On a brilliantly summer-like morning, Justin and myself (Skid) met up at Wimbledon station at 10:30 am, hopped on a 93 bus towards Putney and alighted half-way along Tibbet’s Ride (the A219), between Tibbets (ok, it’s a possessive but the place name has never carried an apostrophe!) and the Green Man at the top of Putney Hill.

For the uninitiated, a pub-sign depicting a highwayman has stood at the roundabout site for decades and points back to the time well before urbanisation. Various stories have abounded about the name, one  tells that a well-known publican called Tibbet ran an Inn on or around the site of where the Telegraph public House still stands today, another that the site was where public executions were held, a more likely version is that it refers to a tibbet or gatekeeper to Lord Spencer’s Wimbledon Park Estate.

The most widespread belief was that the sign depicts Dick Turpin or a highwayman called Tibbet, not so though. However despite the name, it certainly depicts a known highway man who plied his trade between Putney and Kingston, this being a major route to Portsmouth. His name was Jerry Abershaw(e), who according to tradition lived in Coombe Wood but spent most of his time in a local tavern, and was the chief highwayman on this section of Portsmouth Road.

Lewis Jeremiah Avershaw aka Jerry Abershaw seems to have been more discreet than most of his peers, for there are few anecdotes about hold-ups of famous people and dashing gallantry relating to him. He must have been highly successful though – the Newgate Calendar calls him an "old offender" though he was still only 22 or 23 when hung, and he had successfully evaded the Bow Street Runners for five years before he was apprehended. 

Abershaw was born in 1773 and started out as the driver of a post-chaise. It’s not known how old he was when he took to the road instead but by the age of 17 he was already the ringleader of a small band of highwaymen. Two of his favourite haunts were the Green Man Inn at Putney Heath and the Bald Faced Stag near Kingston. One of his partners was “Galloping Dick” Ferguson.

He was apprehended by two Bow Street runners, David Price and Bernard Turner, in the Three Brewers inn at Southwark. When the officers informed him of the nature of their errand Abershaw produced his pistols and fired them simultaneously. Price was killed, and Turner, though seriously injured, recovered to give evidence at Abershaw's trial. 

The trial was almost indecently short, with Abershaw being found guilty in a matter of three minutes, and asking, “with unparalleled insolence of expression and gesture, to ask his Lordship if he was to be murdered by the evidence of one witness." By all accounts Abershaw was quite the wit, and mimicked Judge Baron Pentryn when he put on his black cap to pass the death penalty. 

As he awaited execution, Abershaw allegedly asked for black cherries, using the juice to draw pictures of his escapades on the cell walls. On the day of his hanging he laughed and joked with the large crowd, keeping up an incessant conversation as the cart took him to the gallows, where he kicked off his boots, explaining laughingly to the crowd that he wanted to disprove his mother's prophecy that he would die with them on. He didn't make a dying confession.

The place where his body was gibbeted after his execution  was on Wimbledon Common(other stories alude to Kennington Common), the path is still known as Jerry's Hill. There must be two Jerry’s Hills if Kennington too lays claim to being the site.

The Inn referred to was the "Bald-faced Stag", also known as the "Half-way House", situated near the junction of Stag Land and Kingston Road. There are various accounts of his capture and execution but it appears that he was hanged on Kennington Common and his body was afterwards brought to hang in chains from a gibbet near the site of his old exploits, presumably as a warning to others. Jerry’s Hill on the Common is the apparent site of his gibbet and  was named after him.

This link will take you to a transcript from the Newgate Calendar:

http://www.stand-and-deliver.org.uk/highwaymen/newgate_abershaw.htm

Our original plan had been to get off at the Green Man but as the time of arrival would have been rather close to opening time, it was unanimously decided to avoid temptation as this was intended to be a rather special day of nostalgia, plenty of time to relax over a cooling pint later… so we thought!

The idea was to combine a leisurely stroll over Wimbledon Common, take in memorable places from our childhood and formative years and visit some of the famous sites of some of the Dirty Pants Band photo sessions, partaking of, on the way, an all day breakfast at the Windmill café.

Suffice to say the Windmill was reached rather  earlier than we had anticipated, despite having walked a roundabout route in order to familiarise ourselves with the artificial hills that were created with the spoil from the Tibbets Corner underpass excavation forty years or so earlier. These are now completely overgrown and have become something of a wildlife paradise.

One of the more sparsely covered artificial mounds, looking towards the A3.

We soon demolished the excellent Windmill Breakfast and set off for Queensmere Pond, reminiscing about our school day summer holidays, tadpoling and catching newts here. Life still thrives in the pond and it is full of tadpoles now.

The Windmill.

Tadpoles!

Queensmere looks superb at this time of year.

Putney Vale Cemetery, a rather lovely place, so nice that people are dying to get in!

The War Memorial at the Richardson Evans memorial Playing Fields.

From Queensmere, our aim was to head down to the Bridle Way alongside the cemetery and walk to the bottom of the Toast Rack (the scene of many agonising cross country runs), along Sunset Road and come into Wimbledon Village by the Wimbledon Common Golf Club. Then we planned to walk along West Side Common to Canizaro House and Park. We were going to end the walk with a cooling pint in an old favourite pub, the Hand in Hand.

Canizaro Park featured heavily in the life of the Pants, the aviary here was a fond favourite place. However, such was our collective memory loss that we turned up the wrong track and emerged further North than intended.

A Camp Caesar!

This gave us the opportunity to have a look at Caesar’s Camp. The well here was a source of wonder to me and my playmates as a child, it was reputed to be bottomless and we used to dare each other to jump over it.

The old oak at the top of the Toast Rack (Robin Hood Road).

Odd to remember that when we were 9 or 10, it was considered safe to let a bunch of kids wander all day on the Common.

The aviary is now a bit disappointing, instead of the dozens of budgerigars, canaries and brightly coloured finches, it is home to two rather subdued parakeets, we didn’t spend much time with them, we were brightened up by remembering ourselves to the nude lady comforting a hind that had been struck with  an arrow. She surely would remember our last visit, a mob of Pants clambered over her and committed various indignities. Justin and I paid lip service and gave her a gentle fondle.

A rather restrained mobbing by two old blokes.

In the Park, we were aiming to find the stairs on which the Pants had posed, we found more than one set, as I hadn’t found time to print out old pics to use as reference, we couldn’t tell which stairway was the correct location. I can see a major re-union to re-create the shot coming up!

These steps seemed right, until I got home and had a look at the old photos.

Pretty soon, all the walking was done and we mooched into the cooling interior of the Hand in Hand, and a jolly good time had we! Andrew the Guvnor turned out to be a friendly and likeable bloke.

One pint in 1 second!

Free drinks all round.

Southside Common.

As the evening was now creeping in and our stomaches started complaining,  food became our main focus so after four or so pints we moved up to the High Street, dropping into the Brewery Tap for a small livener, before heading down the Hill to Wimbledon Town.

The Tap.

Wimbledon Hill Road.

Wimbledon School for Girls.

Our next port of call was to be the old favourite, The Ahmed for a bum burner, stopping on the way to admire Mick R’s handiwork in the redevelopment of the station frontage.

Mick’s done his drawings, now the buggers need to approve them to finish the job.

A brilliant end to a superb day. The usual warm welcome in the Ahmed, a superb meal and a couple of pints before drifting home.

.

A great end to a great day.

.

It wasn’t over, some of our very game fellow travellers joined in the late-night fun.

Ah but… the night was still young by the time I hit the hotspots of Sutton, only just turned 11:00, so it would have been churlish to have avoided my mates in the Little Windsor.

.

Simon and Jackie, service with a smile.

.

Poor old Rob, West Ham just can’t win at the moment.

.

No comment!

Gary does his teapot impression.

At least Sam stayed up to welcome me home.