The St Neots Victorian Town Crier

This is the information overload age. Ones eyes and ears are innundated with a never ending torrent of material from which our brains have to separate the useful from the ‘fake news’. Life was simpler in Victorian St. Neots where newspaper articles could be consumed at leisure and there was no Radio, T.V. or umpteen channels of internet and social media detail from the four corners of the planet to cope with. One reliable source of information in Victorian times was the Town Crier. Bert Goodwin’s article in a St. Neots History Society Magazine from 2008 recalls one of the ‘last of the old customs of the town to go at the end of the 19th century when Mr. Richardson was one of the last town criers. I do not know his first name, but I knew a man who remembered him when he was a boy. He was born in the town in 1884 and this information is taken from a recording he made at the age of 92. He immediately recognised the photograph I showed him and the dilapidated hut next to where stands now the (former) Salvation Army Citadel, which was used on wet nights. Richardson, a man of some 60 years, lived in Cambridge Street in an alleyway which is still there, a few steps further on from the old Rose and Crown public house. His duties were to patrol the main streets, i.e. High Street, Market Square, Huntingdon Street, and Cambridge Street as far as Pashley’s Garage, now somewhere near Lidl’s supermarket. Here he would call out the hours and also any local function about to take place, a sporting event, or any spectacular news of the town. Also anything lost, stolen, or strayed would be called in this manner: “Oyez, oyez, a silver brooch lost between the Market Place and New Street; a reward of five shillings to anyone who finds it.” Jim, who made this recording, related this story:- “While the old man was reciting his announcement us boys would gather in a ring around him, put our hands together as in prayer, and say after him, ‘Amen’. One day while we were following our usual practice, my brother, Bill, who was standing next to me, was carrying a thin stick. When he had completed his recital, and we had all said ‘Amen’, he said in a calm and solemn manner, “Lend me your stick a minute, boy.” He promptly applied it to any backside that did not escape quickly enough! I do not know when the post of town crier ended, but it was certainly soon after the First World War.’ Don’t forget to visit your local museum (free to residents) to view the latest exhibitions and to chose from a unique range of books and gifts in its shop.