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Benjamin Mayo, the 'Old General'

Memorial plaque in Nottingham's General Cemetery recording the death of a local eccentric, Benjamin Mayo. The plaque reads:

"BENJAMIN MAYO.
COMMONLY KNOWN BY THE NAME OF
"THE OLD GENERAL"
DIED IN THE NOTTINGHAM
UNION WORK-HOUSE.
12TH JANUARY, 1843. AGED 64 YEARS.
A FEW INHABITANTS OF THE TOWN
ASSOCIATING HIS PECULARITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES
WITH REMINISCENCES OF THEIR EARLY BOYHOOD
HAVE ERECTED THIS TABLET
TO HIS MEMORY.

An account of Mayo was published in William Howie Wylie's Old and New Nottingham, published in 1853:

BENJAMIN MAYO, the "Old General," was born at Nottingham, about the year 1779. The glory of "Ben" was always at its meridian on Mickleton Monday. Before the jury commenced the annual survey of the liberties of the town, the General was accustomed to trot away with several hundred boys at his heels, in something like military order, to secure the sacred and inviolable rights of a holiday for every schoolboy in the town. A couple of urchins, with fining morning faces, would lead the way to their own schoolmaster, who was seated probably amidst the few children whose parents had refused to grant a holiday, and who therefore dared not "play truant." While the "devoted Decius" in miniature parleyed with the master, down would drop pens, books, and pencils, to the increasing cry at the door of "Out! Out! Out!" Frequently did the liberating army commit serious damage to the schools which held out against the besiegers; but alas ! that one so devoted to the cause of liberty should have been so easily corrupted, a bribe of twopence would induce the Commander-in-chief to withdraw his faithful followers. During the greater part of his career, opposition to the General was rare ; but latterly the masters did not capitulate so readily. One individual successfully resisted a three hours' siege, whose premises for years bore indelible marks of the mud with which they were pelted; but ever afterwards that master was triumphant. The General, deeming the "hold" impregnable, desisted from his attacks. His army being, after some tough exertions, emancipated from, scholastic thraldom, Ben was accustomed to march forward with the "surveying council." The obstructions which the worthy burgesses were content to note in a book the General and his forces were accustomed to remove at once; and, after a fierce contest probably with some angry dame, the door-scraper, or whatever it might be, was borne off with triumphant shouts. At mid-day the General drew up his forces in front of the Castle lodge, and demanded admittance into the castle yard—a summons always evaded by the distribution of cakes and gingerbread. After the scramble for the precious sweets, which were thrown, one by one, over the gate, Ben's popularity rapidly waned. Hundreds soon melted into scores. At one o'clock he was alone. In memory of his departed greatness, however, he never deigned to work for the rest of the day. For several weeks preceding the advent of Mickleton Monday the important question would be put to the General, "When will be Mickleton Monday?" "I don't know yet," he would reply, "the mayor hasn't axed me what day'll suit me." On the following Saturday he would say, "The mayor's sent his respex to know if I'd let it be Mickleton Monday next week, and I sent my respex and I'd come." In his earlier days Ben was a flying stationer, and vender of "horrid murder" sheets, and "correct card-lists of the races." He was a harmless idiot, and during the most of his life was an inmate of St. Peter's poor-house in Broad marsh. During the greater part of his career he never wore a covering to his head. Rain, wind, or snow seemed not to affect him till he had attained his sixtieth year, when he donned a military cap. Many anecdotes of the "Old General" are still current among the good folk of Nottingham. Once, when public attention was directed to the Duke of York, Ben ran excitedly through the town, crying "Here's the grand and and noble speech as the Duke of York made yesterday," excusing himself to those who purchased the blank sheet of paper which he held in his hand by saying that "The duke said nowt!" One day, Ben having found a sixpence, a claimant presented himself, and said he had lost one. "Had your sixpence a hole in it ?" asked Ben. "Yes,"was the ready reply. "This hasn't, so it's not yourn," was the equally prompt rejoinder. Ben died in the Union workhouse on the 12th of January, 1843, aged 64.

Photograph taken by Andy Nicholson, May 2004.