OFF THE RECORD
Alan Crosby pays tribute to the dedicated reporters who recorded council meetings attended by his ancestor
Alan pays tribute to the reporters who captured his forebear’s words
The anonymous Victorian newspaper reporters who had the tedious job of attending meetings of Banbury Town Council and Banbury Local Board of Health have my gratitude. My family history research has involved working through 50 years of the weekly Banbury Guardian (happily, now online with Findmypast). My great great grandfather was a town councillor from 1859-86 and I’ve been looking at his political career, business interests and evidence that he was a good citizen (he gave money to local and national good causes and subscription lists for these appear in the paper).
So, back to those reporters... it must have been pretty dull for them, but their work is truly invaluable, because they recorded (in shorthand, I imagine) all the dialogue and discussion at meetings of the council and the Board of Health. I can conjure up the meetings themselves, with banter and quarrelling, opposing views and dry asides, even laughter and exclamations.
My forebear, 150 years ago, was a bit like me I think. He found it impossible to maintain a completely straight face during long meetings, so he made jokes to liven up proceedings. They’re all faithfully recorded, often with the words “laughter” or “applause” added. He enlivened many meetings in this way, though it must have been a mixed blessing at times.
George was a partner in a small brewery (Hopcraft’s of Brackley, Northamptonshire) and also the local agent for a flourishing ale and porter business, so he was often the object of humorous remarks by his colleagues when the subject of drink came up, as it often did (especially in the context of drunken behaviour). Unfortunately, his close relatives were more than a little susceptible to the temptations of alcohol. On one occasion it was reported that while under the influence, his younger brother Edward had emptied the contents of a chamber pot over the head of one of the town’s three police constables.
When the public analyst tested gin which was on sale in the town he found samples which were heavily diluted with water. My great great grandfather was simply appalled, but not as much as when the council received a petition from the National Temperance League asking that pubs should be closed on Sundays. That, he thought, was an outrageous suggestion and it was turned down flat.
Those reporters armed with notebooks and pens, leant on a desk close to the table in the council chamber, and recorded dialogue like a series of small plays. They didn’t summarise, rarely passed comment themselves (occasionally a heading appears such as “The Slaughterhouse Question: A Heated Scene”) and dutifully recorded all the words of every meeting.
So I know how George Crosby worked, how he spoke, how he handled his colleagues and ran a meeting (he chaired the Board of Health without a break for 13½ years). I can get inside his skin, as it were, to understand his personality, though he died in 1886. Occasionally, the reporters grumbled. Once, they couldn’t hear properly, so their desk was moved closer. Another time they complained that everyone was talking at once – so my great great grandfather insisted that everyone should speak in turn, an order which lasted only until the end of that meeting. Next time, the board members were back to their noisy and excitable ways
It’s an extraordinary glimpse into a vanished world, far different from the dry official council minutes. I love Victorian newspapers, and their endless variety of snippets and news items, but I find the lengthy, solemn reports of meetings and public gatherings no less rewarding, for those hard-working reporters captured the actual conversations of our forebears.
Their work is truly invaluable as they recorded all the dialogue and discussion