BEN BOUCHER,
The Dudley Poet and Rhymist.
“Oh! rare Ben Boucher, Boucher Ben;
The best of Poets, but worst of men.”
BEN BOUCHER.
THE DUDLEY POET, 1847.
This extraordinary old man was truly a “curiosity” in himself; for many years he enlivened the Black Country with distiches of the ins and outs of life, in all its varied phases, by his peculiar doggerel poetry or songs, which the old man used to compose on any public event which struck his fancy or provoked his wrath. He then sallied out to the wondering public, and sold his songs at one penny per sheet, and familiar indeed was the figure of the old poet, daily in our streets vending his singular wares. He took up all sorts of sad, grim, and pleasurable subjects, from the hanging of some wretch at Stafford Gaol, to a dog, or cock fight at Sedgley, or Tipton. Ben Boucher was a Collier by trade, and was born at Horseley Heath, in the year 1769, but the greater part of his singular and irregular life was spent in Dudley, at certain favourite public house haunts, where his talents were appreciated, and his songs admired and read by the curious.
The following is a sample of some of his effusions:—On the death of Dr. Booker, away from Dudley.
St. Luke is dead—a Poet and Divine—
I hope his spirit doth in glory shine.
To save expense, and the roads being ugly,
Or the Doctor would have come to Dudley.
In Dudley town there lives a man
Who deals in silk and clothes, sir;
If you trust him your mutton to Cook,
He’ll be sure to spoil your broth, sir.
A certain tailor kept a horse for amusement in those days, not in the best condition, so we have the horse described:—
THE HORSE.
His back it is both long and thin,
His belly has got no corn therein;
He looks both naked and forlorn,
And takes the whip instead of corn.
Mr. Jno. Williams a highly respectable draper in the town, having altered his political opinions in those days, fell in for Ben’s animadversions on that occasion.
Where is big John the draper gone,
Chairman at last election,
The Bowling Green, that source of spleen
Which led to his detection.
Written on the pulling down of the old St. Thomas’s Parish Church:—
The seats and the windows, ah, and the clock too,
Were sent on to Gornal, to their Gornal crew;
For the sand men and asses, for to go to church,
And the people of Dudley were left in the lurch.
LINES ON DUDLEY MARKET, 1827.
At Dudley Market, now I tell,
Most kind of articles they sell;
The women take the greatest care
To buy up crocks and earthenware,
Milkpans, and colliers’ tots,
Coloured cups and chamber-pots.
Old shoes to sell, there stands close by,
With shabby strings—the same they tie;
If in those shoes you walk about,
The bottoms soon will tumble out—
Hats, caps, and bonnets blue,
And trowsers wide enough for two.—
If you pop round the market place
There you may buy a farthing lace;
Besides penknives, for Jack and Jim,
And razors for the daddy’s chin—
Rocking-chairs and children’s cradles,
Porridge-pots and wooden ladles.—
Kash from Walsall, kills the worms;
Judas brings a salve for corns;
Mind these men or you’ll be bitten—
Black Jack’s wife brings salve from Tipton—
At the top of the Shambles Sally stands,
She holds the basket in her hands:
“Now my good people don’t be lacking,
Here you may buy the best of blacking.”
Just below, the butchers there you’ll find,
With shows of meat to please the mind;
From most parts these butchers come;
Mind the steelyard—twig the thumb.—
There’s hares, rabbits, and partridges, and pheasants, too,
Some are shot by sportsmen, and some are hung by the neck, too—
There’s butter, bacon, cheese, and eggs,
Sold by old Giles with crooked legs—
More than that if you just turn round,
There’s gingerbread eightpence a pound!
Besides plum pudding, both rich and nice,
On the next stall twopence a slice.—
In Stoney Street there stands the swine,
Both right and left all in a line;
They sell these pigs so much per score,
So on that street I’ll say no more.—
Come, to a tavern let us go,
There’s some above and some below;
There’s one that keeps good ale and pop,
He also keeps a liquor shop;
He sells roast beef down in Queen Street,
His house is always clean and neat—
Old Nanny Mason comes in with her nuts,
And on the floor her basket puts;
A curtsey drops, “Kind sirs,” says she,
“Mine age is nearly eighty-three.”—
Old Timms comes in, “All hot,” did cry,
And you may either toss or buy.—
There’s one-arm’d Joe among the lot,
With mutton pies all smoking hot.
Please to remember what I have said:
You will never hear the like again.
When Mr. Thomas Hawkes defeated Sir John Campbell at the election:—
Hawkes to Cape—ll gave a note,
And for five pounds bought his vote;
He therefore thus did change his coat
And to the Tories gave his vote.
ON A WATERLOO VETERAN
Charley was young and in his prime,
A courting went to widow Pincher;
She was shy, and fair, and fine,
He was constant and no flincher.
The time arrived when they got married,
She had houses, and cows, Sirs, four,
But Charley soon them all did swallid,
And left her in an evil hour;
He went and drank just like an ass,
Then came home as you may guess
And found her dead; but was not wise,
So he’d make her do the exercise;
The women did not like such jokes,
So they sent off for T. Pitt Stokes—
Who neck and crop to the Workhouse took him
And in the dungeon they did hook him.
This madman told the gentlemen,
That he would fetch her back again,
So they kept him there till she was buried,
When he got home he was most worried.
Many hundred comical verses by this singular man have perished from memory since his death, but Ben was a great Tory in his time, and his latter days were sustained by political association and sympathy. The old man at last became houseless and very poor, and was eventually removed to the Workhouse, where he died in 1851, being upwards of eighty years of age.
TO THE FREE AND INDEPENDENT ELECTORS OF THE BOROUGH OF DUDLEY.
Gentlemen,
The proceedings of this morning at the Hustings having through your united generous efforts resulted in my being elected as your Representative in the ensuing Parliament, I hasten to tender you my most heartfelt acknowledgments for the honour you have conferred upon me in placing me in the proud position which it is now my privilege to occupy.
I abstain from referring to the contest, which during my canvass appeared to be before me, and I cheerfully congratulate you on the peaceful and successful termination of the struggle in which we have been engaged.
To you, Gentlemen, the victory is due; a more enlightened, faithful, and zealous body of supporters never rallied round a Candidate, even to vindicate the great right of Municipal Independence.
Gentlemen, my political principles are now well known to you, they have been unreservedly communicated, and have your unqualified approbation. Believe me, it shall be my study vigorously to aid in giving effect to them in the House of Commons, and also to further all measures of local improvement or general principle which have the approval of my Constituents.
I trust, Gentlemen, I shall ere long have an opportunity of renewing my personal acquaintance with you, and by interchanging those sentiments and feelings which have animated and sustained us in the contest now happily at an end.
Till then I bid you farewell; and once more offering you my grateful acknowledgements,
I have the honor to be,
Your most obedient Servant,
HENRY BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.
Bush Hotel, Dudley, March 27, 1857.
This contest, so abruptly brought to a close by the resignation of Mr. Sandars at the eleventh hour, proclaimed the Political Independence of the Borough of Dudley for all time. The pointed pen of squibs and banter was more liberally used at this election than on former occasions, but it must be recollected that the 25 years past had brought new literary blood into the town; that our old sedate fashion of conducting an election had died out, and we had now entered upon a new path of fame and progression, which our grandfathers never dreamt about. However, “the horse-play” at the time was taken in good part, “a Roland was now and then given for an Oliver,” and there was not a few of our liege subjects who were more pleased than offended at being placed in the mirror of these stirring days. Mr. Sheridan received a truly public ovation on his leaving the town for London, and old, excited Dudley soon resumed its wonted quietude.
Died, April 18th, 1857, in lodgings in Birmingham, Mr. T. H. Naracher, a retired Chemist and Druggist from this town. Mr. Naracher had passed through a very eventful life. He was a native of Zurich, in Switzerland, and, in early life had travelled the continents of Europe and America, and became a famous linguist. In the exciting, gambling Railway mania of 1844-5-6, poor Mr. Naracher invested his comfortable income, which was all swept away, and he died in poverty and indigence, aged 56 years.
Died, May 12th, 1857, Mr. Charles Lester, Wine and Spirit Merchant, Market Place, the last surviving son of the late Mr. Thomas Lester, aged 36 years.
June 2nd, 1857. The Dudley Castle Fetes took place this day, when two large siege guns, taken at Sebastopol from the Russians, were drawn up to the rampart of the Castle Keep, and inaugurated as trophies with great pomp and acclamation by the Dudley Troop of Worcestershire Yeomanry.
July 20th, 1857. The Odd Fellows of the Manchester Unity walked in procession with their regalia through the town this day, and dined at their various Lodge rooms.
Died, July 22nd, 1857, Mr. Benjamin Leadbetter, a noted Querist.
August, 1857. Upon the appointment to the important situation of Organist to the Parish Church, much uncharitable feeling was generated in the parish by the Vicar, Dr. Browne, refusing the use of the vestry to arrange and discuss this parochial business; ultimately, the Vicar gained his especial point, and all that the Churchwardens could do was to bottle the affront offered to them and the parish, and publish the following correspondence to tell its own tale.