JERRYVILLE. On every side the aspect was the same, LAST year, in the pages of our Magazine, I gave a short description of a visit to an old English town (Winchelsea), which had come, through ill fortune, to be but a small, insignificant, although picturesque and interesting, little place. It was a pleasant task to me to pen the thoughts and fancies that would arise at the contemplation of this hoary monument of the hard knocks and buffetings of fate, now dozing away its peaceful uninterrupted old age; quietly reposing from the toil of centuries gone by; high and dry above the hurrying tumultuous stream that, bearing on its mighty bosom the life and commerce of the nineteenth century, rushes with an irresistable and gigantic force out into the illimitable ocean of civilisation, progress, and wealth. There! that sounds well for a beginning, mellifluous and unctuous strains like these read well even if they mean, and are worth, nothing. We are justly proud of our civilisation, especially in Birmingham; we are peaceably and quietly governed, and our rulers take care" that all things may be so ordered and settled by their endeavours" that the people shall have no trouble in attaining this most estimable and laudable end-all they have to do is to put their hands into their pockets and, to use a local vulgarism, "part." Should Mr. Brown or Mr. Jones desire a fine wide street made anywhere—say from his residence to his place of business the thing is done. Mr. Smith complains of the lighting in his street, without a murmur, indeed with delightful alacrity, a handsome maroon and gold decorated gas lamp is placed before his door. Could it be possible for a Birmingham Town Council to be suspected of Imperialism, detestable thought, one would almost imagine that the late Emperor of the French had bequeathed and laid his purple mantle upon our governing body. We read of sumptuous furnishings, of palatial splendour in our public offices; of chairs that each cost almost a labourer's yearly income; of carpets that are of Oriental magnificence; and we are filled with admiration not unmingled with awe! How we are progressing! we have Board Schools in which, during the week, our children learn almost everything but refinement of manners and decent language; and in which on Sundays their parents can listen to Comic Lectures. Surely we are the greatest and wisest of people, the whole world must envy our greatness. So much for one side of the medal, let us turn to the other for awhile. Not more than four miles from that centre of magnificence, grandeur, and civilisation-our beautiful Council House-which is undoubtedly built upon the best and surest of foundations, is to be found a place that is certainly not so built. Jerryville stands, or rather totters, but a short distance from our midst, and it is unnecessary to give its real name as most of our readers have, perhaps, already guessed it. As a puny infant only just learning to walk, trembles and staggers with almost the same appearance of weakness as does decrepid old age, so does Jerryville appear like an old town almost before it is young, or at any rate before it is grown up. Not a respectable antiquity, like that of Winchelsea, but rather the senility of vice, of a gin-steeped, shattered, palsied youth prematurely ruined and decayed. The situation of this charming creation of the nineteenth century is quite appropriate, as it lies mostly in a hole, if not wholly, (no pun intended) for one literally tumbles into its borders whichever way one approaches it. The poor disconsolate victim of man's dishonest greed tries vainly to conceal its miserable state from the contemptuous pity of the visitor. Jerryville is a conglomeration of "eligible sites for building purposes," and, like the world when in a state of chaos, it is without form and (generally) void. Enterprising "jerry" builders, with a turn for philanthrophy deserving of every admiration, advertised some years ago they would erect commodious and delightful residences for their fellowcreatures without money and without price. "Fifty thousand bricks, gratis, and a splendid site" they cried, and not in vain. Impecunious although genteel persons came, saw, and (were) conquered. Villas of every size, shape, and dis-order of architecture, speedily appeared in every corner of Jerryville. The neighbouring suburbs, Gentsville, Hashgrove, 'Ampstead, and others, were alarmed for their own prestige-for a little time-and then, seeing that many of the houses in Jerryville never got beyond the first storey, and others lacked doors and windows, they took heart of grace once more and left their upstart neighbour to its fate. One might almost believe that in the olden days some facetious giant in his travels had stolen a town, and then pursuing his way had tired of his toy and thrown a few houses here and a few there-higgledy-piggledy, thus might Jerryville have come into existence. The surroundings of the place are beautiful: sweet Warwickshire lanes twine in and out between the fields and meadows; little babbling brooks run pleasantly along, and solemn oaks wave their long arms paternally over all their lesser brethren. On a hill not far away stands, half hidden in foliage, a fine old country church, whose stately spire has pointed heavenwards through long centuries, and round it rest in peace its vanished worshippers; over their graves in worn and faded characters are recorded the common fate and common faith of all who lie beneath. A little wider circle of houses and cottages, somewhat aloof from the churchyard, are grouped modestly, like timid children who gaze upon some fair picture but who dare not approach too near out of very bashfulness. What a contrast is here to that suburb in a hole beneath. Honest red cheeked houses, and humbler cottages with shaggy thatches, alike were builded by simple folk who knew not the guile and chicanery of the "jerry" builder; they have passed away, but their work remains to testify after them. Surely this is the highest form of art-comfort, comeliness, and strength, are all combined in one unpretending yet admirable whole. But we turn our faces away as from a garden of Eden, and see before us a dismal, blasted-heath. Here is no beauty nor brightness visible; the loveliness of nature has vanished, and, like those provoking enchanted palaces we read of in the fairy tales, left nothing but a few stones or withered leaves. Rows of half-finished "carcasses," roofless and windowless, appear on all sides. Some with the scaffolding still standing, and rotting where it stands; others with the doors and windows ready to be fixed just as they were months ago, when that Saturday morning's reckoning came, and with it no more money for the workmen. Abandoned to their fate by builders, mortgagees, would-be tenants, all alike hopelessly involved and bankrupt-these melancholy victims stand as patient monuments to their deity-Insolvency. The Others are mere skeletons through whose bare ribs we may see the wholesome country far beyond; these too were starved to death, or they died of the gruesome plague too common here—impecuniosity. great windowless frames glare menacingly as though "their souls were looking thro' their painted eyes with awful speculation;" they seem to beg to be razed to the earth from which they sprung, and so to cease being made a scorn and a by-word to every passer by— "Such earnest woe their features overcast, They might have stirr'd, or sigh'd, or wept, or spoken; Another row has been finished-so far as anything is finished in this wretched place-but never inhabited: windows are broken, doors tumbling from their hinges; the "cheap and nasty" stucco is peeling off the house fronts; door steps have fallen into chaotic ruin, and gate and gate posts have almost disappeared. Like Hood's "Haunted House" each was a dwelling place—and yet no habitation "No human figure stirr'd, to go or come, No face look'd forth from shut or open casement; No suburb of Paris after bombardment by the Prussian guns in the last war could have looked more hopeless, shattered, and forlorn, than Jerryville in its usual and normal aspect. But are there no habited houses, no population? Oh yes; here and there amidst the rows of shells and carcasses of houses we find one inhabited. There is generally a "To Let" bill in the window, as of course no human being lives here any longer than he is obliged-say, the time it generally takes for a bankrupt, or a private-liquidation man, to have his affairs arranged. The blinds are generally drawn fully downnot necessarily from any death within, but simply because there is very little furniture in the rooms. No jury would convict a man of murder who pleaded in defence he had lived in Jerryville six months before the perpetration of the deed— "Justifiable homicide" would be the only possible verdict under the circumstances. I can conceive nothing more probable than the following results if I were to reside here for-say three months at one time :— I should, after a week or two's sojourn, lie in wait behind a hedge provided with a good supply of bricks-a common commodity in Jerryville-and when I saw an unprotected child of tender years passing pounce out, dash out his brains with a brick; and then conceal his remains in the nearest house, this would be the work of a moment. If I went to church (an improbable event however) when the plate came round I should à la "the good young man who died, my friends," put in a (bad) sixpence, and take out a (good) "bob." During the sermon I should whistle audibly "We are a merry family," or some other very secular air. I should take a fiendish delight in tripping up blind and infirm old people, and then politely proceed to ask them "where are you a shoving to?" These, and other kindred pursuits would be the inevitable outcome of a short stay in this cheerful and salubrious locality. There are one or two shops in Jerryville, these sell such articles as even its degraded inhabitants find it difficult to do without, such as red herrings, coal, and grand pianos. I need hardly say there is no pawnbroker's establishment here; the inhabitants would be very glad of "uncle's" assistance, but unfortunately they have nothing to pledge. Such are the principal features of unlovely Jerryville-this sham and mockery of a town-and a place more disgraceful to our boasted civilisation it would be difficult to discover. Instead of comfort, solidity and beauty, we find only pretence, flimsiness, and tawdry vulgarity. No Syrian village, with its vermin-covered, ragged, backsheesh demanding inhabitants, but can show more substantial and genuine dwellings; these, though but of mud, are after a fashion habitable, they have lasted hundreds of years, and will some of them be in existence long after the fragile creations of the jerry builder have crumbled away and altogether disappeared. I should not omit to mention there is a west end even in Jerryville, for not far from the railway station are to be found a few houses occupied by the élite of the vicinity; these last are fairly habitable and-barring a general tendency on the part of each gate post to lean affectionately towards its vis-à-vis, and a few rather alarming fissures in the walls, such as are common in houses out Tipton or Wednesbury way— are almost respectable. Some faint attempts at art are displayed here, chiefly in the way of stained glass borders to the windows, but as the colours are invariably of glaring blue, red, or yellow, without pattern of any kind-for that would cost money-the effect is not very pleasing to the stranger. Jerryville is not altogether bad, a certain halo of culture and refinement is just at this moment resting upon its precincts—a real live poet has made a home here. Perhaps the last thing one would associate with this place would be poetry of any kind, but in spite of unfavourable and dismal surroundings, the divine muse has, if indeed no shrine, at least an ardent and fervent votary to do her honour A Mr. Higgs has produced, so I learn from advertisements recently in our newspapers, a very original poem, bearing title "The Vicar of Wakefield (by Oliver Goldsmith), reproduced in rhyme." Not having seen this modest production of Jerryville's poet-laureate I know not its merits, but, for splendid audacity, not to say impudence, this gentleman should bear the palm against all competitors. We await with fear and trembling the next astounding proof of his genius and versatile originality. There being but one road into Jerryville it follows, perforce, that by that same way the visitor must depart; a few strangers, however, feeling that anything were preferable to gazing once more upon this "chamber of horrors," are in the habit of leaping a ditch or two, rushing up the railway bank that forms one of the natural boundaries of the place, and then are seen to flee across the line, and down into a labyrinth of narrow and unknown lanes. A violent death beneath the wheels of a locomotive engine has no terrors for them to equal the going back through Jerryville's haunted roads. Perhaps some day, when our great men can spare a little time from the burning questions of the day; when Egypt, and even Ireland, cease to monopolise all their energies, they will look into this matter of jerry or dishonest building, and endeavour, by stringent laws and heavy penalties, to prevent and deter unprincipled rogues from erecting sham habitations for their fellow men to dwell in, making their lives more unlovely, wretched and degraded than they need to be. It should be made impossible for an inoffensive and innocent being to be able to distinctly hear a match struck, a door slam, or a conjugal misunderstanding some five or six doors away; and it ought to be possible for him to drive a nail in on his side of the wall without knocking out those in his neighbour's. To rich and well-to-do people this matters not; they can choose well-built and substantial homes. But there are thousands who cannot do so, these must take what is offered them without option. These hopes and desires are only Utopian, I fear, and not destined to be realised very soon, and so, pending the arrival of the milennium, we must wait patiently for that good time which, although long delayed will come at last. W. H. T. |