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Please Ban Singeing in Buckingham’s Streets, Councillors!

From the Bucks Gazette, November 1, 1832

A very serious accident occurred at Buckingham on Thursday week. A boy of the name of Pitkin, about twelve years old, was sent by Mr. W. Stuchbery with a colt to be shod, the poor boy was particularly desired not to ride it, but he unfortunately did not attend to this order; rode it to the smith’s and was again riding him back, when he took fright of a pig singed in the public street, and threw the poor lad, who, falling on his head, fractured his skull. M. Edmund Southam, very humanely proffered his services to scalp him, but we fear, without its proving successful, as the boy lies in a dreadful, restless, and delirious state, with but little hope of recovery. Surely this accident will rouse the borough authorities to put some restrictions of thus dressing pigs in the open streets, it being obvious to every one that danger may arise to persons either on horseback or in harness.

Historical Context:

Mr. W. Stuchbery was almost certainly a forebear of Councillor Robin Stuchbury’s family. In 1849, William Stuchbery was the Guardian in Radclive, responsible to the  Buckingham Union Workhouse for the poor and destitute of his parish.

After the fire of 1725, Buckingham was rebuilt upon its Mediaeval town plan and foundations. It was high density, urban living, leaving little room for grounds and gardens. Public open space was often pressed into use,  as in this tragic  example, to light a big fire upon which to singe the hairs of a freshly slaughtered pig. No doubt, washing the carcase in a “tin” bath of cold water would have followed. In Mediaeval iconography December was represented as Pig Singeing Month: the demand for flitches of bacon rose towards Christmas when they would be suspended by the hearth to provide the family’s meat through the cold months of winter.

Mr Edmund Southam was Buckingham’s leading surgeon. He was a highly, respected, devout Quaker who operated from his house in Castle Street. Scalping was an extreme remedy, very much kill or cure. The scalp would be removed and the exposed skull roughened. Small holes might be bored into the skull. Occasionally, new tissue and skin formed over the wound and the patient made a forever hairless recovery.

Authority in Buckingham lay with its Bailiff and Burgesses. They didn’t react to the tragedy for they were unaccustomed to taking decisions as they were the Duke of Buckingham’s  “place” men, in position for ceremonial purposes but  having neither a budget nor the means to effect action. As far as I know, pig singeing in the streets of Buckingham has yet to be banned but in its day it was as dangerous as using a mobile phone whilst driving a vehicle in 2021

written by OLD SALL in TINGEWICK for the BUCK'NAM 'TISER in 1911 (best READ ALOUD!)

I now takes up pen to rite you these few lines to tell you about me sun goin’ for a sojer. An’ altho’ I never should ’ave thought it, I’m blest if they didn’t let 'im ’ave one. 

Well, it wer just like this. But must tell you fust tho’ that alluss ’ad dred of any of mine goin’ for sojers, altho’ the folks allus did say as me ole man would ’ave made as fine a sojer ever was, ’speshully if ’is staring part’ ad bin put t’other way about ’e would ’ave  bin one the finest chested men in the army. Then of course you can’t ’under, “like father, like son.” But I never could see why they should want sojers to be like them there pigens as blow ther chests rite up into ther necks as if they wer agoing to bust. Spouters I think they calls ’em, an spouters necks generally look if they wer going to bust. Well, as I wer going to tell yer, it were like this: Just as me an’ one of me nabers wer agoing to sit down to a erly cup of tay, cos we ’adnt 'ad any dinner, in comes our Lively from plow for 'is dinner, an’ as I was agettmg it ou ‘e sest “Mother, I joined the tarryers last nite.” What, I sed; what, did somebody get selling you pup. “Pup be blowed,” ’e sed, “I say I’ve bin an’ joined the tarryers.” So I sed well you needn’t 'ave done that, for you wer tarryer enuf afore. That begun to get ’is mad up a bit, and ’e oilers out, “Can’t y’ understand, I say I've bin an’ joined the tarryers—them thear new lot of sojers. It’s new naame they’ve give ’em; they used to call ’em the Follen Teers.” 

Talk about bein’ struck all of hep. There I wer like a ninepin; I fell flop down into me cheer. I couldn’t touch a bit of tay, I wer that upset .  An If they ’ad  bin in any speshul need of Follen Teers just then they could ’ave ’ad ’em the bukut full. “ Doan’t go an’ upset yerself so”, sed me good naber, “for you ent very strong at the best of times”. Well, to be sure, it ’as made me feel bad, I sed; I be all a shaake now. I feel that upset I doant no what to do, think as one o’ my children should want to be a sojer. Whatever ull ’e do, an’ ’im never bin away from ‘um in ’is life. “Well, ’uman,” sed me naber, “just ’ave a cup of tay or you’ll be downright bad.” I sed well I feel as I must raley have summat, I feel that ere faint. Here, Mrs., you just take that bottle an’ go down strit an fetch me a little drap of summut, an' I felt a bit better arter I 'ad ’ad a drap. But, lor bless your soul, I couldn’t touch a bit to et. An’ there sat that there varmint agetting ’is dinner down, ’im unconsarned as could be. There I’d got ’im nice dinner as any chap need wish sit down to; a good bacon dumplin’— ’um killed—about a foot long, clanger ’e calls ’em, an’ cabbage an’ taters. I’ll bet them sojer chaps wunt feed ’um like that; ’owever, if they does, they’ll ’ope ‘e’ll stop a wik instead of a fortnit. But I ’as ’eard say as that sort livin’ breeds good sojers. Well then ’e finished up with a few bread and lard sanwijes an’ two or three cups of tay. But a young growin’ chap does want a good livin', an’ my boy ’ull be 18 come next August; ’e were born the Saturday before the Feust [annual Tingewick Feast]. Ah! I sed, you’ll find the difference when you a sojer an’ ’ave to go away to ’em forin parts. “Yah,” ’e sed, “Tarryers doant ’ave to go to  Forin parts.” 

Arter ‘e wer gon there I sat an’ thought all the dredful things until it were time to get the ole man’s supper. ‘Ow to tell ’im I  didn’t no, for I expected ’e’d swear so. But, ’owever, ’e took it in very good part, for I sed  well man what should y’ think, if our Lively ent bin and jined the Tarryers rigment. An’ ‘e  sed as ’ow ‘e  wer one of the best at Tarrying ’e noed. I wonder whear they ud send ’im to, the old man sed, “Oh, ’ell still be able to come in an say ‘Where’s me mother.’ That just does rile the ole man, cos when any of the children come in they alius say “Where’s me mother” if they can't see me about, and never say “Where’s me dad.” But, ’owever, ’e was a bit matey an’ in a very good yumer, and ’e xplained as the proper name to give these sojers wer the Tarry-toe-aneels. Then ’e told as there wer a chap called “‘All Dane” as was a tryin’ to get a lot sojers for ’um defence. An I sed I didn’t like them foriners much, wan ’e any relashun that “ dane” as lived 'ear a few ’under’d ’ears ago—King Kute, the Dane I think they called 'im, ’im as begun orderin’ the sea about. An’ did they want these Tarry-toe-an-eels to go  and sweep it back cos it disobeyed orders. Then he said I was about silly as they made ’em. Then ’e sed they wanted the sojers  to keep the Forin chaps away. Mr. ‘All Dane an' some others, who ’ad very jumpy nerves, were afraid as ’ow a few Jerman Bands mite come over some dark nite. An’ I sed well that would be nerve shaking, but there was one thing, we shouldn't able to lodge any of ’em, as our beds are groaning with over wate now, but there wer plenty of folks in the place as would give ’em a most ’arty welcome, for some dearly love every man but a Englishman. An’ it ‘as bin sed ’ow they be goin’ to 'ave all locks an’ bolts took off ther doors and things, an’ keep open 'ouse, and that’s why they doant want any sojers becos they want to keep open country. “But I tell yer,” said the ole man, “this Mr. ‘All Dane is getting these Tarry-toe-an-eels to keep ’em out, an’ 'e couldn’t ’ave a better lot of chaps than these bacon dumplin’ consumers for the purpus.” Well now, after the old man ’ad xplained, me vishun begun to briten, an’ I could sorter begin to see a 'ole through a ladder. I could see it  'udn’t do to leave the door of the country open any more, nor yet 'ouse door; these Tarryers are be the kay, an’ if them Jerman Bands attempt to come I 'opes as ’ow they’ll slam the door in ther faces an’ lock it.

One night our Lively comes in an’ dresses 'isself and ’e was goin’ to drill, so I thought I  should like  to see what sort of performance that was. I went down the “Crown” field—no I didn’t go in, I went round back way, that’s wher they drill, an’ to tell you the truth, I was quite pleased with what I see.  There wer a smart little chap with sojers  things an’ ’e  kep ordering ’em abont, an’ it was just wunderful to see ‘ow they done as  ’e told em. It waas wuth summut to see ’em do as they were told for once. ’Ow smart ’e made em walk, too. I shouldn’t ’under if it’ll be any trouble for them get a gal at the Feust. Course, they ent got ther proper sojerin things yet. My word, you wunt catch ’em when they ’ave. Then they be agoin’ into camp for a fortnit. I doant know if they will be anything like the camp meetings they used to ‘old about here ’ears ago. Anyway I shall look at sojerin in a different way for the future.  I ’avent got much to protect, but I must say  as ’ow I don’t want them Foriners to come and ’ave our bit of bacon an’ tackle. An’ of course them as got more to protect must do more towards it. I do ’opes ’ow eny master as ’as got any of these Tarry-toe-an-eels at work for ’em will give ’em a little palm oil and a blessing when they goes off to attend the Camp Meeting. 

COMMENTS:

Old Sall lived in a one up and one down at the end of the old Sunday School which later became the kitchen for the Sunday School. My dad often spoke about Old Sall. (David Ridgway)

Lovely words that bring back lots of memories. I still use quite a few. Summat, tay, ull and ent spring to mind. I must admit that as fewer people around talk like that now, my usage of old Bucks dialect has reduced over the years. (Tim Hilsdon)

I saw the Old Gaol in the 1970s. This story brings back memories. We Kiwis were staying at Tingewick in a Boarding House. (Wayne Judson, presumably by 'Spouter Post' from N.Z.)

An’ that just reminds, as the  tale tellers say. 

Our young Sall, she left her place and come 'um t'other wik; cos o’ course now us a got our bit  of fortin, us couldn't think o’ lettin her got out as a ornary sarvent. She'll 'ave to go as a 'elp or companion or summut o' that sort. You know them thear places  whear  thears a bit more work only yer titles a better sounding one. 

Well, as I wer' a sayin', our young Sall she come 'um, an' I  went an’ went an met 'er at  the station; an’ afore I 'ardly 'ad time t' ax 'er 'ow she wer agettin' an' she said. "Oh, mother, you really will have to get a new dress, for  yours is getting quite shabby." "Lor, bless you, gal," I said, "My frocks good enough for me, I only  ’ad' it when our Nobby wer christened  un’ e'll only be twenty come next leasing time." But ’owether nothing 'ud do but what I must ’ave a  new 'un. Of course I left the orderin' an it  t' our young Sall, cos o' course, I doant understand much about such things. An' she said,  “Of course, mother, you must have one of the  latest fashion. I think one of the Hobble skirts would suit your beauty.”  I must say as 'ow I got rather a nice figure - plump you know; not one o' them thear  'ungry looking  ones what makes a quartern loaf begin shiverin' when they look at it. Altho' the ole man when 'e’s got 'is urge up,  does say as 'ow l be like a india rubber ball on stilts.

But, ’owether, I didn’t no nothing about ’obble skirts.  What I knowed about was ’ow my corns make m'  ’obble bad  enough till I’ve ’ad a go 'at ’em wi’ the ole  mans raser. then they a bit easier; but it's a funny thing,  I allus notice that when the old  man shaves wi’ it it  always makes 'im that  lively, e ’ops about like the pays [peas] do  when our young Slens a parching ’em in the fire shovel. But as I wer asayin,  our young Sall sais as 'ow I wer t' 'ave a 'obble skirt, and course,  a 'obbld  skirt it 'ad t' be.   Well, the dressmaker brought it um,   an’ the next Sunday arternoon as ever wer I put it an. An’ of all the cust  things as ever I see that wer the one. I  tried t’ put  it over me 'ead,  but  me 'ead wer too big  for that job for it  udn’t gon through that 'obble  nohow, an' so I had to pull it the same as the ole man does ’is trousis an’ then some of the stitches began to get rather disagreeable and begin to shout. You can take my  word,  these 'ere sort of frocks be rightly named ’obble.  I started to  come down stairs, but, oh dear! I didn't no which leg to start wi' fust. An’ if you’ll believe me,  I ’ad to sit down  an’ slibber down like children when they fust walk. Anyhow I did manage to get down an' started getting the tay. Just then in comes our young Slen, an' I were a 'obbling about, an’ 'e said. “Well, mother, 'ow y' do 'obble, be yer fit bad?” An' I said,"No boy, it be this  ’ear new frock." Then in come our Lively, an 'e stood their agrinnin' as bad as if 'e 'ad drunk a pint of vinegar." Ho! Ho!Ho!" he said. " Ha! Ha! Ha! Mother a y' started wearin' yorks [yokes] around yer frock? Y' doant  mean  to turn yer calves  out to grass, I can see; you got ’em tied up for the winter."

Arter tay,  me an' the old man went out for walk. An’ them thear chaps, some an’ ’em said, “Hullo, Sall, what be y’ practising ready for the Sack  race at the sports next year at the  Feust?" [Tingewick Annual Feast- like a mini Buckingham Fair, full of fun, stalls, eating and drinking. ] "Well, I can tell y’ as 'ow us didn't  stop out very long. The wust part wus to come though—'ow about goin' upstairs?  It wer no good me thinking of walking up or ’obblin’ up so the ole man 'ad t'  gimme picky back, wi’ Lively pushing behind, an' even then when I went to take it off I 'ad t’ get the ole man to give bit of a pull. 

One day in the though I got into terrible 'obble,  like our poet  [Commonly called the Tingewick Poet; it may well be that the Poet and the Philosopher shared one body!] did when 's three-wheeled bicycle shied at a threshin' engine, an' nearly got 'is  flowin' locks combed wi’ the engin' wheel. But as I wer' asayin', I wer in a fix,  for a cow an' calf walked into our ’ouse cos the front door stood open, an' if  our Nobby didn’t 'obble  off quick as 'e could up the garden out o’ the way. There I wer a  jumping about an' couldn't get out o' the way,  but I daresay my antics frit ’em a bit for they wer soon persuaded to quit. Then t’other night our ole man comes in an’ 'e said, “Sall, I've seen some chaps wi’ ’obble trousers an.'  An’ I said,  “What, 'ave ’em got some 'obble trousers now?" “Well," 'e said, “The chaps I see  wer ’obbling." He said they 'ad bin t’ see if the ducks wer' at  roost, an’ they werdn’t, so  they went stir ’em up with long pole an’ they got the “quack" after it too,  for when they came um they wer walking just as I’ve sin some of my little bovs when they wer fust breeched you know, they ’obbled. Well, t' cut a  long story short, one day our ole man said. “Sall, you might jist sort the taters." Well I went to stoop down to start it, an’ if I didn’t, pitch 'ead fust into the scuttle, an’ their I 'as t'  scuttle for a ’at till the ole man come an’ picked m' up. 

That ended the skirt, for I took and got the scissors an’ made some slits it, same as turnpike sailors* slit thear  boots when they pinch 'em.

[ tramps dressed as ragged sailors who roamed England pretending to be have been ship-wrecked and begging for alms; the Turnpike Sailor was a Drawing Room   song in Edwardian days]  

Adapted by ED from a piece she wrote for the Buckingham Advertiser in 1910

This family firm of printers   published   the Buckingham  Advertiser for many years (see below!)  and its  business empire  was hidden behind a shopfront at #20 Market Hill. Many of you will know that shop as SUITORS  whose  activity is obvious ; do they compliment customers after  a successful fitting with "Suits you, Sir". Older people may  remember exploring the extraordinary book warren that  was  David Clegg's Bookshop.

Walford and Son is important in researching the history of our Old Gaol  because the Advertiser recorded the Old Gaol's  many disguises as  the building's fortunes waxed and waned once it was no longer  Buckingham Borough's Lock-Up, or Prison. 

Collectors will know that Walford's published a large range of   postcards  featuring buildings from across North Bucks.  They are not  photo quality and all, I fear,  are black and white . But, they are vital to our  historical record.

Have a peep at the  Walford's  1927 advertisement  for its  sports department  that  stocked  cricket bats and balls and much else, besides.  How about something  for the  cold days around Christmas?  Why not  arm yourself  with an extensive set  of ping pong tackle   to encourage your family  to get trim after it has gorged on a fat turkey, from Clays Butchers, with all the trimmings?

Ed  Grimsdale,  Honorary Local Historian @ Buckingham Old Gaol Museum

Footnote: thanks to information  from two  Buckingham stalwarts: June Hall and  Brian Lillistone, I've found this notice in the Buckingham Advertiser which throws light on  its ownership :

Buckingham Advertiser 23.03.1923

BUCKINGHAM 

HAVING sold my Business to Mr. E. N. HILLIER, of Coventry, I take this opportunity of thanking everyone for their many kindnesses extended during the 35 years I have been in this business, and trust that the  same good feeling and business relations which has  been accorded me  will be extended to my successor, in whom I have the greatest confidence. Customers may rest assured that the quality of the printing in general and punctuality in despatch of orders can be safely left in his hands, knowing him to be expert, Mr. Hillier having had London and Provincial experience. 

Mr. Hillier will carry on under the same title of Walford & Son. 

Brian tells me that his father, Garry, worked for both Walford's and then Hillier's in  their printing works  along Fleece Yard. Starting as an apprentice, he went to London to be trained as Monotype Typesetting Machine operative. Garry would start working earlier in the morning as each week progressed to ensure the Advertiser was ready, on time to meet its Friday morning deadline.

This family firm of printers   published   the Buckingham  Advertiser for many years (see below!)  and its  business empire  was hidden behind a shopfront at #20 Market Hill. Many of you will know that shop as SUITORS  whose  activity is obvious ; do they compliment customers after  a successful fitting with "Suits you, Sir". Older people may  remember exploring the extraordinary book warren that  was  David Clegg's Bookshop.

Walford and Son is important in researching the history of our Old Gaol  because the Advertiser recorded the Old Gaol's  many disguises as  the building's fortunes waxed and waned once it was no longer  Buckingham Borough's Lock-Up, or Prison. 

Collectors will know that Walford's published a large range of   postcards  featuring buildings from across North Bucks.  They are not  photo quality and all, I fear,  are black and white . But, they are vital to our  historical record.

Have a peep at the  Walford's  1927 advertisement  for its  sports department  that  stocked  cricket bats and balls and much else, besides.  How about something  for the  cold days around Christmas?  Why not  arm yourself  with an extensive set  of ping pong tackle   to encourage your family  to get trim after it has gorged on a fat turkey, from Clays Butchers, with all the trimmings?

Ed  Grimsdale,  Honorary Local Historian @ Buckingham Old Gaol Museum

Footnote: thanks to information  from two  Buckingham stalwarts: June Hall and  Brian Lillingstone, I've found this notice in the Buckingham Advertiser which throws light on  its ownership :

Buckingham Advertiser 23.03.1923

BUCKINGHAM 

HAVING sold my Business to Mr. E. N. HILLIER, of Coventry, I take this opportunity of thanking everyone for their many kindnesses extended during the 35 years I have been in this business, and trust that the  same good feeling and business relations which has  been accorded me  will be extended to my successor, in whom I have the greatest confidence. Customers may rest assured that the quality of the printing in general and punctuality in despatch of orders can be safely left in his hands, knowing him to be expert, Mr. Hillier having had London and Provincial experience. 

Mr. Hillier will carry on under the same title of Walford & Son. 

Brian tells me that his father, Garry Lillistone, worked for both Walford's and then Hillier's in  their printing works  along Fleece Yard. Starting as an apprentice, he went to London to be trained as Monotype Typesetting Machine operative. Garry would start working earlier in the morning as each week progressed to ensure the Advertiser was ready, on time, to meet its Friday morning deadline. I wonder whether Garry had a hand in typesetting this announcement?  

LILLISTONE.- On February 11th. 1938, at 20, Addington Road, Buckingham, to Kathleen, the wife of H.R. (Garry) Lillistone - a son.

Buckingham, Friday 2nd October, 1863

" In front of the Town Hall, on the elevated pavement, were a considerable number of females, some of them accompanied by their mothers. Some of the girls were very young, some were more advanced in life, but one object had brought them thither. They were desirous of finding a home for the next twelve months, and had come to Buckingham fair to see who would have them. Up and down in front of this assembly, farmers and others walked, and talked and looked. Fixing their eyes on one of the girls, who looked strong and healthy, they approached her, and questioned her as to her abilities as a servant, and the wages she would require for twelve month’s service. A sum was named, but the questioner thought it too much. He would give her a sovereign a year less than she asked. His was not a hard place. She would have the evenings to herself, and she might have a holiday occasionally. But he said, "She must not wear a crinoline, neither must she ever wear artificial flowers on, or in, her bonnet. She would be required to wear a cap, because his wife did not. She must not have a sweetheart/for that might unsettle her mind and make her neglect her work. Her friends must not visit her, for if they did she might be tempted to give away what did not belong to her. He liked her appearance much, would she take his bidding?”

The poor girl had stood some hours in the fair. No one else had offered to hire her, so, for five pounds a year, she consented to become the servant of him who had laid so many restrictions upon her. 

Another of these gentlemen wanted a servant, and his sight was not so good as it used to be. So he called in the aid of his eye-glass, and wandered up and down with his glass to his eye, searching for a servant, like some astronomer searching for a stray planet. The way in which these poor girls were quizzed, and examined must have made them feel anything but comfortable. A rosy cheek was a passport to a situation, but a pale one was passed scornfully by. How anxious many a mother looked, when a master approached and tried to hire her daughter. How pleased many a master looked, when he  had hired a good servant as he thought, for little money. As we stood, watching their movements, we could not help wishing this was the last fair for hiring domestic servants in this manner. We might be wrong, but we could  not help thinking no really good master or mistress need resort to Statute Fairs to find servants. We were glad  to see the numbers of those who do so, growing less, and the sooner there are none at all, the better. The number of servants who stand in the fair for hire, is, we, are happy to find, on the decrease. "

[ Penned by Thomas Baker, once the Editor of  the Buckingham Express, who fell from favour when he backed the first ever Strike by Agricultural Workers in Gawcott. He resigned and moved to Littlehampton. ]

Recollections of Buckingham Statute Fair  around 1850

[Stature  was an alternative to Charter]

Buckingham “Statty”, when I was a boy,

To kiddies like me was an annual joy. 

We longed for its coming, and when it arrived, 

To get much enjoyment always contrived. 

For weeks we were saving our half-pence and pence. 

Nor touched our hoard under any pretence, 

Until the stalls and shows stood in tempting array. 

And then our few pence quickly melted away. 

Outside the “Three Cups” there were sausages hot, 

So rich that we only could eat a small lot; 

And up in the square “Okey King”  had a stall

With baked pears and pickles enough for us all. 

Sometimes a menagerie tempted us in.

And  boxing booth touters made terrible din; 

Big women and dwarfs to amuse us were there.

And many were hawking "the fun of the fair.’ 

Of whirligigs, too, there were many, and these

Were always successful we youngsters to please. 

Of Stalls there were many, attractive with toys

To draw out the pennies from girlies and boys; 

Cake and gingerbread stalls were arranged all in rows

And gave out scent which tickled the nose; 

“Aunt Sally” was there, and cocoa-nut shies -

We pocketed these and damaged her eyes. 

Theatres also we had our full share.

In which Shakespeare's plays made us wonder and stare- 

How cruel we thought that black-faced Othello, 

And came away hating the murderous fellow. 

Of dancing shows, too - these of various size— 

With their troops of performers delighted our eyes; 

The capering clowns with their milk-water jokes 

Were sources of  pleasure to all us young folks; 

The ladies and gents decked in courtly array. 

our memories linger and will not away. 

Though old we have grown, with pleasure think 

Of these scenes far away on memory's brink; 

And sometimes are tempted to wish were young, 

To witness the scenes which rhymes I have strung.

              THOMAS BAKER. Roseleigh Littlehampton. October 11th, 1910.

George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, used his quick wit to ingratiate himself into the bedchamber of the restored King Charles II. 

This is how he described the town of Ipswich in the 18th century to the King

“A town without inhabitants, a river without water, streets without names , where asses wear boots.”  

To explain:

Ipswich was a poor town without industry and, hence, it had been slow to grow;

In summer, its river was apt to dry to a mere trickle in its estuary;

It was so small with  few streets which  didn’t need names;

But what did the comment about asses wearing boots  mean?

Villiers was referencing Christchurch House, a Country House near Ipswich. That  Noble’s Seat  possessed  a bowling green. Asses were used to drag the rollers.  In the absence of boots, worn  to increase contact area of the hooves, the asses would have  punctured holes in the sacred turf.  

Horse, donkeys and asses wearing boots  rolled the cricket pitches of England for hundreds of years until the internal combustion engine became the dominant provider of  motive power.

The key to understanding why asses wore boots is this law of Physics:

Pressure = Force / Area

Boots or leathers strapped on the hooves of the beasts increased their  area of contact. Magicians always rest on a BED OF NAILS  to increase the contact  area and thus reduce pressure on their skin. The Royal Latin School in Buckingham bought a big box of heel protectors when it moved to a new site in 1963.   Lady  parents  arriving for ‘Do’s in its School Hall cum Gymnasium wearing stylish stiletto heels were commanded  to put a protector on each heel to avoid splintering the expensive, smooth, wooden floor.

A  recent discussion on Facebook produced other other memories of Nags in Boots.

June Hall remembered:

Gosh Ed, so many memories - when Buckingham Golf Club was first in existence, and before the coming of manual lawnmowers, the horse which pulled the grass mower wore boots, to save the precious turf - and I well remember wearing heel guards to save the previous floor at RLS - many moons ago...

Canon Brian Lillistone responded: 

When I lived in Herefordshire I knew an old gardener who had started work as

the 6th gardener at a country house. By the 1970s the house had been blown

up, its estate sold and he had bought the walled garden s and orchard which he

cultivated still. One day he produced some leather objects and explained

about the ponies wearing these leather shoes when they mowed the lawns.

Our Conclusions:

For hundreds of years, horses and asses wore boots or leather foot bindings when they were doing ‘donkey’ work on lawns, cricket pitches and other grasslands which needed to remain flat and smooth. George Villiers' cheeky remarks about Ipswich had led us to recover a forgotten technology that was employed in Buckingham eighty years ago.  (E.G.)