In 1820, a rather curious circumstance transpired, which created a good deal of conversation, and even consternation amongst the inhabitants of Everton. This was the extraordinary and mysterious disappearance of the Cross which stood at the top of the village, a little to the westward of where the present Everton road is lineable with Everton-lodge. This Cross was a round pillar, about four feet from the top of three square stone steps. On the apex of the column was a sun-dial. This Cross had long been pronounced a nuisance; and fervent were the wishes for its removal by those who had to travel that road on a dark night, as frequent collisions took place from its being so much in the way of the traffic. When any one, however, spoke of its removal, the old inhabitants so strongly protested against its being touched, that the authorities gave up all hope of ever overcoming the prejudice in favour of its remaining. However, a serious accident having occurred, it was at length determined by the late Sir William Shaw, to do what others dared not. One dark and stormy winter’s night, when all Everton was at rest—for there were no old watchmen then to wake people up with their cries—two persons might have been seen stealing towards the Cross, in the midst of the elemental war which then raged. One of them bore a lantern, while the other wheeled before him a barrow, laden with crowbar, pickaxe, and spade. The rain descended in torrents, and the night was as dark as the deed they were about to commit could possibly require. They approached the ancient gathering place, where, in olden times, during the sweating sickness, the people from Liverpool met the farmers of the district and there paid for all produce by depositing their money in bowls of water. Amidst the storm the two men for a moment surveyed their stony victim, and then commenced its destruction. First, with a strong effort, they toppled over the upper stone of the column; then the next, and the next. They then wheeled them away, stone by stone, to the Round House on Everton-brow, wherein each fragment was deposited. The base was then ruthlessly removed and carried away, and at length not a vestige was left to mark the spot where once stood Everton Cross—raised doubtless by pious hands on some remarkable occasion long forgotten.

The Cross was thus safely housed and stored away in the Round House, and no one was the wiser. When morning dawned the astonishment of the early Everton birds was extreme. From house to house—few in number, then—ran the news that Everton Cross had disappeared during the storm of the previous night. The inhabitants soon mustered on the spot, and deep and long and loud were the lamentations uttered at its removal. Who did it? When? How? At length a whisper was passed from mouth to mouth—at first faintly and scarcely intelligible—until, gathering strength as it travelled, it became at length boldly asserted that the Father of Lies had taken it away in the turbulence of the elements. And so the news spread through Liverpool, in the year 1820, that the Devil had run off with the Cross at Everton. My old friend, who many a time chuckled over his feat, and who told me of his doings, said that for many years he feared to tell the truth about it, so indignant were many of the inhabitants who knew that its disappearance could not have been attributable to satanic agency. My friend used to say that he had hard work to preserve his gravity when listening to the various versions that were prevalent of the circumstance.

Opposite the Cross there were some very old houses of the same type, character, and date as that known as Prince Rupert’s cottage. The latter was a low long building, constructed of stone, lath, and plaster, and presented the appearance of an ordinary country cottage. Prince Rupert’s officers were quartered in the village houses. At the back of the cottage, Rupert constructed his first battery. It was a square platform, and was used as a garden, until cottage and all were swept away for the new streets now to be found thereabouts. I can recollect the whole of the land from Everton Village to Brunswick Road being pasture land, and Mr. Plumpton’s five houses in Everton Road, overlooking the fields, commanded high rents when first erected. Low-hill at this time was a rough, sandy, undulating lane with hedges on both sides. The only dwellings in it were a large house near the West Derby-road, and two low cottages opposite Phythian-street, still standing. The public-house at the corner of Low-hill and the Prescot-road is of considerable antiquity, there having been a tavern at this spot from almost all time, so to speak. Hall-lane was then called Cheetham’s-brow.

Amongst other objects of interest that have disappeared at Everton, may be numbered “Gregson’s Well,” which stood on the left hand side of the gateway of Mr. Gregson’s mansion. This well, before water was brought into our town in such abundance, was a great resort for the matrons, maids, and children of the neighbourhood, and slaked the thirst of many a weary traveller. It was a fine spring of water, and was approached by stone steps: the water issuing from a recess in the wall. “Gregson’s Well” was a known trysting-place. There was an iron railing which enclosed the side and ends of the well, to prevent accidents. The water from the well is still flowing, I have been told. The stream runs underground, behind the houses in Brunswick-road—or, at least, it did so a few years ago. I have seen the bed of the stream that ran in the olden time down Moss-street, laid open many times when the road has been taken up. There was a curious story once current about the way that Brunswick-road obtained its name. It is said that when the new streets in that vicinity were being laid out and named, the original appellation which it bore, was chalked up as copy for the painter; but a patriotic lady, during the absence of the workman rubbed out the old name and substituted for it “Brunswick-road,” which name it has ever since borne.

Where Mr. Gregson’s house stood, or nearly so, there was a house which, in the early part of the last century, belonged to a gentleman and his sister named Fabius. Their real name was Bean; but, after the manner of the then learned, they assumed the name of Fabius, from “Faba.” Mr. or, as he was called, “Dr.” Fabius was an apothecary, and received brevet rank—I suppose from being the only medical practitioner about. At any rate, from the limited population of the vicinity, he was doubtless sufficient for its wants. This Mr. Fabius was one of the first Baptists in this part of the country, and in 1700 obtained a license from Manchester, to use a room in his house as a prayer-room for that particular class of worshippers. Mr. Fabius and his sister Hanna built, after a short time, a chapel or tabernacle of wood, in their garden, and gave to the Baptists “for ever” the “piece of land adjoining the chapel-field,” as a burying-place; and in this little cemetery have all the earliest leading members of this influential body been interred. It has been quite full for some years, and in consequence the Necropolis Cemetery sprung as it were from it, where dissenters of all denominations could be buried. The Baptists, increasing in numbers, quitted Low-hill, and built a chapel in Byrom-street, which is now St. Matthew’s church. When this chapel was built it was thought to be too far out of town to be well attended.

There once lived a curious person at Low-hill who had peculiar tastes. He built a place which was called “Rat’s Castle.” It stood on the brink of a delf, the site of which is now occupied by the Prescot-street Bridewell. This person used to try experiments with food, such as cooking spiders, blackbeetles, rats, cats, mice, and other things not in common use; and, it is said, was wont to play off tricks upon unsuspecting strangers by placing banquets before them that were quite unexpected and unprecedented in the nature and condition of the food.

While lingering over my “Recollections” of Everton, I ought not to forget mentioning that, as time went on and Liverpool became prosperous, and its merchants desired to get away from the dull town-houses and imbibe healthy, fresh air, this same Everton became quite the fashionable suburb and court-end of Liverpool. Noble mansions sprung up, surrounded by well-kept gardens. Gradually the gorse-bush and the heather disappeared, and the best sites on the hill became occupied. The Everton gentry for their wealth and their pride were called “Nobles,” and highly and proudly did they hold up their heads, and great state did many of the merchants who dwelt there keep up. The first mansion erected was on the Pilgrim Estate; the next was St. Domingo House. A brief history of these estates may not be uninteresting. In 1790 the whole of Everton hereabouts was owned by two proprietors. When Everton was all open, waste, and uncultivated land, one portion of it was enclosed by a shoemaker who called his acquisition “Cobbler’s Close.” This property was bought by Mr. Barton, who realized upwards of £190,000 through the capture of a French vessel called La Liberte, by a vessel owned by Joseph Birch, Esq., M.P., called The Pilgrim. The estate of Cobblers’ Close was then re-named “Pilgrim.” The property next passed into the hands of Sir William Barton, who sold it to Mr. Atherton. It was this gentleman who gave the land on which Everton Church is built, with this stipulation only—that no funerals should enter by the West Gate. The reason assigned for this was because Mr. Atherton’s house was opposite to it.

Mr. Woodhouse purchased the Pilgrim estate from Mr. Atherton, and re-named it “BrontÉ,”, from his connection with the BrontÉ estate in Sicily, which had been bestowed on Lord Nelson for his great services. When Lord Nelson received his first consignment of Marsala wines ordered for the fleet from his estate, he was asked to give the wine a name so that it might be known to the English people. Nelson said “call it BrontÉ.” His lordship was told that “BrontÉ” meant “thunder.” “Oh,” replied the hero, “it will do very well; John Bull will not know what it means, and will think all the better of it on that account.”

The St. Domingo Estate, in this vicinity, was originated by Mr. Campbell, who in 1757 purchased the estate. He continually added to it, as occasion presented, and called the whole “St. Domingo,” in consequence of a rich prize taken by a privateer which he owned when off that island. These two contiguous estates may be said, therefore, to have been purchased by English bravery.

Mr. Crosbie was the next proprietor. He purchased it for £3500, paying £680 as deposit money. On his becoming bankrupt the estate was again put up for sale. It remained some time on hand, until Messrs. Gregson, Bridge and Parke purchased it for £4129. They sold it for £3470, losing thereby. In 1793, Mr. Sparling, who was Mayor of Liverpool in 1790, bought it. He took down the house built by Mr. Campbell and erected the handsome mansion now standing. This gentleman stipulated in his will that the house should be only occupied by a person of the name of Sparling, and that it was not to be let to any person for longer than seven years. In 1810 the legatees got the will reversed by an act of Parliament. The Queen’s Dock was projected by Mr. Sparling, and Sparling-Street was called after him. The St. Domingo Estate was next sold for £20,295. It was afterwards resold for £26,383, and used as barracks.

The objections made by the people of Everton to barracks being formed in their neighbourhood were very great. A strong memorial was numerously signed by the inhabitants against the movement. The memorialists represented the demoralization attendant upon the introduction of numbers of soldiers into a respectable and quiet neighbourhood, and the annoyances that would have to be endured. But the prayer failed, and St. Domingo House, for a time, became barracks accordingly. Everton appears always to have been a favourite locality for the quartering of soldiery, when it has been necessary or expedient to station them in the vicinity of Liverpool. On several occasions entire regiments have been quartered at Everton.

The encampment of soldiers in the fields near Church-street, which a few years ago attracted great attention and curiosity, is of too recent occurrence to require remark from me, as also the occupancy of the large houses on Everton-terrace and in Waterhouse-lane and Rupert-lane by officers and men. As of old, the inhabitants of the present day sent up a remonstrance to the authorities at the Horse Guards, against soldiers being located in the neighbourhood, but with the same want of success. A most intolerable nuisance, amongst others, entailed upon the inhabitants was the beating of what, in military parlance, is called “the Daddy Mammy.” This dreadful infliction upon light sleepers and invalids consisted of half a dozen boys at military daybreak (that is, as soon as you can see a white horse a mile off) learning to beat the drum. The little wretches used to batter away in Mr. Waterhouse’s garden and Rupert-lane half the day through, until several letters appeared in the newspapers on the subject, which excited the wrath of the commanding officer of the regiment then stationed there, who vowed vengeance on all civilians daring to interfere with, or comment on, the rules of the service.

The Breck-road, and indeed all the roads about Everton were, but a few years back, mere country lanes, along which little passed except the farmers. There was no traffic on them as there was no leading thoroughfare to any place in the neighbourhood of the least importance. It is only within the last ten years that Everton can be said to have been at all populous. It was in my young days out by Breck-road and Anfield (originally called Hangfield), Whitefield-lane, and Roundhill-lane, completely open country. On Breck-road or Lane the only house was that at the corner of Breckfield-road, called the “Odd House.” It was then a farm.

Connected with Whitefield-lane I recollect a good story told by a gentleman I knew, of his getting a free ride to Liverpool, behind the carriage of a well-known eccentric and most benevolent gentleman, some thirty years ago. My young friend who was then but lately come to Liverpool, had been invited to spend Sunday at Whitefield House, which stands at the corner of Whitefield-lane and Boundary-lane. At that time there was not a house near it for some distance. Boundary-lane was a narrow, rutted road, with a hedge and a ditch on each side, while the footpath—on one side only—was in a most miserable condition. There was then adjoining West Derby-road a large strawberry garden, which in summer time was the resort of pleasure-seekers, and it was the only approach to neighbourship along the whole length of the lane.

On leaving Whitefield House the night proved so intensely dark that my young friend found himself quite bewildered, and scarcely know whether to turn to the right or the left, being unacquainted with the locality. Fortunately turning to the right, he stumbled along the miserable road, and with the utmost difficulty made his way onward, but not without misgivings of being knocked down and robbed, as there had been several daring attacks made upon people at night in that vicinity. He fervently wished himself in Liverpool, but shortly arriving at the West Derby-road he began to understand his “whereabouts.” Having proceeded a few yards, a carriage passed him driven by a postilion. There was an unoccupied dicky behind, which my young friend thought it seemed a pity not to appropriate. Quick as youth and activity prompted, he climbed upon the carriage with the notion of the Dutchman “that it was better to ride than walk,” and found his condition materially benefited by being carried through the darkness of the night instead of walking. When the carriage reached the London-road my friend thought it was time to alight, as he was then near home; but to his dismay he found that, although it was very easy to get up, it was not very easy to get down in safety. On he went with the carriage until it arrived at Lime-street, and began to turn down Roe-street, which was a good mile from my friend’s lodgings. What was to be done? A bold thought struck him. “Hallo, hallo! I’ll get down here!” he cried. Upon this the postilion pulled up short, when down came the window of the carriage, and an inquiry from it took place as to the reason of the stoppage. My friend had by this time managed to drop off his perch, when he found the head protruding was that of the excellent lessee of the Theatre Royal, Mr. Lewis. As he was quite as polite a man as the worthy lessee himself, on finding to whom he had been indebted for his ride, he made a very low bow, with thanks for his most welcome “lift,” exclaiming with Buckingham, “I will remember that your Grace is bountiful.” In very sharp tones “John” was told to drive on, while my friend walked away, quietly laughing in his sleeve at the success of his impudence, but regretting that he had not alighted sooner to be nearer home.

Surprising are the changes that have taken place on the West Derby-road of late years. It was originally called Rake-lane, and Rocky-lane from Richmond-hill. A complete little town has sprung up upon its pleasant meadows and bountiful cornfields. The Zoological Gardens, within a very few years, was the uttermost verge of this suburb. I recollect very well the opening of those once beautiful gardens. They were projected by the late Mr. Atkins, a gentleman who was the proprietor of the largest travelling-menagerie in the country. The place he had selected for his undertaking was called “Plumpton’s Hollow.” This was originally a large excavation, whence brick-clay which abounds in the neighbourhood had been obtained. Mr. Atkins, possessing great taste and judgment, was highly favoured and much thought of by the late Lord Derby, who consulted him on many occasions and honoured him with his patronage, benefiting the gardens as much as he could, by adding to the collection. Mr. Atkins chose this site for his gardens, believing it to be far enough out of town for the convenience of the public, and healthy enough for the due growth of his trees and plants, and the well-being of his animals. The Zoological Gardens were, under Mr. Atkin’s management, very different, by all accounts, from what they are now. I have seen on fine summer days, numbers of ladies of the highest respectability taking the air in them, accompanied by their children, while at night the attendance was most excellent, being patronized by the highest families in the town who seemed to enjoy the amusements provided with the utmost zest and relish. The collection of animals was remarkable at that time. Captains of vessels frequently brought rare and curious animals as presents, so that every week some new specimen of interest was added. I look back with pleasure to the many hours I have spent in the Gardens shortly after their being opened. They were admirably conducted, and in great repute as a zoological collection. Mr. Atkins took his idea of forming them from the success of the Gardens then lately established in Regent’s Park, and at Kennington, in Surrey.

A great sensation was once produced by the abduction of a Miss Turner from Miss Daulby’s School, on the West Derby-road, by Mr. E. Gibbon Wakefield. This is the white house that stands retired a field distant from the road, on the right hand side, about a quarter of a mile beyond the Zoological Gardens.

The abduction took place in March, 1826. It caused immense excitement throughout England. Miss Turner was the daughter of Mr. Turner, of Shrigley Park, Cheshire. By means of a forged letter addressed to Miss Daulby, intimating that Miss Turner’s mother was dangerously ill, the young lady was permitted to leave the school for the purpose of going home. In the carriage in waiting was Mr. E. Gibbon Wakefield, a widower with one child (a perfect stranger to Miss Turner). It is believed he had been put up to this disgraceful act of villainy by a Miss Davies, with whom he was acquainted in Paris, and who was a member of a small coterie of friends, meeting for social purposes at each other’s houses. This Miss Davies afterwards became the wife of Mr. E. G. Wakefield’s father. She was tried with her two stepsons for the conspiracy. The object in taking Miss Turner away was the large fortune in expectancy from her father as his sole child and heiress. Miss Turner was taken from Liverpool to Manchester, next to Kendal, and on to Carlisle, and thence across the borders and there married to Mr. Wakefield; he having represented to her that by marrying him, he could save her father from impending ruin. From Scotland, they went to London, thence to Calais, where Miss Turner was found by her relatives and taken away.

The Wakefields were tried at Lancaster. Edward was found guilty of abduction and sentenced to transportation. He went to Australia in pursuance of his sentence, and after some years became the Government commissioner. The marriage with Miss Turner was not consummated. Miss Turner stated that she had received the utmost politeness and attention from Mr. Wakefield, and had been treated by him with deference and respect throughout. Had it not been for Mr. Wakefield’s forbearance, it was thought that his sentence would have been different. Edward Gibbon Wakefield was said to have been a natural son of Lord Sandwich. He wrote some exceedingly clever works upon colonial matters, and on emigration.