for smuggling--fine times the runners used to have in my young days.
Scarcely a house in north Wirral that could not provide a guest with a
good stiff glass of brandy or Hollands. The fishermen used to pretend to
cast their nets to take the fish that then abounded on our coasts, but
their fishing was of a far different sort. Formby, on this side, was a
great place for smugglers and smuggling. I don't think they wrecked as
the Cheshire people did--these latter were very fiends. The Formby
fishermen were pretty honest and hardworking, and could always make a
good living by their calling, so that the smuggling they did was nothing
to be compared to their Cheshire compatriots. Strings upon strings of
ponies have I seen coming along the road from Formby, laden with the
finny spoil. The ponies had panniers slung over their backs, while
sometimes the fisherman's wife or child, if the horse could bear the
double burden, was seated between them. These were called "Formby
Trotters." There were good fish caught in the river at that time; and I
have heard say that herrings used to be taken in great profusion in our
vicinity until the people fought at the Fish Stones by St. Nicholas's
Church wall, and blood was shed on the occasion. Many a fisherman
steadfastly believed that the herrings then left the coast, and never
returned in consequence. Wallasey was certainly, at one period, a great
place for the curing of herrings, as can be proved by tradition as well
as written history.

How well I recollect the Woodside Ferry when I was a boy. There was a
long causeway at it, which ran into the river, formed of logs of wood and
large boulder stones. Up this causeway you walked until you came to the
overhanging shore which on the left hand was cut away to admit the
causeway continuing up into the land. There was a small thicket of trees
on the rock-top and a patch of garden which belonged to the ferryman.
The only house visible was a farm-house which stood on the spot where the
(Gough's) Woodside Hotel may now be found. It had a garden enclosed by a
hedge round it. The road to Bidston was a rough, rutted way, and the
land was for the most part marshy between Woodside and Bidston, and the
country looked very desolate, wild, and rugged. There were some pretty
walks over the fields. There was one from Holt Hill to Oxton which I was
very fond of. When the weather was fine I have had many and many a
pleasant ramble over land w