Victims of the Press Gangs

Recently I saw the remake of Ben Hur, much maligned by many reviewers. Well, maybe it wasn't gory enough for them. Actually, I enjoyed it, it was quite gory enough for me, and, anyway, I don't like too much blood and violence on the screen. 

I was very moved by the awful conditions of the slave galleys endured by Ben Hur for many years, and how helpless the men were, and the fact they had so little protection from the outside forces, from storms, vicious battles and cruel masters. Ben Hur may be fiction (based on a factual background) but it wasn't so long ago such conditions were rife around our shores and all too real. Here's a piece about the capture of men around the White Cliffs of Dover by the Press Gangs.

The Battlements of Dover Castle, Copyright Janet Cameron

Trapped inside a dank, dark hole, beneath an iron grating, secured by an iron bar and padlock, it was no fun being abducted by the ruthless but legal British press gang.

Imagine the terror of being physically torn from your friends and family and everything familiar and precious to you. Your captors are a bunch of swarthy bullies and you are being hauled to an evil place, thick with pestilence and filthy smells. You know that this will be your prison for the time being, a dank, dark hole, where you are trapped behind an iron grating firmly secured by an iron bar and padlock. You become part of a disgusting mass of writhing human bodies, all as terrified as you are, screaming and fighting and cursing and, like you, smelling of fear.

You haven't murdered anyone, assaulted anyone, or even stolen a miserable loaf of bread. On the contrary, your only crime is to be a seaman. You have fallen victim to the horrible and entirely legal practices of the press gang, for the British Navy was desperate for men. 

A Trade in Human Misery

Press gangs operated in Dover and, in fact, plied their trade in human misery in fifty ports around the British coastline. The only exemptions accepted by the Admiralty were foreigners, who were excused by a law passed in 1740, although later this was modified to permit aliens to be pressed if they had served on a British merchant ship for at least two years.  

Foreigners were also liable if they had married a British woman, and it is claimed some unfortunate seamen were pressed on their honeymoons. Sometimes, foreigners unfamiliar with the English language, remained in the Royal Navy because they were unable to insist upon seeing a consul.

Documents of release for successful applicants carried a detailed description of the man on the back to avoid their being sold to a non-exempted seaman. Each major port had a captain, who was paid one pound a day, and each smaller port employed a lieutenant for five shillings a day, plus two shillings and ninepence subsistence. In 1799, the captain at Dover was Benjamin Hulke. Senior officers, like captains and lieutenants, were called Regulating Officers and the headquarters of the local Impress Service was known as "the Rendezvous." Each would supervise a midshipman and gangs of men. Sometimes a bargain would be made with the gangers, promising them exemption in return for their services as pressmen.

Locals Get Wise to the Tactics of the Pressmen

Once the gang were known by the Dover locals, lookouts were stationed along the coast to give warnings if one of the King's ships anchored nearby. Pressmen were forced to roam the surrounding villages, since most of the qualified seamen would have taken off to hide elsewhere. The gangers received "road money" of one penny a mile, while officers did a little better with three.

Those captured were first escorted and imprisoned in the Rendezvous until the Regulating Officer could take a look at them to certify them for service. If a man tried to plead infirmity or illness, the local surgeon would examine him for a shilling. As soon as the Articles of War had been read to the unfortunate seaman - whether or not he was in any state to hear or understand them - then he was in the service of the King. No provision whatsoever would be made for his abandoned family. Once a seaman had been pressed into the service, however unwillingly, insubordination would be harshly punished by flogging or even execution.

Power and Profit

Ruthless locals became informers for a reward or for the sake of settling a dispute. It was dangerous for young men to be fast with the affections of the local women, or for a man to be unfaithful to his wife. It was also dangerous if a man had the seaman's distinctive, rolling gait, which picked him out for pressing.

When the Navy was especially desperate for hands, the gangers' pay went up. Their power was enormous; one word and a man's fate was sealed - a stint in the Royal Navy that could last for many years. Those rich enough could bribe the officers with goods or money, but for the poor, the only prospect was that dank, dark prison in the bowels of the Royal Navy ship, prior to setting sail for the high seas.

Sources:

• Waugh, Mary, Smuggling in Kent and Sussex, 1700-1840, Countryside Books, 1985.
• Gray, Adrian, Crime and Criminals in Victorian Kent, Meresborough Books 1976 and 1982.
• Jessup, F.W. A History of Kent, Phillimore & Co. Ltd. 1995
• Copyright Janet Cameron

Grim Beauty Routines of Past Times

Fashionable Ladies, 1935 Photo copyright Janet Cameron (family album)

Today, whether we favour a natural look or a more sophisticated style for evening or party wear, it's a matter of personal preference and the emphasis is on purity and safety, but it wasn't always like that. The use of cosmetics is recorded from the time of the Ancient Egyptians 4000 years ago when pale make-up was fashionable, and this trend followed through to the Roman and Greek periods. A healthy bloom indicated you belonged to the poorer classes and so whitewash or chalk was used to make the skin lighter.The Ancient Egyptian equivalent for kohl and mascara was a black sulphide called antimony that was painted onto eyelids and eyelashes.

A fashionable Renaissance beauty

In the seventeenth century, powder mixed with egg white was densely pasted onto the skin by fashionable beauties - a forerunner, maybe, of the thick pancake make-up some of us wore in the sixties. During the Renaissance, there was a horrifying trend when arsenic became a key ingredient in the skin-bleaching process. White lead was also used to lighten the skin, but it wasn't just the skin that needed to be light. Although henna was sometimes used in Roman times, blonde hair was especially favoured. Ladies lightened their hair using a mixture of goat's milk and beech tree ashes, which they applied with a sponge to remove their colour.

In the eighteenth century, slices of mouseskin were pasted on to improve the eyebrows and pads of pitch balls slipped inside the cheeks to plump the face.

Queen Victoria says cosmetics are improper and vulgar

As the Victorian era loomed, women began to use suncream, sunhats and sunshades to preserve the whiteness of their skin, and they might use a little beet juice as blush - but not too much because that would be considered indecent! Queen Victoria vehemently opposed the use of cosmetics. She said it was 'improper, vulgar and acceptable only for use by actors.'

During the twentieth century, women's cosmetics began to evolve commercially and manufactured loose powder, pressed powder, lipstick and eye pencil graced every fashionable young woman's dressing table. Hair continued to be elaborately styled. In the 1940s many women teased their hair into gravity-defying piles of waves at the front. This was achieved by using special steel combs that worked on a spring, so that two sets of rather vicious-looking teeth gripped wet hair and it would dry to a tight, wavy effect. Probably, it wasn't good for the hair, but the effect was stunning. Longer hair was popularly teased into a page-boy, with a soft, graduated cut that framed the face.

Some men also styled their hair into tiny, wavy ridges, parallel to the forehead and back over the top of the head. People called them 'spivs', a derogatory term of the period when real men weren't expected to take too much interest in their appearance.

'Which Twin has the Toni?' - A 1950s guessing game.

In the fifties, many of us were having Toni Home Perms, no doubt influenced by the famous newspaper advertisements, 'Which Twin has the Toni?' The twins in the illustration had each had a perm, but one would be a professional wave from an expensive hairdresser costing about £10, while the other would sport a Toni Home Perm at a fraction of the price - but identical. The reader was invited to identify the Toni home permanent from the professional perm. Once you'd bought the first pack which contained the curlers, you could then buy Toni refills even cheaper, a boon for busy young mums who wanted to look smart. Even some children were allowed to have a 'Toni'.

The application of the perm was a day-long process. You had to wind the curlers tightly around end-papers, which were little squares of strong tissue, which got sopping wet when you soaked your hair in the perm solution, dabbed on gently with cotton wool to avoid dislodging the curlers. In spite of the prolonged rinsing, once your perm had 'taken', its smell permeated the house for ages. When the man of the house came home from work, he knew immediately what the women had been up to. For women it was fun, a time to chat and drink tea and not worry about the housework or ironing for a few hours.

In complete contrast, around the sixties, the beehive made an appearance, in response to the fashion for big hair. Back-combed and lacquered into a tall helmet on top of the head, it was fixed with a great number of hairgrips into a long pleat at the back. It gained popularity when gorgeous Audrey Hepburn wore the style in the 1961 film, Breakfast at Tiffany's. Girls suddenly became statuesque, often wearing high stiletto heels as well as the additional height on top. Husbands and boyfriends complained if their partners were taller than themselves.

Carmen Rollers and Cilla Black

If your hair wasn't long enough for a beehive, then a bouffant style was the next best thing, achieved by the use of large rollers blasted with heat to set the style in place, before being sprayed liberally with hair lacquer. Many women's Christmas lists had a set of Carmen Heated Rollers at the top. The young Cilla Black's hair was an example of the perfect bouffant. Since those days, there have been many notable hair fashions, including the glorious Afro that had to be poked out into a huge halo with a special wide-toothed comb. Mostly hair was high maintenance, requiring time and money to meet the fashion requirements of the period.

Probably the most maligned hairstyle ever was the mullet - short and spiky on top and long, untidy layers over the collar, popular in the '70s and '80s. Today, with expert hairdressing techniques, a good cut and a pair of straightening irons, hair is mostly hassle-free. We don't need to worry about the wind flattening our hairdo anymore, or about sleeping awkwardly with pins of wiry curlers sticking into our scalps. Its wonderful to have good hair without sacrificing our sleep for our looks.

Although - I have heard that Big Hair is coming back into fashion.

Sources for pre-1950s beauty practices:

A Fashionable History of Make Up and Body Decoration by Helen Reynolds, Raintree, 2003

'The demands of fashion' The Covent Garden Minuet Company (article) www.minutecompany.org