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First Election Under the Ballot.—Made a Magistrate.—Other Mayoral Elections.—Mayor of St. Ives—My Retirement to Hemingford.—Amusements and Travels.—Boating.—Skating.—Skating on Whittlesey Mere.—Cycling.—Touring.
This was the first election under the ballot. The principal polling clerk, a Conservative, remarked to me when nearly through the polling, that the machinery for conducting the voting under the ballot worked much smoother than under the old system of open voting.
On the day of nomination at this election, it turned out that Arthur Arnold’s address was wrongly described in the book of voting papers. I asked Sir John Karslake if he would agree to take no advantage of the mistake afterwards, if he were defeated. He replied that he would make no such promise as he had a right to avail himself of every irregularity that had or might occur. He also said in addition he had no right to pledge his supporters, so I turned to the official and asked if there were time before the day of voting, to get the papers taken and new {101} ones printed. He replied “Yes, if they are taken by special messenger to London and the printer works day and night.” I said “Then it shall be done”, and so the new polling papers arrived in Huntingdon in time for the election, and no irregularity remained.
After Sir John was elected, Parliament was dissolved, and he came down for re-election, and was returned unopposed. In the new Parliament he was made Attorney-General, and came again for re-election, so that during my year of office, there were 3 Parliamentary, and 2 municipal elections.
At the Wool Fair Luncheon, held in the Corn Exchange, Huntingdon, the Mayor always presiding, Sir John Karslake was to propose my health as Mayor of the town (I had then gone through half my year of office). He stated among other complimentary things, that he understood I had made a good Borough Magistrate, and that it would be a graceful act if Lord Sandwich were to place me on the Commission of Peace for the County. Mr. Arnold, after leaving Huntingdon, had written to the “Daily News” to say that there was not a single Nonconformist Magistrate in the County (My father was dead) and the Mayor of Huntingdon was in every way suited to occupy the position. The next morning, the “London Standard” had an article or paragraph, saying it was all very well for Mr. Arnold to praise the Mayor of Huntingdon. It was no doubt because he had been his {102} political partisan during the election. One of my friends said I ought to reply to it as it it was an imputation that I was not impartial in conducting the public business of the town. My answer was, “I shall not take any notice of it as there is not a Tory in the town to question my impartiality.”
The next morning a letter appeared in something like this style from Mr. Arnold:—“What right had you, Mr.Editor, to say that I singled out Mr. Brown, because he was my partisan? I named him because he was not my partisan.” During my year of office, during the summer, I received a letter from the Lord Lieutenant (Lord Sandwich), placing me, or rather nominating me, as a suitable person to be placed in the Commission of Peace for the County, and so at first as regards the Mayoralty, now as regards the Magistracy, the purpose for which we built the mill was obtained.
As my year of office began to expire, the dominant party began to look for my successor. Amongst them was a grocer of the name of Arthur Ashton, an old inhabitant, and a strong Conservative, but as they had never had any Mayor below the social position of a doctor, banker, brewer or merchant, they would not entertain the idea of a small grocer being placed in the office. So they tried to make use of me, to keep Mr. Ashton out, the same way as formerly someone had been used to keep Mr. Foster out. So they waited upon me to request me to be Mayor for another year. I told them I declined to stand again, especially as it was {103} to stand in some other person’s way. After seeing me several times, and not being able to move me, they stated that they should elect me, so on the 1st. November, Ashton and Brown were proposed, and I obtained the majority of votes; upon which I announced that I declined to accept the honour. The Town Clerk informed them that I was Mayor pro tem., that they could do nothing more that day, but must adjourn to a day in the next week to elect a Mayor. When the day came, Ashton was again nominated, and as no one else was proposed, and he received a sufficient number of votes to make his election legal, he became the new Mayor. So another prejudice was done away with, and the evil of someone accepting office to exclude another person was also knocked on the head. Since then the Council has elected a Nonconformist draper, Mr. J. S. Smith, and this year (1896), they have elected him again for the second year.
I have been Mayor of Huntingdon four times, and during the Queen’s Jubilee year was elected Mayor of St. Ives, and attended in that capacity the ceremonial in Westminster Abbey, accompanied by the Mayor of Godmanchester, Mr. Chas. Veasey, and the Mayor of Huntingdon.
In the autumn of 1876 I retired from the milling business, and left Huntingdon, and went to Hemingford House, Hemingford Abbotts, to reside, but in various ways, political, religious, and social, my connec-{104}tion with Huntingdon has continued. Having at Michaelmas, 1895, received notice from the owners of Hemingford House to terminate my tenancy, I purchased “Bridge House,” Huntingdon, of Mr. Chas. Veasey, and when alterations and additions are completed am going (if still living) to remove there at Michaelmas, 1896.
I was never great at athletic sports; indeed, with the exception of cricket, they had scarcely come in. During my youth, of course, living in the country, I learnt to ride on horseback, and did much of my local business as a miller in that way. But inheriting from my mother a timid disposition, I was always a nervous rider, always seeing danger a little before there was any, instead of, as with some persons, seeing danger when it was too late. But this temperament prevented me from becoming what would be called a bold rider, but it must not be supposed from the foregoing remarks that I did not enjoy or practise horse-exercise, as I rode with my companions much for amusement, and on a fortnightly business journey I used to ride 45 miles in the day. In swimming and bathing, my natural timidity again displayed itself, but it did not prevent my ultimately becoming a good swimmer, and with my various companions I used to disport myself in the mill-pond at Houghton, throwing ourselves into the stream of the water-wheel, sometimes face upwards, at other times face downwards. On one occasion my uncle, Mr. Wm. Richardson, of Sunderland, was in the mill office when the foreman said to him, “Master Bateman seems in his natural element disporting himself like a great porpoise.” In connection with swimming, I will record what imagination will do. Before ever going out of my depth, I had swam on one occasion nearly half-a-mile without stopping, so thinking after that exploit I might safely venture into deep water, I walked into the river on a shallow, having then a deep hole between me and the bank. Literally three or four strokes would have taken me across it, but knowing I was out of my depth, my courage forsook me, and down I went. When I came to the surface, of course, I swam out.
My father took considerable persuasion to buy us a boat, partly, perhaps, because of the expense, but much more, I think, of the danger—not to myself—but because he said that if we had a boat, his partner’s daughters would be sure to use it, and some calamity might befal them. I know on one occasion when he was about taking them on the water, he said to Mrs. Goodman, “I will take all the care possible of them, but if they tumble in, I am not going in after them at the risk of my own life.” (I am sure he would have done so in spite of his protestations). My father never did anything by halves. He bought two boats, and built a first-class boat-house at a total cost of one hundred pounds. The first boat, called a skiff, was built at Blackwall, and came on the deck of a ship to King’s Lynn, and then up the river in a barge. It still exists (I saw it yesterday, April 4, 1896), and it is fully {106} 55 years old. The other was a longer boat, and was either rowed with two pairs of sculls or a pair of long oars. My friend, Mr. Chas. Tebbutt, and self, were driven over to Cambridge, where it was purchased, early one morning, leaving Houghton about 4 o’clock and taking a boatman named Lines with us to steer and pilot us, as we did not know the route. We rowed the boat from Cambridge to Houghton in the day; we went down the Cam nearly to Ely, then through the Old West River to Earith. It was a hot day; the West River was full of weeds, we had a head wind, and I think we came to the conclusion it was the hardest day’s work we had ever done. Having had some bad public-house beer en route, that, combined with the heat, gave us both a bad headache. However, we had some tea at Earith, and afterwards bathed and completed our voyage in good trim, arriving at Houghton about 9 p.m. The boats were a great source of amusement, and, no doubt, tended to increase our health and strength. The boat-house still remains (1896), and has served, and is serving, the generation immediately after my brother and myself.
In skating I especially excelled, living near meadows constantly liable to be flooded, and also only about seven miles from the great Washes and still Fen rivers. My friend, C. T. Tebbutt, made many excursions which I will refer to in due course. I don’t know the exact age I began to learn to skate, but I should think at about 7. If it is not an Irish “Bull,” our skating ground {107} was where the low part of the paddock in connection with the “Cedars” now is, and also part of the garden belonging to the late Mr. Frederick James’ residence, both of which were disused gravel pits. We also used to skate on the piece of water called “Banks End” on the way to Hartford, and on the “Ashby’s Meadows,” nearer Hartford, now owned by myself. When the floods were high enough to run over the river bank between Wyton and Bank’s End, we could skate on those meadows, going over the ditches and through the hedges all the way from Wyton to Bank’s End. This was the case as recently as 1880, and last year, 1895, we could have good skating on these meadows, but not right through from one end to the other. Then, if the frost continued, the river would bear on “Houghton Wale,” and in severe long-continued frosts, could skate from St. Ives to Huntingdon. One severe winter I went up to Huntingdon one afternoon, not all the way by the river, but up the brook opposite “Ashby’s Meadow.” On coming back about 4 o’clock, crawling under the bridge we heard cries of distress from someone where we knew there was a large hole, which had been open all through the three months’ frost. I exclaimed to my friend, “There is someone in that hole.” We skated to the place as quickly as possible, and on arriving there found Thos. Watts, the grinder in Houghton Mill, in the hole, his legs drawn by the stream under the ice, and he holding the tips of his fingers only to the edge of the ice, and our motion caused the water to {108} splash into his mouth. We had to take our straps out of our skates, strap them together, fasten a stick to one end of the strap, and throw it to him. This took some time, as our straps were frozen in the holes of our skate-boards. Watts in the meantime kept saying, “Make haste, I cannot hold out much longer.” We soon rescued him, and he told us he had seen the last persons who were skating backwards and forwards go home for the night, he not having succeeded in making them hear his cries for help, and had quite given himself up for lost up to the time we appeared on the scene. He is alive now; lives at the top of Houghton Hill, and works the windmill situated between Hemingford Grey and Victoria Terrace (1896).
But the Great Skating expeditions were when we could get on to the Fen Rivers, and then, in a severe frost, we could skate to Welney, Chatteris, March, Wisbech, etc. Once I skated with C. P. Tebbutt and Neville Goodman to Whittlesey Mere. The Mere was belted with reed-beds and inlets or outlets were all alike, so that when wishing to return home it was difficult to select the right outlet.
On one occasion, being with my usual companion and friend (C. P. T.) on an expedition to Mepal, he left the side of the river, launching out into the middle, and soon skating off two nights’ frost on to one night’s, be went in all over, but fortunately escaped with a thorough wetting only. This was not the only occasion my friend, being very venturesome, found a watery resting-{109}place. One of the great charms of these expeditions was we ran some slight risk, and also the meeting of so many friends and acquaintances. When the Fen rivers did not bear, owing to their being in flood, we used to utilise the washes, which made splendid places for the sport of skating, and many an expedition might be recorded, sometimes a harmless adventure, we often getting an immersion in these shallow waters because in our passion for skating we would venture on the ice before it was safe. In succeeding seasons we would recount to each other over the evening fire our previous adventures and misadventures. When I became too old to skate, I have several times ridden my tandem tricycle from the Black Bridge, Hemingford, to St. Ives Staunch, and then back to Huntingdon. But of course this would only be in exceptionally severe winters. I rode my tricycle on the river the winter of 1894–5. This was the winter Mr. Fraser was drowned.
During my cycle touring I rode on a single machine (Singer’s, with head driving-wheel and up and down pedals) to Nottingham, about 76 miles, in two days. On another occasion I rode to Cromer, home via Norwich, Thetford, Newmarket, and Cambridge, on a single tricycle called “The Devon”; also rode on a single tricycle from London to Hastings in two days, machine called a “Rucker.” I rode also to Wickham Bishops, Essex, on a single; on a sociable with Rev. Thos. Great to Bristol, and on a sociable with the above gentleman to the {110} Isle of Wight and home, a round of 300 miles, riding every hill we came to en route and most on the Island; every morning rode up Union Street, Rhyde; also rode to Newport, Yarmouth, on to Fresh Water, taking every hill without dismounting. Several times rode to New Southgate on a single machine, 50 miles, in one day. Rode also on a tandem to Buxton, on to Chester, Birkenhead, and Liverpool, with Woods. Rode on a double machine with Woods to Coventry in one day; the way we went was 75 miles. I was 60 years of age when I rode to Coventry.
On one occasion, accompanied by my wife, I rode to Birmingham, paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Keep, taking 3 days to return; distance about 90 miles.
Since beginning to ride to now (1896) I have ridden 20,050 miles. I suppose I commenced riding about the year 1879, and most of the above distances were ridden between the years 1879 and 1893, as the gout has prevented me riding much the last three years. It must be remembered when above riding was done there were no pneumatic tyres, and the machines were much heavier than now.
As previously recorded, my first tour was to Scotland when 17 years of age. With the exception of an excursion to the seaside I went nowhere until, I think, in the autumn of 1848 my father took me to Paris, in company with C. P. Tebbutt. It was just after the Revolution, when the King, Louis Phillippe, fled to this country. We went to {111} see Messrs. Darblay’s mills at Corbeil, and lunched at their Paris house with Mr. Darblay, senr., Mr. Paul Darblay, his son, and Mr. Beranger, his son-in-law. The Darblay family in politics were Legitimists. During lunch someone said something about the Republic. The old gentleman remarked something in French. Misunderstanding what he had said, my father asked the son, who replied in English, “My father does say the Devil take the Republic!” Being put into English in very measured delivery, it sounded very amusing.
Large numbers of the National Guard were under canvas in the Tuilleries Gardens, and about seven in the evening a drum was beaten for all civilians to leave, and the military pushed us about a little because we made for an exit nearest our hotel and not the nearest one to where we were standing. On our return home, on landing on the pier at Dover there were a number of French soldiers who had crossed the Channel for a trip, and seeing some of their comrades on the steamer, they greeted them with the cry, “Vive la Republique.”
My next excursion was on my marriage in 1848, to the English Lakes and Scotland.
The next journey to the Continent was in the summer of 1854. The party consisted of Neville Goodman, Joseph and Susan Goodman (all since dead), and myself. We crossed to Ostend, then on to Cologne, up the Rhyne by steamer to Mayence, then by rail to Fribaug in the BreslauProbably Freiburg im Breisgau is meant, where the next day we hired a carriage and drove {112} through the Black Forest to Schaffhausen to the Rhine Falls. The next day by coach to Zurich, then by steamboat to Coire, where we took the diligence to cross the Splugen Pass into Italy. We lunched at the village of Splugen, where there was a Russian gentleman, whom we made very angry by telling him that we should beat Russia (the Crimean War was then on). We stayed the night at CheavennaChiavenna, and the next day steamed along Lake Como to the town of the same name; then took an omnibus to the Camerlata railway station for Milan. Joseph Goodman had an ordinary butterfly net on a long stick, the end of which he put on the floor of the omnibus, the net itself flying in the wind. An Austrian Government official requested him to lower it, as it might be taken as a revolutionary signal by the populace. We thought how weak the Government must be to be so easily alarmed. It must be remembered that Lombardy then was under, to them (the Italians), the detested rule of Austria.