Mr Sausage King
Inventive selfpromoter made sure his product was tastier than anyone else’s, writes Tina White.
Sausage sizzles, barbecue bangers, sunset-beach snarlers . . . Maybe the popularity of these Kiwi specialities owes more than we think to the influence of a man who never came to these shores.
When his death notice was published in the Marlborough Express and other newspapers on
June 5, 1912 (although he had actually died on April 19 that year), chances were good that many emigrant families from London remembered him well.
‘‘A personality famous far beyond the limits of Smithfield [meat market] passed away last Friday in Mr William Harris, who for a generation had been famous all over England as the Sausage King,’’ ran the obituary.
‘‘To the outer world Mr Harris was known almost as widely for his eccentricities as for his sausages.
‘‘Some people – inspired by his name – frankly refused to believe that there was such a person.
‘‘Smithfield, however, has known Mr Harris for the past halfcentury as being very real indeed.’’
A man of ‘‘original and forceful character’’, Harris had appeared every day, in his shop and in the street, wearing evening dress of swallow-tail coat, white tie, expansive shirt front with an enormous diamond stud in it, and an opera hat.
‘‘As the day advanced, his costume began to bear unmistakable marks of his business . . .’’
An inventive self-promoter, Harris made his name and fortune with one product – the humble sausage – making sure it was tastier than anyone else’s.
He started young, working for a butcher in Woolwich, southeast London, at the age of 9. Much later, he started his own business, which grew rapidly through his offbeat ways of advertising.
‘‘Most Londoners remember the tiny brown and white ponies, bred by himself, which used to trot between the shafts of his flamingred sausage carts. He once drove a mule from Hastings to London with a lady’s sunshade fastened over its head.
‘‘This led to a prosecution at Bow Street [court] that spread William’s fame wherever English newspapers were read.’’
The Sausage King’s prosperity grew so fast that at one time he had between 40 and 50 sausage shops in London, with others at Brighton and Southend. His chain of restaurants specialised in a new dish: sausages and mash.
Publicity was second nature to this man: the Marlborough Express told readers his registered trademark was a colour picture of himself ‘‘riding a huge pig to victory in the Derby’’.
He and his wife Elizabeth had three sons and four daughters, born between 1876 and 1887. William decided to name all the boys after himself, so they became William Two, William Three and William Four. They didn’t seem to mind.
In 1893, William was summoned to Clerkenwell School for the nonattendance of his son William. He turned up with all three Williams and asked, ‘‘Which one was it?’’ He was fined two shillings and sixpence. Afterwards, the proud dad told everyone the publicity had been worth £20,000 to him.
His daughters were not exempt from the Harris naming style – all were called Elizabeth (Two to Five), although they converted this to Betsy, Betty, Elizabeth and Bess.
‘‘To the outer world Mr Harris was known almost as widely for his eccentricities as for his sausages. Some people – inspired by his name – frankly refused to believe that there was such a person.’’
Their now-considerable wealth enabled the Harris family to build a home and business, William Harris & Son, at 3-5 St John St, across from Smithfield Market, in central London, on a 50-year lease. Designed by architect Francis John Hames, the south frontage featured an ornate gable decorated in relief with a wild boar and Harris’ name.
Although the
Sausage King was rich, he was never stingy.
‘‘Every Christmas Mr
Harris gave a pound of sausages to every policeman and every fireman in London,’’ continued the Marlborough Express. ‘‘In Smithfield his hand was always in his pocket and a mob of children would follow him about like the Pied Piper.’’
At Brighton, a tramp ran off with a string of sausages from one of William’s shops, on a day when the owner happened to be visiting. The thief was caught, and was dared to a sausage-eating contest – if he won, he could go free. A huge crowd gathered to watch; when William delightedly won (by four sausages), he gave the tramp a sovereign and his freedom.
The Sausage King was 69 when his tumultuous life came to an end on April 19, 1912.
But the family business, and his legend, would continue well into the 1950s.