The ancient town of "Proud Preston," in Lancashire, from the year 1771 to 1841, a period of seventy years, boasted its "Oyster and Parched-Pea Club." It was at first limited to a dozen of the leading inhabitants, all of the same political party, and who now and then drank a Jacobite toast with a bumper. Its President was styled the Speaker. Among its staff of officers was one named Oystericus, whose duty it was to order and look after the oysters, which then came "by fleet" from London. There were also a Secretary, an Auditor, a Deputy Auditor, and a Poet Laureate or Rhymesmith, as he was generally termed; also the Cellarius, who had to provide port of the first quality; the Chaplain; the Surgeon-General, the Master of the Rolls (to look to the provision of bread-and-butter); the Swig-Master, whose title expresses his duty; Clerk of the Peas; a Minstrel, a Master of the Jewels, a Physician-in-Ordinary, &c. Among the Rules and Articles of the Club, were, "That a barrel of oysters be provided every Monday night during the winter season, at the equal expense of the members; to be opened exactly at half-past seven o'clock." "Every member on having a son born, shall pay a gallon—for a daughter half-a-gallon—of port, to his brethren of the club, within a month of the birth of such child, at any public-house he shall choose." Amongst the archives of the club is the following curious entry, which is not in a lady's hand:—
"The ladies of the Toughey [? Toffy] Club were rather disappointed at not receiving, by the hands of the respectable messenger, dispatched by the still more respectable members of the Oyster Club, a few oysters. They are just sitting down, after the fatigues of the evening, and take the liberty of reminding the worthy members of the Oyster Club, that oysters were not made for man alone. The ladies have sent to the venerable president a small quantity of sweets [? pieces of Everton toffy] to be distributed, as he in his wisdom, shall think fit."
In 1795 the club was threatened with a difficulty, owing, as stated by "Mr. Oystericus," to the day of the wagon—laden with oysters—leaving London, having changed. Sometimes, owing to a long frost, or other accident, no oysters arrived, and then the club must have solaced itself with "parched peas" and "particular port." Amongst the regalia of the club was a silver snuff-box, in the lid of which was set a piece of oak, part of the quarter-deck of Nelson's ship Victory. The Rhymesmith's effusions were laughable, as:—
"A something monastic appears among oysters,
For gregarious they live, yet they sleep in their cloisters;
'Tis observed, too, that oysters, when placed in their barrel,
Will never presume with their stations to quarrel.
From this let us learn what an oyster can tell us,
And we all shall be better and happier fellows.
Acquiesce in your stations, wherever you've got 'em;
Be not proud at the top, nor repine at the bottom;
But happiest they in the middle who live,
And have something to lend, and to spend, and to give."
"The bard would fain exchange, alack!
For precious gold, his crown of laurel;
His sackbut for a butt of sack;
His vocal skill for oyster barrel!"
These lines are from an Ode in 1806:—
"Nelson has made the seas our own,
Then gulp your well-fed oysters down,
And give the French the shell."
[A Manchester Punch-House.]
About the middle of the last century, a man named John Shaw, who had served in the army as a dragoon, having lost his wife and four or five children, solaced himself by opening a public-house in the Old Shambles, Manchester, in conducting which he was supported by a sturdy woman-servant, "Molly." John Shaw, having been much abroad, had acquired a knack of brewing punch, then a favourite beverage; and from this attraction, his house soon began to be frequented by the principal merchants and manufacturers of the town, and to be known as "John Shaw's Punch-house;" sign it had none. As Dr. Aikin says in 1795 that Shaw had then kept the house more than fifty years, we have here an institution dating prior to the memorable '45. Having made a comfortable competence, John Shaw, who was a lover of early hours, and, probably from his military training, a martinet in discipline, instituted the singular rule of closing his house to customers at eight o'clock in the evening. As soon as the clock struck the hour, John walked into the one public room of the house, and in a loud voice and imperative tone, proclaimed "Eight o'clock, gentlemen; eight o'clock." After this no entreaties for more liquor, however urgent or suppliant, could prevail over the inexorable landlord. If the announcement of the hour did not at once produce the desired effect, John had two modes of summary ejectment. He would call to Molly to bring his horsewhip, and crack it in the ears and near the persons of his guests; and should this fail, Molly was ordered to bring her pail, with which she speedily flooded the floor, and drove the guests out wet-shod. Tradition says that the punch brewed by John Shaw was something very delicious. In mixing it, he used a long-shanked silver table-spoon, like a modern gravy-spoon, which, for convenience, he carried in a side pocket, like that in which a carpenter carries his two-foot rule. Punch was usually served in small bowls (that is, less than the "crown bowls" of later days) of two sizes and prices; a shilling bowl being termed "a P of punch"—"a Q of punch" denoting a sixpenny bowl. The origin of these slang names is unknown. Can it have any reference to the old saying—"Mind your P's and Q's?" If a gentleman came alone and found none to join him, he called for "a Q." If two or more joined, they called for "a P;" but seldom more was spent than about sixpence per head. Though eccentric and austere, John won the respect and esteem of his customers, by his strict integrity and steadfast adherence to his rules.
For his excellent regulation as to the hour of closing, he is said to have frequently received the thanks of the ladies of Manchester, whose male friends were thus induced to return home early and sober. At length this nightly meeting of friends and acquaintances at John Shaw's grew into an organised club of a convivial character, bearing his name. Its objects were not political; yet, John and his guests being all of the same political party, there was sufficient unanimity among them to preserve harmony and concord. John's roof sheltered none but stout, thorough-going Tories of the old school, genuine "Church and King" men; nay, even "rank Jacobites." If, perchance, from ignorance of the character of the house, any unhappy Whig, any unfortunate partisan of the house of Hanover, any known member of a dissenting conventicle, strayed into John Shaw's, he found himself in a worse condition than that of a solitary wasp in a beehive.