Wandsworth Common

THREE YEARS FOR JAIL BREAKER HIS FOUR BURGLARIES AFTER ESCAPE LONDON SESSIONS: Sir B. Wallacr Sentence of three years' penal servitude was passed on George Herbert Harding, aged 26, a painter, for four cases of burglary committed since his recent escape from Wandsworth prison. Detective-sergeant Chestney said that Harding, the age of 12, in the name of George Henry Hogsflesh, was sent to a reforma- tory for five years f for stealing At Portsmouth, in 1924, he was > W , sent to a Borstal institution for _ -f*A three years for J housebreaking. — , In 1929 he was | sentenced to 18 ; months at East > Sussex Sessions l for housebreak- F? ing. Twenty-four cases were then taken into con- Mllitfl sideration. From Brighton flat .. he stole jewellery worth 1.350. His last sentence was in August, 1930, when he was sent to prison for 12 months for burglary. On December 9, while serving this last sentence.

Harding escaped from Wandsworth while working outside with an " honour " party. Almost every night there was a case of housebreaking in the neighbourhood of Wandsworth Common. A watch was kept, and Harding was arrested with screwdrivers, rubber gloves, and leather gloves in his possession.

Mr. Doncaster, who was a bachelor, was a son of the late Mr. Daniel Doncaster, steel manufacturer, of Sheffield, being the youngest of a family of ten, only three of whom Mr. Samuel Doncaster and two sistersare now living. He the misfortune to be born totally deaf, and after receiving his education at home he went into business as a naturalist in London. After a short time lie became sole proprietor of his firm, Messrs. Watkins and Doncaster, 36, Strand. managed the business until a few years ago. He imported thousands of specimens every year, among which were hundreds new species, including butterflies, which he had to get named the South Kensington Museum. Particularly fond of walking, for 16 years before the war he spent his annual holidays climbing the highest of the Swiss mountains. When resident in Sheffield Mr. Doncaster was Keenly interested in the welfare of the local deaf and dumb. He was the means of establishing convalescent home for deaf and dumb people in the South of England. Sheffield.

[See also: Guardian archive; Watkins & Doncaster history.]

In a Wandsworth Common garden I have just heard tales of distant adventurous days in the Police Force — days before a policeman's efficiency was tested by his motor-cycling prowess and his ability to recognise a " salute-making" superior officer amid a turbulent sea of traffic. It was at the home in Trefoil-road, Wandsworth Common, of ex-Sub-Insp. David Eatherley, who nearly 50 years ago retired from the Metropolitan Police Force, on account of ill-health. I expected to find him in bed or in a bath-chair, but instead I found him in the garden, digging strenuously. For a man of 83, who, in the prime of life, had had his career marred by poor health, he applied astounding energy to this tiring task. But he was not quite so easy to interview as I had expected. These were our opening remarks:

" Can you read without glasses? "

" No." — "

Can you hear a pin drop without using an ear-trumpet? '"

" No. I can hardly hear you without an ear-trumpet."

"To what do you attribute your' good health? "

" I haven't good health."

" Then how can you dig so heartily in a cold garden? "

" Perseverance, young man. Ioften feel more like lying in bed all day, but Itry to forget my ailments by working. Yes, I was sorry to leave the Police Force. but I don't think I should care to go back now, even if Iwere young and in better health. " I don't know, though . . . . The Police Force of today is a far better career than it was in my time. We had longer hours, practically no pay to speak of, and more trying restrictions. No, I was never suspended for failing to salute a superior officer."

When I asked him what he thought of that action, Mr. Eatherley replied with a non-committal " Ha, ha! Whatever strength he may lack, Mr. Eatherley looks and sounds like one of those strong, silent policemen who carry undisclosed memories of perilous experiences.

" I was made a sub-inspector after nine years as a sergeant, and served at Southgate. Paddington and Kilburn," he said. " That's all I did. " No, nothing exciting happened to me. Ijust did my work as well and as long as I could. No, no stirring adventures " Well, I was near the old Clerkenwell Prison when it was partly blown up by a barrel of gunpowder in 1867. Several men were killed, but I was too far away even to be injured.

UNEMPLOYED RIOT.

" Oh, and I was one of the 500 men who had to deal with the fierce riot organised by the unemployed at Trafalgar-square in 1886." He then resumed his digging, with tightly pursed lips. " What do you think of the new ' speed cops '? " I asked.

"Ha, ha! " he replied.

The slaughterer is a singularly ferocious swan, who has it into his head that the Pond . so hink alaibe spouse, and .ot_ hee, SMAlnnesd creatures who assents trespassers asking for According to Moe et ve wftals, the as grips the darlings by the neck holds er water till they are drowned. The idea of drowning a dock would not occur to average human being, but swans seem to have an uncanny Instinct. Public opinion in the neighbourhood favours the ducks. Men, armed with sticks, endeavour to protect them from the murderous malice of the swan, and old ladies call out from bedroom windows. In spite of these heroic measures, the fate of the ducklings will be sealed unless the County Council comes to the rescue.

[FISHING / ANGLING / LAKE / POND]

There are rules and regulations which govern the practice of angling. At times we ask ourselves why these laws of the ponds and rivers are enforced by . the London County Council. Fishing — if it can be so termed — of the most lawless type is openly and continuously carried on in the ponds that are supposedly under the Connell's jurisdiction.

At Wandsworth Common, for example, there are obviously no restrictions as to methods, bait, or season. The pond is hooked and netted — w hope these terms are correct — every day of the week by crowds of shildres. True sportsmen and aportsormasa d they catch a fish below a reasonable awe and weightthey carry a IlFmeasure and a scale to determine se matters — return it to the water. But the youthful anglers at Wandsworth Common scoop up everything they can get, irrespective of age or anything The wonder is that a single finny creature is left in the pond. Nothing of edible size has ever been taken out of it to our knowledge and nothing ever will unless the County Council give the fish a chance to grow up.

The green, itself so smooth, so trim and perfect, is in itself a delight to look upon.

Its chief charm lies in its surroundings. A broad garden of flowers bounds it on every side, and beyond, looking to the west, is apparently the open country, with the towers and battlements of Wandsworth Gaol set therein like a medieval castle.

The flower beds are gorgeous just now and the lavender diffuses a delightful perfume.

We wish the bowling green at Wandsworth Common were less beautiful and attractive. People would not then flock thereto in troops and multitudes. Formerly, in its solitude, it was like a lodge in a garden of cucumbers. Now on a fine Sunday afternoon it is as populous as a city; gone is the charm of solitude it once possessed.

Even aliens resort thereto, Chinamen to wit, who presumably pay no rates and are not on the voting list. A band of them foregathered at the bowling green one evening last week, and with derisive smiles on their faces watched a game of bowls. No doubt it appeared ridiculous to them that even foreign devils, if grown up, should try to amuse themselves by trundling balls over a level stretch of grass.

Given a set of bowls the average Chinaman would set himself down and juggle with them, using not his hands but his feet. The game of bowls, as practised at Wandsworth Common and elsewhere, would no more appeal to him than solo whist appeals to the man who can break the Bank at Monte Carlo.

We like the Wandsworth Common bowling green best in wet weather or on one of the cold and frosty mornings that we haw experienced of late, because then there are no bowlers and no spectators.