Joseph Hansom and the Hansom Cab

Until a few years ago, the signs that welcomed visitors to the town of Hinckley in Leicestershire declared it to be the “Home of the Hansom Cab”. This might be thought to be a strange claim to make, given that Hansom cabs had not been seen on the streets of Hinckley or anywhere else for about a century, and most people would have very little idea what a Hansom cab was.

Joseph Hansom was not a native of Hinckley, and his time there was short, given that he arrived in 1834 and left in 1837. He was not an engineer, but an architect who spent most of his long career designing and restoring church and domestic buildings. There is also some doubt over how much credit Hansom can take for the original cab design, and the version that later appeared on the streets had many differences from that designated in the original patent.

It is somewhat ironic that the project for which Joseph Hansom should take most credit does not bear his name, but the unfortunate outcome of that project led to the circumstance that led to the patenting of the Hansom cab which, as mentioned above, is now consigned to history.

Joseph Hansom, born in York in 1803, showed an early interest in architecture and, in 1828, entered a partnership with Edward Welch. Their most famous building was Birmingham Town Hall (recently restored) which was modelled on a Roman temple and is now a familiar landmark in the heart of the city. However, although the design was a triumph, Hansom and Welch made some poor financial decisions and were declared bankrupt in 1834.

Thus forced to abandon architecture for a while, Hansom was invited to manage the business affairs of a local man, Dempster Heming of Caldecote Hall (near Nuneaton), who was in the process of setting up a bank in nearby Hinckley. Hansom lived with Heming’s family at Caldecote Hall, and Heming was later to make use of Hansom’s architectural skills to convert a suitable building into a bank.

However, Heming and Hansom must also have had many discussions on whether it was possible to design a simple carriage that could ply for hire on the streets of a major city such as London. Whether the ideas were mainly Heming’s or Hansom’s is an interesting question, but it was Hansom who submitted the patent for a “safety cab” on 23 December 1834, and it was therefore the “Hansom cab” rather than the “Heming cab” that was to feature so prominently in the lives of Sherlock Holmes and countless other people, both fictional and real.

The basic concept was for a two-person carriage (plus driver) to be pulled by a single horse. Being both narrow when seen from the front and short from front to back, it would take up much less space on a city street than the hackney carriages then in vogue.   

That said, the original Hansom cab was not particularly successful, and Hansom himself gained very little from his patent. The principle was sound enough, in that by equipping the carriage with two large wheels and suspending the passenger compartment between them, the centre of gravity was lowered and the carriage was therefore safer when going round corners. Problems concerned the design of the cranked axle, which passed beneath the passenger compartment, and the positioning of the driver at the front, as his weight placed extra strain on the horse, which could therefore not work for as long a time as desired.

Joseph Hansom built a prototype cab in Hinckley in 1835 and tested it in the town, but he did not open a factory or consider becoming a “captain of industry”, as this was not his main interest in life.

He sold his interest in the invention for ten thousand pounds, to a company that wanted to manufacture it, and this suggests that Hansom made a handsome profit. However, none of the money was ever paid, and he only gained three hundred pounds after he assumed temporary management of the owning company when it got into difficulties in 1839. By this time Hansom had returned to architecture as his chief activity, and he was able to build a new and successful career in this field.

The carriage that was to bear Hansom’s name was the result of many changes and improvements that had nothing to do with him. The design familiar to Sherlock Holmes et al owed more to the inspiration of Frederick Forder of Wolverhampton than to Joseph Hansom, temporarily of Hinckley.

The two most important developments were to replace the cranked axle with a straight one and to move the driver’s position to a high seat behind the passenger compartment. The straight axle passed underneath the rear of the carriage which was cut away to allow for this, and the driver’s weight now balanced the carriage in such a way that less strain was placed on the horse (see picture). This meant that relatively light horses could be used, which could proceed at higher speeds (up to 15 miles an hour) and work for longer before being rested.

The “Forder Hansom” was the model that came to dominate London’s streets and those of other cities. Forder’s patent was registered in 1873 and his company continued to manufacture cabs up until the outbreak of the First World War in 1914.

Other developments included the use of stronger and lighter materials and the instigation of driver-controlled doors (via a lever mechanism), so that passengers could not leave until the fare had been paid.

Readers of Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories of Sherlock Holmes will be familiar with how a Hansom cab operated in its heyday. The passengers (usually two, three at a squeeze) sat side-by-side facing forwards, thus getting an excellent view of where they were going, plus that of the rear end of a sweaty horse! The journey could be a cold one in winter, as there was little protection from the elements apart from the two small doors that came up to about knee height. Later improvements included curtains (and eventually glass windows) that sheltered the passengers from the mud and stones thrown up by the horse and other traffic.

The driver had a perfect view, his seat being some seven feet above the ground. He could communicate with the passengers via a small trap-door in the roof of the carriage, and he could be paid his fare through this as well. Sherlock Holmes would often bang his cane on the roof to attract the driver’s attention.

In their heyday, in the 1880s and 1890s, some 3000 Hansom cabs plied their trade in London alongside horse-drawn trams and buses. They also became popular in many other cities in Britain and abroad, including New York.

However, their numbers declined when motor and electric vehicles grew in number, although it was not until 1947 that the last licence for a horse-drawn cab was issued in London.

So, although the Hansom cab was a huge success in its day, the former claim of Hinckley as the “Home of the Hansom Cab” does need to be put into perspective. As it is, Hinckley does not go overboard in celebrating Joseph Hansom. A short pedestrianised shopping street has been named “Hansom Court”, and that is about it! The signs have been changed – Hinckley now reminds visitors that is it the home of Triumph Motorcycles – which go at somewhat more than 15 mph!

© John Welford

Patrick Abercrombie: post-war town planner

Patrick Abercrombie was an important figure in post-war town planning in England.

He was born in 1879 in Ashton upon Mersey which was then in Cheshire (now part of Greater Manchester). He qualified as an architect and his earliest architectural experience was in Liverpool, where he began to formulate his ideas about town planning.

In the 1920s he worked on a series of urban planning studies and proposed that London should be surrounded by a “green belt” of land that would not be subject to urban spread.

He was a member of a 1937 Royal Commission on population distribution, on which he stressed the need to mitigate the hazards of industrial and urban concentration. 

The Second World War, with the intense bombing of British cities, brought the problem of urban reconstruction to the fore and gave Abercrombie the perfect opportunity to put his theories into practice.  Between 1941 and 1946 he prepared detailed plans for London and its immediate surrounds, the West Midlands, Hull, Plymouth, and the first “new towns”. 

The best surviving example of an Abercrombie planning scheme is probably Plymouth, characterized by the presence of orbital roads and the separation of traffic from pedestrians in shopping areas.

Today’s conservationists are often critical of Abercrombie’s work because of the scale of demolition of existing buildings that his plans often involved.

Patrick Abercrombie, who was knighted in 1945, died in 1957.

© John Welford

Jeanne Hachette, the heroine of Beauvais

Close to the centre of the city of Beauvais, 50 miles north of Paris, is a bronze statue of a young woman who holds a captured standard in one hand and a vicious-looking hatchet in the other. This is “Jeanne Hachette”, who lived in the 15^th century and is credited with saving the city from being overrun by a besieging army.

Her actual name was Jeanne Laisné, the daughter of a local butcher. She lived in the walled city of Beauvais at a time of conflict between King Louis XI and Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, who were fighting over the control of France.

In the spring of 1472 the Duke’s troops were advancing on Beauvais. They had already taken the smaller city of Nesle, to the north-east, which had made the mistake of surrendering to the Burgundians. This had not stopped the Duke’s men from bursting in and killing all the people they could find, many of whom had fled to the church as a place of refuge.

The citizens of Beauvais were therefore determined to put up the strongest resistance they could. On 27^th June the Duke’s men lay siege to the city walls, erecting siege ladders so that they could swarm over the top.

Nobody fought as fiercely as Jeanne Laisné, who armed herself with a hatchet from her father’s butcher’s shop. Her most prominent victim was the Duke’s standard-bearer – seizing the standard was a moral victory that gave heart to all her fellow defenders, who no doubt saw Jeanne as a reincarnated Joan of Arc.

Duke Charles failed in his aim of capturing Beauvais and was forced to withdraw after 25 days. Beauvais had its eternal heroine.

© John Welford

The duel fought between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr

On 11^th July 1804 Alexander Hamilton was fatally wounded in a duel fought against Aaron Burr, who was then Vice-President of the United States of America. 

Hamilton was one of the founding fathers of the United States, but unlike George Washington, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, he never became President.

Hamilton was a strong believer in a centralised United States, with the emphasis on ‘United’, but Aaron Burr, a fellow New York politician, was more interested in the ‘States’, preferring a looser confederation. This difference of opinion led to considerable friction between the two men.

Trouble flared in 1800 when there was much confusion over who should be President and who should be Vice-President. As the Constitution was at the time, it was up to Congress to make the decision, and Burr became convinced that Hamilton had thrown his weight behind Jefferson.

In 1804 Burr had further cause for grievance when Hamilton thwarted his attempt to become governor of New York.

Many cross words were said on both sides, with Hamilton accusing Burr of dishonourable behaviour. This led Burr to challenge Hamilton to a duel. 

Duelling was forbidden in New York, so the opponents and their seconds crossed over to New Jersey. The duel was fought at the same place where Hamilton’s son Philip had been killed in a duel three years earlier. 

The tradition of pistol duelling between gentlemen held that honour would be satisfied if both parties aimed to miss. Hamilton appears to have followed this tradition, but Aaron Burr did not. Hamilton was hit in the abdomen and died 28 hours later, despite the efforts of New York’s best surgeons to save him.

The affair did not end well for Aaron Burr either. He served out his term as Vice-President but held no further political office. History remembers Alexander Hamilton with much greater appreciation than is given to Aaron Burr.

© John Welford

The rivalry between Benjamin Disraeli and William Ewart Gladstone

William Ewart Gladstone (1809-98) and Benjamin Disraeli (1804-81) are generally thought of as the two greatest British Prime Ministers of the 19^th century. They were both statesmen and politicians of the highest rank who made enormous contributions to the well-being of their country. And they absolutely loathed each other. It could be said that the greatness of both men was largely due to that loathing, as each was determined to outdo the other over a period of at least thirty years.

Differences in character and background

The mutual hatred was only partly political, Disraeli being a Conservative and Gladstone a Liberal, as the two men were very different in personality and character. Although they were both highly intelligent and ambitious, Disraeli was a man of wit and dash, a latter-day dandy who enjoyed the good things of life, whereas Gladstone was serious-minded and unimaginative.  It would be hard to picture Gladstone sitting down to read a novel. Disraeli wrote them.

Gladstone was greatly admired by many in his party and beyond, who accorded him the nickname of “Grand Old Man”, or “G. O. M.” for short. Disraeli reckoned that the initials stood for “God’s Only Mistake”.

One problem that Disraeli always had was that he was a political outsider. He was Jewish by race, although his father had him baptised as a Christian when he was 13, otherwise his later political career would have been impossible. His features were “un-British”, his father having descended from a family of Arabian Jews and his mother being Italian. His background was middle-class and his education patchy. In his youth he had tried to invest in South American silver mines, but was financially ruined when the mines turned out to be worthless.

By contrast, Gladstone came from a solid upper-middle-class family of wealthy merchants. He was educated at Eton and Christ Church College, Oxford; although not an aristocrat by birth he followed the same course as many who were. He started his political life as a Tory, being opposed to democratic reform and the abolition of slavery.

Disraeli’s career as a Member of Parliament got off to a shaky start. He was elected in 1837 and made a very poor maiden speech that was dismissed with laughter and jeers. One of the jeerers was William Gladstone, who had five years’ more political experience despite being younger than Disraeli by five years.

Political clashes

The first political issue that divided the two men was that of protectionism versus free trade. In 1846 Gladstone and Robert Peel supported repeal of the Corn Laws that had prevented cheap grain from being imported and thus lowering the price of bread. The issue split the Tory Party (now known as the Conservatives) with Gladstone being one of many “Peelites” while Disraeli stayed put with those who opposed the repeal. So many talented MPs followed Peel that Disraeli was left as one of the few politicians of note who were capable of leadership on the Protectionist side. He therefore became the Conservative leader in the House of Commons by default.

In 1851 Disraeli became Chancellor of the Exchequer in the Conservative government led from the House of Lords by Lord Derby. He had little idea of how to run the finances of the country, any more than he could keep his personal affairs in order.

On 3^rd December Disraeli presented his budget, which included several controversial points. In his speech he made a number of personal remarks about members of the opposition, including Gladstone. This clearly infuriated the younger man, who promptly lectured Disraeli about his bad manners. Gladstone also tore the budget apart, which was then voted down, leading to the immediate fall of the Government.

Gladstone was now Chancellor of the Exchequer in a Whig-Peelite coalition. By tradition, the outgoing Chancellor handed his robe to the incoming one, but Disraeli refused to do so. However, when he once again became Chancellor, in 1858, he had his own robe ready to wear.

Prime Ministers

Disraeli was the first of the two to become Prime Minister, which he did in 1868 when Lord Derby resigned on health grounds. Disraeli had been very effective in steering the 1867 Reform Act through the Commons, even attracting Gladstone’s reluctant admiration. However, the new Act called for a fresh general election, at which a large number of new voters had a chance to play a role in changing the political complexion, which they did by voting the Liberals (the name now used by Gladstone’s Peelite/Whig coalition) into power.

Gladstone stayed as Prime Minister until 1874, instituting a series of major reforms including his “mission to pacify Ireland”. Disraeli continued as Leader of the Opposition and spent the six years (when not writing novels) being a constant thorn in Gladstone’s flesh, but without ever sparking a major row. 

When Disraeli returned to power in 1874, this time for an extended stay in the Prime Ministerial role, he proved to be just as reforming as Gladstone, even taking over many Liberal policies and making them his own.

However, hostilities between the two men were to flare alarmingly in 1876 when the Ottoman Turks put down a rebellion in Bulgaria with excessive force. There were reports of terrible atrocities committed on the civilian population, with as many as 12,000 being killed. Disraeli claimed that the reports were exaggerated, but Gladstone went to great lengths to publicise the “massacre” and published a pamphlet entitled “The Bulgarian Horrors and Question of the East”, which had a wide readership.

For the 1880 General Election, Gladstone stood for the Midlothian seat in Scotland, which he cultivated in advance by making a series of long political speeches in the constituency. The “Midlothian Campaign” has been called the first modern political campaign in that Gladstone took the issues of the day out of the House of Commons and into the public domain, as well as vilifying his chief opponent on every conceivable occasion. He took Disraeli to task not only for Bulgaria but also for Britain’s military ventures in Afghanistan and South Africa.

Gladstone consequently won the 1880 election and became Prime Minister for the second time. Disraeli could not bring himself to congratulate his rival, only conceding that his defeat was caused by “the distress of the country”.

A rivalry ended by death

By this time, Disraeli (who had been ennobled as Lord Beaconsfield in 1876) was a sick man and he only had a year more to live. He died on 19^th April 1881. As Prime Minister, Gladstone was obliged to give a eulogy in the House of Commons to a man he had detested for decades. He confined himself to talking about Disraeli’s “strength of will, long-sighted consistency of purpose, remarkable power of government and great parliamentary courage”. He later admitted that writing and delivering this speech was the hardest task he had ever had to undertake.

Gladstone had more work to do in Parliament, serving two further terms as Prime Minister and only finally stepping down in 1894 at the age of 84. He died on 19^th May 1898, aged 88.

Queen Victoria’s opinion

The rivalry between Disraeli and Gladstone was settled in the former’s favour in the eyes of Queen Victoria. She had taken an immediate liking to Disraeli when he first became Prime Minister, as he had the gift of being able to listen to and empathise with people at all levels. The Queen had needed a friend to replace Prince Albert, her much-loved husband, who had died in 1861 and caused her to withdraw entirely from public life. Disraeli’s arrival as Prime Minister in 1868 started the process of her “restoration”.

However, the Queen was far less impressed by Gladstone, who was soon to replace Disraeli as her chief minister. Whereas she had enjoyed her weekly meetings with the charming Benjamin Disraeli, she complained that Gladstone “addressed me as though I were a public meeting”. Her dislike of Gladstone even went to the extent that, when the Liberal party won the 1880 election, she wanted Lord Hartington, the party leader, to be Prime Minister and had to be persuaded to ask Gladstone to form a government.

History’s verdict

It cannot be disputed that, of the two men, Disraeli was the more personable and likeable. However, although Gladstone might have given the impression of being stern and unbending this was partly a front, put on to hide a basic insecurity and shyness. He was capable of great generosity, as evidenced by his private work to help prostitutes escape from their pimps. He spent huge sums of money on this campaign, which was carried out in great secrecy and at personal risk to himself as he patrolled the London streets at night and helped prostitutes, some of them only children, to find a safe refuge.

They may have been the bitterest of rivals, but Gladstone and Disraeli were certainly two of the greatest politicians that Great Britain has ever had.

© John Welford

The death of William the Silent, 1584

William of Orange (usually known as “William the Silent”) has the dubious honour of being the first head of state to be assassinated by means of a handheld firearm. He was by no means the last.

Why Silent?

Many “titles” have been accorded to monarchs throughout history that typify certain features of their life or character, such as “Peter the Great” or “Ethelred the Unready”. One such is “William the Silent”, which seems to imply that he was some kind of Trappist monk. However, this is hardly a fair assessment of a statesman who is regarded by the Dutch as the father of his nation, and after whom the Dutch national anthem, the “Wilhemus”, is named.

His silence only refers to one phase of his life, when he refused to speak out in direct opposition to the Spanish king who oppressed the Netherlands, but he did not stay silent for ever, and it was when he broke out in rebellion that he changed the face of European history and set in train the events that led to his death. It is the particular features of that death that concern us here.

A wanted man

William of Orange, born in Germany in 1533 and brought up as a Lutheran, had become trusted by the Catholic King Philip II of Spain to the extent of being appointed governor general of Spain’s possessions in the northern parts of the Low Countries, which roughly equate to today’s Netherlands. Philip’s attempt to force Catholicism on a Protestant people was what led to rebellion and William’s refusal to continue to act, in silence, as his agent.

Many acts of violence and cruelty followed, leading eventually, in 1580, to Philip putting a price on William’s head, namely 25,000 gold crowns to whoever might “deliver him unto us quick or dead”.

The first attempt on William’s life

However, it was not until 18^th March 1582 that the first serious attempt was made to claim the prize. An 18-year-old man, Jean Jauregay, approached William, apparently to present a petition to him, and instead fired a pistol at him at point-blank range. However, the gun had been loaded with too much powder and it exploded, injuring both William and Jauregay. A bullet hit William in the jaw, which thereafter made it difficult for him to eat, but he was still able to make a recovery. Jauregay, however, was immediately stabbed to death by William’s guards, who included his 14-year-old son.

This was the first assassination attempt in history made with a handgun, and it was unfortunately to be followed by many more down the centuries. This was made possible by the new technology of the wheellock, which worked similarly to a modern cigarette lighter in that a wheel was spun against a flint that caused a spark that ignited the charge. Previously, matchlock guns involved the lighting of a fuse (or “match”) that burned down until they reached the powder. Shots could therefore now be fired quickly and in secrecy, if necessary. However, Jauregay was a newcomer to firearms, and his inexperience caused his own death, not that of his target.

The assassination of William the Silent

The next attempt was carried out with better planning. Balthazar Gerard was a fanatical Catholic who had managed to gain employment in William’s household. On 10^th July 1584 he bought a wheellock pistol from another member of William’s entourage, loaded it correctly with three bullets, and waited at the top of the stairs while William finished his lunch. As William approached, Gerard stepped forward and fired the pistol. William fell backwards down the stairs, and died without uttering a word.

Gerard, like Jauregay, did not live much longer himself, although his own death was drawn-out and painful, including having both his hands cut off, the skin of his chest torn off and salt applied to the bare flesh, and pieces of flesh torn out with red-hot pincers. The final act of his execution was for his heart to be ripped out.

The reward was duly paid by King Philip to Gerard’s family.

Ramifications of the assassination

The fact that a prince could be killed in his own palace, by a weapon that could be concealed until use, was something that had ramifications across Europe. In England, Queen Elizabeth was another obvious target of Philip’s long arm, and new measures were brought in that we would recognize today as basic security but were shocking at the time. Any foreign person entering the country had their person and baggage searched, and an order was given that no firearm could be carried within two miles of a royal palace.

Nervousness about Spanish plots was a major reason why Elizabeth signed the death warrant of Mary Queen of Scots.

There is little doubt that, had William the Silent not been the first victim of assassination by handgun, some other head of state would have claimed that dubious honour before long. However, the date of 10^th July 1584 should be remembered as having a significance that has resounded down the centuries.

©John Welford

The coup d'etat of Claude-Francois Malet

These days we take instant communications for granted, but in the days before the telephone and the telegraph a well-placed, but false, piece of news could bring down an Empire. At least, that is what Claude-Francois Malet reckoned, and he very nearly succeeded.


A change of leader is announced

Early in the morning of 23rd October 1812, a fully-attired French general arrived at the Popincourt barracks in Paris. He introduced himself as General Lamotte and announced that Napoleon was dead, having been killed during the siege of Moscow, 600 miles away. He said that a Provisional Republic had been declared and that the National Guard must assemble immediately in the Place Vendôme. He produced a sheaf of papers that included a promotion for the commandant to whom he reported the news and orders for the release of two generals who had been imprisoned for falling foul of Napoleon, namely General Ladurie and General Guidal.

General Ladurie was delighted to find himself recalled to favour and proceeded to resume his old duties by giving orders to his troops. General Guidal, however, decided that his first “duty” was to get himself his first decent restaurant meal since his incarceration.

“General Lamotte” had little trouble getting people to believe him, given his perfect uniform and all those pieces of paper. Orders were given and many people leapt into action to seize important buildings in the city and arrest anyone who might oppose the new Republic.


The plot breaks down

However, one thing “Lamotte” had forgotten was to provide himself with documents that proved his own status. When one officer, a General Hulin, grew suspicious and asked to see Lamotte’s orders, the latter had no response to offer other than to shoot Hulin in the head. Shortly afterwards he was recognised by an officer who shouted out, “That’s not Lamotte, it’s Malet!” There had indeed been a real General Lamotte, who had been exiled to the United States and was therefore unlikely to have just hot-footed it from Moscow.


The imposter

Claude-Francois Malet, born in 1754 and therefore 58 at the time of the coup attempt, was a brigadier general in his own right who held strong revolutionary views. He had therefore fallen out of favour with Napoleon and been imprisoned as a result. While in prison he had hatched a plot with a fellow prisoner, the Abbé Lafon. Lafon was a royalist, so he had nothing in common with Malet apart from a hatred of Napoleon. However, he was an expert forger who was able to supply Malet with the papers that he was later to use to support his claims.

When all the pieces were in place they climbed the wall of the prison. Lafon promptly disappeared and only turned up again after Napoleon was finally defeated at Waterloo in 1815 and the monarchy was restored. Malet went home, where his wife had hired the necessary uniform from a theatrical costumier.


The end of Claude-Francois Malet

Conspirators who plan to overthrow a dictator cannot expect to escape with their lives should their coup fail, and Malet was no exception. Justice also demanded that most of the officers he duped into joining him should face the firing squad. This may sound like rough justice, but it should be remembered that Napoleon had an heir, the so-called “King of Rome” who was only one year old at the time, and the officers in question had taken the word of a single general rather than relying on the procedure for succession that Napoleon had decreed.

As it was, despite Malet taking full responsibility for his actions when court-martialled, around 15 supposed co-conspirators were executed along with him, within a week of the coup having begun. Malet was allowed the right to issue the command to the firing squad to perform his own execution.

Despite the elements of farce that surrounded Malet’s failed coup, there were serious lessons to be learned. One was the fact that the whole Napoleonic edifice revolved around one man. Once Napoleon himself was taken out of the equation, the state could easily be taken over by the next strong man who came along. For a few days, with only one shot fired, this was precisely what happened. Had Malet been more careful in his planning, or had not been known to certain people in Paris, he might just have got away with it.

© John Welford