The London Warehouse

In July 1950 work began on the demolition of the old Packhouse - or Packhorse quay warehouse in South End which had for some time had a pronounced lean towards the river due to a crack in the foundations.

The London Warehouse.

The job was not easy because of the situation of the building with the road on one side and the river on the other, all the walls had to be pulled inwards. Similarly all the slates had to be passed inside and carried down the stairs.
Built in 1818, the building was known as the London Warehouse and had many uses over the years.
Mr. Alfred Read started his family shipbroking business there in 1865, for some time part of the building was used as a bond warehouse for Ridlington and Co., poultry auctions were held there at one time by Ben Killingworth, the pilot office was situated in the warehouse and Boston Sea Scouts once had their headquarters there. Below are two pictures, one viewed from where the present day (2012) seating area of the Waterfront pub is and a view from the Town Bridge showing the warehouse partly demolished.

Before the railways came

Travel in Boston in the early 1700's was still something of an adventure, people did not often travel for pleasure and those that did travel went on horseback. For the people who had to travel and the transport of goods, there was, first of all, the stage coach.

Two coaches passing the Red Cow in Wide Bargate.

Stage coaches ran between London and York and stopped at Stamford and Grantham on the Great North Road. Boston was cut off from this great highway but in February 1786 it was announced that a stage coach to carry four inside passengers was to run three times a week from Spilsby, Boston, Spalding, Peterborough and Huntingdon to London. It took nearly a day and a half to get to London and stopped the night at Peterborough, leaving again at 5 a.m. next morning.

A stagecoach in the Market Place.

From July 1st. 1787 a diligence left the Peacock Inn, Boston on Sundays and Thursdays at 9. a.m. and went by way of Wainfleet to Skegness.

A coach outside The Peacock Hotel.

During the 1700's an increasing proportion of rough goods went by water. The Witham had always been the main link between Boston and Lincoln, and the means by which the goods shipped to the Port of Boston found their way into, and out of, the county. There was a good deal of coasting trade between Boston and London and boats regularly plied on inland waterways. This water transport was increasing right down to the coming of the railway. In an old Lincolnshire directory of 1821 there was advertised a steam packet running every day between Lincoln and Boston for both passengers and goods.

Very swiftly in the end the coach and river trade were overtaken by the railway which arrived in Boston in 1848.

Policing in 1885

Mr. John Barton, of 3, Fydell Street was a policeman in the constabulary of the Borough of Boston in 1885. In 1935 he looked back at policing in Boston during the 1880's.

Then it was all patrol, footslogging around the town for as much as 63 hours a week. "But we had our own special traffic problem in those days," said Mr. Barton. "We had to keep our eyes open, and if we saw any cyclist riding through the town at ten miles an hour he was summoned for 'furious riding'."
The policeman of 1885 was dressed in a blue frock coat and wore a stove pipe helmet made of solid felt and reputed to be able to stand a steam-roller running over it ! He worked nine hours in every 24 for seven days a week, with extra time on special days - but no extra pay ! At that time there were 15 men on the Boston force, Mr. Henry Bellamy the Chief Constable, three sergeants and 11 constables. There were more public houses then and they were open all day from 6 a.m. and the beer was stronger so it can well be appreciated what was one of a constable's most important duties.
But what of the appearence of the town in 1885. He tells us that many of the streets were cobbled then and were lit by fish-tail burners and a man used to come round at night with a box of matches to light them. Plate glass was unknown to Boston then and even if a shop had a big window it consisted of small panes.

1880's Boston.

There were few means of enjoyment for the townspeople, there was only the beer-house, no cinemas, no wireless, perhaps an occasional play at Shodfriars Hall or the Corn Exchange. The only park was that in South End and motor cars were unknown. There were at that time a considerable number of navvies left in the town, dredging the river from the Sluice to the New Cut so as to improve the outfall and Dock entrance and these navvies drank quite a lot of beer. However, there were a good number of the townspeople who could run them close, and on Saturday nights there would be practically a procession to the police station from 10 'o' clock to midnight. Sometimes the station was filled up with drunks. It was not an easy job, often they would be spoiling for a fight and two or three constables would have to frog-march them, others would lie down in the street and the constables would pick them up and wheel them to the police station on a truck.

"Policemen in those days didn't get pensioned off until they were worn out." concluded Mr. Barton. " There was no age limit. When they were thought to be done and unable to do any more, it was hoped they would die quick to save the ratepayers money."

Boston Society Magazine

The "Boston Society" magazine ran from September 1899 to August 1902, here is a glimpse of the things it told us.

In the fashion column women were told not to wear bathing costumes that show too much skin and were advised that a black bodice and knickerbockers, worn beneath a short skirt that reached to the knee was neat and fashionable.

In the sports column Boston Cricket Club batsman W. Kitwoods total for the season was 218, and the best of the bowlers were Chambers, MacIntyre and Langley.

There appears, too, the interesting life story of Captain Rehoboth Robinson (not a Bostonian, but born in Lincolnshire) who at the time lived at No.1, Intrepid Cottages, Skirbeck, who was one of those who went in search of Sir John Franklin. He had been nine times wrecked, his wife was drowned at sea, he served in the Russian war and had two winters in the Arctic. He sailed in 100 ships, rising from cabin boy to master-mariner and ship owner and saved as many as 40 people from drowning.

Regarding the arrival of the telephone in Boston we read "The telephone has not been embraced as it ought to have been for at present only 17 machines are used in the town".

A scheme, which never came to be, is referred to in one issue - the proposal to introduce electric tram cars into the town. It was proposed by "The British Electric Traction Company Ltd.". The idea was to run trams from the junction of Brothertoft Road and Sleaford Road to the end of Spilsby Road and from the Dock to the Railway Station. Objections were raised by the Corporation and after a period of negotiation the project fell through.

There is also an article on Hussey Tower (below), which tells us, among other things, that the old ruin is believed to be haunted. The writer also states that in its time it has been used as a mill, a brewery stables and a sail making factory and at one time it was contemplated turning it into a gaol.

Odds and ends

This picture of Bostons former SD Gully Emptier was sent to me by Robin Smith and he tells me that it was driven for 29 years by Bert Scoot of Argyle Street, who in all that time was its only driver, Bert named it "Lizzie". Many older Bostonians will remember Bert as one side of his face was totally covered with a red stain birth mark. Although no longer in its Boston "Corporation Green" colour the Gully emptier still has the same reg JL 4881. It had tiller steering and as a kid it always used to fascinate Robin how he could steer it without a steering wheel. Lizzie had a top speed of 20 mph and had done over 200,000 miles when it was sold to a collector.

Below you’ll see a drawing of Richard Hammond on his own bicycle.
Richard Hammond was born in Boston, and later moved to Gainsborough with his parents, his father being an established Coach Builder.
It was in the early 1860s that Hammond worked on his designs for his first bicycle and by January 1868 he had a machine on the roads of Lincolnshire !
Despite much local derision when he trialled the machine Hammond persisted and refined the design into a type II version, lighter and more refined than the first.
He set out to demonstrate the capability of his bike by riding the 50 miles from Gainsborough to Boston which was no mean feat on wooden wheels shod with iron bands.
So did he build the first ever bicycle in England - can a Bostonian lay claim to that crown ?
During his own lifetime Richard Hammond himself laid claim to being the maker of the first pedal and crank bicycle in England.
In any case he is a Bostonian who deserves to be remembered.

Gary Halliday sent me the picture below of a sign that was found under some floorboards on a demolition site in Boston.

Boston Ghosts

Perhaps the best-known of the town's ghost stories is that of the Grey Lady, legend has it that the Grey Lady will appear in front of you if you run round Boston Stump three times while the bells chime for midnight. She is understood to be the ghost of a woman widowed when her husband died shortly after she had given birth to their first child, stricken with grief and wanting the family to be reunited she threw herself off the Stump tower with the baby. But her actions saw her damned and left to live in limbo.

Like the Grey Lady, Sarah Preston is another woman who committed suicide by leaping off the Stump. Legend says that she believed herself responsible for bringing the Black Death to Boston by inviting a sailor to her home while her husband was away.It was he who gave her the Black Death (which is believed to have claimed 400 lives here) which she passed on in the town before taking her own life in guilt. In one version of the ghost story, Sarah is seen to leap from the tower of the church holding a young child, vanishing just before hitting the ground, another variation has Sarah dying of the plague.

A few years ago paranormal investigators spent a night at the Geoff Moulder Leisure Complex and say they discovered a monk-like male figure and a young girl haunting the halls.One photograph taken showed a monk and a male ghost is also said to have rested his hand on one of the group's shoulders. In response to a medium saying 'I think I'm picking up a little girl here', a female's voice clearly said 'yes' said one of the group.Visitors to the site swear they have previously seen a male monk figure walk through walls and across the pool and there have also been reports of mugs in the admin office smashing themselves in the past.

In 2010 a man was driving home between Kirton and Boston, it was about midnight and he saw what he thought was an articulated lorry with no lights at the rear. As he got closer he could see it was the back of a guards railway van. He thought it was on a low loader... but there was no low loader and he pulled out to have a better look... and then he could see it was an old-fashioned steam train pulling several carriages!! As he came toward the street lights, it disappeared! The road he was on (the A16) was originally a railway line, closed in the1960's and made into a road in the 1990's.

Father Michael - or Micky the Monk – is a ghost believed to haunt Blackfriars, Spain Lane site. The site has also been claimed to have been a burial site, while monks' graves were also uncovered on the nearby Boston Grammar School site in recent years. Father Michael is said to walk with a cloak shrouding his head.

The following sent to me by Andy B.
The most convincing Boston ghost story I heard came about 20 years ago when a friend, his wife and another couple were coming home from the quiz night at the Oak Tree (now Malcolm Arms) at Antons Gowt. They came down Tattershall Rd and where there is a right turn for Boston there used to be a little Island in the middle of the road......on that island they saw a figure dressed in a Medieval jesters outfit just stood there......all 4 witnesses say it just stood still and looked at them and as the car turned right it just vanished. Bear in mind the driver was sober and the passengers had very little to drink with it being a quiz night......spooky.

The following sent to me by Rob.
Pilgrim Hospital is said to be home to number of these apparitions. The one that I know about from my time working in and out of the original A/E dept is as follows.
A very kind and helpfull A/E porter called Willie ----- sadly died from an incurable illness. Soon after this several of the nurses who worked nights said that they had seen him still dressed in his brown porters smock this was always in the corridores between the original A/E and the X Ray dept. This put the wind up quite a few of the night staff and if a patient had to go from A/E for an X Ray in the early hours they would ask if one of us (Ambulance Staff) would go with them. Then one day about dinner time the Charge Hand Porter ( a very sensible man) went to the A/E store room for supplies and saw that a person dressed in a porters smock was already in there, he asked him what he was doing, the person turned around and he saw that it was Willie who he had known, he rushed back into the dept in something of a panic and was so shaken up that he was unable to continue at work and had to be taken home by another porter.
I never saw Willie myself but all the people who did were sensible and quite hard nosed people and all were convinced that it was him, so I had no reason to not believed them.

The Green and the Market.

Here is a description of The Green and the Market from 1938, apart from the selling of animals it hasn't really changed a lot.



"Without its Wednesday market Boston would lose half its attractiveness. Even early on a Wednesday morning there is an atmosphere that makes it different from the ordinary day, the town puffs its chest out, feels more important because of its bustling activity. Plank-laden carts discharge their cargo for deft hands to set up the stalls, lorries with beast or poultry rattle down the streets, farmers and merchants drive up in their cars, and buses from the country districts bring visitors.

Down at the cattle pens they were already selling beast and I stood for a moment by the ring. But that is only one side of the market, and to the non farmer the least interesting. Only a few yards away the casual spectator can find much more to make him pause. Any Wednesday on Bargate Green you can walk round to find "lots" so strangely assorted that you fancy no one will ever buy them, but they do. Here is a great battery of cycles, sacks of potatoes are grouped a yard or two away and chairs, soon to be sold, are used by jaded auction attenders, a trunk load of books, a mass of twisted iron, a Chinese picture and planks of timber.

What's that he's saying now? "How much for Nelly?" Is this a slave market? But the assistant is holding up a dog. "Now come along, how much for Nelly? He's a grand dog. A shilling sir? Oh, come along, be serious, there's a collar and lead worth more than that. He's a fine ratter too is Nelly. How much am I offered? Is that the only offer I have? Very well, it's going for a shilling. A shilling to this gentleman. A few of the buyers detach themselves from the edge and move over to a young man whose hands are never still and he talks all the time. At his feet are pieces of brass, copper, taps and knobs and he is demonstrating and selling polish with which to clean them at sixpence a bottle.

Two gentlemen are selling razor blades and point out that it's silly to go paying high prices when you can get them of just the same quality at one third of the price. They joke that their most recent sale was forty of them to the Nottingham Suicide Club and all the members had died perfectly at ease and happy.
In the Market Place stallholders invite us to test their wares, these apples are unrivalled, these cough lozenges can't be equalled and this lotion was used by a personage whose name they had been requested not to mention, but these men with all their skill don't give us the kick that we get out of the salesmen on the Green. Over here is a man with a wild look in his eye, around him are linoleum pillars propped along the stall.

Outside the "Peacock" are the farmers and seed salesmen. Bronzed faces, bearded faces, jovial faces and hard faces. A crippled violinist is playing, nobody seems to take much notice of him and when a fashionably dressed woman fumbles in her bag, giving him a coin, she does it furtively, ashamed. It is tea time, parties go up into the cafes near the Market Place, women seeking a refuge from dust and noise, hugging parcels. In the streets the crowds grow smaller, one by one the stallholders take away their wares, and in the evening air the skeletons of stalls rise gaunt from a sea of paper bags and litter. Carts are loaded with the planks, lorries rumble away to distant towns, the hoses hiss in the cattle pens. Another market day is over.