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London’s first bikes were advertised in February 1819… London’s first fines for pavement cycling came in March 1819.
Wealthy Londoners had a new fad. As the chill winter of 1819 turned to spring, fashionable young gentlemen took to the streets on the latest continental import: the velocipede, or hobby horse. These early bicycles were chunky wood-and-iron affairs. They lacked pedals, gears or brakes. Without tyres or padding, they offered a very bumpy ride. Still, they’d proven popular in Paris and Berlin, after Baron Karl von Drais had set his invention loose the year before. They’d now reached London, and everyone wanted a piece of the action.
Pavement riders
Trouble was, London’s roads were appalling. Far from being “paved with gold”, the best you could hope for was granite setts. This blocky surface would have proven bone-shaking for anyone on a modern bike, never mind the rigid hobby horse. Throw in the heavy horse traffic and the faecally lacquered carriageway, and this was no place for a cyclist. Consequence: everybody rode on the pavement.
The Metropolitan Paving Act of 1817 made it unlawful to ride any wheeled vehicle on the pavement. The rules had been drawn up to stop carts and carriages mounting the kerb, but they also applied to these new-fangled velocipedes. It didn’t take long for people to fall foul of the law.
The first example of enforcement I can find comes from the 14 March edition of the National Register (London). Here we learn that an unnamed gentleman had been stopped by a beadle for riding his hobby horse along the footpath of Great Queen Street in Covent Garden. He was duly escorted to the local magistrate and fined £2. It is the first London cycling offence on record.
Then comes a bizarre twist. The guilty man turned his gaze towards his captor and dropped a bombshell. The beadle, he claimed, had also taken a turn on the bike. It seems that the official couldn’t resist the chance to ride the novelty vehicle. Eyewitnesses confirmed it. The beadle had freewheeled across Queen’s Court, a paved space. He’d broken the same law that he’d been cack-handedly enforcing. The magistrate levelled a £2 fine on the humiliated man “amidst the laughter of a very crowded office”.
And so, John Kendrick, bumbling beadle of St Giles-in-the-Fields, is the first rogue cyclist for whom we have a name. His ignominy is reminiscent of Mr Bumble, the corrupt beadle in Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist, published 18 years later.
Velocipedes of Long Acre
Let’s back up a bit and take a deeper look at these early bikes. As we’ve seen, the chief difference from a modern bike was a lack of pedals. Riders had to punt their feet along the road (or pavement) surface to gain momentum. Even so, they could pick up some speed. 10mph was achievable on flat surfaces. Downhill, riders might easily overtake a horse.
We can thank Denis (or Dennis) Johnson of 75 Long Acre, Covent Garden for introducing the first bikes to London. Johnson was a wily coachmaker who used his skills to improve on the original German design. His velocipede had larger wheels, cushioned handlebars and metal fittings to improve durability. It weighed in at around 50 pounds (22kg) – about the same as one of TfL’s modern cycle hire bikes.
In December 1818, Johnson was awarded Letters Patent that gave him protected rights to make and sell the vehicles. They were an instant hit. Over the coming months, the moonlighting coachmaker would construct several hundred bikes, bespoke to his customers’ needs. Johnson opened a riding school at 377 Strand, where young gentlemen could test-drive the machines. They might purchase one for eight guineas which, according to the National Archives currency converter, was about the price of a cow.
The fad spreads
Another riding school seems to have opened in March 1819 at the Horns Tavern in Kennington. Here, for a moderate charge, gentlemen could take the metal steeds around the venue’s sizeable ballroom. The Horns, on the corner of Kennington Road and Kennington Park Road, was quite a landmark in its day. Surrey Cricket Club was formed in the same pub 26 years later. (The site is now a Job Centre.)
Johnson was able to ramp up production to meet demand, reportedly manufacturing over 300 in the early months of 1819. The bikes quickly became popular in wealthy circles and gained the nickname “dandy horses” because of their toffish associations. Indeed, “dandy horse racing” is listed as one of the “juvenile amusements” at the Prince Regent’s 57th birthday party later that year.
The bikes were also seen in London’s most fashionable promenade – the king’s road (Rotten Row) through Hyde Park — though it took time for them to be accepted. The Morning Herald of 29 March 1819 notes a group of three velocipede riders who attempted to progress towards Kensington Gardens. “They were so much impeded in their operations by the curiosity of promenaders… they suddenly tacked about and retired by the gate at Hyde Park Corner.” Here they were jeered by “two or three dozen” boys, with a similar kind of inverted snobbery we might, a few years ago, have directed at a trio of hipsters on electric scooters.
“One of those machines which may probably alter the whole system of society…”
The machines really were the talk of the town. In April, a crowd of thousands gathered near Whitechapel Church (today’s Altab Ali Park) to witness the start of a velocipede race to Romford. No riders or velocipedes materialised, and the whole thing was deemed a pickpocketers’ hoax by the police. Even more bizarre is a report from the London Gazette of 22 June 1819. It notes that passengers on London Bridge were “amused with two men, dressed as sailors, mounted on dandy horses, exercising them on the centre sterling (starling; a supporting leg) of the Bridge”.
Meanwhile, Dennis Johnson was busy drumming up custom for his vehicles, and he embarked on a national tour. April 1819 saw him exhibiting the bikes at Bristol’s Assembly Rooms. “Mr Johnson particularly invites the Ladies,” a problematic notice in the Bristol Mercury tells us, “because he fears, from their known delicacy, they may debar themselves from that gratification which the perfections of the Vehicle are highly capable of imparting.” He would soon modify his design, lowering the crossbar to assist riders in long skirts. As the image below shows, it must still have been a challenge to ride the bikes without becoming entangled in the wheels.
The hype was such that commentators saw all kinds of revolution in the dandy horse. One anonymous hack speculated that the “velocipede is one of those machines which may probably alter the whole system of society – because it is applicable to the movement of armies, and will render rapidly practicable marches far more distant than have ever yet been undertaken.” Given the lack of smooth roads in early 19th century war zones, it’s not hard to fathom why you’ve never heard of His Majesty’s Dandy Horse Cavalry Regiment.
The bikes also made regular appearances at the theatre (including one production re-enacting the siege of Troy), while dandy horse races became a popular sport for wagers. In June 1819 we read (St James’s Chronicle, 10 Jun) about the first known London to Brighton ride on a horseless vehicle. The feat was accomplished in nine hours by a Mr T. Alford and three others.
Putting the brakes on
By summer, the novelty was wearing off. Velocipedes were proving slow, uncomfortable and occasionally dangerous. Many more people were fined for riding on pavements, and the number of injuries soared. The satirists had a field day, not just in the ubiquitous cartoons but also in news print. One item in the 17 May edition of the London Packet purported to be the Minutes of a meeting of the Royal College of Surgeons. We hear that the learned gentlemen unanimously voted to bestow the Thanks of the College upon “…the inventors and multipliers of the Velocipedes and Accelerators, for the able assistance they are likely to give the profession” (i.e. supply more paying customers for doctors). The imagined Vote of Thanks was written onto ass skin.
One final hoorah came in August, when a daily meet of velocipede riders at the south-east corner of Regent’s Park attracted large crowds. Injuries were common and the gathering was soon suppressed.
The fad seemed to wane with the summer. Few press reports appear after August and, when they do, it’s usually to quip that an emerging fad will fade as quickly as the dandy horse. The velocipede fell out of fashion as quickly as it had arrived. Bicycles were rarely seen on the streets of London over the next forty years. Eventually, the invention of pedal power would drive a fresh craze for cycling – a topic for another day.
Denis Johnson went back to coachmaking, and seems to have continued trading until his death in 1833. He’s buried in St Martin’s churchyard in Camden Town. His plaque on Long Acre was unveiled in 1998 by the then-Minister for Sport, Tony Banks. By chance, or perhaps design, the building nextdoor-but-one is today home to Brompton Bicycle, the London company who pioneered fold-up bicycles in 1979, exactly 160 years after Johnson’s innovation. We’ve come full cycle.
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