In 1878, Everton Football Club were formed, and they were known as “St. Domingo’s Football Club”. The club was called St. Domingo’s because they were named after the St Domingo’s Methodist Church where Reverend Ben Swift Chambers created a football team for the winter. But why was the church called “St. Domingo’s”? Allow me to introduce you to George Campbell.
George Campbell was a trader and sugar boiler from the West Indies. In Robert Syers’ book “The History of Everton”, he was selected to be in charge of a regiment in Liverpool in 1745 to fight against rebels. According to Syers, Charles III (also known as “Bonnie Prince Charlie”) ordered his regiment to go to Manchester, but they stopped at Warrington. They stopped at Warrington because they came across enemy territory, and also some geese.
It is said that in the year 1745, Mr. Campbell was placed at the head of an irregular body of men, hastily raised in Liverpool, for military service, to check the advance of the rebels, under the Pretender: Mr. Campbell’s company was ordered to march for Manchester, but made no further progress than Warrington; but even in that short campaign, one adventure, worthy of Cervantes’ pen, fell to their share. It happened that in the way of Campbell’s warriors lay a flock of geese; mistaking them, at first, for fellow-militants, Campbell’s heroes prepared for for their maiden encounter in the field of Mars;—some say that their hearts palpitated, others, that worse things happened; but we will let these rumours pass. On a near approach, the enemy was found to be a cackling cavalcade, more disposed to flight and fight. The reasoning bipeds, marching onwards, soon commingled with the main body of the feathered tribe of instinct, upon which the former became strongly disposed to declare war, and to commence slaughterous operations.
Syers went on to call George Campbell’s regiment “diplomatists of the first rate” and “admirable machiavelians (sic)”, implying that they were successful in battle in a moderately pacifistic way. Following the battle, George Campbell and his men wanted the geese to join them on their march to Manchester, and the geese were seemingly excited. However, hunger began to take its toll on Campbell and his men and they decided to sacrifice the geese to fill their empty stomachs.
Now Campbell’s men, if they were not the most valiant of soldiers, proved themselves deserving of the character of diplomatists of the first rate, and most admirable machiavelians. A parley was entered into, in which Campbell’s heroes demanded of the geese, whether they were willing to accompany them on their march?—the geese hissed!—a sound so perfectly in unison with, and similar to, the affirmative monosyllable, yes, that every man of Campbell’s company, to spare their new friends the fatigue of marching, “bagged his bird.” Onward the allies went, until, at halting time, the descendants of the saviours from Rome¹ found themselves placed at the post of danger, as hunger’s forlorn hope; in short, they were devoted to all the horrors of the pot and spit.
¹ The “saviours from Rome” bit is referring to the Battle of the Allia in the 4th century BC, where, according to legend, the sacred geese of Juno warned the Roman consul, Marcus Manlius Capitolinus, about an incoming attack from the Gauls.
After eating their anserine companions, they were worried that they would be in trouble following their one and only battle, presumably because they weren’t violent enough. Syers then used Campbell’s battle to reveal his own pacifism and intolerance of war.
Thus, under a saving clause which would have done the honour to the ingenuity of the ancient Mr. Touchstone, did Campbell’s warriors achieve their first and only warlike enterprize. Their fears of future consequences were stilled by conscience whispering unto them, that the recording angel would register the peccadillo as a venial sin, and place it on the list of other such statesmanlike—pardon the slip—warlike offences. As to worldly consequences, Campbell’s men well knew that the state of the times was their safeguard. And now, gentle reader, take this anecdote in the sense it is meant to be conveyed—that is, as a philippic [a critical attack] against war in general.
Following the battle, George Campbell stayed in Liverpool and in 1757, he bought some land from Henry Halsall, and some more land from John Seacome the following year. He subsequently built his own property and named it “St. Domingo”. He called it “St. Domingo” because he captured a ship from an island called St. Domingo – which was named after Saint Dominic, the patron saint of astronomers.
Mr. Campbell gave the name of St Domingo to this estate, in commemoration of a piece of good fortune which befel him, when one of his vessels captured a rich ship from the Island of St. Domingo, in the West Indies.
He then decided to build a house from that ship in the Everton area.
George Campbell, Esq. was the founder of the St. Domingo estate, who, on the 23d August, 1757, made the first of his purchases of those Everton lands which originally formed the estate. From time to time he made other purchases of contiguous lands, which he added to his St. Domingo estate. The spot Mr. Campbell chose for his place of residence, was at the south end of the patch of land, or locality, […] where a house was pleasantly situated; it was separated from the main road by a deep, triangular-shaped lawn, the sides of which were bordered with trees and shrubs, and the front protected by neat stoops and chains.
Robert Syers said something quite prescient (his book was written in 1830): he described Campbell’s house as being close to “the old Beacon”, which is Prince Rupert’s Tower. Not only that, he also said Campbell wanted his house to look like a place “dedicated to divine worship”. A church, perhaps?
The house was not distant more than bow-shot from the old Beacon, consequently it commanded extensive and charming sea and land prospects. There were many convenient outbuildings attached to the mansion, one of which stood in the east, separated from the dwelling by Beacon-lane. The building was, in reality, a stable, but a stranger would have rather inclined to consider it a place in which religious rites were performed; for, to indulge some whim, Mr. Campbell had constructed the building (particularly the windows of it) to resemble places dedicated to divine worship. Whether Mr. Campbell meant any thing or nothing by indulgence of his whim, tradition doth not very clearly elucidate; but there is strong reason to surmise that a spice of improper satire, or something still more reprehensible, dictated the project.
After making himself at home, he became Mayor of Liverpool from 1763 to 1764. He died on June 27th, 1769, leaving behind a daughter called Elizabeth. He is buried in a family vault in St. George’s Church, Everton.
The name “St. Domingo” lived on after his death. Two streets were named after his estate – St. Domingo Vale and St. Domingo Grove. Between those two streets, a chapel was built, which subsequently became St. Domingo’s Methodist Church in 1871 – the birthplace of Everton Football Club.