1 Wig for 2 Boxes of Wood

While researching the history of the diary for a potential radio documentary, I came across a reference to Edmund Harrold, a wigmaker from Manchester, who began a record of his daily battles with drink in 1709. Written in a strange early 18^th century Manc dialect, the diary swings wildly between euphoria and gloomy descriptions of sobering up while walking through the rain, across muddy tracks on business to inspect hair. The wig trade was a competitive business (one wig was worth 2 boxes of wood); at one point Harrold mentions seeing one of his clients wearing a wig made by someone else: "I was vexed to see him have wigs of others".

…20^th June wak’d at 8, shav’d, yn eat som poritch, yn sucked aunt Beron, yn drank a pint, yn had a hurrey with wife on bed, yn went into ye Hanging Ditch for a ramble at the keys… I made myself a great foole, etc …24^th June remarkable for 3 things: seeing fine hair; Christening of aunt Beron’s daughter Mary; curling Robert Bradshaw’s wig of his own hair mostly…