A Cheat’s Guide to Cheats: Exploring The London Guide and Stranger’s Safeguard Against the Cheats, Swindlers, and Pickpockets (1819)

Imagine stepping out onto the bustling streets of Regency-era London. The city teemed with life, from towering gentlemen in their powdered wigs to chimney sweeps scrambling through the soot. But lurking in the shadows were less savoury characters: swindlers, tricksters, and pickpockets keen to relieve unwary visitors of their possessions. For those venturing into this maze of cobblestones and chaos, salvation came in the form of The London Guide and Stranger’s Safeguard Against the Cheats, Swindlers, and Pickpockets, published in 1819—a pocket-sized defence manual for the uninitiated.

This guide was not simply a dry listing of criminal activities; it was a veritable survival handbook for London’s streets. Written with a sharp wit and an apparent affection for the city’s less-than-savoury elements, it offered a blend of practical advice, lurid warnings, and almost satirical observations about the tricks and trades of the underworld.

A London Guide to it's Villains

The guide’s genius lay in its vivid descriptions of London’s criminal cast. Take, for instance, the pickpocket, who is portrayed with something bordering on reluctant admiration:

“A light-fingered gentry of such dexterity that they can relieve a gentleman of his pocket-watch while engaging him in a spirited conversation on the weather.”

The swindler, meanwhile, is depicted as an opportunistic performer, whose schemes range from fake lotteries to convincing tales of lost inheritances. The guide details their methods with an alarming precision, as though the writer had spent time rubbing elbows with these ne’er-do-wells—or perhaps had dabbled in the trade themselves.

Schemes and Scams: A Catalogue of Trickery

The manual warns of countless schemes, some of which feel remarkably modern in their ingenuity:

• The Dropped Ring Trick: A swindler drops a cheap brass ring near an unsuspecting mark and pretends to have found it, offering to sell it for a ‘modest’ price. Once purchased, the unfortunate victim realises they’ve paid dearly for worthless tat.

• The Painted Guinea Scam: A supposed Good Samaritan sells a shiny coin, claiming it to be a rare guinea. In truth, it’s a copper counterfeit coated in a thin layer of gilt—a lesson in never trusting anything too gleaming.

• The ‘Shabby Clergyman’ Act: This pity-inducing performance involves a man dressed as a clergyman lamenting his financial misfortunes, wringing charitable donations from the kind-hearted. The guide warns that these imposters are about as holy as the alehouses they frequent.

A Dash of Paranoia

The guide encouraged a healthy scepticism, turning its readers into amateur detectives. It advised keeping one’s wits about them, watching for telltale signs of duplicity: overly friendly strangers, unusual generosity, or individuals with an uncanny knack for conversation that conveniently diverts attention away from one’s wallet.

The tone of the book balances practicality with a touch of humour. One particularly sharp piece of advice warns that:

“An overly sympathetic ear is but the precursor to a sympathetic hand in one’s pocket.”

The sense of urban paranoia cultivated by the guide seems almost ahead of its time, anticipating the bustling anonymity of modern cities.

A Legacy of Vigilance

The charm of The London Guide lies not only in its utility but also in its tongue-in-cheek depiction of London’s seedy underbelly. Far from a moralistic diatribe, it offers an almost affectionate portrayal of the rogues who gave the city its character—so long as one didn’t fall prey to their schemes.

Today, the guide is a fascinating historical artefact, providing a glimpse into the life of Regency London and its eternal dance between the naïve and the cunning. While its advice might not save you from modern phishing emails or online scams, the spirit of vigilance it inspires remains as relevant as ever.

So, if you’re ever strolling through London—pocketing your phone on the Tube or side-eyeing that overly helpful stranger—remember that some things never change. And perhaps whisper a quiet thanks to the nameless author of The London Guide for reminding us to keep our guard up, even 200 years on.

The Introduction from the guide:

When a stranger first arrives in this overgrown city and finds upon alighting at the inn, that he has still some miles perhaps to go before he can see his friends he is naturally anxious for advice how to reach them in safety, with his luggage. But if this be the ease with those who have got friends, what is the dread of such as have a home to seek, business to look after, or place of service to obtain, without a friend to guide their steps, or a candid person to warn them of their danger; to tell them of the precipices, pit falls, and moral turpitude, of a large proportion of the population of this great metropolis? To supply the place of a living friend, and in some cases to perform the necessary part of one, by directing the stranger in the choice of companions, and what characters he should avoid, I have compiled these sheets; in which will be found “all I know about the matter,” and all I could “learn out” by “fine-drawing” of others.

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