The Gospel According to Carlisle: When Joseph Thompson Sold Mary for 20 Bob and a Newfoundland Dog

In the great ledger of British history—wedged somewhere between the invention of the lawnmower and the founding of the Temperance Society—sits one of the most wonderfully absurd tales ever to waft from the Cumbrian mists: the day Joseph Thompson sold his wife Mary in the market at Carlisle. It was 7 April 1832, and while the rest of the country was preoccupied with parliamentary reform and cholera, Joseph had other plans. Specifically, he was determined to offload his wife for hard coin and a bit of livestock.

Let us be clear: Mary was not stolen, tricked, or dragged kicking and screaming. No, this was an arrangement with mutual understanding, not unlike handing in your notice at work—except your notice ends up with a new employer and you get a dog in return.

Bring Out Your Wives!

As reported in the Carlisle Journal, the Thomspons—Joseph and Mary Anne—had not been getting along. The marriage, by all accounts, was no longer harmonious. Rather than suffer in silence or pay the extravagant legal fees for a proper divorce, Joseph chose a path that was, in a very specific sense, both public and practical: he took his wife to the market square and offered her for sale.

In what can only be described as the least romantic date imaginable, Mary stood beside her husband with a halter around her neck (or arm, depending on which account you read), which was the customary symbol for such occasions—as though she were a heifer ready for auction.

Joseph, ever the salesman, began with an optimistic asking price: 50 shillings. A fair amount for the times, and arguably generous considering he included all the marital history, fully used, no returns. The crowd, delighted by the spectacle, treated the event with all the seriousness of a sheep sale. One man is said to have inspected her as if checking for signs of wear and tear.

Eventually, a deal was struck with a local man named Henry Mears, who agreed to take Mary off Joseph’s hands for the sum of 20 shillings and—this is the bit that elevates the tale—a Newfoundland dog. That’s right. Mary was exchanged not just for silver, but for a large, hairy water dog renowned for hauling fishing nets and looking perpetually concerned.

Mary, Henry, and a Happier Chapter?

Mary, by all accounts, was entirely on board with the arrangement. Reports from the time suggest that she was “quite cheerful” about the change in ownership, and Henry Mears, her buyer, was a man she reportedly had affections for already. Which makes the whole thing a bit less like a cattle sale and more like a budget-conscious elopement.

Joseph, for his part, was said to be thoroughly pleased with the transaction. Twenty shillings was no small sum in 1832, and the dog—well, one can only hope he enjoyed long walks along the River Eden with his new companion. One wonders if he ever referred to the animal by his wife’s name just to confuse the neighbours.

“A Sale Most Justifiable”

In a letter later published in the Carlisle Journal, Joseph defended his actions. He claimed that Mary was “of a quarrelsome disposition” and that the sale was “a most justifiable proceeding.” He even seemed slightly offended at the idea that anyone would criticise the transaction, noting that the public were satisfied and the buyer and seller shook hands, sealing the deal as properly as any business contract.

Legal authorities, as ever, turned a blind eye. Though wife-selling had no legal basis, it was one of those curious customs—like cheese rolling or morris dancing—that persisted in certain corners of England without anyone quite knowing why. As long as the wife wasn’t objecting, local magistrates often looked the other way.

Love, Dogs, and British Ingenuity

Today, the tale of Mary and Joseph Thompson endures as a brilliantly bizarre footnote in British social history. It speaks to the peculiar blend of practicality, theatre, and utter madness that characterised rural customs in the 18th and 19th centuries. Divorce was inaccessible, relationships were often transactional, and sometimes the best solution was to exchange one’s spouse for a floppy-eared dog and a couple of quid.

So next time you hear someone grumbling about the cost of divorce lawyers, remember Carlisle, 1832—where a woman left her husband, gained a man she liked better, and walked away with a spring in her step and considerably fewer legal entanglements.

And let’s be honest—between Joseph’s cheerful goodbye, Mary’s willingness, and Henry’s canine sweetener, it might just be the most civilised break-up Britain ever saw.

(For ease of reading I've typed it out below the screenshots from the local paper of the day)

SALE OF A WIFE BY HER HUSBAND AT CARLISLE

(From the Lancaster Herald)

On Saturday the 7th instant, the inhabitants of this city witnessed the sale of a wife by her husband, Joseph Thompson, a local farmer who was married in the year 1829, to his present wife.

She is a spruce, lively, buxom damsel, apparently not exceeding 22 years of age, and appeared to feel a pleasure at the exchange she was about to make. They had no children, and that, together with some family disputes, caused them by mutual agreement, to come to the resolution of finally parting.

Accordingly, the bellman was sent round to give public notice of the sale, which was to take place at 12 o’clock. This announcement attracted the notice of thousands. She appeared above the crowd, standing on a large oak chair, with a rope or halter made of straw round her neck. She was dressed in rather a fashionable country style, and appeared to some advantage. The husband proceeded to put her up for sale, and spoke nearly as follows:–

“Gentlemen, – I have to offer you notice my wife, Mary Ann Thompson, whom I mean to sell to the highest and fairest bidder. Gentlemen, it is her wish as well as mine to part for ever.

"She has been to me only a bosom serpent. I took her for my comfort, and the good of my house, but she has become my tormentor, a domestic curse, a night invasion, and a daily devil. (Great laughter.)

“Gentlemen, I speak truth from my heart, when I say, may God deliver us from troublesome wives and frolicsome widows. (Laughter.) Avoid them the same as you would a mad dog, a roaring lion, a loaded pistol, cholera morbus, Mount Etna, or any other pestilential phenomena in nature.

“Now I have shown you the dark side of my wife, and told you her faults and her failings, I will now introduce the bright and sunny side of her, and explain her qualifications and goodness.

"She can read novels and milk cows; she can laugh and weep with the same ease that you could take a glass of ale when thirsty: indeed, gentlemen, she reminds me of what the Poet says of women in general – ‘Heaven gave to women the peculiar grace, To laugh, to weep, and cheat the human race.’

“She can make butter and scold the maid, she can sing Moore’s melodies, and plait her frills and caps: she cannot make rum, gin, or whisky, but she is a good judge of the quality from long experience in tasting them. I therefore offer her, with all her perfections and imperfection, for the sum of 50 shillings.”

After an hour or two, she was purchased by Henry Mears, a pensioner, for the sum of 20 shillings and his Newfoundland dog. The happy couple immediately left town together, amidst the shouts and huzzas of the multitude, in which they were joined by Thompson, who, with the greatest good humour imaginable, proceeded to put the halter, which his wife had taken off, round the neck of his newly acquired Newfoundland dog, and then proceeded to the first public-house, where he spent the remainder of the day.

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