Now! Then! Showman Old Jemmy Wild’s body travels by caravan from Bradford to Huddersfield, followed by Billy the fortune-telling pony and Jerry the bloodhound

23 December 1838: Showman Old Jemmy Wild’s body travels by caravan from Bradford to Huddersfield, followed by Billy the fortune-telling pony and Jerry the bloodhound

Sam Wild. 1888. The Original, Complete, and Only Authentic Story of “Old Wild’s” (the Yorkshire “Richardson’s,” and the Pioneer of the Provincial Theatre). Ed. ‘Trim’ (William Broadley Megsom). London: G. Vickers. Get it:

Excerpt

A little before twelve o’clock on the second evening after the old man’s death, when all was still, we started upon our journey, the saddest we ever made. Inside the caravan, and down the centre of it, lay the coffined remains of the old conjurer, and seated around him were his poor widow, Tom, myself, our wives, and Selina, all of us deeply affected. Outside the caravan, and tied to the back of it, was old Billy, all unconscious that he was following his aged master to the grave; and walking along by the side of the van thoughtfully was the faithful watch-dog Jerry. All was still without, except the slow tramp of the horses’ feet and the rumbling of the van, and the only sounds within were a whisper now and then from one to another, and an occasional sob from the women. We arrived at Huddersfield about three o’clock the next morning. Even at that early hour, cold December though it was, there were hundreds of persons out to meet the caravan. Upon reaching Huddersfield we proceeded to the Druids’ Hotel. We had some difficulty in removing the coffin from the caravan – for my father was broad shouldered, and weighed over seventeen stones – but when we had succeeded at last, we conveyed it into the parlour, and placing it upon a table, locked up the room. Mother and Selina remained in the van, with Jerry as watch, Tom and I lodged at the hotel, and Billy was put into the stable. About nine o’clock Tom and I arose and went into the parlour. Jerry coming into the hotel at that moment followed us into the room and threw himself down under the table whereon his late master lay, and there remained. As soon as it became known that the old showman was to be seen, hundreds of the townspeople whom my father had amused in his day came to see him, “positively for the last time,” and among them came Charlie Healey, father’s old crony that had been, and he looked at his old friend’s face until first one tear and then another started, and the dear old soul couldn’t look any longer.

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.
Abbreviations:

ER: East Riding
GM: Greater Manchester
NR: North Riding
NY: North Yorkshire
SY: South Yorkshire
WR: West Riding
WY: West Yorkshire

Comment

Billy’s tricks included “pointing out the little boys who stole their mamma’s sugar, the men who were fonder of grog than of going to church on Sundays, and the young lady who was just about to be married,” as well as discovering “the biggest rogue of the company.” Here’s the editor:

This scene, which always created infinite amusement (and which was no doubt partially suggested by the story of Banks and his famous horse, “Marocco,” as narrated in Tarleton’s Jests), was, I am told on the authority of one who has repeatedly witnessed the performance, somewhat after this fashion: “Now, Billy,” the old man would say, “I want you to go round and pick me out the biggest rogue in the company.” Whereupon Billy would walk slowly round the ring – this was in the old amphitheatre times – and suddenly stop at his master, to the intense amusement of the audience. “You scoundrel! How dare you, sir?” Old Jemmy would ask. “I told you to go round and pick me out the biggest rogue in the company, didn’t I? Now go round again, sir.” To an admonitory crack of the whip, Billy would once more set forth on his work of detection, and, of course, again stop at his master. Increased laughter and applause. “Well ladies and gentlemen,” Jemmy would say, addressing the audience, “I do believe the pony thinks I am the biggest rogue in the company” – (roars of laughter) – “and, really, ladies and gentlemen, I believe you think so, too!”

James Burnley provides a good summary (Burnley 1885).

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Original

So a little before twelve o’clock on the second evening after the old man’s death, when all was still, we started upon our journey, the saddest, I think, we ever made. Inside the caravan, and down the centre of it, lay the coffined remains of the old conjurer, and seated around him were his poor widow, Tom, myself, our wives, and Selina, all of us deeply affected. Outside the caravan, and tied to the back of it, was old ‘Billy,’ all unconscious that he was following his aged master to the grave; and walking along by the side of the van thoughtfully (for I always fancied he had some idea that the old man had gone), was the faithful watch-dog Jerry. All was still without, except the slow tramp of the horses’ feet and the rumbling of the van, and the only sounds within were a whisper now and then from one to another, and an occasional sob from the women.

We arrived at Huddersfield about three o’clock the next morning. Even at that early hour, cold December though it was, there were hundreds of persons out to meet the caravan, for it had become known there that ‘Old Wild’ was dead, and that his remains were being brought to Huddersfield for interment. And my father did enjoy a popularity in his time, I can tell you. I speak deliberately when I say that his death was as much talked of then, all over the country, as was Sir Francis Crossley’s demise six years ago.

Upon reaching Huddersfield we proceeded to the Druids’ Hotel. We had some difficulty in removing the coffin from the caravan-for my father was broad shouldered, and weighed over seventeen stones-but when we had succeeded at last, we conveyed it into the parlour, and placing it upon a table, locked up the room. Mother and Selina remained in the van, with ‘Jerry’ as watch, Tom and I lodged at the hotel, and ‘Billy’ was put into the stable.

About nine o’clock Tom and I arose and went into the parlour. ‘Jerry’ coming into the hotel at that moment followed us into the room and threw himself down under the table whereon his late master lay, and there remained. I had been thinking about the old man, and felt that I should like to have a peep at his face once more. I expressed my desire to my mother, who at first objected to the lid of the coffin being removed, but, finding me still importunate, at length consented. So I satisfied my longing eyes. There was the grand old face, calm and placid, as though its owner had just composed himself for his afternoon’s nap, the face that we had all looked upon with awe in our younger days, and with respect and veneration when we came to be men and women.

As soon as it became known that the old showman was to be seen-for, contrary to my mother’s expectations, there was nothing to prevent the lid of the coffin being left off a short time-hundreds of the townspeople whom my father had amused in his day came to see him, ‘positively for the last time,’ and amongst them came Charlie Healey, father’s old crony that had been, and he looked at his old friend’s face until first one tear and then another started, and the dear old soul couldn’t look any longer.

The moment the coffin was removed ‘Jerry’ got up and followed it to the hearse. As soon as the door was closed upon it he returned to the parlour, and, resuming his former position under the table, remained there all the afternoon, howling mournfully at intervals.

There was a great concourse of people to see the funeral. We had two mourning coaches. Mother, James, and Sarah Ann occupied the first, and Tom and I and our wives the second. The company, headed by Samuel Kirkham, who was our leading actor at that time, followed in cabs, and foremost among those who brought up the rear was Charlie Healey. He had divested himself of his can of sweets, along with his weekday clothes, had mounted a good suit of black, and had staked at least two days’ pay from Government in hire of a cab to do honour to his friend’s burial.

The interment took place about two o’clock in the afternoon, in the presence, as I have said, of a large gathering of people. We were all very much affected by the ceremony, and with thinking about the old man; but I do believe that amongst the tears that fell that December afternoon by the side of ‘Old Jemmy Wild’s’ grave there were none more genuine than those of the old soldier.

For the next two days we did nothing in the way of performing. On the third day, however, we fixed our booth, and, once more throwing the doors open to the public, again took our places behind the footlights. We remained at Huddersfield for three months, and had crowded houses nearly every night, for the good people of that town sympathised very largely with my mother. See, here is the old man’s funeral card:-

In Memory of
JAMES WILD,
Who died December the 21st, 1838,
Aged 67 Years.

A plain, unassuming affair, like the man. No catalogue of virtues, as you see, though he was not without his good points, as those who knew him best could testify. No grand poetry seeking to assure the reader of what nobody can know, though it is quite right to hope that so and so is the case.

Following within a couple of years of my father’s demise was the death of old ‘Billy,’ the trick pony. He had travelled with us for about twelve months after he had lost his aged master-for we didn’t like parting with him, though he was now of no use to us as a performer. He had got into years, his old black coat began to look dusky, his limbs had lost their expertness and activity, and his love of fun had nearly died out. He no longer delighted audiences in pointing out the little boys who stole their mamma’s sugar, the men who were fonder of grog than of going to church on Sundays, and the young lady who was just about to be married; while, for other reasons, unfortunately well known to us all, he was unable longer to discover ‘the biggest rogue of the company.’* Well, as I said, we kept him for old acquaintance’ sake until he was unable to get about as heretofore, and then sent him to a farmer at Shelf, Joseph Lister, with instructions for him to see to it that the old fortune-teller was well cared for. But ‘Billy’ didn’t enjoy his retirement more than twelve months-hardly that-and was found dead one morning in a corner of Lister’s field. So they buried him there.

* This scene, which always created infinite amusement (and which was no doubt partially suggested by the story of Banks and his famous horse, “Marocco,” as narrated in Tarleton’s Jests), was, I am told on the authority of one who has repeatedly witnessed the performance, somewhat after this fashion:-“Now, Billy,” the old man would say, “I want you to go round and pick me out the biggest rogue in the company.” Whereupon “Billy” would walk slowly round the ring-this was in the old amphitheatre times-and suddenly stop at his master, to the intense amusement of the audience. “You scoundrel! How dare you, sir?” “Old Jemmy” would ask. “I told you to go round and pick me out the biggest rogue in the company, didn’t I? Now go round again, sir.” To an admonitory crack of the whip, “Billy” would once more set forth on his work of detection, and, of course, again stop at his master. Increased laughter and applause. “Well ladies and gentlemen,” “Jemmy” would say, addressing the audience, “I do believe the pony thinks I am the biggest rogue in the company”-(roars of laughter)- “and, really, ladies and gentlemen, I believe you think so, too!”. “TRIM.”

1408 words.