If Benjamin Mayo, otherwise known as The Old General, were alive today he would be a street corner seller shouting out the more sensational and lurid headlines in order to sell his newspapers.     

Passers by would stop in their tracks anxious to read for themselves about the latest disaster, society scandal or juicy titbit together with the latest runners and riders at the Races - just as they did all those years ago when Ben was a well-known character in pre-Victorian Nottingham town.

In those days newspapers such as The Journal, The Mercury and The Review were called broadsheets and were printed on flat bed machines using home made ink and moveable type laboriously set by hand.  No wonder they tended to be weekly newspapers – but they did earn Ben a living.

From time to time he did good business selling special news sheets recording the dying confessions and the last words of convicted criminals before they were transported or executed on the Public Gallows.    

Some of the more lurid headlines of the day included: - 

"Horrid Murder discovered by confession of Robert Bamford, under sentence of Transportation, concerning the body of John Timms killed at Trent Bridge in September 1818";

"The Dying Speech and confessions of John Miller executed on Nottingham Gallows for Cow Stealing"  and

"Some Particulars of the Lives, Trial, Behaviour and Execution of George Milnes and Joshua Smith for Burglary together with a copy of the letter from Joshua to his mother and father-in-law on the eve of his Execution."

On one particularly memorable day, Ben rushed around Nottingham's Great Market Place with the familiar paper sheets folded over his arm.     "Read all about it," he shouted at the top of his voice.  "One penny for the Duke of York's latest speech…"

Everyone wanted to know what the "Grand Old Duke of York, who had ten thousand men" had said and in no time at all Ben Mayo had sold out completely.  

He was ready with his cheekiest smile when customers complained that the pages were blank.

"Well what did you expect," he laughed.  "The Duke said nowt."    No one could stay cross with Ben for long and he got away with his impudence.

The Old General was a likeable, if a somewhat simple rogue with a streak of craftiness, a touch of eccentricity and a sense of fun that appealed to everyone he met.  Because of this the Town Mayor, the Corporation and other men in authority tolerated his latest exploits with good humour.

Even though he was born, lived and finally died in the local Workhouse and was only a small man with a stoop and crooked legs - he managed to rub shoulders with the most powerful men in Nottingham - who indulged him in his harmless eccentricities.

Every September, on the first Tuesday of the month, it was the practice of the Mickletorn Jury, consisting of the Mayor, the Sheriffs, the Corporation and other important townsmen, to beat the town bounds, which in the days before maps became commonplace, established the town's boundaries in the eyes of the man in the street.

On the following Monday - known as Mickletorn Monday – the same Jury toured the town making note of nuisances and obstructions such as dung hills in the street, the keeping of pigs in house yards or the piling of fire kindling too close to the homes of towns people. 

Following along behind the Jury would come The Old General leading a crowd of schoolboys who had been "liberated" from their lessons but, unlike the official Jury, they demanded instant satisfaction.

One year the Mickletorn Jury took exception to a boot scraper, which endangered every passing shin, and they noted this for future action.     Ben and his youthful troops, however, demanded its immediate removal. 

Despite buckets of cold water and the brandishing of wet mops by the lady of the house and her relatives, the soaking wet, ragged army, would not give in until the offending scraper had been borne away in triumph.  

The same enthusiasm ensured that street dunghills and other obstructions were flattened or removed without delay.

By mid-day on Mickletorn Mondays, the General would draw his troops into neat ranks in front of the Lodge of Nottingham Castle, demanding entry into Castle yard.    This led to a widespread distribution of gingerbread men, cakes and buns which were pitched over the castle gates - one by one.  The ensuing scramble satisfied the boys who, after eating their fill, gradually deserted the army leaving the General all alone.   

Ben Mayo was the ringleader of the boys of the town and received his nickname “Old General” from a very early age.

He was not a very imposing figure, however, with his shuffling gait, rounded shoulders and high forehead surmounted by his thinning, close cropped institution haircut, but, in all weathers his shirt remained obstinately unbuttoned revealing a large expanse of copper coloured chest.

Ben normally wore the drab grey uniform of a workhouse pauper, but in later years he proudly wore a scarlet coat with military epaulettes - the gift of Mr Hudson, a local gentleman, who had taken an interest in him.

 Every Sunday, without fail, The General attended worship with his friend Mr Hudson at St Peter's church where his behaviour was always impeccable.  Afterwards, considering himself one of the public characters of the town, he would not allow himself to be seen on the streets, believing that this would set an example to his young followers.

The General was in his element with the boys of the town and took great delight in drilling them like soldiers in the Old Market Place.   He did this so often - almost until the end of his life - and was a familiar sight in town.

For the whole of his life the General had lived in one Workhouse or another.  He was born in St Peter's workhouse in Broad Marsh (where the Broad Marsh Centre is now) and he lived there for 57 years until it closed in 1836.  He was then transferred to St Mary's Parish Workhouse on Mansfield Road on a site that is now the present day York House.

Finally, five years later, Ben, along with 1,149 other paupers, took up residence in the nearby, brand new, purpose built, Nottingham Union Workhouse which opened on York Street - on a site near today's Victoria Centre bus station.

When The Old General, died on 12th January 1843 at the age of 64, it was appropriate that the service should be held in St Peter's church and that his body should be interred in Broad Marsh graveyard.  His many friends and well-wishers subscribed for a tablet to his memory which is still to be found on the wall of the General Cemetery close to the Clarendon Street entrance.

ends