In the fields at the top of Brownlow-hill lane, just where Clarence and Russell-streets now meet, there was once a Powder House, to which vessels used to send their gunpowder while in port. This Powder House, in the middle of the last century, was a source of anxiety to the inhabitants of the town, who fully anticipated, at any moment, a blow-up, and the destruction of the town. The Powder House was afterwards converted into a receptacle for French prisoners. My grandfather knew the place well.

It does not require a man to be very old to remember the pleasant appearance of Moss Lake Fields, with the Moss Lake Brook, or Gutter, as it was called, flowing in their midst. The fields extended from Myrtle-street to Paddington, and from the top of Mount Pleasant or Martindale’s-hill, to the rise at Edge-hill. The brook ran parallel with the present Grove-street, rising somewhere about Myrtle-street. In olden times, before coal was in general use, Moss Lake Fields were used as a “Turbary,” a word derived from the French word Tourbiere, a turf field. (From the way that the turf is dried we have our term topsy turvy, i.e., top side turf way). Sir Edward More, in his celebrated rental, gives advice to his son to look after “his turbary.” The privilege of turbary, or “getting turf,” was a valuable one, and was conferred frequently on the burgesses of towns paying scot and lot. I believe turf, fit for burning, has been obtained from Moss Lake Fields even recently. Just where Oxford-street is now intersected by Grove-street, the brook opened out into a large pond, which was divided into two by a bridge and road communicating between the meadows on each side. The bridge was of stone of about four feet span, and rose above the meadow level. The sides of the approach were protected by wooden railings, and a low parapet went across the bridge. [167] Over the stone bridge the road was carried when connection was opened to Edge-hill from Mount Pleasant, and Oxford-street was laid out. When the road was planned both sides of it were open fields and pastures. The first Botanic Gardens were laid out in this vicinity; they extended to Myrtle-street, the entrance Lodge stood nearly on the site of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum. In winter the Moss Lake Brook usually overflowed and caused a complete inundation. On this being frozen over fine skating was enjoyed for a considerable space. The corporation boundary line was at this side of the brook. In summer the volunteers sometimes held reviews upon these fields, when all the beauty and fashion of the town turned out to witness the sight. At this time all the land at the top of Edge-hill was an open space called the Greenfields, on part of which Edge-hill church is built. Mason-street was merely an occupation lane. The view from the rising ground, at the top of Edge-hill, was very fine, overlooking the town and having the river and the Cheshire shore in the background. Just where Wavertree-lane, as it was called, commences there was once a large reservoir, which extended for some distance towards the Moss Lake Fields, Brownlow-hill Lane being carried over it.

While we are wandering in this neighbourhood there must not be forgotten a word or two about Mr. Joseph Williamson (who died about 1841) and his excavations at Edge-hill. As I believe there is no authentic record of him, or of them, so far as I can recollect, a brief description of him and his strange works may not be uninteresting to the old, who have heard both spoken of, and to the present generation who know nothing of their extent and his singularity. It certainly does appear remarkable, but it is a fact, that many people possess a natural taste for prosecuting underground works. There is so much of mystery, awe, and romance in anything subterranean, that we feel a singular pleasure in instituting and making discoveries in it, and it is not less strange than true that those who once begin making excavations seem loth to leave off. Mr. Williamson appears to have been a true Troglodite, one who preferred the Cimmerian darkness of his vaulted world, to the broad cheerful light of day. He spent the principal part of his time in his vaults and excavations, and literally lived in a cellar, for his sitting room was little else, being a long vault with a window at one end, and his bedroom was a cave hollowed out at the back of it. In his cellar it was that he dispensed his hospitalities, in no sparing manner, having usually casks of port and sherry on tap, and also a cask of London porter. Glasses were out of use with him. In mugs and jugs were the generous fluids drawn and drank. When Williamson made a man welcome that welcome was sincere. Before I say anything about the excavations, a few “Recollections” of Joseph himself are worthy to be recorded. He was born on the 10th of March, 1769, at Warrington, and commenced his career in Liverpool, with Mr. Tate the tobacco merchant, in Wolstenholme-square. Williamson used to tell his own tale by stating that “I came to Liverpool a poor lad to make my fortune. My mother was a decent woman, but my father was the greatest rip that ever walked on two feet. The poor woman took care that all my clothes were in good order, and she would not let me come to Liverpool unless I lodged with my employer. I got on in the world little by little, until I became a man of substance, and I married Betty Tate, my master’s daughter. When the wedding day arrived I told her I would meet her at the (St. Thomas’) church, which I did, and after it was all over I mounted the horse which was waiting for me, and told Betty to go home and that I would come to her after the Hunt. I was a member of the then famous ‘Liverpool Hunt,’ and when I got to the Meet somebody said, ‘Why, Williamson, how smart you are!’—‘Smart,’ said I, ‘aye!—a man should look smart on his wedding day!’ ‘Wedding day,’ exclaimed some of the fellows, ‘Who have you married?’ ‘I haven’t married anybody,’ I said, ‘but the parson has married me to old Tate’s daughter!’ ‘Why, where’s your wife?’ ‘She’s at home, to be sure, where all good wives ought to be—getting ready her husband’s dinner.’ I’ll tell you what, Betty and I lived but a cat and dog life of it, but I was sorry to part with the old girl when she did go.” On the day of Mrs. Williamson’s funeral, the men employed on the works were seen lounging about doing nothing. Williamson noticed this, and inquired the reason? They told him that it was out of respect for their mistress. “Oh! stuff,” said Williamson, “you work for the living, not for the dead. If you chaps don’t turn to directly, I shall stop a day’s wages on Saturday.”

Mr. Williamson’s appearance was remarkable. His hat was what might have been truly called “a shocking bad one.” He generally wore an old and very much patched brown coat, corduroy breeches, and thick, slovenly shoes; but his underclothing was always of the finest description, and faultless in cleanliness and colour. His manners were ordinarily rough and uncouth, speaking gruffly, bawling loudly, and even rudely when he did not take to any one. Yet, strange to say, at a private dinner or evening party, Mr. Williamson exhibited a gentleness of manner, when he chose, which made him a welcome guest. His fine, well-shaped, muscular figure fully six feet high, his handsome head and face made him, when well-dressed, present a really distinguished appearance. He seemed to be possessed of two opposite natures—the rough and the smooth. It was said that once, on a Royal Duke visiting Liverpool, he received a salute from Williamson, and was so struck with its gracefulness that he inquired who he was, and remarked that “it was the most courtly bow he had seen out of St. James’s.” Williamson was very fond of children. The voice of a little one could at any time soothe him when irritable. He used to say of them, “Ah, there’s no deceit in children. If I had had some, I should not have been the arch-rogue I am.”. The industrious poor of Edge-hill found in Williamson a ready friend in time of need, and when work was slack many a man has come to the pay-place on Saturday, who had done nothing all the week but dig a hole and fill it up again. Once, on being remonstrated with by a man he had thus employed, on the uselessness of the work, Williamson said, “You do as you are told—you honestly earn the money by the sweat of your brow, and the mistress can go to market on Saturday night—I don’t want you to think.” He often regaled his work-people with a barrel of ale or porter, saying they “worked all the better for their throats being wetted.” His vast excavations when they were in their prime, so to speak, must have been proof of the great numbers of men he employed. He always said that he never made a penny by the sale of the stone. He gave sufficient, I believe, to build St. Jude’s Church. He used vast quantities on his own strange structures.

A lady of my acquaintance once caught Williamson intently reading a book. She inquired its purport. He evaded the question, but being pressed, told her it was the Bible, and expressed a wish that he had read much more of it, and studied it, and that he always found something new in it every time he opened it. This lady said that the touching way, the graceful expression of Mr. Williamson’s manner, when he said this, took her completely by surprise, having been only accustomed to his roughness and ruggedness. He added, “The Bible tells me what a rascal I am.” Mr. Stephenson, the great engineer, inspected the excavations, and it was with pride Mr. Williamson repeated Mr. Stephenson’s expressions of high estimation of his works. Mr. Stephenson said they were the most astonishing works he had ever seen in their way. When the tunnel to Lime-street from Edge-hill was in progress, one day, the excavators were astonished to find the earth giving way under them, and to see men actually under the tunnel they were then forming. On encountering Mr. Williamson, he told them “he could show them how to tunnel if they wanted to learn a lesson in that branch of art.” It seemed a strange anomaly, and quite unaccountable that Mr. Williamson should be so chary in allowing any strangers to visit his excavations. He seemed to keep them for his own gratification, and it was with the greatest difficulty permission could be obtained to go through them. He would say to the numberless persons who applied, “they were not show-shops, nor he a showman.” When he did grant permission he always gave the obliged parties fully and unmistakably to understand that he was conferring upon them a great favour. His temper was suspicious. I recollect being told of a person calling on him, to pay a long over-due rent account for another person, when, as Williamson was handing over the receipt, and about to take up the money, he suddenly fixed his keen eye upon his visitor, and asked him what trick he was going to play him, as it seemed strange that he should pay money for another man. “Take your money away, sir,” said he, “and come again to-morrow; there is something underhand in your proceedings, and I’ll not be done.” For some of his tenants he used to execute cheerfully the most costly alterations, while for others he would not expend a shilling, and would let his premises go to rack, rather than put in a nail for them.

There was a house of his once standing at the corner of Bolton-street, which he built entirely for a whim. It was a great square house, with enormously wide and long windows. It was of three stories, two upper tiers and a basement. There was no kitchen to it, no conveniences of any kind sufficient to render it habitable. From the cellar there was a tunnel which ran under Mason-street to the vaults opposite. He built it intending it for his friend, Mr. C. H---, the artist, who had one day complained of the bad light he had to paint in, and Mr. Williamson told him he would remedy that evil if he would wait a bit. Presently he commenced the house in Bolton-street, and when it was completed the artist was sent for, and told that it had been built for him as a studio. Mr. H--- stood aghast on seeing the immense windows, and could not make Mr. Williamson understand that an artist’s light was not wanted in quantity but quality. Williamson swore lustily at H---’s obstinacy, and could not be made to understand what was really required. A reverend gentleman, still living and highly respected, who happened to be passing along the street, was called in to give his opinion on the subject by Mr. W. He, however, joined issue with Mr. H---, but neither could make Mr. W. understand the matter. The rooms were very lofty and spacious, and if I recollect rightly each floor consisted of only one room. I believe it was never occupied. In High-street, Edge-hill, Mr. Williamson also built some houses which were skirted by Back Mason-street. The houses at the corner of High-street and Back Mason-street were built up from a quarry. They are as deep in cellarage as they are high, while the rooms in them are innumerable. Williamson used to call himself “King of Edge-hill,” and had great influence over the work people residing in the neighbourhood. I knew a lady who once had an encounter with Williamson wherein she came off victorious, and carried successfully her point. The affair is curious. This lady, about 1838 or ’39, wanted a house, and was recommended to go up to Edge-hill and endeavour to meet with Mr. Williamson and try to get on the right side of him, which was considered a difficult thing to do. She was told that he had always some large houses to let, and if she pleased him he would be a good landlord. Mrs. C---, accompanied by a lady, went up to Edge-hill and looked about as they were told to do for a handsome-looking man in a shabby suit of clothes. They were told that they were sure to find Mr. W. where men were working, as he always had some in his employ in one way or another in the neighbourhood. On arriving at Mason-street, sure enough, they espied the object of their search watching the operations of some bricklayers busily engaged in erecting the very house in Bolton-street just spoken of. Mrs. C---, who was a sharp, shrewd person, good looking and pleasant in her manners, sauntered up to Williamson and inquired of him if he knew of any houses to be let at Edge-hill. “Houses!” replied Williamson in his roughest and rudest style: “What should I know of houses, a poor working man like me!” “Well,” said the lady, “I thought you might have known of some to let, and you need not be so saucy and ill-tempered.” Williamson roughly rejoined, and the lady replied, and thus they got to a complete wordy contest attracting the attention of the bystanders, who were highly amused to find that Williamson had met his match. The lady’s sarcasms and gibes seemed to make Williamson doubly crusty. He at length asked the other lady—who, by the way, was becoming nervous and half-frightened at what was going on—“what this woman,” pointing to Mrs. C---, “would give for a house if she could meet with one to her mind.” Mrs. C--- told him £30 per annum. Williamson burst out with an insulting laugh, and called all the men down from the house they were erecting, and when they had clustered round him he told them that “this woman wanted a house with ten rooms in it for £30 a year! Did they ever know of such an unreasonable request?” Of course the men agreed with their employer, and they were all dismissed after being regaled with a mug of porter each. Mrs. C--- narrowly watched Williamson and saw through him at once, and was not surprised on being invited to step into a house close by and see how she liked it. She found fault with some portions of the house and approved others. Williamson at length, after a short silence, inquired whether she really did want a house and would live in Mason-street. Mrs. C--- replied that she did really require one and liked the street very much. Williamson then asked her if she was in a hurry. On being told she was not, he bade her return that day fortnight at the same hour and he would try then to show her a house he thought would suit her exactly. With this the ladies departed, Williamson saying:—“There now, you be off; you come when I tell you; you’ll find me a regular old screw; and if you don’t pay your rent the day it is due I shall law you for it, so be off.” Mrs. C--- then said, “My husband is a cockney, and I will bring him with me, and we will see if we can’t turn the screw the right way.” The ladies had no sooner arrived at the end of Mason-street, when on turning to take a last look of their singular friend they saw the men from the house in Bolton-street all following Williamson into the house they had just left, and as it eventually proved he had set them there and then to work to make the alterations she had suggested and desired.

On the termination of the fortnight the ladies called on their remarkable friend, and found him in waiting at the house with two great jugs of sherry and some biscuits on a table. He then took them over the house, and to their surprise found everything in it altered: two rooms had been opened into one, one room made into two, two had been made into three, and so on, and he asked Mrs. C--- if she was satisfied and if the house would suit her? He appeared to have completely gutted the house and reconstructed it. Putting it down at an unusually low rent for what had been done, the bargain was struck between the parties, and the landlord and his tenant were ever after good friends. He told the lady he liked her for sticking up to him “so manfully” and “giving him as good as he sent.” Mr. Williamson took great delight in this lady’s children and made great pets of them. On her family increasing the lady and her husband frequently asked Williamson to build her an extra room for a nursery, reminding him that as he was always building something, he might as well build them an extra room as anything else. He, however, declined until one day the lady sent him a manifesto from the “Queen Of Edge-hill,” as he had been accustomed to call her, commanding him to build the room she wanted. Williamson, thereupon, wrote her a reply in the same strain, promising to attend to her commands.

A few mornings after his reply had been received the lady was busy in her bedroom dressing her baby, when she suddenly heard a loud knocking in the house adjoining, and down fell the wall, and amid the falling of bricks and the rising of dust Mr. Williamson himself appeared, accompanied by two joiners, who fitted a door into the opening, while two bricklayers quickly plastered up the walls. Through the door next stepped the landlord. “There, madam, what do you think of this room for a nursery,” he exclaimed, “it is big enough if you had twenty children.” Mr. Williamson had actually appropriated the drawing-room in his own house to her use. She thanked him, but said he might have given her some warning of what he was going to do, instead of covering her and the baby with dust, but Williamson laughed heartily at his joke, while the lady was glad to get a noble room added to her house without extra rent. This lady told me that one night just previous to this event they had heard a most extraordinary rumbling noise in Mr. Williamson’s house which continued for a long time and it appeared to proceed from one of the lower rooms. On inquiring next day of Mr. Williamson what was the cause of the disturbance he took the lady into a large dining-room, where she found about fifty newly-painted blue barrows with red wheels all ranged along the room in rows. These had been constructed for the use of his labourers and were there stored away until wanted.

My acquaintance told me that one night they heard in the vaults below their house the most frightful shrieks and screams, and the strangest of noises, but they never could ascertain what was the cause of the commotion. The noises seemed to proceed from directly below their feet, and yet they fancied they came from some distance. The cries were not those of a person in agony, but a strange mixture of most unaccountable sounds.

A good story is told of a quaint speech made to Williamson by the Rev. Dr. Raffles. The Doctor and the Rev. Mr. Hull, who were neighbours, and, I fancy, tenants of Williamson’s, were once met by him walking together, when W. exclaimed “I say, if I’d my way you two should be made bishops.” Dr. Raffles very quickly replied, “Ah, Williamson, you ought to be an archbishop!” alluding to his well-known predilection for vault building. He once invited a party of gentlemen to dine with him. The guests were shown into a bare room with a deal table on trestles in the middle, with common forms on each side. Williamson, with the utmost gravity, bade his friends take their seats, placing himself at the head of the table. Facing each of the guests was a plate of porridge and some hard biscuits of which they were invited to partake. Some of the party taking this as an insulting joke, rose and left the room. Williamson, with the utmost grace, bowed them out without explanation. When the seceders had retired, a pair of folding doors were thrown open, exhibiting a large room with a costly feast prepared, to which the remainder of the party adjourned, laughing heartily over the trick that had been played and the agreeable surprise in store for them. Another good story is told of Mr. Williamson. He possessed some property at Carlisle which gave him a vote at the elections. Sir James Graham’s committee sent him a circular, as from Sir James, soliciting his vote and interest. On receipt of this letter Williamson flew into a violent passion, went down to Dale-street there and then, took a place in the North Mail, proceeded to Carlisle, obtained one of Sir James Graham’s placards from the walls, and posted back to Liverpool without delay. On his arrival at home he enclosed the obnoxious circular and placard in a parcel which he addressed with a most abusive letter to Sir James Graham, in which he charged him with such a string of political crimes as must have astonished the knight of Netherby, winding up the abuse by asking how he dared to solicit an honest man for his vote and by what right he had taken so unwarrantable a liberty.