W.T. Stead by Aaron Watson

Aaron Watson, A Newspaperman's Memories (Hutchinson & Co, London, 1925) pp. 66-67

He lived in Wimbledon, and got into town by a train arriving at 8.20. By that time he new everything that was in the papers, down to the inquests, though he had been out on Wimbledon Common with his children, in a dressing gown, giving each of the young ones a ride on a little donkey that he owned. One morning, very early, he received important news, and arrived in town much in advance of the train, wearing the dressing gown, and riding on the donkey. He was insensible to ridicule, except, perhaps, in the sense that it pleased him more to be laughed at than not noticed at all...

When he was at the Consulate at Newcastle he caught the office mice, cooked them with nice care, and served them up to himself on toast, as a means of understanding what sort of experience the besieged residents of Paris were passing through at that time. His companions jeered at him, and he went on catching mice as before.

About this website

I founded this website in 2001 to assist me in my own research on W.T. Stead, little knowing then that it would become the largest online resource on Stead's life and career. Today this site is used by students, scholars and institutions around the world and has significantly contributed to the Study of W.T. Stead and the evils which he campaigned against. I hope you find it useful.

If you have a question that explicitly concerns any of the content on this website, feel free to Contact me and I will get back to you at my earliest convenience. However, please note that I no longer work in academia. With a very "busy" business to run, the time I can spare responding to enquiries through this website is finite, to say the least. So, please do not ask me to do research for you or assist in matters of family history.

Finally, though this website includes a section on Stead's obsession with spiritualism, I myself am not remotely interested in the subject. So, if you think you have seen Stead's ghost in your kitchen or believe you are the reincarnation of the great editor himself (or anyone else who died on the Titanic), I beg you not to tell me about it..

Owen Mulpetre, BA (Hons) MPhil