Mary Steele Tomkins (1793-1861) was the eldest child of Joseph and Anne Steele Tomkins, Mary Steele’s half-sister.  She married Charles Carpenter Bompas (1791-1844) of Bristol in December 1822 and maintained much of the Steele Collection before passing the collection on to her daughter, Selina Bompas (1830-1921). All the letters in the Steele Collection at the Angus Library that passed between Mary Steele and Mary Steele Tomkins can be found in Timothy Whelan, gen. ed., Nonconformist Women Writers, 1720-1840, 8 vols. (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), vol. 3, pp. 353-76. Three of those letters can also be found at Nonconformist and Dissenting Studies, 1650-1850:  two by Mary Steele (young Mary's aunt) from 1803 and 1805, and one by Mary Steele Tomkins to Mary Steele from 1807. For a biographical summary of Mary Steele Tomkins, click here.

Mary Steele Tomkins was thirteen when she composed the occasional poem preserved below in the Steele Collection, a popular form of poetry employed by the women poets in the Steele Circle. For whatever reason chose to employ the persona of her father as the narrative voice, referring to herself in third person (see lines 5-6, 64-65). Her negative portrayal of Bath in the above poem was reflected by her mother just prior to the family's removal to Bath in February 1808. Anne Steele Tomkins wrote to Mary Steele [Dunscombe] on 8 January 1808: ‘Bath is not a place that suits our taste but is a central situation & will afford many advantages – have I told you our house is in Grosvenor Place No 9 quite out of the City – we intend passing 2 or 3 weeks at Overn before we settle in our new abode’ (Whelan, Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 3, p. 372). 

The Noises of Bath

’Twas June, 1806 we left home,

Determined in Bath and its suburbs to roam,

Packt tight in a Chaise, like the meat in an egg,

So stuft fore and aft, we could scarce stir a peg.

In the middle sat Wife, on the left Mary T                                          

The Sword Case and Pockets, the Seat Box and boot,

Were loaded with Parcels, Books, Bacon, or Fruit.

Thus wedged at all points, just as tight as could be,

We got to the Street called Argyle No. 3.                                              

Here I hoped to enjoy Bath water and Quiet,

But all was commotion, all bustle and Riot.

And lest I appear by disease turned an Elf,

Take a list of Bath dins and judge for yourself.

In the front of our house, the Donkies are braying,                                

Behind are two Coblers and Violins playing.

To me with a musical Ear this is shocking,

’Tis worse than our neighbours the Frank makers knocking.

As soon as bright Phoebus the morning unlocks,

Our peace is disturbed by the crowing of Cocks.                                  

Then Sally the housemaid gets brushing the Chairs,

The Carpets and Tables, the Windows and Stairs,

The throwing up Sashes makes horrible Din,

But the heat makes it needful the air to let in.

While the Cats in the Yard were mewing and squalling,                       

The Cries in the Street were incessantly bawling,

*And as if to augment our distress she was trying

A Brat in the Garret was screaming and crying.

Then the rattling of Coaches, Post Chaises and Gigs,

Join’d in concert with Dogs and the grunting of Pigs.                           

Next the cries of “Old Cloathes,” either linen or silk,

Then a rap at the door and a loud scream of “Milk.”

No peace for the poet for while I’m at Rhymes,

The Abbey strikes nine and bang go the chimes.

And while I was musing on Wood Nymphs and Dells,   )                    

Comparing the Nightingale’s notes to Town Yells,       )

Pass’d a Waggon, eight horses and each with two bells, )

These bells made a Din that excited my wonder,         )

And gave me a pain in my left Hypochondar                   )                   

While the sound of the bells was like distant thunder. )                    

Then all the day long there’s the churping of sparrows,

The whooping of boys and the rattling of barrows,

This morning I went to the Bath for the Water,

And met there a noisy old buck with his daughter.

The one was all Cough and the other all clack,                                      

Soon tired of this music I wished myself back.

The cross-Bath I thought was the region of peace

Here the Argyle Street all surely must cease.

But no, for here too I had great cause to rail,

At the Cries the Bath Coaches, the horns and the mail                         

There a poor little Child I thought they were killing,

But found at the spring they his body were swilling,

While a sad noise was made by each stroke of [the] Pump

The handle of which made us hear every thump.

Says I this is dreadful and going away,                                                  

Met a rattling machine on wheels called a dray.

The dust it kickt up, in my Eyes brought the tears,

And its Din almost fractured the drums of my Ears.

Then homeward I steered and noticed the cries,

Here fine potted Laver, there hot mutton Pies,                                     

Here a woman kept yelling with apron all grease,

Incessantly roaring out, “Buy my green pease!”

And while I was eyeing the market folks habits,

A fellow bawled out, “Sir, d’ye want any Rabbits?”

Says I, “My good friend I want Quiet and Air,”                                   

While a footman cried close to my Ear, “Bring a Chair.”

“Fine Taters,” says one, “Artichokes” said another,

Sure Babel itself never such a pother.

Here two boys with bags on their heads took their stand

Seemed splitting their throats by roaring out “Sand.”                         

There some Women with fish a yelling did keep             )

While a little black rogue was squalling out “Sweep.”   )

A Butcher kept calling “make way for the Sheep,”       )

And fifty odd voices I could not make out

Seemed crying their goods and increasing the Rout.                            

Oh how much this bustle our comfort alloys

How much I prefer Overn Hill and its joys.

At the close of the day, at home all is peace,

But at Bath the rattle and noises ne’er cease.

Just now the door shook with a thundering knock                                 

The watchman hoarse calling “’Tis past ten o’clock.”

And hour after hour the stern guardian of night,

To disturb our repose, seemed to take much delight

And instead of detecting the thieves seemed to say,

“I’m coming my friends, so get out of the way.”                                  

At twelve one would think all the world were asleep,

But here all the night a sad noise still they keep.

Returning from Suppers, Routs, Parties, and Plays,

For the nights of fine folks break in on their days.

I’m thankful that such scenes have no charm for me,                           

In fact that Bath waters don’t with me agree.

O! I pant for fresh air, my trees and their shade,

T’ ambrosia of fields and the hay nicely made.

The Lark and the Linnet, the Blackbird and Thrush,

The whole tribe of songsters enlivening each bush.                        

I’m quite tired of Bath and no longer I’ll roam,

To me there is nothing like country and home.

*This is a poetical fiction as the Child was remarkably quiet but Poet’s must occasionally take license. [Mary Tomkins’s note.]

Text: STE 8/2, Steele Collection, Regent's Park College, Oxford; published version can be found in Timothy Whelan, gen. ed., Nonconformist Women Writers, 1720-1840, 8 vols. (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), vol. 4, pp.  235-37. 

Laver is a seaweed high in mineral salt; it was used in Wales and other areas along the Irish sea in making ‘laverbread’. After the sand was removed, the laver was boiled into a green mush; if not made into laverbread, it was sometimes packed into a bowl of crockery and sold, as the poem depicts, as ‘potted laver’. Overn House was the home of Dr. Joseph Mason Cox (1763-1818), who operated an insane asylum at the Fishponds, near Bristol. For more materials on Mary Steele Tomkins, see STE 5/13, and the extensive set of letters in the Tomkins Collection, STE 6 and STE 7, Steele Collection, Regent's Park College, Oxford.