TROUBLE WITH THE 1831 CENSUS.

[Currie]

TROUBLE WITH THE 1831 CENSUS.

The genealogically useless census of 1831, which collected numbers rather than names, was conducted on the night of 29-30th May. In these stories from the Morning Chronicle (London), June 15, 1831, a seller of religious publications, a collector of protestant church tax and a summons server try their hand at census collecting in the City of Waterford in Ireland.

THE RIGHT SORT TAKING THE CENSUS OF THE CITY OF WATERFORD.

[A tract-seller stops at a house, at the door of which sits a young girl, who gets up and runs into an inner room, and calls out, "Mother! mother! here is the Bible-man!"]
Mother: What Bible-man?
Girl: Arrah! don't you know Doyle, the tract-seller?
Mother: What the d—l does he want here?—Girl: Faith I don't know—nothing good, you may he sure.
Mother (comes out): Well, Mr. Doyle, what do you want?—
Doyle: Mrs. Neill, I'm come to know the number of your family.
Mrs. Neill: Ah! then, Mr. Doyle, what do you want to know the number of my family for?—I suppose you are going to put down our names for the New Reformation!—Doyle: Oh! no, not at all—it's something about Reform.
Mrs. Neill: Well, and bad luck to you, is it not the same thing? The devil's in it; and you have the impudence to come and ask Judy Neill to join your reform, or your reformation, or whatever the d—l you call it. Don't you know that none of my breed, seed, or generation, were ever anything but real Romans, and good ould Irish besides!
Doyle: I assure you, Mrs. Neill, this has nothing to do with religion.
Mr. Neill: You need not tell me that; for if it was, you would not be concurned in it.
Doyle: Mrs. Neill, you know we are all Christian brethren, and—
Mrs. Neill: Why, bad luck to you, is it going to preach to me ye are? Is it thinking to convart me you are in my own house? Well, by this and that you beat Banagher. Out of my house, you canting hypocrite, or I'll—
Little Girl: Mother, sprinkle him with holy water—you know the devil always runs away from it!
Mrs. Neill: Troth, I won't, but I'll sprinkle him with my fist, and it won't be the first time I have fought for my religion, so here's at you, my boy.
Doyle (a little alarmed): Mrs. Neill! Mrs. Neill! I'll leave the house quietly (to himself); I must guess at the number of people in that house—I saw two in it, so I'll put down three, in order to make no mistake.

[A collector of Vestry Cess enters a house.]
Collector: Good morrow Mr. Doolin.
Doolin: Good-morrow to you kindly.
C.: Mr. Doolin, I'm come to take the census.
D.: Come to take our senses; why then, God help us, its little senses that's left the poor Irish, for between hunger and hardship, they are half mad, and no one knows that better than yourself—do you remember the day you took my only blanket from under my little boy for the vestry cess?
C.: I'm not come to take anything now, Mr. D.—D.: The d—l thank you for that, for you took everything we had before.
C.: Well, well, Mr. D., there is no use in talking about that—tell me the number of your family.
D.: Why then do you think I'd give you the satisfaction to tell you?—no, not if I was dying, and the Priest bid me do it.
C.: If you don't I must only ask some of the neighbours.
D.: Why, then, the d—l a man in Waterford will tell you.
C.: It is no great matter, I'll put it down at guess.—(Exit.)

[A Protestant process-server raps at the door, the proprietor of which opens it, and again shuts it with violence, when he sees who is the person wanting to enter.]
Process-server: Dick Maddigan, open the door.
Dick Maddigan: Why, then, bad l—k to me if I do. I suppose you want to sarve me with a process?
Process-server: Arrah, nonsense, man; I only want to know the number of your family.
Dick Maddigan: Then, by my sowl, you'll be longer so, for the devil a bit if I'll tell you.
Process-server: What the d—l shall I do? [a neighbour approaches].—Toby Delahunty, will you tell me what family Dick Maddigan has?
Toby Delahunty: By my sowl I don't exactly know, but sure it's easy to calculate. Jenny Maddigan is married now seven years last Patrick's Day, and of course she had a gorsoon or a little girl every nine or ten months; but, supposing you even allow a year between each of them, that makes seven children, so that you may safely put down seven at the lowest calculation.
Process-server: Faith, Toby, I'm obliged to you. That's seven, and the father and mother make nine. That will do [writes it down and walks off. Delahunty calls after the Process-server].
T. Delahunty: Hollo! by gor, I was near forgetting—now I recollect—1 think I heard somebody saying it was twins Jenny Maddigan had the last time.
Process-sever: Well thought of Toby—that makes eight children instead of seven?
Toby Delahunty: In troth it does, nine if you plase.
Process-server: How do you make that out?
Toby Delahunty: Arrah! didn't I tell you already the woman was confined seven times, and that the last time she had twins—and does not the seven children and the two twins make nine? Though I'm no scholar, I can tell that much, at any rate.
Process-server: By gor, Toby, your right. Well, Toby, its a great pity you are not a Protestant—by gor if you were, the Recorder and Magistrates would certainly have appointed you to take the census—you are just the sort of man for them. I'm to put down nine children, you say?
Toby Delahunty: To he sure you are.
Process-server: Nine children, and the father and mother, that makes eleven. Well, I believe I'm right now, at any rate. They can't be saying I have not the full number. Good morning, Toby. (Exit.)

—from the Waterford Chronicle.

Life wasn’t meant to be easy,
Alan

More about the 1831 Census at http://privatewww.essex.ac.uk/~alan/fam ... suses.html

[Currie]

Here’s some more about the 1831 Census of Waterford according to the Waterford Chronicle and carried by Freeman's Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser (Dublin), Wednesday, July 6, 1831. (It appears that the 1831 Census of Ireland was conducted over a period of several weeks.)

THE CENSUS
With the most determined recklessness of public opinion, and utter contempt for the feelings and wishes of their fellow-citizens, the Waterford magistrates yesterday confirmed their original nomination of twelve Protestants and one Catholic to take the census; and, to show how little they thought about the matter, one of those gentry declared publicly, in the Court-house, that he did not "care one halfpenny whether the returns were made or not." It is, of course, downright absurdity to expect the enumerators will take any great trouble in the matter when the person who had the chief management in their appointment publicly declared to them that he "did not care one halfpenny whether the returns were made or not." What will the reader think of the sort of persons appointed by the Recorder and Magistrates, when the high constable, Mr. George Wright, thought it necessary to publicly caution them against "pledging their books to buy whiskey," and threatening them if they did so, to have them committed to gaol. What, let us ask again, must be thought of our recorder and magistrates, who, out of a population of thirty-four thousand people, and where fourteen out of fifteen are Catholics, appointed but one Catholic, and twelve Protestants, of such a description as that it was necessary to caution them against "pledging their poll-books to buy whiskey?" And what must we think of their declaration of “being inadequate to make a better choice?" If so, a more stupid, besotted, bigotted, or bungling set of imbeciles never existed.—Waterford Chrnicle.

That’s telling them,
Alan