MIKE HALLOWELL: The elephantine exotic dancer

Whales are big things; except for the ones that have eating disorders. This makes it really difficult to catch them; they wiggle about a lot during the process and stubbornly refuse to get into the box, bag, net or whatever receptacle you wish to incarcerate them in.

On August 30, 1829, some fishermen "near the Fern Islands" off the coast of Northumberland saw a Big Thing floating in the water, and deduced that it was a whale. Not having worked out quite what to do with it afterwards, they got in their boat and braved the choppy waves to approach it. Not having a receptacle big enough, they simply flung a few ropes around it and towed it back to shore.

In The Historical Register of Remarkable Events (T. Fordyce, 1886) John Sykes makes a breathtaking observation: "When found, it was quite dead". This explains why it did not struggle when they tied the ropes around it, one presumes, or at least complain loudly.

When they got back to land – which they could always easily identify due to the almost complete absence of water – they measured it and discovered that from one end to the other it was no less than 58 feet.

"I reckon we should sell it", suggested one chap. "How much for?" queried another.

"I don't care as long as it will keep us in brown ale for a week", suggested yet another.

Anyway, they chopped it up into bits and flogged it for £45, which back in those days was a tidy sum.

Mind you, whales were not the most exotic animals to be found within the Geordie kingdom. Almost exactly a year later, on August 25, 1830, a remarkable chain of events started that ended in a pretty rum do. What happened was this:

On the day in question an exotic dancer arrived at Newcastle. She was called – I kid you not – Miss D'Jeck. Hoards of horniferous young males turned out to catch a glimpse of her near-naked torso as she waltzed unashamedly through the town. Their libido was somewhat dulled, however, when they noticed that Miss D'Jeck was not quite what they expected.

"Bloody hell", said one, "I don't much like the colour of her skin".

"I know", said another, "Its grey. And her toenails could do with a good clipping".

"Here", said his pal, "What's that bloody long dangly thing hanging down from her face? I know this sounds crazy, but it looks like a colossal…"

"Gawd, your right!" said a local miner from Gateshead. "I wish I had one even half as big!"

"If you did your missus would have to take up exercise classes", his compatriot jibed.

Miss D'Jeck, if you haven't already guessed, was an elephant: A good-looking, sultry specimen with come-to-bed eyes, I'll grant you, but a pachyderm nonetheless.

Miss D'Jeck hailed from Siam, and had fluttered her elephantine eyelids at all and sundry across the globe. A certain Mr. Nicholson, who was the manager of the Theatre Royal in Newcastle, had seen a pencil sketch of Miss D'Jeck and said, "Phwoar…get a load of this, lads! This'll put bums on seats!"

When it was pointed out by a stagehand that Miss D'Jeck may have been less than human, Nicholson dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

"She's a bit on the lardy side, I'll grant you, but don't try and kid me she's a bloody elephant!"

Anyhoo, Nicholson got in touch with Mr. Yates, who was Miss D'Jeck's "manager", and booked her for a show. "Great", said Yates. "We're appearing at Edinburgh at the moment, but I'll book tickets on the Ardinaple steamer from Leith and we'll be with you next week".

It sounded like a plan, but things went awry. A ferocious storm brewed up, and the captain of the Ardinaple – a right jobsworth if ever there was one – said that, fluttering eyelids or no, there was no way he was going to have Miss D'Jeck on board in case his precious boat sank. And so, dear friends, Miss D'Jeck and her manager were forced to "walk all the way to Newcastle on foot." Mind you, as most people walk "on foot" perhaps this should not surprise us. 120 miles later, a tired and somewhat jaded Miss D'Jeck arrived in the capital city of Geordieland. She was about to make history.

Now as word got around that this economy-sized Siamese temptress had arrived, squillions of blokes crammed onto the Barrass Bridge to catch a glimpse of her. Meanwhile, Miss D'Jeck – all ten foot of her – was ambling down Mosely Street and then Pilgrim Street, as Sykes put it, "with perfect indifference". She even passed by the side entrance to the Theatre Royal, which had been especially enlarged to allow her ingress.

That very evening she put on a stunning act at the theatre to a capacity crowd. Nothing untoward happened in Newcastle, but after Miss D'Jeck's last appearance things unfortunately went less than swimmingly. Nicholson, it seems, had contacted a mate of his in nearby Morpeth and told him of the Siamese Temptress's spectacular popularity. Consequently, the horniferous males of that town also wished to glimpse her burgeoning charms.

Now before I divulge what happened next, let me tell you a little about Miss D'Jeck's dietary habits. Whereas most locals got by on Rington's tea, brown ale and slabs of pork, Miss D'Jeck was rather picky and insisted on a daily consumption of "76 lbs of potatoes, 60 lbs of hay, 60lbs of straw, 11 quartern leaves, a bushel of bran, a bushel of oats and water in proportion". Now each to his or her own, say I but I wouldn't have liked to be astern of Miss D'Jeck if she suddenly decided to "drop the kids off at the pool", as they say. Unfortunately, it didn't stop there for she was also allowed to drink as much wine and beer as she could hold although spirits were forbidden. Here, of course, the locals had an advantage, for Siamese pachyderms are no match for Geordies when it comes to tolerating alcoholic beverages. She tried to keep up with them, but invariably found herself roaring drunk whilst her hosts were still only slightly tipsy. Sadly, it was in such a state of inebriation that she was encouraged to walk to Morpeth for her next show.

Now everyone knows that elephants have good memories, and Miss D'Jeck was no exception. She could remember her home in Siam, being potty-trained, recovering from elephantine colic and numerous other peaks and troughs of her existence. Unfortunately, she could also remember with crystal clarity something that had happened three years earlier.

Miss D'Jeck's trainer was a gentleman of Italian extraction called Baptiste Bernard. Now in some respects Bernard had been a good trainer, but he also had a liking for the demon drink not unakin to that possessed by his charge, Miss D'Jeck. One day, whilst extremely bladdered, he had taken exception to something Miss D'Jeck had done and stabbed her with a fork.

"I'll get you, you bastard", thought Miss D'Jeck, and she did – on the road to Morpeth.

Bernard had booked train tickets for the star and her entourage but on arriving at Newcastle Central station, she uncharacteristically refused to board her carriage. As no one in the vicinity felt capable of physically forcing her, it was decided that walking to Morpeth was the only option. In any case, it was a damn sight closer than Edinburgh.

But the cunning Miss D'Jeck was not simply a glamour-puss; she was cute as a box of monkeys, and had a plan. As soon as the entourage had left Newcastle and were out in the sticks, so to speak, the economy-sized exotic dancer lured Bernard away from his mates and promptly wrapped her trunk around his torso. This succeeded in snapping the odd rib or five, and after giving him an extra squeeze he vomited up blood. They dashed him back to Newcastle in a handcart, but it was too late. He died two days later in mortal agony.

As for Miss D'Jeck, she found that her antics had, for some reason, disinterested the good folk of Morpeth in her appearance. She was thereafter found passage on a steamer and taken to London where, metaphorically, she found the streets to be paved with potatoes, hay, straw, leaves, bran, oats, wine, beer and anything else her little heart desired. Seemingly, those born within the sound of Bow Bells weren't too bothered about the grim fate of Baptiste Bernard, and packed out local theatres in their droves to see that exotic elephantine dancer from Siam.

I do not know whether Miss D'Jeck would ever be considered as a CFZ mascot, but she'd certainly get my vote. No one gives two hoots about Baptiste Bernard any more. Miss D'Jeck, in fact, was marginally regretful of her actions. As she told the local magistrates at the time, "I'm sort of sorry I killed him...but when you're a star like me and you get stabbed with a fork, what's a girl to do?"