... they build [on the Tyne] to perfection as to strength and firmness, and to bear the sea, the Coal trade demanding such... [Newcastle] has the largest and longest key for landing and loading goods that is to be seen in England
Daniel Defoe writing in 1725 when he lived just off the Gateshead side of the quayside.
A few weeks ago, I wrote of a guided walk I took along the quayside of the River Tyne in Newcastle and Gateshead, looking at the area's plants and wildlife. Well, last week, I returned for another guided walk, but the theme of that one was much darker. And it took place in the dark, too. Apt given its theme of 'Quayside Ghostly and Grisly Tales'. It also seemed in keeping with the rapidly approaching Halloween.
The walk took place on the eve of Storm Babet, and yet it was very much the calm before the storm, with the weather mild and dry. Indeed, one of our number was in shirt sleeves (although, being Newcastle, such under-dressing isn't always a measure of how cold it might be).
Like many port cities in the UK, Newcastle's Quayside is now a relatively dignified area of hotels, restaurants, art galleries and residential properties. Once, however, it would have been a hive of noisy industry with ships coming and going and the loading and unloading of goods.
From the 1700s, running down from the city towards the quayside were many cramped dwellings on either side of narrow, unlit streets called 'chares'. Overcrowding of houses was common and all lacked basic sanitation. So, not surprisingly, several of the perpetrators of the gruesome tales of murder and robbery shared by our guide were infamous characters who lived within and took advantage of such conditions.
A few chares still exist today, marked by steep stairs that zigzag up from the quayside towards the city's centre. They include the 'Long Stairs' that feature in the film 'Get Carter', and 'Castle Stairs' that offer a majestic view of the Castle Keep from the top. Another is 'Dog Leap Stairs' that lead up to what was once Newcastle's old Castle Garth. Their name does not come from a dog that leapt down the stairs, but it's thought because the curve of the stairs resembled the shape of a dog's hind legs.
During the 18th century, England was almost continually at war, which meant that the Admiralty was always short of sailors for the King's Navy, especially as the conditions and treatment of such sailors were both uncomfortable and harsh. 'Pressing' men into the service of their country was not new. Indeed, the practice dates back in England to the time of Edward II (and in more modern times, you might consider National Service to be a 'press'). However, by the 18th century, the 'press gangs' formed to take any able-bodied man they could capture to be 'impressed' into the Navy were notorious. Some say the spirit of Henry Hardwick thrown down the Long Stairs to his death by a press gang for attempting to flee and not 'coming quietly', now haunts those stairs.
Press gangs often targeted pubs and taverns, so it was common to post lookouts to give warnings and allow drinkers to disperse if a gang was sighted. When living near Bristol, I've had a pint or two in the 'Hole in the Wall' named after a spy hole in a small nook from which a lookout, who the press gang could not see, could watch for the approach of press gangs. It's thought this pub was the model for Stevenson's 'The Spyglass' in his book 'Treasure Island'.
But getting back to Newcastle, the 18th-century pub at the bottom of the Long Stairs from which Henry Hardwick made his attempt to escape was not so well equipped, and the lookout sat on the roof. Alas, he, too, met an ugly fate at the hands of the press gang when they saw him aloft on his perch.
The myth is that the press gang would use subtle means to 'impress' an unsuspecting man. One method was to drop a shilling into a man's tankard in a pub. When the drinker finished his ale to discover the coin, the press gang would say he had accepted the King's shilling and was now in the Navy. Supposedly, this was why glass-bottomed tankards became popular so drinkers could spot the shilling nestling at the bottom. It's a myth, but it makes for a good story. In fact, press gangs would simply use violence or the threat thereof to 'impress' a man.
Only keelmen who did the vital job of transporting coal down the River Tyne were exempt from the 'press', but they had to behave themselves. In April 1755, a group of keelmen took a short pleasure trip from the quayside a couple of miles upriver to my hometown of Blaydon. My 'local' is around a mile uphill from Blaydon in the small village of Winlaton, which is also where those keelmen of two hundred and fifty years ago headed (to the village, not my local - it's Victorian). Having spent some time in the Winlaton hostelries, the keelmen decided to have 'fun' while earning some money. They would impersonate a press gang and 'capture' a few likely-looking lads. Then, on payment of 'compensation', the keelmen would 'release' the lads.
Having detained a few men, the keelmen proceeded to ask for their compensation, which alerted the locals to ask by what authority they acted. The keelmen had overlooked the fact that many men of Winlaton were blacksmiths and in Government employ making weapons. These blacksmiths were both strong and unafraid of a fight. They soon overpowered the keelmen and took them as prisoners to Newcastle. After a night in Newcastle Keep, the keelmen ended up aboard the 'Peggy' a Sloop of War and thus found that they had joined the King's Navy themselves. No doubt the Winlaton blacksmiths enjoyed telling that tale over a pint.
Another sad soul who, it's said, haunts the alleys near the quayside is Martha Wilson. A heartbroken widow who tragically took her own life in the early nineteenth century as she could not bear to go on without her husband. At that time, the church denied a proper burial to someone who committed suicide. Burial of their bodies was typically at a crossroads with a stake driven through their hearts. This was the fate of Martha's corpse, and her ghost now wanders in such of her beloved.
In the late Georgian period, ' Black' Jacky Johnson lived just off the quayside on Dog Bank. The 'Black' element to his name refers to his dabbling in black magic. Local inhabitants of Newcastle often sought his advice as the belief was that he owned a copy of the great magician Cornelius Agrippa's manual to the dark arts. Many feared Jacky and even criminals were wary of his black magic.
Jacky was fortunate that he did not try to ply his trade a century earlier, as he would have met a grim fate. In 1649, sweeping through the city and across the country was a witch craze sparked by widespread paranoia and suspicion. In Newcastle, the Puritan Corporation called on the services of a Scottish witchfinder, of which Ralph Gardiner, in his 1655 book, 'England's grievance discovered, in relation to the coal-trade' wrote: "Thirty women were brought into the town hall and stript [sic], and then openly had pins thrust into their bodies."
The town hall mentioned was the Guild Hall that still stands today on the quayside, and the women were essentially subject to sexual assault. And the 'pricking' was almost certainly using a retractable pin, so the women did not bleed, a supposed sign they were witches. It was in the interest of the witchfinder to discover as many witches as possible, given his fee was twenty shillings (£150 today) for each one he 'found'. Newcastle's Newgate Prison (where a leisure complex now stands) and Castle Keep then used to hold the unfortunate women. For some unknown reason, freedom eventually came to sixteen of those held. There may be a clue as to why as reports say one of those fortunate women was considered "too pretty" to be a witch.
Public execution befell the rest, fourteen women and a man - accused of being a wizard - on gallows erected on Newcastle's Town Moor, of which I wrote in my piece on the Hoppings. The hangings were the largest mass public execution in England.
It wasn't just the witchfinder who made money out of this travesty of justice as records show that the cost was £15 19s and 2d (£2,400 today) "for the wiches for 2 weekes ending the 23th (sic) of August 1650 and other charges for executing the prisoners."
While the photograph above that I took while on the walk shows a tranquil scene with the Tyne Bridge looking its best self it too has a grim tale to tell. Health and Safety during its construction some hundred years ago was not what it is today. Many of the great industrial engineering projects through the Victorian, Edwardian and even in the early, House of Windsor saw death as a natural by-product of some of those engaged in such constructions. In the case of the Tyne Bridge, the builders, Messrs Dorman, Long and Co, did make one H&S provision. It was to employ John James Carr, a waterman whose role was to row to any man who fell from the bridge and return him safely to shore. This John Carr did on fifty-seven occasions. There nearly was a fifty-eighth, but the chap who fell, Nathaniel Collins, a scaffolder, hit the bridge walkway before falling into the water. John Carr got him to the quayside, but Nathaniel died of his injuries—one of three men killed during the building of the bridge.
What amazed me was that the death toll was not higher; given to construct the bridge arch, the men involved either tied ladders together to reach the highest points or shinned up the metal columns to get to them. For that reason, they got the nickname 'monkey men'. Not a harness or hard hat in sight. It reminded me of a visit to the Titanic Museum in Belfast some years ago to look at the exhibition on the construction of that ill-fated ship.
The building of the innovative and award-winning Arrol Gantry allowed the rapid construction of the RMS Titanic and the other Olympic class liners. The large steel structure even had electric lifts to get men to the ship's top. Alas, the men were wary of using such 'modern' technology, preferring to climb the gantry like those who built the Tyne Bridge. Again, there were surprisingly few deaths given the dangers involved, with four men dying from falls and a fifth losing his life during the launching of the ship. One of the wooden struts over which the Titanic slipped into the water sadly killing James Dobbin.
A final mention in this piece must go to Elizabeth 'Bessie' Surtees, the daughter of a wealthy banker, well-known in Newcastle for her elopement in 1772 with John Scott, later 1st Earl of Eldon, and Lord High Chancellor. Their love affair was against their family's wishes. So, Bessie supposedly climbed out a first-storey window of her near quayside house and then escaped with John on horseback. Bessie's family failed in their chase of the couple by trying to ride up 'Dog Leap Stairs', an impossible task given how narrow, steep and twisting they are. Unsurprisingly, the horses could climb no higher than halfway, and some fell, killing their riders. Legend is that you can still hear horse hooves clattering up the stairs at night. John and Bessie married in Scotland, and they soon reconciled with their families, with the marriage officially blessed two months later at what is now Newcastle Cathedral.
It's not only the sounds of horse hooves that add to this ghostly story. Several passers-by have mentioned seeing a woman's face looking out of the window from which Bessie made her escape. Maybe the ghost of Bessie recreating that night of long ago when she no doubt looked excitedly out for the arrival of her lover?
Harry thank you. You have a way of relaying history and sharing your walks that pulls me into your adventures.
There are ghosts everywhere, just not the type of ghosts that make spectral visitations from the world beyond or are mentioned in stories told around a campfire. That picture that you posted looks CHEERIER, in fact, than venues frequented by the biologically - impaired.