The fair was, at the solicitation of Mr. Hawes, M.P. for Lambeth, permitted to be held for two days, the Coronation Day, and that following—but it was further extended for two more days. The area allotted to it comprised nearly one-third of the park, extending from near the margin of the Serpentine, to within a short distance of Grosvenor Gate.
Of course, the next day’s fair was not so thronged as that on Coronation Day, still, “By three o’clock a vast number of people were in the parks, and thousands were hourly arriving, but the fair was not crowded. At the time just stated, a heavy thunderstorm came on, in the first instance accompanied by hail, which lasted nearly an hour. To those who were in the fair, the drenching rain was a most unwelcome visitor. Some of the unlucky holiday makers who had ventured in the vertical roundabouts, were in a woful plight; the rain was pelting on them while they were dangling in the air, and the men to whom the machines belonged coolly got under shelter till the worst part of the storm was over, utterly regardless of their patrons aloft, several of whom, at the risk of their necks, slid down the beam to terra firma, and good, stout exhortations soon relieved their aerial aquatic companions. The storm was a godsend, in more senses than one, to the victualling booths, for more was disposed of in the shape of ham, beef and stout during its continuance than, perhaps, would have been if the good things were to be given away in fine weather. People dined whether they were in want of that meal or not, and, no doubt, took credit for their patronage.
“When the rain ceased, the fair-going gentry crept from their canvas coverings, and made for the spot where the clown’s gibes and jeers were wont to set his auditors in a roar. But the rain had made the ground so wet and sloppy, that a melancholy seemed to have come over all, the clown included. As for the poor boats on the Serpentine, they clung to the shore, as if they had taken a dislike to an aquatic life, and few were there disposed to navigate them. The gipsy tribe, of which there were hundreds in the fair, crept to their blanket hovels, to bewail the loss of the silver crossings of which the previous day had furnished an abundant supply. Into one of these miserable cabins upwards of thirty were seen to go in the space of an hour, whose appearance and manners would denote that they should know better than to put faith in the trash of the walnut-dyed impostors.”
The day afterwards turned out fine, and the fair was crowded. On the third day a booth caught fire, but no great damage was done. On the fourth and last day, the Queen drove as close to it as she well could do, and all the booths were cleared away that night.
Shirley Hibberd, writing in Notes and Queries (7s. vi. 105), says: “The many interesting papers that have of late appeared recalling scenes and incidents of the Queen’s Coronation, are (so far as I have seen) defective in making no mention of the morris-dancers in Hyde Park. My recollections of the event have been delightfully revived by recent readings, and once more the joyous celebration is before me. I see the park a dusty field, with not a blade of grass upon it, and I hear my father say, in accordance with the belief prevailing, that the grass would grow all the better for being thus destroyed. And, amongst the things that then surprised me, were the morris-dancers, that I had read of, and had never, till then, seen. There could be no mistake, I should now say, about their genuineness, for they were clad as peasants, and all their ways consorted with their new and nicely trimmed smocks, and their well tanned faces. The dancers had, at least, two distinct styles, which I now conjecture were representative of two far-removed provinces, for the two styles were accompanied with distinctive habiliments. In each case the music consisted of pipe and tabor. One set struck short staves at a certain turn in the dance, when the dancers stood in two ranks face to face. The other set struck white handkerchiefs, which were thrown out by a trick of the hand so as to acquire momentary rigidity.”
The police charges from Hyde Park on Coronation Day seem to have consisted of small gamblers and thimble-riggers, and the following is given as an example.
“Marylebone.[35] Three men and one woman, who gave their names John Scullie, Edward Clegg, Lewis Joseph, and Ellen Taylor, were brought before the magistrates, charged with having been found gambling in Hyde Park, in the thickest of the fair.
“The male prisoners were detected by the special constable on duty at the above spot, in the act of playing at a most deceptive game, called ‘prick-in-the-garter,’ at which each of them had contrived to fill his pockets at the expense of the deluded multitude, many of whom, being countrymen, were not at all aware of the artful dodge. The female was found rattling the dice in one of the booths, and had, also, contrived to line her pockets very well. On being taken, she declared she was an innocent country servant out of place, and most vehemently denied that the dice belonged to her.
“They were all four despatched to the treadmill for one month, the magistrates at the same time informing them that the money found on them would go to their support in prison.
“Clegg, on hearing this, exclaimed, ‘Dang it, that is hard, too, that I should have to pay the Governor for punishing me on the wheel, a sort of caper wot I arn’t at all accustomed to. Do let me have a few bob, good luck to your honour, to spend when I comes out.’