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William Angliss' daughter Louisa was born in 1851 in Christchurch, London. This was the area of the London Meat Market at Newgate. The family first lived at 103 Warwick Lane, next to the Physicians’ Arms. Here the Royal College of Physicians, with its Operating Theatre designed by Christopher Wren, rubbed shoulders with Newgate Gaol and the Meat Market which left the lane constantly greasy. William had a job as a Watchkeeper, but all his neighbours were Meat Salesmen, Butchers or Victuallers - so it seems very likely that he was the Watchkeeper at Newgate Market. The family settled at last. When Fred Angliss was born in 1856, William was Meat Market Keeper at the busiest meat market in the world, and living at 1 Phoenix Court, which was reached through an entrance at 4 Newgate Street.
A Market Keeper's job involved arranging repairs, taking bids for pitches (a process called "cheping" in London), collecting rent, arbitrating in disputes between traders, making sure that the Market Sweeper kept the place clean, and making sure that his Beadles stayed on their toes to keep thieves away. William Angliss must have been a trusted man, to be given such responsibility. Perhaps he was trusted by the Corporation because, as a butcher from outside the City, he had never been admitted to the London Guild. He will have handled a lot of money, and no doubt was escorted everywhere by a couple of burly Beadles: rents were high, as this account tells: "the rents exacted by the Corporation for such miserable hovels as go to make up the market, almost exceeds belief. For the privilege of hanging a board - about two feet wide and seven long - beneath the window of a public-house, and the use of a shed opposite, capable, if converted to its proper use, of holding a couple of tons of coals, my informant pays a hundred pounds a year! and this in the worst part of the market. "And not dear either, as prices go here," said he. "Why, if I could move my premises to the other end - say to within twenty yards of Bonser's (the chief firm in the market, in the main entrance from Newgate Street), I'd give two hundred a year for them willingly. Salesmen in that quarter are giving more for less accommodation than I possess."".
Newgate Market had been rebuilt in its own square after the Great Fire of London for the needs of a far smaller city than that of the mid nineteenth century. The whole of London was mired in filth. Its water supply was contaminated with cholera, its sewers flooded the streets and polluted the river so badly that parliament couldn’t sit on account of the stink. Smithfield - the cattle market just over a hundred yards away from Newgate - was no longer the "smooth field" from which it derived its name, but a stinking mire. Newgate Gaol was overcrowded, and the public hangings outside it in Old Bailey were a scene of public disorder. The Meat Market square was far too small for its purpose - only 50 by 65 metres - with a Market House in the form of a cross on pillars, with vaults and cellars underneath and a bell tower on top. This was the domain of William Angliss. There were fair houses all around, and many pubs. Newgate and Leadenhall Markets between them supplied every carcass-butcher for over twelve miles with pigs, poultry, game, butter and eggs.
The market day was Friday, and trading started at five o’clock. The butchers were dressed in blue aprons, with a pencil kept behind the ear, and had already killed and dressed much of the meat for the day. The first carts to come in were those of the West End butchers, with the horses clothed in expensive cloths or leather loin-covers, and the seats cushioned. They were backed to the kerb ready for loading, and each driver tipped a man to look after his whip and watch his cart and cargo, and he stood with his back to the wall of Newgate Prison.
This was the scene in Warwick Lane, where William Angliss lived:
"Railway vans thundered over the cobble stones, and railway-van drivers were thundering at each other, and at the market beadle, and at the Corporation generally, such uncomplimentary language as vexed railway-van drivers will. Certainly they were not without grounds for vexation. Whitehart Street and Warwick Lane are the only carriage-ways into the market-square; and, when it is considered that the carriages are about seven feet wide, and that the roadway of Warwick Lane is little more than ten feet, and that of White Hart Street something less; that the vans contain over two tons of meat; that the uneven stones, moistened by November fog, afford to the horses' feet about as easy footing as would a pavement of buttered rolls; and that a market beadle (what does he know about horses ?) takes the bridles into his hands and frantically " backs " van, carman, and all, or endeavours to urge the perplexed cattle forward by probing their flanks with his market cane and uttering small canary chirpings - it is no wonder that the carmen occasionally exhibit a little ill-temper. This uproar, however, has its advantages - it relieves a stranger's mind of the horrors that would beset it if, in the midst of gloom and the jaundiced light that gas and daybreak make, the vehicles were disburdened quietly and by stealth. Breathing the air of yesterday's shambles, the beholder would see long and broad packages, mysteriously shrouded in sackcloth, borne up dark passages or stacked before the unopened shops, and it would require some more powerful counteracting influence than the big, innocent-looking wicker baskets in which the mutton is packed to assure him that the canvas sacks contained nothing more dreadful than sides of beef.".
Wholesale trade started the day: "great sides of beef, now unshrouded, hung naked and rosy on giant hooks; and sheep that had left their fleecy coats three hundred miles behind them, were delivered from the big wicker baskets, and ranged in clustering rows. Then there were the butchers. West-End aristocrats, with spotless jean coats and Gibus hats; half-and-half dandy butchers, with blue half-sleeves and ribbed aprons; and real, practical, working butchers, in blue coats and market leggings. By mere pinches or pokes with the finger, they decided on one-hundred guinea purchases in less time than your cautious reader or I would take to choose a quarter of lamb; and, making their way through the wall of flesh to the watch-box counting-houses behind, paid down their crisp bank-notes and clinking gold like true British butchers." The scene was confusing to the outsider, as porters scurried about with sides of beef through the narrow gaps between trays of meat, taking it out of sight like thieves.
The retail trade came later: "The leviathans of the market, such as the Messrs. Bonser, despise petty huckstering, and are close shut up an hour ago; still there are shops and stalls displaying abundance of meat - some prime and handsome, and some very, very ugly. Were I made market inspector for a single day, I should doubtless provoke the law by sending tons of this fresh-smelling, but skinny, bloodshot meat to be burnt in the knacker's yard at King's Cross. But I suppose the inspector knows best, and the meat is all perfectly sound and wholesome. Whether or no, it all finds purchasers. The newly-married young shoemaker, ninth son of a managing mother, brings hither his little wife, and instructs her how to invest half-a-crown economically; the family man brings his wife and an olive-branch to carry the basket, and bids, per stone, for meat enough to last an entire week; the hard-up man, his wife's week's charing concluded, brings her all the way from Camden Town, and they purchase enormous joints of veal at an absurdly low figure. But what I have seen of the retail business of Newgate Market disposes me to believe that if you want sound, nutritious, animal food, you can't do better than patronise the butcher round the corner. The meat that goes so wonderfully cheap in the market, the butcher round the corner would not keep on his premises.". The retail trade finished, the day was not quite done, for there was the question of disposal: the knacker came for the offal and bones; the fellmonger for the skins; and someone came for the unsold meat. The butcher round the corner would not touch it - but William Angliss would. He held the lucrative contract to supply Newgate Gaol with its meat, and you can be sure that it was not of the finest cuts.
The Market Keeper’s job was a nightmare in such crowded premises, and it is no surprise that everything about Newgate offended public sensibilities. Charles Dickens, the great author of the victorian conscience, described Newgate as "the cruellest of all markets". He campaigned for its closure, along with the reform of the cattle market at Smithfield and rebuilding the meat market at Leadenhall. He also wanted Newgate Gaol closed, but first the public hangings had to end. There had been great reluctance to convict people of a crime which carried the death sentence, and for a while transportation to the colonies provided a "humane" alternative. However, while there had been only twenty two executions in London during the whole of Fred Angliss’ childhood, they probably all took place just around the corner from his home, in Old Bailey. William avoided his son seeing the crowds by locking the boy in an upstairs room. Fred told Ellen how he would try to climb onto the wardrobe to see what was going on, but he could never see anything. Executions took place less than twice a year, but this total includes the last execution in England for murder and piracy, when John Lyons was hanged on 22nd February 1864 with four others - they were foreigners, not even granted the dignity of being named. This rare multiple execution must have drawn a huge crowd. It will have been a challenge to William Angliss - Old Bailey was not on his beat, but there doubtless was many a pie-seller who tried to ply his trade on the approaches through the Newgate Market without paying for the permit. The very last public execution in Britain was held at Old Bailey when Fred was twelve years old: Michael Barrett Fenian was hanged on 26th May 1868 for the Clerkenwell bombing. The hanging made him a martyr, and Irish separatist terrorists were then referred to as Fenians until Eire became independent). Charles Dickens had won, and he did William Angliss out of a job - his campaigning closed Newgate Market in the following year.

	London connection The London Meat Market by Lindsay Heyes
	William Angliss' daughter Louisa was born in 1851 in Christchurch, London. This was the area of the London Meat Market at Newgate. The family first lived at 103 Warwick Lane, next to the Physicians’ Arms. Here the Royal College of Physicians, with its Operating Theatre designed by Christopher Wren, rubbed shoulders with Newgate Gaol and the Meat Market which left the lane constantly greasy. William had a job as a Watchkeeper, but all his neighbours were Meat Salesmen, Butchers or Victuallers - so it seems very likely that he was the Watchkeeper at Newgate Market. The family settled at last. When Fred Angliss was born in 1856, William was Meat Market Keeper at the busiest meat market in the world, and living at 1 Phoenix Court, which was reached through an entrance at 4 Newgate Street. A Market Keeper's job involved arranging repairs, taking bids for pitches (a process called "cheping" in London), collecting rent, arbitrating in disputes between traders, making sure that the Market Sweeper kept the place clean, and making sure that his Beadles stayed on their toes to keep thieves away. William Angliss must have been a trusted man, to be given such responsibility. Perhaps he was trusted by the Corporation because, as a butcher from outside the City, he had never been admitted to the London Guild. He will have handled a lot of money, and no doubt was escorted everywhere by a couple of burly Beadles: rents were high, as this account tells: "the rents exacted by the Corporation for such miserable hovels as go to make up the market, almost exceeds belief. For the privilege of hanging a board - about two feet wide and seven long - beneath the window of a public-house, and the use of a shed opposite, capable, if converted to its proper use, of holding a couple of tons of coals, my informant pays a hundred pounds a year! and this in the worst part of the market. "And not dear either, as prices go here," said he. "Why, if I could move my premises to the other end - say to within twenty yards of Bonser's (the chief firm in the market, in the main entrance from Newgate Street), I'd give two hundred a year for them willingly. Salesmen in that quarter are giving more for less accommodation than I possess."". Newgate Market had been rebuilt in its own square after the Great Fire of London for the needs of a far smaller city than that of the mid nineteenth century. The whole of London was mired in filth. Its water supply was contaminated with cholera, its sewers flooded the streets and polluted the river so badly that parliament couldn’t sit on account of the stink. Smithfield - the cattle market just over a hundred yards away from Newgate - was no longer the "smooth field" from which it derived its name, but a stinking mire. Newgate Gaol was overcrowded, and the public hangings outside it in Old Bailey were a scene of public disorder. The Meat Market square was far too small for its purpose - only 50 by 65 metres - with a Market House in the form of a cross on pillars, with vaults and cellars underneath and a bell tower on top. This was the domain of William Angliss. There were fair houses all around, and many pubs. Newgate and Leadenhall Markets between them supplied every carcass-butcher for over twelve miles with pigs, poultry, game, butter and eggs. The market day was Friday, and trading started at five o’clock. The butchers were dressed in blue aprons, with a pencil kept behind the ear, and had already killed and dressed much of the meat for the day. The first carts to come in were those of the West End butchers, with the horses clothed in expensive cloths or leather loin-covers, and the seats cushioned. They were backed to the kerb ready for loading, and each driver tipped a man to look after his whip and watch his cart and cargo, and he stood with his back to the wall of Newgate Prison. This was the scene in Warwick Lane, where William Angliss lived: "Railway vans thundered over the cobble stones, and railway-van drivers were thundering at each other, and at the market beadle, and at the Corporation generally, such uncomplimentary language as vexed railway-van drivers will. Certainly they were not without grounds for vexation. Whitehart Street and Warwick Lane are the only carriage-ways into the market-square; and, when it is considered that the carriages are about seven feet wide, and that the roadway of Warwick Lane is little more than ten feet, and that of White Hart Street something less; that the vans contain over two tons of meat; that the uneven stones, moistened by November fog, afford to the horses' feet about as easy footing as would a pavement of buttered rolls; and that a market beadle (what does he know about horses ?) takes the bridles into his hands and frantically " backs " van, carman, and all, or endeavours to urge the perplexed cattle forward by probing their flanks with his market cane and uttering small canary chirpings - it is no wonder that the carmen occasionally exhibit a little ill-temper. This uproar, however, has its advantages - it relieves a stranger's mind of the horrors that would beset it if, in the midst of gloom and the jaundiced light that gas and daybreak make, the vehicles were disburdened quietly and by stealth. Breathing the air of yesterday's shambles, the beholder would see long and broad packages, mysteriously shrouded in sackcloth, borne up dark passages or stacked before the unopened shops, and it would require some more powerful counteracting influence than the big, innocent-looking wicker baskets in which the mutton is packed to assure him that the canvas sacks contained nothing more dreadful than sides of beef.". Wholesale trade started the day: "great sides of beef, now unshrouded, hung naked and rosy on giant hooks; and sheep that had left their fleecy coats three hundred miles behind them, were delivered from the big wicker baskets, and ranged in clustering rows. Then there were the butchers. West-End aristocrats, with spotless jean coats and Gibus hats; half-and-half dandy butchers, with blue half-sleeves and ribbed aprons; and real, practical, working butchers, in blue coats and market leggings. By mere pinches or pokes with the finger, they decided on one-hundred guinea purchases in less time than your cautious reader or I would take to choose a quarter of lamb; and, making their way through the wall of flesh to the watch-box counting-houses behind, paid down their crisp bank-notes and clinking gold like true British butchers." The scene was confusing to the outsider, as porters scurried about with sides of beef through the narrow gaps between trays of meat, taking it out of sight like thieves. The retail trade came later: "The leviathans of the market, such as the Messrs. Bonser, despise petty huckstering, and are close shut up an hour ago; still there are shops and stalls displaying abundance of meat - some prime and handsome, and some very, very ugly. Were I made market inspector for a single day, I should doubtless provoke the law by sending tons of this fresh-smelling, but skinny, bloodshot meat to be burnt in the knacker's yard at King's Cross. But I suppose the inspector knows best, and the meat is all perfectly sound and wholesome. Whether or no, it all finds purchasers. The newly-married young shoemaker, ninth son of a managing mother, brings hither his little wife, and instructs her how to invest half-a-crown economically; the family man brings his wife and an olive-branch to carry the basket, and bids, per stone, for meat enough to last an entire week; the hard-up man, his wife's week's charing concluded, brings her all the way from Camden Town, and they purchase enormous joints of veal at an absurdly low figure. But what I have seen of the retail business of Newgate Market disposes me to believe that if you want sound, nutritious, animal food, you can't do better than patronise the butcher round the corner. The meat that goes so wonderfully cheap in the market, the butcher round the corner would not keep on his premises.". The retail trade finished, the day was not quite done, for there was the question of disposal: the knacker came for the offal and bones; the fellmonger for the skins; and someone came for the unsold meat. The butcher round the corner would not touch it - but William Angliss would. He held the lucrative contract to supply Newgate Gaol with its meat, and you can be sure that it was not of the finest cuts. The Market Keeper’s job was a nightmare in such crowded premises, and it is no surprise that everything about Newgate offended public sensibilities. Charles Dickens, the great author of the victorian conscience, described Newgate as "the cruellest of all markets". He campaigned for its closure, along with the reform of the cattle market at Smithfield and rebuilding the meat market at Leadenhall. He also wanted Newgate Gaol closed, but first the public hangings had to end. There had been great reluctance to convict people of a crime which carried the death sentence, and for a while transportation to the colonies provided a "humane" alternative. However, while there had been only twenty two executions in London during the whole of Fred Angliss’ childhood, they probably all took place just around the corner from his home, in Old Bailey. William avoided his son seeing the crowds by locking the boy in an upstairs room. Fred told Ellen how he would try to climb onto the wardrobe to see what was going on, but he could never see anything. Executions took place less than twice a year, but this total includes the last execution in England for murder and piracy, when John Lyons was hanged on 22nd February 1864 with four others - they were foreigners, not even granted the dignity of being named. This rare multiple execution must have drawn a huge crowd. It will have been a challenge to William Angliss - Old Bailey was not on his beat, but there doubtless was many a pie-seller who tried to ply his trade on the approaches through the Newgate Market without paying for the permit. The very last public execution in Britain was held at Old Bailey when Fred was twelve years old: Michael Barrett Fenian was hanged on 26th May 1868 for the Clerkenwell bombing. The hanging made him a martyr, and Irish separatist terrorists were then referred to as Fenians until Eire became independent). Charles Dickens had won, and he did William Angliss out of a job - his campaigning closed Newgate Market in the following year.