Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Cursitor Doom: The Cover
Posted over at Bear Alley Books, the front cover of the upcoming Cursitor Doom collection.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Karl the Viking
Not much of a post today as we were in party mode last night. However, I would like to mention that one of the books I was involved in last year is apparently up for an award. Het Stripschap [Google translation] is a comics' organisation in Holland who run the biggest Dutch convention of the year, De Stripdagen, which this year is to be held on 26 and 27 September at the Euretco Expo Center in Houten. The convention regularly receives 10,000 visitors and each year votes on an award in various categories.This year's nominations include Storm 24: De Bronnen van Marduk (by Martin Lodewijk, Romano Molenaar & Jorg de Vos, based on the characters originally drawn by Don Lawrence) in the Dutch Adventure and Entertainmnet category and the Karl the Viking box set in the category for Excellence in Production.
Long-time readers will know that a lot of sweat and swearing went into putting Karl the Viking together before it finally appeared last October. So congratulations to Ron van Bavel, Meerten Welleman and all at DI Studios whose hard work is recognised in the nomination.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Brian's Brain
Just posted at Bear Alley Books: an episode of "Brian's Brain" from the pages of Fantastic Summer Special 1968.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Bear Alley Books
I'm pleased to say Bear Alley Books is now taking pre-orders for Cursitor Doom and Phantom Patrol. At the moment the only payment method for credit cards is via PayPal—we should have a second option set up shortly for people who don't use PayPal—or you can drop me a line about paying by cheque.
Comic Cuts
Hope you've enjoyed this week's posts on ancient broadsheet seller Jemmy Catnach and related. As mentioned in the comments, I took the weekend off to put these features together just for a change of pace as I've done almost nothing for the past two months except work on the first titles to come from Bear Alley Books. The first book will be out within a matter of weeks so you can imagine everything is a bit fraught at the moment.Above is the Phantom Patrol cover with the logo and lettering in place. Apart from a barcode, I'm not going to spoil the cover image with any other blurb. I figure I've only got 300 copies to shift, so there's no point in a sales pitch on the book itself. That'll appear on the BAB website... or if you're buying it at a convention I'll be in facing you across a table, telling you how darn good it is and poking you with a stick until you believe me. (OK, the stick might be an exaggeration.)
Where we are at the moment: as I write this (late Thursday night... almost Friday, in fact) I'm sorting out proofs of both books—a final proof of Phantom Patrol and a second proof of Cursitor Doom because I made some improvements to it during the week in light of the first proof. At the moment it looks like Phantom Patrol will beat Cursitor out of the traps, although I'd like to get both books out together.
Both books are now ISBN registered and are popping up all over the place... apparently you can buy it cheapest at Waterstones. Quite how I've no idea as I've no distribution deal with Waterstones, W. H. Smiths or Foyles, who are all offering the book. Nor will the books be available through Amazon at list price for reasons I'll go into another day—the long and short of it is that I'd be losing too much money on every order because of the horrific charges incurred selling through Amazon.
Talking of selling... Friday (that's now today!) should see at least part of the ordering system go live. Hopefully all of it. We may be working on it quite late into the day, so if you're reading this early Friday, don't expect to see any major changes just yet. Come back over the weekend (or Monday, if you do your browsing at work!). I'll post a note here at Bear Alley when things are up and running as most people visit here first.
Thanks to everyone for their patience... the waiting's nearly over, I promise.
Sarah Catherine Martin
According to a website on female artists, "Little is known about Sarah Catherine Martin." Oh, I do like a challenge.
Sarah, you'll recall, was the lady who reputedly created the famous verses featuring Old Mother Hubbard and her dog. A dig around the web turned up a number of conflicting stories about how Sarah came to create the book which formed the basis for the Old Mother Hubbard we know today—the old lady who went everywhere to try and feed her dog. The early verses—perhaps as many as three—are thought to have already existed. Certainly Old Mother Hubbard did, as can be seen from the following advert, which appeared in The Times on 17 April 1799.
From this we can see that Old Mother Hubbard was already considered a "juvenile amusement" of the same type as "See Saw, Margery Daw", "Little Jenny Wren" and "Humpty Dumpty". The fact that these amusements were available at music shops makes me think these were song sheets rather than the chapbooks that began appearing in the early 19th century.
It does, however, establish that the notion of Old Mother Hubbard pre-existed before Sarah Catherine Martin conceived her version. It seems likely that Sarah took the existing version and expanded upon it, adding illustrations. The original version of the story was submitted to a London publisher, John Harris, and a single copy was produced for presentation. The presentation copy was dedicated to John Pollexden Bastard, Esq., M.P., "at whose suggestion and at whose house these notable sketches were designed." The dedication was dated June 1, 1805. A year later, John Harris contacted the author with the idea of printing the story as a chapbook. A print-run of 10,000 copies sold out quickly and new editions followed, as did a variety of editions from other publishers.
The dedication helps locate where Sarah Catherine Martin was in 1805: she was, it is suggested, the housekeeper to Bastard, the Squire of Yealmpton, Devon. See, for instance, the Pictures of England site which relates how "The Nursery rhyme "Old Mother Hubbard" was written and illustrated by Miss Sarah Catherine Martin in 1804, following her retirement as housekeeper of nearby Kitley House, the estate of Sir Henry Bastard." Sarah, it is said, moved into a thatched cottage nearby (now a restaurant). "Sarah continued to live out her retirement in Mother Hubbard's cottage."
The Bastard family had acquired Kitley when William Bastard (1667-1703) married the heiress Anne Pollexfen (d. 1723). By 1805, the estate was run by William's great-great-grandson, John Pollexfen Bastard (1756-1816), a politician and militia officer, who was M.P. for Devon from 1784 until his death.
John Pollexfen Bastard had married Sarah, the widow of Charles Wymondesold, in around 1780; following her death in 1808, he married Judith Anne Martin (c.1772-1848), the daughter of Sir Henry Martin, on 2 July 1809.
Judith Anne Martin was the sister of Sarah Catherine Martin. Their father, Sir Henry Martin (1733-1794), 1st bart, was the eldest son of Samuel Martin, esq., by his second wife, Sarah, daughter of Edward Wyke, lieut.-governor of Montserrat. Sir Henry married Eliza Anne, daughter of Haring Parker of Hillbrook, Co. Cork, the widow of Hayward Gillman, on 26 November 1761. Sir Henry's children included Eliza Anne Martin, Henry William Martin, Josiah Martin, Judith Anne Martin , Lydia Martin, Samuel Martin, Sarah Catherine Martin and (Admiral Sir) Thomas Byam Martin (1773-1854).
Sarah, born in 1768, is often described as the housekeeper of the Kitley estate of Sir Henry Bastard, although John Pollexfen Bastard had succeeded following his father William's death in 1782, who had succeeded on his father's death in 1733. Quite where Sir Henry Bastard fits in, I don't know.
Whether she was the housekeeper also seems a little uncertain... she was, after all, the daughter of the MP for Southampton; perhaps she required work following his death in 1794 (at which time she would have been in her late 20s), although the association with the Bastard household appears to date back even further, at least to around 1785 when, we are told (by the previously cited Pictures of England site), that Sir Henry Bastard was the Resident Commissioner of the Navy in Portsmouth.
He counted amongst his friends Prince William Henry, later to become King William IV. Prince William was struck by the 17-year-old Sarah Catherine Martin and "the Prince is known to have visited the estate and many legends abound in the area about Sarah and the Prince." One is that the Prince proposed marriage (see, for instance, here) but the marriage was not allowed because of her (Sarah's) lowly background. Again with the lowly background: her father, Sir Henry Martin, was comptroller of his Majesty's navy, and an MP, which can hardly be described as a lowly background. In this latter version, upon retiring to Old Mother Hubbard's cottage, Sarah writes the famous rhyme to express the frustration at never being able to marry the man she loved.
A third version of how the story came to be written can be found here, where we learn that Sarah's sister married Edmund Pollexfen Bastard (1758-1816), MP for Tomes, although this is in error—Edmund was married to Jane Pownoll in 1783 and remained married to her until his death. However, ignoring this for a second, "Edmund's second marriage was to Judith Ann Martin, sister of Sarah Catherine Martin. When Sarah wrote the Old Mother Hubbard nursery rhyme she was staying with Judith and wrote the rhyme for her nieces and nephews."
It was, in fact John Pollexfen Bastard who married Judith Anne Martin, in 1809. The couple had no children, as proven by the fact that Edmund succeeded him to the Kitley estate on his death. So Sarah was supposed to have written Old Mother Hubbard for non-existent nieces and nephews four years before her sister's marriage.
Sarah Catherine Martin remained unmarried and died in 1826, and was buried at the parish churchyard in Loughton, Essex. The Martin family had connections with Loughton through relatives, the Powells, who lived there. At least this is the information that can be gleaned from "Loughton: Worthies and Social Life", pp.117-18, A History of the County of Essex, Vol. 4 (1956) (online here).
At this point I'm willing to admit defeat. I can believe that Old Mother Hubbard was supposedly the housekeeper at Kitley and this has somehow become transferred to Sarah Catherine Martin who, it seems to me, is a very unlikely housekeeper. If it was she who drew the illustrations for Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog in 1805, she seems an accomplished artist. The success of this and the book's sequel, A Continuation of the Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard, published by John Harris in 1806 and which has been attributed to Sarah Catherine Martin, begs the question, why did she not write or illustrate anything further?
Only four points of her life are in even the smallest part estabished: her birth in 1768, a proposal of marriage by Prince William when she was 17, writing and illustrating Old Mother Hubbard in 1805 and her death in 1826, aged around 59. That leaves an awful lot of gaps to fill.
Sarah, you'll recall, was the lady who reputedly created the famous verses featuring Old Mother Hubbard and her dog. A dig around the web turned up a number of conflicting stories about how Sarah came to create the book which formed the basis for the Old Mother Hubbard we know today—the old lady who went everywhere to try and feed her dog. The early verses—perhaps as many as three—are thought to have already existed. Certainly Old Mother Hubbard did, as can be seen from the following advert, which appeared in The Times on 17 April 1799.
From this we can see that Old Mother Hubbard was already considered a "juvenile amusement" of the same type as "See Saw, Margery Daw", "Little Jenny Wren" and "Humpty Dumpty". The fact that these amusements were available at music shops makes me think these were song sheets rather than the chapbooks that began appearing in the early 19th century.It does, however, establish that the notion of Old Mother Hubbard pre-existed before Sarah Catherine Martin conceived her version. It seems likely that Sarah took the existing version and expanded upon it, adding illustrations. The original version of the story was submitted to a London publisher, John Harris, and a single copy was produced for presentation. The presentation copy was dedicated to John Pollexden Bastard, Esq., M.P., "at whose suggestion and at whose house these notable sketches were designed." The dedication was dated June 1, 1805. A year later, John Harris contacted the author with the idea of printing the story as a chapbook. A print-run of 10,000 copies sold out quickly and new editions followed, as did a variety of editions from other publishers.
The dedication helps locate where Sarah Catherine Martin was in 1805: she was, it is suggested, the housekeeper to Bastard, the Squire of Yealmpton, Devon. See, for instance, the Pictures of England site which relates how "The Nursery rhyme "Old Mother Hubbard" was written and illustrated by Miss Sarah Catherine Martin in 1804, following her retirement as housekeeper of nearby Kitley House, the estate of Sir Henry Bastard." Sarah, it is said, moved into a thatched cottage nearby (now a restaurant). "Sarah continued to live out her retirement in Mother Hubbard's cottage."
The Bastard family had acquired Kitley when William Bastard (1667-1703) married the heiress Anne Pollexfen (d. 1723). By 1805, the estate was run by William's great-great-grandson, John Pollexfen Bastard (1756-1816), a politician and militia officer, who was M.P. for Devon from 1784 until his death.
John Pollexfen Bastard had married Sarah, the widow of Charles Wymondesold, in around 1780; following her death in 1808, he married Judith Anne Martin (c.1772-1848), the daughter of Sir Henry Martin, on 2 July 1809.
Judith Anne Martin was the sister of Sarah Catherine Martin. Their father, Sir Henry Martin (1733-1794), 1st bart, was the eldest son of Samuel Martin, esq., by his second wife, Sarah, daughter of Edward Wyke, lieut.-governor of Montserrat. Sir Henry married Eliza Anne, daughter of Haring Parker of Hillbrook, Co. Cork, the widow of Hayward Gillman, on 26 November 1761. Sir Henry's children included Eliza Anne Martin, Henry William Martin, Josiah Martin, Judith Anne Martin , Lydia Martin, Samuel Martin, Sarah Catherine Martin and (Admiral Sir) Thomas Byam Martin (1773-1854).
Sarah, born in 1768, is often described as the housekeeper of the Kitley estate of Sir Henry Bastard, although John Pollexfen Bastard had succeeded following his father William's death in 1782, who had succeeded on his father's death in 1733. Quite where Sir Henry Bastard fits in, I don't know.
Whether she was the housekeeper also seems a little uncertain... she was, after all, the daughter of the MP for Southampton; perhaps she required work following his death in 1794 (at which time she would have been in her late 20s), although the association with the Bastard household appears to date back even further, at least to around 1785 when, we are told (by the previously cited Pictures of England site), that Sir Henry Bastard was the Resident Commissioner of the Navy in Portsmouth.
He counted amongst his friends Prince William Henry, later to become King William IV. Prince William was struck by the 17-year-old Sarah Catherine Martin and "the Prince is known to have visited the estate and many legends abound in the area about Sarah and the Prince." One is that the Prince proposed marriage (see, for instance, here) but the marriage was not allowed because of her (Sarah's) lowly background. Again with the lowly background: her father, Sir Henry Martin, was comptroller of his Majesty's navy, and an MP, which can hardly be described as a lowly background. In this latter version, upon retiring to Old Mother Hubbard's cottage, Sarah writes the famous rhyme to express the frustration at never being able to marry the man she loved.
A third version of how the story came to be written can be found here, where we learn that Sarah's sister married Edmund Pollexfen Bastard (1758-1816), MP for Tomes, although this is in error—Edmund was married to Jane Pownoll in 1783 and remained married to her until his death. However, ignoring this for a second, "Edmund's second marriage was to Judith Ann Martin, sister of Sarah Catherine Martin. When Sarah wrote the Old Mother Hubbard nursery rhyme she was staying with Judith and wrote the rhyme for her nieces and nephews."
It was, in fact John Pollexfen Bastard who married Judith Anne Martin, in 1809. The couple had no children, as proven by the fact that Edmund succeeded him to the Kitley estate on his death. So Sarah was supposed to have written Old Mother Hubbard for non-existent nieces and nephews four years before her sister's marriage.
Sarah Catherine Martin remained unmarried and died in 1826, and was buried at the parish churchyard in Loughton, Essex. The Martin family had connections with Loughton through relatives, the Powells, who lived there. At least this is the information that can be gleaned from "Loughton: Worthies and Social Life", pp.117-18, A History of the County of Essex, Vol. 4 (1956) (online here).
At this point I'm willing to admit defeat. I can believe that Old Mother Hubbard was supposedly the housekeeper at Kitley and this has somehow become transferred to Sarah Catherine Martin who, it seems to me, is a very unlikely housekeeper. If it was she who drew the illustrations for Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog in 1805, she seems an accomplished artist. The success of this and the book's sequel, A Continuation of the Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard, published by John Harris in 1806 and which has been attributed to Sarah Catherine Martin, begs the question, why did she not write or illustrate anything further?
Only four points of her life are in even the smallest part estabished: her birth in 1768, a proposal of marriage by Prince William when she was 17, writing and illustrating Old Mother Hubbard in 1805 and her death in 1826, aged around 59. That leaves an awful lot of gaps to fill.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Old Mother Hubbard and Her Wonderful Dog
Here's another proto-comic from the presses of James Catnach. Again, this was reproduced by Charles Hindley in his biography, The Life and Times of James Catnach from the original chapbook published by Catnach in around 1820. This quite possibly predates the Life of London broadsheet we looked at on Monday (scroll down if you missed it). It has all the hallmarks of a "graphic novel"—remember that for many years, most comic strips in the UK were illustrations sans word balloons, with the action described underneath in verse or text. There is little substantial difference between the chapbook below and the nursery comics of the 1950s.
The Catnach version of the story of Old Mother Hubbard was not the first to be published in the UK. An earlier version, in very much the same style, was published in 1805, and although it is thought the story dates back even further, it was put into its popular form at that time by Sarah Catherine Martin, who provided illustrations for the colour edition published that year by John Harris of London as The Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog. Images of the first edition can be found here. More information on the origins of the verses here.
The Catnach version of the story of Old Mother Hubbard was not the first to be published in the UK. An earlier version, in very much the same style, was published in 1805, and although it is thought the story dates back even further, it was put into its popular form at that time by Sarah Catherine Martin, who provided illustrations for the colour edition published that year by John Harris of London as The Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog. Images of the first edition can be found here. More information on the origins of the verses here.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
James Catnach, Ballad-monger, Part 2
(* Continuing the life of James Catnach, printer and publisher of broadsheets... scroll down for part 1—Steve)
The class of literature which James Catnach made historical comprised children's farthing and ha'penny Nursery Rhymes. Their titles could be enumerated by scores, introduced to the public in an endless variety of styles. Thus: "Here you have just print-ed and publish-ed, and adorn-ed with ten beau-ti-ful and ele-gant-ly engrav-ed embellish-ments, all for the—low charge of—one farden—Yes! One far-den buys." The Nursery Rhymes thus advertised are ten in number, each ornamented with cuts of the most laughable description, fac-similes of those used by Catnach fifty years ago. The same notification applies to "Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog," in which there are fifteen illustrations. The "London Cries" and "Old Mother Hubbard" are rude sketches, but wonderfully expressive, which was of course Catnach's aim—"to make 'em sell."
As Catnach's stock of type increased, he produced more ambitious works—"Robinson Crusoe," "The Butchery and Bloody Deeds of Jack the Giant Killer," "The Treacherous and Inveterate Hatred that Lingered in the Bosom of Blue Beard," "The Touching and Heartrending Account as portrayed in the Story of the Babes in the Wood," all of which had immense sales.
The battle of Waterloo, on the 18th June, 1815, was a perfect godsend to the Catnach press, from which teemed poetical effusions of exalted character. Mr Hindley states that Waterloo was the fifteenth decisive battle which Napoleon fought. As specimens, we quote the following, which contained eighteen stanzas:—
The trial of Queen Caroline, which began on the 6th of June, 1820, and continued until the 18th of November, was a rare field of expansion. The Queen died on August 7th, 1821. Henry Brougham (afterwards Lord), as the Queen's Attorney-General; Theodore Hook, in the "John Bull;" Cruickshank, with caricature and political squibs; William Hone, Alderman Wood, and, of course, James Catnach and others, joined the injudicious contention. Here are the first three verses of an appeal:—
Mr Hindley devotes about 30 pages to Pierce Egan's "Life in London," "Boxiana," "Tom and Jerry," &c., and the furore created by the production of these pieces on the stage in London and the country. Their reproduction, however, would be uninteresting without the inimitable pictorial cuts. Suffice it to say that expensive books were issued by Pierce Egan and others, enriched in the best style by the brothers Cruickshank, &c., but within twelve hours, Catnach was abroad with a pirated edition for twopence. Egan denounced the "Mob of Literary Pirates as Sappers and Miners—Pickers and Stealers—not exactly Pickpockets, yet thieves to all intents and purposes, and Robbers of the most unprincipled description—a set of Vampires, living upon the brains of others." Catnach was untouched by these appeals, and blazoned before the public gaze broadsides with twelve woodcuts, and poetical effusions attached to each, for twopence.
A good story is told of a Cadger who was taken before the Mendicity Society—the terror of beggars and impostors. "I say, my lads, I was carried up afore the—the—vot d'ye call it?—Mendikcity Sissiety, and vot do you think they did? Vy, they slapped a pick into one of my mauleys, and a shovel into the t'other, and told me to—vork. I said, gemmen, says I—I can't vork—'cause vy, I vas too veak. So I bolted off, an' in sich a 'urry, that I left both my crutches behind, so as now I ain't got no tools to vork vith."
The murder of Mr Weare by Thurtell, Hunt, and Probert, on the 24th Oct., 1823, was "a great go" for Catnach. Working night and day, Jemmy's pressmen knocked off 250,000 copies to begin with. The trial doubled the number; and every night and morning, large parcels were despatched to the large towns in the provinces. Old Jemmy generally tinted his verses with cant religious phrases, thus:
The Fauntleroy forgery for about £200,000 was another grand field, on the 10th Sept. 1824. Fauntleroy was a hoaxer, moved amongst the highest classes, and this gave greater zest to the points. Every incident in Fauntleroy's character, history, adn actions was depicted by Catnach; his sheets were read by high and low, in marble halls and gilded saloons in town and country. Fauntleroy was hunt at the Old Bailey, on the 24th Nov., 1824, when one hundred thousand people were assembled. The following is Catnach's tail-piece to Fauntleroy's last dying speech and confession:—
By way of showing that the Catnachian school were not confined to one theme, we will give an extract on Fistiana. Jack Randall was the nonpareil of the prize ring, and kept the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chancery Lane. The emphasised words in italics are as per copy:—
Throughout his career, Catnach never hesitated to lay claim to whatever might be turned to his own advantage. Neither was he too particular in abusive personalities. It was hardly to be expected that he would escape soot free in the turmoil of which he was the centre. Mr Pizzey, port butcher, was charged by the Catnachians with having "a number of human remains on his premises for conversion into sausages." For this impertinence he was prosecuted, and
Catnach was, however, indifferent to virulent doggerel and impervious to slander. He had successfully triumphed, and was not to be thwarted by tickling with feathers. He launched out in the extension of his printing material plant, and as he hated "innowations," he stuck to buying old stocks, as being more adapted than new for combination with that he already possessed. Jemmy was a host in himself, and although he kept four presses in full work, his staff seldom exceeded that number of men. He occasionally officiated as designer and engraver upon pieces of old pewter spoons, such as highwayman with crape over his face, a dark lantern in one hand and pistol in the other, threatening to shoot, if purses of gold did not follow on his demand—in the vernacular, "your money or your life." In Jemmy's drawings, he invariably represented these heroes of the road as sporting top boots and prodigious swells—"gentlemen." In September 1873, the Press News chronicled the death of an old pressman in Clerkenwell Workhouse, who was one of the first of Catnach's workmen, and continued with him until his retirement in 1838. The News states Catnach to have been "a peculiar, dirty, ignorant, successful individual." Mr Hindley deems this assertion a gross libel, showing that the "dirtiness" of Jemmy was inevitable, owing to his officiating in every department as pressman, compositor, devil, &c., and being handy at all points. The writer of this sketch has had many conversations with the above-named jolly, garrulous old pressman, and can affirm that he had the greatest respect for Catnach, admired his inventive powers and talents, and was proud of his abilities and adaption to circumstances. But—
"Men's minds are their opinions
Are as various as the size of onions."
In proof, we present Mr Hindley's summary of Mr Catnach's character, as a reverse picture of that of the News—
"There can be little doubt that Catnach justly earned the distinction of being one of the great pioneers in the cause of promoting cheap literature. We do not pretend to say that the productions which emanated from his establishment contained much that was likely to enlighten the intellect, or sharpen the taste of the ordinary reader; but, to a great extent, they served well in creating an impetus in the minds of many to soar after things of a higher and more ennobling description. Whilst, for the little folk, his store was like a conjurer's bag—inexhaustible. He catered to the taste and fancies of all, and it is marvelous, even in those days of a cheap press, to look upon the times when this enterprising man was by a steady course of action, so paving the way for the bright day in the annals of Britain's history, when every child in the land should be educated."
Although Catnach pandered to popular taste with ballad trivialities and dismal criminalities, it was in juvenile literature that he rejoiced, and felt that he had done the State some service. The quickness with which Catnach and his assistants transformed the news of the day into Catnachian habiliments was wonderful. In a few hours after any startling event appeared in the daily newspapers, it was transmogrified into poetical lingo and was on sale by thousands. Criminals being unable to read or write was no obstacle. Love-letters, farewells to parents, sorrowful confessions of deeds done and undone, were said to be "from the depths of the condemned cell, written with the condemned pen, ink and paper." Occasionally these lubrications were plamed off upon Sisters of Mercy, Eliza Cook, Tom Hood, or other popular authors. "The style" was a sufficient guarantee that no writer of eminence would be at the trouble to contradict the soft impeachment.
When in the social circle, Catnach laughed (with others) at the feats performed in "educating" the public into the mysteries of crime. In manners, Catnach was of the rough-and-ready sort. he had a queer lot to deal with, and thoroughly understood their peculiarities. Like Mister Bumble, he had an eye for business. It was such an eye as never failed, with paupers, poets, and patterers. He was what Cockneys term "a wide-awake cove, and up to a trick or two." In business transactions he was a man of few words. he was one of those "that therefore only are reputed wise for saying nothing" imperious, and an oracle amongst the minions with whom he dealt. He was tenaciously fond of money, and he worked, grubbed, and grabbed for a quarter of a century, ambitious to luxuriate in "fresh fields and pastures new." Though not assuming to be a philanthropist, his friends at Alnwick can testify that Catnach was not particular to dispensing a £5 note when any object took his taste. He lived and died a bachelor. He retired from his establishment in the Seven Dials in 1838, leaving his stock-in-trade and business to Mrs Ann Ryle, his niece, chargeable with £1,000, to be paid to Marion Ryle, another niece, after his death.
Catnach then purchased some freehold property and a farm at Dancer's Hill, Barnet, Middlesex. Imagination had long dwelt upon the delights in store after the turmoils of his life were over. Fourth-fifths of his life had been passed in accumulating a competency, and now true happiness was more than ever distant. He was discontented with his new home, denounced his venturesome speculation, sighed for the company of old associates, bemoaned his severance from activity, the quietude of the scenes around became irksome, and he found that "a mind quite vacant is a mind distressed." He was altogether out of his element, and the now disappointed rich man proposed to Mrs Ryle to re-purchase his old plant, and begin life in Monmouth Street once more. To this his niece declined to accede. Strange though it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that Catnach hired a dilapidated tenement immediately opposite his former domicile. From the window of this slum he gazed with longing looks and heavy heart, or listlessly wandered through streets and alleys; turned morose, peevish, fretful, and
The class of literature which James Catnach made historical comprised children's farthing and ha'penny Nursery Rhymes. Their titles could be enumerated by scores, introduced to the public in an endless variety of styles. Thus: "Here you have just print-ed and publish-ed, and adorn-ed with ten beau-ti-ful and ele-gant-ly engrav-ed embellish-ments, all for the—low charge of—one farden—Yes! One far-den buys." The Nursery Rhymes thus advertised are ten in number, each ornamented with cuts of the most laughable description, fac-similes of those used by Catnach fifty years ago. The same notification applies to "Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog," in which there are fifteen illustrations. The "London Cries" and "Old Mother Hubbard" are rude sketches, but wonderfully expressive, which was of course Catnach's aim—"to make 'em sell."As Catnach's stock of type increased, he produced more ambitious works—"Robinson Crusoe," "The Butchery and Bloody Deeds of Jack the Giant Killer," "The Treacherous and Inveterate Hatred that Lingered in the Bosom of Blue Beard," "The Touching and Heartrending Account as portrayed in the Story of the Babes in the Wood," all of which had immense sales.
The battle of Waterloo, on the 18th June, 1815, was a perfect godsend to the Catnach press, from which teemed poetical effusions of exalted character. Mr Hindley states that Waterloo was the fifteenth decisive battle which Napoleon fought. As specimens, we quote the following, which contained eighteen stanzas:—
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOOThe death of the Princess Charlotte was another popular theme and everything pathetic seems to have taken best with Jemmy's supporters. Catnach composed the following lines "out of his own head":
At ten o'clock on Sunday the bloody fray begun,
It raged hot from that moment till the setting of the sun;
My pen, I'm sure, can't half relate the glory of that day;
We fought the French at Waterloo and made 'em run away.
On the 18th day of June, eighteen hundred and fifteen,
Both horse and foot they did advance, most glorious to be seen;
Both horse and foot they did advance, and the bugle horn did blow;
The sons of France were made to dance on the plains of Waterloo.
Napoleon like a fighting cock was mounted on a car,
He did much wish to represent great Mars, the god of war;
On a high platform he did stand, and loudly he did crow,
But he dropp'd his wings, and turned his tail to us at Waterloo.
________________—"And the wonder grew
How one small head could carry all he knew."
____She is gone! sweet Charlotte's gone,
______Gone to the silent bourne;
____She is gone, she's gone for evermore,
______She never can return.
____She is gone with her joy—her darling Boy,
______The son Leopold, blythe and keen;
____She died on the sixth of November,
______Eighteen Hundred and Seven-teen.
Ye Britons all, both great and small,Catnach (says Mr Hindley) made a great hit with a piece entitled "Oh! Britons, Remember your Queen's Happy Days," together with the "Leading Events in the Queen's Life," adorned with twelve splendid illustrations. Copies are preserved of these in the British Museum. An "Elegy on the Queen's Death" commences thus:—
__Come listen to my ditty;
Your noble Queen, fair Caroline,
__Does well deserve your pity.
Like harmless lamb that sucks its dam,
__Amongst the flowery thyme,
One turtle dove that's given to love—
__And that's her only crime.
Ye powers above, who virtue love,
__Protect her from despair,
And soon her free from calumny,
__Is every true man's prayer.
Curs'd be the hour when on the British Shore,"Yes, Sir," said John Morgan to Mr Hindley, one of Catnach's poetmasters, "We went in a run 'un for the Queen, Alderman Wood and the People, Sir. Yes, Sir, many's the good bellyful of food, nailed and pelted boots, hats, coats, trousers and waistcoats, as was got out of Queen Caroline's case, Sir. Ah! those was the days and nights, too, for the flying stationers and standing patterers, Sir. Those was the times when old Jemmy Catnach, as you're a-talking of, made his money, Sir."
She set her foot—whose loss we now deplore;
For, from that hour she pass'd a life of woe,
And underwent what few could undergo.
And lest she should a tranquil hour know,
Against her peace was struck a deadly blow—
A separation hardly to be borne,
Her only daughter from her arm was torn!
And next discarded—driven from her home,
An unprotected Wanderer to roam.
STANZA ON THE INJURED QUEEN'S DEATH.
Beneath this cold marble the Wanderer lies,
__Here shall she rest till "the Heavens be no more,"
'Till the Trumpet shall Sound, and the Dead shall Arise,
__Then the Perjurer unmask'd will his sentence deplore.
Ah! what will avail then, Pomp, Titles, and Birth!
__Those empty distinctions all levelled will be,
For the King shall be judg'd with the poor of the earth,
__And, perhaps, the Poor Man will be greater than he.
Until that day we leave Caroline's wrongs,
__Meantime, may "Repentance" her foes overtake;
O grant it, Kind POWER, to whom it belongs.
__AMEN! Here an End of this History we make.
_______________________JAS C—T—N—H, Dec. 10th, 1821.
Mr Hindley devotes about 30 pages to Pierce Egan's "Life in London," "Boxiana," "Tom and Jerry," &c., and the furore created by the production of these pieces on the stage in London and the country. Their reproduction, however, would be uninteresting without the inimitable pictorial cuts. Suffice it to say that expensive books were issued by Pierce Egan and others, enriched in the best style by the brothers Cruickshank, &c., but within twelve hours, Catnach was abroad with a pirated edition for twopence. Egan denounced the "Mob of Literary Pirates as Sappers and Miners—Pickers and Stealers—not exactly Pickpockets, yet thieves to all intents and purposes, and Robbers of the most unprincipled description—a set of Vampires, living upon the brains of others." Catnach was untouched by these appeals, and blazoned before the public gaze broadsides with twelve woodcuts, and poetical effusions attached to each, for twopence.
"Such was his genius, like the quick eye's wink,This "Life of London," by Catnach, is exceedingly rare, and even Mr Hindley has only met with one copy, illustrated.
He could write sooner than others think."
A good story is told of a Cadger who was taken before the Mendicity Society—the terror of beggars and impostors. "I say, my lads, I was carried up afore the—the—vot d'ye call it?—Mendikcity Sissiety, and vot do you think they did? Vy, they slapped a pick into one of my mauleys, and a shovel into the t'other, and told me to—vork. I said, gemmen, says I—I can't vork—'cause vy, I vas too veak. So I bolted off, an' in sich a 'urry, that I left both my crutches behind, so as now I ain't got no tools to vork vith."
__CADGER'S SONG IN THE HOLY LANDThis mendicant song is in strict accordance with Theodore Hook's opinion—
__Come let us Dance and Sing,
____While fam'd St. Giles' bells shall Ring
__Black Billy Scrapes the fiddle String,
______Little Jemmy fills the Chair.
Fish away, let's be gay,
This is Cadger's holiday,
While knaves are thinking, we are drinking,
______Bring in more gin and beer,
____________Come let us dance &c.
Now merry, merry, let us be,
There's none more happier sure than we,
For what we get we spend it free—
________All must understand.—Chorus.
______Now he that would merry be,
________Let him drink and sing as we,
______In fine places you shall not see,
________Such happiness as here.
Then boose about, our cash aint out.
Here's a sixpence in a dirty clout,
Come, landlord, bring us in more stout,
______Our pension-time draws near.—Chorus.
"Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys?
With light heart and a thin pair of breeches,
How pleasant life passes, my boys."
The murder of Mr Weare by Thurtell, Hunt, and Probert, on the 24th Oct., 1823, was "a great go" for Catnach. Working night and day, Jemmy's pressmen knocked off 250,000 copies to begin with. The trial doubled the number; and every night and morning, large parcels were despatched to the large towns in the provinces. Old Jemmy generally tinted his verses with cant religious phrases, thus:Come, all good Christians, praise the Lord,To Mr Henry Mayhew, an old hand of Catnach's said, "This was just Jemmy's favourite style, but the March of Intellect put it out of doors!" Thurtell's trial was on 5th Jan., 1824. He was hung at Hertford, 19th Jan., 1824, and confessed his crimes. Catnach cleared £500 by this event, and was loath to leave it. About a fortnight after Thurtell was executed, a wag put Jemmy up to a ruse, showing him how to keep the subject afloat. The compositor put a very thin space between the words "we" and "are" so that they read—"WEARE ALIVE AGAIN." Many thousands were bought by the gullible public, but the majority denounced the trick as vile, and styled it a "catch penny," which was the origin of this peculiar term.
__And trust to Him in Hope.
God, in his Mercy, John Thurtell sent
__To Hang from Hertford Gallows Rope.
Poor Weare's Murder the Lord disclosed—
__Be Glory to his name :
And Thurtell, Hunt, and Probert, too
__Were brought to Grief and Shame.
The Fauntleroy forgery for about £200,000 was another grand field, on the 10th Sept. 1824. Fauntleroy was a hoaxer, moved amongst the highest classes, and this gave greater zest to the points. Every incident in Fauntleroy's character, history, adn actions was depicted by Catnach; his sheets were read by high and low, in marble halls and gilded saloons in town and country. Fauntleroy was hunt at the Old Bailey, on the 24th Nov., 1824, when one hundred thousand people were assembled. The following is Catnach's tail-piece to Fauntleroy's last dying speech and confession:—
Come all you handsome London gents together, man and boy,During Catnach's reign at the Seven Dials, the Rev Mr Cotton was chaplain of Newgate, and it was a common saying that the poets always made the criminals leave this world with their ears (at least) "well stuffed with Cotton," an allusion to the religious consolation imparted, whilst there was invariably a moral to their rhymes, that—
And hear the tale I tell of Henry Fauntleroy,
A gentleman of high renown, and handsome too, was he,
But with the money if his friends he made by far too free.
He fell in love a short time since with a lady fair,
And after they were mar-ri-ed, they went for change of air,
To spend the honey-moon away from England's shores—with a dash,
And this was done, as we are told, with other people's cash.
As time wore on he got in debt; he gambled, won and lost,
And then committed for-ger-y, to his ruin and cost.
Arrested, tried, and guilty found, condemned he was to die
A felon on the gallows tree, and my tale now tells for why.
So all young men who read these lines, to lead a life of joy,
Take warning by the awful fate of Henry Fauntleroy.
"There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would me observingly distil it out."
By way of showing that the Catnachian school were not confined to one theme, we will give an extract on Fistiana. Jack Randall was the nonpareil of the prize ring, and kept the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chancery Lane. The emphasised words in italics are as per copy:—Alas! poor Jack lies on his backSo interminable and various are the subjects gathered by Mr Hindley, that we must forbear further examples, and refer those interested to the invaluable record itself.
__As flat as any flounder;
Although he died of a bad inside,
__No heart was ever sounder.
The Hole-in-the-Wall was once his stall,
__His crib the Fancy name it;
A hole-in-the-ground he now has found,
__And no one else will claim it.
But too much luck man's strength will crush,
__And so found poor Jack Randall;
His fame, once bright as morning light,
__Now out—like a farthing candle.
Good bye, brave Jack! if each they track
__Would follow—barring drinking,
What a noble race would our country grace,
__Firm, loyal and unshrinking.
"Variety's the very spice of life,After giving quotations from the peripatetic bards of the Seven Dials, a few particulars concerning them will not, perhaps, be uninteresting. John Morgan, a man approaching four score years and still living, was one of the most active and useful to Catnach. "Ah! sir," said Morgan to Mr Hindley, "it was always a hard matter to get much out of Jemmy Catnach. He was at most times hard-fisted. Yet, sir, somehow or another, he wasn't such a bad sort, just where he took. A little bit rough and ready like, you know, sir. But still—he was—'a nipper.' That's just about the size of Jemmy Catnach." Then Morgan went on to relate that the price of an original ballad was one shilling, but that he had occasionally the good luck to screw half a crown out of Catnach—"when times were extra good." Tom Moore, in his "Real Life in London," says that a certain printer of ballads in the Seven Dials (no doubt Catnach) on finding that one of his bards was confined to Bedlam (and no wonder!) through overstraining his faculties for the pittance of fivepence three-farthings per week, met with another, who in gloomy weather fancied he saw an "apparition," on the "substance" of which he lived for a month; that he often made a good meal on a monster; but an out-and-out murder—if well-timed and worked-up—was "board, lodging, and washing, with a feast of nectared sweets for many a day!" Mr Mayhew received from a last-dying-speech merchant the following statement:—"Pegsworth stabbed a merchant tailor to whom he was owing money. Ah, yes! Pegsworth's murder as an out-and-out lot. I did tremendous with him, because it happened in London, down Ratcliffe Highway. That's a splendid quarter for working—there's plenty of feeling—but, bless you, some places you go and you can't get to move nohow. They've hearts like paving stones. They wouldn't have the papers if you'd give them to 'em—'specially when they knows your Greenacre didn't sell so well as might have been expected; but, you see, he came too close after Pegsworth, and that took the shine off Greenacre. Two murders together aint no good to nobody, sir." Nevertheless, Catnach sold one million six hundred and fifty thousand copies of Greenacre's execution, so that it must have been "a popular murder." Surely, as Squeers [in Nicholas Nickleby] said, "She's a run 'un, is Natur'. I should like to know how we should ever get on without her. Natur' is more easier conceived than described." Well may it be said that the human heart is a thing with divers corners.
That gives it all its flavour."
Throughout his career, Catnach never hesitated to lay claim to whatever might be turned to his own advantage. Neither was he too particular in abusive personalities. It was hardly to be expected that he would escape soot free in the turmoil of which he was the centre. Mr Pizzey, port butcher, was charged by the Catnachians with having "a number of human remains on his premises for conversion into sausages." For this impertinence he was prosecuted, and"Six months in quod old Jemmy got,In the height of his prosperity, rival competitors were envious at his success and unsparing in their attacks. Example—
Because this shocking tale he started
About Pizzie, the butcher."
All the boys and girls around
Who go out prigging rags and phials,
Know Jemmy Catnach well,
Who live in a back slum in the Dials.
He hangs out in Monmouth Court,
And wears a paid of blue-black breeches,
Where all the Polly Cox's crew do resort,
To chop their swag for badly-printed speeches.
Catnach was, however, indifferent to virulent doggerel and impervious to slander. He had successfully triumphed, and was not to be thwarted by tickling with feathers. He launched out in the extension of his printing material plant, and as he hated "innowations," he stuck to buying old stocks, as being more adapted than new for combination with that he already possessed. Jemmy was a host in himself, and although he kept four presses in full work, his staff seldom exceeded that number of men. He occasionally officiated as designer and engraver upon pieces of old pewter spoons, such as highwayman with crape over his face, a dark lantern in one hand and pistol in the other, threatening to shoot, if purses of gold did not follow on his demand—in the vernacular, "your money or your life." In Jemmy's drawings, he invariably represented these heroes of the road as sporting top boots and prodigious swells—"gentlemen." In September 1873, the Press News chronicled the death of an old pressman in Clerkenwell Workhouse, who was one of the first of Catnach's workmen, and continued with him until his retirement in 1838. The News states Catnach to have been "a peculiar, dirty, ignorant, successful individual." Mr Hindley deems this assertion a gross libel, showing that the "dirtiness" of Jemmy was inevitable, owing to his officiating in every department as pressman, compositor, devil, &c., and being handy at all points. The writer of this sketch has had many conversations with the above-named jolly, garrulous old pressman, and can affirm that he had the greatest respect for Catnach, admired his inventive powers and talents, and was proud of his abilities and adaption to circumstances. But—"Men's minds are their opinions
Are as various as the size of onions."
In proof, we present Mr Hindley's summary of Mr Catnach's character, as a reverse picture of that of the News—
"There can be little doubt that Catnach justly earned the distinction of being one of the great pioneers in the cause of promoting cheap literature. We do not pretend to say that the productions which emanated from his establishment contained much that was likely to enlighten the intellect, or sharpen the taste of the ordinary reader; but, to a great extent, they served well in creating an impetus in the minds of many to soar after things of a higher and more ennobling description. Whilst, for the little folk, his store was like a conjurer's bag—inexhaustible. He catered to the taste and fancies of all, and it is marvelous, even in those days of a cheap press, to look upon the times when this enterprising man was by a steady course of action, so paving the way for the bright day in the annals of Britain's history, when every child in the land should be educated."
Although Catnach pandered to popular taste with ballad trivialities and dismal criminalities, it was in juvenile literature that he rejoiced, and felt that he had done the State some service. The quickness with which Catnach and his assistants transformed the news of the day into Catnachian habiliments was wonderful. In a few hours after any startling event appeared in the daily newspapers, it was transmogrified into poetical lingo and was on sale by thousands. Criminals being unable to read or write was no obstacle. Love-letters, farewells to parents, sorrowful confessions of deeds done and undone, were said to be "from the depths of the condemned cell, written with the condemned pen, ink and paper." Occasionally these lubrications were plamed off upon Sisters of Mercy, Eliza Cook, Tom Hood, or other popular authors. "The style" was a sufficient guarantee that no writer of eminence would be at the trouble to contradict the soft impeachment.
When in the social circle, Catnach laughed (with others) at the feats performed in "educating" the public into the mysteries of crime. In manners, Catnach was of the rough-and-ready sort. he had a queer lot to deal with, and thoroughly understood their peculiarities. Like Mister Bumble, he had an eye for business. It was such an eye as never failed, with paupers, poets, and patterers. He was what Cockneys term "a wide-awake cove, and up to a trick or two." In business transactions he was a man of few words. he was one of those "that therefore only are reputed wise for saying nothing" imperious, and an oracle amongst the minions with whom he dealt. He was tenaciously fond of money, and he worked, grubbed, and grabbed for a quarter of a century, ambitious to luxuriate in "fresh fields and pastures new." Though not assuming to be a philanthropist, his friends at Alnwick can testify that Catnach was not particular to dispensing a £5 note when any object took his taste. He lived and died a bachelor. He retired from his establishment in the Seven Dials in 1838, leaving his stock-in-trade and business to Mrs Ann Ryle, his niece, chargeable with £1,000, to be paid to Marion Ryle, another niece, after his death.
Catnach then purchased some freehold property and a farm at Dancer's Hill, Barnet, Middlesex. Imagination had long dwelt upon the delights in store after the turmoils of his life were over. Fourth-fifths of his life had been passed in accumulating a competency, and now true happiness was more than ever distant. He was discontented with his new home, denounced his venturesome speculation, sighed for the company of old associates, bemoaned his severance from activity, the quietude of the scenes around became irksome, and he found that "a mind quite vacant is a mind distressed." He was altogether out of his element, and the now disappointed rich man proposed to Mrs Ryle to re-purchase his old plant, and begin life in Monmouth Street once more. To this his niece declined to accede. Strange though it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that Catnach hired a dilapidated tenement immediately opposite his former domicile. From the window of this slum he gazed with longing looks and heavy heart, or listlessly wandered through streets and alleys; turned morose, peevish, fretful, and
"Became like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,He essayed to drown his sorrows in potations of whisky, his stomach and liver were disordered, jaundice succeeded, and this Light of other days died on the 1st of Feb., 1841, aged 49. Catnach left a fortune, variously estimated at from £10,000 or upwards. He was buried in Highgate Cemetery. Surely the words of Jean Paul Richter may be applied to Catnach—"He made as much out of himself as could be made out of the stuff, and no man should require more."
Tormenting himself with this prickles."
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
James Catnach, Ballad-monger, Part 1
(* I was digging around for information on James "Jemmy" Catnach yesterday and found a very handy summary of his life in the Newcastle Courant (23 May 1879). Rather than try to create a new biography, as the main source of information is the same as the book summarised here, I thought I'd reprint the whole piece—I'm a faster typist than researcher! I've added a few paragraphs to the original to make reading easier and a few minor notes for clarity.)
Within recent date, Mr Chas. Hindley, of Rose Hill, Brighton, has published "The Life and Times of James Catnach (late of the Seven Dials, London), Ballad-monger, &c., illustrated with 230 woodcuts, of which 42 are by Thomas Bewick. Reeves and Turner, London." Catnach literature being coincident with illustrated nursery stories, lampoons, the fraternity of last-dying-speech-and-confession oddities—as well as being closely allied to Alnwick and the district—we propose to summarise the leading features of Mr Hindley's book, which, combined with ancient and modern illustrations, is interesting and instructive throughout. We may further add that the work is dedicated to Mr George Skelly and Mr G. H. Thomson, of Alnwick, as a slight acknowledgment of many favours granted and assistance rendered in its production. Mr Mark Smith, Mr Thos. Robertson, and others, are named as giving invaluable information.
John Catnach, the father of James, was born at Burnt Island, Fifeshire, in 1769, and married Mary Hutchinson, of Dundee. The family afterwards removed to Edinburgh, then returned to Berwick-upon-Tweed, and began in a small way as a printer. In 1790, the business was removed to Alnwick, and during their abode there, seven children were born to the pair, the whole being duly registered in St. Michael's Church. The shop occupied by John Catnach adjoined the Half Moon, in Narrowgate Street, where he was favoured with an average support, and his printed specimens testified to his abilities and taste. He entertained great regard for the traditions and customs which for centuries had been closely associated with the Border country. Being naturally of a free-and-easy disposition, like many of his kinsmen in the locality, John was not long ere he became on familiar terms with his neighbours, and enamoured with the social glass. He was diligent in business, but was not of a saving turn. His ideas were considerably in advance of his means, and as profits increased, so he became more tenaciously wedded to extravagance and dissipation.
In 1807, John Catnach entered into partnership with William Davison, a chemist and druggist, from Newcastle. This union did not exceed two years, but the brief connection enabled Mr Davison to acquire valuable information into the Caxtonian art; and although reared to prescribing medicines, he had a fine relish for books, was of a speculating mind, and morally and socially the opposite of his partner. In conjunction, the pair employed Thomas Bewick, Clennell and other artists, who imparted the first impulse to wood engraving. About the end of 1809, Catnach removed to Newcastle, where he carried on printing for a short time, but change of scene and companions did not improve the man. From one bad extreme to another he rapidly drifted, business was neglected, debts accumulated, despair seized upon him, he became bankrupt, and was sent to gaol.
Clandestinely, before the climax, John contrived to grasp a small quantity of type and his wooden press, &c., which, with his wife and daughters, he despatched to London. His London life was equally disastrous. he made a start with his stock-in-trade, was constantly on the move, in dread of being distrained for rent; half starved, and in a sorry plight. In August, 1813, he had scarcely got his plant into working order when he fell and injured his leg, was seized with rheumatic fever, and died at St. George's Hospital on the 4th December, 1813.
Mr Mark Smith, a native of Alnwick, visited and aided the Catnachs in their distress, and with one of the daughters attended the hospital with the intention of following the remains of Catnach to the grave, but when they arrived they were informed that an accident had befallen the horse belonging to the hearse, and the funeral was postponed till the following day. Mr Smith was then unable to attend, and despite all subsequent inquiries, no discovery was ever made as to the burial place of the elder Catnach. There was, however, strong presumptive evidence, that the hospital authorities had taken a fancy to their patient as a "subject" for dissection. Thus one of the first embellishers of the books was destined to aid science in another sphere, and perhaps confer blessings on future generations.
James Catnach, the hero of our theme, was born at Alnwick on the 18th of August, 1792. He received a very indifferent education with Mr Goldie, was irregular in attendance, which materially blunted his intellect for the higher walks of literature. Mr Hindley states that James, in early life, contemplated devoting his time to rural pursuits; that, as a youth, he rusticated as a shepherd; that for days and nights together he roamed across the Northumberland moors and mountains, jotting down rhymes in a common-place book, and was charmed with pastoral scenes and sentimental reflections.
The place was of the most ricketty description, and situated in the midst of filthy and pestiferous nuisances. Every pull of the press threatened destruction to the premises. The floor above was strengthened with beams, but at each vibration of the bar handle an old four-post bedstead rocked to and fro like a cradle. Of course, Jemmy was not too fastidious as to the beauty of his typography. He turned a deaf ear to the cry of shortness of sorts. In a sheet of 14in. by 8in. [inches], several founts of type were used in the same line—Roman, italic, antique, caps or small caps, anything to fill up. Crab and oyster shells were used to place quads or extras, whilst his cases were home-made and of the roughest kind. The wood-engravings were on a par with the other material, and altogether Jemmy's productions were ingenious specimens of typographical cobbling. Dickens, Douglas Jerrold, &c., have descanted upon Catnach's rendezvous, but we must content with quoting one extract from Chas. Knight's "London," as bearing more particularly on Catnach:—
"Seven Dials! the region of song and poetry—first effusions, and dying speeches. It was here that the late eminent Mr Catnach developed the resources of his genius and trade. It was Catnach who first availed himself of greater mechanical skill and a larger capital than had previously been employed in that department of the trade, to substitute for execrable tea paper blotched with lamp-black and oil, tolerably white paper and real printer's ink. It was Catnach who first conceived and carried into effect the idea of publishing collections of songs by the yard, and giving to purchasers, for the small price of one penny (in former days the cost of a single ballad), strings of poetry on every imaginable subject. Catnach was no ordinary man. He patronised original talents in many a bard of St. Giles's, and is understood to have accumulated the largest store of broadsides, last dying speeches, ballads, and other stock-in-trade of the flying-stationers, upon record."
Mr Hindley states that—
"A large part of the trade which James Catnach commenced in London in 1813-14, had for years previous to this been done in Scotland, as well as several parts of the North of England. Books of small histories, ballad poetry, and legends of remarkable places which were frequented by ghosts, fairies, hobgoblins, and the like, were printed in Caledonia long before the time of Robert Burns. In one his letters the poet says: 'But it was through the kindness of one of his early schoolmistresses that he first became acquainted with this particular kind of literature,' and there can be little doubt that he penned, when under the impulse of imagination, what Scott has styled his 'inimitable tale of Tam O'Shanter.'"
Catnach's mother and sisters were now entirely dependent upon him for support, and he threw all his energy and perseverance into the scale, determined that nothing should frustrate his success; and the result was, that in a few years he laid the foundations of a peculiar yet lucrative business.
James Catnach's manhood and characteristics were adapted to the times. Politics, party strife, squibs, lampoons, scramblings for place and power, seditions, conspiracies, riots, the Battle of Waterloo, trial of Queen Caroline, murders, virulent personalities, fabulous duels, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, fistiana, ghosts, daring feats of genteel highwaymen, smuggling, "cooked" assassinations, executions by the dozen, were the rule. Hence Catnach and his poets were never short of themes and "Sorrowful Lamentations," of which the following is a sample:—
He was not over particular whether the information received from his myrmidons was true or false at the commencement of his career, new or old; vamped up old materials, cribbed from ancient sources, and everything published was accompanied with poetical effusions by way of moral, inference, or sequel. None of his issues specified dates, and the localities were kept obscure.
As time wore on, Jemmy discovered he had a reputation to maintain, and a fortune to make, therefore it was necessary to keep the truth in his eye as closely as circumstances would permit. when trade was slack, and there was nothing which the cadgers could collar with safety, or hawkers sell at a profit, they would inquire of Catnach "if there was anything good or new in the murder line, by which they could turn an honest penny," for nothing paid so well as "a stunning good 'un." It would not do to be continually inventing fictitious murders, robberies, seductions, &c., for fear of "getting the house a bad name." Songs, "three yards for a penny," were always safe; but when doubtful stories were promulgated, Jemmy directed his patterers to work new districts far distant from where the direful deeds were supposed to originate.
There was no credit given by Catnach—"Pay to-day and trust to-morrow," "Down on the nail," were his watchwords. No returns of dead stock were permitted, Jemmy observing that "If they do not sell to-day, they will be quite as good and fresh to-morrow." During four summer months, some men would clear 7s [shillings] a day, but on an average 25s weekly. The authenticity of the issues was guaranteed by the hallowed beliefs of their forefathers, that "anything which appeared in print was sure to be true."
In the British Museum there is a collection of upwards of 4,000 ballads printed by Catnach in two folio volumes. Mistakes were occasionally made by Jemmy in hanging a man or woman too many, but this error was of small moment to the flying stationers. No parties dealing with Catnach ever handled anything but copper money, which was indeed filthy lucre. From dread of infection, and before the coins could be exchanged for notes or silver, it was necessary to boil them in strong decotions of soda and vinegar. Despite every care Jemmy took to avoid imposition, he received from the cadgers as many bad pennies as paved his back kitchen, which he embedded in plaster of Paris, fearing they might be stolen and again returned as genuine to his locker.
James Catnach and Mark Smith were bound apprentices to John Catnach on the same day, but owing to the removal of John to Newcastle, Smith concluded his term with Mr Walker of Paternoster Row, London. When the Catnachs arrived in the Metropolis, Mark Smith visited and frequently assisted them, and was an invaluable friend in their extremities. Messrs George Skelly, G. H. Thompson, James Horsley, Mark Smith, and Thomas Robertson, are now nearly all who remain of Jemmy Catnach's old associates. Mr Smith has been for upwards of half a century a bookseller in Alnwick, whilst Mr Robertson has for a similar period been an extensive cabinet maker at the same place. When these choice spirits were in London, they and others oft times assembled at Catnach's domicile, and Thomas Robertson, being possessed of an excellent voice, used to sing various tunes, whilst Catnach compiled poetic effusions. Numerous ballads were thus produced, and the words condensed or extended in order to "make them fit the tune." In case there was a hitch in the metre, Jemmy would say—"Sing that over again, Tom," and then the lines were dovetailed to the music, and declared suitable to the ear and the national taste. Mr Robertson still lives to recite with gusto these stories of his youthful days.
In 1826 there was a fierce Parliamentary contest for Northumberland between four candidates—Liddell, M. Bell. Beaumont, and Howick—when Mark Smith, expecting to be overpowered with work as a printer, James Catnach volunteered his services to assist during the busy time, in gratitude for the many favours received whilst Smith was in London. Catnach resided with Smith, worked early and late, wrote squibs, addresses, &c., which when collected, formed four volumes. It was at this period Catnach erected a tombstone at Alnwick, bearing the following inscription:—
Inasmuch as space compels us to postpone further notice of James Catnach from Mr Hindley's truly interesting work, we will conclude with a specimen in extenso of what may be anticipated in our next. The extract relates to one of Catnach's staff, well-known at the Seven Dials as "Tragedy Bill."
"No, my kind friends and relations, here you have, just printed and published, a full, true, and pertickler account of the life, trial, character, confession, behaviour, condemnation, and hexecution of that unfortunate malefactor, Richard Wilbyforce, who was hexecuted on Monday last—For the small charge of one ha'penny! and for the most horrible, dreadful, and wicked murder of Samuel—I mean Sarah Spriggins, a lady's maid, young, tender, and handsome. You have here every partickler, of that which he did, and that which he didn't. It's the most foul and horrid murder that ever graced the annals of British history. Here, my customers, you may read his hexecution on the fatal scaffold. You may also read how he met his wictim in a dark and lonesome wood, and what he did to her—For the small charge of a ha'penny! And you read how the ghost appeared to him and then to her parents. Then comes to capture of the willain; also the trial, sentence and hexecution, showing how the ghost was in the act of pulling his leg on one side, and the 'old gentleman' a pulling on the other, waiting for his wictim (good friends, fellow countrymen, and female women, excuse my tears) But has Shakspere says, 'murder most foul and unnatural,' but you'll find this more foul and unnatural than that or the t'other—for the small charge of a ha'penny! Yes, my customers, to which is added a copy of Serene and Beautiful werses, pious and immoral, as wot he wrote with his own blood and a skewer the night a'ter—I mean the night before his hexecution, addressed to young men and women of all sexes—I beg pardon, but I mean classes (my friends, it's nothing to laugh at), for I can tell you the werses has made three of the hard-heartedst things cry as never was—to wit, that is to say, namely—a overseer, a broker, and a policeman. Yes, my friends, I sold twenty thousand copies of them this here morning, and could a' sold twenty thousand more than that if I could of but kept from crying—only a ha'penny!—but—I'll read the werses:—
(TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.)
Within recent date, Mr Chas. Hindley, of Rose Hill, Brighton, has published "The Life and Times of James Catnach (late of the Seven Dials, London), Ballad-monger, &c., illustrated with 230 woodcuts, of which 42 are by Thomas Bewick. Reeves and Turner, London." Catnach literature being coincident with illustrated nursery stories, lampoons, the fraternity of last-dying-speech-and-confession oddities—as well as being closely allied to Alnwick and the district—we propose to summarise the leading features of Mr Hindley's book, which, combined with ancient and modern illustrations, is interesting and instructive throughout. We may further add that the work is dedicated to Mr George Skelly and Mr G. H. Thomson, of Alnwick, as a slight acknowledgment of many favours granted and assistance rendered in its production. Mr Mark Smith, Mr Thos. Robertson, and others, are named as giving invaluable information.John Catnach, the father of James, was born at Burnt Island, Fifeshire, in 1769, and married Mary Hutchinson, of Dundee. The family afterwards removed to Edinburgh, then returned to Berwick-upon-Tweed, and began in a small way as a printer. In 1790, the business was removed to Alnwick, and during their abode there, seven children were born to the pair, the whole being duly registered in St. Michael's Church. The shop occupied by John Catnach adjoined the Half Moon, in Narrowgate Street, where he was favoured with an average support, and his printed specimens testified to his abilities and taste. He entertained great regard for the traditions and customs which for centuries had been closely associated with the Border country. Being naturally of a free-and-easy disposition, like many of his kinsmen in the locality, John was not long ere he became on familiar terms with his neighbours, and enamoured with the social glass. He was diligent in business, but was not of a saving turn. His ideas were considerably in advance of his means, and as profits increased, so he became more tenaciously wedded to extravagance and dissipation.
In 1807, John Catnach entered into partnership with William Davison, a chemist and druggist, from Newcastle. This union did not exceed two years, but the brief connection enabled Mr Davison to acquire valuable information into the Caxtonian art; and although reared to prescribing medicines, he had a fine relish for books, was of a speculating mind, and morally and socially the opposite of his partner. In conjunction, the pair employed Thomas Bewick, Clennell and other artists, who imparted the first impulse to wood engraving. About the end of 1809, Catnach removed to Newcastle, where he carried on printing for a short time, but change of scene and companions did not improve the man. From one bad extreme to another he rapidly drifted, business was neglected, debts accumulated, despair seized upon him, he became bankrupt, and was sent to gaol.
Clandestinely, before the climax, John contrived to grasp a small quantity of type and his wooden press, &c., which, with his wife and daughters, he despatched to London. His London life was equally disastrous. he made a start with his stock-in-trade, was constantly on the move, in dread of being distrained for rent; half starved, and in a sorry plight. In August, 1813, he had scarcely got his plant into working order when he fell and injured his leg, was seized with rheumatic fever, and died at St. George's Hospital on the 4th December, 1813.Mr Mark Smith, a native of Alnwick, visited and aided the Catnachs in their distress, and with one of the daughters attended the hospital with the intention of following the remains of Catnach to the grave, but when they arrived they were informed that an accident had befallen the horse belonging to the hearse, and the funeral was postponed till the following day. Mr Smith was then unable to attend, and despite all subsequent inquiries, no discovery was ever made as to the burial place of the elder Catnach. There was, however, strong presumptive evidence, that the hospital authorities had taken a fancy to their patient as a "subject" for dissection. Thus one of the first embellishers of the books was destined to aid science in another sphere, and perhaps confer blessings on future generations.
James Catnach, the hero of our theme, was born at Alnwick on the 18th of August, 1792. He received a very indifferent education with Mr Goldie, was irregular in attendance, which materially blunted his intellect for the higher walks of literature. Mr Hindley states that James, in early life, contemplated devoting his time to rural pursuits; that, as a youth, he rusticated as a shepherd; that for days and nights together he roamed across the Northumberland moors and mountains, jotting down rhymes in a common-place book, and was charmed with pastoral scenes and sentimental reflections.
"The mouse who only trusts to one small hole,and doubtless thus thought James Catnach, for in the 22nd year of his age we find that he had inherited his father's limited assortments of type, wood-cuts, and the two-pull wooden press, and commenced business in a small back room at No. 2, Monmouth Court, Seven Dials.
Can never be a mouse of any soul,"
The place was of the most ricketty description, and situated in the midst of filthy and pestiferous nuisances. Every pull of the press threatened destruction to the premises. The floor above was strengthened with beams, but at each vibration of the bar handle an old four-post bedstead rocked to and fro like a cradle. Of course, Jemmy was not too fastidious as to the beauty of his typography. He turned a deaf ear to the cry of shortness of sorts. In a sheet of 14in. by 8in. [inches], several founts of type were used in the same line—Roman, italic, antique, caps or small caps, anything to fill up. Crab and oyster shells were used to place quads or extras, whilst his cases were home-made and of the roughest kind. The wood-engravings were on a par with the other material, and altogether Jemmy's productions were ingenious specimens of typographical cobbling. Dickens, Douglas Jerrold, &c., have descanted upon Catnach's rendezvous, but we must content with quoting one extract from Chas. Knight's "London," as bearing more particularly on Catnach:—
"Seven Dials! the region of song and poetry—first effusions, and dying speeches. It was here that the late eminent Mr Catnach developed the resources of his genius and trade. It was Catnach who first availed himself of greater mechanical skill and a larger capital than had previously been employed in that department of the trade, to substitute for execrable tea paper blotched with lamp-black and oil, tolerably white paper and real printer's ink. It was Catnach who first conceived and carried into effect the idea of publishing collections of songs by the yard, and giving to purchasers, for the small price of one penny (in former days the cost of a single ballad), strings of poetry on every imaginable subject. Catnach was no ordinary man. He patronised original talents in many a bard of St. Giles's, and is understood to have accumulated the largest store of broadsides, last dying speeches, ballads, and other stock-in-trade of the flying-stationers, upon record."
Mr Hindley states that—
"A large part of the trade which James Catnach commenced in London in 1813-14, had for years previous to this been done in Scotland, as well as several parts of the North of England. Books of small histories, ballad poetry, and legends of remarkable places which were frequented by ghosts, fairies, hobgoblins, and the like, were printed in Caledonia long before the time of Robert Burns. In one his letters the poet says: 'But it was through the kindness of one of his early schoolmistresses that he first became acquainted with this particular kind of literature,' and there can be little doubt that he penned, when under the impulse of imagination, what Scott has styled his 'inimitable tale of Tam O'Shanter.'"
Catnach's mother and sisters were now entirely dependent upon him for support, and he threw all his energy and perseverance into the scale, determined that nothing should frustrate his success; and the result was, that in a few years he laid the foundations of a peculiar yet lucrative business.
James Catnach's manhood and characteristics were adapted to the times. Politics, party strife, squibs, lampoons, scramblings for place and power, seditions, conspiracies, riots, the Battle of Waterloo, trial of Queen Caroline, murders, virulent personalities, fabulous duels, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, fistiana, ghosts, daring feats of genteel highwaymen, smuggling, "cooked" assassinations, executions by the dozen, were the rule. Hence Catnach and his poets were never short of themes and "Sorrowful Lamentations," of which the following is a sample:—"All you that have got feeling hearts, I pray you now attendSixty years ago the lowest price of daily newspapers was 7½d. [pence], whilst weeklies ranged up to a shilling. If Catnach cannot be claimed as an advocate for cheap newspapers, he undoubtedly comprehended the principal and adoption of liberty of the press. Jemmy was his own editor. He had poets and correspondents in all parts of the kingdom, so that when great fatalities occurred, alarming fires, births of monstrosities amongst bipeds or quadrupeds, collisions at sea or upsetting of mail coaches, families prostrated with small-pox or raging fevers, down to "a cow jumping over the moon," his penny awfuls were invariably decorated with sketches "taken on the spot, by special artists," who had miraculously escaped destruction "by the skin of their teeth."
To these few lines, so sad and true, a solemn silence lend;
It is of a cruel murder, to you I will unfold—
The bare recital of the tale must make your blood run cold."
He was not over particular whether the information received from his myrmidons was true or false at the commencement of his career, new or old; vamped up old materials, cribbed from ancient sources, and everything published was accompanied with poetical effusions by way of moral, inference, or sequel. None of his issues specified dates, and the localities were kept obscure.
As time wore on, Jemmy discovered he had a reputation to maintain, and a fortune to make, therefore it was necessary to keep the truth in his eye as closely as circumstances would permit. when trade was slack, and there was nothing which the cadgers could collar with safety, or hawkers sell at a profit, they would inquire of Catnach "if there was anything good or new in the murder line, by which they could turn an honest penny," for nothing paid so well as "a stunning good 'un." It would not do to be continually inventing fictitious murders, robberies, seductions, &c., for fear of "getting the house a bad name." Songs, "three yards for a penny," were always safe; but when doubtful stories were promulgated, Jemmy directed his patterers to work new districts far distant from where the direful deeds were supposed to originate.
There was no credit given by Catnach—"Pay to-day and trust to-morrow," "Down on the nail," were his watchwords. No returns of dead stock were permitted, Jemmy observing that "If they do not sell to-day, they will be quite as good and fresh to-morrow." During four summer months, some men would clear 7s [shillings] a day, but on an average 25s weekly. The authenticity of the issues was guaranteed by the hallowed beliefs of their forefathers, that "anything which appeared in print was sure to be true."In the British Museum there is a collection of upwards of 4,000 ballads printed by Catnach in two folio volumes. Mistakes were occasionally made by Jemmy in hanging a man or woman too many, but this error was of small moment to the flying stationers. No parties dealing with Catnach ever handled anything but copper money, which was indeed filthy lucre. From dread of infection, and before the coins could be exchanged for notes or silver, it was necessary to boil them in strong decotions of soda and vinegar. Despite every care Jemmy took to avoid imposition, he received from the cadgers as many bad pennies as paved his back kitchen, which he embedded in plaster of Paris, fearing they might be stolen and again returned as genuine to his locker.
James Catnach and Mark Smith were bound apprentices to John Catnach on the same day, but owing to the removal of John to Newcastle, Smith concluded his term with Mr Walker of Paternoster Row, London. When the Catnachs arrived in the Metropolis, Mark Smith visited and frequently assisted them, and was an invaluable friend in their extremities. Messrs George Skelly, G. H. Thompson, James Horsley, Mark Smith, and Thomas Robertson, are now nearly all who remain of Jemmy Catnach's old associates. Mr Smith has been for upwards of half a century a bookseller in Alnwick, whilst Mr Robertson has for a similar period been an extensive cabinet maker at the same place. When these choice spirits were in London, they and others oft times assembled at Catnach's domicile, and Thomas Robertson, being possessed of an excellent voice, used to sing various tunes, whilst Catnach compiled poetic effusions. Numerous ballads were thus produced, and the words condensed or extended in order to "make them fit the tune." In case there was a hitch in the metre, Jemmy would say—"Sing that over again, Tom," and then the lines were dovetailed to the music, and declared suitable to the ear and the national taste. Mr Robertson still lives to recite with gusto these stories of his youthful days.
In 1826 there was a fierce Parliamentary contest for Northumberland between four candidates—Liddell, M. Bell. Beaumont, and Howick—when Mark Smith, expecting to be overpowered with work as a printer, James Catnach volunteered his services to assist during the busy time, in gratitude for the many favours received whilst Smith was in London. Catnach resided with Smith, worked early and late, wrote squibs, addresses, &c., which when collected, formed four volumes. It was at this period Catnach erected a tombstone at Alnwick, bearing the following inscription:—
"JOHN, Son of JOHN CATNACH,
Printer, died August 27th,
1794, Aged 5 years and 7 months.
JOHN CATNACH, died in
London, 1813, Aged 44.
MARY, his wife, died Jany.
24th, 1826, Aged 60 years.
Also John, Margaret, and
Jane Catnach, Lie here."
Printer, died August 27th,
1794, Aged 5 years and 7 months.
JOHN CATNACH, died in
London, 1813, Aged 44.
MARY, his wife, died Jany.
24th, 1826, Aged 60 years.
Also John, Margaret, and
Jane Catnach, Lie here."
Inasmuch as space compels us to postpone further notice of James Catnach from Mr Hindley's truly interesting work, we will conclude with a specimen in extenso of what may be anticipated in our next. The extract relates to one of Catnach's staff, well-known at the Seven Dials as "Tragedy Bill."
"No, my kind friends and relations, here you have, just printed and published, a full, true, and pertickler account of the life, trial, character, confession, behaviour, condemnation, and hexecution of that unfortunate malefactor, Richard Wilbyforce, who was hexecuted on Monday last—For the small charge of one ha'penny! and for the most horrible, dreadful, and wicked murder of Samuel—I mean Sarah Spriggins, a lady's maid, young, tender, and handsome. You have here every partickler, of that which he did, and that which he didn't. It's the most foul and horrid murder that ever graced the annals of British history. Here, my customers, you may read his hexecution on the fatal scaffold. You may also read how he met his wictim in a dark and lonesome wood, and what he did to her—For the small charge of a ha'penny! And you read how the ghost appeared to him and then to her parents. Then comes to capture of the willain; also the trial, sentence and hexecution, showing how the ghost was in the act of pulling his leg on one side, and the 'old gentleman' a pulling on the other, waiting for his wictim (good friends, fellow countrymen, and female women, excuse my tears) But has Shakspere says, 'murder most foul and unnatural,' but you'll find this more foul and unnatural than that or the t'other—for the small charge of a ha'penny! Yes, my customers, to which is added a copy of Serene and Beautiful werses, pious and immoral, as wot he wrote with his own blood and a skewer the night a'ter—I mean the night before his hexecution, addressed to young men and women of all sexes—I beg pardon, but I mean classes (my friends, it's nothing to laugh at), for I can tell you the werses has made three of the hard-heartedst things cry as never was—to wit, that is to say, namely—a overseer, a broker, and a policeman. Yes, my friends, I sold twenty thousand copies of them this here morning, and could a' sold twenty thousand more than that if I could of but kept from crying—only a ha'penny!—but—I'll read the werses:—
"Come all you blessed Christians dear,
__That's a tender, kind, and free,
While I a story do relate
__Of a dreadful tragedy
Which happen-ed in London town,
__And you shall all be told;
But when you hear the horrid deed
__'Twill make your blood run cold—
__________For the small charge of a ha'penny!
"'Twas in the merry month of May,
__When my true love I did meet;
She look all like an angel bright,
__So beautiful and sweet.
I told her I loved her much,
__And she could not say nay;
'Twas then I stung her tender heart,
__And led her all astray—
_______________________Only a ha'penny!
I brought her up to London town,
__To make her my dear wife,
But an evil spirit tempted me,
__And so I took her life;
I left the town all in the night,
__When her ghost in burning fire,
Saying, "Richard, I am still with you,
__Wherever you retire"—
_______________________Only a ha'penny!
And justice followed every step,
__Though often I did cry;
And the cruel judge and jury
__Condemned me for to die.
And in a cell, as cold as death,
__I always was afraid,
For Sarah she was with me,
__Although I killed her dead—
__________For the small charge of a ha'penny!
"My tender-hearted Christians,
Be warn-ed by what I say,
And never prove unkind or false
To any sweet la-dy.
Though some there be who wickedness
Oft leads 'em to go astray;
So pray attend to what you hear,
And a warning take, I pray—
_______All for the small charge of a ha'penny!"
(TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.)Monday, July 06, 2009
Jemmy Catnach: proto-comic publisher
Yesterday's post on Aaargh! inspired a little bit of digging. In the Bumper Souvenir Brochure, actually a flimsy 12-pager printed by IPC Magazines for the Institute of Contemporary Arts, there's a brief piece by Denis Gifford in which he wrote "The first ever British comic—the number one of Number Ones—is still to be found. Perhaps it never will—for, like us all, the British comic is the product of evolution."
Gifford went on to nominate Jemmy Catnatch as the publisher of "what can be called the first British comic." This was Life in London; or, The Sprees of Tom and Jerry; attempted in cuts and verse, produced on 23 March 1822. The broadside ran to an astonishing 35 editions, although by the time Charles Hindley wrote his Life and Times of James Catnach in 1869, only a single copy was known to exist.
In July 1821, Pierce Egan published the first monthly part of Life in London; or, The Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his elegant friend Corinthian Tom, accompanied by Bob Logic, the Oxonian, in their Rambles and Sprees through the Metropolis. These rambles were embellished "with Scenes from Real Life" designed and etched by I. R. and G. Cruikshank. The Cambridge History of English and American Literature notes that Egan wrote nothing as popular as this book. "Indeed, the taste for it amounted to a craze" George Cruickshank later admitted that he left the book two-thirds of the way through, declaring his doubts about the morality of Egan's work, and most of the illustrations were done by his brother Isaac Robert. "Be that as it may," continues the essay...
Pierce Egan became so aggrieved by the pirating and parodying of his work that he wrote The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their Pursuits through Life In and Out of London, with illustrations by Robert Cruikshank. Published in 1828, Egan stated that he believed no less than 65 publications, which he listed, derived from his work, adding: "We have been pirated, COPIED, traduced; but unfortunately, not ENRICHED by our indefatigable exertions; therefore NOTORIETY must satisfy us, instead of the smiles of FORTUNE."
It is not at all surprising that Jemmy Catnach, printer extraordinaire, was amongst Egan's "mob of literary pirates".
"It is significant," says The Cambridge History of English and American Literature, "that, within twelve hours of the appearance of Life in London, the title, the names and the story were seized upon by James Catnach, who put forth, from his printing-house in Monmouth court, Seven Dials, a twopenny broadside, entitled Life in London; or, the Sprees of Tom and Jerry; attempted in cuts and verse, with twelve plates very roughly imitated from the Cruikshanks’."
According to Hindley,
It is worth remembering that the above pages, reproduced from Hindley's biography of Catnach, are laid out across 12 pages where the original was a single broadsheet of approximately 50 cm by 37½cm, in which form it may have resembled more of a comic strip, which it doesn't so much in the above version. According to Gifford, "Catnach's anonymous cartoonist/engraver ... established the physical form of the basic comic strip which, unlike American counterparts, tends to tell its tale by typeset captions placed beneath the frames. Perhaps these slabs of print helped lock the separate blocks into place, or was it simply cheaper and easier to cut small, individual blocks than fit them into the full-page frame? At any rate, the traditional British comic stuck to a folded broadsheet or tabloid size, with pages of print-captioned panels alternating with typeset stories for more than fifty years."
Should it be accepted that Catnach's Life in London is Britain's first comic as Gifford would have it (or, at the very least, a proto-comic), this would make Tom and Jerry the first regular (proto-)comic characters, as they featured in two sequels: Green in France; or, Tom and Jerry's Rambles Through Paris, on 26 December 1822, and The Charlies' Holiday; or, The Tears of London at the Funeral of Tom and Jerry, on 25 March 1823, forty-five years before Ally Sloper first sloped into the pages of Judy.
(TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.)
Gifford went on to nominate Jemmy Catnatch as the publisher of "what can be called the first British comic." This was Life in London; or, The Sprees of Tom and Jerry; attempted in cuts and verse, produced on 23 March 1822. The broadside ran to an astonishing 35 editions, although by the time Charles Hindley wrote his Life and Times of James Catnach in 1869, only a single copy was known to exist.
In July 1821, Pierce Egan published the first monthly part of Life in London; or, The Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his elegant friend Corinthian Tom, accompanied by Bob Logic, the Oxonian, in their Rambles and Sprees through the Metropolis. These rambles were embellished "with Scenes from Real Life" designed and etched by I. R. and G. Cruikshank. The Cambridge History of English and American Literature notes that Egan wrote nothing as popular as this book. "Indeed, the taste for it amounted to a craze" George Cruickshank later admitted that he left the book two-thirds of the way through, declaring his doubts about the morality of Egan's work, and most of the illustrations were done by his brother Isaac Robert. "Be that as it may," continues the essay...
the success of the work was so great that the artists could not colour the engravings fast enough for the demand. It suited the taste of the time, when a “fast” life had become a sophisticated and conscious aim. Life in London is a guide to a fast life. Egan was a “sporting” man who did not sport. Except for a jejunely described run with hounds, a statement that Corinthian Tom had a set-to with John Jackson, the ex-champion pugilist of England, at his rooms in Bond street, and some praise from Tom’s friends for his “superior style” and “coolness and skill” in a fencing bout with O’shaunessy, there is not a word of true sport in the book. The remainder is mainly drinking, gambling, rioting, cock-fighting and other branches of debauchery, either practiced or contemplated by the friends. It is significant that, of the three adventurers, the name of Corinthian Tom appears in the largest type upon the title-page. Tom, indeed, is the hero of the tale. He is the ideal “man about town”; and, however lavishly the author may praise his elegance and accomplishment, he remains the type of the polished blackguard, unworthy to associate with his country cousin, Jerry Hawthorn, the cheery fool to whom he shows “the pleasures of the town,” and only a shade more intolerable than the bestial creature, Bob Logic, who is intended for a model of good-humour and wit. In his first chapter, or “invocation,” Egan appeals to Fielding, Goldsmith, Smollett and Sterne (“Come, then,” he characteristically writes, “thou shades of departed talent”). His book, with its leer and wink of knowing vice, its sickly affectation of warning young men from the haunts and pursuits that it lusciously describes, would have disgusted even Sterne in the moments when his physical weakness was most perverting his facile imagination. The candid rogues of great picaresque fiction would be ashamed to own Tom or Logic for their kin. Thackeray, indulging in sentimental reminiscences in days when “the literary contents of the book” had “passed sheer away” from his memory, declared that, in the days when the work appeared, we firmly believed the three heroes above named to be types of the most elegant, fashionable young fellows the town afforded, and thought their occupations and amusements were those of all highbred English gentlemen.The hugely popular book was ripe for imitators. Almost immediately came Real Life in London; or, The Rambles and Adventures of Bob Tallyho, Esq., and his cousin, the Hon. Tom Dashall in sixpenny numbers; a stage play entitled Tom and Jerry followed in September; two more plays by Charles Dibden and W. T. Moncrieff (William Thomas Thomas) were in production by November, the latter boasting that the costumes and scenary were "superintended by Mr I. R. Cruickshank, from the drawing by himself and his brother, Mr George Cruickshank". Ten different productions were running successfully before Egan himself finally "got up" a performance at the Sadler's Wells in April 1822.
Pierce Egan became so aggrieved by the pirating and parodying of his work that he wrote The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their Pursuits through Life In and Out of London, with illustrations by Robert Cruikshank. Published in 1828, Egan stated that he believed no less than 65 publications, which he listed, derived from his work, adding: "We have been pirated, COPIED, traduced; but unfortunately, not ENRICHED by our indefatigable exertions; therefore NOTORIETY must satisfy us, instead of the smiles of FORTUNE."
It is not at all surprising that Jemmy Catnach, printer extraordinaire, was amongst Egan's "mob of literary pirates".
"It is significant," says The Cambridge History of English and American Literature, "that, within twelve hours of the appearance of Life in London, the title, the names and the story were seized upon by James Catnach, who put forth, from his printing-house in Monmouth court, Seven Dials, a twopenny broadside, entitled Life in London; or, the Sprees of Tom and Jerry; attempted in cuts and verse, with twelve plates very roughly imitated from the Cruikshanks’."
According to Hindley,
Catnach brought out a "whole sheet" of letter-press for street-sale, entitled "Life in London," with twelve woodcuts, which are reduced and very roughly executed copies of the centre figures of the original plates by the Brothers Cruickshank—but all in reverse. The letter-press matter consists of flash songs, and a poetical epitome of the plot and design of the original work of "Life in London." And taking it as it stands, and from where it emanated, rather a creditable performance, particularly when we take into consideration—as duly announced by the street-patterer, that it was "just printed and pub—lish—ed, all for the low charge of twopence."
It is worth remembering that the above pages, reproduced from Hindley's biography of Catnach, are laid out across 12 pages where the original was a single broadsheet of approximately 50 cm by 37½cm, in which form it may have resembled more of a comic strip, which it doesn't so much in the above version. According to Gifford, "Catnach's anonymous cartoonist/engraver ... established the physical form of the basic comic strip which, unlike American counterparts, tends to tell its tale by typeset captions placed beneath the frames. Perhaps these slabs of print helped lock the separate blocks into place, or was it simply cheaper and easier to cut small, individual blocks than fit them into the full-page frame? At any rate, the traditional British comic stuck to a folded broadsheet or tabloid size, with pages of print-captioned panels alternating with typeset stories for more than fifty years."Should it be accepted that Catnach's Life in London is Britain's first comic as Gifford would have it (or, at the very least, a proto-comic), this would make Tom and Jerry the first regular (proto-)comic characters, as they featured in two sequels: Green in France; or, Tom and Jerry's Rambles Through Paris, on 26 December 1822, and The Charlies' Holiday; or, The Tears of London at the Funeral of Tom and Jerry, on 25 March 1823, forty-five years before Ally Sloper first sloped into the pages of Judy.
(TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.)
Sunday, July 05, 2009
AAARGH! Bumper Souvenir Catalogue
As far as I'm aware, Aaargh! was the first major exhibition of comics in the UK. I may be wrong—I'm sure there must have been exhibitions of individual artists, especially cartoonists, before, but this was the first to specifically celebrate comics as an art form.It took place between 31 December 1970 and 7 February 1971 at the Institute of Contemporary Arts and was organised by Michael Kustow, a writer, producer and cultural activist. Kustow was associate director of the National Theatre and the RSC and was a director of the Institute of Contemporary Arts when it moved into the Mall, where the Aaargh! exhibition was held. He subsequently became the first arts commissioning editor for Channel 4 in 1982 and is still a writer and critic. His books include The Book of US (1968), Tank: An Autobiographical Fiction (1975), One in Four (1987), theatre@risk (2000) and Peter Brook: A Biography (2005).
Design (#264, December 1970) noted the exhibition thus:
Mike Kustow, ex-director of the ICA, is back at Nash House organising the first major exhibition of comics held in this country. "AAARGH !!!" will include original artwork, vintage backnumbers, magic lantern shows, dolls, lunchtime theatricals and films. The first section will run through British comics - from Comic Cuts to Cor! taking in stock characters like Weary Willie and Tired Tim, Professor Radium and Dan Dare. Then the great European and US comic heroes, from Krazy Kat to Feiffer victim Bernard Mergendeiler with a side-swipe at Tarzan and the Marvel Comics galaxy. Comic technique will be explained (as in the ingenious use of frames in this example from Neutron by Guido Crepax).
A number of artworks have been specially created by ICA war horses like Bruce Lacey and Adrian Henri, and one section of the exhibition will chart the reactions of children to the comics they read and display audio-visual stories composed at a comics summer school held in London earlier this year.
Included on the backup programme will be film episode serials of Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers and others, and a lunchtime play based on Frank Dickens' Bristow strip. "AAARGH!!!" takes place at Nash House from 31 December to 7 February between 11 am and 10 30pm.
Reviewing the exhibition, Christopher Warman of The Times (31 December 1970), was impressed from the moment he walked in to the moment he left...There is a 12-foot-high monster astronaut at the door mouthing his neon-lit welcome of "AAARGH!", and beyong him banana skins, giant footprints, manhole covers are painted on the floor, while an exhotation "Look-out, Dan" shrieks out from the side.Michael McNay (The Guardian, 1 January 1971) saw it as part of an "intellectualising of comic cuts culture".
The visitor would do well to be wary, for he has entered the blood-pulsing, heart-stopping, dangerous other-world of the comic...
At the end of the exhibition is a restaurant. Billy Bunter stares balefully. Balloons shout "Munch", "Slurp", "Gobble", "Burp". Fried eggs adorn chairs and the floor. In this genuine world of make-believe, they could just be real.
It was only a matter of time before the Institute of Contemporary Arts hitched its bandwagon to this star, and ran an exhibition of comics. It is not, of course, called an exhibition, but a celebration. The man who organised "Aaargh!" (to give it its full title), Mike Kustow, did not read comics as a child in North London, so he is able to combine the erudition of the historian with perspective, and the fervour of the convert.
But the matter is not quite as straightforward as Colin MacInnes claimed on this page last month. The interest of the literate and articulate in popular arts is not just the groping of a group whose own highbrow culture has broken up nor intellectual slumming, through there is an element of both, but the response of people who, unlike Kustow and, probably, MacInnes, were fed comics with their powdered milk.
In many schools, the Superman and Captain Marvel comics that came over with the wartime American forces were contraband beyond the dreams of avarice (and in their train a wonderful spawning of superhumans: Plastic Man, Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America, all drawing on the myth of invincibility that goes back at least to Achilles). They were compelling because Superman was in his heaven and all was right with the world, because the stories were masterpieces of compression (George Melly, who does the words for Flook, pointed out to Kustow that 20 words was the normal maximum for a balloon), and because they were well drawn.
This last point cannot be made often enough. Roy Lichtenstein realised it long ago: pictures like the Tate Gallery's "Whaaam!" derive their compressed power of line and design from comic book originals. But Lichtenstein is rare among painters: a lot of "fine" artists have had a lot of fun at the ICA, painting Desperate Dan friezes and, in the children's section, rubbery attenuated versions of Popeye and Mickey Mouse; none of them has approached the invention, the tension of line, the brilliance of framing, the delicate intricacy of the real cheap article, and of course, no single frame can recapture the compression of time and space in a complete comic story...
Desperate Dan is cruder and blunter than Krazy Kat, yet Patrick Hughes's fine art homage to him at the ICA isn't desperate enough by half: it fails to capture the strip's vitality. Desperate Dan is another immortal, but this time he is the creature of D. C. Thomson Ltd., the patriarchal, non-union Dundee firm that has held the most important corner of the British comics market since long before George Orwell wrote his worried article about the plot to subvert minds of the British young. And here the ICA exhibition falters badly: the "Wizard", "Adventure", "Rover", "Beano", "Dandy" and the others are missing. How did you celebrate comics without them?
The fault is not Kustow's or the ICA's. D. C. Thomson simply would not play...
So there is a whole sub-culture missing from the show. Porn, a minor but flourishing undergrowth, is not at the ICA either: an Italian variety was impounded by Her Majesty's Customs. But among some inferior camp ("Is this the end for Phoebe? Will it just be her and all those sabre toothed tigers? Does depravity triumph?") there is one extraordinary beautiful piece of work by Nicholas Devil, "A de luxe adult comic book recounting the adventures of Saga, a superheroine descended from Barbarella across centuries and continents."
In this Japanese episode, the best frames combine the boldness of Ukiyo-e prints with the subtlety of colour that modern multicolour printing systems bestow. It is well worth seeing and the show itself, in spite of the omissions, is a slap-up bumper beano.
The refusal by D. C. Thomson to get involved in the exhibition—something that I'm sure wouldn't happen now—explains why the Cavalcade of British Comics section featured comics from Comic Cuts to Cor!! via Puck, Chuckles, Radio Fun, Film Fun and Eagle without a single mention (in the souvenir brochure's editorial) of The Beano or The Dandy. Photographic blow-ups, original art-work and rare vintage issues were promised and Christopher Warman described how "On adjoining walls, Rupert Bear ventures from one innocent crisis to another, and Barry Mackenzie from the Private Eye comic swears his way along the strip."
I'm not sure if you can say that, nearly forty years on, comics have become intellectualised or benefitted from the occasional critical assessment as "art". Lichtenstein pop art of the sixties has become naughties pop art by Jeff Koons, who uses Popeye "as a comment on the economic crisis because the spinich-guzzling cartoon character was conceived during the Depression" (The Times, 11 May 2009), apparently, although I'm not sure which aspect of the Depression Popeye (created before the Depression started, incidentally) represents. And as Koons began his Popeye Series in 2002, it was certainly not conceived as a way of commenting on events six years later.My point is that comics per se are still a gutter form of art to most people. Popeye, in the hands of Jeff Koons (who does very nice balloon dogs), is art, but it's unlikely we'll be seeing an exhibition of E. C. Segar's original Popeye artwork any more than the Tate would exhibit the uncredited comics and artists that Roy Lichtenstein took his inspiration from. Isn't it a shame that the country that created the comic can't find some way to celebrate the fact.
(* photo of Mike Kustow taken from the Bloomsbury website biog.; Robot photo from a very poor repro. of The Times (31 Dec. 1970); not sure of the copyright on either so if there's a problem, let me know. If anyone has any photographs from the Aaargh! exhibition, I'd love to see them.)
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