My Father's got three little piggies

"MY FATHER'S GOT THREE LITTLE PIGGIES"

There can be no doubt that photographer James Dinham was fascinated by the secret world of the back-street called Pimlico - secret, even though it was barely yards from the back door of his shop in Torquay's main street. From it, you could look up to the top of the hill at some of the very best addresses in the South West, the elegant Italianate villas to which Kings and Queens, Dukes and Duchesses and the cream of European society came.

For almost a century, to inhabitants of the town, Pimlico was a place to be avoided. Not much sun got into the street and the craggy rocks behind the houses built against the hill, dripped with moisture even in summer; the place was always smelly, it felt slightly dangerous and seemed to have a very unhealthy atmosphere - better to avoid it altogether. What were all those people up to and why did they have so many children when they clearly couldn't afford them and shouldn't some of those nasty little beerhouses be closed down? Well-bred residents of all classes turned their backs and got on with quite a different kind of lifestyle. Pimlico may just as well have been on the surface of the moon.

"My father's got three little piggies"*

Albert John Dymond is the entertainer

The street entertainer in this shot was a well-known figure in Torquay, especially at the time of the annual Regatta and presumably, although we have been unable to trace it, the title refers to a song he was singing at the time. But we can't hear his voice - we can only see the poverty of an age in which there were no social services, no benefits, no help for widowed mothers, no child allowances - in fact no help outside the workhouse.

The central figure was Albert John Dymond and we'll return to him later. Look first at the children who surround him - no problems with obesity here - pinched faces, tired eyes and not the vestige of a smile, perhaps because, when they looked at Albert, they glimpsed what the future may hold for them. Sanitation and a clean water supply were virtually non-existent in Pimlico at this time and there were regular outbreaks of unpleasant illnesses, though the better parts of Torquay fared differently before the early years of the 20th century brought slum clearance to the area.

Now look at Albert and you will see what those children saw - there were people far worse off than themselves. Look again at the children and you will see that they are all wearing proper boots or shoes - Albert is not. Having boots or shoes was the universal measure of poverty in those days - the children were, hopefully, on their way up the ladder - Albert Dymond was on his way down. He has contrived something like regular footwear by stitching odd pieces of fabric together but no-one is deceived for we can also see his hands which have not been washed in months if not years.

Albert Dymond is a vagrant which means that, officially, he has no fixed abode, something which at this time was a crime. We know from the records of the Magistrate's court that he was a frequent guest in that place and we also know that he was no stranger to prison. From the 1901 Census Return, we can deduce that intermittently he was living at the workhouse in Newton Abbot, a good five miles walk away. Not that we can put much trust in the details he gave on the night that census was taken - the information he offered is almost identical to that given by the man who stood in line in front of him and we think, rather than being 42 as the census suggests, he was just 31 when this photograph was taken.

By all accounts, he was a likeable chap and a good singer. His repertoire included many of the most popular Music Hall songs of the period, a great favourite being "The fox is in his den-o" which had a catchy chorus in which the audience joined. It's a long song during which the fox catches the old grey goose and a good fat hen and gets chased by the hunt!

These were the days when a penny could be divided into 2 halfpennies or four farthings - few of those living in Pimlico could afford to leave more than a farthing in Albert's hat at the end of the performance. Let's hope he earned more entertaining the Regatta crowds and that not all of it went into the pockets of the local beerhouse** owners.

A hungry fox jumped up in fright

And he begged for the moon to give him light,

For he had many miles to trot that night,

Before he reached his den-o, den-o. den-o,

Chorus

For he had many miles to trot that night

Before he reached his den-o

* The story of the three little pigs who built various houses and and were huffed and puffed by the wicked wolf seems to have circulated first in this country in the 1840s. Walt Disney's film of the story first appeared in the 1930s, so maybe this song was the Victorian predecessor of "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"

**Beerhouses were not pubs. Even in 1901, many people still brewed beer at home, especially in areas where the drinking water supply (or lack of it) made beer a healthier option. A clause in the licensing laws permitted the sale, within your own home,, of any surplus home-brewed ale - and it was quite surprising how many people had large quantities to sell - of course, there were no controls in place as to the the quality of the beer or examination of the premises where it was made.