Notes on Old Peterborough

In Short

This collection of reminiscences offers a vibrant, granular history of Peterborough, England, spanning the seventy-two years between 1833 and 1905. The author, a distinguished citizen and legal professional, catalogs the transformation of his home from a small, gated town dependent on river commerce and coaching inns into a significant rail-connected hub. By blending personal anecdotes—ranging from local eccentricities to major shifts in infrastructure and law—the text serves as an essential record of a community evolving under the pressures of the Victorian era.

The Story

The narrative begins in 1833, when the author first arrived in Peterborough as an articled clerk. He depicts a town defined by its isolation and its physical boundaries, held captive by a complex system of toll bars that forced travelers to pay for the simple privilege of entering or exiting the streets. He paints a vivid portrait of a pre-railway society, where the river Nene acted as the primary artery for coal and timber, and where local life was governed by ancient customs, such as the peculiar "town tolls" for road maintenance.

As the nineteenth century progresses, the narrative tracks the creeping influence of the railway. The author recalls the resistance of the old guard, who clung to the "Tally-Ho" coach and viewed steam power with deep suspicion. He describes how the arrival of the train not only accelerated the pace of life but fundamentally altered the local economy, rendering the old river packets obsolete and causing the town to spill over its former gated limits into "Newtown." Alongside this expansion, he charts the modernization of civic institutions. He recounts the early days of the parish constables, the inadequate gaols—notorious for prisoners tunneling their way to freedom—and the slow, often contentious establishment of a proper police force and workhouse system.

The middle arc of the book focuses on the agricultural transformation of the surrounding Fenlands. The author explains how the drainage of the Bedford Level, a feat of engineering that converted "a weary waste of waters" into productive farmland, spurred a massive increase in land value and necessitated better connectivity. He frames this progress not as a simple success story, but as a complex interplay of politics, taxation, and individual ingenuity.

As the chronicle reaches the dawn of the twentieth century, the tone shifts toward reflection. The author details the expansion of the postal service, the evolution of local newspapers, and the professionalization of the legal system, which replaced the erratic, often brutal summary justice of earlier decades. He concludes by contextualizing Peterborough’s local history within the broader tapestry of the British Empire, noting that the city’s endurance through wars, famines, and civil unrest serves as a microcosm for the resilience of the nation itself. The final pages leave the reader with a sense of a completed cycle: the small parish of 1833 has vanished, replaced by a sprawling urban center, yet the author maintains that the fundamental human character of the city remains connected to its past.

How It Unfolds

The arrival in the gated town The author sets the scene in 1833, describing a Peterborough confined by turnpikes and toll bars at every entrance. He highlights the strangeness of a system where even the locals paid tribute to traverse their own streets.

The vanishing institutions The narrative moves to the disappearance of local landmarks like Buckle’s Brewery and the decline of the Sedan chair. These sections serve as a meditation on how quickly "institutions of the place" can be erased by progress.

The battle of the transport modes The author provides a lively account of the conflict between the coachmen, who feared railway accidents, and the inevitability of the steam train. He contrasts the tedious journeys of his youth with the efficiency of modern travel.

The draining of the Fens Detailed observations on the reclamation of the Bedford Level demonstrate the economic engine driving the area’s growth. The author argues that this mastery of the landscape was the true foundation of Peterborough’s increased prosperity.

The evolution of law and order The text covers the shift from primitive lock-ups to structured municipal jails and the end of public executions. He shares courtroom stories that illustrate the transition from rough, local justice to more formal legal proceedings.

The retrospective view The conclusion places the city’s development against the backdrop of national events like the Crimean War. The author offers his final thoughts on the duties of a citizen in an ever-changing world.

The People

The book is populated by a cast of local figures who represent the changing tides of the town. The author, Andrew Percival, acts as the primary guide, a man whose professional life allows him to observe the city from both the courtroom and the parlor. He is a keen observer of the "black sheep" of the town, such as Jimmy Rogers, whose daring escape from the local jail serves as a humorous critique of the city's early, inept legal infrastructure.

The author also highlights the "worthy citizens" of the past, like the men who operated the old breweries. These figures—partners who spent their afternoons playing marbles on Easter Monday—embody a slower, more eccentric era that the author views with a mixture of nostalgia and detached amusement. He also writes about the "Intelligent Fenmen," the farmers and land managers whose tenacity in Parliamentary committees helped shape the region's prosperity. These individuals are defined by their resistance to change and their eventual, begrudging participation in modern development. Finally, the author’s own father and sister appear briefly, serving as anchors to his personal history and reminding the reader that the sprawling city began as a singular, intimate experience for a young man arriving from Northampton.

In Its Own Voice

"When I came to Peterboro’ in Oct., 1833, I think our population was five or six thousand."

The author establishes the starting point of his long-term observation of the city’s growth.

"The light and frivolous one used to sing a song in praise of the 'Tally Ho' Coach."

He recalls the defiant attitude of the traditional coachmen as they faced the impending arrival of the railway.

"If you look into the Paston register you will find marriages solemnised between inhabitants not belonging to Paston, the undoubted fact being that the enclosed parish of Paston led people to desire they should be married and buried there."

He illustrates how local geography and custom dictated the most personal milestones of a citizen’s life.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this book is an inquiry into the nature of progress. The author asks how a society balances the loss of its unique, eccentric local identity against the economic necessity of modernization. He explores the tension between tradition and utility, constantly questioning whether the expansion of population and industry has truly improved the life of the average citizen. By examining the history of the Fens and the local legal system, he argues that growth is rarely the result of a single technological advancement—like the railway—but is instead a slow accumulation of persistent, often invisible, community efforts. He ultimately questions the cost of that growth and whether the efficiency of the new century compensates for the loss of the intimate, "gated" community he once knew.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in local history or the Victorian period will find this a deeply rewarding, if specialized, read. It possesses the charm of a long conversation with an observant, intelligent elder who remembers exactly how things used to be. The prose is clear and unpretentious, though the author’s tendency to digress into legal anecdotes or 19th-century statistics may challenge those looking for a rapid narrative.

The book is particularly valuable for its candid look at the period's social attitudes. The author writes from a position of privilege and professional authority, and his accounts of the "lower orders"—such as the squatters at Frog Hall—reflect the class sensibilities of his time. Reading it today feels like stepping into a private archive; the author’s voice is so distinct and his memory so precise that you can practically smell the coal smoke and hear the clatter of the old coaches. What stays with you is not just the list of changes, but the author’s profound sense of duty as a witness. He reminds us that all cities are fragile constructions, held together by the memory of those who lived through their most transformative years. It is an honest, unvarnished portrait of a place growing up in public.