This regulation of sign-boards is not altogether unknown, even at the present day, in England. In the Sussex Daily News as lately as last October there appeared an account of the removal of two sign-boards that had recently been erected in two of the principal streets of Brighton. These boards, measuring respectively 48 inches by 30, and 48 inches by 18, were swung over the pavement at the respective heights of 15 feet and 12 feet; yet, although there are scores of more obstructive sign-boards and sun-blinds in the borough, the somewhat over-officious Works Committee of the Corporation ordered that they should be removed by the surveyor, and the cost of so doing recovered from their owners, because, in the opinion of the Committee, such boards were “public annoyances and nuisances, by reason of their projecting over the highways and annoying the public passage along the streets.” Presumably it is within the power of any Local Authority to remove, or direct the alteration of, any sign-boards which it regards as “nuisances.”
A writer, styling himself “Ambulator,” in the Gentleman’s Magazine (vol. xl. p. 403) observes, so long ago as the year 1770, that signs “were certainly the effect of a general want of literature, and therefore can no longer be thought necessary, without national disgrace.” He adds, though he must be guilty of exaggeration, that “there is, at present, scarce a child among the poorest of the people who, at seven or eight years old, cannot read a man’s name and trade upon his door or window-shutter; and therefore we want the sign-painter no more.” He also says that—
“Long after signs became unnecessary, it was not unusual for an opulent shopkeeper to lay out as much upon a sign, and the curious ironwork with which it was fixed to his house, so as to project nearly into the middle of the street, as would furnish a less considerable dealer with a stock-in-trade. I have been credibly informed that there were many signs and sign-irons upon Ludgate Hill which cost several hundred pounds, and that as much was laid out by a mercer upon a sign of the Queen’s Head as would have gone a long way towards decorating the original for a birth-night.”
A good idea of how our Essex streets were obstructed by the huge dimensions of the signs of the various inns a century or more ago, may be obtained from an old print engraved by J. Ryland in 1762. It shows a view of the High Street of Chelmsford, taken from the point at which the fountain opposite the end of Springfield Lane now stands, and is entitled A Perspective View of the County Town of Chelmsford, in Essex, with the Judge’s Procession on the Day of Entrance, attended by the High Sheriff and his Officers. The judge’s carriage, drawn by six horses and preceded by the old “javelin men,” now dispensed with, is shown in its progress up the street, past the old Black Boy Inn, and going towards the church. The procession is passing under the great beam from which swings the sign of the Black Boy. This beam extends out from the house to the top of a post set up in the middle of the street for its support. If the height of this post may be estimated from the height of two persons shown standing near its base (who may be fairly set down as six feet in stature), it is not less than 28 feet high, while the beam it supports must project at least 33 feet from the house. Close to this structure, but nearer the other side of the street, though still not far from its middle, stands another sign-post of even more gigantic proportions. This post is very massive, and (if its height may be estimated in the same manner as before) it must be at least 24 feet high. Against the substantial shores supporting it in its upright position, leans a fiddler; while, close at hand, two mounted trumpeters are saluting the passing judge. But this is not all: upon the top of the post, supported by a fine iron framework, of an excellent flowing design, is the sign-board. This displays a lion rampant guardant (as the heralds say), which is evidently the sign of the large inn opposite to which it stands. This brings the height of the entire structure up to at least 45 feet, or nearly as high as the inn itself. This was probably the sign of the ancient Lion Inn mentioned hereafter (p. 59).
Mr. F. T. Veley of Chelmsford possesses a fine old oil painting from which this engraving was evidently made, though the two differ in some particulars. The figures and the houses are almost precisely alike in both, but the painting has not the signs and sign-posts shown in the engraving. In both the width of the street is much too great. The engraving has been reduced by the photographic process, and is herein made use of as a frontispiece,[7] whilst the design of the remarkably fine iron framework supporting the sign of the Lion has been reproduced upon the cover of the book. It is a remarkable fine example of the elaborate and ornamental sign-iron within which swung many sign-boards of a hundred years ago. Other examples, but less elegant, still remain here and there in the county, generally much rusted with age. Among these may be mentioned those of the Six Bells at Dunmow, which is dated 1778 (p. 168), the Bell at Bardfield (p. 170), and the Bell at Castle Hedingham (p. 150), all of which will be found depicted hereafter, though with other signs attached.
Leaving now the consideration of the origin of the use of signs, in order to discuss the origins of the various devices used as signs, we may well feel some surprise at first that the ancient and extremely entertaining, though now much decayed, art of Heraldry should have given us, at the present day, so many of our commonest signs as it obviously has done. A somewhat hasty examination of the list of Essex signs will show that something like 40 per cent. of the whole have probably been derived, either directly or indirectly, from Heraldry. The same statement would probably be found to hold good of the rest of England. So obvious is it that a very large number of inn-signs have been in some way derived from Heraldry, that it is surprising this connection has not received a much fuller recognition in the past than it has done. It is impossible, even for those most strongly inclined to disbelieve in the heraldic origin of a majority of our signs, to deny that very many of them, at least, have been so derived. Allusion is here made to such signs as the Griffin, the Blue Boar, the Green Dragon, the Blue Lion, the Red Lion, the Three Crowns, the White Hart, the Fleur-de-Lys, the Rose and Crown, the Cross Keys, and many others, the difficulty of ascribing which to any other than an heraldic origin will be at once apparent. Indeed, the fact that a very large proportion of our signs are of an heraldic derivation seems to require no stronger proof than will be found in the following pages. The next thing, therefore, will be to show how this came about.
It would probably early have suggested itself to the minds of tradesmen and others to use their own coats of arms (when they had any), or those of the Trade Guilds to which they belonged, or the arms, crest, or badge[8] of their landlord or some patron, as a sign. This convenient custom, once established, would be sure to be largely followed. There can be no doubt whatever that in this way arose the custom of calling a house the “So-and-So’s Arms.” At the present time, the custom itself remains, although its origin has been largely lost sight of; and many inns have now, in consequence, come to be known as the “Arms” of persons, trades, places, and things which never did bear, and never could have borne, a coat of arms. Clearly the origin of the sign of the King’s Arms had never presented itself to the mind of the “simple clodhopper” who, according to Messrs. Larwood and Hotten (p. 106), “once walked many miles to see King George IV. on one of his journeys, and came home mightily disgusted; for the king had arms just like any other man, while he had always understood that his Majesty’s right arm was a lion, and his left a unicorn!” In Essex no less than 8·5 per cent. of all the inn-signs are “Arms” of some kind. In Devonshire “Arms” actually form as much as 22 per cent. of the whole, according to Mr. Pengelly.
Although the custom of calling a house the “Somebody’s Arms” still survives, it is probable that, when the knowledge and ordinary use of Heraldry began to decline, many houses, formerly known as the “So-and-So’s Arms,” gradually came to be called after the most prominent charge in the coat, or after the “crest” or one of the “supporters,”[9] which might have been a lion gules, a boar azure, a white hart, or a rose crowned. The badge, again, has unquestionably given us not a few signs. Badges were used by the sovereign and by the higher nobility from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries inclusive. They must not be confounded with crests, which were personal emblems, worn on the crest or helm by leaders in the field. Badges, on the other hand, were household emblems, worn by all the followers and retainers of the lord. They were always of a simple nature, to be easily distinguishable in battle, and were placed on armour, standards, clothing, buildings, furniture, &c., &c. As a rule, therefore, it is the badge, rather than the crest, or even the coat of arms, which has given us our old heraldic signs. In some cases badges were adopted by parties, as, for instance, during the Wars of the Roses, so called because the Yorkists took the White Rose as their badge, while the Lancastrians took the Red. Shakespeare often alludes to the old custom of using badges. Mrs. Bury Palliser,[10] speaking of this subject, says, that “we still find the cognizance of many an illustrious family preserved as the sign of an inn. The White Hart of Richard II., the Antelope of Henry IV., the Beacon of Henry V., the Feathers of Henry VI., the Star of the Lords of Oxford (whose brilliancy decided the fate of the Battle of Barnet), the Lion of the Duke of Norfolk (which shone conspicuous on Bosworth field), and many others, too numerous to mention, may yet be seen as sign-boards to village inns contiguous to the former castles of families whose possessions have passed into other hands.” From the red shield (roth schild), above the door of the house of an honest old Hebrew, forming No. 148 in the Juden Gasse, or Jews’ Alley, at Frankfort, has been derived the name of the richest family in the world.
From these heraldic devices have unquestionably been derived many of the strangely-coloured animals, such as red and blue lions, blue boars, &c., which are quite unknown to men of science, and have never yet been seen except in Heraldry and upon sign-boards. A calculation will show that no less than 203 Essex signs, or about 15 per cent., are described as being of some particular colour, and that these coloured signs are animals in nearly all cases—one good proof of their heraldic origin. Black occurs 24 times, blue 7 times, golden 6 times, green 28 times (including dragons and men only), red 39 times (including 34 Red Lions, 3 Red Cows, 1 Red House, and 1 Red Tape Tavern), and white exactly 100 times (including 50 White Harts, 2 White Swans, 2 White Bears, White Lions, White Horses, &c.). In London the proportion of coloured signs is much smaller. There are 79 distinct devices, or about 4·5 per cent. of the entire number.
Another strong proof that many of our otherwise incomprehensible signs have been derived from Heraldry, is to be found in the frequency with which the number Three appears upon sign-boards. No less than 35 houses in Essex (having 15 distinct signs) are known as the three somethings, while other numbers only occur 12 times in all. The following is a complete list: There are 3 Two Brewers, a Four Ashes, 2 Five Bells, 3 Six Bells, and 4 Eight Bells. Many of our Essex Threes will be noticed hereafter. The list includes the signs of the Three Blackbirds, the Three Colts, the Three Compasses, the Three Crowns, the Three Cups, the Three Horseshoes, the Three Pigeons, the Three Tuns, and several others. Nor is this peculiarity confined to Essex signs only. In London the number Three gives twenty-nine distinct devices and sixty-five signs, including repetitions of the same device. All other numbers put together only give twenty-two distinct devices, or fifty-five signs. The author of a curious and interesting letter on the signs of Bury, which appeared in the Bury and Norwich Post on June 29 and July 6, 1791, noticed this prevalence of the number Three on sign-boards in his day, and was, he says, “inclined to account for it from a kind of predilection there is among sign-painters to the number Three, as we see in the Three Horse Shoes, before mentioned, also in the Three Bulls, the Three Tuns, the Three Crowns, and the Three Goats’ Heads.”