A History of the Cries of London, Ancient and Modern

In Short

This volume serves as a sprawling, atmospheric catalog of the "cries" that once defined London’s street life—the vocal advertisements of itinerant sellers, sweepers, and ballad-mongers. By weaving together historical verse, contemporary commentary, and song lyrics, the work documents how these noisy, vibrant trades reflected the city’s social fabric from the medieval era through the 19th century. It is a preservation of the ephemeral, offering a window into the daily habits, poverty, and ingenuity of the urban poor whose voices once provided the city's soundtrack.

The Story

The narrative begins by grounding the reader in the sensory experience of ancient London, where the streets were not mere thoroughfares but active marketplaces. The text traces the evolution of these cries from the earliest medieval vendors—who hawked hot peascods, cherries, and fresh bread—to the bustling, chaotic atmosphere of Cheapside, where shopkeepers and street-sellers competed for the attention of passersby with equal fervor. This early section establishes the centrality of the "cry" to the city’s identity, noting how the constant clamor was so pervasive that even the clergy and the aristocracy found themselves forced to contend with it, either by enduring the noise or by attempting to legislate it into silence.

As the account moves forward, it explores the tension between the city’s desire for order and the unruly nature of its street commerce. The reader is introduced to the "Silent Woman" archetype in literature, illustrating the extreme, almost desperate, social impulse to flee from the cacophony of the streets. Yet, the book finds a strange, begrudging affection for these disturbances. It details the role of the Bellman, whose nightly rounds provided both a security service and a bizarre sort of seasonal poetry, often performed for a small gratuity. This transition highlights the shift from purely functional commerce to the performative nature of city life, where the seller’s voice became a brand, a habit, and a piece of urban folklore.

The middle section shifts focus toward the printed word, specifically the rise of "street literature." Through the lens of ballad-mongers and publishers like James "Jemmy" Catnach of Seven Dials, the story reveals how the cries morphed into a trade of sensation. These publishers exploited the public’s hunger for grim news, selling broadsheets containing the "last words" of executed criminals or accounts of gruesome murders for a ha’penny. It is a dark, fascinating turn: the same streets that echoed with the hopeful, rhythmic calls of flower-sellers also hosted the peddlers of tragedy.

The work culminates in a reflection on the decay of these traditions. As the 19th century advances, the romance of the itinerant vendor begins to wane under the pressure of modernization and changing social attitudes. The text laments the loss of the "May-games" and the distinct character of the milkmaid, noting that the distribution of goods has become standardized, efficient, and entirely unpoetical. The narrative concludes with a nostalgic, almost elegiac tone, preserving the memory of these voices as if they were a fragile, fading song. By the time the final index is reached, the reader is left with the sense that the "cries" were the heartbeat of an older London—one where the street corner was the primary site of human connection and survival.

How It Unfolds

The historical roots The journey opens with ancient accounts of vendors in Cheapside and Westminster, establishing how essential these cries were to the primitive, vibrant economy of the city.

The conflict of noise The narrative examines the cultural friction caused by the constant street clamor, highlighting stories of aristocrats and writers who were driven to madness by the unrelenting calls of costermongers and smiths.

The official night watch The focus shifts to the Bellman, an official who balanced the roles of watchman and poet, selling his own rhyming broadsides to ensure the safety of the sleeping city.

The trade of tragedy The story pivots to the rise of street literature in Seven Dials, where the cries evolved from selling produce to selling sensationalist, often morbid, accounts of crime and public executions.

The final decline The account concludes by documenting the slow disappearance of the traditional street-seller, mourning the loss of a colorful, romanticized era that has been replaced by the efficiency of modern commerce.

The People

The most compelling figure is James "Jemmy" Catnach, a publisher whose printing shop in Seven Dials became the engine of the street-literature industry. Catnach is portrayed as a man of contradictions: he was a shrewd businessman who understood the public's thirst for the macabre, yet he held a genuine, perhaps strange, passion for the ballads and lotteries he produced. He represents the transition of the "cry" from a vocal performance to a commercial product.

Opposite him in spirit is Morose, the fictional character from Ben Jonson’s The Silent Woman. Though he is a literary creation, he serves as the perfect antagonist to the street vendor. Morose, who is pathologically unable to endure noise, represents the segment of society that looked upon the street-sellers as a blight. His struggles with the fish-wives and chimney-sweeps serve as a recurring, darkly comedic counterpoint to the vendors’ persistent calls.

Finally, there are the itinerant vendors themselves—the flower girls, milkmaids, and broom-men. Though they remain mostly anonymous, the text treats them as the true custodians of London’s character. Whether they are hawking "Sweet Violets" or "Hot cross buns," they emerge as individuals trying to navigate a city that is increasingly hostile to their presence, yet forever dependent on their labor.

In Its Own Voice

"Oh, dearly do I love 'Old Cries,' / Your 'Lilies all a'blowing!' / Your blossoms blue, still wet with dew, / 'Sweet Violets all a'growing!'"

This poetic refrain, attributed to Eliza Cook, captures the romantic, nostalgic attachment to the sounds of the past.

"Milk is generally sold in a note above Ela, and it sounds so exceedingly shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge."

The author quotes an earlier, anonymous observer who highlights the genuinely jarring nature of the street vendor's vocal performance.

"The cries of London may be divided into vocal and instrumental."

This analytical observation sets the stage for the book’s attempt to categorize the chaotic symphony of the city's streets.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an investigation into the transience of urban culture. It asks what happens to a city when it loses its most distinct, human-made noises to the advance of efficiency. It argues that the "cries" were not merely background noise, but a essential, if chaotic, expression of the city’s soul. By documenting the shift from personal, vocal commerce to mass-produced printed sensation, the book explores the tension between the messy, organic life of the streets and the cold, orderly progress of history. It is a meditation on how we remember the past through the fading sensory experiences of those who lived it.

Why Read It Today

You should read this book if you are interested in the granular, daily textures of urban life. It is an ideal choice for those who enjoy "bottom-up" history—the kind that focuses on the lives of the poor and the ignored rather than kings and battles. It feels like a collage; the pages are dense with woodcuts, snippets of song, and dry, scholarly asides, which creates an immersive, if somewhat disjointed, reading experience.

Be prepared for the reality that this is a 19th-century compilation. The prose is often sprawling, and the inclusion of extensive, repetitive lists of "cries" and broadside poems can feel exhaustive. Some of the period attitudes toward the poor, and the fascination with "sensationals" like murder confessions, are products of their time and may feel jarring to a modern reader. However, the persistent, haunting beauty of the songs—like the one about the "Sweet Violets"—remains remarkably poignant. You will walk away from this book with a new sensitivity to the sounds of your own modern city, listening for the remnants of an older, louder world that still echoes in the rhythm of the streets.