November 5, 1887 --- The Brewer's Brother

A drunken Guy Fawkes Day celebration at the newly opened People's Palace brings Frederick Charrington, the militant tea-totaling scion of a famous brewing family, into the fray. Falling in with an evangelical set at school, Charrington had been impressed by the scriptural advice - "Ye must be born again." When, outside a London pub, he witnessed a drunken husband knock his wife into the street, Frederick's conversion was complete. "With the same blow you have knocked me out of the brewery business."

Charrington renounced his right to a family fortune in excess of a million pounds and began his career as a temperance advocate. He won his first notoriety by standing outside London music halls, heckling the clientele and carrying a sign that read: "THIS WAY TO THE PIT OF HELL."

The Queen had only just opened the People's Palace in Mile End Road that May to serve as a social center in the teeming East End. The giant Anchor Brewery, owned by the Charrington family, was just over the road.  Frederick Charrington and others had successfully sought a ban on the sale of ale and spirits at the Palace. Frederick's brother, Spencer Charrington MP, who managed the brewery, saw the way around that and announced the bar tab was on him.  He invited the 600-man strong Tower Hamlets Volunteers to a gala dinner.  He provides - at no charge - "no less than ten 36-gallon barrels of ale, and an enormous quantity of whisky, besides gin and other spirits, etc."

In an outraged letter to the Queen, Frederick described the conduct of brother Spencer’s invited Volunteers as "shameful and abominable" and begged that steps be taken to prevent the recurrence of "such demoralising scenes." Although the Palace trustees suggested that there had been "great exaggeration" in what the Press labeled an "orgy", they agreed that "in the future, no intoxicating liquors will be allowed upon the premises."

Charrington's close friend and hagiographer, Guy Thorne called it a "signal success": “Determined to stamp out the abuse of drink, [Frederick] not only memorialises the Queen of England, but achieves his purpose in so doing. It is an astonishing record.”

Sign from barclayperkins.blogspot.com

November 4, 1865 --- The Baker Wedding

At Wren's masterpiece, St. James', Piccadilly, in a ceremony performed by a minor curate before only the required two witnesses, the celebrated Nile explorer Samuel Baker weds "Florence Finnian, of this parish, spinster."

In fact, the new Lady Baker is a 25-year old Hungarian woman that Baker had purchased at a Turkish slave market in 1860. The exact price was a secret that died with him. Baker made the “purchase” while on his way out to Africa.  A wealthy sportsman, widowed with four daughters, Baker had left England, telling his family, "I am going to Khartoum and thence, God only knows where."  Baker was dismissed by his rivals as a dilettante, nonetheless, he managed to discover (and name) Lake Albert (for the late Prince) and the spectacular Murchison Falls (for the president of the Royal Geographical Society).

Newly returned in triumph to London, Sam and Florence planned this secret wedding to legitimise their relationship. In his best-selling memoir, Baker had already praised "the devoted companion of my pilgrimage to whom I owed success and life - my wife." Despite shared hardships from malaria to pestilential conditions to tribal attacks, he wrote proudly, "She was not a screamer." At one point, a tribal leader had demanded "the little white woman" as hostage to permit Baker to go further into his domain. Baker quickly produced a previously hidden revolver which convinced the chief he would be wise to accept a compass instead.

Their mysterious marital status aside, the Bakers were the great "lions" of the season in London society. Sam is acclaimed by the RGS and knighted by the Crown. However, word was passed to him that Lady Baker would not be welcomed at court; certain details had reached the Queen's attention and she disapproved of the dubious relationship. The great Livingstone had dismissed Florence as "the mistress" and a British consular official reported from Africa that he knew of no "Mrs. Baker."

Sam was not pleased and wrote a friend: “Should I find that the world follows the example of the Queen, I shall give up my country and go elsewhere. For years I have been happy without the world, when we have been together with a poor hut or a shady tree for home, and thus with her I can be happy again and lay down the world at will.”

In 1869, Baker et ux returned to Africa where they were active in the (at times, brutal) suppression of the slave trade. They returned in 1873 to live out their days together in Devon.

November 3, 1894 --- A Great Scene at The Empire

It's Saturday night at the infamous Empire Theatre of Varieties, Leicester Square's most popular music hall. Along the Empire's promenade would stroll some of London's finer ladies of the evening, all hoping to catch the eye of one of the raffish (and generally well-off) gents who lined the men's bar.

Tonight, however, there's something new at the Empire, a flimsy canvas screen has been placed to separates the sexes. The theatre had been under attack from the so-called "prudes on the prowl," headed by the euphoniously named Mrs. Ormiston Chant. She had gone before the London County Council to denounce the Empire as "an habitual resort of prostitutes." She spoke of going "undercover", if you will, to visit the Empire whilst wearing her "prettiest evening dress." She had been accosted almost immediately, finding the crowd entirely of an "immoral character."

Mrs. Chant and her ilk were denounced in the racier papers as "moody fanatics" with "greasy minds." Still, the women forced the L.C.C. to act and the screen was grudgingly installed. It fails its first test. A group of military cadets from Sandhurst, led by, of all people, 19-year old Winston Churchill, tears down the offending partition. Amid the melee, Churchill proclaims "Ladies of the Empire, I stand for Liberty!"

In his droll autobiography, My Early Life, Winston recalled: “In these somewhat unvirginal surroundings, I made my maiden speech. Mounting on the debris ... I addressed the tumultuous crowd, 'You have seen us tear down the barricades tonight; see that you pull down those who are responsible for them at the coming [municipal] election.'” Never publicity shy, Churchill added, "This episode made a considerable stir, and even secured leading articles in most of the newspapers." And some unfavorable comment; the Bishop of London wrote The Times to say he never expected to see a descendant of the great Duke of Marlborough greeted by a "flourish of strumpets."

The Empire rioters failed to achieve their goal. The Empire and other such music halls were to be cleaned up, if slowly. 

Mrs. Ormiston Chant from womenshistory.about.com

November 2, 1877 --- The Astley Belt

18,000 people jam the Agricultural Hall in North London for the sixth and final day of "The Great International Pedestrian Tournament." The surprising winner is the unheralded William Corkey of Bethnal Green. The marathon walking events, known as "wobbles" owing to the peculiar gait of the contestants, are the rage of sporting (read: Gambling) London. Promoter Sir John Astley put up a £1000 purse and a bejewelled belt to attract 18 of the foremost competitors, including the fabled American Edward Weston, easily the pre-race favorite.

The Yank (right), known to his countrymen for walking from Maine to Chicago, took to the boards with his customary arrogance, engaging in his "usual buffoonery." On Day 3, however, a twisted ankle hobbled the great man. Though he returned to the course valiantly, demonstrating "that remarkable freshness for which he is characterised," Weston soon faded. The race came down to a two man battle between Corkey and "Blower" Brown, the latter's nickname coming from his distinctive and quite audible breathing patterns. Brown held a two-mile lead on Day 3 but Corkey - staying on the track for five hours straight – seized the lead by midnight of Day 4 and held it the rest of the way.

In addition to the ample prize money, Astley upgraded the sport by pampering the "pedestrians" with commodious tents for their periodic rest periods and providing hot food and medical care as well. The expense is returned by increasing public interest. A raucous crowd awaits the finish; The Times correspondent reports they "seemed to be well-acquainted with the principle contestants, judging from the manner which they cheered their respective favorites."

In the end, Corkey took the £500 first prize with a total of 521 miles (87 miles a day on average!). Brown is "walker-up" with 506 miles. Weston disappoints his partisans with a lackluster total of 365 miles.

He was recovered by January to begin a bid to walk 2000 miles in 1000 hours. Stepping off from London in driving snow, he made it 75 miles to Folkestone the first day. Alas, hampered by another injury - he was knocked down by overenthusiastic fans in Wimborne Minster - Weston fell 22 miles short of his goal.

November 1, 1887 --- Miss Cass v. The Constable

A London bobby's trial offers some salacious diversion for those sated with Jubilee festivities. The night of 28 June, PC Endacott had arrested a young woman walking unescorted along Regent Street. Elizabeth Cass was taken to Police Court, charged with soliciting and, despite her tears of denial, jailed overnight.

At arraignment next day, Endacott testified that he'd seen Miss Cass frequently in the area "annoying" gentlemen, three of whom complained to him but none of whom were in court. Elizabeth's employer, a respectable dressmaker in Southampton Row, stated that Miss Cass had been in London but six months and was hard-working and quite moral. The magistrate, forced to dismiss the charge, launched into some questionable obiter dicta, “If you are an honest girl, don't walk in Regent Street at night after 9:30, for if you do next time you will be sent to prison or fined.”

Miss Cass became an instant heroine for feminists and police-bashers of all stripes. The magistrate was condemned for his "utterly unjustified" remarks. The harassed Home Secretary reluctantly ordered an inquiry which led to the indictment of PC Endacott for perjury. Though the constable is on trial, it is poor Miss Cass who must defend her virtue. She's asked about an embarrassing dalliance with a married man in her native Durham, which prompted her move to London. She insists there were "never immoral relations." In the end, the defense concedes that Endacott might have made an honest misapprehension on a dark, crowded street. Fortunately for Endacott, the judge, Sir James Stephens, a perjury scholar, directs an acquittal. Stephens adds that if this happened every time a bobby's charge was disproved, "in a very little time you would have all the police in London committed for perjury."

PC Endacott is reinstated while Miss Cass leaves court with the best wishes of all, e.g. The Times: "She has suffered in a manner which must command universal sympathy." The Saturday Review rebuked "the prurient mob of both sexes which pounced on the first version of the story and hastened to enlarge it with all the greasy nastiness they could rake together."

Sketch from the Penny Illustrated Paper

October 31, 1842 --- Under His Protection

The Old Bailey courtroom is crowded with the fashionable. Expecting titillation, they are not disappointed. 19-year-old Alice Lowe is charged with stealing several items from the home of Lord Frankfort, 2nd Viscount de Montmorency.

Alice had been introduced to Lord Frankfort by a rather disreputable "actress." For two months, he kept Alice in his Paddington flat; in the term of the day, she was "under his protection." She was not allowed out, she saw no visitors. In September, she bolted. Lord Frankfort's minions traced her to Soho where she was arrested for having pilfered and promptly pawned two gold snuff boxes, a gold toothpick case and "various other articles of very considerable value."

The ribald Press had a field day. 36-years old, separated from his wife, his reputation for lechery well-established, Lord Frankfort is easily lampooned. The prosecutor, however, attempts to point out that m'Lord's morals are not at issue. On the witness stand, Lord Frankfort admits he kept and slept with Alice.  He boasts that he spent some £300 on her, but he denies he gave her the items in question. At one point, Alice collapses in a fit of hysteria when the prosecutor refers to her as "a gay woman," a slip for which he is sharply cautioned from the bench. The case for the defense is brief. Might a person of his Lordship's temperament, after a good dinner and a bottle of wine, whilst fondling with the prisoner, make her a present of the jewelry, and afterwards forget it? In fifteen minutes, Alice is acquitted to wild applause.

The respectable papers found the entire matter distasteful. The Spectator frowned at "the indiscriminate sympathy of the London mob." The Morning Post added its disapproval: “It really seems to be forgotten that the vices of Lord Frankfort, however disgusting or outrageous, cannot have had any such miraculous power as that of converting the vices of the defendant into virtues ... When we read of decent-looking people struggling to shake hands with the acquitted woman of the town, and exclaiming 'God bless you, my girl!' we recognize, with much pain, an exhibition of French and a repudiation of English sentiment and manners.”

A decade later, the incorrigible Viscount went to jail for his efforts to employ "a system for the debauchery of women in their own homes." 

The Old Bailey Online.

October 30, 1888 --- Persona non Grata

The British Ambassador to Washington is handed his passport, if effect, he is sent packing for London. Sir Lionel Sackville-West (right) had been a popular envoy, much seen in society and whose embassy duties were handled by his beautiful though illegitimate daughter.  But he had fallen victim to dirty politics, American-style.

1888 was an election year in the United States.  A "Mr. Charles Murchison of Pomona, California" claiming to be an English-born American, wrote Sir Lionel asking which Presidential candidate would best promote Anglo-American harmony. In an answer clearly marked "Private" - though no less indiscreet - Sackville-West wrote: “Any political party which openly favored the Mother-Country at the present moment would lose popularity... the party in power [i.e. Democratic President Grover Cleveland] is, I believe, still desirous of maintaining friendly relations with Great Britain.”

The "Murchison letter" was a Republican trick to embarrass the President with Irish-American voters, traditionally Democratic. Sackville-West's response was immediately made public, only days before the election.  Republicans gleefully tagged Cleveland as "England's man." It was a free-for-all, a chance for the American papers "to pull the tail of the English lion."  Even Democratic papers fumed; The New York Times headlined: SACKVILLE MUST GO.

The State Department declared that Sackville's continued presence would be incompatible with "the dignity, security and independent sovereignty of the United States." Even the British press quickly abandoned the poor man; The Spectator found him "clearly deficient in discretion," while at the same time dismissing the Americans as "spoiled children." Prime Minister Salisbury cannot forestall the humiliation. 

The Foreign Office - rather lamely - declared that Lord Sackville was returning home for personal reasons. The Ambassador's elder brother had conveniently just died, leaving him the title of 2nd Lord Sackville and possessor of the sprawling estate at Knole. Sackville-West never returned to diplomatic service. In Washington, those items of furniture and art which the Ambassador had declined to ship home to England were placed on auction. According to one report, "Persons high in the circles of society trampled on one another to get in their bids."

Whether by dint of the Murchison letter alone, the Republicans took the White House in 1888.