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between his printing room and his pig-stye—Brown Fletcher, 
the plumber, the father of the late Councillor Peter Fletcher, 
who used to make faces at little boys when they passed up and 
down his “entry.” He had a brother called Jim Fletcher, who 
lived at the top of the short street in a little pent house opposite 
the end of Yorkshire Street. He was the bellman, or town crier, 
and was a sort of crazy humourist, who never rung his bell at 
street corners but he cracked some rude or homely joke, often at 
the expense of the gossips he had drawn into a circle, without 
the aid of a Greek invocation, He was a queer, quaint figure, 
and I see him in my mind’s eye as he used to swagger up 
Blucher Street, after he had done his tinkling at the Gaumless 
and elsewhere, and cried his enormous new potatoes or fabulous 
‘‘ fresh red herrings.” ‘Then there were the Misses Forshaw, 
the fashionable milliners, ancient maidens of aristocratic 
pretensions, who used to come out with a switch to switch noisy 
little boys from the narrow causeway into the cobbled street. 
A profound query suggests itself. Was this, or something 
like it, the origin of the historic name ‘‘ Switchemer,”’ and if it 
was, what was the origin of the counter phrase ‘‘ Shumpty ?” 
‘‘Switchemer” was, I believe, a term of reproach, and 
‘‘ Shumpty’”’ a cognomen of respectability. The legend is that 
one old villager said to another, ‘‘ Tha’rt a ‘ Switchemer,’’’ to 
which the reply would be, ‘“ It’s a blank lie, I’m a ‘ Shumpty,’” 
followed by an appeal to ecclesiastical history and local tradition, 
asa proof. This is a subject for antiquarian research, in which 
the etymologists might probably assist, if it is not some seventy 
years too late to begin the enquiry. 
Then there was Joseph Stott, the blind ‘‘ brush maker, mat 
and skip manufacturer,’—so ran the old sign,—who used to 
shoot bundles of osiers from the high garret above on to the 
causeway to the eminent peril of passers by. Joseph Stott was 
blind, but he managed better without eyes than many people do 
with a pair, and used to travel long distances on horseback, and 
has been known to direct strange horsemen on their way, and 
point with his whip to distant land-marks, towards which the 
traveller would turn his steed, not knowing that the equestrian 
who directed him could not see the road himself. Then there 
was the Hall Inn, where ancient tradesmen and venerable topers 
gathered and drank the cup that cheers and inebriates. In the 
large room upstairs ancient philosophers used to lecture on 
astronomy and other sciences, if other sciences were then, and 
strolling players would strut and fret their hour upon a stage as 
narrow as the street, or the lives of its inhabitants. At the top of 
the street was an old gable facing down from Church Street, 
where old Jerry Spencer kept a grocer’s shop, and often exposed 
empty hogsheads that had contained brown sugar, and still 
