01x03 - Georgians

[bunniefuu]

We've all seen the pictures and read
the stories in the history books

about the kings and queens
with their power

and privilege and silks and furs.

But in this series, I want to
discover the other side of history.

I'm already quite nervous.

The side we don't often hear about,

how ordinary British people
lived their lives.

From the Tudors...

You can see why it did

attract my attention!
LAUGHTER

Disgusting!

TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS
..to the Victorians.

Throw a stone in Victorian London,
you will hit a drunken cab man.

There's that many of them.

We are not only amused.

CANNON BANGS

From the Georgians...

You take the saw. Oh, my God.

It's horrible,
just seeing you do that.

SCREAMING

...to the people who really fought
the Second World w*r.

James could hear the ping of b*ll*ts
and the clatter of shrapnel.

One thing's for sure, these people
knew the meaning of the word tough.

SCREAMING

I'll be finding
the truth about their daily lives,

what they ate...

How long would that have lasted?
Up to three years.

Urghg

...how they made a living...

There's even value in a rat,
when it's dead.

...and those vital necessities
of life.

What did you do if you wanted
to pee?

The bucket?

This is British History
from the bottom up.

You've got to admit,
I am terrifying.

LAUGHTER

This time, I'm going back over


Nowadays, it's seen as a period of
great sophistication and elegance.

Darling, where did you get
that dress?

But for ordinary people,
it was far from that.

For them, the Georgian period
was particularly cruel and nasty.

In everything from laws
to living standards,

there was a huge chasm
between the poor and the wealthy.

CREAKING

But...

...some of those who came
from the wrong side of the track

weren't prepared to accept
their dreary lot.

Jack Rann, who was born in 1750,
was one of them.

Here's Jack.

Like many ordinary families
of the time, Jack's was dirt poor.

They would most likely have lived
all together in just one room

with no running water,

and just a bucket for a loo.

We think his dad was a peddler,

a street seller, earning maybe
six or seven shillings a week -

just 35 quid in today's money -

which meant that most of the
family's money was spent on bread,

certainly not on fun.

And yet, just to rub it all in,

jack lived in a city that was oozing
with luxury and pleasure...

...Bath.

The go-to tourist destination
for Britain's rich and privileged.

They came here to party,
sample the spa waters

and generally ponce around.

Oh, the heartache!

But at least the toffs provided
a business opportunity

for a certain canny young someone.

Yep, no school for him.

Instead, he'd be following in
the footsteps of his dad.


used to pitch his peddler's cart

in the city centre, in the square,

selling Georgian delicacies
like pastries and oranges.

His customers were
the high-society men and women,

strutting around like peacocks,
with their hair piled high

on their heads...

HORSE WHINNIES

...like a glossy magazine
centre-spread,

there, right in front of him.

And the more he saw of it,

the more he wanted a piece
of the action.

And, quite frankly, he wanted to
look cool enough

to get some of the girls.

Jack saw his chance...
WHIP CRACKING

...in the Georgian
lust for high-speed travel.

REVVING

WHIP CRACKS AND HORSES WHINNY

For jack, the growing numbers
of wealthy travellers

whizzing around the country in
fancy carriages

meant the chance of jack
going places too.

When he was just 18, he got the
plum job in this new world

of high-speed travel -

he became a coachman.

And was soon running all
the transport for a large household.

♪ From stars up, sun down

♪ We getting money, money,
money, money. ♪

Chris Thomson is an expert on the
sort of life jack would have had.

That coat that you're wearing,
that, to me,

is traditional coachman's clobber,
am I right?

Yeah, great coat, has many capes
for keeping out the weather

and it's very heavy and warm,

so in inclement weather,
it would be something of a saviour.

In warm weather, it wasn't too good.

And jack would have worn
something like this.

What hours would he have worked?

Long hours, long into the night.

If his employer requested to
travel overnight,

then jack had to be at the ready.

On a daily basis, he would probably
work from dawn till dusk.

And jack wasn't exactly
raking it in.

He'd get just £10-15 a year,

a couple of grand today,

although he did get meals
and accommodation thrown in.

HORSE WHINNIES AND SNORTS

Regular public stagecoaches
were uncomfortable

and packed tight with smelly
passengers,

but Jack's was in a different class.

It's beautifully padded.
It's like your sofa at home

when you're just sitting there
watching the telly.

When jack reached one of the new
coaching inns to overnight,

his passengers went inside
to relax with a hot meal,

and a freshly made-up bed.

But...

"Jack's long day wasn't over
until he'd washed,

brushed and fed the horses.

Often his own bed
was right beside them,

along with any fleas and ticks that
might happen to be crawling around.

One thing was for certain -
being a coachman was not giving jack

the glamour that he craved.

What he wanted was the fat-cat
lifestyle of his wealthy passengers.

He'd seen them hand over wads
of cash every time they stopped

to pay for the fancy wine
and the gorgeous meals

while he had to bed down
in the stable.

It was time for a career move.

Jack was about to become
a highwayman.

OLD WESTERN MUSIC PLAYS

WHIP CRACKS AND HORSE WHINNIES
Yah!

Stand and deliver!

Even back then, highwaymen were
romantic figures,

more daring and glamorous
than bog-standard robbers.

The mid-Georgian period was
the heyday of the highwayman.

There were loads and loads
of travellers around,

there was no organised police force
to catch them,

and like most highwaymen,
and indeed highway women,

jack would ride up to the coach
with the travellers in it,

he would shout,
"Your money or your life"... SCREAMING

...and he would wave his p*stol.

Yah!

But it was extremely dangerous.

Passengers could carry g*ns, too.

g*nsh*t

So jack knew the risks,

but he was determined that even if
his career was going to be

really short, at least it would
be fun and exciting,

and just great,

so he dressed like a dandy.

He had these silk breeches
and each one was tied with eight

silver strings at the knee,

so he got the nickname
Sixteen String jack,

which is a pretty good nickname,
isn't it?

And there was one victim
who remarked...

PLUMMY VOICE:
"jack behaved exceeding civil,

"and rather begged for the money

"than used any violent means."

WHISPERS: He was so cool.

♪ Yeah, we run the roads

♪ Yeah, we run the roads... ♪

As jack notched up success
after success, his pile of cash

and his charisma rapidly grew.

CASH REGISTER PINGS

But the authorities were on to him.

He was caught and tried, not once...

...but an incredible 17 times.

And on each occasion, silver-tongued
jack out-witted the judge,

and charmed the jury.

But finally, in 1774,

jack was accused of stealing from
the King's daughter's chaplain.

What's wonderful is that you can
hear Jack's brass cheek

and his accent
in the court transcript.

He says,

"I knows no more of it than
a child does unborn.

"They have said false things
to you."

But jack had made a fateful error.

The court didn't take kindly
to the Princess's pastor

being called a liar.

He was found guilty,
and this being the Georgian era,

he was sentenced to death.

But, in true jack style,
he enjoyed a saucy last supper

with the governor of Newgate prison
and seven delightful young ladies.

The next day, a showman to the end,

he danced a high jig
on the scaffold...

...before the noose
tightened around his neck.

Coming UP---

...what happened to the seaman,
who jumped ship.

This is what he would have got,
the cat 0' nine tails.

Wham!
SCREAMING

And don't break a leg -

facing surgery in Georgian Britain.

Whoa, so that's just splitting me
right open all the way round.

Yes.

In Georgian times,
Britain began to rule the waves

and ordinary men went off to sea,

exploring, trading and generally
enjoying themselves far too much

in ports across the globe.

Hello, big boy.

GLUGGING

Another drink anyone?

One such man was a 24-year-old
Irish sailor called John Mara.

He was minding his own business
one day in 1770,

just hanging out at a lively port
on the Asian island of Java

having a drink down by the harbour,
checking out the girls.

Oi, you!

Grab him! Come here!

When suddenly, John was
surrounded by British marines.

Are you employed?

They were looking for crewmen...

Who are you working for?

...and had the right to force
any seaman between 18 and 55

to join their ship...

What's your name?

...whether he wanted to or not.

John had no choice.

He'd been press-ganged.

About a quarter of the navy's
sailors were recruited like this.

So, who exactly was behind John's
dastardly kidnap?

None other than the famous explorer
Captain James Cook.

John was now a sailor in Cook's crew
on board HMS Endeavour.

John Mara soon calmed down.

He admitted that one ship was pretty
much as good as any other

and only a fool would want to stay
in this disease-ridden port.

So, he was welcomed on board.

♪ Mama told me to never look back

♪ She said strap your things
tight across your back... ♪

In Georgian times, there was no such
thing as cabins for ordinary seamen.

So, when John first got on board,
he would have been given a hammock,

would've gone below and found
somewhere to put it

and that would have been his living
quarters for the rest of the voyage.

But at least he travelled light,

so storage of all his worldly goods
wouldn't be a problem.

These were called ditty bags.

This was where each sailor
kept his spare change of clothes,

his mementos, his knife, his Bible.

That was the lot.

And John wouldn't even have had
a uniform to worry about

because he wasn't an officer.

♪ Strap your things tight across
your back, honey. ♪

So, this is where the men lived

and down here was
the officer's quarters.

And if any of the sailors
just went beyond that line,

they could be shot by a marine.

If you just looked an officer
in the eye,

then you could be punished
for dumb insolence.

But look at the difference.

This was how the officers lived.

John became a gunner's mate.

His job was to keep the cannons
secure and the powder dry.

He also made sure all
the ship's ropes, pulleys and sails

were in good order.

He'd work four hours on, eight off,

with extra time off
when they reached port.

Most clays, John would be faced with
just endless skies and endless seas.

But it wasn't exactly peaceful.

CLUCKING, BLEATING AND MOOING

It's hard to imagine, but this deck
would've been covered in goats,

sheep and chicken,

EVE" COWS.

And some of the men had clumped
together and brought a pig on board.

And all those animals would have
created a right old mess...

...one that John and the other seamen
would have to clean up.

Everyone knows that the sailors
used to scrub the decks

and I'd always assumed that that
meant with a scrubbing brush,

but it didn't.

This is what they used.

This is, like, a square of sandstone

and you stuck a peg in it like that
and you went back and forward

and back and forward, day after day.

Essentially,
it was a discipline thing.

It just kept the lads from arguing
and thumping each other,

but it had a secondary effect
which they weren't at all aware of,

is that it kept the germs down.

So, essentially, ships were
a pretty healthy place to live.

Though, after a few months at sea,
there would be less mess to clean up

because all the animals
would have been eaten.

Sophie Forgan,
an expert on Georgian naval cuisine,

knows what kind of food John
would've been left with.

That's a bit of really manky
salt pork.

Now, that is as solid as a rock.

How long would that have lasted?

Well, they did last
up to three years. Urgh!

But pretty awful by that time.

It must have been incredibly salty.

Very, very salty.

But one way you got rid of the salt
was to put the joints in a small net

and tow them behind the ship
to wash some of the excess salt off.

Is it right that occasionally John
would be treated to something weird,

like albatross?

It is right.

Everything they shot was eaten.

The only one they turned
their backs on was walrus.

SNORTING

The sailors said, "No way."

But there was one fate even worse
than walrus for breakfast -

scurvy.

On long voyages, it was the biggest
threat to John's life.

The disease was caused
by a lack of vitamin C,

and on some ships,
it k*lled half the crew.

Men like John were terrified
of scurvy

and you can't blame them.

It was absolutely horrible.

Your skin started to go pale,
your eyes sunk in,

your gums went all swollen
and bloody,

Your teeth fell out,
you got covered in bruises,

then your arms and legs started
to go black.

Death, when it came,
was a blessed relief.

Luckily, John never got scurvy

and travelling at a modest speed
of just under ten miles an hour

made it as far away as it's
possible to be from Britain -

the South Pacific.

He must have thought he was
in paradise.

In Tahiti, he got friendly
with the local chief,

who apparently offered him
his own house,

his own land and the prettiest girl
in the village to be his wife,

chosen from among a dozen maidens.

John was over the moon, "What
an offer! Let's get out of here!"

And being a strong swimmer,
he knew when to make his move.

He waited until the sails were
being lifted

and the anchor was being weighed
and sprinted to the side,

dived overboard and began swimming
through the crystal clear waters

towards paradise.

RECORD SCRATCH

Unfortunately, he was spotted,
he was dragged back

and brought dripping into the ship
to be punished by the captain.

This is what he would have got,
the cat 0' nine tails.

Wham!

But he wouldn't have been
standing up.

He would have to lie down like this.

And this was known
as kissing the gunner's daughter

and get whacked on the back
and on the bottom.

A dozen lashes,
that was the standard dose,

although, quite honestly,
for a bloke like Mara,

I don't think it would've made
any difference.

After five years sailing
round the world with Cook,

John finally returned to Britain.

He'd made a bit of money
and he could've called it quits,

settled down in Ireland
in a cottage by the sea.

But he didn't.

Grog got the better of him
and he drank it all away.

And the last time
we ever hear of him

is in a port on the coast
of Australia,

looking for another berth,
another ship

and another adventure.

One thing you definitely didn't want
to be in Georgian times

was ill.

You might find yourself being
bled for acne.

Oh, God!

Or get tobacco smoke blown up
your bottom...

...to cure a headache.

And as for surgery,
even if you could afford it,

run a mile, if you're able to.

If you were poor, naturally,
you'd be stuffed either way,

unless you happened to be in
the right place at the right time,

which surprisingly could be
somewhere round here.

It's just another day in London's
most notorious district,

Jacob's Island, near London Bridge.

Also known as the capital of cholera

or the Venice of Slums.

Houses rotted by dampness,

windows covered in paper and rags,

the whole place overcrowded
with people

and dirty-faced kids
swarming everywhere.

One of the residents,


is woken up really early by the
racket of people clattering past.

When she's emptied the contents of
her chamber pot out of the window,

she pops out and joins
the queue for the pump

to get some water for her stew.

In Georgian times,


so Elizabeth was probably shacked up
with her grown-up children,

helping out with the cooking
and the shopping.

Nearby Borough Market was the
perfect place

for her to bag a bargain.

BELL TOLLS

This particular morning, she was
rushing down Borough High Street

avoiding all the crowds of people
and the horse-drawn carts.

And as she's crossing the road...

...she trips over...

...a cart runs over her leg...

WOMAN SCREAMING

...multiple compound fractures.

And remember in those clays,
there were no ambulances, no NHS.

But she's very lucky
because the accident has happened

just outside one of the most
important hospitals in London

that's been here since
medieval times, St Thomas'.

There must've been
a friendly bystander

who helped her limp to the door.

Then Elizabeth would have been
carried up these stairs.



You really do feel like you're
walking back into history.

Next, bleeding, in pain
and on the edge of consciousness,

Elizabeth wouldn't have been certain
that the hospital

would even admit her.

Julie Mathias knows all about the
history of St Thomas'.

If I came here,
I've had a road accident

and my legs are all smashed up,

my mates carry me here,
dump me on the floor -

what would be your response?

Well, you would actually be quite
fortunate in that case

because the hospital provided one
ward to access cases of an emergency

such as yours. Casualty?

Absolutely. So I've actually
come to Casualty.

Priority patients as you were,
yes, indeed.

So, things are sort of looking up.

Despite being from
the worst postcode in London,

Elizabeth had a world-leading
surgeon on her case.

I'm going to put myself
in her place

to get an idea of what Elizabeth
went through

in Europe's oldest
operating theatre.

Coming UP---

...Casualty, Georgian style.

That's actually to stop the blood
going through the floorboards.

Can the surgeons save Elizabeth?

And risking everything to put
a decent meal on the table.

Along comes Mr Rabbit.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Oh! Goodness!

London, 1824.


a poor lady from a local slum,

has been involved in a road traffic
accident and broken her leg.

Luckily, she'd been admitted
to St Thomas' Hospital

for emergency surgery.

Unluckily for Elizabeth,
it's the Georgian times.

I'm following the surgery
in Elizabeth's footsteps.

Well, footstep.
Karen Howell is my surgeon.

Scary!

Karen, presumably
you'll operate on me,

because you've got
the pinafore on. That's right.

I'm the operator for today,
the surgeon, for you,

so I'm hoping to amputate your leg.

Elizabeth must have been
a tough cookie,

but this experience
would have terrified her.

I must admit,
I'm already quite nervous.

Just below me here... Yeah.

...look at this.

This sawdust, presumably,
is for collecting my blood

and bits and pieces.
You've got that right.

That's actually
to stop the blood going

through the floorboards.
The church is below us.

There was a church underneath?

I don't want to drip
on the congregation. That's right.

But fear not, Elizabeth,

you're getting hi-tech treatment.

The operating table
was the latest design,

featuring a pop-out platform
for Elizabeth's good leg.

Even a headrest, and the table
was a handy height

for holding her down.

Thoughtful touch.

Tourniquets on to limit the damage.

We're managing your blood,
so that when we cut,

I don't lose much blood.

But that wasn't all Elizabeth
had to cope with.

She suffered this indignity in front
of crowds of people

who were making an incredible amount
of noise,

yelling at the assistants
to keep their heads out of the way.

There would be a few medical
students, naturally,

but, in some hospitals,
they actually issued tickets.

There was no anaesthetic,
just a piece of leather to chew on

and maybe a prayer
before the chop came.

In the 18th century,

the Georgian method is circular
action on one knee.

Are you ready? Yeah.
We have permission to amputate

and you're bracing yourself.

There's an old technique
they call the tour de maitre -

master's round - goes
round like this and you can see

what's going to happen.
So we're ready.

And pull round like this.
SQUELCHING SOUND EFFECT

Whoa! So that's just splitting me
right open all the way round.

And the idea was, then you take
the saw... Oh, my God.

We know, really, it's about six
to eight cuts through that one bone.

Very fast saws, they are.

It's horrible
just seeing you do that.

Then that is the bone through.
So my leg's gone now? Yeah.

There's no leg there now.

Elizabeth began to faint, but got
a hefty slap to keep her conscious.

With blood everywhere,
she must hang on in there.

The arteries are now severed.

We need to act quickly
to close up the wound.

Basically, we put a thread through
there - a big, thick thread -

and tie it like a drawstring bag.

The operation was a success.

Well, at least Elizabeth didn't die
on the operating table.

But then came the tricky
bit - recovery.

Thanks to the unsanitary conditions
in the hospital,

Elizabeth's chance of survival
was just one in three.

Despite her ordeal in the operating
theatre, Elizabeth didn't make it.

She never left the ward.

Within a week,
she died of infection.

And yet, within 50 years,
the medical profession had started

to become aware of bacteria
and began cleaning

their surgical instruments
and their operating theatres.

Although, sadly, for one brave
Georgian, that came too late.

One of the biggest problems
for the poor in Georgian times

was that they were powerless
to change their lot.

Ordinary people couldn't vote,

so the laws were made by the rich
and for the rich.

And to keep the working
class under control,

the powerful voted in a long
list of crimes

you could be hanged for -

over 200 of them, in fact.

SCREAMING

You could be strung up for anything
from, oh, destroying a tollgate...

...to impersonating
a Chelsea pensioner.

How dare you?!

But even more serious was pinching
the toffs' game.

Local rumour down here in Hampshire
at the time suggested

that Charles Smith
was a practitioner at the dark art

of poaching - although no-one
had ever actually seen him do it.

This looks like Charles in 1821,
aged 28,

with his son.

Standing a 6ft tall when the average
was just 5ft 5,

he was thought a rather
romantic figure.

He even married above his station.

Charles lived with his wife, who was
the daughter of a wealthy farmer,

and his kids and his little
terrier in a cottage

very much like this one.

So, he'd got a roof over his head,

probably thatched like this one.

This is actually quite gorgeous,
isn't it?

But to feed his family,
Charles needed money.

Some of it came from his day job
as a casual labourer.

He could get the occasional day
digging ditches,

lugging clay around
at the brick kilns,

scraping the skins at the tanners.

And, back in the old clays, that
might have been enough to buy things

like butter, cheese

and the occasional bit
of meat for dinner.

But getting food on the table
was getting harder and harder.

A run of terrible harvests,
new food laws and fat landowners

jacking up their prices
changed everything.

Now, to avoid starvation, families
like Charles's had to spend

all their money
just to buy the basics.

This is how the food
would have been cooked.

Although it would have been pretty
rudimentary -

something like tatters and shake,
which was potatoes with salt on it,

or a flat bread like something
that you get in the kebab shop -

the difference being that
there was no meat in it.

In fact, they had virtually
no protein at all.

CHILD CRIES

I want some protein!

And, in 1816, the government made it
ill*gal for ordinary people

to hunt and k*ll any sort of game...

g*nsh*t

...even wild rabbits.

Oh, courgettes in butter!

So while the rich had more fine food

than they could
fill their faces with...

...Charles and his family
were starving.

Mm, halibut!

Charles's local landowner
was an aristocrat called

Henry Temple Viscount
Lord Palmerston,

which is a bit of a mouthful,

and he was
the future Prime Minister.

He loved having fancy parties
for his hunting friends

and his estates were jam-packed
full of deer and pheasant

and partridge and all sorts
of yummy treats.

So if a man's kids were hungry,

what else was he supposed to do?

Charles turned to poaching.

Seb Littlewood is an expert
on poaching in Georgian times.

What kind of snares or traps
did Charles use?

There were small traps,
like these small animal traps,

so... What is it that?
It looks like a trap for fairies.

Yeah, it's about the right size.

So this is this is how this
operates.

So it's sprung by pushing this down.

You open the teeth

and then we clip that up like that.

OK, so it's all set for the rabbit.

Along comes Mr Rabbit. Yeah.

♪ La-la-la. ♪
La-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Oh, God! That's so horrible,
isn't it?

It's not nice.

And, presumably,
the thing about leaving

a few of these around is
that it means the gamekeeper

will know that
there are poachers about.

If the gamekeeper comes across them,
he knows people are out and about.

Poacher comes back
to check his traps.

Gotcha. Gotcha. Yeah.

So a rabbit trap could become a trap
for the poacher who set it.

SCREAMING

So if Charles wanted something much
bigger and much more effective,

what might he do?

Well, there is this option.

I suppose, something like this.
Hey-hey!

Would you actually be able to bring
down something like a rabbit

with that? You would.
Although it's a musket,

it works much the same way
as a modern shotgun.

Oh, so you put pellets in it?
Pellets in it.

This was scattershot -
meant that, hopefully,

anything sort of ten, 15 yards away,

you're going to hit it.
But isn't there a big drawback

to using a g*n - the bang? The bang,

the size. Absolutely.

Generally, the whole idea
about poaching

is you're relying on stealth,
on a level of secrecy.

Something like this,

you're going to hear it from half
a mile away.

g*nsh*t

But Charles was presented
with an irresistible opportunity.

On the 22nd of November, 1820,

there was a big and noisy
local festival.

Oh, revel, revel, revel.
I do love a revel. Ha-ha!

None of the revellers, Charles
figured, would hear his musket

in the distant woods.

Hooray!

When it was dark, Charles went
over to his hiding place,

produced his musket,

and he would
have had a big tunic on,

with a pocket in it down here
somewhere, and he would put the butt

in it to support it.

And then he would sneak out,
hoping that, before morning,

he would have been able to find
something warm and furry

with which he could feed
his family the next day.

The weather was perfect -
just enough moon to light the way

and just enough wind in the trees
to mask the sound of footfall.

Taking his terrier,
Charles made his way

to collect his brother-in-law,
John Pointer.

Then the two of them pressed on

to the plantation of Palmerston's
estate with all its rich pickings.

Cautiously, they crept to the spot
where they'd seen

pheasants roosting earlier.

Charles raised his g*n.

But, unfortunately,
deputy gamekeeper Robert Snelgrove

was a party pooper
who'd rather be lying in wait

for poachers than revelling.

As soon as he heard Smith's g*n,
he was after them.

Snelgrove caught up with them
and, as he did so,

there was a bang...

...and an almighty cloud of smoke.

It cleared to reveal Snelgrove
bleeding badly from his thigh.

The poachers were nowhere
to be seen.

Charles Smith went on the run,

but Snelgrove had seen his face
clearly enough to identify him.

It took them over a year
to catch up with Charles.

But, eventually,
he was tried in Winchester

and on March the 23rd, 1822,
he was hanged.

Charles was one of the last men hung
for poaching under the Georgians.

He was unlucky. Just a year later,

the law was changed and poaching
was no longer punishable by death.

Coming up, a gin hawker who sells
her spirits at the gallows.

If you're going to go see a proper
set of hangings for the day,

you're going to need refreshment.
You're going to need gin.

In Georgian times, the countryside
was beginning to get crowded.

So a lot of ordinary country folk
started heading off to the cities.

And nowhere was a more seductive
destination

than the booming capital.

In the 1730s,
the whole of London was squashed

into a fraction of its size today.

London started here, around about
Tower Bridge - that's there -

and stretched about a mile
in this direction

over towards Westminster.

And that was London.

And it was ram-packed full.
About 700,000 people and dogs

and horses and other animals.

And amongst this hurly-burly
was a woman called Elizabeth Bowman.

She's in there somewhere.

That's her.

Elizabeth was one of the many
young single women

who saw an opportunity to make money

from Georgian London's
expanding population.

Six clays a week,
she'd get up at sunrise and leave

her small, rented room
to come shopping here

at Covent Garden market.

It was the best place in London

to buy juniper berries,
herbs and spices.

Because Elizabeth
was a maker and seller

of the capital's most popular
recreational product - gin.

In Georgian times, in London,

they were knocking back
an incredible

seven million gallons of gin
every year.

That's... It's stupid!

...two pints of gin every week
for every adult.

Oh, thank you.

Two pints is what we drink,
on average, per year.

I mean, all right, I'm slightly
more than the average,

but you know what I mean.

Anyway, Elizabeth certainly
had a lot of eager customers

for her product,
but what was her life like?

Anistatia Miller is an expert
on drinking in the 18th century.

Why do you reckon a woman
like Elizabeth would have got

involved in the gin-making trade?

Because, if you were a good girl,
you would want to do something

where it's honourable enough
that you could sell something,

you could make something,
you could make enough of a profit.

So are you implying that she could
avoid the sex trade?

She could avoid the sex trade.

An incredible 20% of Georgian
London's young women were involved

in the sex trade, whereas selling
and making gin was considered

far more respectable.

For Elizabeth, it meant she could
afford a new bonnet

when she needed,
or visit one of the new theatres

that were springing up
around Covent Garden.

And she might even treat herself
to a ball of scented soap

for her daily ablutions.

Making gin was a bit of
a dodgy business.

First, Elizabeth probably blagged
a jug or two of rough, neat spirit

from the local distillery.

No questions asked.

OK, so Elizabeth's got some
of this dodgy stuff.

She takes it home. Yes.
What does she do?

Well, she's going
to make it into gin.

Easiest way is you take your
spirit...

She probably used just regular
crockery, jugs, things like that.

Now, here's the important part.

She had to have juniper.

Is that the thing that really marks
gin out?

That is what gin is.

But juniper berries were pricey

and might sometimes
have been beyond Elizabeth's budget.

Other way to do it, to get
that piney smell, was to use this.

Blimey! I know what that is!

Is that paint stripper?

Well, it's oil of turps. Turps? Yes.

They used to tip turps
into the gin?

Well, they also used to take
oil of vitriol to give it

a little bit of peppery bite.
Which is what? Sulphuric acid.

Oh, that's ridiculous! Oh, I know.

And if she was feeling creative,

Elizabeth may have added her own
herbs and spices, as well.

Seal this up.

Let it sit overnight
and you're done.

You've made gin.

Once Elizabeth had made her gin,

the next challenge was to flog
her dodgy home-brew.

One of the most horrible things
confronting Elizabeth daily

would have been the sheer
filthiness of London.

There'd have been rubbish strewn
all over the place,

pigs snorting everywhere.

And, in the clays before mains
sewers had been put in,

human effluent was just chucked
into the street,

or else - whoosh - went
straight into the River Thames.

Elizabeth would have had to walk
many miles a day through this,

without wellies or a facemask,
just to get to her customers.

Where and when was gin sold?

They sold it everywhere.

They were going up and down
the streets to do it.

But the best place to sell gin
was if you showed up to places

where people gathered.

And you're looking at hangings
at the Tyburn Tree.

If you're going to go see a proper
set of hangings for the day,

you're going to need refreshment.
You're going to need gin.

After spending the day
at the gallows, Elizabeth

might have found some more thirsty
customers at the local fight night.

Women used to do
bare-knuckle fighting

because it was another way
to make money.

And they'd be selling gin
as a refreshment.

But they also gave it away
as a prize. Really?

Ladies love gin!

But, unfortunately,
ladies loved it too much,

as did men and quite a few children.

By the 1730s, gin was no longer
just a recreational drug.

Londoners had become hopelessly
addicted to the tipple

Elizabeth was selling.

So the government banned hawking gin
on the streets, and that meant...

...Elizabeth's livelihood
was seriously under threat.

Desperate for an income, she moved
her gin operation underground

and found a clever way
to advertise her bootleg -

a puss and mew.

What you do, you fancy a gin, right?

This is absolutely true.

You would stand outside it going,

"Puss, puss, puss, puss,
puss, puss, puss.

Inside, Elizabeth would hear it
and she would reply,

"Mew, mew, mew, mew, mew."

So the bloke knew that it was time
to put his penny in,

or his tuppence,
if he wanted a double.

And then she would pour the gin out,

and it would come down that spout

and he would get out
his pewter mug and drink it.

It was a bit like ordering
a burger from a drive-in.

But in spring 1738,
Elizabeth's luck finally ran out.

She was snitched on for selling gin
and sentenced

to two months' imprisonment at
the Tothill House of Correction.

Georgian houses of correction
were pretty brutal places.

Inmates like Elizabeth were forced
into hard labour.

They used to have to spend
the whole day hammering away

at tough hemp plants to extract
the fibres for rope making.

They lived in squalid,
cramped conditions.

The food was meagre,

the whippings were frequent.

All for committing the crime,

basically, of being a poor person
trying to get a living

in a rich man's world.

After prison, Elizabeth disappears
from the historical records.

Maybe she stopped selling gin.

Or maybe this canny operator became
even better at hiding her trade.

For ordinary people in Georgian
Britain - whether gin hawkers,

sailors or poachers -
life was a hell of a struggle.

But I'm just in awe of their spirit
of survival.

Next time, taking on the Nazis.

It's the Second World w*r.

The whole day was
a long list of drills,

physical exercises
and skills training.

How they survived...

What did you do if you wanted a pee?

Go in the bucket. The bucket?

...how they fought...

James could hear the ping of b*ll*ts
and the clatter of shrapnel.

...and how they kicked back.

They played hard and worked hard.