Ale, Bars And Spirits: The Rowdy History of Moor Row
As the Montreal and Jacktrees mines hit their peak production, the village population exploded. With that surge of miners, railwaymen, and transient workers came a wave of "frontier justice," colourful misdemeanours, and occasionally, genuine industrial sabotage.
A Village Under Pressure
The crime reports from this era offer a fascinating window into the "social pressure cooker" of Victorian Moor Row. Life was hard, physical, and dangerous. When the men came up from the deep seams of iron ore, they often headed straight to the Moor Row Hotel or one of the many local lodging houses.
In a community where hundreds of men were squeezed into tight terrace rows, it didn't take much to spark a "shindy." Whether it was a disagreement over a shared clothesline or a "sporting" wrestling match that turned into a full-scale riot, the local constables – like the frequently mentioned P.C. Henderson – certainly had their work cut out for them.
From Poaching to Politics
The "crimes" of the era tell us a lot about the struggles of the working class. We see cases of:
- Survival: The "Pit-Prop Purloinners" and coal thieves who were simply trying to keep their cottages warm during bitter Cumbrian winters.
- Recreation: Illegal "pigeon tosses," quoit matches that ended in broken windows, and the ever-present trouble caused by "bootleg" ginger beer with a suspicious kick.
- Industrial Friction: The famous 1884 Dynamite Outrage, where a miner was accused of trying to blow up a mine manager's house, showing just how high tensions could run between the "pit bosses" and the men underground.
The Changing Face of Crime
As we moved toward 1899, the nature of the village began to shift. The arrival of the bicycle – and eventually the first motor-car – introduced the concept of "speeding" to the village streets. Pranks evolved from turnip-headed ghosts on Scalegill Road to youths placing stones on the railway lines.
These archives remind us that the history of Moor Row isn't just about the tonnage of ore pulled from the ground; it’s about the people who lived, fought, and occasionally "bent" the law in the shadow of the winding gear.
From the high-stakes "Dynamite Outrage" that reached the halls of Parliament to the trivial "Battle of the Backyard" over a shared clothesline, these stories capture the raw, unvarnished character of Moor Row during its peak years. They reveal a village defined by hard work, fierce loyalties, and a colourful – if sometimes lawless – approach to Victorian life.
1880
The Great Christmas Eve Affray (1880)
In September 1880, the courts dealt with a particularly lively incident involving the McGarr brothers, John and James. The pair were charged with a serious assault on P.C. Henderson in Moor Row. The struggle was so "determined" that the officer was reportedly kicked and beaten while attempting to keep the peace near the railway station. The McGarrs were part of a larger group of miners who frequently clashed with authority; they were eventually sentenced to hard labour, a common "cure" for rowdiness in the Victorian era.
The Picket-Line Peril (1880)
In November 1880, during a period of tension over tonnage rates, a miner named Michael O'Leary was charged with "intimidation" near the entrance to the Montreal Mine. He had reportedly brandished a heavy pick-handle at a fellow worker who intended to descend the pit. O'Leary argued it was a "friendly warning" about the state of the roof, but the witness testified that O'Leary had threatened to "crack him like a Cumbrian cobnut." He was fined 20s plus costs.
1881
The "Wrestling" Match Gone Wrong (1881)
In the summer of 1881, Edward "Ned" Burney and Patrick Donoghue decided to settle a workplace grievance through a traditional Cumbrian wrestling match behind the terrace rows. However, the "sporting" nature of the event evaporated when Donoghue allegedly used his boots rather than his hands. The police were called when the "match" turned into a full-scale riot involving several neighbours. Burney was left with "fearful contusions," and Donoghue was hauled before the Cleator Moor Petty Sessions, where the Chairman remarked that Moor Row was becoming "notorious for such savagery."
The Moor Row Junction "Shindy" (1881)
In August 1881, the platform at Moor Row Junction was the scene of what the Whitehaven News called a "most unseemly shindy." Two miners, Thomas McAllister and John Quinn, were returning from a day out when they took exception to being told they couldn’t board a departing train while carrying open jars of ale. When the railway porter intervened, Quinn reportedly "offered to settle the matter with his fists," leading to a brawl that spilled across the tracks. Both men were fined 10 shillings – a significant sum at the time – for "riotous behaviour" on the railway premises.
The "Poaching" Pit-Pony (1881)
In a most unusual case, a miner named Isaac Dixon was charged with "trespass and larceny" on farmland near the Montreal Mine. Dixon had been using a retired pit-pony to carry bags of "strayed" turnips from a private field. The pony, having spent years underground, was remarkably quiet in the dark, allowing Dixon to move nearly half a ton of produce before a farmhand noticed the silhouette of the animal. The magistrate fined Dixon 10s, but remarked that the pony was "clearly the more silent partner in the crime.
1882
The Sunday School Saboteur (1882)
In April 1882, a young man named John "Jack" Satterthwaite was brought before the magistrates for a most "ungodly" disturbance. While the local children were attending their Sunday School lesson, Jack decided it was the opportune moment to stand outside the window and perform what was described as "a series of grotesque dances accompanied by profane whistling." When the teacher asked him to move on, Jack reportedly offered to "fight the lot of them." The court was not amused by his lack of piety; he was fined 5 shillings and told that any further dancing would be done on the treadmill at Carlisle Gaol.
The Counterfeit Florin (1882)
In 1882, a local shopkeeper in Moor Row alerted the authorities after a "suspiciously light" silver florin was passed over the counter. The trail led to a lodger named David Jenkins, who was found with a small mould and several lead slugs in his room. Jenkins claimed he was "experimenting with alchemy," but the Cleator Moor magistrates were less than impressed by his scientific pursuits. He was sent to the sessions for "uttering base coin" and received three months' imprisonment.
1883
The Montreal Mine "Candle Caper" (1883)
In October 1883, Thomas Higgins, a young labourer, was charged with the theft of several pounds of tallow candles from the stores of the Montreal Mine. In the days before widespread electricity, candles were a precious commodity both underground and at home. Higgins was spotted leaving the pit-head with a suspiciously bulging jacket. When challenged by the foreman, he claimed he was simply "keeping them dry," but the court noted he had enough wax to light his cottage for a year. He was sentenced to seven days' hard labour, a steep price for a few bits of tallow.
The Sunday "Quoit" Quarrel (1883)
Quoits was a popular pastime amongst the West Cumbrian miners, but in July 1883, a match behind the terraced rows turned sour. Robert Forster and Thomas Bell became embroiled in a dispute over a "ringer." The argument escalated until Forster used a heavy iron quoit as a projectile, narrowly missing Bell’s head but shattering a nearby window. Forster was fined for "disorderly conduct" and "malicious damage," with the judge noting that the Sabbath was no day for "lethal athletics."
The Dynamite "Souvenir" (1883)
Following a shift change at the Jacktrees Mine, a night watchman discovered that several blasting caps and a short length of fuse were missing. A search of local lodgings led to the discovery of the items on the mantelpiece of a young Cornish miner, William Treloar. He claimed he wanted a "souvenir of the Cumbrian rock" to send home. The authorities, sensitive to the danger of mining explosives in residential rows, sentenced him to 14 days, noting that such souvenirs could easily "level a street."
1884
The "Coney" Catchers (1884)
Poaching was practically a local sport in West Cumbria, and Moor Row was no exception. In 1884, William Bewley and Joseph Graham were caught red-handed on land owned by the Earl of Lonsdale. They were found with nets and "ferrets in bags," looking for rabbits (then commonly called "conies"). Despite their protestations that they were merely "taking a walk," the local magistrates didn't buy the story. They were fined heavily – a significant blow to a miner’s weekly wage.
The Dynamite Outrage (1884)
The most high-stakes case of the era involved Patrick France, a miner from the Moor Row/Cleator district. In August 1884, he was arrested for an "alleged attempt to murder" Thomas Moffatt, a prominent mines manager. The weapon? A charge of mining dynamite intended to blow up the manager’s premises. The case became a national sensation when it reached the House of Commons. Interestingly, France was eventually acquitted after it was revealed that the police had planted a "decoy" constable in his cell to try and coax a confession. The village was left divided, with many miners seeing France as a folk hero who had stood up to the "pit bosses."
The Railway Bridge "Snipers" (1884)
In the summer of 1884, several drivers on the Whitehaven, Cleator, and Egremont Railway complained of being pelted with "projectiles" while passing under the Moor Row bridges. A police stakeout caught three local youths using "shale-slings" to fire pieces of iron ore at the passing engines. While the boys claimed they were "target practising," the court warned that a strike to a driver's head could cause a catastrophe. They were sentenced to a "private birching" by the Sergeant.
1885
The Pit-Prop Purloiner (1885)
Fuel was a constant concern for Victorian households. In the winter of 1885, Robert "Bobby" Atkinson was spotted by a night watchman at the Montreal Mine "scuttling" away with a massive piece of timber. It turned out Bobby had been systematically "borrowing" pit props to use as firewood for his cottage in Moor Row. His defence was that the wood was "lying about doing nothing," but the mining company disagreed, noting that the props were essential for keeping the earth from falling on miners' heads. He received seven days' imprisonment for his "warmth-seeking" activities.
The "Vanishing" Coal Wagon (1885)
In the bitter winter of 1885, a railway guard noticed that a coal wagon stationed at the Moor Row sidings was significantly lighter than when it had left the pit-head. A midnight watch revealed a local man, Henry "Harry" Mossop, systematically unloading coal into a wheelbarrow. Mossop claimed the coal was "spillage" from the tracks, but the sheer volume suggested otherwise. He was sentenced to ten days' hard labour for "larceny of minerals."
1886
The Case of the Missing Geese (1886)
In December 1886, just before the festive season, Isaac Thompson, a local miner, was charged with the theft of two geese from a farmstead on the outskirts of the village. The evidence was particularly damning: a trail of feathers led from the farmer's coop directly to Thompson’s back door. Thompson claimed he had "found them wandering and was merely keeping them safe," but the magistrates weren't convinced by his sudden interest in animal welfare. He was sentenced to fourteen days with hard labour.
The Great "Bacon Bolt" (1886)
A local grocer in Moor Row reported the theft of a whole side of bacon that had been hanging outside his shop to cure. The thief, Thomas "Tucker" Quinn, was apprehended three streets away, struggling to run while carrying the heavy meat over his shoulder. In court, Quinn argued that he thought the bacon had "fallen" and he was merely "delivering it to a place of safety." The judge, noting Quinn's history of "accidental finds," sentenced him to a month of hard labour.
1887
The "Poacher's Posse" at Galemire (1887)
Moor Row's proximity to the Galemire area made it a prime spot for nighttime excursions. In 1887, a group of four men – led by the notorious "Red" Jack Murphy – were intercepted by gamekeepers in the early hours. They were found in possession of several "long nets" and a collection of lurchers. Rather than flee, Murphy allegedly attempted to argue the legal definition of "trespass" with the keepers while his accomplices tried to hide the rabbits in a stone wall. The magistrate was unimpressed by Murphy’s "layman’s law" and fined the group 40 shillings collectively.
The Scalegill Road "Ghost" Unmasked (1887)
A "ghost" appeared on the Scalegill Road in 1887. This time, however, the "spirit" was found to be a local youth, Peter McShane, who had hollowed out a turnip and placed a candle inside to terrify passing pit-ponies. The prank resulted in a pony bolting and damaging a mining cart. McShane was given a "stern admonition" and his father was ordered to pay for the repairs to the cart.
1888
The "Spirit" of the Scalegill Road (1888)
In a strange crossover between crime and the supernatural, Joseph Graham was brought before the bench for "impersonating a spectre." He had been scaring late-night travellers on the road to Bigrigg by wearing a white sheet and jumping out of the hedges. While it started as a prank, it became a criminal matter when he caused a horse-drawn cart to bolt, nearly injuring the driver. The judge told him that while the "spirit world might be mysterious, the law was very clear," and fined him 5 shillings for being a public nuisance.
The "False" Foreman (1888)
In 1888, a man named Robert Vance was charged with fraud after he entered a Moor Row alehouse and successfully "collected" a shilling from each miner present, claiming he was the new foreman's clerk raising a fund for a "widow’s pension." It was later discovered that Vance had no connection to the mine and the "widow" was entirely fictional. He was caught at Whitehaven station attempting to board a train for Carlisle.
1889
The Railway Station Scuffle (1889)
The Moor Row railway junction was a frequent flashpoint for trouble. In May 1889, Anthony Gallagher was charged with assaulting the station master. Gallagher had reportedly taken exception to being told he couldn't board a train while carrying a "highly offensive and leaking" sack of animal hides. When the station master intervened, Gallagher swung the sack like a flail, hitting the official and covering the platform in what the newspaper described as "vile-smelling refuse." Gallagher was fined 10s plus costs for his "odorous outburst."
The Railway Station "Sack of Hides" (1889)
Moor Row Junction was a major transport hub, and in May 1889, it was the site of a truly bizarre altercation. Anthony Gallagher was charged with assaulting the station master after being told he couldn't board a passenger carriage while carrying a "highly offensive and leaking" sack of raw animal hides. When the official intervened, Gallagher reportedly swung the sack like a flail, hitting the station master and covering the platform in what was described as "vile-smelling refuse." Gallagher was fined 10s plus costs for his "odorous outburst."
1890
The Great Lodging House Larceny (1890)
With the population peak, many miners lived in packed lodging houses. In 1890, Timothy O’Sullivan, a "transient" worker, was charged with stealing a pair of boots and a silver watch from a fellow lodger, William Jenkinson, while the latter slept. O’Sullivan was caught the next morning at the Whitehaven docks, reportedly wearing the stolen boots which were "three sizes too small" for him. His hobbled gait was what gave him away to the local constable. The judge remarked that stealing from a sleeping comrade was the "lowest form of villainy."
The Lodging House "Laundry" Row (1890)
A dispute at a packed lodging house on the "Front Row" led to the arrest of Mary O'Shea for "assault with a deadly weapon." During a row over whose turn it was to use the communal copper for washing, Mary reportedly struck a fellow lodger with a heavy wooden "dolly" (a laundry tool). The police had to intervene to prevent a general riot amongst the Irish mining families living there. Mary was fined 5s and told to "keep her dolly for the tub."
1891
The Railway Refreshment Room Riot (1891)
Moor Row Junction was a busy transit point, but in February 1891, it became a battleground. A group of ironworkers, reportedly "refreshed" by a long stint at a Whitehaven pub, took exception to the quality of the tea served at the station. The disagreement escalated when one man, William Vance, threw a ceramic teapot at the wall, declaring it "unfit for a Christian." P.C. Henderson, a familiar face in village reports, had to be called in to restore order. Vance was fined for "wilful damage" and cautioned that the railway was for transport, not for culinary critiques.
The "Bootleg" Ginger Beer (1891)
Not all illegal drinking involved ale. In 1891, a Moor Row woman named Sarah Jane Miller was cautioned for selling "fermented liquors" without a licence. It turned out her homemade ginger beer had "developed a kick" that was popular with off-duty miners. While Sarah claimed it was a "healthy tonic," the local inspector found the alcohol content to be closer to that of a strong cider. Her "tonic" business was shut down, much to the disappointment of the village.
1892
The Clothesline Thief (1892)
In August 1892, a minor scandal rocked the village when Elizabeth Riley was apprehended for "larceny of wearing apparel." She had allegedly made off with a chemise, a pair of stockings, and a silk handkerchief from a washing line behind one of the terraced rows. In a small village like Moor Row, the theft of one’s Sunday best was a grave social offence. She was traced after trying to sell the items in Whitehaven and was subsequently sent to the "house of correction."
The Picket-Wire Peril (1892)
During a brief industrial dispute in 1892, a "malicious person" stretched a length of thin iron wire across the main path used by the "knobsticks" (strike-breakers) to reach the Montreal Mine. P.C. Armstrong discovered the wire just before the morning shift arrived. A local youth, Edward Kelly, was seen lurking nearby and was subsequently charged. Though he denied it, the court found the wire matched a coil in his father's backyard. He was fined 40s – a massive sum intended to deter further sabotage.
1893
High Stakes at the "Pigeon Toss" (1893)
Illegal gambling was a persistent headache for the local constabulary. In 1893, P.C. Armstrong staged a "sting" on a group of men engaged in a "pigeon toss" (a form of gambling on bird racing) in a field near the Jacktrees Mine. While most of the group scattered, William "Wiggy" Routledge was apprehended. He was found with a pocket full of betting slips and several "agitated birds" in his coat. Routledge argued that he was simply "exercising his pets," but the court found him guilty of illegal gaming and fined him 20 shillings – a king's ransom for a labourer at the time.
1894
The Montreal Mine "Scrap Metal" Sting (1894)
Mining equipment was expensive and frequently went missing. In 1894, a local man named Robert Bell was apprehended by the mine's night watchman while trying to wheel a barrow full of "heavy iron fittings" away from the Montreal Mine. Bell’s defence was that he was merely "clearing up the path" for the safety of other miners. However, the magistrate pointed out that the fittings were brand new and destined for a local foundry. He was sentenced to one month's hard labour at Carlisle Gaol for his "altruistic" cleaning efforts.
The "Gleaming" Watch Thief (1894)
In 1894, a minor sensation occurred when a silver pocket watch, belonging to a mining official, went missing from the changing rooms at Jacktrees Mine. Suspicion fell on a new recruit, James Kelly, who was seen "checking the time" with a new-found frequency. When the watch was recovered from Kelly’s lodgings in Moor Row, he claimed he had found it in the mud and was "polishing it up for the owner." The bench at Cleator Moor Petty Sessions didn't buy the "good Samaritan" act; Kelly was sentenced to 21 days in gaol.
The Jacktrees "Tool Box" Theft (1894)
In August 1894, a master sinker at the Jacktrees Mine reported his leather tool bag missing. It contained several specialized chisels and a brass spirit level. The items were later found in a Whitehaven pawn shop, having been traded by a "transient labourer" named Arthur Boyd. Boyd was apprehended at the railway station and sentenced to two months' hard labour, the judge remarking that "stealing a man's tools is stealing his livelihood."
1895
The "Moor Row Hotel" Melee (1895)
Public houses were often the stage for Moor Row’s most dramatic police reports. In 1895, Thomas M’Gullion was brought before the bench for being "drunk and incapable" and for "disorderly conduct" at the Moor Row Hotel. The report describes M’Gullion as being in a "helpless state of intoxication," having been ejected from the premises only to try and fight his way back in. This was a peak period for the village’s pubs, which served as the primary social outlets for the hundreds of men living in cramped lodging houses.
The "Clockwork" Dog (1895)
In a strange case of Victorian animal cruelty and public nuisance, a man named Arthur Blenkinsopp was charged with "disturbing the peace" after he attached a series of loud, clattering tin cans to a stray dog’s tail using a "mechanical clockwork release." The terrified animal ran through the village at midnight, causing residents to believe a steam engine had derailed. Blenkinsopp claimed it was a "scientific experiment," but was fined 10s for his "cruel and foolish conduct."
1896
The "Bicycle Menace" (1896)
As the 20th century approached, new technologies brought new crimes. In 1896, Arthur Penrice became one of the first men in Moor Row to be "booked" for a traffic offence. He was charged with "riding a bicycle at a furious pace" through the village streets, endangering several pedestrians and a stray dog. The constable testified that Penrice was "pedalling with such vigour that he could not possibly have stopped for a child." This "scorching" (the Victorian term for speeding) cost him a 2s 6d fine, a warning that the "iron steed" must be tamed.
The "Scorching" Butcher (1896)
Following Arthur Penrice’s bicycle offence, the "menace of speed" continued. In 1896, a butcher's delivery boy, George Lawson, was charged with "driving a horse and trap at a furious pace" through Moor Row. The constable stated that Lawson was "lashing the horse to a gallop" to finish his rounds early. The boy’s employer was fined 5s, and Lawson was warned that the village streets were not a "racecourse for mutton."
1897
The Midnight Window Smasher (1897)
In January 1897, Jane Ann M’Cartney appeared in court for a "wilful and malicious" attack on the windows of a cottage in Moor Row. The report suggests Jane Ann was in a "state of high excitement" following a dispute over a borrowed kettle. She reportedly used a large stone to "vandalise the panes" while the occupants were asleep. The Bench was particularly unimpressed by her "voluble and unrepentant" language in the dock, and she was ordered to pay for the repairs or face a stint in Carlisle Gaol.
The "Vanishing" Garden Gate (1897)
During the 1897 "Moor Row Fair" night, a series of thefts occurred where iron garden gates were removed from their hinges. The gates were eventually found piled up at the bottom of a disused air-shaft near the railway. Two young miners, James Bell and "Wiggy" Routledge (of pigeon-toss fame), were caught attempting to move the heavy metal to a scrap dealer. They claimed it was a "New Year’s lark," but were charged with larceny.
1898
The Battle of the Backyard (1898)
In 1898, Mary Jane Higgins and Martha Ann Kelly, both of Moor Row, appeared in court following a "spirited" disagreement over a shared clothesline. The argument escalated until Mary Jane reportedly "seized a bucket of suds and discharged it over Mrs. Kelly." Mrs. Kelly retaliated with a "heavy fire shovel." The magistrate, clearly exhausted by the triviality, told them both to "go home and behave like Christian women," though he did fine Mary Jane 1s for the initial "sud-based assault."
The Scalegill Road "Dog Fight" (1898)
In May 1898, the peace of Scalegill Road was shattered by a dispute between two neighbours, Margaret Flynn and Eliza Benson. The issue began when Flynn’s terrier allegedly "insulted" Benson’s prize-winning poultry. The verbal spat turned physical when a broom was brandished, and a passing constable found the two women in a "spirited wrestling match" in the middle of the road. The magistrate, perhaps tired of the village's frequent domestic squabbles, dismissed the case with a warning to "keep the dogs leashed and the tempers cooled."
The "Clockwork" Swindle (1898)
In 1898, a travelling salesman was brought before the bench after selling several "gold" watches to miners in a Moor Row pub. The watches, it transpired, were made of polished brass and stopped working within twenty-four hours. One miner, having taken his watch apart, found the "jewelled movement" was actually made of tin. The salesman was charged with "obtaining money by false pretences" and ordered to refund every penny.
1899
Obstruction of the Iron Highway (1899)
Toward the end of the century, the railway – the lifeblood of the mines – became a focus for crime. John Tinnion, a young lad from the village, was charged in 1899 with "placing stones upon the line" of the Whitehaven, Cleator, and Egremont Railway at Moor Row. While it was likely a youthful prank, the authorities took it incredibly seriously due to the risk of derailing ore trains. The boy's father was made to pay a fine, and John was given a "stern admonition" (and likely a birch rod) by the local Sergeant.
The "Steam-Whistle" Nuisance (1899)
As the century drew to a close, industrial noise became a point of legal contention. In 1899, a local resident brought a complaint against a traction engine driver, Samuel Thorne, who had been "recklessly sounding his whistle" while passing through the village at 5:00 am. Thorne argued he was simply "greeting the morning shift," but the court ruled that his "excessive enthusiasm" was a public nuisance. He was fined 1 shilling, marking one of the earliest "noise pollution" cases in the village’s history.
The New Year’s Eve Brawl (1899)
As the century closed, the Moor Row Hotel was the site of a massive brawl involving over a dozen men. The dispute reportedly began over a "toast to the new century" that was deemed insulting by a rival group. Furniture was smashed and several "fearful contusions" were dealt before the police could restore order. Three men were eventually hauled to the cells, ensuring they spent the first morning of 1900 behind bars.
The Century’s End "Scorcher" (1899)
As 1899 drew to a close, the village’s first "motor-car" made an appearance. The driver, a wealthy visitor from Whitehaven, was "booked" by the Moor Row constable for "causing a terror to horses." While not a crime of theft or violence, the event marked the end of the Victorian era. The driver was fined for "travelling at a speed exceeding the pace of a walking man" without a red flag, signaling the arrival of a new, faster, and more regulated century.
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| The Spirit Of Scalegill Illustration |
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