There won’t have been many young lads in nineteenth century Newcastle who could brag to their mates about being attacked by a tiger, but that’s what happened to Thomas Thomson in June of 1830 when he crawled underneath a caravan belonging to Wombwell’s Menagerie at the Haymarket. He poked his head through the floorboards and the animal responded by sinking its claws into his face. Thomas recovered from his injuries but the incident didn’t deter others – another lad did the same thing the following day.
The Haymarket was an open space for most of the nineteenth century, it had been used as a parade ground for the local militia and a market for hay was held there every Tuesday from 1824. Local residents were used to the sight and sounds of cattle and sheep being herded through the area on their way to other markets in the town. But once or twice a year when a menagerie was in town they’d be woken from their slumbers by the roar of lions, the whooping of gorillas and the strange howls and cries of a wide variety of other animals and birds.
Travelling menageries were hugely popular in Victorian England, they gave people in remote northern towns their only opportunity to see exotic beasts from foreign lands. They weren’t much fun for the animals on display, who didn’t take kindly to the ill-treatment from their owners or the gawping crowds, and there are many examples of visitors being badly mauled and even killed by the exhibits.
It wasn’t a good idea to visit a menagerie with a few drinks onboard, as William Clark from Sandyford Lane discovered in July 1873. After a heavy session in the local pubs he foolishly put his arm through the bars of a tiger’s cage and was severely mauled. Its keeper managed to free William by braying the tiger about the head with an iron stake, but he was taken to Newcastle Infirmary where he died of his injuries.
Sometimes the animals had scores to settle with each other. One night in December 1861, the keepers from Edwards’ Menagerie were in their lodgings at the Haymarket Hotel when a passing policeman heard loud roars and quickly alerted them. A Bengal tiger had broken through a partition and entered a cage occupied by a black panther, and the pair were locked in mortal combat. The keepers beat the tiger with iron bars until it freed the panther, which was carried out of the cage dead. It transpired that the tiger had killed a lioness in London some years previously.
Few people were stupid enough to enter the cages voluntarily, but Martini Maccomo did so for a living. He claimed to be a Zulu prince who was born in Angola, although some people’s recollection of his younger years differed, they recalled him being a former sailor called Arthur Williams from Liverpool. Whatever his pedigree, he was the most famous lion-tamer of his day, and made several visits to Newcastle with Manders’ Menagerie.
Maccomo’s encounters with a lion called Wallace were legendary – albeit extremely cruel – affairs. He armed himself with a variety of weapons that included a cosh, whips and knuckledusters, but these did nothing to prevent a severe mauling from Wallace while performing in Sunderland. The Zulu Prince/Scouse sailor died in that town of rheumatic fever in 1871 and is buried there, and the body of Wallace was bought by Sunderland Museum where it was stuffed and put on display.
Public opinion began to turn against this cruel entertainment and the days of the travelling menageries were numbered. In Easter of 1877 a woman in Newcastle was bitten by a camel being displayed by a menagerie, and she decided to sue its owner, John Day. She was awarded £200 in damages which bankrupted the menagerie, forcing the owner to hold one of the more bizarre auctions in Newcastle’s history.
His livestock was gathered in Mr Peel’s yard behind the Haymarket Hotel and members of the public were invited to bid for the animals. Mr Peel got the ball rolling by buying a pair of striped hyenas for himself, while other people from Newcastle walked away that day with a brace of Alpine wolves bought for a fiver, a couple of jackals for eleven shillings, and a “pig monstrosity” for twelve shillings. Camels could be had for a pound, the same price as a buffalo. Bears were three pounds and monkeys were thirteen shillings, while someone with an eye for a bargain was able to buy a performing sheep for under a quid.