me, became barracks accordingly. Everton appears
always to have been a favourite locality for the quartering of soldiery,
when it has been necessary or expedient to station them in the vicinity
of Liverpool. On several occasions entire regiments have been quartered
at Everton.

The encampment of soldiers in the fields near Church-street, which a few
years ago attracted great attention and curiosity, is of too recent
occurrence to require remark from me, as also the occupancy of the large
houses on Everton-terrace and in Waterhouse-lane and Rupert-lane by
officers and men. As of old, the inhabitants of the present day sent up
a remonstrance to the authorities at the Horse Guards, against soldiers
being located in the neighbourhood, but with the same want of success. A
most intolerable nuisance, amongst others, entailed upon the inhabitants
was the beating of what, in military parlance, is called "the Daddy
Mammy." This dreadful infliction upon light sleepers and invalids
consisted of half a dozen boys at military daybreak (that is, as soon as
you can see a white horse a mile off) learning to beat the drum. The
little wretches used to batter away in Mr. Waterhouse's garden and
Rupert-lane half the day through, until several letters appeared in the
newspapers on the subject, which excited the wrath of the commanding
officer of the regiment then stationed there, who vowed vengeance on all
civilians daring to interfere with, or comment on, the rules of the
service.

The Breck-road, and indeed all the roads about Everton were, but a few
years back, mere country lanes, along which little passed except the
farmers. There was no traffic on them as there was no leading
thoroughfare to any place in the neighbourhood of the least importance.
It is only within the last ten years that Everton can be said to have
been at all populous. It was in my young days out by Breck-road and
Anfield (originally called Hangfield), Whitefield-lane, and
Roundhill-lane, completely open country. On Breck-road or Lane the only
house was that at the corner of Breckfield-road, called the "Odd House."
It was then a farm.

Connected with Whitefield-lane I recollect a good story told by a
gentleman I knew, of his getting a free ride to Liverpool, behind the
carriage of a well-known eccentric and most benevolent gentleman, some
thirty years ago. My young friend who was then but lately come to
Liverpool, had been invited to spend Sunday at Whitef