Take A Ride Around Leeds in 1899 – Come On!

We think our cities are crazily busy these days. Compared to the late Victorian times when The Leaden Heart is set, though, they’re almost pastoral. Back then, they were crammed with pedestrians and carts and trams. People spilled off the pavements as they walked. They had no choice; taking your life in your hands was the only way to get anywhere.

Take a look at this footage from Briggate in 1898. Come on, take a ride on the top deck of a tram and look down. It’s utterly anarchic. People wander across the road without the slightest concern for traffic. Carts pull over at the last moment. Note the line of cabs waiting for fares in the middle of the road. And somewhere off to the right, they were starting to tear down all the courts and streets to build what would become Country Arcade and the Empire Theatre. The change had begun with the construction of Thornton’s Arcade more than 20 years before, followed by others – the Grand Arcade and Queen’s Arcade. Leeds was hollowing out those courts and yards that had been home to generations of people and making the switch to a retail economy. People didn’t live in the city centre any more, and wouldn’t for decades.

This is Tom Harper watching the construction:

“With a slither and a grunt, an old steam tram passed, filled with people. Harper strolled up Briggate, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He studied people, faces. It was habit, ingrained during the days he walked a beat around here. It was still good to get out, to meander and watch. It kept him in touch with his city.

On the other side of the street, the arcades had torn the guts out of the old courts and yards behind the buildings. Still plenty left, but year on year they were disappearing.

He stopped and peered between some boards, already plastered with advertisements. White Hart Yard had gone, knocked down by the hammers. Soon enough there’d be something new in its place. County Arcade, with more shops, and a way through from Vicar Lane. There was plenty of money in Leeds and people wanted places to spend it. The city was growing prosperous, changing so quickly he could barely keep pace.

But Harper kept wondering what had happened to those people in Fidelity Court and the other tiny streets that didn’t exist any longer. Where had they all gone?

Leeds was filled with noise. Voices shouting, carts on the cobbles, machines thudding and pumping. Relentless, battering the senses every day.”

And here’s what it looked like, before and after.

(images: Leodis)

There’s no doubt that Country Arcade was a jewel – and it’s the essence of Leeds rich these days, there at the heart of the Victorian Quarter. But it no longer has a restaurant that looks as remarkable as the Ceylon Cafe did.

(images: Leodis)

It wasn’t just Briggate that was jam-packed. There was a constant flow of business traffic over Leeds Bridge. And, of course, always some boys – who should probably have been at school – curious about everything passing in the river beneath. This footage must have been shot from the same building as Louis Le Prince’s pioneering footage just a few years earlier.

And here’s more of the bridge, followed by a trip along Boar Lane from what would become City Square. Again, it’s madness.

 

It takes your breath away, doesn’t it? All those people, the faces exactly like ones we see every day. The traffic, and you can only imagine all the noise and the smell of the horse dung and the smoke from the factories. We’ve been instilled with the idea that the Victorian and Edwardian eras were filled with decorum. Don’t believe a word. These moving pictures of Leeds tell a different and much truer story.

This is the place that Tom Harper and his men have to deal with every day in The Leaden Heart. And if you look at some of that footage, you might spot Annabelle Harper in a skirt, blouse and boater crossing the street. Pay attention, though. Blink and you’ll miss it.

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The Leaden Heart is published in the UK on March 29, and everywhere in ebook on May 1. One reader has called it “the best book I have read so far this year.” I’ll happily take that.

Finding The Leaden Heart – Two Bronze Pennies

When I started out, I had a plan of sorts for the Tom Harper books, a series arc, if you like. Of course, like all good books, they’ve long since ignored that and developed their own scheme that looks further into the future than I’d ever imagined when it all began.

But in 2015, when Two Bronze Pennies appeared, it was still sticking close to the idea.

I definitely wanted to write about the Jews in Leeds. They’ve been such a powerful, vital force, although in 1890, most of those here were poor and powerless, crammed and squeezed into the Leylands, just north of the city centre.

I did that, and I hope I did it well. There are some references to the legend of the Golem (at one point I wanted to call the book The Golem of Leeds, but my publisher said no. A wise move, in retrospect).

It’s a novel of changes. The influx of immigrants to Leeds, the prejudice against them that still echoes in today’s Islamophobia. The change, the rift that occurs between Tom and his sergeant, Billy Reed.

And there’s another story in there, too, that of Louis Le Prince, the man who arguably invented the moving picture. He lived in Leeds, developed those early movies here, and vanished without trace on a visit home to France.

Le Prince’s first film, taken in his father-in-law’s garden in 1888

Traffic Crossing Leeds Bridge, shot by Louis Le Prince in 1888

Even today, more than a century on from those times, no one knows what happened to him. But a mystery like that was too good not to use in a book about Leeds at the time. Sometimes life makes your decisions for you.

I wanted to capitalise on the wonderful reviews that Gods of Gold had received. I had plans for the launch people. Big plans. Something that could involve people from all over the world.

Live streaming was still new and unusual then. Hard to believe, I know, when it was only five years ago, but that’s the case. I signed up to use a particular platform. I was going to talk, answer questions people typed, and my friend Shonaleigh, a storyteller and drut’syla, was going to tell a Jewish story (please go and see her if you ever have the chance; she’ll transport you).

For whatever reason, when the time came, I wasn’t able to connect to the platform. It was all a bit of a bust. I felt foolish, that I’d let everyone down and disappointed them. My big plans had crumbled, defeated by technology. I did the only thing I could – hurriedly made this video the next day and posted it (apologies for the sound quality). The beard has long since gone, you’ll be pleased to know.

The reviewers liked the book (thankfully). And with two books, Tom Harper was on his way. From swearing I’d never write Victorian crime, I was up to my neck in it. But the characters didn’t intend to keep to the plans I’d made for them…

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Louis Le Prince The Vanishing Man Of Film

I’m thrilled that The First Film is coming out, making the case for Louis Le Prince making the first moving pictures in Leeds. That alone is wonderful, giving the man his due. But there’s another part to the tale – his mysterious disappearance in 1890. No trace of him has ever been found. And that’s how he comes into Two Bronze Pennies. Here are a couple of short extracts, just to give you the flavour of it…

In bed a little later, she lay in the crook of his arm, her hair spread out across the pillow.

‘I have to meet the French copper tomorrow,’ he said.

Annabelle stirred a little and placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart.

‘Is this that Le Prince thing?’ she asked.

‘For whatever it’s worth. I doubt there’s anything for him to find here.’ It was all going to be a waste of time, he felt sure of that.

‘I met him once, you know.’

Harper raised his head. ‘Le Prince? You never told me that.’

‘There’s plenty you don’t know about me yet, Tom Harper.’ She was lost in thought for a few moments. ‘It must have been four or five years back now. His wife was involved with some charity. They were having a do up at the cavalry barracks and I was invited.’

‘You? Why?’

She shrugged. ‘I gave them a little money. Anyway, he was there with her.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Pleasant enough, I suppose. We only exchanged a couple of words. He was very French. I liked his wife, though. No side on her at all.’

‘Did you ever see the moving pictures he made?’

‘No. I wanted to. Old Charlie Turner – you know, the one who owns Hope Foundry – he offered to take me, but I don’t know, there must have been something else I had to do. He told me he couldn’t believe his eyes.’ She shifted slightly in the bed. ‘What time does this fellow get in tomorrow?’

‘Just after twelve.’

‘Why don’t you bring him back here for his dinner? I’ve got a nice piece of beef. I’ll give him some Leeds hospitality if you like.’

*****

Couples and families moved away from the platform. A pair of businessmen with shiny top hats and determined frowns passed him. All that remained was a man on his own, carrying a valise and shambling along.

His hair was long, all the way to the collar of his heavy greatcoat, and a battered hat was pulled down tight on his head. He looked around, curiosity in his eyes. Harper lifted a hand in greeting and the man began to stride towards him.

‘Captain Muyrère?’

‘You’re Inspector Harper?’

They shook hands, Muyrère’s as big as a bear’s paw. His moustache was shaggy, as unkempt as the rest of him. But he seemed perfectly comfortable with himself.

‘Call me Tom, please. I’m here to help you.’

‘Bertrand. Muyrère. From Dijon.’

He spoke English clearly and fluently, the accent no more than an undertone. He stood a good four inches taller than Harper and at least three stone heavier. But he carried himself well, his gaze seeking out all the sights around him.

‘I can take you to your hotel.’

‘Good.’ Muyrère smiled. ‘But first, please, a cup of tea. Train journeys always make me thirsty.’

‘Of course.’

Sitting in the Express Tea Room on Wellington Street he was surprised at the way the man seemed to relish the drink, sipping deeply then lighting a cigar. His eyes twinkled with amusement.

‘You’re wondering, Tom. I can see it on your face. All those questions. Why do I speak English well, why do I like tea?’

Harper laughed. ‘That obvious?’

Muyrère cocked his head. ‘We’re policemen, we read people, monsieur, it’s our job. I lived in London for three years after the war. I learned the language and I came to appreciate your drink.’ He raised the cup in a toast.

‘War?’ He couldn’t remember a war.

‘Twenty years ago, Inspector.’ He smiled kindly. ‘You were no more than a child then. I was in the French army. The Prussians beat us.’ His eyes clouded at the recollection. ‘So many men died. Good men, some of them. I decided it was best to leave France for a while.’ Muyrère shrugged. ‘I went back and became a policeman. And now I’m trying to find out what happened to Monsieur Le Prince.’ He finished the tea. ‘I’m in your hands, Inspector.’

Harper had booked the captain into the Old Hall Hotel on Woodhouse Lane. As they entered, he glanced back to look at the Cork and Bottle on the Headrow.

The hotel room was small but comfortable – a good mattress, clean, the bedding fresh and aired. Muyrère nodded his approval and left the case on the bed.

‘What now, Tom?’

‘My wife wondered if you’d like to join us for Sunday dinner. She thought you might not know England.’

The Frenchman bowed his head slightly.

‘I’d be honoured, of course.’ He patted his belly. ‘I have a rule, never refuse a meal.’

‘Have you just come over from Dijon?’

‘No.’ The man grinned. ‘I have friends in London. I spent Christmas with them. I needed to talk to Scotland Yard.’

‘Have you learned much yet?’

Muyrère shrugged once more, a gesture that seemed to say everything and nothing.

‘Time will tell.’ He pulled out his pocket watch. ‘And now… your wife will be expecting us?’

A hackney took them out along North Street. Muyrère stared with eager curiosity at the factories and the cramped back-to-back houses, saying nothing but taking it all in. He gave a quizzical look when the cab stopped outside the Victoria, then followed Harper inside and up the stairs.

Annabelle bustled out of the kitchen when she heard them, removing her apron and tossing it on the back of a chair. She was flushed with the heat of cooking, but dressed in her favourite gown, the dark red and blue that set off her features. Her hair was up, elaborately pinned, and she was wearing the jet pendant.

‘Madame Harper,’ Muyrère said, taking her hand between both of his and kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thank you for your invitation. It smells delicious.’

She smiled. ‘Sit yourself down. The Yorkshires are almost done. Tom, take his coat and pour him a drink. I’ve even got a bottle of wine. I thought you might like that, being French.’

They talked about life, about France and Leeds. About everything but work. Muyrère was charming and funny, praising the food and the cook, clearing his plate of the Yorkshire pudding with onion gravy, then the beef, potatoes and vegetables. He only shook his head when Annabelle suggested pudding.

‘Madame, you’ve filled me. No more, but thank you.’

He drank slowly, savouring the wine and smoking another cigar as the others ate.

‘Annabelle met Le Prince,’ Harper said.

‘Really?’ He stared at her with interest. ‘I never had the chance. What did you think of him?’

She reddened a little. ‘About all we said was “How are you?”. He seemed nice enough. I liked his wife, though. Poor thing must be sick with worry.’

‘He really just vanished?’ Harper asked. ‘That’s what I read.’

Muyrère nodded and lit a thin cigar. ‘His brother claims he saw him on to the train in Dijon. When it arrived in Paris, no Le Prince, no luggage.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Other people saw someone board, too. I talked to porters at the stations on the line. No one remembers him getting off.’

‘Are you sure the brother’s telling the truth?’ Harper asked. It was the obvious place to start.

‘No one can say it was definitely Louis who boarded. No one else talked to him.’ The man chose his words carefully.

‘No sign of a body in Dijon?’

‘Nothing. We searched the brother’s house, his business. And no sign of the camera.’

‘Very strange,’ the inspector admitted. ‘Have you talked to the passengers on the train?’

Muyrère moved his head from side to side. ‘The ones I could find. No one saw anything.’ He gave a small, wry smile. ‘Of course.’

Harper understood. Finding witnesses was always difficult. Reliable ones were even rarer.

‘Was he on his way back here?’ Annabelle asked.

‘No, madame. To America.’ Muyrère sighed. ‘Now we come to the difficult part. Two years ago, Le Prince was granted patents on his moving picture camera over here and in America.’ He held up a single finger. ‘That was for his camera with sixteen lenses. But he’s developed a new camera with just one lens, and he wanted a patent on that.’

‘But if he’s invented it, what’s wrong with that?’ Annabelle asked with a frown.

‘Nothing,’ Muyrère agreed. ‘But there are others seeking a patent on cameras that do the same thing. Powerful men in France and America.’

‘That’s enough to make you wonder,’ Harper said.

‘It is, Inspector.’ The voice was slow. ‘I’ve never come across anything like this before. Have you?’

‘No.’ He didn’t envy the man his job. Three countries and business rivalries? How could anyone solve that? He was on a hiding to nothing.

‘And I hope you never will,’ Muyrère chuckled. ‘Believe me, monsieur, you don’t want it. Theft, burglary, murder. Those I understand. But this… I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth. Not the whole truth.’ He gave his shrug once more and stood. ‘Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’m tired. Trains might be fast but they’re not so comfortable. Madame, thank you again. Tom, we’ll work tomorrow?’

‘I’ll come to the hotel at eight.’

Merci.’