A Sink of Atrocity: Crime in 19th-Century Dundee (13 page)

Despite some starting work at an early age, despite the growing influence of the state that saw universal schooling, despite the genuine work of charities, there were always gangs of children and youths infesting the Dundee streets. They can be seen in most urban Victorian photographs, either standing in menacing groups or as blurred images passing by. To the citizens of Dundee there was nothing blurred about their presence, and they often faced theft, intimidation and sometimes assault by these groups of youths.

Although there were professional thieves in Dundee, most thefts were crimes of opportunity as people living on the borders of society saw a chance to enrich themselves at the expense of others. One place where gangs of potential thieves were commonly found was the Dundee docks, for there were usually ships being unloaded. Any goods left unattended on the quay were an obvious temptation for a hungry thief. One such instance occurred in April 1845 when the brig
Commodore Napier
was in the graving dock to be re-coppered.

When the old copper had been stripped off the brig it was packed away into casks, which in this case were carelessly left on the quay – a fact that was soon ascertained by a nine-strong gang of young teenagers. Rather than just diving in, the gang organised themselves into small groups, with some posted as look-outs for the harbour police and others stealing as much copper as they could carry. In all the gang took away about twelve pounds of copper, some of which they sold to a rag merchant and some to a brass founder.

The youths still had around six pounds weight left when the harbour officials William Gordon and Thomas Rennie found them at the rear of a foundry in Trades Lane. As was usual in such cases, the gang scattered in different directions but Gordon and Rennie caught one unfortunate boy. Possibly due to a combination of threats and promises, or perhaps because the names were well known, the officers discovered six other culprits and dragged them to the Police Court. Mr Thoms, the Dean of Guild, was the judge and awarded sentences from ten to thirty days each. However, he also made a pointed comment that the people who bought the obviously stolen goods were equally guilty if apparently respectable.

Although juveniles were often the perpetrators, sometimes the victims were also young, as in the case of Daniel Dakers.

In July 1874 Daniel Dakers began work with the grocery firm of Lindsay and Low, of Hilltown. He was twelve years old, fairly intelligent and as a messenger boy he ran around town with orders for various customers. Daniel settled into his new job quite quickly, but after a few weeks a youth named Charles Crammond approached him. Crammond was older, taller and stronger than Daniel, and also worked for Lindsay and Low. When Crammond demanded money, Daniel refused, but when Crammond threatened violence, Daniel became frightened and handed some over. Realising he was onto a good thing, Crammond gathered some friends and about three weeks later they cornered Daniel, again demanding money.

After that Daniel’s life became a misery as a variety of youths regularly threatened him. The most prominent was William Watson, but he was backed by James McConvel and Charles Hackney, from Hospital Wynd, and the millworker George Boag. Outnumbered, outmuscled and frightened, one Saturday in September, Daniel took ten shillings from the till and handed it over to Crammond. Maybe he thought that was the end of the matter, but it was only the beginning. Within the month, Daniel had handed over another three pounds, and when he walked home on the Saturday evening, the gang followed him. Next day Watson grabbed him and demanded more money, and when Daniel said he had none, Watson said he had better find some, or else. Daniel took another two shillings out of the till. A few days later Watson again appeared, demanding yet more, but this time Daniel said he could not get any more.

No doubt hoping that was the end of the matter, Daniel continued with his work, but Watson was hunting for him. Ambushing the delivery boy in Caldrum Street, Watson held him down and rifled his pockets. The same thing happened later, with a group including Watson, James McConvel and a few others robbing Daniel of everything he had, and still looking for more. The intimidation continued, with Daniel being hounded and threatened, so he robbed the till and tried to pay off his tormentors, but always with the same result. By the closing months of the year nearly every day one or more members of the gang would wait for Daniel, demanding money.

It was a case of paying the Danegeld but never getting rid of the Dane, but the money had to come from somewhere and Daniel’s employers were in business to make money, not to pay off bullies. In the first week of January 1875 the shop manager, Charles Henderson, performed a stocktaking, which means he physically checked every item of stock the shop contained. The firm was successful, taking in about eighty pounds on a Saturday alone, and Henderson hoped to continue to make profit. Unfortunately he found the stock was about £30 short. Every shop suffers from shortfalls through mistakes and shoplifting, but £30 was a sizeable amount to lose. Stocktaking was scheduled for every three months, so in early April Henderson checked again, hoping to find things more level, but instead the stock was £80 short.

It was obvious that the store could not continue with that level of loss, and equally obvious was the fact that something more than petty pilfering was going on, so Henderson called the police. When Inspector Lamb arrived, Daniel was probably relieved to tell him about the intimidation. But once again, Watson met him and asked for money. This time Daniel said he had none, but could get some later. At eight o’clock the gang ambushed Daniel in Church Street, Watson, Charlie Hughes, Charles Hackney, George Boag and James McConvel, five violent young men, all demanding that he give them money, and Daniel said no. It was Charles Hackney who punched him, bloodying his nose.

‘I suppose you want us to be caught,’ Watson said, as Daniel made his painful way back to the shop.

That night Daniel was in Glamis Street and the gang was hovering, but this time Detective Ross was present and they backed off, with Boag saying, ‘There’s something up.’

On Saturday 24th April 1875 Daniel was again sent on a message to Church Street, but this time he was monitored. Inspector Lamb and Detective Ross took up residence in a house opposite the shop, and prepared to watch everything that happened. As expected, Watson and his cronies followed Daniel all the way back to the shop. Inspector Lamb asked Henderson to send Daniel back out, and he watched as Watson and his friends immediately surrounded him.

Daniel returned within fifteen minutes, but Henderson sent him out again, this time with a basket and half a crown with which to buy a necktie. The gang was waiting when Daniel walked to Blair’s Land in Alexander Street. As usual they crowded round, demanding money. When Daniel said he only had the manager’s half-crown they backed off. Not long after, Watson harried Daniel again with McConvel and the others a few paces away, watching menacingly, probing for money, threatening violence, but Daniel said he had no more to give.

‘You surely have some,’ Watson said.

‘No, I dinnae,’ Daniel replied.

‘Well then,’ said Watson. ‘This will be your last night.’

The threat was obvious. ‘I’m going another message to Blair’s Land,’ Daniel said, ‘and I’ll try to get you some money then.’

Watson spoke over his shoulder, telling him friends that Daniel still had no money.

‘What? Nothing yet?’ somebody commented, and they watched as Daniel returned to the shop. They were still there when Daniel came out for the next message, but this time Inspector Lamb and Detective Ross hid in the close to which he was sent. Once again Watson and McConvel demanded money and again told Daniel it would be ‘his last night in the shop,’ when he said he had none.

By that time Inspector Lamb thought he had gathered enough evidence to secure a conviction and he rounded up Watson and his minions. The relief for Daniel must have been tremendous. The case came to the Dundee Circuit Court at the beginning of September. Watson and McConvel, Charles Hackney and George Boag were charged, but Hackney and Boag had ran before they could be arrested and were immediately outlawed. Watson and McConvel gave the customary plea of not guilty. Perhaps they thought Daniel would be too scared to speak against them, and maybe they were right, but there was a string of witnesses to back up his story.

Alexander Welsh, a millworker from Mains Street, had seen Watson’s boys with Daniel on numerous occasions and named one specific event when Watson had stolen two shillings from Daniel’s pocket. John Fyffe, another millworker from Mortimer Street, said he saw McConvel demanding money with threats. On that occasion Daniel refused. The Hilltown policeman, Constable Beveridge, had not seen Watson’s boys rob Daniel, but he had often seen them surrounding him.

Inspector Lamb said that when he was taken to the police office, Watson and McConvel denied ever seeing Daniel. The police continued to gather evidence. James Down, a sheriff criminal officer, told the court that Watson had been convicted at the Dundee Circuit Court in 1872. But Daniel lost some of the sympathy of the court when he admitted keeping some of the stolen money for himself, and he added that McConvel had never physically assaulted him.

Whatever they thought of Daniel, the jury had no doubt at all of the guilt of the accused. It took them only a few moments to find both Watson and McConvel guilty. The judge, Lord Deas, reminded Watson that he was given eighteen months last time and sent him for seven years’ penal servitude, with McConvel getting five. As he was led below, McConvel gave the customary farewell to a friend in the public gallery:

‘See and watch yourself, Davie. Cheer up!’

Watson’s goodbye was more sinister as he faced Daniel. ‘Wait till I come back and you’ll catch it!’

But that would be seven years in the future, and seven years in penal servitude could do a lot to what was still a very young man.

Throughout Scotland, fairs were often an excuse for drunken debauchery and riots. The fairs at Dundee were no exception, with that at Stobbs having an evil reputation second to none. Stobbs, or Stobs, Fair was held on the Stobsmuir to the north-east of the town and was one of the most popular, possibly because it took place at the height of summer. The first Stobbs Fair was held on 23rd June 1679 on the Moor of Craigie, and it became known as a place best avoided by the faint hearted because of the riots, thefts and general mayhem. The Fair was a mixture of entertainment and functionality, where people from the town and country gathered to view the sideshows, but also a feeing fair where men advertised themselves as available for a new position and where cattle, sheep, horses and other produce of the farms were on the market. Holding a predominantly agricultural show so close to a town with such a strong urban identity as Dundee was a sure recipe for trouble, and clashes between Dundonians and the ‘country jocks’ were frequent. With so few days free from labour in a year that held only a handful of official holidays, fair days were an excuse to let the hair down and forget the cares and restrictions of virtually incessant labour. Petty theft and drunken fights were expected and usually the day ended in violence, but occasionally there was worse.

In 1809, with the Napoleonic War at its height, a party of the 25th Foot visited Stobbs Fair to recruit, but instead got itself involved in a fully-fledged brawl with the local rowdies and a group of gunners from the Royal Artillery. It was a case of swords and bayonets against cudgels and stones, with casualties on both sides and one man killed.

The Fair of 1823 was equally violent, with a great deal of theft and pickpocketing, the usual assortment of fights and assaults and the twelve constables on duty hard-pressed to keep even a minimum of order. However, four of them did manage to arrest one offender, but such events only strengthened Dundee’s demand for a standing, professional police force.

July 1824 had already proved a violent month even before the Fair, with a riot in Chapelshade that nearly killed two men as a drunken mob rampaged along Dudhope Wynd, shouting challenges to any who dared interfere and scorning the feeble forces of the law. It was not a good omen a few days before the notorious Stobbs Fair.

Nevertheless, the morning of the Fair was quieter than normal despite lounging bands of what were termed ‘vagrant Irish’. Yet save for the usual petty thieving, for which the Irish were blamed, there was no trouble worth reporting. As always, there were wheels-of-fortune tents and other ways of relieving hard-working people of their money by gambling, fair or foul, but nothing unusual occurred. Nevertheless, as the day drew on and the drinking increased, the Fair grew rowdier, disagreements degenerated to disputes and disputes escalated into fights. The magistrates of Dundee had sent a number of porters, a form of reserve police force, to try and keep the peace but there were more youthful gangs than normal and they used the porters as targets for stones, pelting them at every opportunity, leaving some badly hurt and unable to interfere when more serious trouble broke out. The evening was always the most dangerous time, possibly because the people from Dundee would explode from the mills and factories to descend on the drinking booths and other places of seedy entertainment.

At this time there was quite a sizeable quarry at Duntrune, and a group of nine masons walked from the quarry to the Fair to be paid. Such a practice was normal, and when their employer, Mr Scott of Hawkhill, paid their dues, two of the masons escorted him away from the moor while the remaining two headed for Stobsmill Toll.

Tollhouses were primarily used to collect money – tolls – on major roads. There was a keeper who manipulated a toll bar that stretched across the road, raising it to allow vehicles to pass once the toll was paid. However, tollhouses also doubled as watering holes, creating an additional source of revenue for the toll keeper, so the masons decided they would have a drink there until the others rejoined them. However, they found a drinking tent first and spent six shillings on ale and whisky before rolling out, still relatively sober, to keep their appointment with their fellow masons.