The Reluctant Clerk: Uncovering the Early Artistic Life of Randolph Caldecott

For the past five months, I have been immersed in a unique project at the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A): the meticulous cataloguing and research of works on paper by the celebrated Victorian artist and illustrator Randolph Caldecott (1846–1886). Caldecott remains a towering figure in the history of illustration, best remembered for his iconic annual "Picture Books," such as The House that Jack Built and Babes in the Wood. These works, which defined the aesthetic of children’s literature in the late 19th century, are well-documented. However, my ongoing research, supported by The Randolph Caldecott Collection Trust, has provided a rare, intimate look at the formative years that preceded his professional fame.

While the V&A’s extensive collection includes a vast array of his finished prints, drawings, and paintings, perhaps the most revealing items are those found in a modest album of sketches. This volume was compiled by William Clough, a former co-worker of Caldecott’s, and it contains some of the artist’s earliest surviving works—sketches that predate his transition from a bank clerk to a professional illustrator.

From the Counting House to the Canvas

Randolph Caldecott’s path to artistic acclaim followed a trajectory that many modern professionals might find surprisingly relatable: he spent his early adulthood balancing the demands of a conventional, high-pressure career with a persistent, private creative drive. Born into a family with a background in textiles and finance—his father was a woollen draper and tailor who transitioned into accounting—Caldecott initially followed a traditional path. He began his working life in his father’s business before securing a position as a bank clerk at the Whitchurch Ellesmere Bank. By 1867, his professional journey had taken him to the industrial hub of Manchester, where he joined the staff of the Manchester & Salford Bank.

Despite this progression, the reality of the banking world proved to be a poor fit for the 21-year-old. Caldecott’s temperament was ill-suited to the rigid, sedentary nature of the job. He found little satisfaction in the daily grind, often preferring the long, contemplative walks he took to visit customers’ homes over the hours spent within the confines of the bank.

In an 1885 letter written to his friend and former colleague William Clough, Caldecott reflected on this period with a distinct sense of detachment. "There was seldom visible in me any steady sober respect for the work of the bank," he confessed. The frustration he felt was not merely a passing phase; it was a profound sense of entrapment. In a separate piece of correspondence to another clerk in 1870, he lamented the stifling environment, writing, "The sweet bonds of friendship between clerks are now and then temporarily broken asunder by the bad tempered engendered of a round of dreary, shut-up, daily drudgery."

The Sketchbook as an Escape

The album now housed at the V&A serves as a visual record of how Caldecott navigated this "drudgery." The pages are filled with sketches of people and animals, often rendered on mere scraps of paper. These sketches provide evidence of the foundational creativity that would eventually fuel his expansive professional career.

Unlike the more refined, observational work he would later produce for publication, much of the art he created while at the bank was born of pure imagination. However, there is a notable exception within the album: a series of candid portraits of his colleagues. These sketches offer a rare, humanizing glimpse into the office environment of a mid-Victorian bank. Captured while hard at work, the men in these drawings appear entirely unaware that they were being immortalized in pen. Because these sketches may represent the only surviving likenesses of these individuals, the documentation provided in the album is invaluable. Either Caldecott or Clough took the time to label each figure with their initials or full names, providing a bridge between the historical record and the personal lives of the men who shared an office with a future artistic master.

Identifying the Faces of the Past

The process of cataloguing these items has required a blend of archival research and historical detective work. By cross-referencing the 1863–1876 directories of Manchester and Salford with the 1871 census, I have been able to recover the identities and addresses of nearly every individual depicted in the sketches.

One particularly elusive figure was a man I initially identified as "J. R. Wilkinson." However, thanks to the expertise of the staff at the Natwest archives, which holds the historical records of the Manchester & Salford Bank, I was able to verify that the subject was, in fact, Thomas Read Wilkinson.

Thomas Read Wilkinson’s career at the bank was remarkably long, spanning 49 years and beginning in 1841 when he was just 15 years old. This, too, was a point of resonance with Caldecott’s own life; Randolph had also been 15 when he entered the banking world at Whitchurch Ellesmere. Other figures in the sketches, such as Thomas Butterworth, appear alongside their own family narratives—Butterworth, for instance, had a 16-year-old son who was also following in his father’s footsteps as a clerk. While these early career starts were standard for the era, it is worth noting that Caldecott had actually enjoyed a longer education than most children of his time, making his eventual dissatisfaction with the "dreary" nature of banking all the more pronounced.

An Enduring Legacy of Friendship

The connection between Caldecott and William Clough endured long after the artist moved to London in 1872 to pursue his true calling. Their correspondence, much of which contains the same lively, illustrated wit found in the early sketches, has been preserved in Yours pictorially: illustrated letters of Randolph Caldecott, edited by Michael Huchkins.

The depth of their friendship is underscored by the tribute Clough wrote following Caldecott’s death in 1886. In the Manchester Quarterly, Clough observed: "No envy, malice, or uncharitableness spoiled him; no social flattery or fashionable success, made him forget those he had known in the early years."

While my research into the other clerks in the album continues, one figure stands out for having a more documented life: Henry Bowers Harrison. Harrison was a banker’s clerk 16 years older than Caldecott who also moved to Manchester at 20. Upon his death in 1895, his daughter published a biography of his life, which features a formal portrait as its frontispiece. Comparing the professional photograph to Caldecott’s sketch confirms that the artist had a keen, accurate eye for character even in his youth.

The stories of these clerks, once confined to the ledgers of a bank and the pages of a private album, are now being brought into the light. As these works are fully catalogued, I hope that they will become more accessible to genealogists and researchers. For the families of these men, the album offers a chance to put a face to a name, seeing their ancestors through the lens of a young, restless, and incredibly observant Randolph Caldecott. The full collection of these bank-era drawings is now available for public viewing through the V&A’s "Explore the Collections" portal, ensuring that the legacy of these men—and the artist who sketched them—remains preserved for future generations.