The Dilettante Society on Benjamin Mayo

While the streets become increasingly dominated by commerce, regulations and standardisation, the spectacle of the city is under threat of mundane mediocrity. In this setting, however, the value of the unexpected, the unusual and the bright becomes all the more precious, and those who reject the tyranny of convention and spurn social norms defiantly breathe life into the humdrum.

The show-off may speed by in his Lamborghini, but it is those with the strength of character to embrace their quirks without cynicism or fear of ridicule who capture our attention: the strange ones, the outlandish jokers, the downright bizarre.

Nottingham, like all great cities, has its share of these everyday icons. In recent decades we’ve had ‘Xylophone Man’ Frank Robinson, ‘Owl Man’ Frank Shelton, and then there was that leather-clad chap in mirrored shades with a cat on his shoulder who we once saw on Upper Parliament Street. Far from being derided or politely ignored, the exploits of those who flourish in their individuality deserve to be remembered. So, allow us to introduce a man of humble origins whose joviality, pranks and capers ensured his memory would endure, Nottingham’s most revered eccentric: The Old General himself, Benjamin Mayo.

Passing by the Market Square in the early nineteenth century, you may have happened upon a man of small height and stooped posture, shabby, but coated in a smart, bright red jacket and general’s hat, conducting a line of schoolboys in amateur military manoeuvres. Once, as they marched about in a line, a group of soldiers passing by picked out one blundering young lad and laughed loudly to the boy’s leader, “What will you do with him? He’s too stupid to make a soldier!” While they jeered, the little man took the unfortunate boy out of line, led him to the front and exclaimed loudly, “There lad, you'll never make a soldier - you are too stupid. So I'll make an officer of you!” Thus was the spirit of Benjamin Mayo - mischievous and cavalier with a cracking sense of humour.

Despite being referred to as ‘The Old General’, Mayo was not a military man but a lifelong pauper. Born in 1779, he spent most of his life drifting between the workhouses of Nottingham, maintaining a delightfully grandiose sense of self-worth throughout. In fact, he believed himself to be of secondary importance only to the mayor and took his self-appointed role very seriously. Never more so than in his dealings with the Mickleton jury, who would assemble each year in September to take note of obstructions and irregularities within the streets of the town. Valuing action over bureaucracy, without invitation or compensation, Mayo took it upon himself to follow the jury and immediately rid the city streets of hindrances with swift determination.

To do so, The General gathered an army of local schoolchildren and, like a benevolent Fagin, he would proceed from school to school gathering recruits for his makeshift militia. Schoolmasters who refused pupils’ demands for a day’s holiday soon found themselves at the mercy of The General’s infantry, pelted with mud and stones until they liberated their captives or offered a bribe to the idiosyncratic leader. The Old General’s army would parade through the streets removing the obstructions which the Jury deemed a nuisance before advancing to the Castle. Though here their access was always denied, the guards would throw sweetmeats to the children by way of compensation.

Aside from his antics, Mayo’s manners and appearance were an immediate signifier of his being a little different. Born with a deformed leg, his peculiar gait was said to be altered by a strong limp, accentuated by his small stature and heavy stoop. He wore his shirt open, revealing ragged bronze hair, and gradually collected a striking signature costume most unlike the regular fashion worn by the men of the time.

Despite having the wisdom to not take life’s downfalls too seriously, he was known by most as a lovable idiot, yet the history books indicate he had the acumen and cunning to get by well enough on his wits. Mayo was often seen peddling his broadsides, ballads and chapbooks around the town, some of which were of his own design, and though these endeavours made up his income, he was never afraid to enjoy a giggle in the process. When once selling a page which he suggested would reveal the full account of a speech given by the Prince of Wales the previous day, he was immediately accosted by a customer complaining the page was completely blank. “Quite correct, Sir, ‘is Royal ‘ighness never said nowt,” Mayo replied. Probably with a twinkle in his eye.

Although The General died penniless in the workhouse in 1843, unlike most from his background who would quickly fade into obscurity, Mayo’s outlandish antics and witticisms ensured he would not be forgotten quickly. Some years after his passing, a group whose fond childhood memories of Mayo remained strong paid tribute by commissioning a plaque in his honour which is locatable in Nottingham’s General Cemetery.

Further testament to the impact of this colourful character on Nottingham arrived in the 1890s with the opening of The Old General Pub on the corner of Bobbers Mill and Radford Road in Hyson Green. The iconic statue, carved by a Basford man and showcased in the glass window above the pub’s main entrance, remains a much-loved landmark. Each year he is dressed as Father Christmas for the festive season, and the cheeks of his pale face were even flushed with red paint when the house began offering scantily clad young ladies as a form of entertainment some years back.

Yet it won’t be for much longer that the Old General will preside over Hyson Green, plans to redevelop the now closed pub into shops and accommodation will see him removed from his prominent position. Despite local protest, the council have deemed it impractical to preserve the monument in its current form, but developers have been quick to ensure they are sympathetic to the issue and are proposing that he be rehomed in a ground floor window to remain visible from the street.  

Ultimately, for us, it is not just the absurd details of the eccentrics’ lives that create their allure, but also the subtle courage it takes to live by one’s own values and become vulnerable for the sake of self-expression and fun.

The artist may press on privately perfecting their creations, but the eccentric inspires and performs fluidly as a part of daily life; delighting and confusing as much as any art work and injecting the day with something a little different.

Without such characters, our history and memories would be strikingly less colourful, our incidental interactions somewhat lacking, and our days a little dull.

So Benjamin Mayo, and all the others, we salute you.

The Dilettante Society present Stop Pretending Art is Hard, Cobden Place, Saturday 18 April. It will feature a DIY gallery, crafty debauchery and other amusing activities to bring out the artist in you. All materials provided - no talent required.

Stop Pretending Art is Hard event page