In comes I

Just to prove, again, that the Wirral is an insane time machine and clotted gorge or history, here is something take from one of the appendices to Normal Ellison's 'The Wirral Peninsula'


"The Mummer's Play is a Christmas-time activity, and I am indebted to Mr Sidney Wilson of Frankby for the following words I wrote down at his dictation, as spoke by the team he used to take round farm kitchens, inn parlours and the houses of the gentry, up to the year 1937. He has learnt the words from his father, who, in his turn, had received them from his father .... He called this performance "Beezebubbing"..

CHARACTERS:

LITTLE WIT - Red pants and tails: top-hat and big bow-tie.

KING GEORGE - Old red military tunic: blue pants with red stripe down side: wooden sword: helmet of some kind.

BOLD SLASHER - Khaki uniform with wooden sword. Helmet.

DOCTOR BROWN - Tails, top-hat, large portmanteau full of bottles, etc.

BEELZEBUB - Old man with beard and hump on back: old hat: carrying dripping-tin. Long tail of plaited straw stiffened with a wire.

All have blackened faces.

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Enter LITTLE WIT:

In comes I that's never been yet,

With my big head and little wit.

Although my wit is very small,

I'll do my best to please you all.

Stir up that fire and give us a light,

For in this house there'll be a fight.

If you don;t believe in what I say,

Step in King George and clear the way.

Enter KING GEORGE:

In comes I, King George, the noble champion bold.

It was me that fought the fiery dragon and won ten thousand in gold.

It was me that followed the fair lady to the giant's gate.

The giant he almost struck me dead;

I drew my broad and trusty sword

And nearly cut off his head.

BOLD SLASHER shouts from outside: Ha! Ha!! and enters:

The valiant soldier, Bold Slasher is my name,

If I was to draw my broad and trusty sword, I'd surely win the game.

KING GEORGE: How can'st thou win the game

When my head is made of iron;

My body's made of steel;

My hands and feet are made of knuckle-bone?

I'll challenge thee to fight.

BOLD SLASHER: Pull out thy purse and pay.

KING GEORGE: Pull out thy sword and slay,

Or else we'll have a recompense before we go away.

BOLD SLASHER: Right.

Both start to fight. KING GEORGE stabs BOLD SLASHER, who falls.

LITTLE WIT: (shouts) Doctor! Doctor!

DOCTOR BROWN:  (shouts from outside) No doctor to be found.

LITTLE WIT: Ten pounds for a doctor.

DOCTOR BROWN enters:

In comes I, Doctor Brown.

The best old doctor in the town.

LITTLE WIT: How came you to be a doctor?

DOCTOR: By my travels.

LITTLE WIT: Where did you travel?

DOCTOR: Hickity, Dickity, France and Spain.

Back to old England to cure the man that lives in the lane.

LITTLE WIT: How much will you cure this man for?

DOCTOR: Ten pounds.

LITTLE WIT: No less?

DOCTOR: (feeling BOLD SLASHER'S pulse) Nine, and a bottle of wine.

LITTLE WIT: Cure him.

DOCTOR opens portmanteau, takes out several bottles and mixes a concoction:

Now, Jack, open thy throttle,

Take three drops from this bottle.

Rise up Bold Slasher and fight a battle.

BOLD SLASHER rises up and starts to fight KING GEORGE.

LITTLE WIT: Put up thy swords and be at rest,

For peace and quietness is the best.

BEELZEBUB enters:

In comes I, old Beezlebub.

On my back I carry a knob,

Under my arm I've a dripping pan;

I think myself a jolly old man.

I court the lassies plenty,

One by one, two by two;

But there's none to come up to my fancy.

I've a little tin under my arm,

A copper or two will do it no harm;

A shilling or two will do it some good,

Please ladies and gentlemen, put something in good."

Ellison is pretty sure that 'Bold Slasher' is Summer and that 'King George' is winter. I think I agree. If any of you have any ideas on who the rest of the characters are, or were, what the words might signify or how old the pattern of the mummery is, then I would be interested to hear it.

The Wapentake of Wirral

No-one knows where the practice of governing England as 'Hundreds' came from, but it was around in the 800's (that's the 800's, not the 1800's) before the Norman conquest and to some degree it just kind of stuck around.

(Few things in British law are ever fully thrown away, they just kind-of, compile.)

The 'Hundred' might at one point have been an actual one-hundred households, but by the beginning of the medieval era its pretty much an area of geography. It's also a court, and an area of administration.

It probably begins as a meeting of local landowners where they get together to deal with legal matters, arguments, debts and so on. Then becomes a form of organisation, a way for the king to summon people to fight and to exert his authority.

Later on, over a thousand years of different kings, other forms of administration are added and they just kind of overlay the old hundreds, eventually making them effectively irrelevant.

But not revoked.

And in parts of England where the Danes had once ruled, the 'hundred' was sometimes called the 'Wapentake', hence 'The Wapentake of Wirral'.

In medieval times, the right to hold a court could be 'farmed out' to various people, they would do the administration and then pay the King his share if any money was claimed, and 'ownership' or right to hold the court could be traded and passed down like land or property.

And that brings us to the 19th century. Specifically, November 16 1819, when the Wapentake of Wirral is advertised for sale by Messrs Potts & Co of Chester. Since they don't expect anyone to be very interested in it, they throw in the rights to " wreck," to "royal fish," and to " treasure trove".

And this means that in 1854 the Wapentake of Wirral falls into the hands of Samual Holland Moreton, and his sinister compatriot Mr Robert Grace.

And Moreton is an intelligent, avaricious, eccentric, evil-minded motherfucker, and he actually reads the stack of ancient crumbling documents that make up 'The Wapentake of Wirral' and he works out what he can do with them, which is a lot.

In fact, "when in 'sociable mood' Moreton would sometimes confess an ignorance of where his own power was limited." The Wapentake is ancient. It's older than any other law on the book.

"Crimes and misdemeanors, felonies or civil actions, trespass, treason, all that was wicked of weak came within his jurisdiction."

He could summon a Court of Wapentake, call a jury, compel attendance of witnesses, try cases civil and criminal.

This means that in the middle of the 19th century, a crazy-ass motherfucker with an ancient document can effectively run his own, private law court in the Wirral and that no-one can stop him. He's legal. He's more legal than legal.

And this means that if you're going past the Tranmere Ferry Hotel some time in 1850-something, and a large man comes towards you and summons you to court, you better go. And if inside you find a drunk-as-fuck Samual Moreton who tells you that you are a juror, or a witness, or any other member of the court, then you are.

Moreton sat off in a fucking pub, running drunken courts, compelling attendance from whomever he wanted, taking cases based simply on spite or just revenge.

In 1855, Thomas Smith of Birkenhead, was pulled, seemingly at random, into the workings of the court. "one day when he was at work in his garden, a man called to him to come at once to the Wapentake Court sitting at the Inn known as the Shrewsbury Arms, Hinderton. He treated the summons as a joke, whereupon  two men were sent and Smith was haled to the Court in his shirt-sleeves. On his arrival he found Moreton, Grace, and others seated at a table spread with food and drink. Grace informed him they were about to fine him 20 for not coming at once, and that it was no joking matter. Smith was appointed one of the "affeerors" to the Court (an honour which he shared with Shakespeare, who held that post at Stratford-on-Avon)."

Moreton and Grace would ride out with the rest of their court in a packed  Omnibus dressed in "shabby black tail or frock coats" and just accost wealthy-looking people, summoning them "to sit as jurors at the nearest public-house, in company with the riff-raff of the neighborhood." A refusal was met by a a fine, which if not paid, lead to the seizure and sale of property.

"In one case a neighbor built a wall for safety round a pond on his property next to the road. He was summoned for encroaching upon the road, and the Court proposed a fine of 20. Smith, as affeeror, objected that this was excessive, to which Grace, the steward, replied, " Nonsense, who is to pay for all this ?" pointing to the spread upon the table."

In 1856 a major embezzler is tried and sent for transportation. As the judgement comes down, Moreton and Grace  take a cab to one of the houses he bought with his stolen money, kick the guys wife out into the road and stay there. The company the man stole from take them to court. In 1860, the court finds for Moreton, because he's Lord of the fucking Wapentake and he has the legal right to a felons goods. He gets not only the house he is squatting in, but most of the other properties bought with the stolen money as well.

Eventually Moreton dies and Grace gets his hands on the Secret Documents. He performs one useful action for Birkenhead, the train lines over the pavement at the Green Bank station are leaking terribly, leaving the road a mess for people to walk through. Grace goes to the owning company and threatens to repossess the train line as Lord of the Wapentake, not willing to test this threat, they fix the leak.

Ultimately, the mad rule of the Wapentake is brought to an end by an act of parliament. Moreton still retains the title of the Lordship of Wirral until his death.

What happened to the ill-gotten (but legally attained) fortune of the 'Lord of Wirral'?

Apparently Moreton falls ill and....

"After the medical man left, the Very Rev. Canon Fisher, a well-known Roman Catholic dignitary, with whom Mr. Moreton had been in frequent communication, was sent for. Upon his arrival he found the old man in extremis ... the rev. gentleman produced a form of will already drawn out, raised Mr. Moreton up in the bed, put on his spectacles, placed a pen in his hand, and, without reading the will over to him, got hold of his hand and guided the fingers of the dying and insensible man to form his signature at the foot of the will .... By this will the whole of Mr. Moreton's property ....  is bequeathed to the Right Rev. Alexander Goss, Bishop of Liverpool, for the benefit of religion as taught by the Roman Catholic Church."