The cannon has some fascinating stories attached to it, far more than will fit onto the other pages of this site. So, of course I have to write a book!

Here’s the latest draft of Chapter One:

The Cannon Comes to Ely

It was the morning of Tuesday, 26th June 1860. There had been heavy rain in recent days but this morning promised fair. There was great excitement in the city because this was the day of the inauguration of the Russian Trophy Gun in Ely.

The gun had been requested to mark the formation of the Ely Rifle Volunteers. A call had gone out for young men to form into local bodies for training in the use of rifles because of the scare of an invasion from France. A Grand Review had already taken place in Hyde Park when 30,000 members of Volunteer Rifle Corps paraded in front of the Queen herself. Ely solicitor and chairman of the Local Board, H R Evans, had written to the Lord Lieutenant of the county to request a Russian Trophy Gun. The Lord Lieutenant was Lord Hardwicke of Wimpole Hall near Royston. Hardwicke had passed on the request to the War Office and all was swiftly arranged. There had, of course, been some debate about where to put the trophy with suggestions such as at the top of Cherry Hill. Fortunately the Dean of Ely Cathedral, Harvey Goodwin, and William Marshall Esq were both on the committee and so a sensible location was agreed. Palace Green had been a garden of the Bishop’s Palace and had relatively recently been opened up to the public.

A programme had been published (1) detailing the procession that would escort the Great Gun from Ely Station to its destination on the Palace Green. To begin with there would be a contingent of policemen, followed by members of the committee and gentlemen on horseback riding three abreast. These would be followed by members of the committee and gentlemen walking four abreast. They would be accompanied by the Band of the Coldstream Guards. There would be flags and a military escort and finally The Gun, drawn by six horses. Everyone who was to take part should be at Ely station by 10.30am.

The gun itself had been delivered to Ely several weeks earlier and had lain near the railway station. The journalist for the Cambridge Chronicle observed that the gun appeared ‘as though it had seen some roughish work during its existence, being rather rusty and worn on the outside.’

The only disappointment of the day was the absence of the Ely Rifle Volunteers. The gun had been requested to mark the formation of the company but unfortunately their new, grey uniforms had not been delivered and so they were unable to march in the procession, leaving the honour of escorting the gun to the Cambridge Militia. There was a slight mix-up too, over the band. Everyone had been expecting the advertised Band of the Coldstream Guards but when the London train arrived it was the Band of the Grenadier Guards who stepped onto the platform. Their bandmaster was the celebrated musician and composer Daniel Godfrey whose father, Charles Godfrey, was bandmaster of the Coldstreams. It appears that the Coldstreams had been ordered to Aldershot and the Grenadiers stood in for them at the last minute. There’s no doubt that either band would have done Ely proud. Like the Coldstreams, the Band of the Grenadiers wore red coats and sported bearskins so the effect would have been very festive.

One can imagine the chaos outside the station as the procession formed up: horses snorting and stamping; gentlemen jockeying for position in the pedestrian section; officers of the militia preparing to march with swords drawn; and the men of the militia fixing bayonets. At 10.45 the train from London and Cambridge arrived, belching smoke and steam, bringing the band, and disgorging a great number of people who had come both to see the spectacle and to enjoy the novelty of train travel – the railways had reached Ely in 1845, just fifteen years earlier. Eastern Counties Railway Company were offering return fares for the price of a single for the day from stations along the lines from Cambridge, Norwich, Lynn and Peterborough so people would have flocked into the city from across East Anglia. Another train chuffed into the station at 11am, just as the procession set off.

The route took the procession along Bridge Road (now Station Road) before it turned into Broad Street. The procession passed at least five pubs (the Crown, the Railway Tavern, the Angel, the Black Swan, and the Royal Oak) (2) between the station and Broad Street alone so it would have been a particularly merry day for some people. There were many more pubs along the route including the Cromwell Arms (now Oliver Cromwell’s House) just beside St Mary’s churchyard.

The gun, including its carriage, weighed around 5 tons and was drawn by a team of six heavy horses, lent by the principal brewers of the city, one of whom was William Harlock. The route was a long one. From Broad Street the procession went up Fore Hill (which may be why they needed six horses), along High Street and round into St Mary’s Street where it halted outside St Mary’s churchyard. Members of the public following the procession were asked to ‘pass by the thoroughfare under Mr Muriel’s wall direct to the East end of the Green where the rest of the public will already be assembled’. (This thoroughfare may have been the narrow lane now called Green Lane and the high brick wall that still exists, Mr Muriel’s garden wall.)

Ely’s population at the time was around 7,428 (according to the 1861 census) and numbers would have been swelled by the visitors arriving by train. The city was in holiday mood. ‘Flags and banners were floating in every street, and arches, made of flowers and evergreens, were suspended in many places over the roads‘. The bells of St Mary’s church rang out. The shops would close at 2pm adding to the general holiday feeling.

Even given the challenge of Fore Hill, hauling the gun from the station to the Palace Green seems to have been the easy part but there was a hitch at Palace Green itself. The horsemen from the procession had formed up by the wall of St Mary’s churchyard while the band marched on to Palace Green where an enclosure had been roped off for the dignitaries. The horses were unhitched. Men prepared to manhandle the gun the last few yards to its position. The heavy rain of recent days had left the ground soft and so boards had been placed across the grass from the gate to the plinth that had been prepared for the gun. The great weight of the gun and its carriage shattered these strong boards as it passed over them which wasn’t an issue until the gun reached the plinth. The plinth was raised about 6” above ground and the boards placed there to act as a ramp were simply not strong enough. The wheels of the gun carriage shattered the boards and stayed obstinately on the ground. ‘A murmur of fear’ went through the crowd. The Cambridge Chronicle reporter writes that, ‘the men with right good will set their shoulders to the carriage and the gun was heaved on to the stone amidst long-continued and uproarious cheering.’ It took some time to manoeuvre the gun into position during which ‘There were outbursts of small wit from a company of little boys perched on a neighbouring wall who, not being allowed into the enclosure, privileged themselves to offer more or less helpful suggestions and comments.’ One can imagine that the men repaired afterwards to the Cromwell Arms while the Band of the Grenadier Guards played on.

The proceedings were watched by the Lord Bishop, Thomas Turton, from a window of his palace, possibly the beautiful oriel window that can still be seen looking out over Palace Green. Meanwhile, from a small dais, Harvey Goodwin, the Dean, was making a speech. Judging by the report in the Cambridgeshire Chronicle it was masterly, finding a nice balance between patriotism and the need for peace. ‘Friends and Fellow Citizens,’ he began, pitching his tone perfectly to his audience. The citizens could consider the Queen’s gift of the cannon to Ely a sign that ‘their Queen had not forgotten that there was such a place as Ely.’ Was that a note of dry humour? Goodwin’s speech was punctuated with cheers from the crowd so it was obviously well received. He recognised the gun as a ‘symbol of English valour’ in a war that had been undertaken, not as an invasion to take territory or to spread an idea, but unwillingly. He spoke of the dangers and ‘terrible pains of winter weather’ that had been endured by the soldiers in Crimea and he spoke of the contribution of women who had gone as nurses ‘to those terrible hospitals’. Cheering. We have learnt, said the Dean, that ‘no curse is as great as the curse of war and no blessing greater than that of peace’. More cheering. Then he turned his attention to the reason for the arrival of the gun in Ely – to mark the formation of the Ely Rifle Volunteers. Addressing the Rifles, he went on that he ‘wished to stir up in their minds a determination that they would show themselves at all times willing to defend their country and their Queen, and at the same time have a due appreciation of the blessings of peace.’ Still more cheering. Then there were three very hearty cheers for the Queen and the band struck up the National Anthem. After this, the dignitaries’ enclosure was removed so that everyone could get a good look at the cannon.

The excitements of the day were not over. The Ely Horticultural Society flower show took place in the gardens of the Bishop’s Palace that afternoon. In addition to the competition exhibits, there was a beautiful display of flowers by the Bishop’s gardener. The Cambridge Independent Press reporter noted that people from Huntingdonshire, Norfolk, and Suffolk were present and that ‘the company was numerous and highly respectable, including most of the beauty and fashion of the neighbourhood’. The Band of the Grenadier Guards played a selection of music by composers such as Handel, Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, and Verdi. Their performance was only marred by the church bells which had been ringing in the morning and ‘by some mistake continued ringing at intervals during the afternoon.’

It seems that the same reporter stayed in Ely for the evening as well when events were, perhaps, not quite so respectable. He writes that ‘about nine in the evening several hundred of the juveniles of Ely evinced their patriotic feeling by a large bon-fire in the middle of the Market-hill, and no less than five large tubs were remorselessly committed to the flames’. He goes on ‘Fireworks composed an important item in the evening’s amusement, which, together with several moderate sized cannons, were let off till past midnight’ (3).

It had been a long day of festivities, made possible by the newly-arrived railway which had transported the cannon, the band and many visitors, to Ely. It was a day charged with mid-Victorian patriotism with a hint of social change. And the evening ended with a bang, or two – even in 1860, Ely knew how to party!

Notes and references

(1) Cambridge Chronicle and Journal, 16^th June 1860, page 4

(2) Reg Holmes, Ely Inns (The Ely Society, 1984)

(3) Cambridge Chronicle and Journal, 30^th June 1860, page 7 and Cambridge Independent Press, supplement, 30^th June 1860. Both papers carried excellent accounts of the day’s festivities.