This dataset makes accessible the uniquely comprehensive records of vagrant removal from, through, and back to Middlesex, encompassing the details of some 14,789 removals (either forcibly or voluntarily) of people as vagrants between 1777 and 1786. It includes people ejected from London as vagrants, and those sent back to London from counties beyond
They’ve already written about this data in an excellent article (open access) and Crymble has blogged further about his ongoing research. (They have better visualisations too, so you could skip this post entirely and go to the real thing. Think of this as a taster.)
I want to focus on ways of visualising multiple categories of qualitative information – the more categories you want to compare at the same time, the more complex a dataviz has to be. In this case, I’ve got four categories to play with: gender, dates, countries of origin, and vagrant ‘types’. That’s to say, there are three types of individual in the dataset: leaders of family groups, their dependents, and single vagrants. The gender of the majority of dependents is unknown (most are children), so for most of this post, I decided to simplify things by filtering out all of the dependents to focus on the group leaders and singles. (As a result, because I’m ignoring about 500 wives who were counted as dependents, the following will differ somewhat from the work referenced above.) This resulted in 10963 individuals.
Overall, the gender ratio of the vagrants looks almost perfectly balanced (5438 female to 5525 male). But this hides some interesting variations.
Firstly let’s break it down by the year of the case. (There are some missing records, and the very small numbers in 1777 and 1779 in particular are due to these gaps.) Two things stand out: the numbers of both female and male vagrants rise rapidly in the mid-1780s; and women are in the majority each year until 1782, after which they’re overtaken by men.
Now looking at vagrant type. As soon as you have multiple categories, you can split up the data in different ways – the “best” can depend on the data and exactly what it is you want to show. So graph 3a compares the percentages of male and female vagrants for each vagrant type, whereas graph 3b shows the percentages of group and single for each gender. 3b highlights that the majority were single individuals – something you wouldn’t know at all from 3a. It also makes it clear that vagrant type was gendered – considerably more men than women were singles. 3a, on the other hand, is better if you want to know exactly what the proportions of men and women were in each type. Most often, if I had to pick just one of these, it’s likely that I’d plump for 3b, because I’ve already seen that overall there are very similar numbers of men and women. But it might be a harder choice if that weren’t the case.
Now, looking at country of origin (British and Irish vagrants only, as there were only a few from other countries ), further striking differences emerge. It’s hardly surprising that the majority of the vagrants came from England, but much more noteworthy that there was such a large disparity between Irish men and women.
Adam Crymble discusses what’s most likely going on, and it ties in with the particularly rapid increase in the numbers of male vagrants from 1783 shown in graph 1 – it’s probably the result of demobilisation after the American wars.
This says ‘demobilisation’ to me, and the male nature of most Irish vagrants suggests that this may have been a strategy for getting home after the war. Demobilisation was heavily centralized in London. Soldiers and sailors weren’t taken home; they were dropped off and left to find their own way.
Finally, I want to visualise the relationships between three categories in the data: gender, country and vagrant type. Mosaic plots are a more complex and less commonly used type of visualisation that can cram a lot more information into a single chart than you can with a bar chart. But, as with boxplots, that makes them a bit harder to interpret.
Imagine that you start with a single large rectangular block. For your first category, you divide it horizontally, and put the labels for each “level” (in this case there are two, F and M, for gender) on the left hand Y axis. As in the very first bar chart, we can see that the proportions of men and women are close to equal.
Then you sub-divide the two blocks vertically for your second category (country) and put the labels along the top X axis. So reading left to right along each gender block, the first vertical block = English, the second = Irish, third = Scottish and fourth = Welsh. Again, we can see that English vagrants are in the majority for both genders, and at the same time, how a much higher proportion of the men are Irish.
Finally you sub-divide the blocks once again, horizontally, for the third category (vagrant type), and the labels for these (group and single) go on the right hand Y axis. The biggest single category, then, is women from England who are single (Hitchcock et al argue the importance of short-distance female migration London to find domestic service for making up much of this). The smallest category is men from Wales who lead a group.
Male Irish and Welsh vagrants are more likely to be single than are men from England and Scotland, whereas a higher proportion of Irish and (even more so) Scottish women were heading groups. (Crymble has also emphasised how different the Irish and Scottish vagrants were.)
The use of colour and shading adds one final dimension, but it’s harder to interpret on first sight. The idea is to show statistical significance. What it boils down to is that blue means the square is bigger than would be expected by the statistical model; red means it’s smaller than the model would expect (and the darker the colour, the bigger the significance). The fact that the group-Irish-male box is coloured dark red (ie, smaller than “expected”) pretty much seems to reinforce what we’ve already observed. The group-Scottish-female box also stands out among the smaller blocks – suggesting that this is significant and might be further investigated.
However, it’s important to to understand whether what the statistical model “expects” is appropriate for the data we have. In medical research, where data collection is conducted according to carefully defined rules, it may be possible to be confident that a statistical significance means a “real” difference. For a historian it might simply be pointing to imperfections in the data! So it’s essential for historians doing data analysis and visualisation to get to grips with both the original sources and the statistics. I’m still grappling with the second part…
From the Act for the Relief of the Poor of 1662, or so-called “Settlement Act” onwards, various pieces of 17th- and 18th- century legislation formally codified entitlement to parochial poor relief by “settlement“. The main ways of gaining a settlement of your own were: completing a formally contracted apprenticeship; at least one year in continuous service; renting a house worth at least £10 a year; paying parish taxes or serving as a parish officer. Many people’s settlements, however, were ‘derived’: a married woman from her husband; children born in wedlock from their parents. But illegitimate children got their settlement from their place of birth. And a new settlement erased previous ones.
In theory, everyone in England and Wales in the 18th century ‘belonged’ to a parish, somewhere. Which was fine… as long as you had a settlement in a place where you actually wanted to be. But the flip side of settlement was removal: exclusion was key to the workings of a locally-based poor relief policy.
The case study: St Clement Danes
This paper is early work in progress based on sources digitised by the London Lives project, exploring the narratives of the poor in examinations and petitions and linking together records to trace larger patterns. The focus here on one London Lives parish in the second half of the 18th century, St Clement Danes, a large urban parish to the west of the City of London, with a population of around 13,000 in 1801, of whom about 600 were receiving poor relief (costing the parish about £7000 p.a.). It was fairly well off, on average, with varied local trades and industries. But, as is often the case, averages hide considerable variation, with poor and rich living close together.
Overview of the data
I’m focusing on three sources from London Lives:
1) a dataset of settlement, bastardy and vagrancy examinations for St Clement Danes and another London Lives parish, St Botolph Aldgate, covering 1739-1800 (containing about 11000 exams in total). There were three main possible outcomes of a settlement examination: the examined was shown to have a settlement in the parish; their settlement was somewhere else but they could produce a settlement certificate guaranteeing that their own parish would relieve them, so they were allowed to stay; removal from the parish.
2) the second dataset is a Clement Danes register of removal orders (covering late 1752 to mid 1793; I chopped off the part-years at beginning and end for a convenient 40 year period).
Many archives have large numbers of surviving 18th-century pauper examinations, but records of removals are much less common. Linking the two means I can begin to examine more systematically the outcomes of examinations. For the period 1753-92, then, there are 5046 examinations and 2479 orders, of which 2357 could be linked to at least one exam. (Conversely, 2365 exams could be linked to at least one removal order.)
Figure 1 shows the three types of examinations: settlement, bastardy and vagrancy. The vast majority of exams in this series were settlement exams (green); bastardy exams (red) account for about 10% of the total. The vagrancy category is a very thin blue line at the bottom of just a few years; the numbers were tiny. There will have been more vagrancy exams than this, but they were usually recorded separately, often on pre-printed forms (which makes me a bit curious about the few that do turn up in this series – why are they here at all?).
In Figure 2 we can see there are two types of removal order in the register: non-specific orders I’ll simply call ‘pauper removals’ and vagrant removals (sometimes called passes, as the removed were “passed” to their destinations). Most of the orders that couldn’t be linked to examinations were vagrant removals, again indicating that vagrant examinations were recorded separately. But this graph shows that a striking proportion of settlement exams ultimately resulted in vagrant removal orders, highlighting the fuzzy boundaries between the poor laws and vagrancy laws.
Generally, parishes had an incentive to do this because they had to foot the bill for pauper removals, while the county paid for vagrants to be removed. It looks suspiciously as though this was getting rather out of hand in the mid 1750s. In the spring of 1757 the bench at Middlesex Sessions was very concerned about the numbers of vagrants and costs of removals. In July they appointed a new contractor to handle the removal of vagrants and (in what looks to me at least very much like a slap on the wrist to negligent JPs) ordered that JPs were “not to sign any Vagrant Pass” without proof “that an Act of Vagrancy hath been committed”. There was a dramatic and immediate impact in St Clement Danes: of 75 vagrant removals in 1757, only 7 were dated after July.
Even so, vagrant removals continue to be quite conspicuous in comparison to examinations; so I want to look more closely at the settlement exams that wound up in vagrant removals to see if there’s any real justification beyond financial expediency. (The smaller increases in vagrant removals after 1757 do generally match years which have vagrant examinations, but they only partially correlate to the years with the largest numbers of exams.)
Overall, about 50% of settlement examinations led to removal orders. The main concern of bastardy exams was establishing paternity rather than settlement (though occasionally a single exam covers both topics), and so there are much lower linkage rates between these and the orders (about 20 of 500+ could be linked to orders). However, the women examined in bastardy exams often have later settlement exams as well, and so I have some more linkage work to do to establish whether more than the 20 were actually removed at some point.
As in many other studies (and even after ignoring bastardy exams), by far the majority of examinants and the removed were women. They averaged 75% of the examined over the period, reflecting women’s vulnerability to poverty. However, women were slightly less likely to be removed than the male examinants, and it’s possible that there’s some correlation between the peaks in exams/removals and higher rates of male removal. The differences are not large; but I have some more number-crunching to do here.
I want to look now at cases in which examinants returned to the parish after being removed by an order. Between 1753 and 1792, at least 122 examinants were removed more than once. This happened in two ways: first, examinants were returnedafter the receiving parish disputed the case; second, the examinant themselves might reject the magistrates’ authority and return of their own volition. [Links to documents for each of the cases mentioned are listed at the end of the post.]
Parishes to which paupers were removed had a right of appeal to Quarter Sessions (or to the Court of Aldermen in the City of London). Between 1750 and 1800, there are about 2300 petitions of this kind in the Middlesex, Westminster and City of London Sessions papers in London Lives. Individual parishes did not appeal many removals: the process was very expensive; and it’s argued that in London many parishes had informal agreements to accept paupers from each other (‘friendly passes’).
I’ve found 44 appeals against removals from Clement Danes between 1753-1792, all of which can be linked to examinations and/or removal orders. The petitions themselves are usually uninformative about the reasons for appeal (unlike many other petitions in the Sessions Papers). But the linked examinations can be more revealing.
In 1760, the parish of St Brides appealed against Clement Danes sending them an 8 year old girl, Mary Ives. Mary’s mother was dead and she’d been abandoned by her father James, whose settlement was unknown. Mary had been born in St Brides; but she was legitimate so that was irrelevant to her settlement. So it’s not surprising that their appeal was upheld and Clement Danes had to take Mary back.
Or, in 1762, St Sepulchre’s appealed CD’s decision to send them Susanna Flood, the widow of Noah Flood, and their three children. According to the settlement examinations, Noah had only served 5 years of his Apprenticeship in St. Sepulchre and the final two years with a different master in Hornsey. Again, the appeal was successful. Within three months Susanna and her children had been dispatched to Hornsey instead.
On the facts of the exam, sending Mary Ives to St Brides seems simply opportunistic; the JPs must have known perfectly well that there was nothing in the examination to support this course of action. The most charitable interpretation is that they had some reason to believe her father might turn out to have a settlement in St Sepulchre, and so the recipients would not bother to appeal. Equally, I’m sceptical that the right course of action in a case like Noah Flood’s (though clearly not entirely straightforward) wasn’t well established and known to JPs by the 1760s. Both cases seem to suggest that getting rid of unwanted paupers as quickly as possible could take priority over establishing the facts of uncertain cases. And yet, if that were really the case, we might expect appeals to be rather more frequent than they actually were.
[Oops: on reading the Flood examinations again, I looked more carefully at the dates, and realised I castigated the JPs unfairly: Susanna’s first examination only mentioned the St Sepulchre apprenticeship and it wasn’t until she was examined again after the appeal that she completed the narrative.]
But one more caveat. Of the 44 linked petitions, 15 (14%) were in just one year, 1785. The mid- to late-1780s were busy years for examinations and removals in Clement Danes. The 1785 Sessions Papers are unusually full of parish petitions – but so are those for 1784, and that year’s files contain no appeals against Clement Danes at all. What is going on?! Survival rates of documents, including petitions, in the Sessions Papers are variable and uncertain, but this is a very curious anomaly.
In all this, the interests and desires of the paupers themselves are clearly the lowest priority of all. (As evidenced by the way in which parish officials were apparently quite happy to label significant numbers of them vagrants – a criminal offence, remember – in the 1750s, simply to save some money on removal costs.) But we can, sometimes, begin to trace something of what the poor wanted for themselves.
Some examinants gave accounts that investigation rapidly proved to be false. Thomas White’s claim in 1769 to have a settlement in CD based on 2 1/2 years service was “On Enquiry found… to be false [, the master] never having kept house a Twelvmonth in the Parish & the Examinant only an Earrand Boy for a little time”. If Thomas lied because he didn’t want to leave the parish, the tactic may have worked: there’s no sign of a removal order.
Challenging the authority of the magistrates and law by returning after a removal order was a risky business; returners could be labelled as vagrants and subject to the harsher penalties of the vagrancy laws. Nonetheless, some returned several times over years or even decades.
Ann Brown, a single woman aged around 40 in 1755, had been a servant to a Mr Champ in Oxford for about 18 months during the mid 1740s. There was no doubt about her settlement: she gave almost exactly the same account to the CD magistrates four times between 1751 and 1757. The first occasion pre-dates the removals register but on each of the subsequent times they sent her back to Oxford as a vagrant. An order in 1755 describes her as “an incorrigible rogue”, which had a specific meaning in the vagrancy laws: it referred to repeat offenders who could be more harshly punished, from imprisonment with hard labour potentially up to transportation to the colonies. In practice this was rare, but Ann would surely have been warned it could happen. And yet she came back again two years later. And while most repeat returners came quite short distances from other London parishes, each time she had to cover a 50 mile journey from Oxford.
On her first examination in April 1758, Mary Jenkins appears to be just one of the many women who were examined about their settlement because their husbands had recently died, gone away to military service, been imprisoned, or simply deserted them. Her husband Henry was at sea and they had 3 young sons. After their marriage, Henry had rented a house in St Olave Southwark at an annual rent of 11 guineas, so the CD JPs had Mary and her young sons removed there: a straightforward case. But Mary returned to CD four times, only to be removed again. Again her motives are unknown.
In these cases it seems to me there must be some connection to the parish that would not be documented in settlement examinations, but whether I can trace records that might shed light on them, I don’t know. Tantalisingly, an Ann Brown was baptised in Clement Danes in 1713; unfortunately, it’s a common sort of name and there were quite a few Ann Browns born in Middlesex (let alone anywhere else) in a reasonable date range. Conversely, in what I’m fairly sure is Henry Jenkins’ and Mary’s marriage record, her maiden name is transcribed as “Rouffinee”, an apparently unique surname (this could be either a transcription error or an unusual spelling of, perhaps, an Irish name like Roughneen?).
Irregular unions and family breakup
And I want to close with a case highlighting the themes running through many examinations of marriage breakdown, ‘irregular’ unions and their implications, the potential for paupers to be excluded not only from parishes but from their own families.
Ann Threader was examined in February 1785. She had married John Threader ‘about 30 years ago’ at the Fleet (I think actually in 1750), and he deserted her just two months afterwards. She had never seen him again but had heard that he re-married, and that he had later died. A few years after he left her, she moved in with Jacob Wesley, a shoemaker, with whom she had three illegitimate children, aged between 9 and 14 at the time of the exam. Because Ann and Jacob had moved house during their relationship, their children had been born in two different parishes in Southwark. CD attempted to remove the children to those parishes, but both removals were successfully appealed at the next Middlesex Sessions.
This time the examination itself sheds no light on the grounds for appeal, but it has a marginal note that CD were ‘obliged’ to take the children because they had already ‘been passed to us some time back’. Whatever the reason, CD subsequently relieved the children, although they quickly had the two older children bound out as apprentices, and they also gave Ann occasional out-relief for some years.
Following the failure of a marriage or long-term absence of a husband, cohabitation and (less often) bigamous re-marriage were both options to be found in settlement exams, and I want to explore this in more depth in the future. Just as with ‘regular’ marriages, the break-up of an ‘irregular’ union due to a partner’s death or departure could make the remaining family members vulnerable to exclusion. But with these unions, the settlement laws could in theory result in the break up of an entire family: the illegitimate children to the parishes of their birth, the mother and father to separate parishes altogether.
Because this research is in early stages I don’t have substantial conclusions yet, so instead a few thoughts on future directions.
The first strand relates to the experiences of the poor themselves, and how settlement strategies could go awry. People – perhaps especially poor people! – didn’t always live the well-ordered lives imagined by settlement law and there were many potential sources of dispute. Young people might not complete apprenticeships or service, for a range of reasons. (Apprenticeships were long and might well start in one parish and finish in another because of a master’s house move, death, bankruptcy or abuse of apprentices.) In any case, young adults didn’t always stay put after gaining a settlement of their own; they might move to find work, or return to their childhood homes, but never manage to gain another settlement. Elderly widows or young orphans could end up being sent to parishes they had never even visited because their husbands or parents had worked or lived there many decades earlier. Young people could be separated from the rest of their family because they had been born before their parents’ marriage. I want to explore these experiences in more depth, and those of the poor who resisted exclusion.
Second, there’s the larger context of poor law and settlement practice. Ann Winter and Thijs Lambrecht have recently argued for the importance of investigating local experiences and variations in settlement practice, and I think Jeremy Boulton has brilliantly shown the value of detailed record linkage in a local case study, for St Martin in the Fields. In the late 18th century, Clement Danes had a reputation as a parish where migrants could go to claim poor relief without too much scrutiny by parish officials – a “casualty parish” (indeed, the best casualty parish!). I’m curious, among other things, how accurate that image was. (One thing I do know already is that Clement Danes removal rates were considerably higher than those in St Martins a few decades earlier in the century. The numbers of examinations in Clement Danes are also much higher than those in the St Botolph Aldgate records, though they had roughly similar size populations.) How consistent was practice in Clement Danes, and how did it match up to settlement law? In reality, how likely were widows or abandoned wives or illegitimate children likely to be despatched to far-off parishes? And how does it compare to other London parishes?
Findmypast/FamilySearch marriage record: Henry Jenkins to Mary Rouffinee, St Pancras, 2 July 1751 (in April 1758 Mary said that the marriage was at Kentish Town Chapel “about seven Years ago”, so I’m more than usually confident about this one)
(FindMyPast/FamilySearch) marriage of John Thredder to Ann Clark, 28 Feb 1750, London; FamilySearch also has a Fleet marriage record for John Thredder on the same date. Despite the date discrepancy, the match seems likely (35 years is a long time…)
(FMP/FamilySearch) marriage of John Thredder to Mary Poore, St Martin in the Fields, April 1763; burial of John Threader, St Martin in the Fields, 20 Jan 1772. But there is also a burial record for a John Threader in 1764 at St Ann Soho, so can’t be certain that the St Martins records are the right man.
Norma Landau, “The Laws of Settlement and the Surveillance of Immigration in Eighteenth-Century Kent.” Continuity and Change 3, no. 03 (December 1988): 391. doi:10.1017/S026841600000429X.
A. Winter and T. Lambrecht, “Migration, Poor Relief and Local Autonomy: Settlement Policies in England and the Southern Low Countries in the Eighteenth Century.” Past & Present 218, no. 1 (February 1, 2013): 91–126. doi:10.1093/pastj/gts021.
Eleanor Miller, a poor widow living in St Botolph Aldgate, was examined concerning her settlement rights in December 1765 by two Middlesex Justices of the Peace. Her examination is considerably longer than average and recounts an eventful life: from Edinburgh to work in London, a Fleet marriage to a sailor subsequently killed in Cuba during the Seven Years’ War, to cohabitation with another man in her husband’s absence and the birth of (at least) two children. (It’s worth noting that she began the extra-marital relationship just a few months after her husband’s departure, well before his death.)
Beyond the details contained in the pauper examination itself – a type of narrative narrowly focused on what the law wanted to know of a pauper’s settlement entitlement – Eleanor’s life is as shadowy and difficult to trace as that of most poor eighteenth-century migrants to London (especially married women). I can’t trace her back to Scotland; there is a possible Fleet marriage record (which would provide her maiden name), but the dates don’t match. It’s possible that Eleanor was allowed to stay in the parish (on the basis of settlement by service before her marriage, and the birth of one of her illegitimate children there): there is a St Botolph burial record of 1777 for an Eleanor Miller.
Eleanor Miller the widow of James Miller deced Maketh oath that She was born in the Parish of Griffiers in the City of Edinburgh in North Britain And this Depont Saith That in the year one thousand Seven hundred & fifty one She was hired as a yearly servt. to Valentine Harris of Flushing Yard in the Parish of Saint Botolph without Aldgate in the County of Middx at Certain Yearly Wages and Continued in such service for about Nineteen Months
That afterwards in the year one thousand seven hundred & Fifty three she was Married at the Fleet to her late deceased husband James Miller who (as he hath informed her) was born in the Parish of Dunkare in the County of Fife in North Britain And this Depont. farther Saith That to her knowledge information or belief her said late husband never did any Act to gain a Settlement in England And this Depont. farther Saith that her Said late husband was a Seafaring Man & departed from & took his leave of her at Portsmouth sometime in the Month of September in the year one thousand seven hundred & sixty one & (as this Depont. has been Credibly informed & believes) went from thence on Board the Dragon Man of War then at Portsmouth to plymouth & in the beging. of the Month of october following: Sailed as a Mariner in the said ship from Plymouth aforesd. bound for Martinico,
And this Depont. Saith That since such her Said husband leaving her at Portsmouth as aforesd. she has [neither s]een nor heard from him Save that she this Depont. has been [informed] by Letter & otherwise that her Said late husband James Miller was [ki]lled at the Siege of Havanna in the Month of July One thousand Seven hundred & sixty two
And this Deponent farther Saith That on her said husbands leaving her at Portsmouth as aforesaid she Came from thence to London And afterwards about the begining of January one thousand seven hundred and sixty two took a lodging in the house of one John Gunn a Labourer who then lived in Quaker Street in the Parish of Christ Church Spittle fields in the Said County of Middx And that about the Middle of the Same January she this Deponent Suffered the said John Gunn to lye with her & have Carnal knowledge of her Body at his house in Quaker Street aforesaid whereby she Conceived with Child of a Male Bastard Child of which she was delivered in the Month of September in the said Year One thousand seven hundred and sixty two at Quaker Street-in the said Parish of Christ Church Spittle fields and since Baptised by the name of Richard Miller at the Church belonging to the said Parish of Christ Church Spittle Fields and is Now become Chargeable to the Parish of Saint Botolph without Aldgate in the County of Middlesex
And this Depont. farther Saith That about eight Months ago She this Deponent was delivered of a Female Basterd Child at the house of one William Agis in the Minories in the Parish of Saint Botolph without Aldgate London since Baptised by the name of Elizabeth at the Parish Church of Saint Mary Whitechappel in the said County of Middx & Called Elizabeth Gunn And that the Said Female Bastard Child is become Chargeable to the said Parish of Saint Botolph without Aldgate Middx And that the said John Gunn who now lives in the said Parish of St. Botolph witht. Aldgate Middlesex did get her with Child of the said Female Bastard Child
Sworn this 7th. day of December 1765 before
Chris Scott R Pell
Possible genealogical records (Ancestry/Findmypast/FamilySearch):
Fleet marriage record for a James Miller and Eleanor Plumly but dated 5 June 1750 (RG7/249). (If this is Eleanor’s marriage it must also cast doubt on the dates she gives for her period of domestic service.)
St Botolph Aldgate burial record for Eleanor Miller, dated September 1777.
There are more certain baptism records for both the illegitimate children.
I also haven’t found any sign of a marriage record for Eleanor and John Gunn (though I have found a John Gunn marrying another woman in 1765…).
If there’s one assumption I’d like to challenge here, it’d be that the digitisation of historical sources is all about this sort of thing:
Working on massive online history resources (Old Bailey Online, London Lives, Connected Histories, The Digital Panopticon, et al) has been keeping me occupied for the last 10 years; I very much like that state of affairs and I believe deeply in the importance of the work my colleagues and collaborators and I do at the Humanities Research Institute. But I also believe that online resources are just one facet of the digitisation of history. Our work should be a beginning, part of ongoing dialogues, adaptations and conversions, not the final word.
The good news is that both Old Bailey Online and London Lives data have been getting remixed almost as long as they’ve existed. For example, they were included in the federated search project Connected Histories, the GIS project Locating London’s Past, and in our current, massive record linkage project Digital Panopticon. And not just by us: there is the Old Bailey Corpus, and Old Bailey Online is also in the federated search sites 18thConnect and NINES. It’s also recently started attracting the attention of mathematicians and statisticians and this year has been used as a resource in a course on Scalable Data Science.
Re-use of the London Lives data outside our own domain is much less extensive, but parts of it have been used by Adam Crymble, Tim Hitchcock and Louise Falcini for a project and dataset on 18th-century vagrant lives (which we’re including in Digital Panopticon). And in fact it was their project and approach to data sharing that really got me thinking about the possibilities of remixing London Lives data on a smaller scale than our huge collaborative (and hugely funded) projects: extracting and reshaping sub-sets of data that are more manageable but nonetheless too large (tens of thousands of records rather than hundreds or low thousands) to work with entirely by hand. The London Lives Petitions Project (hereafter LLPP) is one of the results.
London Lives is a major digital edition of a range of primary sources about eighteenth-century London, with a particular focus on the poor and crime. The project’s approach to digitisation was designed around an explicit research agenda: to foreground the lives and experiences of non-elite people and to de-emphasise institutions. More practically, the scale of the enterprise necessitated a pretty single-minded discipline to get it done. Of course we aimed to create a resource with more general usefulness, but those were the key conceptual and material factors underpinning source selection and setting the priorities for how sources would be digitised.
That meant: full text transcription followed by marking up in XML to make specific things searchable: the names of people and places, dates and occupations or social status, to facilitate nominal record linkage. And not (for example): paying detailed attention to institutional categories or structures, or cataloguing documents as archivists might do.
The result is a website (as the name suggests) that makes it easy to look for people, link together records about an individual’s life and even group related people together. But it can be harder to use for subjects that are related by other categories or themes. The keyword search is basic; there are no features to save and link, say, documents or places rather than names.
Also, the emphasis is on human judgment to make those links, and to answer questions like: what kind of person is this; how does this tagged name relate to other potentially relevant pieces of information in its vicinity? It’s been hard work to convert London Lives data for use in Digital Panopticon, which needs heavily structured name data for record linkage. So in the last couple of years we’ve been thinking a lot about ways to restructure, enhance, and build on the work we began a decade ago.
The other thing to note about London Lives is that we had to put a range of different kinds of records into a single framework, and some fitted better than others. Many of the records were bound volumes, coherent institutional products – registers, minute books, accounts, etc. A register for example is already quite structured, even when not tabular in layout; there is little ‘narrative’ language and you know what kind of info will appear where on each page.
18th-century Sessions of the Peace, presided over by magistrates, oversaw a wide range of administrative work in addition to criminal justice, including poor relief, trade and work regulations. They sat several times a year and after each meeting, the clerks would file assorted stuff from that session’s business into bundles that, ultimately, add up to a massive body of very diverse records. From three London courts (Middlesex, City of London and Westminster), London Lives has around 1250 session files (950 from the Middlesex Sessions, dwarfing all the rest) amounting to 86,000 document images, which include lists and calendars, witness examinations, petitions, court orders, accounts, and all sorts of miscellanea. (The Old Bailey Sessions Papers add another 13000 or so images but only about 20 petitions.)
Petitions are among the most common documents in those files: as it turns out, around 10,000 of them. Why are petitions interesting? The humble petition was everywhere in early modern Europe. Petitions were instigated by institutions, by groups, and by individuals, by elites and by paupers, and all sorts of people in between, direct appeals to powerful institutions or individuals to resolve a grievance or crisis. So they tell stories about lives and experiences; they aim to persuade, often to play off one source of authority against another. (work in progress bibliography)
The surviving documents are in many ways a pale shadow of the original interaction; we usually don’t know who actually wrote them, or how the voices of the petitioners might be filtered and mediated. Nonetheless, they have something to tell us about the agency of the governed and their relationships with and expectations of governments.
But also petitioners’ stories, however creative, had to conform to some formal conventions, employ certain forms of language. As a result, petitions form a potentially meaningful and findable textual corpus – if I could find the right strategies.
Just one example to underline why searching the London Lives website wouldn’t be that strategy (quite apart from scale!).
A keyword search of London Lives for ‘petition’ in Middlesex Sessions in the year 1690 returns 8 results, including 2 documents that are not petitions (although they are related). But the same keyword search and constraints in the current version of the LLPP dataset finds 11 petitions. And in total there are 66 petitions from Middlesex Sessions in that year.
[Confession time: I screwed up this example in the presentation; I said the total in LLPP for MiddS+1690 was 11, rather than 66. I somehow managed to forget the 11 results were only those including ‘petition’. Which is quite some difference. I thought it seemed low at the time…]
Why does the search miss so many? Many London Lives documents contain spelling variations, abbreviations, and not a few rekeying errors (which are not quite like OCR errors, but can cause similar problems for machine-readability). In fact, about one third of the LLPP petitions overall don’t contain a text string spelled ‘petition‘ at all. Others do, but only as part of a longer word (‘petitioner’, etc), which the London Lives search would only find with a wildcard search (which is unavailable at the time of writing).
I put the texts into the neat little linguists’ concordancing tool Antconc to get a wordlist, which indicates there are, in total, several hundred possible variants of words with the stem ‘petition’. In fact it’s not really as bad as that suggests, since there are a small number of particularly common forms (and often a petition text will contain slightly varying repetitions, so at least one of the common forms is likely to occur somewhere). The two endings -tion or -con will find 90-95% of petitions. So, I could handle this particular issue without too much trouble by searching with regular expressions.
But unfortunately that doesn’t deal with the problem of false positives. Many pages in the Sessions Papers that are not petitions contain ‘petition’ in some form: in fact if I simply search the entire Sessions Papers for ‘petition’ or ‘peticon’, my search will return more than 5000 pages that are not actually petitions (or in some cases, are continuation pages of multi-page petitions).
Keyword searching, extended with regular expressions, was a useful starting point for exploration, and it also highlighted just how many related documents the SPs actually contain – more than I think I’d realised. But I would obviously need a slightly smarter approach to identifying petitions.
So here’s a pretty typical petition, highlighting the formula parts of the document around the actual complaint of this petitioner. [I’ve already discussed how they work rhetorically in this earlier blog post but here I’m thinking about how they function as markers of document structure.]
The example shows the elements or markers that are common to petitions (notwithstanding various minor spelling/word order variations) and aid both identification and location of start and end of the petition itself when there can be various annotations before and afterwards, including signatures:
start (1): “To The Right Honourable/Worshipful/similar title…” [After “to the”, this line can be very variable; and also it’s quite often missing or damaged]
start (2): “The humble petition of” [appears in the majority of petitions; ‘humble’ is sometimes omitted, and there can be a lot of small but annoying spelling variations]
start of the main body of petition: “Humbly Sheweth that” (again, ‘humbly’ is optional).
additionally, it’s worth noting that in the body of the text petitioners almost always refer to themselves in third person: “your (humble/poor) petitioner(s)”. ‘Humble’ and ‘humbly’ will appear somewhere along the line.
the ubiquitous ending (though again it can have quite a lot of small variations): “And your petitioner(s) (as in duty bound) shall ever pray etc“
So there’s plenty there to track them down much more reliably (and, moreover, to identify their component parts), making it possible to let the computer find the bulk of easy ‘typical’ petitions and definite ‘not’ petitions, leaving a smaller set of ‘maybes’ for more manual sifting: a few hundred, rather than several thousand.
And there are plenty of petitions that depart from the “typical” model to some degree: they might omit, or truncate, some of the expected conventions, use particularly idiosyncratic or archaic spellings, or have been penned by scribes whose handwriting was less than fluent (which is in turn likely to affect accuracy of rekeying).
(The phonetic “sh” spelling in petitioner is really unusual: it appears in just 8 petitions in LLPP. The entire petition is full of equally unusual spellings, and I’m pretty sure Ester wrote her own petition – the signature matches the rest – which is also very rare.)
In the end, the “non-typical” only amount to around 4-5% of petitions. But they are a little different from the rest. They skew towards the first half (and possibly the first quarter) of the 18th century (as do variant spellings of ‘petition’), and towards petitioners I’m particularly interested in, lower-status individuals and women. Not perhaps by much: women make up 20% of identifiable petitioners in the ‘typical’ 95%, and 25% in the non-typical 5%; a small number overall, but for me, doing women’s history, finding those extra 100-odd women, like Ester, is quite a big deal.
Besides, at the very beginning, it wasn’t clear just how many non-typical petitions there would be – it could have been nearer 5000 than 500 (mind you, then I’d have been looking for a different method!). But it didn’t take long to establish that they would be a relatively small number, and I do think that in a different context – if this work had been part of a much larger project working to tight deadlines – it would be a valid decision not to spend substantial amounts of time sifting manually to find those hard cases – as long as you were transparent about your methods and their limitations. But for my own purposes, and my own satisfaction, I could weigh up that choice differently – as long as I remember that, however much I’m drawn to petitions like Ester’s, they are atypical. (And I do at least know in what ways they’re atypical, and can quantify that difference.)
So, having got this data…
What Now and Next
A key element of the project has been sharing and documenting the data and the research in progress:
Firstly, the open data contains some fairly basic metadata for the petitions and the corpus of plain text files. (This has been released in stages; I deliberately put some initially very rough work in progress out there for a couple of reasons. I’m as prone as any historian to getting bogged down in perfectionism; making public much less than perfect data is slightly painful, but creates incentives to improve it rather than keep hiding it away. I think it’s also a practical way of emphasising how data creation is a process rather than an event, and underlining the importance of versioning and documentation.)
There has also been further processing of the data for analysis (some of which will end up in the open data):
a) work on the petition texts, primarily “VARDing” and trimming. VARD is a great tool: like a spell checker, but for early modern English. It’s trainable, though I was impressed at its accuracy straight out of the box. It makes mistakes; I wouldn’t use it to “correct” transcriptions; but it’s ideal for making a more regular version of the data for textmining and quantitative analysis. VARDing was followed by stripping out annotations, signatures and so on at beginning and end of petitions, for example to enable analysis of petition lengths (nb: link is a dataviz that may be slow to load).
b) work on improving the metadata, especially
separate individuals’ petitions from institutional (especially ‘parish’) ones
using the existing London Lives name tagging to identify petitioners and start linking petitions to related records
in particular, I want to link petitions to related documents in the SPs, especially orders, so that I can examine responses – these don’t exist for all petitions but there do seem to be a lot more than I initially was aware of; as well as to related records elsewhere in London Lives, like pauper examinations .
Finally, something I’ve not really got very far with yet: identifying what petitions are about and exploring meanings. (Some early attempts at topic modelling didn’t work very well, another reason I needed to create the VARDed and trimmed version of the data.) Other sessions on textanalytics and linguistic tools at the conference gave me new ideas, although this still feels like a whole new and slightly intimidating challenge.
“Remixing” digitised history is something that historians do all the time, when they search online resources and copy whatever results seem relevant into their own spreadsheets and databases. But I’m not sure that they’re always doing it with the best tools for the job, or with the critical understanding they need of those resources and their limitations. Laborious “search-select-copy-paste” is fine if a resource is simply a supplement to your main sources. It becomes less appropriate if the resource is your main source, you’re using it on a large scale, or you intend to make quantitative (including implicitly quantitative) arguments based on the results. It is possible to use online search critically, but difficult without some knowledge of the underlying sources, the ability to compare different resources for the same material, and/or the time and willingness to explore different searches and methodically compare results (for a brilliant example, see Charles Upchurch, ‘Full-Text Databases and Historical Research: Cautionary Results from a Ten-Year Study’, J. Soc. Hist, 2012 [link]).
On the other hand, self-conscious digital historians (and digital humanists) are making strong critiques of online search as a methodology. “Search struggles to deal with what lies outside a set of results”, as Stephen Robertson points out. Ted Underwood argues, similarly, that “Search is a form of data mining, but a strangely focused form that only shows you what you already know to expect”.
But it seems to me that Digital Humanities-based answers to this problem often focus on the application of advanced distant reading techniques to the interpretation of Big Literary Data. I think those critiques and techniques are vitally important, but even so, the usefulness of learning how to employ them can seem rather less obvious to a social historian grappling with creating some usable research data out of digitised forms of the archival detritus of governance than to those lucky bastards screwing around with a million books (pdf). Miriam Posner has argued that what many digital humanities scholars really need, before they can get on to the fun stuff, is a lot more help with and tools for finding, cleaning and modelling data. (As she says, and Adam Crymble reminded us at the session, ‘that garbage prep work‘ is Digital Humanities too!)
The London Lives Sessions Papers can in one sense be considered big data in that there’s too much material for a person, realistically, to read all of it manually (and make sense of it). But they aren’t Big Data like a million books is Big Data. And having eventually made my dataset, I certainly want to try out that kind of analysis on the petitions texts and explore what’s possible; but I also need to do nominal record linkage and to study petitioners. My methodology for discovering petitions has been, when you get down to it, an extended kind of search. But at least for working on data creation at this sort of medium-to-biggish scale, once you’re freed from the constraints of a large database optimized for web delivery, you can get a long way screwing around with search.
The London Lives Petitions project is exploring approximately 10,000 petitions (and petitioning letters) addressed to magistrates which survive in the voluminous records of eighteenth-century London and Middlesex Sessions of the Peace which were digitised around 2008 by the London Lives project (of which I was the project manager). These documents have been difficult to access within the existing London Lives online resource because of the sheer size and variety of the Sessions Papers documents. So, the first few months of the project focused on the challenge of discovering and identifying petitions in the Sessions Papers; the resulting data, consisting of structured metadata and plain text files, has been released as open data under a Creative Commons licence. (The bulk of this effort is complete, but work is ongoing to improve the data where possible.) The data and documentation of the process can be found here.
Moving on to analysis of this new data, I’m starting from the question: What can you do with 10,000 petitions? Can large-scale ‘distant reading’ techniques tell us things that we didn’t already know from close reading of smaller, personally-crafted collections of petitions? I’m experimenting with various methods and data visualisations. But I also need to consider: what can you not do with them? Understanding what doesn’t work for data like this will be important. For one thing, the quality of the transcriptions does not match up to traditional scholarly standards: is it good enough for data mining? (This and other limitations of the original data are documented on London Lives.) With this in mind, I’ve so far done a number of mostly boring but useful things:
Processing with VARD2, a tool “designed to assist users of historical corpora in dealing with spelling variation”. This has not been intended to produce ‘better’ transcriptions (and it has probably introduced some errors along the way), but it has been very useful for dealing with common variants (eg “peticon”) and creating cleaner texts for analysis.
Identifying and removing marginal annotations and other additions that were not part of the main body of the petition texts, and some purely formula elements (like “Middx SS” at the beginning of many documents).
Breaking petitions up into their structural elements (which was important for my last post).
Additionally, as I’ve discussed in an earlier blog post, the survival of petitions (like other documents in the Sessions Papers) “could be haphazard and dependent on the preferences of individual clerks”. What is actually being counted? So, it’s necessary to put the petitions in their archival context. The Sessions Papers were loose papers relating to the work of the Sessions of the Peace (and Old Bailey from 1755), which could include petitions, examinations (from criminal, settlement or bastardy cases), calendars of prisoners and recognizances, copies of orders, lists of vagrants, coroners’ records (before they were split off into separate archives) and much besides.
The first chart above simply shows counts of the page images in the London Lives Sessions Papers, highlighting the very uneven survival of the records, especially the nine years from 1738 when very few files have survived, and many of those which did make it contain relatively few documents (or were not fit for filming). In spite of the fluctuations, however, it also indicates quite clearly the expansion of the courts’ business, especially the Middlesex Sessions (in blue), in the second half of the 18th century. (The Old Bailey series will be excluded from further analysis because it contains so few petitions.)
But while the Sessions Papers indicate ever growing business, petitions are on the decline (see also). This doesn’t necessarily mean there were fewer petitioners; it’s also possible that their petitions were less likely to be retained for long when there was so much more paper to deal with.
There is also a discernible shift in certain characteristics of the petitions themselves. A large group of petitions came from parish officials concerned primarily with the administration of the poor laws – churchwardens and overseers of the poor – and I’ve been working to identify and separate these ‘parish’ petitions from petitions by individuals (and a few other institutions). Most of them relate to disputed pauper removals; smaller numbers are about poor rates assessments, negligent officials, or highway repairs. Before c.1720 these constitute no more than one-third of all petitions (in most years), but from c.1760 the figure is around two-thirds, and it’s clear that ‘other’ petitions account for most of the decline in numbers. In total, the parish petitions account for about 4600 petitions (c.46% of the total), of which about 4400 are concerned specifically with removed paupers.
Here’s a typical example of one of these petitions (1760), carefully legalistic (usually drawn up by a solicitor, with careful reference to the procedures of the laws of settlement):
The Humble petition and Appeal of the Churchwardens and Overseers of the poor of the parish of Bushton in the County of Northampton Sheweth That by Virtue of an Order under the Hands and Seals of… two of his Majestys Justices of the peace for the County of Middx… Alice Wilkinson (in the sd Order) called wife of Matthew Wilkinson (if Living) was removed and conveyed from the parish of St. Clement Danes in the said County of Middx to the said parish of Rushton as the place of the last Legal Settlement of the said Alice Wilkinson Your Petitioners Conceiving themselves aggrieved by the said Order of the said two Justices of the Peace humbly Appeal to this Court against the same…
This was the petition as the voice of early modern bureaucracy rather than ‘the people’. Comparison of average word counts for parish (pink bubbles) vs other petitions (blue) also points to the former’s highly standardised character. Overall, parish petitions are only slightly shorter than the rest, but they contain far fewer unique words.
Does a comparison of the most common words in the parish and other petitions offer any insights?
Word clouds may be considered harmful by some, but I think that the contrasting appearance of the two word clouds visually enhances the more prosaic table rather well: the parish petitions use a smaller range of unique words, so the top 100 are relatively evenly sized and spaced compared to the ‘other’ petitions which are dominated by a tiny number of formula words after which frequency tails off much more quickly. [*note: a small number of very common words – eg ‘a’, ‘the’, ‘for’ – have been removed from the wordle data.]
Where next? I want to start exploring that diversity more closely. I’ll be experimenting further with corpus linguistics tools and with topic modelling. And you might have noticed the bubble chart comparing parish and other petitions suggests that non-parish petitions were not simply becoming fewer in number but also substantially longer as the 18th century went on. Might this suggest that it’s primarily petitioners of lower social status who are gradually disappearing over the course of the century, leaving primarily institutions (which generated relatively short, standard petitions) and higher status individuals (creating longer, more elaborate ones)? Whatever the answer, it’s clear that tracing changes in the petitions’ language and subjects is something that I need to be investigating further.
What does a London Lives petition look like? Well, here is a pretty typical example, from the City of London Sessions Papers (1692), in which I’ve highlighted the structural and most characteristic elements:
 To the right honourable the Lord Major of the Citie of London and to the right Worshipfull the Aldermen & Recorder Justices of the peace of the same Citie.
 The humble Peticion of the Churchwarden & Overseers of the poore of the parish of St. Michaell le Querne in London & the Parishioners & Inhabitants of the same Parish.
 Sheweth That upon Complaint lately made into Sir Thomas Stampe Alderman & Sir Salathiell Lovell Recorder Justices of the peace of the Citie of London (one being of the Quorum) by that parte of the parish of St. Sepulchre which is within the Citie of London, That Hannah Allen late of the said Parish of St. Michaell Le Querne aforesaid was lately come into the said parish of St. Sepulchre within the the Citie of London, & was likely to become chargeable to the same & upon oath made by the said Hannah Allen that her last legall Settlement or abode was in the said parish of St. Michaell le Querne as a hired Servant where she lived for halfe a yeare, The said Sir Thomas Stampe & Sir Selathiell Lovell by an order made their hand & Seales bearing date the 27th day of December last ordered the said Hannah Allen to bee delivered to your petrs. the Churchwardens & Overseers of the said parish of St. Michaell le Querne, & that your Petitioners should provide for her according to Law, & your petitioners have accordingly provided for her ever since.
That your Petitioners are advised that the said Hannah Allen was never legally setted in the said parish of St. Michaell Le Querne, or if so setted that she being married away from the said parish ought to bee sent to her husbands last legall Settlement.
 Your Petitioners therefore humbly pray your Lordshipp & Worshipps to order that the said Hannah Allen be sent back to the said parish of St. Sepulchre or that your Lordshipp & Worshipps will bee pleased to make such other order concerning her as shall bee agreable to Law & Justice
 And your Petitioners shall ever pray Etc.
The two middle paragraphs contain the particular narrative for this petition (or, to use the language of the petitions themselves, the ‘premises’), and they’re what most historians (including me) would most often focus on. But for the moment, I want to set that aside and highlight the common structural forms and linguistic patterns, to explore what makes this a petition, and how it works. Some of this might seem obvious, especially to historians familiar with early modern petitions, but I think it’s worth unpacking what’s going on, in the same way that Thomas Sokoll has done for pauper letters. As he says, the rhetorical elements of the letters are ‘an integral and inseparable part of the message’. (Later I’ll also look at less formal petitions/letters, but first I think we need to know something about the standard forms.)
As you might recognise if you’ve read the documentation for the data, much of what I’ve highlighted is the same language I used to search for petitions in the Sessions Papers data files, so you could say, well, duh. But I was searching for any of those elements, and others, too, and I’ve been perhaps slightly surprised at just how much the petitions conform to this very particular, formal structure (especially once various additions by court clerks have been stripped out):
 state to whom the petition is addressed;
 identify the petitioner (nearly always ‘humble’);
 set out the ‘premises’;
 detail the petitioner’s request (or ‘humble prayer’)
 sign off with a formal valediction which is almost always a promise to pray for the addressees (I’ll return to this)
About 90 per cent of the petitions have all these five elements. Of the remainder, most start at ; some end at . This kind of structure isn’t just found in the London Lives archives. For comparison, consider this 1779 petition from the Massachusetts Anti-slavery and Anti-segregation petitions collection. There are minor variations in form but the similarities, despite the very different subject, are overwhelming. Indeed, while I’m not aware of printed templates (unlike some document types in the Sessions Papers), by the late 18th century petition writers could consult George Brown’s The English letter-writer for models of a ‘great Variety of Petitions on every Occurrence in human Life’.
In characterising this petition as typical, though, I’m not suggesting they were all exactly like this one. For example, the exact form of address in  varies a good deal. The most common, according to my database, is ‘To the Right Worshipful/Honourable his/her/their Majesty’s Justices of the peace for the County of Middlesex’. Some omit the honorifics and are simply addressed ‘to His/Her Majesty’s Justices…’ (George Brown would not have approved); sometimes individuals are named, sometimes not. (There is much more I could say about the first lines of the petitions, though I’m not sure how interesting it would be to most readers. Maybe a shorter post later.)  is also very frequently ‘Humbly Sheweth’ (occasionally even ‘Most Humbly Sheweth’). And so on.
On the other hand, there are elements that we’d associate with petitioning language that are largely missing from the London Lives petitions, or are much less significant. For example, the opening phrase “We, the undersigned”, which is such a familiar convention that it’s a standard template for many modern online petitions, is not a feature (even in the more usual and less memorable form “We whose names are under written”) and in its rare appearances is most likely to refer to witnesses supporting the petition’s claims rather than to petitioners (eg). And at the other end of the petition, petitioners’ signatures (marks or autographs) are quite common but far from universal.
I think the modern idea of petitions – amplified by the recent popularity of online petitioning – is very much as something democratic and populist, for which numbers and signatures are all-important. But that was not really the case in the eighteenth century. Yes, petitioners (pretty much by definition) were ‘speaking upwards’ and making demands of authority. But many were themselves representing positions of authority. (Almost half of the London Lives petitions are, like this example, from parish poor relief officers who are trying to get rid of paupers who’ve been foisted on them from other parishes.)
It’s not just the absence of ‘We the undersigned’ or the relative unimportance of lists of signatories. In general, first person pronouns are very uncommon in the London Lives petitions and, if anything, ‘We’ seems to be even less common than ‘I’. (This is based on some simple searches; I need to investigate more systematically for more certainty.) Instead, petitioners nearly always refer to themselves as ‘your petitioner(s)’. It seems to me that this highlights that what really matters here is not the expression of the ‘voice of the people’ but the opinion of the authority to whom the petition is being addressed.
The language of deference in these petitions goes deep and far beyond the obvious and liberal use of ‘humbl(e|y)’. And yet they are nonetheless artefacts of some kind of political agency: people making demands of authority. Petitions to the Bench of magistrates may be deeply deferential but it shouldn’t be forgotten that in many cases the petitioners are explicitly challenging other figures of authority: parish officials, individual magistrates, gaolers and workhouse masters, employers, husbands.
So I think it’s helpful to think of early modern petitions, in terms of politeness theory and face-threatening acts (FTAs): the rhetoric of deference and submission in petitions can be seen as a way of mitigating the potential threat contained in social inferiors’ demands. [There seems to have been rather a lot written around this since I read Brown and Levinson back in about 1999 for my MA thesis, so I have some catching up to do and my thoughts may seem a bit, errm, naive to linguists. Be kind!]
With that in mind, I want to finish by looking more closely at my model petition’s element . These closing phrases have been intriguing me because they are very common but don’t have an immediately obvious function in quite the same way as the rest of the petition. The request  normally contains plenty of humbleness and deference, and about 8% of petitions do in fact stop there. So  is clearly not mandatory, but it’s nonetheless present in around 9/10 of the petitions. (Plus, a good chunk of the remaining 2% contain other sign-offs like ‘your obedient humble servant’, or the end of the petition is illegible due to the poor condition of the original.) So what is it actually doing?
Like the other elements, it does vary in details. It’s very commonly expanded to ‘And your petitioner as in duty bound shall ever pray [etc]’; conversely it’s often simply ‘And your petitioner shall pray [etc]’ and occasionally can be as abbreviated as ‘And etc‘ (!). ‘Will’ is also used instead of ‘shall’ (though I think ‘shall’ is more common, and more forceful in meaning.) More unusual additions make more explicit what may be encompassed in that also optional but very frequent ‘etc’, eg:
and for this yours honers goodness and Cllemincy as in all humblle duty bound this poor person will ever pray with a grateful acknowlledgment and thankful hart.
And your Petitioner as in Duty bound will Ever pray for and am your Worships most Obedient Humble Servant at Command
It’s doing a lot of hard work, this phrase. The first thing of note (which the modern secular reader might easily forget) is that it’s an expression of piety, of assumed shared religious values (I will pray). Second, it’s one last statement of submission towards the addressee (as in duty bound, your obedient humble servant, I will pray for you). Third, it’s an expression (pre-emptively) of gratitude – normally implicitly and sometimes more explicitly, as in the “grateful acknowlledgment and thankful hart” example. Discussing how expressions of gratitude functioned as politeness markers in early modern English, Mattias Jacobsson notes how they can be intensified by expressions of deference (including the ubiquitous modifier ‘humbly’). ‘Compound thanks’ are rare in the corpus analysed by Jacobsson (the Corpus of English Dialogues), but petitions are a rather different genre, in which a helluva lot of gratitude and deference may be needed to mitigate the FTA of the petitioner’s demands.
One final note, though: all this gratitude and deference is conditional, as is made clearer in examples like these:
and in So Doing yr petitioners and their Families as in Duty Bound Shall Ever pray Etc
and for this yours honers goodness and Cllemincy as in all humblle duty bound this poor person will ever pray with a grateful acknowlledgment and thankful hart.
most humbly Implores that this Court will adhear & listen to this Application and shorten the time of his sentence in Prison according as they of their Great Wisdom shall seem Meet which if so happy as to be granted Petitioner will as in Duty bound Ever pray and retain a greatfull Acknowledgement for such their Mercey & Clemency shewen to this his Humble Petition
While paupers certainly claimed to be humble, grateful, and sorry in their approaches to the local state, in practice it is striking how often the poor asserted their ‘rights’ (moral, legal, or christian) and the ‘duty’ of the parish.
The petitioner’s gratitude can’t be taken for granted; submissiveness and humbleness (however often reasserted) are strategic. Petitions, even where we can’t be sure that they were ‘authentic voices of the people’, werenegotiating tools.
A housekeeping note: since the last post, I’ve done a further update to the petitions data, in which I’ve cleaned out more non-petitions (it’s now down to 10,045) – but I think I have found them all now…! As a result, I’ll need to check the numbers and update the visualisations in my last post at some point.
Since my last post introducing the new London Lives petitions project, I’ve released a slightly updated version of the data: I added some petitions and letters I’d missed on the first sweep and removed a few documents that were either not petitions or were so fragmentary that they were not worth retaining. There are now 10,187 petitions and petitioning letters. (You can download the latest version at the project’s github page.)
In addition, the project now also has a homepage at my own website, where you’ll find a growing number of data visualisations and resources (and sooner or later there’ll be some sort of search facility). The visualisations I’ve done so far present some fairly basic counting, aimed at getting an overview of the petitions over the period 1690-1799, where there are gaps, whether there are any interesting patterns that point to questions worth closer investigation, and so on. (In most cases, I’ve left out the handful of petitions from the Old Bailey Sessions Papers.)
This one, for example, aims to give some sense of how the petitions fit into the Sessions Papers as a whole.
(I should note that, while I have an accurate count of documents in the petitions subset, it’s hard to ascertain that precisely for the rest, because some documents have multiple pages but London Lives doesn’t have any markup for that, only for images. The markup does contain a tag (<pb>) to indicate where text spans two pages, but that isn’t quite the same thing, because it’s not used where a page break coincides with a paragraph break. So the count for the larger body of documents will inevitably be slightly too high. However, I think it should be close enough, and consistent enough, to serve this purpose.)
A few things jump out from this graph: firstly, there is a noticeable peak in petitions in the mid-1710s and an equally noticeable decline from around 1740, especially relative to the overall business of the courts. Secondly, there are hardly any petitions for almost a decade from the late 1730s. On breaking down numbers by court, it’s clear that this is due to significant gaps in the Middlesex series of Sessions Papers, which accounts for around 3/4 of the total petitions. The Middlesex SPs during that period survive patchily, and those that do survive contain relatively few documents, and almost no petitions at all. Also, most of the Middlesex files that are missing from London Lives because the LMA archivists deemed them “unfit” for microfilming are from the same period.
So it’s clear that the gaps are all about problems with record survival. The Sessions Papers were not a record of the court’s formal business (like indictments or books of court orders) or of financial commitments (like recognizances). They were really just random Stuff™. So their chances of long-term survival could be haphazard and dependent on the preferences of individual clerks. As I’ve already mentioned, some petitions have survived only in fragments (example), and the poor condition of some documents is a reminder that the bundles of papers were not always kept in ideal conditions.
For the same reason, I’m wary of reading too much at this stage into the apparently exceptionally busy petitioning years 1715-17, but it does suggest they’ll be worth a closer look, especially as this was just after a period of regime change and some political turbulence. On the other hand, I do think the fall in petitions’ numbers (and even more so as a proportion of the whole) from mid-century is sustained enough to be significant, if not necessarily straightforward to explain. Perhaps there really were fewer petitions, or perhaps clerks of the peace thought them less valuable and were less likely to keep them. (It also suggests that I may need to explore what’s in the rest of the Sessions Papers, a much larger undertaking that I didn’t really want to try at this stage!)
The other interesting counting exercise has been to measure the length of petitions, using a scatter plot for word counts similar to one previously used for Old Bailey Online trial lengths. (The first iteration of this exercise was incidentally very useful in identifying fragments and short non-petitions and the graphs now on the website represent a second attempt.) Because there is a dot on the graph for each petition it also shows quite neatly the fluctuating numbers of petitions. While the bulk of the petitions were less than 500 words in length, there were small numbers of much longer petitions, so there are two versions of the same graph. The original one uses a linear scale, which I find useful for seeing the overall range; the second (below) a logarithmic scale, which gives a more detailed picture of the range within which most of the petitions fall, making it clearer that in the second half of the period, there are fewer short petitions.
Does that account for the smaller numbers of petitions overall? Perhaps the clerks were choosing to keep only the more substantial petitions. But then again, it might be a sign that petitions were becoming (even) more formalised, less likely to be used by individuals than institutions. The longest petition in the dataset (1793), at nearly 3400 words, is by an official and concerns a breach of building regulations.
So, next on the agenda is to start exploring the actual content of the petitions!
I’ve spent the last couple of months on a mission to find petitions in the Sessions Papers of London Lives. The outcome of that quest is just over 10,000 petitions which I’ve made available under a Creative Commons licence, with full documentation, on github:
But this is hopefully just the beginning of a project to explore the London Lives petitions in more depth. I’ve long been a fan of the humble early modern petition addressed to local magistrates, documents to be found in vast numbers in local and legal archives. Petitions were instigated by institutions and by individuals, by elites and by paupers, and all sorts of people in between. They were used by convicted criminals to beg for the royal pardon; by officials and contractors to claim expenses for government work; by private individuals to complain about abusive behaviour by neighbours, employers, apprentices, husbands or local officials; by parishes to appeal official decisions about paupers and vagrants; to claim exemptions from local office or taxes; and more.
Petitions like the one above, addressed to Middlesex magistrates in 1715 by Ester Cutler, a ‘Weddow woman’ with ‘nothing to live apon but what she can gitt out of selling a few herbs’, and requesting an exemption from paying poor rates. Ester Cutler’s petition is perhaps unusual in some ways. Apart from the typically deferential language of “your humble petishnor”, it does not quite follow many of the formal conventions of petitions in the Sessions Papers, to be seen in the petition below, from the parish officers of St George Botolph Lane in 1693, which has a much more elaborate opening address (‘To the Right Honoble. Sr . John Fleete Knt Lord Maior of the City of London…’) and the usual line ‘And they shall Pray Etc’. This type of petition is much more formulaic and generally adheres to more elaborate d structural and linguistic conventions.
Ester’s spelling is also unusual: in the 10,000 London Lives transcriptions, I can find just one other petitioner who writes ‘petition(er)’ with the spelling ‘sh’. The spellings ‘gentellmen’, ‘consederacion’, ‘weddow’, ‘apon’, ‘gitt’, ‘desiers’ are all equally unusual, or nearly so. The spelling of even high status petitions is much less standardised than in modern writing (and full of abbreviations), but by the early 18th century their variations are smaller – ‘poor’ vs poore’, ‘relief’ vs ‘releif’, etc.
It looks as though Ester wrote her own petition (the hand including signature is the same throughout), and that too is probably quite uncommon (though another question that warrants further investigation). Ester’s writing ability, for all her non-standard spellings, suggests that even if she really was as poor as she claimed to be in 1715, she probably came from more affluent origins. Perhaps her claims of poverty should not quite be taken at face value; she’s a rate payer, not a pauper. But she might well have been on a social descent towards that fate, and that was an experience of ageing and widowhood that was far from unusual in 18th-century London. Widows like Ester were frequent petitioners.
In 1713, Mary Donne of St Giles Cripplegate was another petitioning for exemption from parish rates. She too emphasised her continuing efforts to make ends meet but
now being reduced to great Poverty by reason of her Age and hard Labour, Whith the loss of one of her Eyes, and a great dimness in the other, that she is uncapable of doing any manner of Work for a livelyhood except Knitting.
And Rachell White, the widow of a London tradesman, petitioned the magistrates in 1721 at ‘about 70 years of age and by Long Sickness very infirme’, to complain about her treatment by local officials and demand the restitution of a parish allowance which enabled her to live in the ‘Coopers alms house’ (with the warning that if she could no longer stay there she would become a much greater expense for the parish). The magistrates ordered the parish to pay her a weekly allowance of 1 shilling.
Wherefore yor. poor petitionr most humbly Implores yor Honrs in yor Tender Compassion & timely Consideration; would be pleased To order the said parish to allow her a Competent mentanance The Small allowance She had being taken away by Mr. Masters the present Churchwarden; his pretence being that she doth not want any parish allowance, by Reason She is att present in the Coopers alms house; The Master with Sr. Peter Eton who put her in Seeing her great poverty will Certainly turn her out ffor they Say they will not Suffer any their to be Starved to Death without the parish she belongs unto will allow her a mentainance She Shall not be their to Dissgrace the Company but must be wholy put upon the parish wherefore She most humbly Beseeches yor Honours timely Relief.