Consider the fascinating case of the £1,000 note, a dismissed servant girl and a diligent mouse which I initially encountered in Allen Foster’s book, Historical Irish Oddities. It may provide some solace if you’ve ever misplaced funds within your home.
In the early 1830s, a resident of Dublin named Mrs Pearce made the ill-advised choice to store her, rather sizeable, savings as a £1,000 note from the Bank of Ireland within her cupboard. One day, to her dismay, she found it had disappeared. As is typically the trend in such unfortunate events, blame was quickly directed towards the housemaid. Despite her presumably vehement objections, Mrs Pearce terminated her employment.
News of the missing windfall reached William Chaigneau Colvill, the elaborately named governor of the Bank of Ireland. Given his name, his eventual role in the bank seemed predestined. After all, his father had held the position, and his descendants would follow suit.
Chaigneau Colvill, by all accounts a generous man, personally visited Mrs Pearce at her residence. Although visual records of him don’t exist, one can conceive of him as a mix between famous detectives, Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes, given his subsequent actions. He requested to be shown where the money was stored and upon inspection of the cupboard, he quickly deduced the culprit. Beneath some floorboards, the governor discovered a beautiful mouse’s nest, lined with white, fluffy material, which he promptly identified as Bank of Ireland tissue paper, according to FG Hall’s account in his book about the history of the Bank of Ireland.
Historian Mick O’Farrell of the Bank of Ireland approximates the current value of an old £1,000 note at about €150,000. This seems like an acceptable price for a tiny domicile in Dublin.
When the governor discovered a nest in the bank, he gently gathered it and handed it over to the bank’s print department. Utilising a microscope, the print house’s chief managed to discern the bill’s serial number. Consistent with his thoughtful disposition, the governor instructed a fresh note to be issued to Mrs Pearce, provided she either reinstated the falsely accused servant or remunerated her.
The ultimate fate of the wronged servant girl remains a mystery, as FG Hall did not comment further. However, he added another intriguing angle. After Mrs Pearce’s death, her estate’s executors approached the governor. Grateful for his kindness, Mrs Pearce bequeathed him a gold timepiece and a blue enamel brooch adorned with diamond sprays.
Following his retirement, the governor relocated to Reading and expired in 1864. However, the watch continued to function, passed down to his great-grandson, and according to FG Hall, it was still operating perfectly in 1949.
For the past ten years or so, Mick O’Farrell has delved into the bank’s history and reckons its extensive record, dating back to 1783, might reveal more fascinating facts.
If you’re puzzled about the whereabouts of your lost £10, it could very well be lining the bed of an unexpected houseguest. Don’t discard the possibility of your pet being a probable culprit. One might recall the cautionary tale of Cecil the dog who, in December, snagged a $4,000 envelope from Clayton and Carrie Law’s kitchen counter in Pittsburgh, ostensibly intended for home renovations, and devoured a large portion within half an hour.
Following consultation with their bank and veterinarian, the startled pair managed to recover approximately $1,500 from the shredded currency. To prevent permanent banishment to the kennel, Cecil obligingly regurgitated several hundred dollar bills. For the couple to recover more cash, they needed to be equipped with masks, gloves, and iron constitutions. In subsequent days, Cecil’s intimate moments were closely monitored. Without delay, the couple harvested his waste, sifted through it, and meticulously cleaned and reassembled the damaged bills with washing up soap. When all was said and done, only $450 remained unrecovered. This indeed cast a new light on the phrase ‘laundering money’.