Fellmonger House 1841 - 1876

Fellmonger House 1841 - 1876

Fellmonger and overseer
By 1841, the building was back to fellmongering. Benjamin Lyon moved from Cambridge. He lived at Fellmonger House with his wife and 2 children aged 5 years and 2 years, and a servant. With them at the time of the census was John Baynes, of independent means. John was a rare commodity, an owner with the stomach to stay at Fellmonger House. At least, on the night of the 1841 census on 6 June. There's no evidence John repeated the experience.

Benjamin was one of the 2 elected overseers of the St Ives Union Workhouse. This was a responsible position. Overseers handled the assessment and collection of poor rates. They also managed the distribution of money, food and clothing to the poor. Finally, the overseers arranged supervision of the workhouse. They checked those claiming poor relief were born in the parish. Overseer was an honorary position, so Benjamin received no pay. They were often reluctant appointees. Benjamin probably saw the role as establishing himself in a position of authority. He must have been ambitious.

Plan of St Ives Union Workhouse, 1834.

In April 1841, Benjamin was one of 6 signatures to a petition presented to the Poor Law Commissioners. They accused George Game Day of rigging an election. The election was for appointees to the Board of Guardians of the workhouse. This was the body ultimately responsible for the workhouse. George was a solicitor and clerk to the Board of Guardians. He was also one of the most gifted and controversial men to come from St Ives. George was a ferocious debater and political fixer. He owned the lease of the property Benjamin occupied. So the action was a particularly brave move on Benjamin's part.

It wasn't the first time George appeared accused of fixing an election. In 1836, George was on trial for illegally placing 4 persons on the voters list. He put up a spirited defence and won. George was popular. Prominent businessmen in the area had a collection to cover his legal costs. George recounted the affair at a dinner to present him with a cup containing 500 gold sovereigns. Today, that is worth almost £50,000. So Benjamin and his 5 collaborators were taking on a political powerhouse. No surprise they lost. George took charge of the elections the following year.

By 1851, Benjamin employed 3 men. Another daughter was born. Benjamin became a churchwarden of St Ives Parish Church in 1852. But it appears he overreached himself. In 1855, his creditors placed Benjamin's belongings in trust. This ensured they got their money back. What must Benjamin and his family felt? To watch all their worldly possessions auctioned off to the highest bidder?

Benjamin stayed in St Ives for a period. He continued to work as a fellmonger and became a parish constable in 1858. It seems the family moved away from St Ives. Benjamin died in Chelsea in 1867, aged 58 years.

Murder most foul?
There were 11 pubs and inns along the Bullock Market. They served drink to thirsty drovers from Monday's cattle market. Most were large coaching inns with accommodation. Next door to Fellmonger House was the Queen Victoria pub, where York House is now.

York House, formerly the Queen Victoria pub.

Robert Stocker was 38 years old, born and bred in St Ives. Like most publicans in the town, he had more than one occupation. Besides running the Queen Victoria, he was also a cordwainer, an old term for a shoemaker. There were another 36 cordwainers in St Ives. St Ivians got through a lot of shoes!

Robert might have been the licensed publican, but it was his wife, Mary, who did all the hard work. Besides looking after their 5 young children, she tended 11 lodgers at the pub. Mary was the perfect publican's wife. A quiet woman who never touched alcohol.

Robert more than made up for Mary's abstinence. Robert liked to drink. Not good for a publican. When under the influence, he was a very savage and violent fellow. Robert loved his wife, but when he was tipsy and they argued, Robert wasn't averse to knocking Mary about.

One Thursday evening in April 1852, a shocking event occurred. It must have disturbed Benjamin Lyon and his family next door. Robert Stocker, the landlord of the pub, had murdered Mary, his wife. The following day, there was much excitement in the town and surrounding area.

Returning home the worse for drink, Robert asked his daughter to treat a friend to a pint of beer. Mary objected, saying the friend should pay. During previous arguments, Robert had threatened to leave home and go on the road. Mary suggested he should hit the road right away. When Robert headed for the stairs to pack, Mary shoved him in the chest. Robert uttered he would not be beaten by a woman. He knocked Mary to the floor with a blow, then went upstairs to gather his shoemaking tools.

The pub's customers got Mary into a chair. There was no sign of life. Robert came downstairs and was much distressed. He kissed her and begged her to speak. Robert said he had killed his polly. He expected his punishment to be hanging, or transportation to Australia. If the latter, he would have joined the list of 13 St Ivians transported. Robert threatened to drown himself. He didn't know what would become of his children. They were a credit to Mary. Did the neighbour, Benjamin Lyon, take care of the children?

The following day, parish constable Henry Golding escorted Robert to the Coroner's Court. On the way, they stopped off for a quick pint. When the Magistrates heard of this, they severely reprimanded Henry.

Imprisoned at County Gaol and House of Correction in Huntingdon for 3 months, Robert avoided the treadmill. Prisoners sentenced to hard labour treaded in silence for up to 10 hours a day. It was the same as walking 17,000 vertical feet and broke their spirit. The treadmill ground corn for the prison. There was also a crank machine, which served no useful purpose other than punishment.

Treadmill at Brixton Prison, similar to that at Huntingdon Gaol.

Imprisonment was no holiday for Robert. His cell measured 9ft by 6ft. Prisoners had to remain silent. His cell walls were black. Light and ventilation came from a small grate in the door. A daily ration was 1.5lb of bread. The gaol keeper also supplied a quart of oatmeal and milk porridge on 5 days. On the other two days, there was meat and vegetable soup. For this he charged 2 pence a day (today £1). Parts of the gaol survive at 27/29 St Peters Road, Huntingdon.

In July 1852, Robert appeared at Huntingdon Assizes. An hour before her death, Mary had gone looking for Robert with her eldest daughter, Harriet. They found him at Isaac How's beer house. Mary fell down as though she'd tripped and was faint. Robert and Harriet helped her home, where she appeared to recover. The post mortem examination revealed Mary had damaged her head when she tripped. This caused her fainting attack and was the reason for her death. The Assizes found Robert not guilty.

What happened to Robert and his children? There's no trace after 1852. According to Bob Burn-Murdoch's The Pubs of St Ives, by 1859 the Queen Victoria was a former pub. In that year, Potto Brown bought the building and leased it to a corn merchant. Potto was an avid fan of the temperance movement and abhorred alcohol.

Fellmonger and parish constable
In 1851, William Papworth was a journeyman fellmonger living in Merryland. He got work where he could find it, often on a day rate. It's probable William worked for Benjamin Lyon on occasion. By 1961, Fellmonger House was home to William, his wife, sister-in-law, nephew and 2 lodgers.

William became a parish constable in February 1856. This was another unsalaried honorary position. There was no formal training and no uniform. The primary duty was dealing with drunks. Six weeks into the job, William dealt with something more serious.

Jacob Stevens, a grocer, lived opposite Fellmonger House. When he tied a rope around his neck and suspended himself from the balcony, his servant knew who to call. He rushed across to Fellmonger House to get William, saying my master is dead. William took the servant's statement at face value. On arrival, he focused on consoling the widow.

It was 10 minutes and the arrival of more help before anyone thought to check on Jacob. By that time he was certainly dead, still suspended by his neck above the stairwell. If only William had rushed upstairs immediately after he arrived. He could have released the rope from Jacob's neck and saved Jacob. William took the servant's hasty utterance about his master's fate at face value. The Coroner severely censured William.

William died in 1876, aged 74 years.

Senses assailed
What was it like to step out of Fellmonger House on a Monday morning? That was the day the livestock market took place in St Ives. This weekly market was one of the biggest in England, even bigger before the railway in the mid 1800s. Over 12,000 beasts of all kinds filled St Ives town centre. This was in a medium-sized village, the population of which up to the 1950s was never over 3,000. St Ives market fed London.

The experience must have been a shock. Way beyond anything our sanitised 21st century sensibilities could imagine. A newspaper article from 1819 gives us an idea of how awful it was, right in front of Fellmonger House. John Edwards, a butcher, built 4 cottages in his yard. Edward's Yard was one of 49 yards of St Ives in which the poor lived, somewhere opposite Fellmonger House. The cottages suffered from damp, so John dug a well and pump to lower the water level. Next to the well was waste from John's large slaughterhouse and other muck. Effluent leaked into the well. Whenever John emptied the well, the contents ran in a stream down the centre of the Bullock Market. This created an intolerable stench, to the annoyance of every one living near. The authorities ordered John to stop the practice.

Bullock Market, c1880.

As a child, a St Ives resident recalls falling asleep on Sunday evenings to the plaintive music of cattle lowing in the meadows surrounding the town. The occupants of Fellmonger House heard that sound travelling from Hemingford Meadow.

Many of those attending the market would stay overnight on Sunday at one of the inns or hostels. On Sunday evenings, the town centre was full of visitors from across the UK. Most in a 'happy' state from visiting the 70 licensed premises. Some were simple beerhouses, a front room open to customers serving beer brewed at the back of the house. All these establishments were very much male-orientated. The presence of a woman was a certain sign of her lack of respectability. It was from the pubs, beerhouses and market crowds that nymphs of the pave found their customers.

Early Monday morning, cattle queued into the Bullock Market. Cattle were wall to wall, as shown in the photograph below from the late 1800s. In 1921, the Mayor recalled cattle queuing to get into the Bullock Market. They filed along the Waits, up Ramsey Road, along the full length of St Audrey's Lane, and down into Pig Lane and Needingworth Road.

The air was thick with cursing as the drovers tried to control the cattle. Though many swear words would pass St Ivians by, such was the variety of accents. Irish, Welsh, and Scots mixed with West Country and Northern accents.

A drover's role was to take care of their livestock so they were in good condition on arrival at the market. But that was not always the case. Some drovers treated their beasts cruelly. In 1835, a poor bullock, harassed and tormented by those monsters in human shape - "Drovers", took refuge in the shop of Mrs Robinson, milliner. In 1837, there was a report of a Bluntisham man fined for mistreating a horse at St Ives market. The magistrates stated they would make an example of anyone doing so again, to check the brutality which is witnessed in that place every market-day. In 1856, magistrates fined John and Levi Allsop for cruelty. They fined Levi 12 shillings for cruelly beating a beast at the market. John was the worst of the two, fined 20 shillings (today £80) for using the beast very cruelly generally.

Read Adams, the first Mayor of St Ives, wrote a letter in 1886 about the old Bullock Market. He sought to improve the lives of the cattle. Read wanted to lessen the cruel blows and brutal uproar. He wished the market was more like a place of business than a pandemonium.

Read Adams, first Mayor of St Ives, 1874.

The Bullock Market could be a dangerous place. Posts ran down either side. On Monday mornings, officials inserted rails into the posts. These protected pedestrians and buildings from injury or damage. A beast would often run riot. So it's likely the woman and children of Fellmonger House stayed in Mondays and did the washing.

In 1801, a bullock wandered into the Royal Oak pub on Crown Street. It trampled up the stairs. Next, the bullock came crashing through the middle window frame, landing on the street. Much terrified, it ran off down Bridge Street. Stopped at the bridge, the animal leapt into the river and disappeared.

Royal Oak, and the first floor middle window the bullock crashed through in 1801.

James & Harriet Rowell’s infant son Hector had a lucky escape in 1858. Less than 1 year of age, he was safe in his nursemaid’s arms at the corner of Merryland. A passing cow ripped him from his place of safety as it escaped from the Bullock Market. Hector dangled from the cow’s horns, careering towards Bridge Street. The nursemaid sprinted after the beast to rescue little Hector without harm. She saved the day and her job.

Today, it’s hard to imagine what the Bullock Market was like, as cattle filled the space. Noise, smells, steam from the cattle and effluent. Also, strange accents from Ireland, Scotland, Wales & all parts of England. All outside the front door of Fellmonger House. It was no place for the genteel of St Ives to promenade. No wonder some interesting boot scrapers still survive around the town centre.

The smell was no less challenging at the back of Fellmonger House. In 1873, Dr Grove delivered his annual report on the health of the town. He wrote about the condition of the Back Water, which passes along the back of Fellmonger House. There was little water flow, and a large amount of sewage discharged into the stream. This mixed with decomposing vegetation in summer. There was a most unwholesome and poisonous gas. No doubt, the smell was made all the worse from the blood and gore thrown into the Back Water from Fellmonger House.

To read more articles about this house, click Fellmonger House. To view stories of other interesting houses and their residents in St Ives in the style of David Olusoga's BBC television programme, click A House Through Time. To access more topics on the social history of St Ives, its resident and the surrounding area, click St Ives 100 Years Ago.