Podcasts about Newgate

Londra, gennaio 1803. L'aria è gelida, le strade buie sono avvolte in un silenzio spettrale, interrotto solo dal rumore ovattato dei passi sui ciottoli bagnati. Nel cuore della città, davanti alla prigione di Newgate, si raduna una folla mormorante. George Forster sta per essere impiccato...Un episodio ricco di sorprese (e qualche curiosità scientifica). Buon ascolto!

What's ahead for ESG in the Trump era, and beyond? That's the topic of PRWeek UK's latest Beyond the Noise podcast.Joining UK editor John Harrington this week is Mo Hussein, president, UK public and government affairs, at Edelman; and Andrew Adie, MD, strategy and corporate communications and head of purpose and sustainability, at SEC Newgate.Beyond the Noise looks at some of the biggest issues affecting communications and PR. Download the podcast via Apple, Spotify, or listen on your favourite platform.Starting with the ‘E' of ESG, the episode asks how seriously companies are really scaling back their environmental and sustainability commitments in the Trump presidency, how they are communicating it, and whether it's a genuine global shift.For the ‘S', the guests discuss communicating diversity, equity and inclusion policies, given Trump's high-profile distain for DEI. They discuss communications around the DEI rollback and the phenomenon of ‘DEI-hushing'.Hussein and Adie give their views on the investment community's move away from ESG in recent years and put forward their predictions for ESG generally.Separately, the duo offer comms advice for firms affected by Trump's round of import tariffs. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

 “You seem to be a walking calendar of crime” [STUD]  Sherlock Holmes used the calendar to help him determine the significance of certain cluse and actions, noting phases of the moon and recurring events. But there was another calendar that was useful to Holmes, which he mentioned in passing: the Newgate Calendar. It wasn't a calendar the way we refer to calendars. What was it and why was it of use? It's just a Trifle. Do you have a topic you'd like to recommend? Email us at trifles@ihearofsherlock.com and if we use your idea on the air, we'll send you a thank-you gift.   All of our supporters are eligible for our monthly drawings for Baker Street Journals and certain tiers receive thank you gifts. Join our community on Patreon or Substack today. Leave Trifles a five-star rating and listen to us wherever you listen to podcasts.   Links / Notes The Calendrical Holmes Newgate Calendar entries (Pascal Bonenfant) The Newgate Calendar (Wikipedia) All of our social links: https://linktr.ee/ihearofsherlock Email us at trifles @ ihearofsherlock.com     Music credits Performers: Uncredited violinist, US Marine Chamber Orchestra  Publisher Info.: Washington, DC: United States Marine Band  Copyright: Creative Commons Attribution 3.0  

In todays episode of FolkLands we delve into the world of spirit as we explore some of the stranger Inns, hostilities and public houses of London. From the 'hanging' breakfasts of Newgate, the bombed the Chanel house of St. Brides and the trap doors of Sweeney Todds barber shop we sink beneath the streets of London to reveal its dark, spooky and inglorious heart.Expect plague pits, Ostriches, dungeons and headless phantoms galore.Enjoy, and a Happy Halloween to you all! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

====================================================SUSCRIBETEhttps://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNpffyr-7_zP1x1lS89ByaQ?sub_confirmation=1=======================================================================VIRTUOSADevoción Matutina Para Mujeres 2024Narrado por: Sirley DelgadilloDesde: Bucaramanga, Colombia===================|| www.drministries.org ||===================31 DE OCTUBREEL ÁNGEL DE LA CÁRCEL«Ve y haz tú lo mismo» (Luc. 10:37).Hay personas que, sin duda, trabajan con los ángeles; tan estrechamente, que parece que ellas mismas fueran ángeles. Aunque no sean seres celestiales sino de carne y hueso como tú y yo, con sus defectos y virtudes, son verdaderas mensajeras del cielo. Transmiten el mensaje de amor, de esperanza, de futuro y de cambio que transmiten los ángeles por orden de Dios. Y empeñan vida y recursos para transmitirlo. Una de esas personas fue una mujer inglesa llamada Elizabeth Fry, a quien la gente dio en llamar «el ángel de la cárcel».Todo comenzó cuando, a la edad de dieciséis años, Elizabeth oyó predicar al norteamericano William Savery. Conmovida, comenzó a recoger ropa para los pobres, a visitar a los enfermos de su vecindario y a enseñar a niños a leer. Quince años después, fue a la cárcel de mujeres de Newgate y, lo que vio, la horrorizó. Estaba plagada de mujeres, muchas de ellas encarceladas sin juicio previo por no poder hacer frente a las deudas de sus esposos fallecidos. Vivían y dormían en un mismo lugar, y apenas tenían qué comer. Elizabeth regresó al día siguiente con ropa, comida y un programa para enseñarlas a leer a ellas y a sus hijos, que vivían también en la cárcel.Comenzó un plan de ayuda sistemática que incluía regalarles una Biblia para que se fortalecieran espiritualmente, y enseñarles a coser para que, cuando recobraran su libertad, pudieran ganarse la vida. Con el tiempo llegó a crear la Sociedad de Mujeres Británicas para la Reforma de las Prisioneras, reconocida por historiadores como la primera organización de mujeres de Gran Bretaña.Elizabeth pasó noches enteras en la cárcel acompañando a aquellas mujeres, e incluso invitó a gentes de la nobleza, de manera que pudieran ver por sí mismas las condiciones en que vivían las prisioneras. De ese modo recaudó fondos para seguir con su labor y, entre sus principales benefactoras, se encontraba la mismísima reina Victoria.Elizabeth Fry se ganó el respeto, el cariño y la admiración de la sociedad británica en su conjunto, y sobre todo los de las personas más desfavorecidas. Doscientos años después, se ha ganado también mi admiración. Su vida es la personificación de un sermón que me invita a hacer lo mismo. Allí donde pueda echar una mano, Señor, permíteme hacerlo, y que no sea el impulso de un solo día, sino un plan sistemático, un estilo de vida.«Los que trabajan para beneficiar a otros trabajan en unión con los ángeles celestiales». Elena G. de White 

Would you have gone? Would you have drunk with the condemned? Paid your way into their prison the night before? Public executions in London were big business with hundreds of thousands carousing through the streets alongside the condemned as they went from Newgate prison to Tyburn's infamous gallows. It was a grisly performance but one that many revelled in. Perhaps you would have too.Anthony Delaney takes Maddy Pelling out for a day at the hangings.Written by Anthony Delaney. Edited and produced by Freddy Chick. Senior Producer is Charlotte Long.Enjoy unlimited access to award-winning original documentaries that are released weekly and AD-FREE podcasts. Sign up for 50% for 3 months using code AFTERDARK at https://www.historyhit.com/subscription/You can take part in our listener survey here.After Dark: Myths, Misdeeds & the Paranormal is a History Hit podcast

Convicts, illegal dissections, disease, all taking place on ships described as "Wicked Noah's Arks" where conditions were even worse than in notorious prisons like Newgate. Transportation to Australia awaited those who survived, and they counted themselves the lucky ones. Today it's the dark history of the Prison Hulks.Our guest is Dr Anna McKay from the University of Liverpool who researches the lives and experiences of prisoners across the British maritime world. Her essay 'Allowed to die?' won the Royal Historical Society's Alexander Prize and her latest book proposal is shortlisted for the 2023 Ideas Prize. https://www.anna-mckay.com/ Edited by Tom Delargy, Produced by Freddy Chick, Senior Producer is Charlotte Long.Enjoy unlimited access to award-winning original documentaries that are released weekly and AD-FREE podcasts. Get a subscription for £1 per month for 3 months with code AFTERDARK sign up at https://historyhit.com/subscription/

It's the first of your podcast picks, and the winner was Elizabeth Fry, the angel of Newgate. Shocked by the abject conditions she found in the most notorious of prisons, Newgate, she put her whole life on hold to try and improve the situation for the women imprisoned there. If she could make even one person's experience better, then it would be worth it. She achieved that, and so much more. Come with us as we delve into this woman's fascinating life. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

On this episode I talk about anime episodes 483-485 where we reach the climax of the Marineford arc and the huge blackbearded twist encounter that will shake the world! Hope you enjoy!Support the show

Newgate Farm's Henry Field on Giddy Up (31/01/24) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Newgate Farm's Henry Field on Giddy Up (08/01/24) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

He's one of the more-fancied runners in the Cox Plate, but you can rule Militarize out of pressing on to the Victoria Derby whatever happens on Saturday.

Newgate Bloodstock Director Henry Field on Race Card with Gareth Hall and Nick Quinn (14/10/23) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

On this week's edition of Breeding, Bloodstock & Banter Gareth and Guy are joined by Newgate Farm's Henry Field to chat Militarize and Saturday's juvenile features. They also reflect on the Golden Rose and Caulfield Guineas before previewing a huge weekend of racing. Producer Jackson Frantz joins with our listener questions for the captain as does Westbury Stud's Russell Warwick and NZB's Andrew Seabrook. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Newgate Farm's Henry Field previews the chances of Militarize and Don Corleone. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

A 4th of July London fix

Newgate's Henry Field on the Sales this week and also an update on Royal Ascot bound Artorius

Newgate prison served as the main punitive facility in London for six centuries until it closed in 1902. If you expect this genre to be limited to country houses and The Ton, you might be surprised at how often authors invoke Newgate in their stories. Newgate as a recurring thematic space becomes shorthand for terror, grime, and pain. What's the effect then when it's invoked in a romance novel? In this episode, the rakes cover Newgate itself and several books that fictionalize Newgate. Much of what we talk about stems from Emma's current research on Newgate.Support us on our PATREONFollow us on social media: Twitter: @reformedrakesInstagram: @reformedrakesBeth's TikTokChels' TikTokEmma's TikTokChels' SubstackEmma's Substack Visit our website for transcripts and show notes: reformedrakes.comThank you for listening!

Esta semana terminamos la serie del manga Portgas D. Ace adaptado por Boichi que nos dejó sorprendidos pero también un poco cortos en términos de la historia. Queríamos ver un poco más de su búsqueda hacia Barbanegra y esa otra gran batalla. Pero por lo visto la novela no cubría esa parte... Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/sombrerosdepaja_podcast Síguenos en Spotify o Anchor. Nuestras redes sociales -⁠⁠⁠https://linktr.ee/thevisualchannel⁠⁠⁠ Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/sombrerosdepaja_podcast/ -⁠⁠⁠ Tiktok (reviews de serie y pelis): ⁠⁠⁠https://www.tiktok.com/@thevisualchannel -⁠⁠⁠ Facebook ⁠⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/thevisualchannel

The Black Dog of Newgate is a legend concerning the haunting of Newgate Prison of London. This account of a haunting based at the prison is an example of the English Black Dog category of supernatural manifestation, featuring a spectral hound of ill-omen or malicious intent, which is a notable archetype in British folklore and superstition… Stay safe out there. With love, Saaniya and Maddie x Sources: https://www.londonxlondon.com/ghost-stories-london/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Black_Dog_of_Newgate https://factschology.com/mmm-podcast-articles/black-dog-newgate-england https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_dog_(folklore)

See you next time

Joined by Beverley Cook of the Museum of London, we delve into the long, murky, often intriguing history of executions in London. Enter at your peril! As ever, we look at the people, places and events that surround the executions, and see how they became a public fixture in London's calendar. Brits are an enterprising bunch, and that is no different here, with people making money from the spectacle and pageantry of an execution day. Why were executioners allowed to keep the rope? Who was Mother Proctor and how did she make a living? How did one man become synonymous with the parades from Newgate to Tyburn? Plus we meet some old friends along the way, like Jack Sheppard, jail-breaker extraordinaire. Visit https://www.ladieswholondon.com for more information. Get in touch! Instagram; @ladieswholondonpodcast Email; ladieswholondon@gmail.com Websites; www.ladieswholondon.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

PTF and Nick Tammaro look back at a weekend of racing that included the Bob Lewis stakes from Santa Anita and the Holy Bull from Florida. Horses covered include Newgate, Arabian Lion, Rocket Can, Cyclone Mischief, Shadow Dragon, Tapit Trice, Shesterkin, Red Carpet Ready and more. Plus the return to the races of Emmanuel and Charge It.

PTF and Nick Tammaro look back at a weekend of racing that included the Bob Lewis stakes from Santa Anita and the Holy Bull from Florida. Horses covered include Newgate, Arabian Lion, Rocket Can, Cyclone Mischief, Shadow Dragon, Tapit Trice, Shesterkin, Red Carpet Ready and more. Plus the return to the races of Emmanuel and Charge It.

the "crime" with the Old Testament name

For 700 years Newgate Jail was the darkest, dirtiest and most miserable dungeon in London.  We uncover some of its terrible and terrifying prison stories:  from cannibals to the fearsome ghost of a black dog;    from a boy chimney sweep sent to hang at Tyburn, to a world-famous novelist imprisoned for his ideas.   Hear about London's Georgian Mafia boss,  and the man who inspired Dickens' Fagin.  Songs, stories and strange tales in this prison podcast.

William Kidd took a long walk from Newgate to Westminster. The Pirate History Podcast is a member of the Airwave Media Podcast Network. If you'd like to advertise on The Pirate History Podcast, please contact sales@advertisecast.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Henry Field joins us from Newgate Farm after a big day at the Sales for the team on the Gold Coast with over $3.8 Gross sales to be the leading Vendor

A hug is always the right size

The Million Pound Bank Note by Mark Twain词汇提示1.Duke 公爵2.Duchess 公爵夫人 3.Earl 子爵4.Countess 子爵夫人5.Lord 勋爵6.Ambassador 大使7.precedence 优先原文Chapter Six: The Dinner PartyThere were fourteen people at the dinner party.The Duke and Duchess of Shoreditch, and their daughter, Lady Anne-Grace-Eleanorde Bohun, the Earl and Countess of Newgate, Viscount Cheapside, Lord and Lady Blatherskite, the Ambassador and his wife and daughter, and some other people.There was also a beautiful, twenty-two-year old English girl, named Portia Langham. I fell in love with her in two minutes, and she with me!After a while, the house servant presented another guest, Mr Lloyd Hastings.When Mr Hastings saw me, he said, "I think I know you.""Yes, you probably do.""Are you the -the - ""Yes, I'm the strange millionaire with the million-pound note in his pocket!""Well, well, this is a surprise. I never thought you were the same Henry Adams from San Francisco! Six months ago, you were working in the offices of Blake Hopkins in San Francisco. I remember clearly. You had a very small salary. And, at night, you helped me arrange the papers for the Gould and Curry Mining Company. Now you're a millionaire, a celebrity here in London. I can't believe it! How exciting!""I can't believe it, either, Lloyd.""Just three months ago, we went to the Miner's Restaurant - ""No, no, it was the What Cheer Restaurant.""Right, it was the What Cheer. We went there at two o'clock in the morning. We had steak and coffee. That night we worked for six long hours on the Gould and Curry Mining Company papers. Do you remember, Henry, I asked you to come to London with me. I wanted you to help me sell the Gould and Curry gold mine shares. But you refused." "Of course I remember. I didn't want to leave my job in San Francisco.And, I still think it's difficult to sell shares of a California gold mine here in London.""You were right, Henry. You were so right. It is impossible to sell these shares here in London. My plan failed and I spent all my money. I don't want to talk about it.""But you must talk about it. When we leave the dinner party, you must tell me what happened.""Oh, can I? I really need to talk to a friend," Lloyd said, with water in his eyes."Yes, I want to hear the whole story, every word of it.""Thank you, Henry. You're a true friend."At this point, it was time for dinner.Thanks to the English system of precedence,t here was no dinner.The Duke of Shoreditch wanted to sit at the head of the table.The American Ambassador also wanted to sit at the head of the table.It was impossible for them to decide, so we had no dinner.The English know about the system of precedence.They have dinner before going out to dinner.But strangers know nothing about it.They remain hungry all evening.Instead, we had a dish of sardines and a strawberry.Now it was time for everyone to play a game called cribbage.The English never play a game for fun.They play to win or to lose something.Miss Langham and I played the game, but with little interest.I looked at her beautiful face and said, "Miss Langham, I love you!""Mr Adams," she said softly and smiled, "I love you too!"This was a wonderful evening.Miss Langham and I were very happy. We smiled, laughed and talked.I was honest with her.I told her that I was poor and that I didn't have a cent in the world.I explained that the million-pound note was not mine.She was very curious to know more.I told her the whole story from the start.She laughed and laughed.She thought the story was very funny.I didn't understand why it was funny.I also explained that I needed an important job with a big salary to pay all my debts."Portia, dear, can you come with me on the day I must meet those two gentlemen? ""Well, yes, if I can help you," she replied."Of course you can help me. You are so lovely that when the two gentlemen see you, I can ask for any job and any salary. With you there, my sweet Portia, the two gentlemen won't refuse me anything."

The Jury said: Guilty. The Judge said: Death. By hanging.

"the hapless soldier's sigh runs in blood down Palace walls" 

"he squeezed through the tiny gap"

Jeremy Howard from the Newgate podcast talks about the weird phenomenon of the tentorium. He shares some of his theories about what might be causing it, and how it might be related to other phenomena such as aging, glowers, and licker-in.

Welcome to the PRmoment Podcast.This week we're chatting to Emma Kane, Chief Executive of SEC Newgate UK and Deputy Group CEO Deputy SEC Newgate S.p.A about her career story in public relations.Previously Emma founded Redleaf Communications before selling the business to Porta in 2014. Porta combined with SEC Newgate in June 2019 in a reverse merger to form SEC Newgate.This integrated a number of businesses that had been acquired over the years including Redleaf, Publicasity, Newgate, SEC and Newington.  SEC Newgate has 43 offices globally, has revenues of about $150m and employs 900 people globally.Before we start - if you haven't seen them already - take a look at the categories for The ESG Awards - the final entry deadline is 7th October.And do check out the home page of PRmoment for our latest webinars, including PR Analytics, LinkedIn as a B2B Marketing Channel, The Most Popular KPIs in PR and The intersection of Data, Insight and PR Planning.Finally, thanks to our PRmoment Podcast sponsors, The PRCA.Here's a summary of what Emma and PRmoment founder Ben Smith discussed: 2 mins Emma's career is a wonderful story of PR agency secretary to PR agency CEO. Here she talks us through how that happened.“One day my saxophone got exchanged for a briefcase!”4.30 mins Emma gives us a potted history of her career in PR5 mins Emma explains how a psychometric test she needed to take for a new job lead to her having a crisis of confidence!8 mins Emma talks us through when she had an awful experience in one job, “the leadership was feral and the culture was toxic…The catalyst for setting up my own agency was a day when a book that was left on my desk entitled ‘How to dine out and look weight''12 mins Emma describes the decision in 2000 to found Redleaf Communications - as the most important decision of her career. 15 mins How significant was Redleaf's acquisition of Polhill in the company's growth story?20 mins How and why did Emma decide to sell Redleaf to Porta in 2019 and how did the original deal with Porta work?24 mins Emma talks us through how Porta became SEC Newgate.25 mins Emma became Chief Executive of SEC Newgate UK and Joint Group CEO in April 2018 - here she explains why it was a turnaround job for the UK business at that point in time.28.30 mins SEC Newgate acquired US firm Global Strategy Group in 2022 - which prior to being acquired had a turnover of $54 million in 2021 - so in PR land that's a big deal size!31 mins It seems to me, quite quietly SEC Newgate has had a pretty formidable couple of years. What sort of shape is the business in now? And what type of work does SEC Newgate want to be known for?33 mins Emma talks us through how in her spare time she is Vice Chair & Chair Global Development Board for the Elton John AIDS Foundation and chair of Target Ovarian Cancer. 

Matt Stewart joined racing Pulse with the latest in Racing News. Matt and Michael Felgate were joined by Newgate Farm's Managing Director Henry Field to discuss Cox Plate winner State Of Rest being retired

he was pelted with garbage and dung – the Twitter of his day

Built during the twelfth century, Newgate Prison in London became well known as a place of great cruelty and wretchedness, with a lack of regard for the humans inside its walls. It was reserved for some of the most notorious prisoners ever held under the death sentence. It lacked fresh air and drinkable water. Punishment was so inhumane that death was a blessed relief for the inmates.The story of Newgate Prison is a witness to humanity's capacity to inflict pain and suffering upon each other.The things that went on at Newgate over the centuries were looked at as normal conduct for their time but now we just shudder at these stories!Join us for this episode of the TRUE HAUNTINGS PODCAST.#newgateprison #hauntedlondon #haunteduk #ukprisons #ghost #hauntednewgateprison #behindbars #hauntings #paranormal #torturebehindbars #supernaturalstories #truehauntingspodcast #anneandrenata #podcastinghauntedstories #paranormalpodcast #podcastinganneandrenata #paranormal #londonhistory #newgatepoltergeist #poltergeist See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, Britons were subject to a penal system including up to 220 crimes punishable by death. These offences ranged from murder to theft, from arson to wearing blackface while poaching. Even young children, were subject to these draconian penalties. In this episode I explore the era of the so-called "bloody code" and explain how it developed, the level of enforcement, and the reasons for its demise. In this documentary style episode I interview two experts on this era in British History. Dr. Simon Devereaux Associate Professor (History) and Undergraduate Advisor at the University of Victoria Creator of the website The Old Bailey Condemned, 1730-1837 The Visitations of Horace Cotton, Ordinary of Newgate, 1823-1838 (London Records Society, forthcoming) Dr. John Walliss is senior lecturer in criminology in the School of Social Sciences, Liverpool Hope University, UK. His works include: The Bloody Code in England and Wales, 1760–1830 https://lawcrimehistory.pubpub.org/pub/cb2hj558/release/1 https://pearl.plymouth.ac.uk/handle/10026.1/8937 Music and sound: Pixabay --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/daniel-mainwaring5/message

As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt's room, my education under that preposterous female terminated. Not, however, until Biddy had imparted to me everything she knew, from the little catalogue of prices, to a comic song she had once bought for a halfpenny. Although the only coherent part of the latter piece of literature were the opening lines,When I went to Lunnon town sirs,Too rul loo rulToo rul loo rulWasn't I done very brown sirs?Too rul loo rulToo rul loo rul—still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this composition by heart with the utmost gravity; nor do I recollect that I questioned its merit, except that I thought (as I still do) the amount of Too rul somewhat in excess of the poetry. In my hunger for information, I made proposals to Mr. Wopsle to bestow some intellectual crumbs upon me, with which he kindly complied. As it turned out, however, that he only wanted me for a dramatic lay-figure, to be contradicted and embraced and wept over and bullied and clutched and stabbed and knocked about in a variety of ways, I soon declined that course of instruction; though not until Mr. Wopsle in his poetic fury had severely mauled me.Whatever I acquired, I tried to impart to Joe. This statement sounds so well, that I cannot in my conscience let it pass unexplained. I wanted to make Joe less ignorant and common, that he might be worthier of my society and less open to Estella's reproach.The old battery out on the marshes was our place of study, and a broken slate and a short piece of slate-pencil were our educational implements: to which Joe always added a pipe of tobacco. I never knew Joe to remember anything from one Sunday to another, or to acquire, under my tuition, any piece of information whatever. Yet he would smoke his pipe at the battery with a far more sagacious air than anywhere else⁠—even with a learned air⁠—as if he considered himself to be advancing immensely. Dear fellow, I hope he did.It was pleasant and quiet, out there with the sails on the river passing beyond the earthwork, and sometimes, when the tide was low, looking as if they belonged to sunken ships that were still sailing on at the bottom of the water. Whenever I watched the vessels standing out to sea with their white sails spread, I somehow thought of Miss Havisham and Estella; and whenever the light struck aslant, afar off, upon a cloud or sail or green hillside or waterline, it was just the same.⁠—Miss Havisham and Estella and the strange house and the strange life appeared to have something to do with everything that was picturesque.One Sunday when Joe, greatly enjoying his pipe, had so plumed himself on being “most awful dull,” that I had given him up for the day, I lay on the earthwork for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying traces of Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky and in the water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought concerning them that had been much in my head.“Joe,” said I; “don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?”“Well, Pip,” returned Joe, slowly considering. “What for?”“What for, Joe? What is any visit made for?”“There is some wisits p'r'aps,” said Joe, “as forever remains open to the question, Pip. But in regard to wisiting Miss Havisham. She might think you wanted something⁠—expected something of her.”“Don't you think I might say that I did not, Joe?”“You might, old chap,” said Joe. “And she might credit it. Similarly she mightn't.”Joe felt, as I did, that he had made a point there, and he pulled hard at his pipe to keep himself from weakening it by repetition.“You see, Pip,” Joe pursued, as soon as he was past that danger, “Miss Havisham done the handsome thing by you. When Miss Havisham done the handsome thing by you, she called me back to say to me as that were all.”“Yes, Joe. I heard her.”“All,” Joe repeated, very emphatically.“Yes, Joe. I tell you, I heard her.”“Which I meantersay, Pip, it might be that her meaning were⁠—Make a end on it!⁠—As you was!⁠—Me to the North, and you to the South!⁠—Keep in sunders!”I had thought of that too, and it was very far from comforting to me to find that he had thought of it; for it seemed to render it more probable.“But, Joe.”“Yes, old chap.”“Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her.”“That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round⁠—and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total wacancy of hoofs⁠—”“I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present.”But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. “Or even,” said he, “if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door⁠—or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use⁠—or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins⁠—or a gridiron when she took a sprat or suchlike⁠—”“I don't mean any present at all, Joe,” I interposed.“Well,” said Joe, still harping on it as though I had particularly pressed it, “if I was yourself, Pip, I wouldn't. No, I would not. For what's a door-chain when she's got one always up? And shark-headers is open to misrepresentations. And if it was a toasting-fork, you'd go into brass and do yourself no credit. And the oncommonest workman can't show himself oncommon in a gridiron⁠—for a gridiron is a gridiron,” said Joe, steadfastly impressing it upon me, as if he were endeavouring to rouse me from a fixed delusion, “and you may haim at what you like, but a gridiron it will come out, either by your leave or again your leave, and you can't help yourself⁠—”“My dear Joe,” I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, “don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present.”“No, Pip,” Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; “and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip.”“Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday tomorrow, I think I would go uptown and make a call on Miss Est⁠—Havisham.”“Which her name,” said Joe, gravely, “ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened.”“I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?”In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He pretended that his Christian name was Dolge⁠—a clear Impossibility⁠—but he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I believe him to have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but wilfully to have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its understanding. He was a broadshouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of great strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper's out on the marshes, and on working-days would come slouching from his hermitage, with his hands in his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle round his neck and dangling on his back. On Sundays he mostly lay all day on the sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and barns. He always slouched, locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half-resentful, half-puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black corner of the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy, and that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang Old Clem, he came in out of time.Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by and by he said, leaning on his hammer⁠—“Now, master! Sure you're not a going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick.” I suppose he was about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.“Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?” said Joe.“What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him,” said Orlick.“As to Pip, he's going up town,” said Joe.“Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a going up town,” retorted that worthy. “Two can go up town. Tain't only one wot can go up town.”“Don't lose your temper,” said Joe.“Shall if I like,” growled Orlick. “Some and their uptowning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!”The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out⁠—as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood⁠—and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer⁠—“Now, master!”“Are you all right now?” demanded Joe.“Ah! I am all right,” said gruff Old Orlick.“Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,” said Joe, “let it be a half-holiday for all.”My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing⁠—she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener⁠—and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.“Like you, you fool!” said she to Joe, “giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!”“You'd be everybody's master, if you durst,” retorted Orlick, with an ill-favored grin.(“Let her alone,” said Joe.)“I'd be a match for all noodles and all rogues,” returned my sister, beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. “And I couldn't be a match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who's the dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn't be a match for the rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and the worst rogue between this and France. Now!”“You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery,” growled the journeyman. “If that makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good'un.”(“Let her alone, will you?” said Joe.)“What did you say?” cried my sister, beginning to scream. “What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? Oh! oh! oh!” Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; “what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? Oh! Hold me! Oh!”“Ah-h-h!” growled the journeyman, between his teeth, “I'd hold you, if you was my wife. I'd hold you under the pump, and choke it out of you.”(“I tell you, let her alone,” said Joe.)“Oh! To hear him!” cried my sister, with a clap of her hands and a scream together⁠—which was her next stage. “To hear the names he's giving me! That Orlick! In my own house! Me, a married woman! With my husband standing by! Oh! Oh!” Here my sister, after a fit of clappings and screamings, beat her hands upon her bosom and upon her knees, and threw her cap off, and pulled her hair down⁠—which were the last stages on her road to frenzy. Being by this time a perfect Fury and a complete success, she made a dash at the door which I had fortunately locked.What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruptions, but stand up to his journeyman, and ask him what he meant by interfering betwixt himself and Mrs. Joe; and further whether he was man enough to come on? Old Orlick felt that the situation admitted of nothing less than coming on, and was on his defence straightway; so, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood could stand uplong against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then Joe unlocked the door and picked up my sister, who had dropped insensible at the window (but who had seen the fight first, I think), and who was carried into the house and laid down, and who was recommended to revive, and would do nothing but struggle and clench her hands in Joe's hair. Then came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull⁠—namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead⁠—I went upstairs to dress myself.When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick's nostrils, which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared from the Jolly Bargemen, and they were sharing it by turns in a peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence on Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting observation that might do me good, “On the rampage, Pip, and off the rampage, Pip:⁠—such is Life!”With what absurd emotions (for we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.Miss Sarah Pocket came to the gate. No Estella.“How, then? You here again?” said Miss Pocket. “What do you want?”When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to “come up.”Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.“Well?” said she, fixing her eyes upon me. “I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing.”“No indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you.”“There, there!” with the old restless fingers. “Come now and then; come on your birthday.⁠—Ay!” she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, “You are looking round for Estella? Hey?”I had been looking round⁠—in fact, for Estella⁠—and I stammered that I hoped she was well.“Abroad,” said Miss Havisham; “educating for a lady; far out of reach; prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?”There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.As I was loitering along the High Street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman, who should come out of the bookshop but Mr. Wopsle. Mr. Wopsle had in his hand the affecting tragedy of George Barnwell, in which he had that moment invested sixpence, with the view of heaping every word of it on the head of Pumblechook, with whom he was going to drink tea. No sooner did he see me, than he appeared to consider that a special Providence had put a 'prentice in his way to be read at; and he laid hold of me, and insisted on my accompanying him to the Pumblechookian parlor. As I knew it would be miserable at home, and as the nights were dark and the way was dreary, and almost any companionship on the road was better than none, I made no great resistance; consequently, we turned into Pumblechook's just as the street and the shops were lighting up.As I never assisted at any other representation of George Barnwell, I don't know how long it may usually take; but I know very well that it took until half-past nine o' clock that night, and that when Mr. Wopsle got into Newgate, I thought he never would go to the scaffold, he became so much slower than at any former period of his disgraceful career. I thought it a little too much that he should complain of being cut short in his flower after all, as if he had not been running to seed, leaf after leaf, ever since his course began. This, however, was a mere question of length and wearisomeness. What stung me, was the identification of the whole affair with my unoffending self. When Barnwell began to go wrong, I declare that I felt positively apologetic, Pumblechook's indignant stare so taxed me with it. Wopsle, too, took pains to present me in the worst light. At once ferocious and maudlin, I was made to murder my uncle with no extenuating circumstances whatever; Millwood put me down in argument, on every occasion; it became sheer monomania in my master's daughter to care a button for me; and all I can say for my gasping and procrastinating conduct on the fatal morning, is, that it was worthy of the general feebleness of my character. Even after I was happily hanged and Wopsle had closed the book, Pumblechook sat staring at me, and shaking his head, and saying, “Take warning, boy, take warning!” as if it were a well-known fact that I contemplated murdering a near relation, provided I could only induce one to have the weakness to become my benefactor.It was a very dark night when it was all over, and when I set out with Mr. Wopsle on the walk home. Beyond town, we found a heavy mist out, and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the lamp's usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on the fog. We were noticing this, and saying how that the mist rose with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when we came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.“Halloa!” we said, stopping. “Orlick there?”“Ah!” he answered, slouching out. “I was standing by a minute, on the chance of company.”“You are late,” I remarked.Orlick not unnaturally answered, “Well? And you're late.”“We have been,” said Mr. Wopsle, exalted with his late performance⁠—“we have been indulging, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening.”Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we all went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spending his half-holiday up and down town?“Yes,” said he, “all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By the by, the guns is going again.”“At the hulks?” said I.“Ay! There's some of the birds flown from the cages. The guns have been going since dark, about. You'll hear one presently.”In effect, we had not walked many yards further, when the well-remembered boom came towards us, deadened by the mist, and heavily rolled away along the low grounds by the river, as if it were pursuing and threatening the fugitives.“A good night for cutting off in,” said Orlick. “We'd be puzzled how to bring down a jailbird on the wing, tonight.”The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Mr. Wopsle, as the ill-requited uncle of the evening's tragedy, fell to meditating aloud in his garden at Camberwell. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was very dark, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along. Now and then, the sound of the signal cannon broke upon us again, and again rolled sulkily along the course of the river. I kept myself to myself and my thoughts. Mr. Wopsle died amiably at Camberwell, and exceedingly game on Bosworth Field, and in the greatest agonies at Glastonbury. Orlick sometimes growled, “Beat it out, beat it out⁠—Old Clem! With a clink for the stout⁠—Old Clem!” I thought he had been drinking, but he was not drunk.Thus, we came to the village. The way by which we approached it took us past the Three Jolly Bargemen, which we were surprised to find⁠—it being eleven o'clock⁠—in a state of commotion, with the door wide open, and unwonted lights that had been hastily caught up and put down scattered about. Mr. Wopsle dropped in to ask what was the matter (surmising that a convict had been taken), but came running out in a great hurry.“There's something wrong,” said he, without stopping, “up at your place, Pip. Run all!”“What is it?” I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.“I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by convicts. Somebody has been attacked and hurt.”We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there were a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister⁠—lying without sense or movement on the bare boards where she had been knocked down by a tremendous blow on the back of the head, dealt by some unknown hand when her face was turned towards the fire⁠—destined never to be on the rampage again, while she was the wife of Joe. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit greatexpectations.substack.com

Dunn Street founder and Community Organiser Stephen Donnelly was joined by former WA Labor Assistant Secretary and Senior Partner at Newgate, Lenda Oshalem, for our final post election breakdown; this time tackling the great state of Western Australia.Lenda reflects on the major structural and cultural changes WA Labor undertook years ago that laid the foundations for the successes on election night, which helped get the Albanese government to the magical number 76. The presenting sponsor of the Socially Democratic podcast is Dunn Street. For more information on how Dunn Street can help you organise to build winning campaigns in your community, business or organisation, and make the world a better place, look us up at: dunnstreet.com.au

A member of London's high society has been murdered! But is the murder scene really all the it seems?Who was Lord Russell and who would want him dead? Are books a bad influence? And what witchcraft did Nick use in this week's cocktail?The secret ingredient is...cognac!Join us on Patreon to get extra episodes every week, and come and follow us on Instagram Twitter and Facebook Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

Newgate Farm boss Henry Field joins us after State Of Rest's victory in the Prince Of Wales Stakes overnight and we'll look ahead to Artorius in the Platinum Jubilee

"he did something you didn't do"

"a choreography of death designed to forestall violence"

Jack Sheppard became sort of a serial breakout artist in 18th-century England. He was a real person who became a folk hero, but many of the accounts of his life are suspect. Research: Buckley, Matthew. “Sensations of Celebrity: Jack Sheppard and the Mass Audience.” Victorian Studies. 3/1/2002. Defoe, Daniel (attributed). “A narrative of all the robberies, escapes, &c. of John Sheppard : giving an exact description of the manner of his wonderful escape from the castle in Newgate.” London. 1724. Defoe, Daniel (attributed). “The History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard, Containing a Particular Account of his Many Robberies and Escapes.” 1724. E., Gentleman in Town. “Authentic memoirs of the life and surprising adventures of John Sheppard : who was executed at Tyburn, November the 16th, 1724 : by way of familiar letters from a gentleman in town, to his friend and correspondent in the country.” London, 1724. Gillingham, Lauren. "Ainsworth's Jack Sheppard and the Crimes of History." SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900, vol. 49 no. 4, 2009, p. 879-906. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/sel.0.0081. Harman, Claire. "Writing for the mob: Moral panic about a Victorian 'handbook of crime'." TLS. Times Literary Supplement, no. 6031, 2 Nov. 2018, p. 25. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A632755026/GPS?u=mlin_n_melpub&sid=bookmark-GPS&xid=86b28327. Accessed 21 Apr. 2022. Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 8.0, 22 April 2022), August 1724, trial of Joseph Sheppard (t17240812-52). Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 8.0, 22 April 2022), Ordinary of Newgate's Account, November 1724 (OA17241111). Ridgwell, Stephen. “Sheppard's Warning: A thief who had been dead for more than a century caused a moral panic in the theatres of Victorian London.” History Today. Volume 71 Issue 4 April 2021. https://www.historytoday.com/archive/history-matters/sheppards-warning Stearns, Elizabeth. “A ‘Darling of the Mob': The Antidisciplinarity of the Jack Sheppard Texts.” Victorian Literature and Culture , 2013, Vol. 41, No. 3 (2013). Via JSTOR. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24575686 Sugden, P. Lyon, Elizabeth [nicknamed Edgware Bess] (fl. 1722–1726), prostitute and thief. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Retrieved 21 Apr. 2022 Sugden, P. Sheppard, John [Jack] (1702–1724), thief and prison-breaker. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Retrieved 21 Apr. 2022 See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Joanna Poniatowska to managerka i startup'erka z 15-letnim doświadczeniem w branży. Przez blisko 10 lat pracowała w Grupie TVN Discovery, odpowiadając za marketing głównego kanału stacji TVN. Dziś wraz z Zosią Bugajną-Kasdepke i Sebastianem Hejnowskim zarządza SEC Newgate CEE – agencją, która w 2 lata jest w TOP10 największych biznesów usługowych w kategorii PR/marketing. Rozmawiamy m.in. o: fundamentach budowania biznesu usługowego, rewolucji w życiu związanej z odejściem z korpo i prowadzeniu własnego biznesu, a także o lękach foundera.

"twelve working-class people were killed"

Hoy tenemos un cuento del novelista argentino Enrique Anderson Imbert  Jack Turpin (Inglaterra, 1750-1785) fue el actor más afamado y difamado en el reino de Jorge III. Afamado por su elegancia de galán en las comedias de Sheridan que se ponían en el Teatro Drury Lane y difamado en la sociedad de Londres por las explosiones de su carácter irascible. Una noche, en una taberna, el crítico Stewart se atrevió a burlarse de esa doble personalidad de caballero en la ficción y energúmeno en la realidad. Discutieron. Una palabra dura provocaba otra aún más dura y al final Turpin, fuera de sí y contradiciéndose, le gritó a Stewart:-¡Le voy a probar que soy capaz de comportarme en la vida con el decoro del arte!A Stewart no se lo pudo probar porque, en uno de sus irreprimibles arrebatos, lo mató allí mismo de un pistoletazo, pero lo probó ante el mundo en su primera oportunidad. Un testigo describe la escena así:El actor Turpin, desde lo alto del tablado, echa una mirada al público. Piensa: “Hoy, en esta tragedia a la manera de Richard Cumberland, desempeñaré con toda mi alma el papel de condenado a muerte”. Y, en efecto, resulta ser la mejor representación en su brillante carrera teatral. Avanza con las manos entrelazadas por la espalda, el cuerpo erguido, la cabeza orgullosa, hasta que se abre a sus pies un escotillón y Turpin, en el patio de la prisión de Newgate, queda colgado de la horca.

On this episode of the Irish History Show we were joined by Anne Chambers to discuss her book, The Great Leviathan, The life of Howe Peter Browne, 2nd Marquess of Sligo, 1788 - 1845. His story moves from Westport House in county Mayo to Eton, into the staid family world of King George III at Windsor Castle; through wild student days at Cambridge, on to Regency London and the scandalous world of celebrity, gambling clubs, bawd houses and theatres, to the sophisticated salons of Paris. Horse racing at Newmarket and the Curragh (he was a founder member of the Irish Turf Club) treasure-seeking with his college friend Lord Byron in Greece and Turkey, some of his ‘finds' are on view in the British museum. A sensational trial at the Old Bailey in 1812 led to his imprisonment in Newgate goal. There is a hint of double-espionage about his time at the court of Joachim Murat, King of Naples and with Napoleon Bonaparte on the island of Elba, while his sleuthing in Italy on behalf of the ‘prince of pleasure' George IV, (godfather to his eldest son) on the King's equally debauched consort, Caroline, is in the realm of high comedy. A passionate advocate of Catholic Emancipation, multi-denominational educationand reform of the nefarious legal system, he did his best to alleviate the desperate circumstances of his numerous tenants, aggravated by a rapid rise in population and by the ‘curse of sub-division'. He established manufacturing outlets in Westport as an alternative to the over dependence on land and encouraged trade, mining, fishingand kelp harvesting. As famine engulfed the west in 1831 he imported food, built a hospital and raised money for relief and public works. In 1834 Sligo was appointed Governor General of Jamaica and the Cayman Islands. As owner of two plantations, Kelly's and Cocoa Walk, which he inherited from his grandmother, Elizabeth Kelly, daughter of Galway-born Denis Kelly, former Chief Justice of Jamaica, the planters expected the new governor to be on their side.Sligo's stated objective on his arrival on the island ‘to establish a social system absolved forever from the reproach of slavery' however, set them on a bitter collision course.Sligo found slavery personally abhorrent. From the flogging of field workers with the dreaded cart-whip, branding with hot iron, to the whipping of female slaves, ‘I call on you to put an end to conduct so repugnant to humanity' he ordered the Jamaican House of Assembly. To restrain the worse excesses he personally monitored the activities of the sixty special magistrates appointed to investigate charges of brutality in the 900 plantations throughout the island. Much to the derision of their masters ‘he [Sligo] gave a patient hearing to the poorest Negro who might carry his grievance to Government House'.He advocated the building of schools for the black population, two of which he built at his own cost on his property. He was the first plantation owner to initiate a wage system for black workers and later, after emancipation in 1838, to divide his lands into farms leased to the former slaves. The Planter-dominated Assembly accused Sligo of ‘interpreting the law in favour of the negro' and, as he wrote, ‘set out to make Jamaica too hot to hold me.' They withdrew his salary and started a campaign of vilification against him in the Jamaican and British press which, backed by powerful vested commercial interests, resulted in his removal from office in September 1836.