Child labour and Pick-pockets

by Marie Higgins

When I start to write a new story, I flesh out my characters to see what makes them tick. In my latest story, my heroine had a terrible past. She was told at a young age while she was in school that her family had died in a house fire. The man who told her this devastating news then ruined her life by selling her to the villain - Richard Macgregor who taught orphans how to pick-pocket. These orphans ranged from seven or eight years of age to sixteen or seventeen. He controlled them and they were afraid of making him upset because he'd whip them.

This is what I decided to research for my story "The Sweetest Touch", a Regency Romance. I was appalled at what I discovered. We all know there were several different social classes. The higher class of people had the money to send their children to school to receive an education. However, the children from the working class didn't have this luxury. If a family could not afford to put their children in school, the children had to find jobs to help the support the family. It was not uncommon to expect children to work along side their mothers, often in textiles, mills, or factories. In 1788, two-thirds of those who worked in factories were children who worked 13 hour days - six days a week! (And we think we have it bad!) Most employers liked hiring women and children because they didn't have to pay them as much.

The Industrial Revolution became notorious for employing children in factories and mines and as chimney sweeps. In fact...did you know that Charles Dickens worked at the age of twelve in a blacking factory because his family was in debtors' prison?

Orphans weren't as lucky to work in factories, which is why most of them joined gangs and would steal to survive. Oliver Twist (written by Charles Dickens) is the story of an orphaned boy who was in one of these gangs. While writing my story, I wanted my heroine to remember the struggles she had in the ten years she was with Richard Macgregor and the other orphans. There were times while writing this story that I got emotional just thinking about the way of life for these poor waifs. Researching this definitely helped my story!!

I'd like to share with you a part of my story. In the beginning, the readers know my heroine (Louisa) is a pick-pocket. But within a couple pages, she's in an accident and loses her memory. The hero (Trevor) is the one who hit her with his curricle, and feels like he should keep her at his home working as a servant. Soon, she's gets the task of being the hero's children's nursemaid. At this point in the story she still does not remember her past. In this scene, heroine, hero and his children, are walking up the street to a pastry shop.

Trevor glanced at Louisa to ask if she would like a pastry, but she wasn’t looking toward the window. She focused on something behind him. Instead of her shy smile he’d watched for the past little while, a suspicious frown tugged on her lips.

Just as he turned to see what bothered her, another person bumped into him, making him stumble. “Forgive me for not seeing—” he began to say, but the vagabond didn’t stop.

Louisa gasped and jumped in the stranger’s path. As the young lad skirted around to avoid her, Louisa’s hand slipped in the boy’s pocket quick as a flash. The vagabond pushed her shoulder, aiming his glare right at her, opened his mouth to speak…but then stopped. Wide eyes stared at Louisa for a few seconds, before he sprinted into a run.

Shock washed over Trevor as he witnessed the scene. Her movement was so quick—so precise—he wondered if he’d actually seen what he had.

Louisa stood still, staring at the object in her hand. Her face void of color.

“What in heaven’s name—” Trevor snapped, but then noticed what she held out to him. My pocket watch? He dug inside his pocket—the same place he always kept his watch—but it wasn’t there. Words choked in his throat. The thief.

“Your Grace,” Louisa said in a shaky voice. “I could not allow him to steal from you.” She handed him the watch.

Still in shock, he shook his head. “How did you know he was stealing from me?”

“I…” She turned her head and stared at the direction the lad had run. “I saw him take your watch, and I knew I had to get it back.”

“But, Louisa,” Trevor stepped closer. “You took my watch right out of his pocket and he didn’t even notice.”

She gave a faint, emotionless chuckle. “I know.”

“How…” Trevor shook his head. Her wide eyes and colorless face told him this had been a mystery to her as well.

“Well,” he said, expelling his breath, “shall we venture into the shop and get some pastries for our drive home?”

Nodding, she folded her shaking arms. “Yes. That is a splendid idea.” She hurried to the twins and held their hand.

Trevor opened the door for the three before entering the shop. His mind whirled with unanswered questions but more with the fear that he knew what the answers were all along. By Louisa’s quick actions as she retrieved his watch, Trevor now realized what her past had been. The realization left a bitter taste to his mouth that no pastry would be able to remove.

 "The Sweetest Touch" book #2 in my Regency Romance series.

Marie Higgins is a multi-published author of romance; from refined bad-boy heroes who makes your heart melt to the feisty heroines who somehow manage to love them regardless of their faults. Visit her website / blog to discover more about her – http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

Shooting of common moor-fowl: Black, Red and White Grouse

by Farida Mestek

The term shooting or sporting with the gun is commonly limited to certain kinds of feathered creation, with now and then application to the killing of a few small animals, such as the hare, the rabbit and occasionally the deer.

The Black Grouse is a noble looking bird, commonly called the blackcock, and the female the greyhen. Their nest is found on the ground; it is of the most simple and artless kind. The female lays from six to eight eggs that are hatched late in the summer. The eggs are of a dull yellowish white colour, marked with a number if very small ferruginous specks. Their food in summer consists of the seeds of the cranberry, crowberry, blackberry, etc.; and in the winter they feed on the fir shoots, and the catkins of hazel and birch, which impart to their flesh a peculiar flavour, well known to epicures.

The black grouse, like other members of the grouse family, are polygamous, and in January, February and March, the plumage of the male bird assumes a rich glossy steel blue, which, with his noble bearing, makes him look very imposing. In the warm days at the end of winter, the males may be seen congregated together on some turf-furze, sheep-fold, or rude paling, pluming their wings, and practising various devices to attract the notice of the females.

These fine birds are to be found in considerable numbers in many districts of England; for example in the moor districts of Northumberland, Durham, Cumberland, Westmorland, and Yorkshire. The shooting of the black grouse does not commence till the 1st of September; and they are considered royal game. They are, in the main, shy birds, but those who are acquainted with their haunts will find no great difficulty in reaching them. They are partial to long ling and roughish copse-wood. Under the bank of a deep ravine, particularly in mid-day, and if there be a cold wind blowing, they will be very readily found.

The black grouse require full sized shot and many sportsmen prefer a single to a double-barreled gun.


The Red Grouse forms the staple article of grouse-shooting, especially in the northern parts of Great Britain. The red grouse mate in the spring, and lay from five to ten eggs. Sometimes these are found on the bare ground, and sometimes on a rude kind of nest, made of moss and a little heather. The nest is generally placed in a sheltered position. Both male and female birds attend to the young; and guard them as well as they can against their numerous enemies, in the shape of vermin, and birds of prey.

The habits of the red grouse display a strong feeling for domestication, and are not nearly of so wild a nature as some other of the grouse family. They have occasionally been entirely tamed. A gentleman in Ireland had two braces of birds for several seasons so domesticated that he used to take them into his parlour, where they played with his setter dogs.

They are often found descending from the moors and locating in the vicinity of corn-fields, and shelter themselves among the stubble, both of barley and oats. In most severe winters when pressed for food, they will leave the hills and visit the cultivated grounds, and will even be found occasionally sitting perched on the tops of the dwellings there.

The red grouse differ in numbers and in size according to the season: they increase in size and fullness of feather until November. They delight in fine sunny days, and revel in the luxury of a dry atmosphere. The time of the year has considerable influence on their habits and movements. Frosty weather is favourable for their capture, as they seem then very torpid and lifeless. Wet and windy weather is not favourable to the shooter, because at such times the birds leave the high grounds, and seek out sheltered spots in some comparatively dry and secluded localities.

In rising, grouse almost take a perpendicular direction, and then go in a straight line at an elevation of ten or twelve yards. The exact moment to fire is when they are just about to change from the perpendicular to the rectilinear direction. There is a sort of pause in their flight, which is favourable to the sportsman. A fine sunshiny day, from about eight till five in August and September, and from eleven to three at the later period of the season, is ideal for grouse shooting.

The red grouse require No. 1, 2 or 3 shot [see my previous post on the subject of shots], in the largest single gun one can possibly manage; or, what is better, a good stout double gun.


The White Grouse or the Ptarmigan is partial to high and lofty grounds, and can brave the most intense cold. In Britain it is chiefly found in the Highlands of Scotland, in the Hebrides and Orkney island, and occasionally in the more elevated localities of Cumberland and Wales.

Its plumage is admirably and singularly fitted to the general appearance of the grounds it frequents. They change colour depending on the season and, for example, have white, thick and downy plumage in winter, perfectly blending with snow-covered surroundings.

These birds mate at the same period as the ordinary grouse. The female lays eight or ten eggs, which are white spotted with brown. There is no form of nest prepared: they are laid on the bare ground. In winter they congregate in flocks; and they are so little accustomed to the devices of the fowler, that they suffer themselves to be easily taken either with snare or gun.

They feed on the wild and rough productions of the hills, which impart a bitter taste to their flesh, though it is not by any means unpalatable; it is of dark colour, and somewhat of the taste of the hare.

The great moor tracts in Scotland are the chief places for finding an abundance of sport; the whole country, with the exception of a few miles of cultivated land, is one immense moor, broken into artificial divisions by high and lofty mountains, covered at their summits, in some instances, with eternal snows. This is the sportsman’s land of promise – the land flowing with “the milk and honey” of his amusement.

Taken from “Shooting” by Robert Blakey
Illustrations by Archibald Thorburn, WikiGallery

Farida Mestek is the author of “Margaret's Rematch”, “A Secret Arrangement” and “Lord Darlington's Fancy” - romantic stories set against the backdrop of Regency England. You can learn more about her books and link to her previous posts on the subject of sport at her blog.

St. Patrick, Patron Saint of Ireland

Posted by Karen V. Wasylowski
(FROM HISTORY.COM)

St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, is one of Christianity's most widely known figures. But for all his celebrity, his life remains somewhat of a mystery. Many of the stories traditionally associated with St. Patrick, including the famous account of his banishing all the snakes from Ireland, are false, the products of hundreds of years of exaggerated storytelling.

"It is known that St. Patrick was born in Britain to wealthy parents near the end of the fourth century. He is believed to have died on March 17, around 460 A.D. Although his father was a Christian deacon, it has been suggested that he probably took on the role because of tax incentives and there is no evidence that Patrick came from a particularly religious family.

At the age of 16, Patrick was taken prisoner by a group of Irish raiders who were attacking his family's estate. They transported him to Ireland where he spent six years in captivity. (There is some dispute over where this captivity took place. Although many believe he was taken to live in Mount Slemish in County Antrim, it is more likely that he was held in County Mayo near Killala.) During this time, he worked as a shepherd, outdoors and away from people. Lonely and afraid, he turned to his religion for solace, becoming a devout Christian. (It is also believed that Patrick first began to dream of converting the Irish people to Christianity during his captivity.)

After more than six years as a prisoner, Patrick escaped. According to his writing, a voice—which he believed to be God's—spoke to him in a dream, telling him it was time to leave Ireland. To do so, Patrick walked nearly 200 miles from County Mayo, where it is believed he was held, to the Irish coast.

After escaping to Britain, Patrick reported that he experienced a second revelation—an angel in a dream tells him to return to Ireland as a missionary. Soon after, Patrick began religious training, a course of study that lasted more than 15 years. After his ordination as a priest, he was sent to Ireland with a dual mission: to minister to Christians already living in Ireland and to begin to convert the Irish. (Interestingly, this mission contradicts the widely held notion that Patrick introduced Christianity to Ireland.)

Familiar with the Irish language and culture, Patrick chose to incorporate traditional ritual into his lessons of Christianity instead of attempting to eradicate native Irish beliefs. For instance, he used bonfires to celebrate Easter since the Irish were used to honoring their gods with fire. He also superimposed a sun, a powerful Irish symbol, onto the Christian cross to create what is now called a Celtic cross, so that veneration of the symbol would seem more natural to the Irish.

Although there were a small number of Christians on the island when Patrick arrived, most Irish practiced a nature-based pagan religion. The Irish culture centered around a rich tradition of oral legend and myth. When this is considered, it is no surprise that the story of Patrick's life became exaggerated over the centuries—spinning exciting tales to remember history has always been a part of the Irish way of life."



Karen V. Wasylowski is the author of "Darcy and Fitzwilliam" (a riotous continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice) "...a Regency Era 'Butch and Sundance'."  Purchase on-line in print or e-books, and at all major bookstores.

To purchase 

Visit my other blog:  The League of British Artists

Giveaway: "The Crown"

This week Nancy Bilyeau is giving away two hardcover copies of her Tudor-era thriller, The Crown, set in a Dominican priory. To read more information about the book, please click HERE. Don’t forget to leave your email address!

Some more Horrible Histories clips

On February 13th I posted some clips of the fabulous songs from the BBC TV Program Horrible Histories.

I thought I would now post a few clips of the sketches. Remember, everything is TRUE. Horrible Histories is historically accurate.

Which is your favourite?

Strange Tudor Laws thought up by Queen Elizabeth I:

Those Vikings have invaded and now they are selling Monk Slaves:

Charles I wasn't at his own wedding (it's true!):

Charles II meets the man who tried to steal the Crown Jewels:

The Prince Regent finds out he is King:

Victorian Maids:

Jenna Dawlish is the author of two Victorian novels Love Engineered and Sprig of Thyme.

www.jennadawlish.com

Born in the Tower: The ‘Crimes’ of Lady Katherine Grey

by Ella March Chase

Anne Boleyn was executed for lack of a son. Katherine of Aragon was divorced because none of her sons lived. Jane Seymour was smart enough to bear a son and then die before Henrv VIII could tire of her, thus gaining an almost saint-like image in the notorious king’s eyes. Arguably the most infamous period in English history took place during the years when Henry VIII married six times, broke with the Catholic Church and was excommunicated in his quest for a healthy son to inherit the crown.

Years later, when his daughter Elizabeth Tudor inherited the throne, she was harangued by her advisors for most of her reign because she refused to marry and produce an heir of her body. Ask any lover of Tudor history what the first duty of a woman of noble blood was, the answer would be ‘to produce a healthy son and heir.”

But many people do not know of a more obscure princess of the blood who was imprisoned in the tower as a result of the fact that she bore not one, but two healthy boys with royal Tudor blood in their veins: Sons born in the Tower of London who defied the odds and lived to grow up—healthy and strong.

What was this fecund Princess of the Blood’s name? Lady Katherine Grey, younger sister of The Nine Days Queen, Lady Jane Grey, one of the three Grey sisters who captured my heart and inspired my newest release, Three Maids for a Crown. Who was Lady Katherine Grey? Second daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk-- Henry Grey and Frances Brandon Grey. Great granddaughter of Henry VIII’s favorite sister, the exquisite ‘Tudor Rose’ and former Queen of France, Mary Rose Tudor. Lady Katherine’s Tudor bloodline carried with it a tale of high romance, for after a loveless marriage to the elderly king of France, Mary Rose Tudor eloped with King Henry’s lifelong best friend, the dashing Charles Brandon. In spite of Henry’s outrage, ruinous fines and threats of further reprisals, the king eventually forgave the pair and they were allowed their happy ending.

One can imagine the delight Katherine took in that tale. She was the reputed beauty of the family, said to resemble her famous ancestor. A girl who loved pretty clothes where her sober, studious elder sister Jane favored more severe Protestant garb. Katherine had the gift for charming those who met her while Jane tended to be blunt—often to a fault—and have no time for frivolous pursuits. Their younger sister, Lady Mary, was so small some sources described her as a dwarf and she was labeled with a cruel nickname at court: Crouchback Mary.

When Lady Jane was named queen by the dying King Edward VI, supplanting the claims of Henry
VIII’s “bastard” daughters Mary and Elizabeth, the world must have seemed a glittering prospect for Katherine. But tables turned with alarming speed, “Queen Jane” deposed because the English people rallied around the eldest daughter of Henry VIII. Queen Mary was eventually coerced into executing Jane as a condition to marrying Philip of Spain. But the Catholic Mary had affection for her Grey cousins, making Lady Katherine a Lady of the Bedchamber and considering her as a possible heir in place of Elizabeth.

Saddened by the execution of Jane and their father for high treason, laboring under the pressure of serving the Queen who signed their death warrant, Katherine’s health began to fail. Queen Mary sent her to the Seymour family’s home of Hanworth to heal. There, she fell in love with Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. Edward understood the shock of losing loved ones to the axe, his father and uncle had both died on Tower Hill. Edward’s family had plunged from the highest offices in the land to disgrace, financial ruin and obscurity.

The two wished to marry, but before they could get the royal permission necessary by law for a princess of the blood to wed, Queen Mary died, Elizabeth Tudor rising in her place. Elizabeth had an understandable dislike of her Grey cousins who, from the time of Katherine of Aragon had sided with those who loathed Anne Boleyn. The Greys had made no secret of the fact that they considered Elizabeth a bastard, possibly not even the king’s real daughter since Boleyn had been condemned of adultery. Greys had snubbed Elizabeth at every turn, attempted to strike her from the succession twice.

Another consideration—Katherine’s beauty. For all her admirable qualities, Elizabeth was also jealous and vain and her beloved Robert Dudley who would become Earl of Leicester, had a distinct weakness for beautiful red heads.

Despite the risk, sometime in October 1560 Lady Katherine claimed a toothache so she could stay behind when Queen Elizabeth went hunting. Then Katherine and her best friend crept out to where Edward Seymour waited with a priest to marry them. (Anglican officials were also called priests at this time). They were keeping things so secret only one witness was present: Edward’s sister and Katherine’s best friend, Lady Jane Seymour.

The lovers met in secret, their time together saddened as Lady Jane grew ill and died. Soon after, Edward was sent to the continent by the queen who felt he was becoming too attached to Lady Katherine Grey. But their marriage was not to remain secret much longer.

Katherine was pregnant, though too horrified at the prospect of facing the queen to allow herself to believe it. Finally, when she was so pregnant she could see the baby moving inside her, the desperate young woman flung herself on the mercy of Robert Dudley, going to his bedroom in the middle of the night to plead for Dudley’s intercession.

Leicester was justifiably appalled. What would the Queen think if she discovered a beautiful, pregnant young woman in his bedchamber? Come morning, he raced to the queen and told her everything.

Never secure on her throne, Elizabeth knew this child—born of unquestionably legitimate noble parents—could mean disaster for her. She was already menaced by Mary, Queen of Scots’ claim.

Elizabeth’s own sister, Queen Mary, had made a disastrous marriage to a foreigner, embroiling England in Spanish affairs despite her best efforts to prevent it. Religious persecution of those of the Reformed Religion had resulted in martyrs burned at the stake at Smithfield. English Protestants were determined this would never happen again.

Elizabeth was showing reluctance to marry at all. If she did marry a foreign prince, entangled loyalties might again burden England. When Lady Katherine Grey delivered a healthy son in the Tower of London, the danger was even greater. Here was a legitimate descendant of Henry VIII’s line, wed to a Protestant English nobleman, who had produced the rarest of commodities: a healthy Tudor prince of the blood who could be heir and secure the succession.

Elizabeth’s only recourse was to demand they produce the priest who married them and a witness to the ceremony. Edward Seymour could not find the priest and Jane Seymour was dead. The baby was labeled illegitimate, the marriage invalid.

Katherine and Edward were imprisoned near each other, but their plight excited much sympathy beyond the Tower walls and, more importantly within. Their jailer allowed husband and wife to visit each other in secret. Again, Katherine conceived, infuriating Elizabeth further by bearing a second healthy son.

Pamphlets spread across England defending the lovers and calling for their release. Elizabeth’s advisors told her she should follow Lady Katherine’s example and marry and bear children herself. The enraged Elizabeth separated the lovers for what would be the last time—sending their older son with his father while sending Lady Katherine and baby Thomas to the care of her uncle. The pair was forbidden to have any written contact with each other.

Elizabeth never relented. Lady Katherine did not see her husband or eldest son again. She died of consumption—and, some believe, a broken heart. She and Edward Seymour never stopped loving each other and Edward never stopped searching for the priest who could prove their marriage legal.

Fifty years after their wedding, Edward did find the priest. But by then, King James was in power and it was in his best interests not to legitimize Lady Katherine Grey’s sons.

In one of the strange twists of history, their grandson followed in the recklessly romantic footsteps of Charles Brandon and Mary Rose Tudor, Edward Seymour and Lady Katherine Grey. He married Arbella Stuart in secret and the pair attempted to flee to France to avoid the wrath of King James. Arbella was captured and imprisoned in the Tower.

One of the most poignant accounts of Katherine Grey describes her in the Tower, her chamber decorated with many of the old furnishings she would have remembered from her sister’s brief reign.

Her rooms were filled with little toy spaniels and a mischievous pet monkey as she lavished love on her little sons and hoped, prayed, believed and planned for the day she and her husband could be together, live a quiet, country life with their sons.

When Edward wed his beloved Katherine, he gave her a puzzle ring, its loops engraved with a poem he had written her:

As circles five by art compact show but one ring in sight, So trust uniteth faithful minds with knot of secret might,
Whose force to break (but greedy death no wight possesseth power),
As time and sequels well shall prove, my ring can say no more.

Their love did endure—a knot of secret might. Despite all their tribulations, Katherine’s last thoughts were of her husband. She wrote to Elizabeth, pleading for the queen to forgive and pardon Edward Seymour after Katherine died. Her last letter to her husband declared her love for him and her happiness that she could call herself his wife. She sent to Edward her puzzle ring, their youngest son and a mourning ring with a death’s head upon it. It was engraved with the words: While I lived, yours.

The Higher Education of Women in the Victorian Era

by Lynne Wilson

University education for women up until the Victorian era in Britain had been barely possible, however this was a topic of great discussion at the time, with divided opinion on the subject. It was from the mid-late nineteenth century that real progress began to be made, as a range of women’s issues were at the forefront at this time. However, there were still few who saw education as a way of changing women’s lives and giving them opportunities, with many supporters at the time believing a higher education was necessary simply to make women more effective wives, mothers and teachers.

An article in the Glasgow Herald newspaper highlights the problem: ‘The Higher Education of Women’ – ‘It may be questioned if the present age is destined to make its mark in history by anything more deeply than its earnest effort to raise the ideas of the sphere and duties of woman, and to elevate the character of her education in accordance with those new ideas…..Every day brings fresh evidence of the genuineness and growth of this demand for a higher culture than can be met by the traditional and conventional arrangements for female education’.

Sophia Jex-Blake c1860

As University education for British women had been fairly unheard of in this era,
the application of a prospective female medical student, Sophia Jex-Blake, in
1869 to attend lectures at the Edinburgh medical school, caused quite a storm of
controversy. The subject was greatly debated and encouragingly it seemed that there was a reasonable amount of support for this amongst the academic community of Edinburgh.

A report in the Edinburgh Evening Courant newspaper showed an example of some of that support: ‘Lady Doctors’ – ‘On Saturday night, Mr J A Bevan delivered a lecture at the Hanover Square Rooms on “Women Doctors.”…..Mr Bevan could not understand why women should not be allowed to practice as doctors. He pointed out which, in his mind, they were well fitted.’

The education of another budding female doctor, Elizabeth Garrett, was thrust into the spotlight at this time as an example of a success story resulting from female education. Elizabeth Garrett had tried some years prior to Sophia Jex-Blake to gain entry to the Edinburgh medical school, and had been refused. The Scotsman Newspaper reported on this story: ‘Miss Garrett, who seven years ago strenuously endeavoured to induce the Universities of St Andrews and Edinburgh to admit her to study for a degree of Doctor of Medicine, but in vain – who subsequently passed the examinations, and became a licentiate of the Apothecaries’ Company of London – and who has now for several years been in successful practice of her profession in the Metropolis, has, we learn, just been admitted by the Faculty of Medicine of Paris to examination for a degree of M.D….It is curious to have to notice Miss Garrett’s continued success in other quarters at the very time at which we have also to record that another lady applicant is now knocking at the gates of our Scottish Colleges……It may well be that public opinion has now so far advanced in this matter that Miss Jex-Blake’s application to the Medical Faculty of the University will not be refused at all.’

Edinburgh University c1827

Subsequently, many persons in both in the Medical Faculty and Senatus voted that
Miss Jex-Blake should be admitted to the summer classes at least as a tentative
measure. Unfortunately however, this did not come to fruition, due to an outcry
against the impropriety of ‘mixed classes’. The idea of women learning about male and female Anatomy whilst in a classroom filled with men was just too much for prim Victorians to bear.

In the meantime however, several other women, on hearing about Sophia Jex-Blake’s fight and the discussions taking place in Edinburgh, came forward as prospective students and as a result, a second petition was presented to the Senatus Academics. Finally, there was light at the end of the tunnel, albeit, with some conditions, as this article in The Scotsman newspaper showed: ‘On the recommendation of both the Medical Faculty and Senatus, our University court has given its sanction to the matriculation of ladies as medical students on the understanding that they pass the usual examinations, and that separate classes are formed for their instruction.’

However, despite the efforts of Sophia Jex-Blake and other supporters for women’s education, women, although being allowed to begin medical study in this year, were not permitted to graduate from Edinburgh University at the end of their study. The protesters against female medical education gathered near Surgeons Hall in November 1870, where the women were due to take an examination in Anatomy and heckled and threw rubbish at them. The incident became known as the ‘Surgeons Hall Riot’. Then in 1873, the Court of Session ruled that the University had the right to refuse the women degrees. Sophia Jex-Blake moved back to London and established the London School of Medicine for Women in 1874, and later returned to Edinburgh in 1878, setting up practice at Manor Place in the New Town. She also opened a clinic for poor patients, which is now Bruntsfield Hospital. The other members of the ‘Edinburgh Seven’ who had attempted education at Edinburgh, gained their qualifications elsewhere, with the exception of Isabel Thorne, who gave up on her plan to practice as a doctor. Edinburgh University eventually admitted women as undergraduates in 1892, after an Act of Parliament had been passed.


By Lynne Wilson, author of the historical non fiction ebooks 'A Year in
Victorian Edinburgh' and 'Crime & Punishment in Victorian Edinburgh'; and the paperback, 'Murder & Crime in Stirling'.

Read more about Lynne Wilson HERE.

Lynne is also the creator and editor of Scotland's History Uncovered.

GALLOPING TO INFAMY: The British Cavalry Who Fought Napoleon

by Jonathan Hopkins

‘It is occasioned entirely by the trick our officers of cavalry have acquired of galloping at everything...’

So wrote the Duke of Wellington to his second-in command, General Rowland Hill, after the combat at Maguilla in Spain during June 1812. In doing so, he set the tone for a scathing attitude toward British horsemen who fought in the Peninsular War which was to last for the next two hundred years.

And the cavalry’s many brilliant successes were all but forgotten.

Wellington was an infantryman through and through. Something of a martinet as far as obedience to his orders was concerned, he never trusted cavalry officers not to get carried away in the heat of the moment. Initiative was frowned on. To be fair, having commanded cavalry in India Wellington knew how effective they could be when properly organised and led, and how fragile when not. And in Iberia he rarely had a sufficient number for all his needs, certainly not when compared to his French counterparts.

The cavalry hadn’t started well. Many maintained the 20th Light Dragoons’ unsupported charge against fleeing French infantry at the battle of Vimeiro in 1808 was a disaster, pointing to the loss of their colonel and a 25% casualty rate (killed, wounded and captured).

They forgot that fewer than 240 men faced three times their number of French dragoons, and having been surrounded by enemy horse, conventional wisdom suggests they should all have been killed or captured. So to escape this fate and return to their lines having carried out their original orders - to drive a retreating enemy from the field - you might think the men of the 20th were due congratulations.

But no.

Part of the problem was that the army could not function without cavalry. They escorted supply columns. They scouted. They provided mounted sentries and piquets. They delivered messages. They were, in fact, the army’s early warning, intelligence and communication systems combined, as well as doing combat duty. And as such, any reduction of their number through casualties affected the capability of the whole force.

A disaster, then.

The next year, at Talavera, the 23rd Light Dragoons encountered a huge ditch, un-reconnoitred, across their charging approach to French infantry squares. Disordered and reduced in number by falls and refusals at the obstacle, once through the squares they were counter-attacked by enemy cavalry, suffering huge losses. Another disaster.

And the cavalry’s victories during Sir John Moore’s Spanish campaign of the previous winter were quickly forgotten in the race to apportion blame.

Except...the enemy brigades charged by the 23rd (together with the 1st Kings German Legion hussars) stood in square for the rest of the day, fearing more cavalry if they tried to move. This meant they couldn’t support the main French attack, which came close to breaching British lines but fizzled out for want of reinforcements.

So - not really a disaster.

Of course the cavalry’s reputation at home didn’t help them. Public disquiet at their use in peacetime as a rapid-reaction force to quell civil disturbances never endeared them to a largely lower-class infantry. The fact they were mounted, and as such enjoyed an apparent easy life compared to those forced to march, was anathema to the foot-slogging majority. And the recruiters’ mantra that ‘all the ladies love a dragoon’, widely believed, further fuelled inter-service jealousies.

Infantrymen conveniently forgot that while they had only to cook a meal and clean their muskets at the end of a march, every dragoon had that to do plus water and feed his mount and bed it down for the night. And almost as much again before he rode off in the morning.

The combat at Campo Mayor provided yet more proof of the cavalry’s seeming incompetence. British and Portuguese light dragoons routed French cavalry before capturing a column of artillery then lost all they had gained and took casualties because they strayed too far from their support troops.

But...hang on - why weren’t the reserve cavalry and artillery close behind? That’s what ‘support’ is supposed to mean. Surely this was a failure by Beresford, in overall command of the operation, and nothing to do with the cavalry themselves. Wasn’t it?

No - it was another cavalry disaster.

Widespread criticism following this action resulted in a protracted war of words between Beresford and Robert Ballard Long, the cavalry commander, continuing even after Long’s death and well beyond Napoleon’s final defeat at Waterloo.

Unfortunately, as another infantryman, Beresford was not truly familiar with the way cavalry operated. Not surprising, since the training even regimental cavalry officers’ received at home was often rudimentary due to government apathy and the difficulty finding large enough tracts of open country in which to practice manoeuvring extended bodies of horsemen. As a consequence, few men had much experience of controlling cavalry brigades. That officers’ favourite, the ‘charge at the gallop’, was commonly practiced by individual squadrons but rarely by whole regiments. And in any case, ground conditions on campaign often meant such charges were better carried out at a trot rather than any faster pace, so horses did not arrive in front of the enemy tired out. You still needed to get back to your own lines afterwards.

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Henry Paget proved himself a capable cavalry leader with Moore’s ill-fated expedition, and might have remained in overall command of the cavalry had he not eloped with Wellington’s sister-in-law. The only other suitably qualified candidate, John Gaspard Le Marchant, was belatedly sent to the Peninsula in 1811. Regrettably he was killed the following year leading a charge of heavy dragoons which destroyed three French infantry brigades at the battle of Salamanca.

Surprisingly, no-one criticised that feat as a disaster!

There are plenty of other examples where poor command decisions and officer inexperience led to unfortunate outcomes. At Maguilla, the subject of Wellington’s ire, the cavalry were desperately unlucky to be caught out by well-controlled French counter-attacks. But their commander, John Slade (who may be familiar to some readers for his actions during the retreat to Corunna) tried to blame the reverse on everyone but himself and it was that, as much as anything, which damned him. Of course Slade commanded Hill’s cavalry brigade, so plenty of mud stuck to the horsemen themselves.

Despite appearances to the contrary, horses are quite delicate animals. Those serving in the Peninsula had first to suffer a sea voyage, which might be short or protracted, through calm seas or storms, before being expected to quickly adapt to both a very different climate and food which varied wildly in type, quality and availability. Not surprisingly, disease and starvation killed many animals, as did the army itself: at Corunna, for example, when not enough transports arrived to take all surviving cavalry horses home.

So just as with the soldiery, in the Peninsula War far more horses died from causes other than as battlefield casualties.

To give just one example of attrition rates, the 14th Light Dragoons record that after disembarking with an original complement of 720, they lost 1,564 horses in the Peninsula between 1809 and 1814. Remounts, captured animals and transferees from other regiments made up the balance. (Ian Fletcher, Galloping at Everything, 1999)

Replacement troop horses were provided by the government. Better-trained animals were expensive and supplies dwindled as the war dragged on, with the result that many arrived having never experienced gunfire and panicked or otherwise misbehaved in action. Even officers, who were expected to supply their own horses, suffered in this respect. Colonel Taylor, killed in the 20th’s charge at Vimeiro, was riding a mare that repeatedly tossed its head and refused to settle, according to one observer.

No wonder some cavalrymen found difficulty in controlling their mounts one-handed (reins in the left, sabre in the right) amid the noise and confusion of battle. Of course, that was their fault, too.

Despite impressive performances on the Coa, at Fuentes d’Onoro, Albuera, Los Santos, Usagre, Villagarcia, Salamanca and Vittoria, the cavalry’s reputation for flagrant indiscipline on the field of battle refused to go away. It would be useful to have some insight from a private dragoon as to how all this negative comment affected his comrades on campaign. Sadly, few such diaries exist, probably because apart from the illiteracy rife in that period, the men were kept so busy they rarely had time to write. As expected given their greater numbers, far more
accounts from ‘in the ranks’ are by infantrymen.

Paradoxically, it’s not as if the foot-sloggers had no disasters of their own. Infantry brigades suffered massacres at Barossa and Albuera, and heavy losses at Talavera, Fuentes d’Onoro and Badajoz. They took part in failed sieges. They committed robbery, rape and murder during retreats, to Corunna and from Burgos.

Yet the largest dose of vitriol is always reserved for the cavalry, who were simply trying their best in difficult circumstances.

Do you think that’s fair? No - nor do I.

Jonathan Hopkins works as a saddle fitter and chairs a BHS affiliated riding club in his spare time. His novel Walls of Jericho is the first in a proposed series charting the adventures of two young dragoons with the British army in Portugal and Spain.

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Giveaway: The Forest Dwellers by Judith Arnopp

This week Judith Arnopp is giving away a copy of her novel "The Forest Dwellers". To read more information about the book please click HERE. Don't forget to leave your e-mail address!

Stand And Deliver ... Your Tolls? The Rise and Fall of the Turnpikes

by J.A. Beard

Of all the benefits of modern industrialized civilization, roads are perhaps one we take the most for granted. Perhaps quality roads and easy of transport seem not all that worthy of special attention. Many ancient civilizations, after all, had developed fine road networks. At the dawn of the Georgian age, however, the quality of many roads in England left much to be desired.

First, let's take a step back and consider many roads prior to the 18th century. During this period, the resources and funds for road maintenance were maintained mostly at the parish level. Paving of any form certainly was limited. This was adequate for making sure various local roads were decent, but the system didn't do much to maintain the quality of distant roads and the intermediate roads connecting various far-flung locales. The net result was a haphazard system of road improvements of varying quality. Wheeled travel was often unpleasant and dangerous. Rugged road conditions and holes could easily lead to accidents.

Inclement weather only made things worse and England is far from an arid country. It was somewhat difficult to drive a coach through a muddied mess. Riding a horse was more practical, but not necessarily comfortable or practical depending on one's circumstances.

Economic improvements, along with the accompanying transportation of heavier amounts of goods, also contributed to wear and tear on many a poor-quality road. Even if the Georgian-era traveler ignored the poor quality of the roads and the difficulties associated with weather, there also was the unpleasant issue of highwaymen. The increase in traffic and trade travel, particularly in the environs of London, hadn't been lost on the criminal element. The lack of an organized police force, let alone anything akin to a highway patrol, only contributed to the problem. A swift, mounted criminal could waive a pistol and demand that someone, “Stand and deliver!” often with impunity despite the threat of execution or transportation to Australia.

Things began to turn around for the often poor, sad, and unsafe roads of England at the beginning of the 18th century because of the Turnpike Acts. Following up on earlier parliamentary acts, in 1696, the first Turnpike Act was enacted, the first of many to follow.

So what were these Turnpike Acts, why did they have to pass so many, and what did they have to do with road quality and highwaymen? These acts established Turnpike Trusts. These trusts were granted the responsibility of taking care of a certain portion of a road, but also granted them several legal tools to do this, including two of particular importance: the right to collect tools and to control access on roads through the use of both gates and men.  The name itself comes from gates’ designs that involved pike-like constructions on crossbars that could be rotated, though not every tollgate necessarily had such a design, and now, of course, the turnpike has evolved into just a general term for toll road.

The trusts each could handle their various roads and road sections as they saw fit, so many would farm out the actual administration of the trusts to other enterprising people. These sort of trust subcontractors, as it were, could then do their best to efficiently run the trusts for a profit.

In the early years of the system, the various turnpike roads weren’t necessarily all that better maintained than before, but techniques advances lead to general quality improvements, particularly in the latter half of the 18^th century, which, in turn, fueled a massive expansion of the system, with a general slowing of expansion with the coming of the 19^th century. Although there were nearly one thousand trusts in place by the end of the Regency, and thus the tail end of the Georgian era, in 1820, it’s important to note that the majority of roads in England were still maintained by parishes and other local entities. That being said, many major important roads were under the control of turnpike trusts.

While the trusts, in general, contributed to road improvements that helped reduce transport times and the general quality and safety of travel, they also improved general security. Although there were some other contributory factors, the rise of the turnpike system, particularly on high traffic roads, greatly contributed to the decline of highwaymen. The presence of so many guarded gates made post-robbery escapes far more difficult.

Although, like so many things, the decline of the turnpike system was multi-factorial, the most fundamental contributory factor was the rise of a more efficient and swift means of mass transit: the railroads. By the end of the 19^th century, a stronger central government, municipalities, and county councils took down the gates and took over the responsibility of maintaining the roads. Only a smattering of smaller private roads, tolled bridges, tolled tunnels, and the newer M6 Toll remain as the descendants, direct and indirect, of the extensive system that once covered tens of thousands of kilometers.