Nearly opposite our hostel may be noticed, at the corner, a saddler’s shop. This was established in the year 1760, and, situated as the shop is in the centre of the great fair, Messrs. H. and W. Sharp receive orders for various articles, in connection with horseflesh, from foreign as well as English customers. Conversing with the head of this firm at the time of this writing, I found that within the last few months they had received commissions not only from various parts of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, but from Belgium, Norway, France and Germany; some handsome harness, which I recently saw being made by them, was for Berlin. Opposite the entrance to the Bull is a smaller inn, the “King’s Head,” which is thatched; one hundred years ago nearly every house in the town was thatched, and by the terms of the Will by which this particular inn was devised to the present owner, it is required that it should always remain thatched. This, surely, is a proviso which might be legitimately ignored; and, doubtless, in a few years’ time, thatching will be a lost art. The street to the right, running north, and now named North Street, was formerly called “The Mill-stones,” from two old abandoned millstones which lay near the northern end of it. Half-way up this street, a back street branching off to the left is called “Conging Street,” and formerly near it was a well named “Conging Well.” This term is derived from the old Norman-French congé, a permission, or licence; from very early times the lord of the manor levied a toll on all who wished to traffic at the great fairs which were established by ancient charters of the Sovereign. There formerly stood, near the present Dispensary, an old house called the “Conging House,” where these tolls were paid for the licence to trade. [179]
A curious custom which formerly prevailed in
the town at the time of the great fairs, and which continued to later than the middle of the 19th century, was the opening of what were termed “Bough-houses,” for the entertainment of visitors. Horncastle has still an unusually large number of licensed public-houses, and not many years ago had nearly twice the number, many of them with extensive stabling, for the accommodation of man and beast, at the fairs for which it is famous; but, beyond these, it was a custom, from time immemorial, that any private house could sell beer without a licence, if a bough, or bush, was hung out at the door. [180] This, no doubt, gave rise to the old saying, “good wine needs no bush,” i.e., the quarters where it was sold would need no bough or bush hung out to advertise its merits, as they would be a matter of common bruit. This, as was to be expected, was a privilege liable to be abused, and, only to give one instance, a couple living in the town and owning a name not unknown at Woodhall Spa, are said to have ordered for themselves a goodly barrel of beer to be ready for the fair, but, the barrel having been delivered two or three days before the fair commenced, they had themselves tried its merits so frequently, that when the day arrived there was none left to sell, and the barrel was unpaid for, with no means received to pay for it, while they themselves were no better for the transaction.
On “the Millstones,” about half-way up the street, a friend of the writer witnessed, in the
forties, a man selling his wife by auction, [181] who stood on the top of a barrel, with a halter round her neck, and a crowd collected round, examining her merits, as might not long ago have been seen in a slave market in Egypt. She was sold for £30, in the street, opposite a small inn then called “The Horse and Jocky,” and kept by a man commonly called Banty Marshall. I am not aware that it is more than a coincidence, that, although the inn has now a different name, a device in the window represents a cat on a barrel. The parish stocks stood at the top of this street, where the Court House now stands; they were last used in 1859, and were only removed on its erection in 1865. The present writer can remember seeing persons confined in the stocks; as also in a neighbouring village, where the parish clerk, after his return from the Saturday market, not uncommonly was put in the stocks, to fit him for his Sunday duties.
In connection with the fairs, deeds of violence were not unknown. At a house on the north side of the Market-place, which was formerly the “Queen’s Head” inn, but is now occupied by a veterinary surgeon, while alterations were being made, two skeletons were found under the bricks of the kitchen floor. The men had doubtless been murdered for their money at fair-time, and the bodies placed there for concealment. Of the cheating practised at the fairs I can give a sample or two. It is recorded, I believe, that the late Dr. Dealtry, Archdeacon of Calcutta, preaching on the different ideas of honesty or fraud, gave point to his argument by a humorous illustration. “For instance,” he said, “my worthy friend, who occupies the reading desk beneath me, would see no dishonesty in misrepresenting the qualities of a horse he wished to sell, even to his dearest friend.” And honesty has by no means always been deemed the best policy in the streets of Horncastle. Edmund Yates, in his personal “Recollections,” relates that he was dining with the Lord Chief Justice, Sir Alexander Cockburn, when his host told the following story:—A man saw a handsome-looking horse at Horncastle Fair, and was astonished at the low price asked for it. After some chaffering, he bought it, taking it without
a warranty. Having paid his money, he gave an extra five shillings to the groom, and asked what was the matter with the horse that he was sold so cheap. After some hesitation, the man said that the horse was a perfect animal, but for two faults. “Two faults,” said the buyer, “then tell me one of them.” “One,” said the groom, “is, that when you turn him out, in a field, he is very hard to catch.” “That,” said the buyer, “does not matter to me, as I never turn my horses out. Now for the other fault.” “The other,” said the groom, scratching his head and looking sly, “the other is, that when you’ve caught him he’s not worth a rap.”
Another story is as follows:—Some yeans ago a Lincolnshire clergyman, advanced in years, had an old horse which had run in his antiquated carriage from being four years old, till he was fourteen or fifteen. He would still have satisfied his master, but that he acquired a very bad habit, to which, like other old animals not four-legged, he obstinately adhered. He would jump over the dyke (the locality being in the marshes) into a neighbour’s field. The said neighbour complained of this so often that the pastor decided to sell. The old coachman took the horse to Horncastle Fair and sold him for £26. The old gentleman and his coachman then looked about the fair for another that would suit them. They presently saw a horse of the same size and style as the old favourite just sold, but with shorter mane and tail, and lacking the star on the forehead which marked the old horse. They asked, the price, and were told it was £40. After much haggling the horse was bought for £35, and his reverence drove home with the new purchase. After tea his wife said, “Well, so you have not sold?” “Oh, yes,” he replied, “we have, and have got a younger and more spirited animal, very like the old sinner, but with shorter mane and tail, and no star on his forehead.” “Well,” said the wife, “I think you were taken in, for the new horse is already, like the old one, grazing in neighbour Brown’s field”; and there, sure enough, he was. The dealer had docked the tail, trimmed the mane, and dyed the white star brown; and had “gingered” the old horse till he played up like a colt. His reverence, in short, had been “sold,” and the old sinner had been returned on his hands with the loss of £10.
My third story relates to a former Vicar of Horncastle, Dr. Loddington, who died in 1724,
but whose name survives on one of the church bells, cast during his incumbency.