Saturday, 22 October 2016


Who's been eating all the Melton Mowbray Pork Pies?

I recently found this clip in the family notices column of the Nottingham Review of 22nd August, 1828.


‘At Hinckley, on Tuesday week, Mrs. Hopewell, wife of Mr. J. Hopewell, and widow of the late Simon Richards, aged 54.   She was one of the favoured progeny of nature, and would have made an excellent companion for the celebrated Daniel Lambert, weighing, as she did, some time back, 24 stones!   The width of her coffin, across the breast, was three feet.’

Leicester's favourite son for many decades - but now probably superseded by Gary Lineker - was Daniel Lambert who was born in Leicester on the 13 March 1770 into a family of gamekeepers, huntsmen and field sportsmen. By the time of his death 39 years later he weighed a massive 53 stones and his waist measured in at over nine feet. As a noted fan of field sports and an avid follower of the hunt, he is said to have been a regular visitor to Melton Mowbray.  BBC Leicester further tells us: 

' ... throughout his boyhood, Daniel was active, healthy, athletic - and slim. In fact, he was an excellent swimmer from the age of eight and taught many other children to swim in the River Soar. His family background also meant he was a keen rider, spending much of his time galloping around the rural landscape surrounding Leicester. The history books tell of a time when, whilst out riding one day, he came across a wild bear which he punched to the ground, causing her to roar out in pain and flee. In 1791, at the age of 21, Daniel took over from his father as the Keeper of Leicester's House of Correction on Highcross Street and before long he'd earned himself a reputation as a benevolent jailer who took great care of his inmates' welfare, introducing a raft of improvements to the city prison which won him the respect of those behind bars as well as prison reformers of the time. Although this was the making of his career, it may have been the undoing of his health.

A Growing Lad.

    In spite of not being a drinker or a big eater, within 11 years of taking up the job, he tipped the scales at a whopping 32 stone, with his office job blamed for his huge weight gain. Philip French commented that it is believed he may also have had a medical condition that caused his weight. By the time he hit his late thirties he had swelled to nearly 53 stone, could no longer climb the stairs and special arrangements had to be made when he travelled. Just to finally set it in your mind, reporter Julie Mayer estimates that one Daniel Lambert equals seven of her! In 1806 the Stamford Mercury reported that Daniel was having a carriage made specifically to transport him to London where he intended to exhibit himself as a natural curiosity. He ended his days living in his London apartments where people would pay a shilling just to come and see him.
    When he finally died at the age of 39, the measurement around his calf was three foot one inch and his waist was a massive nine foot and four inches. He died at an inn in Stamford and his body had to taken out of the building by removing a wall. His coffin was built on wheels and it took more than 20 men to lower it into his grave. During his life he had become quite a personality, and was used in a cartoon as an emblem for a hearty Britain against the threat of Napoleon. Historians from Leicester have even reported that a waxwork of Daniel was doing the rounds in American museums not long after his death - such was his popularity!
    It seems that the interest around Daniel is still strong, with a number of people visiting the Newarke Houses just to learn more about the larger than life character. The museum has on display many of his possessions including a selection of made-to-measure clothes and a large chair.'

Daniel Lambert   
(13 March 1770 – 21 June 1809)

 (Occasional visitor to Melton Mowbray - when he could find someone to take him!)

Monday, 10 October 2016


The Strange Story of 'Sally' Jesson (1777-1852)

The small village of Scalford in Leicestershire lies some four miles north of Melton Mowbray, a distance I might perhaps walk on a good day, but to continue on to nearby Goadby Marwood, a further two miles and with the thought of requiring to return on foot would test most people today.  Not so in the middle of the 19th century when wheeled transport went by way of unpaved tracks and the ubiquitous footpaths which criss-crossed the rural scene through woods and fields and from place to place, served as the most direct routes for the many pedestrians.

So spare a thought for the poor rural postman of the time who did not have the convenience of an urban route in a town, with houses and businesses standing side by side, but who was required to deliver his packets far and wide in all weathers - and not with the little red vans which we see today. Their website, 'Heritage Royal Mail', marking 500 years of serving the country, informs us that:

'In 1516, Henry VIII knighted Brian Tuke, the first Master of the Posts. This act was the catalyst for the creation of the Royal Mail we know today. Tuke had the influence and authority to establish key post towns across the country and build out a formal postal network. From these origins, the postal service has survived 21 monarchs and two World Wars, and employed hundreds of thousands of people. Perhaps its most famous innovation is the Penny Black stamp, introduced in May 1840. As the world’s first postage stamp, the Penny Black paved the way for the prepaid, one-price-goes-anywhere postage system we use today.
Victorian Pillar Box
In 1852, significant changes were to be made in the national postal service and from that date, rather than travelling to the local post office to deliver a letter or parcel for onward transmission, a contraption known as a 'pillar box' - made of cast-iron and fixed into the ground - was made available for the reception of mail for delivery; they initially appeared in a livery of light green paint. People who needed to travel long distances to a post office in order to send a letter, would now be able to walk perhaps just a few yards and pop it into the box - if it carried the required pre-paid stamp. These permanent containers place at the side of the road were emptied by the postal workers and the contents delivered on such a frequent basis, that a letter posted first thing in the morning could be read and a reply written, then posted by the recipient to be received within the same day.

A Postman of circa 1860
With this brief background of the postman's lot in the market town of Melton Mowbray in the early Victorian era, I would like to tell of an unconventional character who is now apparently absent from the knowledge or memory of local people. An amazing story unfolded for me in local newspapers of the day and I would like to recall and share the story of the odd life and times of long-time Scalford resident, Sarah Jessop which was revealed at the time of her death on the 17th October, 1852.  There are two short newspaper reports, each a little different, which attracted my attention and which can best provide a contemporary account of the amazing life of this 'eccentric' character.

Nottinghamshire Guardian

    'On Saturday last the quiet little village of Scalford was the scene of some excitement caused by an auction sale of the goods and wearing apparel of a noted character named Sarah Jessop, who during a long life had plodded between that village and Melton, as the ‘Scalford Mail,’ wending her weary way in all weathers until old age and infirmities induced fears that she would die on the road.  But the appointment of a Post Office messenger had of late superseded the old lady's self imposed duties, and she had ceased to be seen in Melton, whence, for more than half a century she had fetched letters for Scalford, and her good friends at Goadby Hall [at Goadby Marwood].  The articles sold consisted chiefly of wearing apparel, amongst which were 60 gowns and aprons, 6 bonnets, 30 caps, 6 shawls, 50 handkerchiefs and several cloaks, shoes and slippers.  The sale attracted about 200 persons to see the last of poor old Sally, and pay a kindly tribute of respect to her memory, for with all her oddities she was truly trusty and punctual post-woman, and died at the hale old age of 75.  The auctioneer, Mr. W. Clarke, with his usual jocularity succeeded in realising nearly £20 - a sum far beyond what was expected, for the friends of the deceased refused to furnish her funeral lest the cost of it should exceed the worth of her effects, and therefore placed the matter in the hands of parish officers.'

(Reproduced from the Nottinghamshire Guardian, Thursday, 28th October 1852)


The Leicestershire Mercury

'SCALFORD. - Death of an Eccentric Character.  

    There are few persons who have resided at or within ten miles of Melton Mowbray, during the last half century, but knew the eccentric Sarah Jessop, or, as she was more commonly called “Old Sally,” or the “Scalford and Goadby Walking Post.” She followed up that occupation, indeed daily for nearly 50 years, until recent alterations in the Post-office affairs at Melton when a postman was appointed.  Such was her punctuality, that let come what weather it might, she was true to her time from Scalford at the Melton Post-office, and also to the time of her departure.  For many years no carrier plied between those towns, and Sally has carried immense loads of goods on her head etc. and was regarded as one of the most wonderful women known.  Since she has given up the “Post,” she has lived comparatively retired, at her native village, Scalford, in her own house.  Her mother carried on a similar profession to her death, and various rumours were afloat of her having been a “witch.”  Many anecdotes of her are still prevalent in this neighbourhood among those who lived in her day.  The death of Sarah Jessop took place at Scalford, on Sunday, the 17th inst., after a few days illness at the age of 75 years.  The eccentricity of her character, the willingness of her disposition, her punctuality to all orders entrusted to her care caused her to be universally respected; and her remains were followed to the grave by a very numerous assembly of all classes.  It is estimated that during her public life she had walked more that 110,000 miles.  The disposal of her goods and chattels took place on Saturday last by auction, when upwards of 250 persons were present.  Among the articles sold were 60 gowns and aprons, 6 bonnets, 30 caps, 6 shawls, 50 handkerchiefs and several cloaks, shoes, slippers etc., which realised upwards of £20, a sum far exceeding the expectations of her relatives, who refused to furnish the funeral, lest they should not cover the expense, but left the parish authorities to manage it for them.  She had been a saving woman all her life. and we hear that on removing her things, a few pounds in gold etc. were found.'
Reproduced from The Leicestershire Mercury, Saturday 30th October, 1852

Sadly, to date, I have been unable to discover much of the background of Sally and her family, but I would like to think that the people of Scalford would perhaps one day, be able to provide some form of tribute to one of their 'forgotten' parishioners - perhaps the naming of the next new street in the village to her honour - as a reminder of such an eccentric personality and a gesture of respect to her memory. If any reader does have knowledge of her existence, I would love to hear from them.

Visit Royal Mail Heritage site

Tuesday, 27 September 2016



As a filler, from my regular perusals of the old newspapers, can I offer you this short tit-bit, clipped from the Lincolnshire Chronicle of 1823 relating to a moment of 'high apoplexy' on the part of its exasperated Editor: who wrote ...

    'We cannot but be disgusted by the blasphemy and impiety to which some of our Whig-Radical contemporaries have recourse, in order to endeavour to weaken in men's minds the love of the church through the medium of exciting a contempt for its ministers.  What can be more deserving of open and avowed indignation than the conduct of the editor of the Mercury in inserting into that journal the following vulgar and disgraceful paragraph:-
"John Rolf, bellows-blower at the Bath Abbey Church, completed his 45th year of office on the 25th inst.  His salary is two guineas per annum: the bellows-blower in the pulpit below has two thousand per annum." 
There is in political writing a certain allowed limit (too often, alas! overstepped) to the shafts of satire and it is with much regret that we see, by the present ministerial question for the abolition of church-rates, the affairs of eternity mingle with temporal matters: but can the editor of the Mercury, as a politician, excuse so vile an attack upon a minister of God - can he, as a gentleman, palliate so ridiculous and aimless an insult upon a man?  As for the value of his insinuation, which would denote a vast quantity of of emoluments, it is too insignificant to attach to it aught but a conviction of the paucity and weakness of the arguments against a church establishment, when recourse is had to such a lame quiddit.'  [a quibbling subtlety]


Or the following year, 1824, from the Leicester Chronicle of the 3rd July on a sad day for poor Mrs West:

Doesn't sound to healthy and robust to me!