, where we stop
to change horses, and where I stand up to have a look at my fellow
outside passengers. There is not a lady amongst us. Coachman, guard,
and passengers, we are fourteen. We all wear "top" hats, of which five
are white; each hat, white or black, has its band of black crape. King
William IV. was lately dead, and every decently dressed man in the
country then wore some badge of mourning.
During the whole of that long day we rattled on. Through sleepy towns
and pleasant villages; past the barracks at Weedon, near which we cross
a newly-built bridge, on the summit of which the coachman pulls up,
and we see a deep cutting through the fields on our right, and a long
and high embankment on the left. Scores of men, and horses drawing
strange-looking vehicles, are hard at work, and we are told that this is
to be the "London and Birmingham Railway," which the coachman
adds "is going to drive us off the road." On we go again, through the
noble avenue of trees near Dunchurch; through quaint and picturesque
Coventry; past Meriden, where we see the words, "Meriden School,"
built curiously, with vari-coloured bricks, into a boundary wall. On still;
until at length the coachman, as the sun declines to the west, points out,
amid a gloomy cloud in front of us, the dim outlines of the steeples and
factory chimneys of Birmingham. On still; down the wide open

roadway of Deritend; past the many-gabled "Old Crown House;"
through the only really picturesque street in Birmingham--Digbeth; up
the Bull Ring, the guard merrily trolling out upon his bugle, "See the
Conquering Hero Comes;" round the corner into New Street where we
pull up--the horses covered with foam--at the doors of "The Swan."
Our journey has taken us just twelve hours.
And this is Birmingham! The place which I, in pleasant Kent and
Surrey, had so often heard of, but had never seen. This is the town
which, five years before, had vanquished the Conqueror of the Great
Napoleon! This is the place which, for the first time in his life, had
compelled the great Duke of Wellington to capitulate! This is the home
of those who, headed by Attwood, had compelled the Duke and his
army--the House of Lords--to submit, and to pass the memorable
Reform Bill of 1832!
My destination was at the top of Bull Street, where my apartments were
ready, and a walk to that spot completed an eventful day for me. I had
come down on a special business matter, but I remained six months,
and a few years later came again and settled down in Birmingham. My
impressions of the place during those six months are fresh upon my
memory now; and, if I write them down, may be interesting to some of
the three hundred thousand people now in Birmingham, who know
nothing of its aspect then.
Bull Street was then the principal street in Birmingham for retail
business, and it contained some very excellent shops. Most of the then
existing names have disappeared, but a few remain. Mr. Suffield, to
whose courtesy I am indebted for the loan of the rare print from which
the frontispiece to this little book is copied, then occupied the premises
near the bottom of the street, which he still retains. Mr. Adkins, the
druggist, carried on the business established almost a century ago. He is
now the oldest inhabitant of Bull Street, having been born in the house
he still occupies before the commencement of the present century. Mr.
Gargory--still hale, vigorous, and hearty, although rapidly approaching
his eightieth year--then tenanted the shop next below Mr. Keirle, the
fishmonger. His present shop and that of Mr. Harris, the dyer, occupy

the site of the then Quakers' Meeting House, which was a long,
barn-like building, standing lengthwise to the street, and not having a
window on that side to break the dreary expanse of brickwork. Mr.
Benson was in those days as celebrated for beef