In the last chapter of his autobiography, A Village Politician [date], John Buckmaster wrote of his experiences in the decades-long fight to save Wandsworth Common. It may be the only personal account of the fight to save an urban Common anywhere, and as such is of immense importance.
[PB: Needs a proper citation. This is another edition:
Buckmaster, J. C. (1897) A village politician, the life-story of John Buckley, (With an introduction by A. J. Mundella). London: T. F. Unwin.
[c.4200 words]
[NB - I have removed passages about JCB's fight with Battersea Vestry's crooked lawyer(s) - which may be a composite of Reynolds and Corsellis.]
CHAPTER XV
The story of two poor gravel diggers — A London suburban common in danger — Encroachments described — Begun agitation — Public interest excited — Subscribing money — Petitions — See lord of the manor — Mass-meeting — Police on scene — Fear riot, but I persuade crowd to disperse — One evening's scene — Young man arrested and imprisoned — Petition for release — Get him released — A procession to meet him at prison — Action for damages — Must get a copyholder — How I operated on Wrigsby — He signs plaint — Has the gout — Case comes on — Wrigsby makes a clean breast of everything — Judgment reserved — An armistice — An Act of Parliament saves common — I become parish warden — New troubles — The lawyer who threatened me and what became of him — Meet lord of manor in a friendly way.
I WAS sitting quietly one evening with my family after a hard day's teaching, which is the hardest of all work, when two gravel diggers from the common wished to see me.
[PB: Year?]
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They came to tell me that they were born in the parish and had been gravel diggers for years, and their fathers before them. They had no gardens or allotments; but had planted a few rows of potatoes on an exhausted part of the pit, and just as they appeared above ground a gentleman who called himself the lessee, and who had recently added six acres of the common to his own private grounds, came with two men and levelled their crop of potatoes, and told them if they did it again he should have them up. They had come to ask my advice.
My first impulse was to go with these men and break down his fence; I felt so angry that, had I been single, I was prepared to risk the consequences, but it was of no use sacrificing a wife and family in what I then believed to be the assertion of a right. If I had succeeded I should have been crowned with laurels; if I had failed, as I probably should, the public would have called me a fool, and would have allowed me to go to prison and my wife and family to the union. De Lolme [?] says for every wrong or grievance
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there is a constitutional remedy, but I could not see where the constitution came in to preserve the common. I saw, what everybody saw, that the common was fast melting away. Private owners adjoining the common were constantly making improvements by adding portions of the common to their own property. The railways had enclosed acres not required or provided for in these acts, and in time this surplus was divided among their head officials. Six acres were enclosed for a telescope which was never put up, speculating builders turned a greedy eye on what remained, and here and there, like the scouts of an army, things called villas sprang up like mushrooms. The tallest and ugliest production of compo. and rotten bricks at the corner of each street were intended for public-houses. The common was threatened on every side, and the increasing army of landgrabbers and jerry-builders would soon have joined hands on the last square foot of turf, and one of the most lovely commons within a few miles of Charing Cross would have become a wilderness of bricks and chimney-pots.
[PB: "Six acres were enclosed for a telescope which was never put up."!]
[PB: "compo." = mortar: "Lime-cement mortar, which is also known as composition or "compo" mortar".]
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We were told there was no remedy. The gravelpits were filled up with garbage and rubbish for the foundations of eligible villas and ground-rents. All these enclosures were no doubt made with the formal sanction of the lord of the manor on the representation of his agents, and as the common was for the most part surrounded by poor inhabitants there was no money for litigation, the only cheap comfort was to grumble. The adjacent common was, on the other hand, surrounded by rich merchants and bankers with large houses and grounds, and any attempt on the common even for railways was threatened with a powerful resistance.
I was unable to help these poor potato men, but it occurred to me that a letter to the newspapers might attract attention. I wrote three letters to the daily papers. Only one, the Standard, inserted the letter, but this was sufficient; other letters followed, and there was evidently a strong growing public sentiment against the further enclosure of commons near London. A public meeting was held in each of the parishes adjoining the common, and resolutions were
[PB: "The adjacent common" i.e. Clapham Common.]
[PB: The Standard, founded 1827, was a prominent C19 newspaper. Its late edition became the Evening Standard in 1859.]
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passed, but still the enclosures went on.
Some suggested an injunction to prevent building, but we were advised that no one but a copyholder could bring the action and claim the relief, and the few copyholders left were under obligation or at the mercy of the agents of the lord of
\nthe manor. These copyholders were asked to become plaintiffs, but with one consent [?] they all began to make excuses: the public had no common rights.
During the summer we held large open-air meetings and collected money for the coming fight. We went to neighbouring parishes in a waggon drawn by a pair of horses and held open-air meetings.
Public interest and enthusiasm were created which extended to other parts of the metropolis. The agitation, which began with the labouring and some of the middle classes, gradually extended to others of greater wealth and influence, until at last we had a powerful and wealthy committee. A gentleman in the neighbourhood whom I had opposed at elections became a close friend on this question, and he offered to put five hundred or a thousand pounds in the
[PB: This "gentleman" was Henry Peek, Conservative MP for the area. I have accumulated notes on Peek's career as an MP. Sexby, Open Spaces of London, mentions him (p236): "After much correspondence and local agitation, the Wandsworth Common Act, 1871, was obtained, mainly through the exertions of Sir Henry W. Peek, Bart., the Parliamentary representative of the division at that time, who was well supported by an influential committee." A striking contemporary poster refers to Peek's offer to donate £1000 to fund a legal challenge to Spencer if another £4000 can be found.
Wikipedia: Henry Peek
Hansard: a href="https://api.parliament.uk/historic-hansard/people/sir-henry-peek/index.html" target="_blank">Sir Henry Peek
]Hansard Search: "Wandsworth Common"
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bank, if we could raise a corresponding sum, and become plaintiff. We raised a large fund, and then discovered he had no standing as plaintiff. As soon as we had money the lawyers came to us with advice. We petitioned the House of Commons, we sent deputations to the District Board, we memorialised [sic?] the Metropolitan Board until at last they insulted us and refused to see us.
After some difficulty we obtained an interview with the lord of the manor, and after discussing the matter in the presence of his agents and lawyers he asked, "Do you question my right to dispose of the common?" All the other members of the deputation were dumb. I waited to hear what they would say, but as no one spoke I replied, "I am sorry to say, my lord, that we do question your right." He turned on his heel, his lawyers followed, and we were shown the door by his footman.
No sooner were we outside than the other members of the deputation turned on me and said I had greatly offended his lordship and destroyed all hopes of a settlement, and yet the question of right was the great question
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at all our meetings.
I began to grow sick and weary of deputations, and I loathed the Metropolitan Board, because they led us to expect an Act of Parliament. I wrote a respectful letter to the lord of the manor, pointing out the importance of what was left of the common for health and recreation, and reminded him that these privileges had been enjoyed undisputed, in the language of lawyers, from the time "whereof the memory of man faileth not." This brought back a rough letter about agitation and rights of property.
I sent my letter with his lordship's reply to the Times, which brought a very angry letter back saying the letter was not intended for publication; to which I replied that it was not marked private, and I felt the subject was of too much public importance to be dealt with privately. I had reason to believe that his lordship had been kept in ignorance of the facts by his agents and lawyers, who had represented me as a demagogue and attributing to me language which I should never dream of using; but give a lie a few hours' start and it is impossible to overtake it.
[PB: Times articles? Dates? Has this ever been found?]
[PB: "whereof the memory of man faileth not." i.e. time immemorial. Is this a paraphrase of "time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary"? Source? As in Prescription Act 1832: "Whereas the expression "time immemorial, or time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary," is now by the Law of England in many cases considered to include and denote the whole period of time from the Reign of King Richard the First, whereby the title to matters that have been long enjoyed is sometimes defeated by shewing the commencement of such enjoyment, which is in many cases productive of inconvenience and injustice"
[https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Will4/2-3/71/introduction?view=plain]
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After the interview with the lord of the manor it was decided to hold a mass-meeting on the common. It had been hinted in some of the papers that the only way of bringing the matter to an issue was to destroy the fences and knock down the houses. The impression had got abroad that something of this kind was intended at the meeting, which was to be held in the last enclosure. The Commissioner of Police sent about a hundred policemen, who were hidden behind trees and furze bushes. The waggon was placed in position near the last enclosure. We had an informal meeting of a few of the committee, and when we saw the men assembling in large numbers armed with pickaxes, sledge-hammers, crowbars, and saws, some of the committee thought it would be better not to hold any meeting, and they left. I was in the waggon with only two others out of twenty. The inspector of police was riding backwards and forwards like a general on a field-day. He rode up to the waggon and said he had been instructed by the Commissioner of Police to deliver to some one a letter. I read the letter, which was to
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the effect that I should be held responsible for any unnecessary destruction of property, but the removal of one or two rails, to raise the question of right, would not be resisted.
I knew the removal of one or two rails in the presence of some hundreds of armed and excited men, who were calling out "Give us the order to begin !" could only end in disaster and riot. I saw the peril of the situation, and made a speech in which I pointed out that this wholesale and retail robbery of the common had been made by rich men who had acres of their own. I mentioned the potato incident, and that the right of landowners to land which had not yet been disputed would be disputed if they laid claim to the commons. Property in land was subject to the will of the State expressed through the people. I have always fought what I believed to be the battle of the poor and the oppressed, and I begged and entreated of them to go home quietly and avoid the public-house. Any conflict with the police would ruin our cause and destroy all hope of success. They all retired peaceably, and when everything
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was quiet the police went home without any engagement.
I had acquired considerable influence over the men by my deep sympathy with their loss of the common. The lot of a poor labourer is often a very hard lot, but public opinion was growing in our favour. The newspapers began to report meetings and write favourable articles. We approached the Lord Mayor, held a meeting at the Mansion House, and collected nearly two hundred pounds. The late Mr. Fawcett, Sir Charles Dilke, and others gave us valuable help. The agitation had now reached a higher level; but we were still helpless and no nearer our object, and now and then fresh enclosures were made.
We published a large map of the common as it was in 1820 and as it was in 1865, showing the enclosures, with the names of the men who made them and, as far as we knew, what they paid for them. Land not worth half a crown an acre for agricultural purposes was now worth a thousand pounds an acre for building, and this increased value was entirely due not to the lord of the manor, but to the growth of population.
[PB: Do these large maps, for 1821 and 1865, still exist? Battersea Library? [I now have a printed map from c.1880 that appears to draw on this early map. Areas are tinted and annotated.]]
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A footpath which ran diagonally across a piece of the common was stopped at both ends, and the land added to the gardens of adjoining owners. This enclosure deprived the public of a convenient footpath, and stopping it created much ill-feeling and indignation. The enclosure was protected at both ends with a high closed fence of a most formidable character, lined inside and out with sheet-iron. The one boundary was the railway, and the other the gardens of the common-stealers. Men would assemble in small detachments in the evening and look at the fence. The police were on the lookout. They expected a siege some evening, and they were not disappointed.
[Where was this "convenient footpath" that had been stopped? [I think it was up near Clapham Junction — Plough Green? — but could be wrong.] Another possibility is the path that now crosses from the end of Nicosia to the railway footbridge? Did this footbridge have to be fought for? I'm sure I remember something to that effect from something I read years ago, but could be wrong. [I have since discovered that Magdalen College applied to get a path between Magdalen Road and the Common blocked. (See Wellcome: "Report of the Medical Officer of Health for Wandsworth District 1892_ALL.pdf") Was it this one?]
One evening about a dozen men came out of a near public-house and with heavy hammers and stones attacked the fence at both ends, broke it down, trampled down the fruit-trees, and went out at the other end amid the deafening cheers of a large crowd which had by this time come together. One stupid young fellow, who had recently come up from the country to work in the gardens,
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took up a large stone and deliberately knocked down some palings. His companions saw the police and called him away, but he was deaf, and the police took him into custody, and he was locked up.
I happened, fortunately for myself, to be away, but, unfortunately for the young man, the whole affair was so sudden and unexpected that no arrangements were made to defend him.
[PB: Was his name Parsons? No, it was Sullings]
The next morning he was brought before the magistrate, confessed his guilt, and expressed his sorrow. He was sentenced to a fortnight's imprisonment. The common-stealers pleaded damage and pressed for a heavy punishment as an example. If instead of pleading guilty he had pleaded a right, the magistrate must have dismissed the case.
[PB: Presumably pay a fine or face 14 days imprisonment. Why was the fin e not paid?]
On my return I called on his employer, who expressed his willingness to give the man work when he came out of prison. I at once prepared a memorial to the Home Secretary for his liberation. I first went to the parson of our district and asked him to sign it. Now this man, who had often expressed to me his full sympathy with our
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efforts, began to make all sorts of excuses.
The common-stealers formed part of his congregation. They were wealthy and subscribed liberally to his church, and unless they first signed it he could not without giving offence. This was the representative of the Church of the poor man, which ought to have protected him against the greed and avarice of the rich. I should never have gone to him but for his frequent private expressions of approval and encouragement.
I placed a table in front of a shop where hundreds of persons passed daily to the railway, and in the course of two days obtained nearly a thousand signatures. I took the memorial at once to the House of Commons and sent for Mr. Fawcett, who was out. I then sent for Sir Charles Dilke, who suggested I should leave it at the Home Office. I knew what would become of it if it found its way to the Home Office. It would probably be referred to every person, from the messenger to the Assistant Secretary, who would refer it from one to the other, whose business would be to initial it, write on, "Seen — refer to Brown — look up precedents,"
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"Refer to Asst. Sec. for instructions," "Refer to committing magistrate"; and before all was finished the young man would have done his time. I pressed Sir Charles Dilke to take it direct to the Home Secretary, who was in the House, and explain the circumstances of the case and its urgency. I called next day at the Office and found that the matter had been referred to the committing magistrate, who offered no objection to the prisoner's release, and I expected in a day or two the governor of the prison would receive an order accordingly. But no order came. I called again at the Home Office, and was informed that the papers had been forwarded to Balmoral. I waited two or three days, when I was informed there had been some mistake, and the papers would be returned to Balmoral at once. After the young man had served his term of imprisonment all but two days, the governor received an order for his release.
A few days after his imprisonment his poor mother came up from Suffolk in great sorrow and went direct to the police-station, where she was informed by somebody, which every
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body denied, that I was the cause of her son's imprisonment. I was deeply grieved when she came to my house, and her sorrow was the sorrow of a mother. I gave her some tea, made her comfortable, and lodged her for the night. I sent for the treasurer of the Common Fund, and we sent her home with the assurance that her son would not suffer or lose his character. She was much hurt when she applied at the prison to see her son. The door was slammed in her face, and she was rudely told to be off about her business. A person in distress is more sensible of kindness than those who have never tasted the waters of deep sorrow through the errors of their children.
When his companions heard of his release they procured a van and decorated it with ribbons, laurels, evergreens, and flowers. An armchair was placed in the centre for the prisoner. A band of music arrived at the prison gates, and the prisoner was received with hearty expressions of sympathy and goodwill. The band, with van and procession, moved slowly to the scene of the
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late battle, for which the young man had suffered ten days' imprisonment. The procession stopped as long as the police permitted it in front of the houses of the common-stealers and played, almost to the bursting of their instruments, "See the conquering hero comes," with occasional yells of "Who stole the common?" The procession moved through the parish to the schoolroom, where I presented the prisoner with a new suit of clothes and five pounds, provided by the committee. I persuaded the audience to go quietly home. I sent two men with the prisoner to his lodgings. Some of the men had been drinking and were getting noisy and troublesome, and when they are in that state you may as well try to persuade a milestone to go home. I did all I could, and as the young man was safe I left the others, and the next morning two or three of them were fined five shillings each.
Our first battle began and ended in a police court. But there was a still more formidable battle preparing. Writs were served on two or three persons for damage and trespass in
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asserting their right to the footpath. Evidence of user [CHECK TEXT], as shown by old maps and deaf old men and women over eighty years of age, had to be collected.
After some weeks we arrived at the assizes before the Lord Chief Justice. We had great difficulty in keeping, day after day, thirty-three witnesses together; they would wander all over the town, and the old men would be sitting on doorsteps smoking with a strip of blue ribbon in their hats. When our case came on there was a good deal of preliminary sparring between counsel. At last they got into the ring. When the defence came the judge seemed restless; he constantly interrupted our counsel, who was the son of a judge, and shortly after himself became a judge. I was sitting near him (the counsel), and I could see the blood rising in his neck like mercury in a thermometer, until at last it came to boiling heat. He pulled himself together and said, "There must be something in my manner exceedingly offensive to your lordship of which I am not conscious, or I should not be interrupted in this way." "Oh dear no! pray go on."
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And the case, which threatened at the beginning of the defence to be finished in ten minutes, went on for a day and a half, and ended with a verdict for the plaintiffs. The judge told the jury there was no footpath across a common. We appealed and lost. We had a meeting for mutual condolence.
We were advised unless we could secure a copyholder, of which there were not more than six left, or an Act of Parliament, the common must go. I managed to obtain a list of copyholders, and there was only one at all likely to become a plaintiff. He was a poor, ignorant old man, either a bachelor or a widower, living in a dirty, tumble-down, pantiled old copyhold, and obtained a miserable living by selling potatoes, brickdust, and treacle. I had often seen him, but had never spoken to him. I mentioned these qualifications to the lawyer, who said, "He is the very man!" I made some private inquiries, and found he had a weakness for gin and water. I passed his shop almost every morning about the time he was watering his greens and sorting his potatoes. The next
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time I said, "Good morning, Mr. Wrigsby." He returned the compliment. I praised his potatoes and at once ordered half a bushel. I allowed a few mornings to pass by, simply wishing him good morning. I said, "If you will call on me in the evening and bring up another half-bushel of potatoes I will pay you." He came up. I sent my wife into another room and asked Mr. Wrigsby to have a pipe. He sat down. I ordered some hot gin and water. We talked about the rates and taxes, and we agreed that the parish was going to the bad. I asked, "Who is your landlord?" He replied, "Nobody; it's copyhold. One gentleman endeavoured to purchase a copyhold, but he would not have been admitted by the Court Leet."
[PB: Using Ancestry, I have not been able to find a "Wrigsby" living in Wandsworth at this time. This is not surprising. Presumably JCB has disguised his name. Yes, it was Digby — see Shirley Passmore.]
I said, "You are a copyholder?"
He replied: "Yes, but I never go to the Court. My father was a copyholder, and he kept two cows and a pony on the common, but I have no cows, and I am my own pony, and think it would be a good thing if the common was built over; it would bring a little more business into the parish."
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"Have a little more gin and water, Mr. Wrigsby. I think as you don't get any benefit from the common the least they could have done would have been to give you compensation, or a piece of the common. You are a poor, hard-working man, and I think they have behaved very badly to you. All the rich people round the common have been helping themselves pretty freely, and I daresay you know I have been doing what I can to stop any further stealing."
"Everybody in the parish knows what you have done, but you don't seem to have prevented it. I hear that fellow Dobs, who owes me a bill I can't get, is taking in a bit near the lane."
"Mr. Wrigsby, Dobs is a land-stealer, and you are the only man in the parish that can stop his stealing."
"How can I stop it? I have no money to go to law."
"Mr. Wrigsby, you would be the greatest benefactor this parish ever had if you would only enter your protest against this robbery of your rights. I will guarantee that you shall
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not be sixpence the poorer, and if we win you may be richer."
"Do you want me to go before the magistrate and complain? "
"No. I want you to sign a paper that you object to these enclosures."
"Well, as it's to oblige you, I don't mind, if you will promise to stand by me, but I can't afford any expense, and I depends on you. If the common was built over it might not do me much good. I daresay they would build shops as sells the same as I do."
"When shall we meet to sign this paper? Will you come to my house, or shall I come to yours?"
"Just as you like."
"Then, if you don't mind, perhaps you will come to me next Thursday evening at halfpast six. You need not mention to any one our conversation, because it only concerns the copyholders, and you are almost the only one left. Will you have a little more refreshment before you go home?"
"No, thank you."
As soon as I saw Mr. Wrigsby's back I ran
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off to the lawyer and reported our interview. He was highly delighted. He said, "At seven my clerk shall be there with the plaint; it has been prepared a long time. You and my clerk must witness the signature."
On Thursday Mr. Wrigsby was in good time. I had ready the long clay and tobacco and gin and water. We talked about parish — matters, and just as the first glass was finished I heard a knock at the door. I said, "I daresay this is the man with the paper." It was important that Wrigsby should have his wits about him. The clerk began reading the plaint, and I kept Mr. Wrigsby occupied in conversation while the rights of estuary and turbary were gone over. Mr. Wrigsby paid little attention to it. He made no remarks, except asking if all that writing was about the common. It was rather a long business, but at last we came to the end, "whereof the memory of man faileth not," and Mr. Wrigsby signed it in the presence of two witnesses. I shall never forget the expression of joy on the clerk's countenance as he watched Mr. Wrigsby put on his spectacles and sign his
[PB: "the rights of estuary and turbary". Turbary is the ancient right to cut turf, or peat, for fuel on a particular area of bog. Is "estuary" the same as "estover" — the right to collect and cut firewood?]
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name. He took a little piece of blotting out of his pocket and placed it carefully over the signatures, put the plaint in his black bag, said ' Good-night, Mr. Wrigsby," and was out of the house in an instant.
Mr. Wrigsby wondered he should be in such a hurry. He thought he had come to talk about the common. Poor Mr. Wrigsby little thought that he had commenced proceedings against the lord of the manor, the Brighton and South Coast Railway Company, the West London Extension, the South-Western, and six others. It may be said that I ought not to have taken advantage of Mr. Wrigsby's weakness, but it was our last extremity, and Aristotle would have defended it. Whatever came of it, Mr. Wrigsby could not suffer; he had nothing to suffer with. The lawyer asked me to accompany him to a Q.C. in Lincoln's Inn, who was the best authority on real property. A few minutes after ten he came into his chambers, and the lawyer laid on his table the plaint. After some general remarks about commons he turned over page after page, then turned it back again, then looked at the signatures,
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and appeared to me not very sanguine about the matter. Anyhow, we were now going to law, and there was some satisfaction in knowing it. I ventured in the most respectful way to say, "I think, sir, I ought to tell you that the plaintiff in this case is a very illiterate man." "I should think he is a damned idiot, or he would never be a plaintiff in a case of this kind. There is no law on the subject — the law has to be made. I will attend to it, but God only knows where it will end." We left, and for a few weeks everything was quiet. I occasionally called on Mr. Wrigsby, whom the lawyer had never seen, and what astonished me was that he had told this eminent Q.C. that he didn't want to see him. As soon as the other side knew Wrigsby was plaintiff, off they went to him, and told him that he would be sent to prison for signing an affidavit. He came to me in great trouble, and told me the enemy had been to him. I gave him a pipe and something to drink, and as we parted he said pathetically, "You will stand by me, won't you?" I replied, "To the very last." I frequently called on him
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with words of comfort and encouragement. At last he was cited to appear on his affidavit before the court, and immediately after he had an attack of gout, which I hoped would continue long enough for the case to stand over. I called on his doctor, and said, "I have seen Wrigsby. I don't think he is well enough to appear." He replied, "Don't you want him to appear? I can give you a certificate for the usual fee," which I paid, and Wrigsby did not appear. The Long Vacation was coming on, and Wrigsby still had the gout. The defendants were very anxious to force on the case, but were rather late. I hoped, and the committee hoped, something would happen. We continued at convenient intervals our meetings, and public feeling and most of the newspapers were with us, but they could not stop the lawsuit or say much about it. One paper praised the public spirit and intelligence of the plaintiff.
As soon as the courts opened Wrigsby had to appear. The doctor's certificate had lost its virtue. I saw him, and explained to him that, no matter what they asked, he was to
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say that he was a copyholder, and meant to protect his rights. He repeated this over tome. I begged of him not to say anything more. I said, "If they ask you your age say you are a copyholder." I called with a cab for the great plaintiff, but I had my fears. I felt as if we were going to an execution, but Wrigsby knew he was going into society, and dressed accordingiy. He had on a pair of primrose-coloured breeches and gaiters, which hung on his body in graceful fulness; a yellow plush waistcoat, with large glass buttons, which gleamed like cat's eyes; a blue coat, far too small, with a few brass buttons; and a large white choker twisted round his neck like a tablecloth. The appearance of the plaintiff in court was a sensation. Six defendants were each separately represented by counsel, supported by a strong detachment of lawyers. Where the carcase is there will the eagles be gathered together. As Mr. Wrigsby stood up the Vice-Chancellor looked at him, as well he might, for he was a natural curiosity. Counsel for the Railway Company began by a few loving remarks about Mr. Wrigsby's health,
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and in less than twenty minutes Wrigsby told the whole story of his signing the affidavit — what I had told him to say, that I would stick to him to the last, that he should not be sixpence the poorer for the lawsuit, perhaps better, that the common was no good to him and never had been, and it was to oblige me that he signed the paper. He didn't know exactly what it was about, but I told him it was all right. If an earthquake had swallowed up me and the others I should not have objected.
After all my work this was a terrible blow. The lawyer leaned over to me and said, "It is all up." The counsel and lawyers for the defendants sniggered at each other, waiting for the magic words, "Judgment for defen The thieves who had stolen the common laughed outright, and as I came out of court jeered at me. The Vice-Chancellor, a pious, good old man — may he rest in peace ! — said, "I shall reserve judgment." Then the counsel and lawyers stared at each other and leisurely packed up a cartload of papers and books and left. I never spoke to Wrigsby again, and I felt
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counsel's opinion of him at our first joyful interview was correct. What was to be done? Another mass-meeting where we could pour out our sorrows and find comfort in the frantic hurrahs of the demos, who wanted to go at the fences! In a few days we heard rumours of an armistice. I never knew for certain; but I believe the good Vice-Chancellor had an interview with the lord of the manor, who consented to a friendly Act of Parliament by which all that was left of the common — about one hundred and fifty acres — should remain open and unenclosed for ever on payment of two hundred pounds a-year, or twenty years' purchase, secured on the rates of the parishes adjoining the common, which was about a farthing in the pound. The parishes cheerfully assented, and after five years the fighting ended.
The Metropolitan Board of Works employed counsel to oppose the Bill, and we were put to great expense by the opposition. We had to find the money for this struggle as best we could. But the Board of Works spent the ratepayers' money in resisting the Bill. A
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more unprincipled and unjustifiable act could only be explained by the rottenness and corruption of the body that promoted the opposition. Happily they failed.
During the whole of this agitation I was busily engaged in teaching. My domestic life was not improved by the constant service of writs at the instigation of common-stealers and speculating builders. At one time I had seven writs in the house, which were handed over to the solicitor for the committee. It was thought by some that I should have more weight if I had some official position in the parish, and I was elected parish-warden.
[When exactly did JCB become parish-warden?]
I then had a little unpleasant business with persons who claimed a right to freehold pews in the parish church. On the appointment of a new vicar these, with other abuses, were swept away. The living, returned at £400 a year, was in the gift of the lord of the manor; but as the Crown made former vicars into bishops, the patron had not for upwards of a century been able to exercise his patronage. He was most anxious to appoint a good man — broad, generous, and charitable, and a strong temperance reformer. As churchwarden I was present at his induction by Bishop Wilberforce, and my colleague said to me, "This is the
[This was "Soapy Sam" Wilberforce, son of the more famous father. Ridiculed by Thomas Henry Huxley for his facetiousness about Charles Darwin at the "Oxford Debates".]
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beginning of a new church history in the parish."
A few Sundays after I was standing under the portico of the church looking on the Thames, when a cab drove up with the lord of the manor. He asked, "Is the vicar here?" I replied, "No, my lord, he is preaching this morning at the little iron church on the common." He inquired the way, and how far it was. "I shall be pleased to accompany your lordship." We talked about his appointment of the vicar, which had so far given great satisfaction.
I took the opportunity of saying, "During the unpleasantness about the common I was not actuated by any ill-feeling towards your lordship, and if I said anything which in calmer moments I should not have said, I hope your lordship will accept my humble apology. I believe your agent often misrepresented me to your lordship."
He replied, "I can quite understand your action in the matter, it is now all over. I am satisfied, and I hope the parishes concerned are satisfied. The best thing for all of us is to forget the past. Here we are."
His lordship looked round on cinder heaps and
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coal-heaps, and inquired, "Is this the common there has been so much trouble about?" "A part of it, my lord." He shook hands, entered the little iron church, and I returned to the parish church in time to hold the plate.
[PB: The "lord of the manor" was 5th Earl, John Poyntz Spencer. The new vicar was forename? Erskine Clarke, who took over from the deeply reactionary ? [find and add from my notes]. The church with the portico must have been St Mary's at Battersea. The cinder and coal heaps were probably those behind "New Wandsworth Station", rather than behind today's Wandsworth Common station (opened 1869?).
But the "iron church"? At first I thought this was St Mary Magdalene or St Michael's, but Sue Demont has persuasively argued that it was St Mark's. [FIND AND ADD HER EMAILS.] SMM was first an iron church (brought from Leigham Court Rd in Streatham) before it was built in brick, 1887-88. Also St Michael's on Bolingbroke Grove — was it iron at this time? (constructed 1872?). It was built in brick in 1881. ]
- https://londonchurchbuildings.com/2016/12/21/st-mary-magdalene-trinity-road-wandsworth-common/
- https://londonchurchbuildings.com/2017/01/29/st-michael-cobham-close-battersea/
- See references to St Michael's in Survey of London draft — mentioned chapter 50.18, with reference to more detailed coverage in vol. 49 ("49.3._churches_chapter.pdf").