Underfall Blog – Beating The Bounds

Have you ever heard of “beating the bounds”? Volunteer writer Elaine has uncovered a superb tale of boundary stones and slipway slapstick from Underfall Yard’s early history. We hope it gives you a chuckle on this cold winter’s day…

When shipbuilders Ross and Sage installed a patent slip in their yard in 1854, the position of the parish boundary was probably far from their minds. The slip is still in use on its original site in Underfall Yard, and visitors today will not see evidence of a parish boundary. However, in 1860 the old custom of “Beating the Bounds” brought the subject to the attention of the Bristol press.

In the days before modern surveying methods, parish officials periodically walked their parish boundaries accompanied by boys carrying withies (willow rods), with which they symbolically beat the boundary stones. This was meant to impress the location of the stones on the minds of the next generation of parishioners. To impress it more firmly, the young citizens might be beaten with the rods, or in extreme circumstances, have their heads bumped on the stones. You can see a filmed example of this tradition taking place in Penzance in 1964.

On 4^th June 1860, the “perambulation of the bounds” of Clifton parish took place. A procession assembled at Rownham Ferry, led by a police inspector and a man carrying a Union Jack. The parish surveyor came next, followed by the clergy, parish officers carrying willow rods and wearing nosegays in their buttonholes, a lamplighter bearing a ladder, and a mason with pickaxe and shovel. The Great Western Band and the boys of the National School brought up the rear. On the cry of “Forward!” the procession set off across Cumberland Basin, flags flying, band playing and delinquent boys using their withies to knock off the hats of gentlemen in front.

After pausing to hoist a couple of boys over a garden fence, to beat a stone located in a potato patch, the procession arrived in Avon Crescent. This, like Underfall Yard, stands on land formed when the Avon was dammed to create the Floating Harbour. The boundary between Clifton and Bedminster parishes runs along the original course of the river, through this made ground. A boundary marker can still be seen on one of the street’s gateposts. The boundary runs through the house.

Fortunately for the householder, the main body of the procession peeled off at this point, leaving a small pioneer force to follow the boundary through the property. Mr. Marmont the parish surveyor, Mr. Pavey the parish mason, sundry other parish officers, the two boys retrieved from the potato patch and correspondents of three Bristol newspapers made their way through the hall, down a dark, narrow flight of stairs and into a back yard.

Here they met with a six-foot wall. Someone had evidently had the foresight to relieve the lamplighter of his ladder, and this was used to get the party over the wall and into Ross and Sage’s yard. Doubts had earlier been cast on Mr. Marmont’s ability to join the procession on grounds of age and infirmity. In defiance of predictions, the venerable parish surveyor shinned up the ladder with apparent ease, remarking as he landed, “Not bad for a dead ‘un.”

Any satisfaction the members of the party felt on scaling the wall was premature. A bigger obstacle awaited them. In the ten years since the last perambulation, Ross and Sage had installed their patent slip. The perambulators found themselves faced with a vessel on the slipway cradle “with her stern in the parish of Bedminster and her bow in that of Clifton.”

The vessel was the Kilmun, an unlovely iron steamship with two screws, four funnels and a flat bottom. The party considered its options. Climbing over the hull was judged too risky, even with a ladder, and cheating by simply walking around would have been ungentlemanly. Only one possibility remained. Showing commendable dedication to duty, the elderly surveyor and his companions got down on their hands and knees and crawled under the boat. The views of the shipwrights, who presumably had to down tools while this went on, are not recorded.

Muddy but undeterred, the pioneers emerged on the starboard side of the Kilmun, where a rowing boat was waiting. Climbing aboard, they followed the boundary down the middle of the Floating Harbour. At Limekiln Dock (opposite the Great Britain) they rejoined the shore party, which had arrived via Hotwell Road.

Ascending Jacobs Wells Road to the Triangle, the procession reached Whiteladies Road, where refreshment was taken – champagne for the gentlemen, beer for the lower orders and milk and a bun for the boys. Fortified, they crossed Durdham Down, descended to the river and returned to Rownham Ferry. The band played the National Anthem and the company dispersed, bounds beaten, obstacles overcome and duty discharged for another ten years.

Visitors to Underfall Yard today, seeing a vessel on the slip, might consider how the gentlemen of 1860 would tackle the problem of crawling underneath it. Re-enactment is not advised.

This article was written by volunteer Elaine Clark and reviewed by Underfall Yard Trust. Click here to read more about the Yard’s volunteering program.

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