1779 AD - William Hutton & Molly Smeaton

I stood on top of Edgbaston Observatory, a hundred feet above the terraced roofs; old Ladywood below me and the tall towers of the 'new town' all around. The Time Machine was set for '190 years ago' and when I pressed the button the meteorological instruments above me, and everything else that was familiar, vanished : the stonework of the tower itself looked new.

To the north, where the great reservoir had been, there was only a small pool. Beyond it I could see Summerfield House amid trees, and then the Heath. It was so bare that Soho Pool in the Hockley Brook valley was just visible. The roofs of the great Works, and the chimney of the Watts engine-house could be seen.

On Handsworth Heath Boulton's white Soho Hall looked down on his Manufactory and Hockley Great Pool below. Westward stretched a landscape of small hedged fields, and a line of willows showed where Shireland Brook ran.

Winding across the Heath towards me was the narrow Brindley Cut : several boats were having trouble getting round the very sharp bend nearby. I was looking towards Birmingham, hoping to make out St. Philip's Church in the smoke, when my eye was caught by a movement below.

A tall, stout man was gazing up at the tower : I recognised him as William Hutton, who wrote the first history of Birmingham. This was the right year, so perhaps he was making the perambulation of the parish that is described in his book. If so, he had left the boundary of Birmingham and come into Edgbaston to look at Perrott's Folly.

When he turned and set off for Road Pool at a brisk pace, I hurried down the spiral stairs and ran after him. He was hard to keep up with : I could well believe that he had walked to Scotland and back ! Skirting the pool, he marched westwards beside Rotton Park Brook. On the rise ahead lay the Lodge in its garden.

Just before we reached the rutted lane that led to it, which is now called Rotton Park Road, Hutton turned away from the brook along a field-path: there was a stile at every hedge we passed. A bridle-path that would be called Stanmore Road a century later crossed ours. It came from the Two-Mile Stump tollgate on the Hagley Turnpike : the keeper's cottage could just be seen, at the meeting with the lane now known as Sandon Road.

I knew the names and places because I had a copy of John Snape's map, drawn only a year before. We passed a miry patch where a spring bubbled out, and crossed the grass of what is today the schools' playing field. Just beyond the site of our school, Hutton doffed his tricorne hat to a bonnetted young woman who stood at a farm gate.

Hutton: Good day ma'am. My name is Hutton, William Hutton, bookseller and historian, at your service.

Molly: Molly Smeaton, sir, at yours. But we don't want any books!

Hutton: You mistake me, Mistress Smeaton. I am not here to sell books, but to write one. See, my notebook.

Molly: What could you find to write about here?

Hutton: This, ma'am, is to be part of my 'History of Birmingham to the Year 1780'. I am now perambulating the bounds of Birmingham Parish and noting what I see.

Molly: Perambulating, sir? What is that?

Hutton: It means walking along them, ma'am. Pray tell me, what is the name of this farm?

Molly: Why, it's Rotton Park Farm, and my husband Daniel, is tenant.

Hutton: It is strange how well that name has lasted. This ground has not been a Park for some two hundred years.

Molly: Do you say so? Well!

Hutton: Tell me, if you will, the bounds of your farm.

Mrs. Smeaton pointed out to him the hedges that marked the limits of Rotton Park Farm. Today they are marked by Selsey Road and the west end of Ridgeway, on the west side, and by the line of Stanmore Road North and Ravenshaw Road on the east. The northern end was Shireland Brook.

Hutton: I am obliged to you ma'am. Your house, I observe, is in St. Bart's parish, though much of your land is in St. Martin's.

Molly: That's right, sir. We have to pay part of the tithe to both parishes, and Poor Rate too! Tell me, sir, about these Streets Commissioners, I've heard of. Will we have to pay Highway Rate to them?

Hutton: No, Mistress Smeaton, not yet - though it may happen! The Act that set up the Commission restricted its powers to the town only, not to the whole parish. That was eleven years ago, and the Commissioners, of whom I am one, have had some success in clearing and improving the streets, which we have also provided with lamps. This has not been done without expense and difficulty: many of the townsfolk would rather have no government at all than pay even for the most necessary improvements. Yet without them the traffic of the town would soon have become quite impossible, so much obstructed are the streets and so uneven in level. However, ma'am, for the present your country lanes are not our concern, and our officers will not call upon you for payment.

Molly: Daniel is forever complaining about the Hagley Turnpike, and he says the Dudley one is worse. Are they your concern, Mr. Hutton?

Hutton: Ma'am, words fail me when I think about those roads. To take tolls from their users is highway robbery! But, alas, except for those parts that lie within the Commissioners' authority, we have no power to improve or demand improvement by the Companies. Were it not for the late Brindley's Canal Navigation, which is itself far from satisfactory, our town would be cut off from the world for months of every year because the so-called highways to and from it are unusable.

Molly: Is all this going into your book, sir?

Hutton: My book ! Ah, your pardon ma'am. When I think of the evils by which the town of my adoption is beset I forget what I am about ! Pray tell me, how is the border of the parishes marked ?

Molly: It isn't marked at all, except by that path you're on, and so few walk that, that it's likely to get overgrown and forgotten. But there's no doubt when you go into Harborne Parish, over to the west there, for to get into Smethwick you have to cross the Shireland Brook. Don't try it though, Mr. Hutton - it's a bog all the way from the Bear to the Cape of Good Hope!

Hutton: Your pardon, ma'am, I am not acquainted with those names.

Molly: Why, they're inns, sir. To get to the Bear you go along Bearwood Lane from the Two-Mile Stump: but at the crossing of the brook the lane is so worn that it's more like a river than a road. Daniel says the lane will have to be raised on a causeway to keep it dry : but I can't see him and the others hereabout doing the work! Take my advice, sir, leave that part of your walk until we've had a six-week drought, not a wet summer like this !

Hutton: Thank you ma'am, I will strike north for the Dudley Road, then. But first, pray tell me the name of that farm over there to the west.

Molly: That is Beaks Farm, where the Mottrams live.

Hutton: And what is the next farm to the east of you?

Molly: That's all the Lodge Farm. It used to be old Mr. Perrott's house and home farm. But his grandson, Mr. Perrott-Noel, sold it three years ago. The old Hinckley place, Summerfield, is sold up too. But I can't stop here talking - I've got cows to milk, butter to make, and chickens and children to feed!

Hutton: Good day, Mistress Smeaton, and my thanks again.