The Tailor of Horsemarket
On the 2nd of February 1838 a tailor was hard at
work at the front of his shop in Barnard Castle’s Horsemarket when he looked up
to see two smartly dressed young men watching him through the window. He
beckoned them to come inside.
“Good morning”, he said in his strong County Durham accent,
“You don’t look to be from round these parts. I’m not sure that my skills are
up to making clothes like you two are wearing.”
“That’s not a problem.” said one of the visitors. “I hope
you don’t mind being watched, but you reminded me of a time in my own young
life when I worked in a factory window and everyone stared at me from the
street. May I ask your name?”
“My name’s John Welford. And you?”
“This is Charles Dickens, the writer”, said the other young
man. “Surely you have read The Pickwick Papers?”
“I don’t read”, said the tailor. “I’ve had to work hard all
my life – no time for an education”.
“Please excuse my friend Mr Browne”, said Dickens, “his
early years were not quite as poverty-stricken as yours or mine. He is an
artist who goes by the name of Phiz and he has kindly agreed to illustrate my
latest novel.”
“So what service can I give you?” asked John Welford. “I am
neither a writer nor an artist, merely a tailor”.
Charles Dickens explained. “You spoke a moment ago about
education, and that is what concerns us. I read recently about a court case
that took place a few years ago in which a schoolmaster from around here,
William Shaw, was accused of terrible cruelty to the boys at his school, some
of whom went blind. I have since found out that children are sent up here
because schools like Shaw’s give no holidays and parents who want to forget
about their children can do so for years at a time. I want to write about these
schools and get them closed down if I can, but in order to do that I need to
know exactly what is going on. It is local people like you who hear stories,
and so if you know anything I’d like to hear it”.
“Oh I can tell you some stories all right”, said John
Welford, who had not stopped sewing since his visitors had entered the shop.
“But I can tell you one thing to start with, and that is that William Shaw is by
no means the worst of the schoolmasters – he’s just the only one who’s been
caught.”
And so the tailor worked on while the writer and the artist sat
on a bench and he told them everything he knew about the local schools, based
on what his customers had passed on to him over the years. He told them about
the abuse, the savage beatings, the terrible food, the starvation rations and
the frequent administration of “brimstone and treacle”. He also told them that
they should visit the local churchyard where they would find the graves of children
who had died from their treatment.
“Some of these schools are hell-holes. I’m glad I’m a poor
man and can’t afford to send my son George to one of them.
“And do the boys howl! Folk say they can hear the screams
from half a mile away when the birch is being applied. Whack! Whack! Whack! For
hour after hour! There’s precious little learning done, I can tell you.”
When the tailor had finished, Charles Dickens and Hablot
Browne took their leave. Before he did so, Dickens turned to John Welford and
asked him: “Did you say that your son George doesn’t go to school?”
“That is true, Mr Dickens. The Vicar will take pupils for
reading and writing lessons at his Sunday School, and treat the youngsters as a
Christian should, but I can’t even afford the few pennies he charges.”
“I hope you can do so one day, Mr Welford. Being able to
read opens so many doors, and your son could have a great future ahead of him”.
As they walked over the road back to their hotel, the King’s
Head, John Welford’s words went through Charles Dickens’s mind. “Do the boys
howl?” he said. “That sounds like a good name for the school in my new book –
how do you like the sound of ‘Dotheboys Hall’?”
“That sounds fine”, said Hablot Browne. “And what name do
you propose for your schoolmaster? You can’t call him William Shaw.”
“I thought I’d call him Squeers”, said Dickens. “How about
‘Welford Squeers’ as a way of acknowledging the help of our new friend?”
“You can’t use his name for a character like Shaw!” said
Browne. “How about ‘Wackford’ instead?”
So that was what Charles Dickens did. Wackford Squeers
became the head teacher at Dotheboys Hall and the new novel started production
before the month was out.
Not long after, a slim package arrived at the tailor’s shop
in Horsemarket. It contained the first monthly part of Nicholas Nickleby and a
shiny new shilling. John Welford had to ask the Vicar what was written on the
accompanying note and was told that Charles Dickens had sent the shilling as
payment for lessons for young George. Every month a new instalment and another
shilling arrived, and George, helped by the Vicar, was soon able to read the
story to his father.
Eleven years later a much less welcome visitor came to Barnard
Castle. This was cholera, which killed 145 people in the town, including John
Welford. He was buried in the mass grave that was eventually marked by a simple
stone cross outside the parish church, and his family is recorded as having
been aided by the Cholera Relief Fund that was established to replace the
bedding and blankets that had to be burned in the belief that this would stop
the spread of the disease.
George Welford survived and in time passed on his new love
of learning to his own son, Alexander, who became a Primitive Methodist
Minister and left Barnard Castle to take his ministry to other parts of
England. Alexander’s clock still ticks away as his own grandson, another John,
writes this story in a room lined with books, including some by and about
Charles Dickens, including one with the name John Welford on the title page.
© John Welford
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