The Real Peaky Blinders: Style, Struggle, and Street Warfare in 1890s Birmingham

U I Team
6 days ago
5 min read

“Surely all respectable and law-abiding citizens are sick of the very name of ruffianism in Birmingham…”

– Letter to the Birmingham Daily Mail, 21 July 1898

Before Tommy Shelby strutted across our TV screens in a razor-lined cap (which, spoiler, he never actually wore), Birmingham’s real peaky blinders were already infamous. At the close of the 19th century, long before the Netflix sheen and stylised slow-motion brawls, gangs of sharply dressed, working-class young men were making headlines for terrorising the streets – and doing so with both swagger and savagery.

They weren’t just violent. They were fashionably violent.

Who Were the Peaky Blinders?

In the Birmingham of the 1890s, “peaky blinders” wasn’t the name of a single gang but a street label applied to scores of urban youth cliques across the city. They had two defining traits: an eye for fashion and a readiness to fight. They moulded the brims of their stiff felt “billycock” hats into pointed peaks, tilted stylishly over one eye – a look that gave them their name. Unlike the later myth, their headwear didn’t hide razor blades. That detail seems to have been cut from whole cloth.

Instead, the peaky blinder was instantly recognisable by his prison-cropped hair, bell-bottom trousers, neckerchief, and the kind of cocky self-assurance that comes with knowing everyone’s watching. These gangs didn’t work together – they often fought each other. Their brawls spilled from slum streets into Birmingham’s music halls and alleyways, fuelled by rivalry, boredom, and alcohol.

Crowd gathers around a chaotic scene, with people climbing ladders near a brick building. Intense, packed setting, historical illustration. — In the late 1860s, inflamed by Protestant orator William Murphy, anti-Catholic rioting broke out in Birmingham – disorder that foreshadaowed the gangland feuding that was to follow.

“Drinking All the Day, Fighting All the Evening”

One such gang-related tragedy hit the front pages in July 1898, when Police Constable George Snipe was fatally struck in the head by a brick during a disturbance in Hockley Hill. He and another officer had attempted to break up a group of young “roughs” gathered outside a pub. They’d been on a Sunday binge – “drinking all the day, and fighting all the evening.” When Snipe arrested one of the men, a violent scuffle broke out. A brick, hurled with deadly force, fractured his skull in two places. He died later that night.

The city reacted with horror. Newspapers denounced a “rising generation” full of “savage instincts”, railing against the tide of street violence and gang swagger that magistrates seemed powerless to stem.

A City Divided: Poverty, Prejudice and the Streets

But Birmingham’s problems weren’t just about gangs and bad behaviour. Beneath the bowler hats and bravado lay deeper social tensions. Historian Barbara Weinberger traced the roots of this street violence back to the 1870s, when ethnic tensions exploded into gang conflict between English and Irish youths. Protestant orator William Murphy’s anti-Catholic speeches sparked riots in Irish neighbourhoods like Park Street. As sectarian anger spilled over, street gangs began forming identities rooted in both religion and territory.

By the 1890s, the city’s economic downturn had made things worse. Thousands of working-class boys were out of work, shut out of political power, and viewed by civic leaders as a threat to be managed – not helped. When police clamped down on drunkenness and gambling, it only intensified resentment.

Young gang members, known locally as sloggers, weren’t necessarily unemployed. Many had trades. Iron casters, brass polishers, fender makers, chandlers, and glass workers were often among those dragged before the magistrates. What united them wasn’t sloth, but status: a desire to be seen, to defend their neighbourhood, and to prove themselves tougher than the rest.

Vintage street scene with horse-drawn carriages, people walking, and an old tram. Brick buildings with signs like "READ'S TEA" in the background. — A steam tram travels past Smithfield Market in Birmingham in the 1890s. It was a decade when different areas of the city each had gangs that jealously guarded ‘their’ turf.

Street Style and Slogging Rights

Their appearance was a badge of honour. According to local memoirist Arthur Matthison, the peaky blinder outfit was carefully curated: hobnailed boots, flared trousers, gaudy scarves, and the signature hat. The hair was cropped close except for a longer fringe slicked down diagonally across the forehead, think more rockabilly than razor gang.

And it wasn’t just the boys. Their girlfriends, or molls, dressed with equal flair. A Mail reporter described one in Summer Lane as “a lavish display of pearl buttons,” with a fringe nearly obscuring her eyes and an elaborate feathered hat. She was every inch the feminine counterpart of her “peakie” partner.

This attention to style went hand in hand with a sense of turf pride. Whether in the slums of Aston, Perry Barr, or Balsall Heath, each gang defended its home ground with fists, knives, and buckle-end belt whippings. One clash in 1893 at a Digbeth concert hall known as “the Mucker” left 20-year-old John Metcalfe fatally stabbed, another victim of the ever-rolling wave of gang feuds.

Trials, Mollified Justice, and Life Sentences

After the death of PC Snipe, the legal system sprang into action. A local file-cutter, James Franklin, was initially accused but cleared when witnesses pointed to George “Cloggy” Williams as the real culprit. Williams fled but was arrested weeks later, still sporting the classic peaky look.

In court, his employer described him as “very industrious” – a reminder that peaky blinder life didn’t always conflict with hard work. Still, in March 1898, he was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to life in penal servitude. The judge, Lord Russell, made it clear he thought the jury had gone soft. For many in Birmingham, it was high time the gangs were taught a lesson.

Decline and Disappearance

By the early 20th century, the fashion and violence that defined the peaky blinders began to fade. Football was on the rise, offering a new outlet for working-class passion. The authorities finally got serious about cracking down. And Hollywood, with its fresh-faced matinee idols, began to set new standards for style and glamour.

Four men in vintage attire sit for mugshots, each with a cap. Handwritten notes above and below detail personal info and offenses.

By the 1920s, any youth still clinging to the peaky blinder aesthetic would’ve looked out of step – almost like a costume party throwback. But the legacy lingered. In the 1930s, old-timers debated their memory in the letters pages of the Birmingham Weekly Post. Some insisted they were hard workers who never troubled the public. Others remembered them laying out cops with a single punch.

A correspondent named F. Atkins even explained how to mould the hat: wet it, warm it by the fire, and shape it until it looked like the spout of a jug – then wear it cocked to show off your quiff.

More Than Just a Hat

The real peaky blinders were the sons of the Industrial Revolution’s underbelly – forged in the heat of brass foundries, raised in crumbling terraces, and hardened by unemployment, prejudice, and pride. They weren’t just thugs or TV anti-heroes. They were products of a time when working-class youth had little else to cling to but local honour, personal appearance, and their fists.

They might have vanished from the streets a century ago, but Birmingham never quite forgot them.