0 It's No Joke: The Life of a Victorian Street Clown

by Grace Elliot

Do you like clowns?

I suspect clowns are one of those things in life (like Marmite) that fall into the ‘love ‘em’ or ‘hate ‘em’ category. Me? I find clowns creepy and they make me cringe.  Sadly, in the modern age, comedians seem to be over-represented when it comes to suffering from depression – perhaps because of the pressure of being funny for a living.

Some things never change, because in 1851 when Henry Mayhew interviewed one of London’s three full-time street clowns, he discovered a pathetic figure who was ashamed of how he made his living.

Mayhew describes a sad man: “He was a melancholy looking man…whilst his face was scored with lines and wrinkles, telling of paint and premature age.”

This clown, it seems, had little to be cheerful about.  Orphaned at the age of nine, he worked as a stable lad and then became a general dogs-body at Astley’s (renowned as the first circus) It was there he watched the other performers and found he had a semi-decent singing voice. 

 He eventually tried his luck entertaining on the streets: “With a heavy heart.”

Some days were better than others. On race days he made ten shillings, but this then had to stretch to cover the lean days. And as he records, the day his wife was in labor he worked for 10 hours straight and earnt one shilling and three pence. Many times he started work without breaking his fast (having breakfast) and didn’t eat until he’d earned enough to buy food.

What made his trade even harder were the ‘part time’ clowns, who emerged on high-paying holidays and at fairs, and taking money away from those who relied on clowning for a living. The part-timers then went back to their trades, leaving thin-pickings for the full-timers.

So how funny was the street clown? Here are some of his jokes so you can judge for yourself.

“A horse has ten legs: he has two fore legs and two hind legs – a total of ten”

“Why is the city of Rome [sic] like a candle? Because it’s in the midst of Greece.”

The street clown costume consisted of red striped stockings, full-trunks dotted red and block, and a tight top with full sleeves and frills. He wore a wig sewn into a white cap, and painted his face with grease then painted it white, coloring his lips and cheeks with vermillion.

He declined, however, to change at home as he strove to keep his trade a secret from his neighbours.  This poor fellow told Mayhew how playing the fool made him feel very sad at heart, but only had to think of the bare cupboards at home to carry on. But as Mayhew goes on to write, a few minutes after their interview he spotted the clown dressed up to perform:  Dancing and singing in the streets as if he was the lightest-hearted fellow in all London.

Who knows, perhaps my instinctive dislike of clowns springs from sensing their inner sadness.. 

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Detail: It's No Joke: The Life of a Victorian Street Clown

0 A Victorian Photographer: Tricks of the Trade

by Grace Elliot

My most recent bedtime reading is Henry Mayhew’s fascinating book London Labour and London Poor. First published in bound volumes between 1851-2, it is a fascinating glimpse into the lives of ordinary Victorians trying to scratch out a living. Mayhew's huge achievement is to create a written ‘snapshot’ of lives that would otherwise have been forgotten in the mists of time. I chose the word ‘snapshot’ deliberately, because the character that most recently caught my attention is the ‘Victorian photographer’. His name isn’t given, so let’s call him Mr. Snap.

Catherine Draper - 1839
One of the earliest known photographic portraits

This photographer tells with astonishing frankness of the antics and dodges Mr. Snap got up to.  Put simply, the man may not have been a good photographer, but he was certainly a talented salesman and had the gift of the gab. But let the man speak in his own words (as recorded by Mr Mayhew).

“I had a customer before I had even tried it [the camera] and so I tried it on him and give him a black picture (for I didn’t know how to make a portrait and it was all black when I took the glass out) and told him it would come bright as it dried. He went away happy delighted as anything.”

It seems the first weekend Mr. Snap opened his premises, he did a brisk trade taking “spotted and black” photographs for equally delighted customers. His tactic was to learn his trade on the job and seize trade while it was there. When he did a poor job the customer returned to complain, he simply took another portrait – which sometimes turned out better – “they had middling pictures for I picked it up quick.”

One customer posed smoking his pipe, not once, not twice, but three times – to be sent away each time with a black plate. Eventually the photographer’s will prevailed and the sitter appreciated that: “It’s the best he ever had took, for it don’t fade and will  stop black to the end of the world, though he remarks in that I deceived him in one thing, that it didn’t brighten.”

Frederick Langenheim -circa 1849
Note the hair: Highlights have been scratched out of the emulsion with a pin

Mr. Snap remains frank about why his portraiture was so poor. He reveals that when he bought the camera, the salesman showed how to use the device by taking his portrait and exposing the plate for 90 seconds. Our photographer friend then proceeded to take all subsequent pictures at an exposure of 90 seconds, regardless of whether it was bright sunlight or dusk. When, eventually, Mr. Snap realised his mistake (and it sounds as though this took a while), he at last referred to the instruction book (!)  and afterwards could take “a very tidy picture”.

Taking halfway decent photographs was good for trade, and the following spring he was taking upwards of 60 portraits a day! The photographer bemoaned that he lived in a religious neighbourhood and was therefore forced to close on a Sunday. Apparently the Sabbath was the best day for trade, because people had been paid the day before and had wages burning a hole in the workers' pockets.

The photographer was ingenious enough to maximise his profits with ‘add-on’ products. He invented the ‘American air-saver’, the purpose of which was to stop the photograph from fading. In actuality it was a piece of paper coated in varnish and applied to the back of the photograph. Trading on people’s gullibility, the air-saver was an instant success – although he did see a fall in sales when he renamed it a ‘London air-saver’, and swiftly reverted to the original name.

A photographer's studio in 1893.
Note the clamp to keep the subject's head steady during a long exposure

Another dodge was ‘brightening solution’, which it probably won’t surprise you to learn was water. The self-proclaimed ‘dodge’ was, when a client complained the picture was too dark,

“Why this isn’t like me there’s no picture at all” Then Jim says “It will be better as it dries and comes to your natural complexion.” If she grumbles, he offers to pass it through a brightening solution, which involves an extra fee.

With due deference the photographer passed the paper through water and then rolled it up, with instructions not to unroll until completely dry. If the client returned later to complain, he simply retook the picture and got yet more money out of them on the pretext of using superior chemicals.

And finally, taking and processing a photograph took time, but for those in a hurry, Mr. Snap had the answer. He simply took a photograph and then gave the sitter a picture he’d taken earlier. Frequently the dark and blurry image was so indistinct that the sitter didn’t realise the portrait was of someone else, and went away happy. This rouse failed once – when he gave an old woman a likeness featuring a man with a beard…


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Grace Elliot is a veterinarian, freelance writer, and author of historical romance. Her latest release, The Ringmaster's Daughter is a story of a determined young woman trying to survive in male dominated Georgian England.

Detail: A Victorian Photographer: Tricks of the Trade