Having qualified first as a physician and then taken holy orders, Wolcot abandoned both when his early writings met with success. Using the name Peter Pindar, he produced a copious body of satiric verse, taking as his particular targets the royal family and academicians. Critics found his writing ‘generally coarse and not infrequently profane’. Obviously a devotee of Margate, his vigorous verse captures well the energy of the town’s social scene and the earthiness of some of its participants. The ‘ Dandelion’ referred to in his verse was the site of the Dandelion pleasure gardens in Garlinge, just outside Margate, renowned for their bowling green, dancing music and public breakfasts. A report in ‘The Times’ in 1804 described a gathering there of some 700 persons.
Quotations
The Praise of Margate
Dear Margate, with a tear I quit this isle,
Where all seem happy; sweethearts, husbands,
spouses : On every cheek where pleasure plants a smile,
And plenty furnishes the people’s houses.
What’s Brighton, when to thee compared? poor thing,
Whose barren hills in mist for ever weep.
Or what is Weymouth; though a Queen and King
Wash, walk, and prattle there, and wake and sleep
…
Whate’er from dirty Thames to Margate goes,
However foul, immediately turns fair. Whatever filth offends the London nose,
Acquires a fragrance soon from Margate air.
…
The Taylor here, the port of Mars assumes ;
Who cross-legg’d sat in silence on his board : Forgets his Goose and Rag-besprinkled rooms,
And Thread and Thimble, and now struts a Lord.
Here Crispin too forgets his End , and Awl.
Here Mistress Cleaver with importance looks ; Forgets the Beef and Mutton on her stall,
And Lights and Livers dangling from the hooks.
…
Here Mistress Tap, from Pewter Pots withdrawn,
Walks forth in all the pride of paunch and geer ;
Mounts her swoln heels on Dandelion’s lawn,
And at the Ball-room heaves her heavy rear.
Wolcot also depicted the more unusual view of Margate – the end of the summer season and the return to London (from where most of the visitors came) by hoy.
Tales of the Hoy
‘Twas in that month when Nature drear,
With sorrow wimpering, drops a tear,
To find that Winter, with a savage sway,
Prepares to leave his hall of storms,
And crush her flowers (delightful forms),
And banish Summer’s poor last lingering ray;
-
‘Twas in that season when The Men of Slop,
The Jew and Gentile, turn towards their shop,
In alleys dark of London’s ample round ;
From Margate’s handsome spot, and Hooper’s –hill,
And Dandelion, where, with much good-will,
Of butter’d rolls they swallowed many a pound;
-
I too, the Bard, from Thanet’s pleasant isle,
Where, at a lodging-house, I lived in style,
Prepared with Gentile and with Jew to wander :
So packed up all my little odds and ends,
Took silent leave of all my Margate friends,
And sought a gallant Vessel’s great Commander ;
Who, proud of empire, ruled with conscious joy
His wooden Kingdom, call’d a Margate Hoy.
