Charity, status and leadership: charitable image and the Manchester man.

While significant relationship which existed among charity, status and social leadership in the Victorian urban environment has been fully recognised, it has only provided a limited focus for study.(1) This article is concerned with the underlying construction and dynamics of this relationship. It will focus on a distinct group of charity leaders who became associated with a proportionally large number of voluntary charities. This group was characterised not only by its degree of charitable involvement but also its members' considerable individual capital, their affluence and social standing.

Involvement with local charities, entering the "charity field," meant associating with notions of care, benevolence and Christian duty, making the leaders appear as altruistic and morally upstanding members of the community. Local newspapers and magazines eulogised those who became most actively associated with Manchester's voluntary charities. This was part of the discourse of charity, a vital structure of the charity field. It was their level of involvement combined with their social and political status that constituted these individuals as charity leaders from within the local middle classes. Charity was a vital means of acquiring or reinforcing their symbolic capital and social position. For many this was not necessarily a source of motivation. Yet through charitable involvement they nevertheless became regarded as "Manchester men," local leaders who had displayed moral worth and value to the community. The relationship was reciprocal. While the community held charitable association in relatively high regard such involvement could elevate or maintain an individual's status, becoming an essential part of the criteria for acquiring and maintaining social leadership within the community. However, a change in the criteria meant a change in the charity field which diminished its significance as a vehicle for social power.

The value of charitable association as a mechanism for acquiring and maintaining status and leadership, and the changes in its importance in the nineteenth century, is reflected in a study of the patterns of involvement of those who held governing and honorary positions in Manchester's charities.(2) These patterns raise a number of issues. First, they suggest comparatively few individuals were involved in a large number of charities across the century. Second, biographical details indicate that even without their charitable careers most members of this group were prominent figures within the community. The majority were affluent and several held a range of other public positions and titles. Some were "self-made" men, though a significantly large proportion had inherited their wealth and position. They were a group of charity leaders who were also prominent members of the local middle classes. Most had considerable cultural capital with which to enter the charity field, suggesting that success within this field was dependent on having the necessary time, and money, as well as ability to succeed.

As will be seen, Bourdieu's notions of cultural capital, charity field and symbolic capital provide a useful framework for examining the relationship among charity, status and power.(3) Through successful association with a range of charities these individuals were able to maintain or acquire symbolic capital and social leadership. In effect, this symbolic capital made them "Manchester men." This was a position legitimised through the fulfilment of a particular set of criteria. Generational data regarding the patterns of the births and deaths of Manchester's charity leaders suggest that their charitable career was an important element in social leadership during the mid-to late-nineteenth century. Entering the charity field provided similar dispositions for all, whether actively sought or not. This was a period when charity leaders were placed on a very public pedestal. The construction of a charitable profile was a vital means of acquiring status,(4) allowing individuals to influence sections of the community. While not all charity leaders necessarily aspired to such a position the fact remained that adulation by the local press coupled with the granting of public accolades in recognition of their charity work, helped to constitute them as social leaders. This was not an overtly political form of leadership. Rather, theirs were positions of dominance based on the reverence and regard of sections of the community. A charitable profile offered a symbolic form of power. For some, it served to underpin their social, economic or political position in the community, while for others such as new immigrants it was a pathway towards their becoming fully integrated and accepted within society.

Success in the charity field and the acquisition of symbolic capital varied. The field is an area of struggle in which individuals achieve varying results. Positions within the field are determined by specific capital and habitus, by the individual's background, education, as well as personal ability, knowledge, and social esteem.(5) Individuals had to be voted into a position within the charity by the subscribers.(6) Several factors could influence the decision. The degree of cultural capital was especially important,(7) as association with a range of charities often demanded time, money and social or economic status.(8) Only by entering the charity field with the required degree of cultural capital could individuals forge a successful charitable profile.(9) Also, aspirants needed the right habitus, the personal qualities formed through nature and nurture. The interaction of capital and habitus signalled where the individual stood within the charity field. Also, central to the acquisition of the leaders charitable profile was the notion of the "Divine mission" inherent in their ability.(10) This included a discourse of charity which stressed the "heroic Christianity" practised by individuals. Individuals were seen as caring Christians, serving the community in a display of altruism.

Charities routinised the whole process, providing the ideal vehicle for the individual urbanite to acquire the status of a charitable figure. It was through this that individual economic capital, wealth, social and political positions, were transformed into symbolic capital and social leadership, and legitimised in the process. Supposed moral values were signified by entering the charity field and through the transposition of the discourse associated with that field. The elevation of individuals into social leaders, people in the community to look up to and even aspire to, meant fulfilling the unwritten criteria of a worthy public representative. The criteria were determined by the social world in which the individuals operated, constituting a legitimate form of domination based on a general consensus with sections of the community.(11) In the mid-to late-Victorian period this meant offering proof of moral worth, of Christian care and compassion and of duty to the community. Voluntary charities offered such a demonstration of apparent individual values. Again, the relationship was reciprocal. Charities welcomed the patronage of individuals with considerable cultural capital. These were public figures who could attract wider public attention and, therefore, greater support. Specific motives among leaders were as wide and varied as the numbers involved,(12) but charities played a major role in determining the social basis of power in the mid-Victorian period. However, once the criteria changed in the late-Victorian period then so did the value of charity leadership as a mechanism for power diminish.

Understanding the functional role of voluntary charities in this sense is important in terms of a number of authority issues in the community. Moreover, it partly explains the reasons why some individuals became involved as charity officials. Although there existed a large number of voluntary charities throughout the nineteenth century,(13) the numbers actually involved in their government and management, or in filling one of the honorary roles, was not especially large. From the 1,804 available annual reports for Manchester a total of 3,908 individual names have been identified. These filled a total of 6,676 separate positions. The incomplete nature of the records means that the figures are understated. However, even if an arbitrary and somewhat simplistic calculation is applied, whereby an estimated 40 charities (14) are said to have survived for the period 1814-1914, leaving 4,000 annual reports instead of just under 2,000, then this would still only result in the estimated figure of 3,908 being multiplied by a factor of four. This would mean that under 16,000 became actively involved in Manchester's charities in the whole of the nineteenth century. Such figures contrast with the total population of 316,213 in 1851 and 700,000 in 1914.(15) Population figures offer only a broad guide as to the extent of charitable giving. Manchester was an imperial city, lying at the centre of an industrial network which included the city of Salford and towns such as Stockport, Ashton, Oldham and Rochdale.(16) Moreover, from the mid-nineteenth century its middle classes gradually moved out to towns and villages in north Cheshire.(17) Each was an administrative district independent from Manchester. This makes calculating such variables as the size of different classes problematic. The difficulty of locating, identifying and estimating the size of the upper middle class, together with the proportion of those within that class associated with Manchester's charities, provides a considerable logistical obstacle. However, what the patterns of involvement indicate is that a small group were involved in a disproportionably larger number of charities. Of the 3,908 individuals, at least 136 became officials in three separate charities, 73 served on four charities, 41 on five, 32 on six, 21 on seven, 15 on eight, 7 on nine and 25 on ten or more.

While the numbers involved were relatively small, this does not necessarily mean that Manchester's inhabitants were unwilling to become involved as officials for local charities or that a small number had to get involved because others were unwilling. The total number of individuals involved was determined as much by the number of places available as by the number of willing souls. Actual availability of places was further influenced by a number of other factors. Most positions were filled by regular subscribers who were voted onto one of the positions by their fellow subscribers. It was an activity that would take time and money. In the case of honorary positions, it was also an activity that often required a certain level of social esteem.

The actual type of association varied considerably. It can be divided into two basic categories, active and honorary. Amongst the group selected for the purposes of this study(18) a total of 607 different positions were filled. At least 341 of these were active posts and 251 were honorary titles. These further divide into 249 committee members, 11 chairmen, 25 deputy treasurers, 35 treasurers and 18 executive committee members. With the honorary positions, there were at least 10 patrons, 163 vice presidents, 31 presidents and 43 trustees. The inclusion of honorary title holders alongside committee members may seem problematic. These appeared to be merely ornamental positions. Their purpose and role centered on the holders' capacity to provide additional probity and trustworthiness to the charity to which patronage was granted.(19) However, this is a limited view. Not all charities could successfully attract patronage from the likes of the Earl of Derby or Lord Tatton. This in itself suggests that not all honorary titles were accepted and that people selected the charities to which they would give their patronage. The very act of giving one's name in support of a charity was a choice consideration. It was a means of influencing the public sphere. Name association was used in a highly visible way through public meetings and press reports covering charity events.(20) Individual names were printed and given a prominent position in every annual report and in newspaper articles covering the A.G.M or other such public events. The name would be noticed, and the more charities a person was involved with the more likelihood of that person becoming publicly associated with charitable causes. Whether a person was a committee member or a vice president, there was a public association of the individual with each particular charity. What the charity leaders indulged in was a public and noticeable form of involvement.

For many of those involved this high public profile served to underpin their role as part of a middle-class elite. The active positions carried with them real power in terms of managing each charity, and the honorary positions held a degree of indirect power. This could be one reason why official posts were not only dominated by a small number of individuals but also why they were a predominantly male preserve. The patriarchal society was certainly reflected, if not reinforced, by the patterns of involvement in Manchester's charities. Indeed, it is significant that there was not a single woman to be found amongst the ranks of the charity leaders. Women were not necessarily excluded or barred from taking up positions on the committees, or from receiving honorary positions. From the total number of 6,676 positions recorded for Manchester's charities, married women filled 609 of them and single women a further 280. Of the 3,908 individuals recorded, 460 were married women and 221 unmarried. Only fifteen of these served on three different charities and only three are known to have served four. The patterns also reveal that in total women served in only 48 out of the 98 individual charities, either as committee members or honorary title holders. The majority of these charities were of a type that was compatible with their domestic role and with their position as spiritual leaders.(21) Of the charities in which women were involved, seventeen were children's charities, nine were designed to help women and a further thirteen offered general medical relief or specialised care for the handicapped. Women did not become involved even in most of these charities until the second half of the century,(22) and although the incomplete nature of the records means that some women may have participated in the government of some charities earlier, the extant records suggest that the majority of these became most actively involved from 1870 onwards.(23) Using the dates at which a woman's name first appeared on the annual lists of serving officials for each charity as the basic guide, the records show that before 1870 women served as officials in only six separate charities. Between 1871 and 1879 they became involved in a further nine charities and between 1880 and 1889 ten charities. During 1891-1899 women participated in at least a further eleven charities, while the period 1900-1919 also saw women being made officials on at least another twelve charities.(24)

The figures for male involvement are comparatively far larger.(25) Most noticeable is the fact that only 37 women held honorary titles compared with 251 titles for the group of 100 men alone.(26) This suggests both the importance of status and the cultural capital enjoyed by this group of charity leaders. It indicates that many of those who accepted positions were already prominent figures in some area of society. Certainly a closer examination of the group suggests many could be regarded as eminent members of the community. They had considerable personal capital. Some were distinguished through their acquisition of wealth. The fact that they served on so many different charities itself indicates their wealth, something reinforced by a brief examination of the probate records.(27)

Probate records show that of the 66 clearly identifiable members of the group, three left wills of over [pounds]1 million. Nine of the group left between [pounds]400,000 and [pounds]1m, 27 left [pounds]100,000-[pounds]400,000 and eight left between [pounds]50,000 and [pounds]100,000. Of the remainder, fourteen left a comfortable [pounds]10,000-[pounds]50,000. Only five left below [pounds]10,000, and two of these - Joseph Adshead and Sam Mendel - were in fact declared bankrupt. Indeed, Mendel decided to leave the city following his bankruptcy and so ceased to be a charity leader.

Mendel's departure may in many ways be regarded as a symbolic one. Stripped of the economic means to sustain his charitable activity, the flamboyant rope manufacturer could not in reality have carried on as a charity leader. Once the base upon which he had been able to develop his charitable activity had been destroyed, he was unable to continue. For some members of the group this base was underpinned by an impressive array of public honours and titles. A number of them were, for example, titled men. Despite the absence of a local aristocracy,(28) the charity leaders could boast amongst their ranks fourteen knights, two Earls and one Lord. These members of the Lancashire and Cheshire gentry generally had little to do with Manchester's civic affairs, though they did retain an influence on the city's charities. Other members of the group held a number of different official titles and public honours. For instance, eleven were made High Sheriffs, eight of which were in Lancashire; twenty-four were made Deputy Lieutenants, seventeen in Lancashire two in Cheshire and two in Staffordshire; one was a Lord Lieutenant of Lancashire and one was the High Constable of Salford.

While the level of their charitable association characterised this group as charity leaders, the cultural capital of a number of their members also characterised them as an elite within the middle classes. Many were born into affluent families.(29) This is indicated by the fact that many of them had a distinguished education.(30) Of the 52 whose education it has been possible to establish, 26 had attended either a major public school such as Eton or Rugby, an Oxbridge or London college, Edinburgh University or St. Andrew's, or two of such establishments. Four others were educated at one or two of Manchester's more prestigious institutions, such as the Manchester Grammar School and Owen's College, while another four attended grammar schools outside Manchester. Two others were educated at Glasgow University, three on the continent and three in York. Only five were educated in local Sunday schools, two of whom also attended the Mechanics Institute.(31) A significant number of the group, therefore, were wealthy, titled men who also enjoyed the benefits of a privileged background. They were a product of second or third generation wealth.(32) Their cultural capital meant that they formed part of a group which had enjoyed a prominent position in the community from the late eighteenth century.(33) Their wealth and influence in the community meant that charities had to seek their patronage if they were to be successful. However, the fact that five were educated in local Sunday schools (and the education of the other members of the group remains uncertain), suggests that a number of the group did not enjoy the benefits of a privileged upbringing, indicating the role of voluntary charities in bringing together different elements of the middle classes in Manchester.(34)

Charitable association allowed all individuals with the necessary capital to acquire or maintain symbolic power, a position of status and domination in the community. This social status was in many ways just as important as the charity which was supported. To an extent this was reflected in the type of charities with which many of them chose to become associated. The largest group of charities which enjoyed the patronage of the charity leaders were the medical charities. In total the charity leaders occupied 299 different posts in Manchester's medical charities, 72 posts for the children's charities and 71 posts for the educational charities.(35) Moreover, a breakdown of the figures on a charity by charity basis reveals that of the 100 members of the group, 44 served or gave their name in patronage to the Manchester Royal Infirmary, 36 served the District Provident Society, 24 the Royal Eye Hospital, 22 the Royal Children's Hospital and 21 the Ragged School Union. Of the top nine, six were medical charities, while of the top five, three had royal patronage.

This association between the charity leaders and the hierarchy of charities with which they became involved reflects the links between their status and cultural capital and their charitable activity.(36) Within the social context, voluntary charities provided a vehicle for individuals to exhibit virtuous qualities, legitimising their social status and position in the community. Central to this process were the religious implications of charitable leadership. The notion of charity work as God's work was an essential component of the charity field. It was a part of the discourse of heroic Christianity associated with charitable activity. Individuals were portrayed as being on a divine mission. While the discourse of the charity field structured public portrayals of charitable figures, this sense of divine purpose underpinned their authority. Voluntary charities served as a vehicle through which individual's could prove their apparent ability and moral worthiness to act as a social leader.

The parameters in which social leadership is acquired and maintained are set by the people within society itself.(37) Symbolic capital and social leadership are acquired through the consensus of sections of the community. Consequently, the "mission" is not primarily directed at the poor and needy, but rather at the voting subscribers of each charity and the potential subscribers within the community. Although ultimately the "mission" may be said to have been the alleviation of need for the less fortunate members of the community, in practice the active and honorary positions that were filled would have brought the attention of most within the community. To remain in the positions they actually acquired in each charity, and to receive the public acclaim that was to accompany that, the charity leaders had to win the support and recognition of the subscribers and wider community rather than that of the recipients.

Such leadership found its limits at the edges of the group of subscribers and potential subscribers who supported charities. Impressing this group was a means of underpinning their own authority. The social esteem derived from philanthropic activities was based on the religious connotations suggested by such activities.(38) In this respect, voluntary charities provided an important source of religiously based moral authority for the social leader.

By entering the charity field individuals could acquire the mantle of virtuous Christians and social leaders. This was fundamental to the transforming of economic power into symbolic power.(39) The process was reinforced by the nineteenth-century obituaries which portrayed members of the group as virtuous Christians who had fulfilled their duty to God through their charity to the poor. Taken at its most extreme, charity leaders were depicted as modern day saints. This was highlighted by the portrayal of Frank Crossley. Along with his brother William, Crossley arrived in Manchester from Ulster to make his fortune from manufacturing the Otto gas engine. Both were devout Protestants. Frank Crossley became inspired by the work and teachings of his friend Charles Booth. He was actively involved in at least nine local voluntary charities.(40) He was an uncompromising character yet his generosity was renowned. It was estimated that he gave [pounds]100,000 to the Salvation Army alone.(41) One of his main charitable ventures was the Star Hall Mission built in Ancoats at a cost of [pounds]21,000.(42) The zealous Ulsterman was not only involved in teaching, conducting sermons, house visiting and personal rescue work amongst the apparently damned, but he even took his family to live at the Mission Hall.

His charitable actions gave him ultimate status, his work at the Mission earning him the unofficial title of "Saint Francis of Ancoats." Recalling his life's work in 1899, J.R.Harris claimed that "Frank Crossley was a nineteenth-century saint whom Saint Francis of Assisi might have recognised as a brother of faith and spirit."(43) The unofficial cannonisation of this half-millionaire continued in the local press following his death. The obituary in the Manchester Guardian portrayed him as a local leader of unparalleled moral standards. According to the report, Crossley became a figure to be held in awe. It highlighted how he had been involved in "the rescue of the fallen, the relief of the distressed, and the awakening of the conscience of the nation." Also, it claimed that he was "a character so wholehearted and so nobly unselfish," that he "lived in an atmosphere purer and less tainted by earth than that breathed by ordinary men." Above all, the writer claimed that had Frank Crossley lived in ancient times "he would have been a prophet," and that had he lived in the Middle Ages he would have been a saint "somewhat after the style of Francis of Assisi." However, the writer concluded that as he was living in the nineteenth century "he was and remains, a witness to the reality of those things to which the prophet and the saint bore witness."(44)

This sense of the divine was central to Crossley's acquisition of social status and of his position as a self-appointed leader in the community. The formal organisation of voluntary societies was fundamental in both the legitimisation and routinisation of that role.(45) Charities needed the wealthy and noteworthy members of the community to act as shareholders, office-holders and patrons, but those most associated with charity work also needed the voluntary charities to fulfill part of the unwritten criteria for what constituted a public figure.

It was a process which elevated some into "Manchester men."(46) A Manchester man, in this respect, was a public figure characterised by certain virtues. Although this is in many ways an abstract concept, its existence in the minds of contemporaries was real enough. Which particular virtues constituted a Manchester man can be debated. However, certain common ideas permeated the public sphere which were reflected in the literature of the time.(47) Above all, a Manchester man had a certain air of nobility and superiority, making him someone to look up to. He was not the philistine depicted in much contemporary literature especially in the early Victorian period. The Manchester man was not a Gradgrind or a Bounderby. Rather, he was an educated and cultivated individual.(48) These were public men whose supposed virtues and apparent religious convictions were reflected in their munificence. This is what transformed economic power into symbolic power and justified their place as social leaders. Charitable activity reflected this aspect of their character. It showed that they were model citizens. Contemporaries were aware of the value of public displays of generosity. S.K. Hocking, writing in 1889, claimed that all model citizens needed to be public spirited. In his work Social Models he wrote that "a model citizen must be a man of public spirit" and that a model citizen "will be a generous man."(49)

Local press reports were vital to influencing the public sphere and constructing these images. Press accounts gave details of public and annual meetings, reports and charity events. Names of officials were included in these articles, forging a public association between the individual and charity. The more charities an individual was associated with, the higher the charitable profile. Through local newspapers and public accolades individuals could influence public opinion,(50) reinforcing notions of moral worth and so fulfilling the unwritten criteria of being a public man and social leader. The symbolic capital and domination derived from the status of a charitable profile was reinforced throughout the public sphere.

This was an established process. The seventeenth-century philanthropist merchant, Humphrey Chetham, for example, was regarded by Manchester's late-nineteenth century press as one of the city's great social leaders of the past. Chetham was born in 1580 and made his fortune as a "wool factor" and warehouseman. He was knighted in 1634 and made Sheriff of Lancashire. Four years before his death in 1653 he founded a Trust for the foundation of a school (hospital) and library.(51) In 1891 the Manchester Weekly Times described him as "one of the heroes to whose honour we have raised statues." It claimed he was "Manchester's first great philanthropist," and that he was "a good citizen to whose generosity and forethought generations owe so much."(52) Contemporaries had also recognised Chetham's generosity. In 1665, for example, Charles II granted the hospital a Royal Charter in which Chetham was described as, "trusty and well beloved . . . a person of exemplary piety to God and charity towards the poor."(53) However, the revival of interest in Chetham in the second half of the nineteenth century, reflected not only in such local press articles as the Manchester Weekly Times report but also in the likes of Edward Edwards' 1855 work, Manchester Worthies and their Foundations; or Local History with an Epilogue By Way of Moral, and even in the establishment of the Chetham Society in 1843 and the erection of statues to him in the Cathedral in 1853 and on the outside of the Town Hall, suggests that Chetham's example was important to the Victorians in helping to construct and underpin nineteenth century notions of what constituted a public man.

Press reports were keen to praise "model" Manchester citizens. Robert Needham Philips, for instance, was portrayed in one press report as the ideal Manchester man. Philips, member of the prominent merchant family and M.P. for Bury between 1857 and 1885, was described in the East Lancashire Review of 1890 as "a true type of the Manchester man," and as "a fine old English gentleman in all respects." The writer claimed that he and his brother Mark "ranked among the Manchester men of that day," and that both were a part of "the foremost groups in the philanthropic and political movement of the time." The writer concluded as if it were common knowledge that "it is needless to add he subscribed to the proverbial hundred and one other institutions which exist largely upon munificence such as his."(54)

The charity field was structured so that those involved often received considerable public acclaim. They became revered and popularised by the local press and authorities. Charity leaders such as Oliver Heywood were portrayed as if they were urban aristocrats.(55) Heywood's association with at least twenty-seven individual charities, alongside his generosity, combined in the eyes of the local press to give him an air of distinction and nobility. The language employed by the periodical Manchester Faces and Places, for example, to describe Heywood upon his receiving the Freedom of the City in 1889, served to produce and structure a noble and distinguished image. The writer described how the Heywood family was "an eminent and historically conspicuous one."(56) Heywood's own life was described in glowing detail. The article implied that he, like any other man of "noble" birth, attended Eton and then toured Europe, an essential element in "the completion of a gentleman's education."

The article continued to describe how Heywood entered into the family banking business while also filling the role of a local J.P. and High Sheriff of Lancashire along the way. He possessed all the cultural capital necessary to become prominent in the charity field. Throughout the article he is portrayed almost as a contemporary Renaissance man. Yet he was a "Manchester man," and above all else he was revered for his charity work. This was why the City Council granted him the Freedom of the City. It was recognised at the Council meeting held on 27 April 1888, at which it was decided to honour Heywood for his "exulted character and life of public usefulness and benevolence," a life which had been devoted to the "promotion of education and the relief of suffering humanity."(57) As Heywood was not actively involved with either local or Parliamentary politics, his "public usefulness" lay predominantly in his charity work. His fame became encapsulated forever in stone with the erection of a public statue in Albert square. Symbolically, to this day Heywood stands, leaning on his Roman plinth, next to Prince Albert at the very heart of the city. While the honour enhanced the prestige of the Heywood family and of Oliver Heywood's memory, it also served to further emphasise the criteria for what constituted a public man or a Manchester man.

Moreover it showed how the public sphere could be influenced. Although social leadership of this kind does not constitute a direct form of political power, it is still an important form of domination. Heywood was clearly regarded as a leader and role model within the community, his charity work reinforcing notions of what constituted a public man. It was a type of paternalistic relationship between him and the community: he gave time and money through the local charities while the city recognised him as a notable public leader. In effect, the voluntary charities provided an institutionalised opportunity for symbolic capital which enabled men like Oliver Heywood to become role models of public leadership.

Oliver Heywood s status was enhanced by his fulfilment of a sense of duty.(58) Status in the public sphere demanded evidence of openhandedness.(59) Charitable association provided such evidence, providing a platform for public recognition. It helped individuals to gain admiration throughout parts of the community. Conversely, non-involvement was liable to meet with public disdain. People who failed to get involved were portrayed as being unfit to be regarded as social leaders. It was a process of elevation and derision that was highlighted in the character sketch of the local millowner James Jardine given on 19th November 1892, in Spy, a local satirical magazine. While it lavished praise on Jardine's charitable efforts, it contrasted his work with the apathy of others. The writer claimed that benevolent individuals were to be regarded "as noble" people who fully "deserve praise." Moreover, he claimed that it was the "duty of every rich man to be generous to the poor," but that "most rich men are careful not to be generous." The article implied that they were to be regarded as mean and mercenary and, as such, not to be seen as fit leaders. They did not have the necessary symbolic capital because their wealth could not be totally legitimised in the wider community while it was seen to remain concentrated solely in the same hands. This was an issue of individual character. Those who did not get involved in charity work were portrayed as having failed in the fulfilment of their Christian duty to the poor. They lacked "noblesse oblige," signifying an inability to prove their moral worth, acquire symbolic capital and become an effective social leader.

While charitable association was useful for those who, like Heywood and Jardine, already possessed wealth and rank in the community, it could be at least as valuable for the self-made man who also wished to be accepted as a social leader. While few were so motivated this platform was nevertheless open to anyone who had the ability and individual capital as well as the inclination to get involved. Although religious or ethnic restrictions may have operated in practice, there is no actual evidence of intolerance proving a barrier to the acquisition of social status through charitable association.(60) Charitable association could be particularly useful to immigrants who wished to influence the public sphere and become accepted by the community. Although "immigrant" in this sense refers primarily to those born and bred outside the country, it could also be used to apply to those born outside the Manchester area. By fulfilling the criteria required of a public figure they could become "Manchester men." It is significant that many of the charity leaders were born outside the city. Of the eighty-one for whom places of birth has been identified, fifty-seven came from the northwest. Only twenty-six of these were born in the city boundaries. A further eight were born in Salford, two in Altrincham and one in each of the neighbouring districts of Trafford Park and Bowdon. Two more came from the bordering Cheshire districts of Knutsford and Wilmslow, while six came from the present day Greater Manchester districts of Hyde, Bury, Stockport, Rochdale and Bolton. The remaining northwest births were made up of one Cumbrian, three from Liverpool, six from other Lancashire towns and one from the Isle of Man. Of the others, nine came from other districts in the North and Midlands, while the final fifteen came from such far distant lands as London, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Trieste and Germany.

The degree of disparity is far less regarding the places where group members died. Of the 93 deaths listed, 63 were located in and around the Manchester area, with 33 occurring within the city boundaries, twelve in Salford, one in Heaton Mersey, three in Altrincham, three in Old Trafford, two in Stretford, one in Sale and eight in Bowdon. A further three died in the bordering north Cheshire districts of Alderly Edge and Macclesfield. Of the remaining 25, six died elsewhere in the northwest, three in the midlands, ten in the south of England, one in Scotland and three overseas. However, many of these are known to have retained homes in or around the Manchester area. Lord Egerton's official residence, for example, continued to be Tatton Hall in Knutsford, Algernon Egerton maintained his home at Worsley, Sir Joseph Heron the Town Clerk still had a home at Broughton Park and Robert Needham Philips retained his Manchester home at Park in Prestwich.

The fact that few members of the group lost their links with the city indicates the value of charities in maintaining an association with the area.(61) Charities were a means of preserving links with what was one of the most important Victorian cities in the country. They provided a valuable platform for the acquisition and maintenance of symbolic capital and social leadership for the individuals involved. This was especially important for immigrants who wished to become accepted into the community to forge and maintain these links. Charitable association provided an ideal vehicle.(62) Through their charity work figures like the two German immigrants, Philip Goldschmidt and Henry Julius Leppoc, acquired the same kind of significant public praise and recognition enjoyed by the likes of Oliver Heywood.(63) This praise and recognition were not as pronounced, but they shared the same character. All contemporary press reports, for instance, stressed the worth of the two Germans as public servants. Goldschmidt, who also served as councillor, Alderman and, in 1886, Mayor, was proclaimed by Momus in 1879 as a "public man in the true sense of the term" because his talents "have been given ungrudgingly for many years in the best interests of Manchester."(64) His service on at least six different charities, coupled with his role on the City Council, marked him as an altruistic servant of the community.

The report made no mention of his foreign birth. He was accepted as a Manchester man. Even when German roots were mentioned they were quickly dismissed. Henry Julius Leppoc, for instance, was remembered by Louis Hayes as, "a well known man in Broughton" who "although a German by birth," had lived in the area for so long that all his "interests and affections seemed to be centred in the place which he had adopted as his home," and who was to be viewed as a "large hearted, kind man, ready to succour the distressed wherever they might be found."(65) Similarly, The City Lantern claimed in 1877 that although Leppoc was "an alien by birth" he had become "the most Manchester of Manchester merchants."(66) His foreign birth was not an issue. By serving the city he had become one of its leading citizens. Leppoc's services were publicly acknowledged when in 1877 he was presented with a portrait by the Manchester Board of Guardians. At the ceremony Charles Sever pointed out that the [pounds]260 painting was not just in recognition of his work as a Guardian, but was also a testimony of the "high esteem in which he was held," for the "ready liberality and active personal cooperation with which he always supported our leading charities and other philanthropic institutions for the benefit of the poor."(67)

Voluntary charities provided the ideal base for displays of such apparent generosity, religious virtue and public spiritedness. It was a display of moral duty which ostensibly showed the charitable were fulfilling duties associated with the social citizenship of the late nineteenth century.(68) Charitable association could transform those whose names became closely and most constantly involved into local dignitaries of the highest order.(69) Public accolades such as being granted the Freedom of the City, coupled with adulation in the local press and periodicals, provided the means of achieving this position. To be given the Freedom of the City was the highest honour the Council could bestow.(70) Most of the early title holders were Manchester men who were either honoured entirely for their charitable deeds or for their involvement along with other social or political achievements. Of the thirteen given the honour between 1888 and 1905 nine were members of the charity group.

Although the fact that the city council did not introduce the honour until 1888 meant it could be given to only a few members of the group, the date of its inception is significant in that it coincides with a distinct generational pattern. Data suggest that voluntary charities began to lose some of their appeal as a base for social leadership in the early years of the twentieth century.(71) The pattern indicates that 69 members of the top charity group were born between 1800 and 1839, while only 15 were born before 1800 and only ten after 1839. There is a similar pattern for the dates showing when the charity leaders died. The largest number of deaths came in the 34 year span between 1880 and 1914, when a total of 62 group members died. No other period is so clearly marked. Only the 18 deaths occurring in the twenty year span 1860-1879 provided a substantial figure. Previous to this only five members of the group died, while after 1914 only eight died.(72) The underlying pattern suggested by the dates indicates that the period from the mid-nineteenth century to the early years of the twentieth century was something of a halcyon age for charitable association as a part of social leadership. This sense is reinforced by the fact that of the eleven individuals given the Freedom of the City between 1908 and 1914, none was a member of the group. According to the extant records, only one served on any of the city's charities, further suggesting that the criteria for a public man began to change in the early twentieth century.(73)

The role of voluntary charities in providing a vehicle for the acquisition of symbolic capital and social leadership was only effective while a consensus existed within the community. Changes to the social basis of power in the late-nineteenth century gradually diminished the usefulness of charities. The rise of the working classes as a political power, the gradual yet growing importance of welfare reform as opposed to charity as a means of alleviating poverty(74) and the fact that charity was less fashionable all suggest how social changes affected the value of charities as a vehicle for status and power in the community.(75) Moreover, the rise of a consumer society and the increasing popularity of other activities such as sport suggest tastes and values were changing. This was highlighted on 19th January 1900, when the prospective Tory candidate A.J. Balfour kicked off Manchester City's football match at Maine Road.

Symbolic capital and social leadership rely on a successful understanding of the social world in which the individual operates. In the mid-Victorian period symbolic capital and social leadership demanded a display of benevolence and Christian duty, achievable through association with local charities. Not everyone who became associated with a range of charities was motivated from a desire to fulfil the criteria for social leadership. Motives are difficult to quantify in any meaningful manner.(76) Each individual had his own specific reasons for becoming associated with charities. Equally, why some entered the charity field while others from a similar social and cultural background did not is problematic. It has been suggested that such differences may ultimately prove to be a question of internal mental states and, as such, analysis may need the help of social psychologists.(77)

This does not affect the role of charities as an integral part of the social basis of power in the mid-Victorian period. Those with the necessary capital and habitus were able to enter the charity field with most success. In so doing their capital was transformed into symbolic power. Economic and social standing alone did not make them acknowledged leaders within the community. It had to be legitimised. They had to prove their moral worth in order to gain the recognition of the community. Voluntary charities provided the vehicle to acquire that recognition and so underpin their status. They were not just viewed as members of a powerful Establishment, not just people with business influence or wealth, but were portrayed as model citizens who worked for the good of all. Public reverence came through the local press and official accolades. Through acquiring a charitable profile it was possible to obtain symbolic power and legitimate domination. However, as the social world in which each individual operated changed so also did the use of voluntary charities as a mechanism within the social basis of power begin to lose its functional value.

Historiographical Appendix

The significance of voluntary charities in the nineteenth century has been recognised in much of the existing historiography. Moreover, the importance of status as a form of power has also been highlighted. J.M. Lee's study, Social Leaders and Political Persons (Oxford, 1961), identified the importance of fulfilling specific criteria for those wishing to become social leaders. His analysis of Cheshire highlighted that wealth had to he accompanied by "social standing," and that this involved public duties such as giving "generous contributions for the maintenance of welfare".(78) In the less personalised and more fragmented urban environment the voluntary charity was an especially useful vehicle for social leaders to prove they had fulfilled their public duties. Moreover, voluntary charities were perfectly suited to the ideals of the Victorian period. They were part of a political economy which placed emphasis on the "deserving," "individual effort" and the "self."(79) With the rise of the New Right in the 1980's such values were re-examined. David Green's study Working Class Patients and the Medical Establishment: Self Help in Britain from the Mid-Nineteenth Century (Aldershot, 1984) stresses the value of self help organisations and voluntary effort in a providing a fraternal alternative to the Poor Law.(80) Also, they served to feed the "social conscience," highlighted by Gertrude Himmelfarb in The Idea of Poverty (London, 1984). With the perceived demoralisation of parts of society and the criminalisation of the pauper, charities provided a relatively safe vehicle for individuals seeking to help the deserving poor. This was central to their own status in the community. It served to underpin their image as worthy public leaders, legitimising their economic, social or political positions in the community through the acquisition of symbolic capital. As such, charity, status and power were part of a vital correlation in urban power relationships.

This relationship has not been fully explored. There are number of useful local studies of urban charity,(81) yet they focus on the extent of charities as welfare providers. While, for example, Margaret Simey's Charitable Effort in the Nineteenth Century (Liverpool, 1951), is one of the few published studies which provides a substantial examination of voluntary charity in an English city, its primary focus is on charities as vehicles for social care. Other urban studies such as Helen Meller's work on Bristol, Leisure and the Industrial City, 1870-1914 (London, 1976), and S. Yeo's study of Reading, Religion and Voluntary Organisations in Crisis (London, 1976), suggest the importance of voluntary charity in the nineteenth century environment. However, there are few recent in-depth studies. This indicates the need for a contemporary analysis which examines the organisational structures of charitable societies in connection with their role as a vehicle for the acquisition of status and power.

Other studies of charity and welfare have focused on different issues. Key works such as David Owen's English Philanthropy 1660-1960 (London, 1964), Frank Prochaska's "Philanthropy" (in F.M.L. Thompson, ed., The Cambridge Social History of Britain, Vol. 3, [Cambridge, 1990]), and Chapter Five of Brian Harrison's Peaceable Kingdom: Stability and Change in Modern Britain (Oxford, 1982) tend to view charity in a general and national context. Also, studies of nineteenth century social welfare such as Pat Thane's Foundation of the Welfare State (London, 1982), Derek Fraser's Evolution of the Welfare State (London, 1984) and Ann Digby's British Welfare Policy (London, 1989) have to subordinate any examination of charity to a wider study of the rise of state welfare.

Moreover, these studies are not concerned with the important link between voluntary charities and charitable involvement. Many studies of charitable involvement focus on the role of women. Works such as Ann Sumners' "A Home From Home - Women's Philanthropic Work in the Nineteenth Century" (in S. Burman, ed., Fit Work for Women, [Oxford, 1979]), Frank Prochaska's Women and Philanthropy in Nineteenth Century England, Jane Lewis' Women in England 1870-1950 (Brighton, 1984) and Labour and Love: Women's Experience of Home and Family 1850-1940 (Oxford, 1986), and Eileen Yeo's The Contest for Social Science: Relations and Representations of Gender and Class (1996)(82) relate a rich and important variety of gender issues and debates. They examine, for instance, the positive contribution made by women to nineteenth century charity work and the way their involvement increased work opportunities yet also reinforced their gender role.

However, few studies give full consideration to male involvement. As Jane Lewis acknowledges, in most instances throughout the nineteenth century it was men who dominated the management and organisation of charity.(83) Those historians who do consider the wider social and political impact of male involvement tend to subordinate the importance of voluntary charities to other institutions. Studies such as John Garrard's Leadership and Power in Victorian Industrial Towns (Manchester, 1983), R. Trainor's "Urban Elites in Victorian Britain" (in Urban History Yearbook, 1985), and R. J. Morris' Class, Sect and Party (Manchester, 1990), have examined the importance of charities in terms of both class formation and their role in asserting middle-class power both directly and indirectly through their control of what was a vital social mechanism. Yet, voluntary charities are seen as only one of a number of such mechanisms. Other voluntary organisations and town councils, for example, provide an equal if not greater focal point.

This gap in the historiography is also apparent with those studies which examine the nature of charity. These consider charity in terms of the motives of those who either gave to a charity or became actively involved as charity workers. These motives have included humanitarianism, social control, guilt and fear.(84) Class based notions of social control have informed a number of studies, such as Gareth Stedman Jones' Outcast London and Languages of Class, and P. Bailey's Leisure and Class in Victorian England, as well as R. J. Morris' Class Sect and Party.(85) Other historians, such as Frank Prochaska and F. M. L. Thompson reject the social control model.(86) Prochaska places emphasis on altruism. He claims that the history of charity is the "history of kindness."(87) Harrison also sees altruism as important. Like Prochaska, he believes that this was subject to a number of important qualifications.(88) There existed a series of other considerations, stretching from the loss of a loved one to the desire for social status.(89) However, while the works of Frank Prochaska, Brian Harrison and others consider the social role of charity in the daily lives of people, they give less attention to their political role and impact in the urban environment.

The problems of focusing on motive have been underlined in Alan Kidd's recent discussion article "Philanthropy and the Social Paradigm" (Social History, 1996). Significantly, Kidd also emphasises the need to move beyond "motive" and to begin exploration of the charity field. This article will attempt to complement existing studies by focusing on the role of voluntary charities as part of the social basis for power in the nineteenth century, and will consider Pierre Bourdieu's notion of fields, capital, habitus and symbolic capital as a model for understanding the complex relationship between charity, individual involvement and power.

ENDNOTES

1. See Appendix, above. See also, for example R.J. Morris, Class, Sect and Party (Manchester, 1990), A. Russell, "Local Elites and the Working-Class Response in the North-West, 1870-1895: Paternalism and Deference Reconsidered," Northern History 23 (1987): 153-173; R.Trainor, "Urban Elites in Victorian Britain," Urban His tory Yearbook (1985). J. Garrard, Leadership and Power in Victorian Industrial Towns, 1830-80 (Manchester, 1983), and N. Evans, "Urbanisation, Elite Attitudes and Philanthropy: Cardiff, 1850-1914," International Review of Social History 27 (1982).

2. This is based on the information provided by a series of relational databases detailing serving personnel on Manchester's charities and biographical information on the charity leaders.

3. See also A. J. Kidd, "Philanthropy and the Social History Paradigm," Social History (1996): 191-192.

4. See for example J.M. Lee, Social Leaders and Public Persons (Oxford, 1963), pp. 13, 39, 42. Also, see A. J. Kidd, op. cit., p. 189.

5. See R. Harker, C. Mahar, and C. Wilkes, eds., An Introduction to the Work of Pierre Bourdieu (London, 1990), pp. 10-13.

6. See for example P. Shapely, "Voluntary Charities in Nineteenth Century Manchester," unpublished thesis, Manchester Metropolitan University 1995, Chapter One.

7. This general theoretical stance is based on the work of Pierre Bourdieu. See for example P. Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge, 1977). For a basic introduction see Harker, Mahar, and Wilkes, eds., op. cit.

8. See for example B. Harrison, Peaceable Kingdom (Oxford, 1985), Chapter Five.

9. For an outline of the notions of fields, habitus and capital see Harker, Mahar, and Wilkes, op. cit., pp. 8-15.

10. See M. Weber, Economy and Society 3 (New York, 1968), p. 1113.

11. See Harker, Mahar, and Wilkes, op. cit., p. 5.

12. See for example B. Harrison, op. cit., Chapter Five. Also, A. J. Kidd, op. cit., pp. 181-182.

13. Shapely, op. cit., Chapter One, p. 40.

14. See F. Scott, Transactions of the Manchester Statistical Society (Manchester, 1884), p. 153.

15. Shapely, op. cit., p. 15.

16. See for example A. J. Kidd, Manchester (Keele, 1993).

17. Ibid. See also H. B. Rodgers, "The Suburban Growth of Victorian Manchester," Journal of Manchester Geographical Society (1962): 1-12, and K. Chorley, Manchester Made Them (London, 1950), pp. 136-146.

18. The level of involvement which constitutes substantial "charitable leadership" poses a difficult problem. Should, for example, membership of five, six, seven or more charities constitute membership of a group. Deciding where to draw the line presents many difficulties. However, by only including those individuals involved in six or more charities, it is at least possible to focus attention on a manageable group of 100. This remains an arbitrary figure which could exclude others who may have been involved in five charities, and whose power and influence might reasonably have been thought of as suitable for charity leaders. Nevertheless, this does not remove the usefulness of focusing study on such a group in terms of what it can reveal about the relationship among charity, status and power in the community.

19. See for example D. Cannadine, ed., Patricians, Power and Politics in Nineteenth Century Towns (Leicester, 1982), p. 104.

20. J. Garrard, op. cit., p. 31. R. J. Morris, op. cit., pp. 168, 185. N. Evans, op. cit., p. 306.

21. See for example A. Summers, "A Home from Home: Women's Philanthropic Work in the Nineteenth Century," S. Burman, ed., Fit Work for Women (Oxford, 1979), pp. 51, 93. J. Gerard, "Lady Bountiful: Women of the Landed Classes and Rural Philanthropy," Victorian Studies (1987): 183-210.

22. This confirms the evidence in J. Lewis, Women in England, 1870-1950 (Brighton, 1984), p. 93: P. Hollis, Ladies Elect: Women in English Local Government (Oxford, 1987), p. 14: M. Vicinus, Independent Women, 1885-1920 (London, 1985), p. 22.

23. B. Harrison, op. cit., p. 233.

24. Again, the incomplete nature of the records means the figures omit an unknown number of women who might have served as officials. Conversely, however, the total figures for those who were made officials may actually be smaller as it is impossible to identify and separate those women who appear with both their maiden names and their later married names. Yet, even when this is considered, the fact is that for the period as a whole women filled only 13 percent of all the positions and constituted only 17 percent of all individuals who served as officials. Moreover, although women actually governed twelve separate charities by themselves, in effect this only made up 11 percent of all those charities with extant records. Perhaps more significant is the fact that most of the women took up active rather than honorary positions. In total 852 of the 889 positions were active and only 37 honorary in nature.

25. See also F. Prochaska, The Voluntary Impulse (London, 1988), p. 23. R. Trainor, op. cit., p. 3.

26. See also R. J. Morris, op. cit., p. 175.

27. There are certain problems arising from an analysis of the probate records which need to be briefly considered. W.L. Rubinstein's study, Men of Property, highlights two important points. First, he claims that, "Manchester's importance as a centre of British wealth is simply belied by the available facts." His study of the probate records show only a handful of millionaires across the century. Significantly, however, these do not include the three millionaire members of the charitable elite. John Rylands is mentioned, but is regarded as a Wigan rather than a Manchester man, even though he lived most of his life in Stretford and was involved in at least nine Manchester charities. Similarly, Sir William Cunliffe-Brookes, who lived in Chorlton-cum-Hardy and served as a local M.P., and Sir William Agnew who was born, lived and served as M.P. for Salford, are not regarded by Rubinstein as Manchester men. This is presumably because the probate records show that both died, and, therefore, had their wills recorded elsewhere in the country, the former at his Scottish estate and the latter in his London home. Yet, as all three lived in and served the city, to regard them as anything other than Manchester men would be misleading. The nature of Rubinstein's study prevents him from going into such detail. In considering the probate records for Manchester's charitable elite the same trap is automatically avoided.

The other possible pitfall in studying the probate records concerns the avoidance of tax duties. This, however, is a minor concern. As Rubinstein points out, although death duties began as early as 1694 they had only reached a rate of 11 percent on millionaire estates by 1907. This suggests that it was unlikely that the rich gave away their wealth before dying. In general, therefore, a study of the probate records can be regarded as a reasonable guide to the relative wealth of the charitable elite. For most, the amounts registered in the probate records emphasise this still further.

28. V.A.C Gatrell, "Incorporation and the Pursuit of Liberal Hegemony in Manchester, 1790-1839," D. Fraser, ed., Municipal Reform (Leicester, 1982), p. 22.

29. J. Seed, "Unitarianism, Political Economy and the Antinomies of Liberal Culture Manchester, 1830-50," Social History 7 (1982): 7.

30. Ibid.

31. The trend towards a public school and Oxbridge education for Manchester's elite was especially marked after 1850. See for example S. Gunn, "The Manchester Middle-Class, 1850-1880," unpublished thesis, Manchester University 1993, pp. 114-122.

32. J. Seed, op. cit., p. 7.

33. The origins of Manchester's elite are outlined in K. Honeyman, Origins of Enterprise: Business Leadership in the Industrial Revolution (Manchester, 1982), pp. 163, 168, 170.

34. For the role of charities in this regard see Morris, op. cit., p. 167.

35. Least favoured were apparently the handicapped and shelter charities. These accounted for only 14 and 15 members respectively. However, the possible limits of the data again need to be considered. Records exist for only five handicapped charities and six shelters as opposed to those for 23 different medical charities and 14 for the children's charities. More complete records might have revealed a greater level of involvement with these charities.

36. See F. Prochaska, op. cit., p. 30.

37. M.Weber, op. cit., p. 1121. Weber claimed:

Charisma is self determined and sets its own limits. . . . If those to whom he feels sent do not recognise him, his claim collapses; if they recognise him, he is their master as long as he proves himself . . . Normally the mission is directed to a local ethnic, social, political, vocational or some other group, and that means that it also finds its limits at the edges of these groups.

38. See for example B. Hilton, The Age of Atonement: The Influence of Evangelicalism on Social and Economic Thought (Oxford, 1988), p. 104.

39. Many of them appear to have held genuine religious convictions. While religiosity is difficult to measure, actual religious conviction is at least reflected in denominational affiliations. Denominational loyalties varied considerably. It has been possible to identify positively the religious affiliation of 80 members of the group. A total of 33 of these were Anglicans, six converted to Anglicanism, and 45 were or had been members of various Nonconformist groups. The figures suggest that the charity leaders were not dominated by any single set of denominational beliefs. There is no firm indication of the underlying middle-class shift from Nonconformity to Anglicanism as indicated for example in H. Mcleod, Class and Religion in the Late Victorian City (London, 1974), pp. 172-174, 179, 248-249.

40. Crossley was a Committee member for the Salvation Army, the U.K Alliance, the Y.M.C.A, the Fowler square Ragged School, the D.P.S., the Ragged School Union, the Manchester Girl s Institute and the City Mission, as well as President of the Lancashire and Cheshire Band of Hope Union and Trustee for both the Boy's and Girl's Refuge and the Hospital for Consumption and Diseases of the Throat. Also, he was an active supporter of Josephine Butler as well as an organiser and vociferous speaker for the Society opposed to Armenian Atrocities.

41. K. Crossley, He Heard From God (London, 1959), p. 43.

42. Opened on 4 August 1889, he transformed this former music hall into a Mission Hall, with a Sunday School, Bible classes and a temperance society.

43. J. R. Harris, The Life of F. W. Crossley (London, 1899), pp. v-vi.

44. Manchester Guardian, 27 March 1892.

45. For Weber, such formal organisations were central to the process. See Economy and Society 1: 254.

46. The term is discussed in M. Rose,"Culture, Philanthropy and the Manchester Middle Classes" in A. J. Kidd, and K. Roberts, eds., City, Class and Culture (Manchester, 1985), pp. 103-117, A. J. Kidd, Manchester, op. cit., pp. 72-79.

47. See for example A. Laycock, Warren of Manchester (London, no date), L. The Manchester Man (Manchester, 1896).

48. J. Seed, "Commerce and the Liberal Arts: The Political Economy of Art in Manchester" in J. Seed, and J. Wolff eds., The Culture of Capital: Art, Power and the Nineteenth Century Middle Class (Manchester, 1988), pp. 45, 67, 68, 73.

49. S. K. Hocking, Social Models (London, 1889), p. 17.

50. For a brief discussion of the public sphere see J. Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (Cambridge, 1991).

51. E. Edwards, Manchester Worthies and their Foundations: or Local History with an Epilogue by way of Moral (Manchester, 1855), p. 22.

52. Manchester Weekly Times, 30 October, 1891.

53. Ibid.

54. East Lancashire Review, 1890-1899, p. 3

55. A. Briggs, Victorian Cities (Harmondsworth, 1968), p. 98.

56. Manchester Faces and Places, Vol. 1 (1889), p. 33.

57. Ibid., p. 36.

58. See also Morris, op. cit., p. 252.

59. See also Evans, op. cit., p. 306.

60. The liberality of Manchester society in the mid-Victorian period is suggested in W. Williams, The Making of Manchester Jewry (Manchester, 1976), p. 165. However, this was subsequently questioned by him in "The Anti-Semitism of Tolerance: Middle-Class Manchester and the Jews" in Kidd and Roberts, eds., City, Class and Culture, pp. 74-102.

61. J. Seed, "Unitarianism, Political Economy and Liberal Culture in Manchester," op. cit., p. 23, footnote 96.

62. See also M. Cahill and T. Jowitt, "The New Philanthropy: The Emergence of the Bradford Guild of Help," Journal of Social Policy 9 (1980): 367.

63. S.Coates, "Manchester's German Gentlemen: Immigrant Institutions in a Provincial City," Manchester Region History Review 5 (1991-92): 21-30. W. Williams, "The Anti-Semitism of Tolerance: Middle Class Manchester and the Jews" in Kidd and Roberts, eds., City, Class and Culture, pp. 74-102.

64. Momus, 25 September, 1879.

65. L. M. Hayes, Reminiscences of Manchester (Manchester, 1905).

66. City Lantern, 19 September, 1877.

67. City Lantern, 12 May, 1877.

68. See also H. Meller, Leisure and the Changing City, 1870-1914 (London, 1971), pp. 7-11.

69. D. Cannadine, op. cit., p. 106.

70. The introduction of the honour in 1888 was a result of the Honorary Freedom of Boroughs Act of 1885. It was designed to publicly recognise outstanding achievements. One of the first to receive the honour was H.M. Stanley, the explorer.

71. See also N. Evans, op. cit., p. 309. R. Trainor, op. cit., p. 5.

72. A level of qualification is needed. The nature of the data may in itself be deceiving. For example, the largest number of available records from which data have been drawn originate from the mid-nineteenth century period onwards, the period at which this generational group would have been most actively involved in their charity work. Yet there may well have been more people just as heavily involved in the earlier part of the century but whose activities are obscured by the lack of complete data. Also, as the cut-off date for the study is 1914 there is no firm indication as to how the pattern developed from this point onwards.

73. Besides Oliver Heywood, the other members of the charity leaders to receive the honour were Abel Heywood (1891), Thomas Ashton (1892), James Jardine (1892), Herbert Philips (1897), R.D. Darbishire (1899), R.C. Christie (1899), Sir W.J. Crossley (1903) and Sir W.H. Houldsworth (1905). Of the others, Enriquetta Rylands also received the honour for charitable works.

74. For the view that the extension of the suffrage was followed by a flood of social legislation see H.M. Lynd, England in the 1880's (London, 1968), p. 407. For the view that changes were much more gradual, particularly amongst working-class institutions such as the trade unions and friendly societies, and that pressure for change centred on better wages and regular work see Pat Thane, "The Working Class and State Welfare," Historical Journal 27 (1984): 877-900. H. Pelling, "The Working Class and the Origins of the Welfare State," in Popular Politics and Society (London, 1968), pp. 1-18. J. Hill, "Manchester and Salford Politics and the Early Development of the Independent Labour Party," International Review of Social History (1981): 181,193.

75. See for example Harrison, Peaceable Kingdom, pp. 254-256; J. A. Hobson, in The Crisis of Liberalism, P. F. Clarke, ed. (Brighton, 1974), p. 197.

76. See A. J. Kidd, "Philanthropy," op. cit., p. 191.

77. See ibid., p. 185.

78. J. M. Lee, Social Leaders and Public Persons (Oxford, 1963), p. 39.

79. For an exploration of Victorian values and parallel with the 1980's see G. Himmelfarb, Victorian Values and Twentieth Century Condescension (London, 1987), p. 115.

80. See also D. Green, and L. Cromwell, Mutual Aid or Welfare State: Australia's Friendly Societies (Sydney, 1984).

81. See for example L. Feenhan, "Charitable Effort, Statutory Authorities and the Poor in Liverpool, 1850-1914," Ph.D., unpublished thesis, Liverpool, 1988, and M. Whittle, "Philanthropy in Preston: The Changing Face of Charity in a Nineteenth Century Provincial Town," Ph.D., unpublished thesis, Lancaster 1990.

82. See also E. Yeo "Social Motherhood and the Sexual Communion of Labour in Britain Social Science, 1850-1950," in Women's History Review (1992).

83. J. Lewis, Women in England 1870-1950 (Brighton, 1984), p. 93.

84. See for example E. Lascelles, "Charity," in G.M. Young, Early Victorian England, 1830-1865, Vol. 2, (Oxford, 1934): F. Prochaska, The Voluntary Impulse: Philanthropy in Modern Britain (London, 1988) and "Philanthropy" in F.M.L. Thompson, Cambridge Social History, Vol. 3; B. Best, Mid-Victorian Britain (London, 1971); B. Harrison, Peaceable Kingdom (Oxford, 1989), Chapter 5; N. Evans, "Urbanisation, Elite Attitudes and Philanthropy: Cardiff, 1850-1914," International Review of Social History (1982): 290-323. Also, for the eighteenth century see D.T. Andrew, Philanthropy and the Police: London Charity in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1989).

85. G.S. Jones, Outcast London (London, 1971), pp. 241-336, and Languages of Class (London, 1983), pp. 76-89; P. Bailey, Leisure and Class in Victorian England (London, 1987), pp. 8-10; R.J. Morris, Class, Sect and Party (Manchester, 1990), Chapter 10-13. For an outline of the social control model and its relation to social history see A.P. Donajgrodski, Social Control in Nineteenth Century Britain (London, 1977), pp. 9-15. For a further brief discussion see K. Williams, From Pauperism to Poverty (London, 1981), pp. 136-139.

86. Prochaska, "Philanthropy," p. 359; Prochaska, The Voluntary Impulse, p. 51-52; F.M.L. Thompson, "Social Control in Victorian Britain," Economic History Review (1981): 189-208.

87. Prochaska, "Philanthopy," pp. 360-362.

88. Harrison, Peaceable Kingdom, pp. 225; Prochaska, "Philanthropy," p. 362.

89. Harrison, Peaceable Kingdom, p. 225.