An Aveyard Mining Death

In my last Aveyard post I wrote about the horrific death in August 1858 of toddler George Aveyard, the son of Daniel and Sophia Aveyard. In it I mentioned his older brother Simeon, who was sent to seek his missing young brother. At the time Gildersome-born Simeon, whose birth was registered in the March Quarter of 1853 [1], was only four.  

In a tragic twist of fate Simeon’s life was also cut far too short through an accident in 1873, when only 20 years old. In another cruel parallel, his death also resulted in an inquest before Thomas Taylor, the very same Coroner who headed George’s inquest over 15 years earlier.

The Aveyard family moved to Howden Clough shortly after George’s death. A coal mining family, Simeon followed that traditional occupation. It is here his history is  abruptly halted.

At about 5.30am on 3 September 1873 he and his father Daniel set off to work at Messrs. Haigh and Greaves Howden Clough Colliery Company’s Middleton Main Pit.  Long since gone, it was in the Pheasant Drive, Geldard Road and Nab Lane area of present day Birstall. 

Simeon worked there for several years, but for the past couple he’d achieved the pinnacle status of hewer. He worked his own bank around seven yards wide, with a yard-thick seam of coal. The roof was considered generally good, consisting of 9-12-inch-thick clod [2] or black bind [3]. 

However, Simeon had told his father there had been some slips in his place the previous day. As a consequence, Daniel, a seasoned miner, strongly cautioned his son to keep his wood up to the coal face to support it. 

Admit it. How many sons ignore their father’s advice? Youth is always right? It’s an age-old dilemma. In this case the carefree invincibility of youth proved wrong, with fatal results. 

John Woffenden, the pit Deputy, had known Simeon from his infancy. Doing his round of the pit he arrived at Simeon’s bank at around 7.20am. He could hear groaning and he found the young man doubled over with his head between his knees and two pieces of clod on his back. These had fallen between two wooden props which had lids [4] whilst he was apparently cutting down coal close to the face. Several other props were lying around ready to be put up when required. Despite his father’s warnings it appears Simeon had failed to ensure the area was adequately shored up.

After attempting to make him more comfortable Woffenden fetched two other men. Between them they freed Simeon, but his spinal injuries were so severe he could not straighten himself and was unable to move his legs. He also sustained several cuts to his head. Despite his injuries he was fully conscious. 

It was around 8am when Daniel learned of the accident, meeting the men bringing his son to the pit bottom.  Simeon was carried home where Robert Rayner, a Gomersal General Practitioner/Surgeon, [5] attended him. Rayner was familiar with mining injuries and his name crops up in connection with ones received at Howden Clough colliery.

However, Simeon failed to recover, gradually wasting away over the next few days. As his life ebbed away, he admitted to his father that the sole blame for the accident was his. He died between 2-3 o’clock in the afternoon of 15 September. 

The inquest, held the following day at Gomersal’s White Horse Hotel, reached the verdict that Simeon had been accidentally crushed [6].

Birstall St Peter’s Graveyard – Photo by Jane Roberts

Simeon’s body was interred in St Peter’s churchyard, Birstall on 17 September 1873 [7].

Notes:

[1] GRO Birth Registration of Simeon Aveyard, accessed via the GRO website, GRO Reference March Quarter 1853, Hunslet, Vol 9B, Page 219.
[2] Indurated clay.
[3] Indurated argillaceous shale or clay, very commonly forming the roof of a coal seam and frequently containing clay ironstone. 
[4] A short piece of timber about two feet long placed on top of a prop to support the roof.
[5] 1871 & 1881 Censuses accessed via Fimdmypast, Original at TNA, Reference: RG10/4588/27/11 and RG11/4551/31/10
[6] West Yorkshire Coroner’s Notebook, Thomas Taylor’s Notes of Inquest of Simeon Aveyard, 16 September 1873, Accessed via Ancestry.co.uk, Original at West Yorkshire Archive Service, Reference Number: WDP5/1/4/4
[7] Burial of Simeon Aveyard, St Peter’s Birstall Burial Register, accessed via Ancestry.co.uk, Original West Yorkshire Archive Service – Reference Number: WDP5/1/4/4

Other Sources:

  • Bradford Observer, 17 September 1873
  • Dewsbury Reporter, 20 September 1873
  • GRESLEY, WILLIAM STUKELEY. GLOSSARY OF TERMS USED IN COAL MINING. London, New York, E & F.N. Spon 1883.
  • Healey Hero Website http://www.healeyhero.co.uk/
  • Leeds Times, 20 September 1873
  • National Library of Scotland, Maps https://maps.nls.uk/

Guess Who? Photo Frustration

Today I had a spare few minutes to look at one of my mother-in-law’s photo albums. Who was I trying to kid? A few minutes ended up being well over one hour.

It was actually an album which belonged to her mother, Ada Haynes (née Eardley), 1906-2003, given to her with best wishes for 1935 by someone called Eileen. It had been carefully filled. So many people captured in significant moments and happy times. Group shots, individual portraits, smileless Victorians, proud mothers with babies (beaming or otherwise), holiday photos, weddings, posed formal studio pictures as well as more natural images.

So many faces of people long gone … and most of them were nameless and will remain so for ever more. I felt unutterably flat.

I’ve included a few here.

I spent a good while magnifying the names on the War Memorial, cross-matching with Soldiers Died in the Great War records, and then checking against the Imperial War Museum’s War Memorial Register. I managed to work out it was Chesterton War Memorial, Newcastle under Lyme, Staffordshire. The Staffordshire location makes sense, but I’ve no idea why this Memorial was so significant that its image was in such a treasured album.

So my plea is please label your photos. I’d say on the back of the photo itself, rather than on the album page given the tendency for the photos to come loose. No pressing down either when labelling, so as to avoid indentation damage to the image. Use a soft lead pencil, again to avoid damage. If it’s a more modern glossy photo, pencil won’t work. In this case do not be tempted to use a ballpoint pen. Instead use an archival acid-free pen which won’t fade, is waterproof and dries quickly…and do make sure the ink has dried!

As for what to write? Well don’t put Doris or grandma. That’s they type of cryptic clue on the few and far between labels in the album vexing me. Include full names (with maiden name as well for married women), along with the date, location, address, occasion and even ages, if known: Think how many families in the past recycled names! Basically anything to identify who, when, where and why.

And do it as soon as possible after the photo was taken. You know how memory can play tricks. Plus you don’t want to end up with ‘choredom‘ off-putting stacks of photos to label.

Family history research can be frustrating enough without having to play a game of Guess Who? with photographs. Honestly, your descendants will thank you for it.

PS – if anyone can put names to these faces… 😉

An Example of Delayed Death Registration – Andrew Callaghan

As a general rule I don’t normally ‘do’ recent family history blog posts. But I’m making an exception for this event in 1968. It concerns the death of my great uncle, Andrew Callaghan. The brother of my grandpa, Andrew never married and he has no direct descendants, so no-one is closely affected. I wanted to write this blog as otherwise he may never be remembered.

To set the scene, the Callaghan family were originally from the Townland of Carrabeg (Carrow Beg) in the District Electoral Division of Urlaur, in County Mayo. They were a farming family. Their two-roomed house housing eight in 1911 (two less than the decade before) was roofed not with slate, but with a perishable material such as wood or thatch. Their outbuildings consisted of a cow house and a piggery [1]. A typical rural family living from day to day.

My great grandfather, Michael, and some of his sons came over to England seasonally (East Yorkshire according to my uncle Brian) for farming work to supplement the family income. It was a lifestyle Andrew continued with, even when he took up permanent residence in England. He never really put down roots.

Mum only has vague memories of her uncle Andrew. One was a family anecdote about a cow. To pay for the passage to America for his eldest sister Bridget, Andrew was tasked with the responsibility of taking a fattened cow for sale at market. The cow was sold, but the family never saw the money. It all sounds slightly Jack and the Beanstalk-ish minus the beans and giant. Despite it all, Bridget did leave Ireland for a new life in North America in September 1909.

Another memory mum has is that of a gift her uncle Andrew gave her, a pen. It is something which stuck in her mind because presents in the family were rare, typically reserved for Christmas and birthdays. Maybe this was typical of growing up in the 1940s and 1950s.

Andrew led an itinerant lifestyle when he left County Mayo for England, moving where farm labouring work took him. He occasionally turned up at my grandparents house when he happened to be in the area, and short of cash! Grandpa usually fell soft but with a wife and eight children to support, this intermittent and unpredictable financial support was difficult.

As for his demise, mum recalls her dad being informed about the possible death of his brother following local media appeals for relatives of an Andrew Callaghan. It was mum’s brother-in-law – my dad’s sister’s husband Denis – who alerted the family. He worked in the local media industry and put two and two together.

Mum recalls her dad identified the body and, along with another brother Martin, he paid for the funeral. It was over in Wakefield. She also remembers whilst other family members viewed Andrew’s body she wasn’t allowed to, being advised it was bad luck because she was pregnant.

So I sort of knew about Andrew’s back-story. But you know the adage “A builder’s house is never finished?” Well I reckon the same applies to genealogists. I’m that busy doing family history for others, my own research is sadly neglected. In fact most of the writing for this blog post was done in the wee small hours!

Andrew’s death certificate [2] was something I never got round to ordering. The final push came with the impending General Register Office (GRO) price increases earlier this year (2019). This was a death certificate not covered by the cheaper PDF option, so I was especially determined to beat the price rise.

The certificate duly arrived in early February 2019, and it was an intriguing one. It states Andrew was 76, a farm labourer of no fixed abode. He died at Pinderfields Hospital, Wakefield on 7 February 1968. The copy certificate I have is dated 7 February 2019, so exactly 51 years to the date of his death. His death was not registered until some six weeks later, on 21 March 1968. This followed the 20 March inquest. Cause of death was pretty gruesome, as indicated in the certificate snapshot, below.

I was left with lots of questions. I don’t know why, but the hospital death threw me. But the big questions were around why was there a delay between death and inquest which consequently held up registration? Why “insufficient evidence” around the cause of such horrific-sounding injuries? Where had he sustained these injuries? What investigations were carried out to discover the cause of them?

Yet despite these questions, once more my quest to find the answers had to wait.

Five months later I finally squeezed in an opportunity to pick up Andrew’s story. I had a small window of time to look at the Wakefield Express. It’s a paper which is not online, so it meant a special visit to Wakefield Local Studies Library.

The series of reports spanning six weeks and three editions sums up the tale perfectly. I’ve reproduced the reports in full here.

Wakefield Express – 10 February 1968

Road victim

A 77-year-old Leeds man, Mr Andrew Callaghan, of Wharf Street, who was found lying with severe head injuries in the middle of Aberford Road, Stanley, on Tuesday, died in Pinderfields Hospital on Wednesday.

He is thought to have been struck by a vehicle.

Wakefield Express – 17 February 1968

‘Mystery man’s death appeal’

When an inquest opened on Tuesday on a 76-year-old man found lying injured in Aberford Road, Stanley, last week, the Coroner (Mr P. S. Gill) appealed for witnesses and relatives of the dead man to come forward.

He adjourned until March [?] the inquest on Andrew Callaghan, of no fixed address, who died in Pinderfields Hospital on February 7.

D.C. G. Browne (Coroner’s Officer) said Mr Callaghan was found lying in the road at the Leeds side of the Ne[w?]mark[et?] crossroads at about 12.[?] a.m. on February 6. It was snowing at the time.

He was suffering from injuries which suggested that he had been struck by a motor vehicle. He was taken to Clayton Hospital where he died next day.

NOT KNOWN

No witnesses of the accident had come forward and efforts to trace relatives had failed. Investigations by the West Riding Police were continuing.

D.C. Browne said he had found in the man’s possession official documents, including a birth certificate and pension book, giving his name and an address in Wharfe Street, Leeds. Inquiries had been made at the address, which was a type of lodging house, but he was not known there.

“From his clothing, I think he was of the labouring type, travelling the country,” he added.

Adjourning the inquest, the Coroner said: “I hope that someone [is] able to tell us something about the accident will come forward. I include in the appeal anyone who was travelling along the Aberford Road about midnight or late at night in February 5.”

Wakefield Express – 23 March 1968

Open verdict on man (76) found in road

A Wakefield inquest jury on Wednesday returned an Open verdict on Andrew Callaghan, aged 76, who died in Pinderfields Hospital on February 7 after being found lying injured in Aberford Road, Stanley.

The Coroner (Mr P. S. Gill) told the jury: “It would appear that he must have been struck by a motor vehicle, although there is no evidence that he was.”

He recalled that the inquest was adjourned on February 13, when an appeal was made for witnesses of the accident to come forward.

On that occasion the Coroner’s Officer (D.C. G Browne) said that Mr Callaghan was found lying in the road on the Leeds side of Newmarket crossroads at about 12.30 a.m. on February 6.

Documents in his possession gave his address as a lodging house in Leeds, but inquiries showed that he was not known there.

FIVE YEARS AGO

On Wednesday Mr John Callaghan [3], a retired trainer [4] of Moorside Avenue, [5] Dewsbury Moor, said that he had not seen his brother for five years. He was then a farm labourer. He did not know where he had been living.

John H. Kenward, of Queen Elizabeth Road, Eastmoor, said he was driving a car in Aberford Road when he saw Mr Callaghan lying in the road. He went to telephone for help and waited with another motorist, Mr David Lloyd Gladwin, of Grove Road, Wakefield, until the ambulance arrived.

“When I first arrived on the scene the body was covered with snow,” he added.

NO CLUES

P.C. D. Parker said he searched the area and found nothing to indicate how the accident occurred. No witnesses had been found who could give assistance.

Dr Joseph Adler, pathologist said Mr Callaghan seemed to have been struck about chest height and had received a fractured skull, a broken neck and broken arms.

At the close of the inquest, the Coroner expressed appreciation of the help given by Mr Kenward and Mr Gladwin.

Six things struck me:

  • The inaccuracy of newspaper reports which reinforces the need to check against other sources. For example the first report said Andrew was 77; there are discrepancies in the spelling of Wharf(e) Street; and my grandpa’s occupation and address are incorrect. So corroborate and don’t take at face-value;
  • These newspapers were chock-a-block with road traffic accidents and offences, a sign of the times maybe with less stringent driving laws, including ones around drink driving? It was only the year before Andrew’s death that the drink driving limit was introduced, but attitudes weren’t the same towards the offence as they are today. Or maybe more a comment about the changes in the local newspaper industry – far much more local news back then so stories that would never make it today with limited space and far fewer papers, were actually covered. Also maybe more incidents were routinely reported to the authorities, with driving and car-ownership on the increase yet still more of a rarity in the late 1960s than today. This is an interesting insight into the history of driving and road safety;
  • The low-tech investigations of the time which seemed to be limited to visiting a Leeds address, putting out an appeal for witnesses and undertaking a search of the area. Also, as a lay person looking at the brief press reports, it seems incredible that they did not know whether or not the injuries were sustained by a motor vehicle. More to the point there seemed little impetus to find out;
  • The total whitewash of an inquest. Someone was responsible. Yet was homeless Irishman Andrew so low down in the social pecking order that investigating his death really wasn’t worth pursuing beyond the preliminaries? This was the era of “No dogs, No Blacks, No Irish.” Within a couple of months of his death that was that, case wrapped up;
  • The lonely, awfulness of Andrew’s life. To be out on a clearly bitterly cold late night in the depths of winter with no place to go. Maybe it was his choice, but a 76-year-old man who had lost touch with his family, with no place to call home, and whose essential travelling documents included his birth certificate because, let’s face it, there was no other place to keep it than on his person; and
  • That today, with increasing level of social dislocation and homelessness, this situation will be one which continues with people dying alone in their homes or on the streets with no immediately identifiable next of kin.

At least I’ve now managed to find out more about my great uncle. But it’s an unsettling tale which has left me feeling incredibly disconcerted.

Footnote: Although it may not have impacted in this case, a delayed inquest may result in a death registration not falling within the expected Quarter, of even year.

Update via Twitter from Chalfont Research (@ChalfontR):

From the details in the blog entry, it looks like a classic example of knowing what happened, i.e. a hit & run road accident but having found no actual evidence or witnesses to be able to prove it, hence the open verdict.

Notes

  1. Callaghan Household, Ireland – 1911 Census, 15 Carrow Beg, Urlaur. Accessed via The National Archives, Ireland
  2. GRO Death Registration for Andrew Callaghan, age 76, March Quarter 1968, Wakefield, Volume 2D, Page 797. Accessed via Findmypast. Original Record, GRO England & Wales
  3. John Callaghan is my grandpa
  4. Occupation is incorrect. John Callaghan was a retired coal miner
  5. Address incorrect, should be Road not Avenue

Yesterday is History: You ARE Family History

Often when researching family history one major component is missing. You.

As the saying goes ‘Yesterday is History.’ It’s something us family historians often overlook, we’re so focused on earlier generations.

So time to take a pause from all the research and write up your own life story. It is a legacy for future generations of family history researchers – your history, your recollections, and in your words. Your chance to say it as you remember, with all those unique snippets of information, stamped with your personality.Years ago I bought dad a memory journal to complete. He never did. It’s a thing a bitterly regret he never got round to doing. It would have been a precious legacy to all his descendants for ever more, now he’s no longer around to ask. It would have been a much-cherished connection to him and his life through his written words. As it is, I’m the family history recorder, so now his life is viewed through my memories, my prism. One step removed.

And for those with no direct-line descendants this might be even more important.

This is your opportunity to ensure a lasting footprint in your family’s history.

There are so many ways to do it. It’s not like in previous eras where education, cost and social status dictated, and restricted, opportunity.

There is the family history journal method which in theory is the easiest option with all its pre-printed prompts. But you could also write down your life story. There is no need to over-complicate it and create some massive opus, unless you really want to. Family Tree magazine set a challenge recently to write your family history in only 1,000 words. Those 1,000 words could prove of more value than money left in a will, no matter how rough and ready you may feel it is. That’s not the point. It’s the fact it’s down there for posterity.

There’s even the option to do a recording, so not only your words but your voice preserved for ever more (hopefully).

And when you do put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, or voice to recorder, make sure the finished product is passed on to your family or the wider family history community. It could be by ensuring relatives have copies in your lifetime. It could be a formal bequest via your will. But whatever and however: Just do it.

The Family History Show 2019 – A Family History Get Together in York

The Family History Show at York is one of my family history year’s highlights, and 2019 did not disappoint.

A one-day event held at York Racecourse, it is billed as The Largest Family History Show in the North of England. With around 60 exhibitors, the stands are close together creating a bustling market-place experience, so there’s a real atmosphere of camaraderie amongst the exhibitors which rubs off on those visiting.

View from the Mezzanine – Photo by Jane Roberts

Sometimes bigger national events in exhibition centres can seem a tad remote and ‘commercialised.’ In contrast York conveys a really friendly, relaxed and welcoming feel. It’s great for show novices because it’s not overwhelming, but for regulars it’s like returning to a much-loved home.

Whilst Ancestry, Findmypast and the big DNA kit push was absent, to be honest it didn’t matter. There was so much else to focus on with a wide representation from the family history world. These included purveyors of postcards, maps, magazines and books to providers of genealogical supplies and courses alongside archives and museums. TheGenealogist, FamilySearch, Society of Genealogists, Ministry of Defence Records Section and the Family History Federation were amongst the bigger organisations. And it was fantastic to see such a range of Family History Societies from across the north of England and beyond.

I’ve attached the list of attendees below.

List of Attendees at The Family History Show York, 2019 – Photo by Jane Roberts

There was also an Ask the Experts area, plus seven talks in the two lecture theatres rounding off with an Expert Panel. Inspired by watching BBC’s A House Through Time I attended Gill Blanchard’s Tracing Your House History talk and came away with lots of tips and ideas to trace my house history … if I ever have the time! Time may be even more of a premium for me, especially as I ended up joining the Family and Community Historical Research Society (FACHRS). I’m full of enthusiasm to get involved.

Family and Community Historical Research Society (FACHRS) Stand – Photo by Jane Roberts

After a busy few hours on my feet it was a relief to have a sit down. There is a cafe area for those all-important refreshment breaks, but this year we brought sandwiches and ate them in fresh air and glorious sunshine overlooking the finishing straight. And what a view it was!

My Lunchtime View – Photo by Jane Roberts

Then it was back to it, and finding out what’s new. Morley Family History Group covers the area synonymous with the surname Aveyard, the subject of my One-Name Study. And they are in the process of producing a raft of new and updated parish register indexes and Memorial Inscription booklets.

Another stop-off must for me was the Ministry of Defence Records Section. They had some fascinating original documents on view including a 1914-1916 Wellington Barracks Footguards Attestation Register and some Air Ministry files about missing WW2 airmen. It was a wonderful opportunity to touch history, reading the lists of names knowing these were all real people who more than a century ago signed on to serve King and Country. It was especially sobering viewing noting how many were annotated with Killed in Action, Died of Wounds or discharged because they were no longer fit for service. One name which stood out for me was Albert Gun[n] who attested in Dewsbury and was Killed in Action.

Some of the Documents on Display at The MoD Records Stand – Photo by Jane Roberts

They also had a prototype online application system for service records which you could test and provide comments on. I understand it is hoped to have more news on this at RootsTech London.

I loved catching up with many familiar faces. And the show would not have been complete without popping over to say hello to the Huddersfield & District Family History Society team of volunteers who, at the end of a busy day, were still on their feet. I must declare an interest here as I edit their quarterly Journal.

The Huddersfield & District Family History Group Volunteers – Photo by Jane Roberts

I did fear with three big national family history shows scheduled for 2019, one of which took place only a couple of weeks earlier, that York would find itself squeezed out. With competing family and budget demands, to get to London and Birmingham from the north of the country for a show is a big commitment both in terms of travel time and cost, particularly if an overnight stay is factored in. The same pressures apply to exhibitors, with many relying on volunteers. York, for this part of the world, is far more accessible.

This accessibility factor, combined with the breadth of relevant exhibitors attending and talks geared towards the audience, thankfully meant my fears did not become a reality. The morning in particular seemed busier than ever.

The Family History Show 2019, York – Photo by Jane Roberts

And the years of experience behind the running of the show meant the organisation was excellent at all points – from booking tickets (excellent value at £8 for two if pre-booked), to directions to the racecourse with its ample free car parking, plus regular free shuttle buses from the railway station for those on public transport. Once at the venue things continued to run smoothly including a fast-track entry lane for those who had pre-booked, two private rooms for the free talks (so no noise seep) with these being large enough to accommodate all who wished to attend, and a floor plan to navigate your way around the exhibitors.

It proved a thoroughly enjoyable day and 20 June 2020, the date of the next Family History Show in York, is already firmly pencilled in my diary.

The Shocking Death of George Aveyard

Family history at its most basic boils down to births, marriages and deaths. Sometimes it is easy to become immune to the true meaning of the parade of dates marking the start and end of life. There are, after all, so many in a family tree. Occasionally, though, one event does stop you still in your tracks. For me the death of George Aveyard is one such event.

George was the two-year-old son of Daniel and Sophia Aveyard. In the context of my Aveyard One-Name Study, Daniel’s parents were George Aveyard (1780-1854) and his second wife Hannah Asquith. The family originated in the West Ardsley area, but somewhere between March 1832 and June 1841, they moved to Gildersome Street, an area south of the centre of modern-day Gildersome.  

Daniel was the second youngest of George’s 18 children, baptised on 4 August 1830 at St Mary’s, Woodkirk [1]. Evidence strongly suggests George and Hannah were my 4x great grandparents.

Daniel, a coal miner, married Sophia Brook at All Saints Dewsbury Parish Church on 23 August 1852 [2]. Sophia was born on 1 June 1832 and baptised one month later at Woodkirk parish church, her parents being William and Amelia Brook [3].

All Saints, Dewsbury Parish Church – Photo by Jane Roberts

Daniel and Sophia’s marriage resulted in 12 children [4]. So far, I have identified 10 of them – whilst Aveyard is an uncommon name there was more than one Aveyard/Brook marriage in the relevant period. I suspect I have identified at least one of the remaining children, but more work is required (short of purchasing the relevant birth certificates).

The so far identified children are Simeon [5] (birth registered in 1853); George [6] (birth registered in 1855); Sarah Elizabeth [7] (birth registered in 1861); Brook [8] (birth registered in 1863); twins Joseph and Mary [9], whose diminutive name appears to have been Polly [10] – yes, that is a known short form of Mary, (births registered in 1865); Ada [11] (birth registered in 1868). She was buried on 25 April 1869 at St Peter’s Birstall under the name of Adah Aveyard and her father was named as Daniel [12]; Herbert [13] (birth registered in 1870); Richard Newman [14] (birth registered in 1871); and Rachel [15] (birth registered in 1872). She was buried on 21 July 1872 at St Peter’s Birstall with her father named as Dan[ie]l [16].

The events in this post took place in Gildersome Street on 13 August 1858, with the inquest taking place before Coroner Thomas Taylor the following day at the King’s Arms Inn, Gildersome. Whilst many inquest records do not survive for this period, with newspapers being the main information source, we are fortunate that the HM Coroner of Wakefield records at West Yorkshire Archives (Wakefield) includes the notebooks of Thomas Taylor [17] for the period 1852-1900. They include the notes for the inquest of George Aveyard.

A little over two years old, George was able to talk and had been used to walking alone for about six months. Sarah Aveyard (née Stables) the wife of one of Daniel’s older brothers, Thomas, gave an account at the inquest, testifying there were “...always plenty of children playing about” [18] in Gildersome Street where the families lived. 

It was clear that even though a toddler, George was amongst them. Her young nephew had been to her house on morning of his death, leaving at around 11 o’clock heading down the road. So, his aunt clearly had no concerns that he was out and about without his mother.

You can envisage the scene: traditionally based around weaving and cloth manufacture but now becoming a mining village, this was a close-knit community with groups of impoverished, grubby children, the streets their playground, freely popping in and out of houses, many of them occupied by relatives. A place where everyone knew everyone. In this period Gildersome Street really was an Aveyard enclave.

At around 11.45 am George arrived home. His mother, Sophia, gave him a piece of bread and content he once more wandered back outside. At around noon she noticed he was missing. This was out of character, as according to Sophia’s evidence at the inquest “I have not lost him before.” [19]. She sent out her eldest child Simeon to seek him. At this point she believed him to be perfectly safe at his grandmother’s home about 80 yards away. This is most likely to be his paternal grandmother, Hannah Aveyard. 

It was dinner time and Sophia was starting to feel anxious. Another neighbour, widow Elizabeth Buckley, overheard her asking one of her daughters if she had seen George. This would have been just gone one o’clock. Elizabeth in fact had seen George two or three times that morning. 

Now events took on a dark, stuff of nightmares turn. Alice Aveyard, described as “going in [sic] 11 years” [20], daughter of Thomas and Sarah, and therefore cousin of little George, was the one who made the horrific discovery. I imagine it would haunt her until her dying days, a scene no adult, let alone a child, could never unsee.  

According to her inquest evidence:

“…I went yesterday afternoon to George Buttery’s privy adjoining the Wakefield and Bradford Road. The door was wide open. On looking thro’ the hole in the seat I saw a bare knee in the soil and I imm[ediat]ely gave an alarm.” [21]

In the 1851 census, Thomas and Sarah Aveyard’s household details were adjacent to the entry for the family of George Buttery. In other words they were close neighbours.

So what was a privy? Well, I’ll start by saying a privy was a far cry from the flushing, sanitary toilets of today. Improvements had, in fact, commenced with the landmark 1848 Public Health Act which decreed:

“That it shall not be lawful newly to erect any House, or to rebuild any House pulled down to or below the Floor commonly called the Ground Floor, without a sufficient Watercloset or Privy and an Ashpit furnished with proper Doors and Coverings.” [22]. 

There were also provisions for the newly created Local Boards of Health to issue notices where any houses had insufficient provision:

 “..whether built before or after the Time when the act is applied to the District in which it is situate…” [23] 

But this is a bit of gloss which belies the true unsanitary, conditions. In the period a privy was essentially nothing more than a small wooden, sometimes brick, building which could be shared by several families. The implication, however, in the inquest notes is that the Gildersome Street houses by 1858 did not have massive communal privies shared by scores of people. Alice’s evidence is that this one belonged to one household, that of George Buttery.  Sarah Aveyard in her evidence stated:

“The privy does not belong to Daniel Aveyard’s house.” [24]

Number of families aside, the very basic interior design was a wooden board with a hole cut into it. In fact, there could be more than one hole, and these not necessarily divided into separate cubicles. 

Excreta (liquid and faeces) would drop through this hole and the waste would drain and collect into cesspits. These were generally porous for the liquid matter to drain away, though this did not always happen. And when it did operate correctly, the question is where did it seep to and what contamination did it cause? The (hopefully but not always) dry waste would build up and eventually be shovelled out by night soil men. And yes, it was a job carried out under the cover of darkness.  The waste would then be sold on for manure.

So, the soil referred to in Alice’s evidence was actually a euphemism for human excreta.  

Even if not serving a large number of houses, the stench surrounding these privies would be unimaginable at any time of year, never mind August and the height of summer. And it was in this hell hole that a child was trapped.

Alice went to tell her mother she had seen a child’s leg in the privy. It was about quarter past one in the afternoon. Sarah returned with her daughter to the appalling scene, saw the knee and screamed. This attracted the attention of some local women, including Elizabeth Buckley. 

The women removed George’s body, which was lodged head first in the soil (think about the true meaning of the word soil in this context). Elizabeth testified that when they extracted him, he was dead, his eyes were partly open, there was no froth about his nose and, she observed when she washed his body, that he had no signs of injury. She also stated the the privy seat was not broken and in good order.

In other words this appeared to rule out any foul play, which view the inquest jury duly took. Its verdict was that George had “accidentally suffocated.” It is a verdict which does not even begin to capture the hideous circumstances surrounding this young child’s death.

Back in 1858, with its alarmingly high childhood mortality rates, a child’s death was not the unexpected event it is today in 21st century England. But a child’s death in such a ghastly accident was utterly shocking. Perhaps this was the reason Daniel, Sophia and their family had left Gildersome Street by the time of the 1861 census, and had moved to Boggart Lane in the Howden Clough area of Batley, near Still House Farm, which stands today [26]. They wanted to escape the scene of such personal family trauma?

Such was the hideous nature of George’s death, the inquest was widely reported in local newspapers, as typified by the 21 August 1858 edition of the Pontefract Advertiser [26] which recorded:

SHOCKING DEATH OF A LITTLE BOY – An inquest was held on Saturday, at the King’s Arms Inn, Gildersome before T. Taylor, Esq., on the body of George Aveyard, aged two years, son of Daniel Aveyard, coal miner. On Friday last, about noon, deceased went out of his father’s house, and no more was seen of him until one and two in the afternoon, when he was discovered in the soil of an adjoining privy. When extricated he was found to be quite dead….”

It is a death which over 160 years later, and amidst so many other deaths recorded in the course of my family history research, I cannot forget and one that does not cease to sicken.

As for location, the buildings of Gildersome Street have long been erased from maps. Ironically the present-day area is one which I frequently visit. It lies among the network of busy roads and the industrial estate areas, all within minutes walking distance from where West Yorkshire Archives (Leeds) now stands.

Notes

  • [1] Baptism of Daniel Aveyard, St Mary’s Woodkirk Baptism Register. Accessed viaWest Yorkshire, England, Church of England Births and Baptisms, 1813-1910 [database on-line]. Originals at West Yorkshire Archive Service; Wakefield, Yorkshire, England; Yorkshire Parish Records; New Reference Number: WDP108/1/2/1
  • [2] Baptism of Sophia Brook, St Mary’s Woodkirk Baptism Register. Accessed viaWest Yorkshire, England, Church of England Births and Baptisms, 1813-1910 [database on-line]. Originals at West Yorkshire Archive Service; Wakefield, Yorkshire, England; Yorkshire Parish Records; New Reference Number: WDP108/1/2/2
  • [3] Marriage of Daniel Aveyard and Sophia Brook, All Saints Dewsbury Parish Church. Marriage Register Accessed via Ancestry.com. West Yorkshire, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1813-1935 [database on-line]. Originals at West Yorkshire Archive Service; Leeds, Yorkshire, England; Yorkshire Parish Records; Reference Number: WDP9/28
  • [4] 1911 Census, Aveyard family entry. Although Sophia is now a widow her Particulars as to Marriage details have been completed. Accessed via Findmypast. Originals at The National Archives, Kew. Reference RG14PN27255
  • [5] Birth Registration of Simeon Aveyard, March Quarter 1853, Hunslet Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 219, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [6] Birth Registration of George Aveyard, December Quarter 1855, Hunslet Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 184, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [7] Birth Registration of Sarah Elizabeth Aveyard, June Quarter 1861, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 475, Mother’s Maiden Name Brooke. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [8] Birth Registration of Brook Aveyard, December Quarter 1863, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 502, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [9] Birth Registration of Mary and Joseph Aveyard, March Quarter 1865, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 550, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [10] 1891 Census, Aveyard family entry. Accessed via Findmypast. Originals at The National Archives, Kew. Reference RG12/3722/12/17
  • [11] Birth Registration of Ada Aveyard, June Quarter 1868, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 575, Mother’s Maiden Name Brooke. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [12] Burial of infant named Adah Aveyard, 29 April 1869 at St Peter’s, Birstall. Accessed via Ancestry.com. West Yorkshire, England, Church of England Deaths and Burials, 1813-1985 [database on-line]. Originals at West Yorkshire Archive Service; Wakefield, Yorkshire, England; New Reference Number: WDP5/1/4/3
  • [13] Birth Registration of Herbert Aveyard, March Quarter 1870, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 578, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [14] Birth Registration of Richard Newman Aveyard, March Quarter 1871, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 604, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [15] Birth Registration of Rachel Aveyard, March Quarter 1872, Dewsbury Registration District, Volume 9B, Page 603, Mother’s Maiden Name Brook. Accessed via the General Register Office Website Birth Indexes.
  • [16] Burial of infant named Rachel Aveyard, 21 July 1872 at St Peter’s, Birstall. Accessed via Ancestry.com. West Yorkshire, England, Church of England Deaths and Burials, 1813-1985 [database on-line]. Originals at West Yorkshire Archive Service; Wakefield, Yorkshire, England; New Reference Number: WDP5/1/4/4
  • [17] Taylor was the coroner for the Honour of Pontefract from 1852-1900, deputy county coroner 1855, 1861-1864, and county coroner 1864-1900.
  • [18] Coroner’s notes at the inquest into the death of George Aveyard, 14 August 1858 Originals at West Yorkshire Archives, Thomas Taylor, West Yorkshire Coroner’s Notebooks June to November 1858, Reference C493/K/2/1/9
  • [19] Ibid
  • [20] Ibid
  • [21] Ibid
  • [22] Public Health Act 1848 (11 & 12 Vict. c.63), An Act for promoting the Public Health – 31st August 1848. Accessed via Legislation.gov.uk website, delivered by The National Archives http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Vict/11-12/63/contents/enacted
  • [23] Ibid
  • [24] Coroner’s notes at the inquest into the death of George Aveyard, 14 August 1858 – Ibid
  • [25] Example of a dry toilet for illustrative purposes. This one is from a railway station in Vrbčany in the Czech Republic. Source Wikimedia Commons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Suchy_zachod_zastavka_Vrbcany_detail.jpg, Attributed to Ludek [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)%5D
  • [26] 1861 Census, Aveyard family entry. Accessed via Findmypast. Originals at The National Archives, Kew. Reference RG09/3401/107/24
  • [27] Identical reports featured in The Leeds Mercury of 17 August 1858 and The Leeds Intelligencer of 21 August 1858

Pioneers of the FIFA Women’s World Cup: The First Football Internationals

The Women’s Football World Cup is now well underway. With England v Scotland attracting a peak of 6.1 million BBC TV viewers, becoming the UK’s most watched women’s football match of all time, it’s a far cry from the sport’s early days.

The first women’s international match took place on Saturday 7 May 1881 between Scotland and England at Hibernian Road, Easter Park in front of about 2,000. According to some reports the teams had only trained for about a fortnight for this game, the first in a series of rather chaotic, public exhibition matches to be played in both countries. 

The England team, including (according to some press reports) women from London [1], which took the field comprised of May Goodwin (goal); Mabel Bradbury, Maude Hopewell, Maude Starling, Ada Everstone, Geraldine Ventner, Mabel Vance, Eva Davenport, Minnie Hopewell, Kate Mellor and Nellie Sherwood. The Scotland team, from Glasgow and the surrounding area, was Ethel Hay (goal); Bella Oswald, Georgina Wright, Rose Raynham, Isa Stevenson, Emma Wright, Louise/Louisa Cole, Lily St Clair, Maude Riverford,[2] Carrie Baliol and Minnie Brymner. Some spellings vary depending on newspaper.

It is possible some of the names were stage names to disguise real identities. Interestingly two ‘actors,’ 18-year-old Louisa Cole (born in Greenock, Renfrewshire) and 19-year-old English-born Carrie H Baliol, were lodging in the home of Margaret Henderson in Campbeltown, Argyllshire [3]. Both these names featured amongst the Scotland forwards. Their presence adds to this game owing as much to theatre and entertainment as a sporting contest.

The game took place against the backdrop of the early years of the suffrage movement and advancement of women’s rights. In fact, the games were part of the pushing back of the long-established boundaries confining and defining women and their place in society. Indeed, a piece in The Jedburgh Gazette described it as ‘women’s rights with a vengeance.’ [4]

To put in some kind of context, it was only in 1870 that any money which a married woman earned could be treated as her own property and not her husband’s, with the introduction of the 1870 Married Women’s Property Act. And it was not until after the Internationals, in 1882, that the right was extended to allow married women to have complete personal control over all of their property. 

The attitudes towards women and ideas around their expected behaviours were instrumental to most of the reporting.  The game was variously described as a ‘most disappointing spectacle…football is not a game for women,’ [5] ‘an athletic novelty’ [6] and ‘a general feeling was apparent…to make fun of the match.’ [7] although the players were described as being ‘of excellent physique in most cases’ [8]. It was claimed ‘before the match was concluded more than half the spectators had gone. The general feeling seemed to be that the whole affair was a most unfeminine exhibition…’ [9]. 

An inordinate amount of attention was paid to the players’ attire and hair, with some retaining

 …such feminine ornaments as frilling, bracelets, &c., but others, with arms bare to the shoulder, entered into the game with all the enthusiasm of boys. [10]

The kit was essentially similar to their male counterparts. Scotland sported blue jerseys, a badge with two Union Jacks, a crimson waist sash, knickerbockers and blue and white hose. The English team’s jersey was crimson, with a blue sash and a lion rampant badge. They had white knickerbockers and crimson and white hose. Both teams wore crimson and white woollen cowls and high-laced boots. 

1890’s Illustration of a Women’s Football Match

Scotland ran out 3-0 victors. The Fife Herald typified the waspish type of reporting. Their take on the women was: 

They were slow in all their movements except, perhaps, when they were within a few feet of the goal, when their tongues were in full swing…

Although they did grudgingly conclude:

Misses Maude Hopewell and Bella Oswald as backs, and several of the forwards played well. [11]

They went on to quote the Glasgow News saying:

Football is not a game for women and the spectacle of a score of girls careering about the field in knickerbockers is not to be defended on any ground of public utility.

The teams struggled to get a venue for the next game, it being eventually played on 16 May 1881 at the Shawfield Ground, Rutherglen Bridge, Glasgow.  It resulted in what was termed as a scandalous exhibition, disgraceful scenes and a display of ruffianism from ‘Glasgow Roughs’ with fighting and a pitch invasion. 

Around 400 paid to watch the game but others burst the gates despite police efforts to prevent them. This swelled the crowd to what some newspapers estimated to be as many as 5,000.  Mainly men, they hooted, hissed and laughed at the women and ‘after 55 minutes of play of the most amateurish description’ [12] a contingent cut the ropes and stormed the pitch.

A police baton charge was required to rescue the players, some who were badly treated by the mob. With difficulty the women managed to get to their horse-drawn omnibus, one (or two, depending on newspaper report) fainting in the process. The four grey horses pulling the omnibus galloped away, with the accompanying jeers and hisses from the mob ringing in the women’s ears.

A further attempt to play a game at Kilmarnock was halted by the intervention of magistrates. The Ayr Advertiser’s take on this read:

The “LADY” FOOTBALL PLAYERS – Kilmarnock was saved the scandal of a visit from the “Lady Football players” on Tuesday night, by the intervention of the magistrates whose representations caused the club who had granted the use of their field to cancel the engagement. The managers of the female teams being advised of this decision by telegraph, they did not put in an appearance. And the disgraceful exhibition was accordingly prevented. [13]

The teams now moved over the border to England. They played their next game in front of a crowd of about 4,000 at the Olympic Club, Blackburn on the afternoon of Saturday, 21 May 1881. 

I can find no details of the team sheets but curiously a couple of reports stated ‘The players hail from Glasgow’ [14]

This is backed up by a report in the Athletic News of 25 May which stated:

The fair performers were unmercifully chaffed by the spectators but as the remarks were passed in the coarsest Lancashire, and the girls are as Scotch as they can find in Glasgow, the talk did not hurt them much for want of being understood. [15]

Both teams had second half goals disallowed, but a few minutes before the game ended the ‘English representatives’ scrambled the ball over to finish 1-0 winners.

The ad hoc nature of the matches is illustrated by the report of what appears to be the next game which took place on 3 June:

The female football players not being able to find a ground in Manchester, wandered to Liverpool, and on Friday last they managed to bring off a match at a running ground in the outskirts of the city. The following report of what the “ladies” are pleased to call “football” has been sent in to me for publication:- On Friday evening the lady football players gave an exhibition of their powers to the Liverpool public at Stanley Athletic Grounds. The young ladies appeared on the field at 7.30 p.m., and were loudly cheered by the spectators. The Scotch captain won the toss and selected to play with the wind. The match, from the players point of view, was very good. About 15 minutes from the start the English secured the first goal through a piece of good dribbling on the part of Miss Eva Davenport. Thereafter the Scotch pressed their opponents very hard, Miss Louisa Cole making several fine runs but failed to score before half-time was called. On ends being changed, the Scotch scored their first goal, Miss Louisa Cole doing the needful just before time was called. For the English Miss May Goodwin at goal stopped several dangerous shots. Misses Geraldine Vintner, Eva Davenport, and Minnie Hopewell as forwards dribbled well and made some splendid runs. For the Scotch, Miss Georgia Wright at back played a good defensive game. Misses Louisa Cole and Maud Rimeford, as forwards, played a good combined game. Altogether the match was a great success although the attendance was not so large as might have been expected to witness such a novelty. [16]

The team appeared to be based in Manchester. From there on 13 June they travelled by rail to Windhill, Bradford to play another game. The Leeds Times reported:

They are not a prepossessing band of females, and generally are composed of young girls, a few of them being between twenty and thirty years of age. A large number of people witnessed the game, which was well played. The competitors were frequently and uproariously cheered by spectators. The match ended in a victory for Scotland by three goals to two. [17] 

They did eventually get to play in Manchester, but once more confusion reigned. The Athletic News of 22 June 1881 reported that the team had arrived in Manchester a month ago but initially had not found a ground to play on. They finally arranged to play on the field of Salford FC but this fell through when their cashier absconded with the money needed for the ground rent. It was then announced they would play at Cheetham Football Club’s Tetlow Fold, and a 3,000- strong crowd turned up for the game on 20 June.

The report continued:

Unfortunately, there was some other hitch in the proceedings, and the game did not come off, but I am informed that all the difficulties have been cleared away, and that these matches would duly be played last evening [21 June] and to-night (Wednesday). [18]

Cheetham FC were at pains to distance themselves from the event. They even advertised to this effect in an open letter dated 21 June from Edwin Smales, the Club Secretary, which was published in the Manchester Courier. [19]

The game on 21 June proved another debacle. The Huddersfield Chronicle of 23 June carried a full report about the ‘Scene at a Football Match’:

The players attired in a costume which is neither graceful nor very becoming, were driven to the ground in a wagonette, and, as was to be expected, were followed by a crowd largely composed of youths eager to avail themselves of the opportunity presented for a little boisterous amusement…Very few persons paid for admission to the grounds, but a great multitude assembled in the road and struggled for a sight of what was going on within the enclosure, whilst an equally large number gathered in the higher ground on the other side of the field for a similar purpose. A number of police constables were present to maintain order and prevent anyone entering without paying, and for about an hour, whilst the so-called match was being played they succeeded. There were frequent attempts, however, to elude the constables. At length a great rush was made by those occupying the higher land, and the football ground was speedily taken possession by the mob. Apprehending a repetition of the rough treatment they have met with in other parts of the country, the women no sooner heard the clamour which accompanied the rush than they also took to their heels and ran to where their wagonette was standing. This they reached before the crowd could overtake them, and amid the jeers of the multitude and much disorder they were immediately driven away. [20]

So, another abandoned match. But the ladies did not give in. These pioneers of the women’s game returned to Liverpool. There, as advertised in the Liverpool Mercury of 25 June 1881, the International Lady Football Players played two more games on the 25 and 27 June at the Cattle Market Inn Athletic Ground, Stanley. Admission was 1s. 

Liverpool Mercury – 25 June 1881

In yet another curious newspaper report, reference was made to the disappointingly small attendance:

Owing, probably, to the disappointment caused a few weeks ago by their failure to keep an engagement to play at the same grounds… [21]

The report went on to discuss the women’s ‘modest and picturesque’ costume, and half-time refreshments of oranges. Scotland won the game 2-1.

The second game on 27 June was better attended:

The play was very spirited, and at times the feeling of nationality was strongly manifested by the onlookers, the efforts of the players on both sides being encouraged and rewarded by cheers. [22]

Scotland proved the stronger side, winning 2-0. The report made mention of a further match to be played that night, 28 June. Indeed, the newspaper even carried an advert for the game. I’ve not found any report of the result yet.

Liverpool Echo – 28 June 1881

This typified the chaos surrounding these first so-called internationals with cancelled and abandoned games, uncertainty about identities (and nationalities) of those playing or even scorers, and all this taking place in the face of the prevailing attitude about the role of women in society. The fact that these ‘anonymous’ women managed to play any games at all under such difficult and downright hostile circumstances is a testament to their strength of character.

What a total contrast to the FIFA Women’s World Cup of 2019, with its media coverage, worldwide interest, and Panini sticker albums all contributing to the profiles of the players, making them household names and sporting role models to future generations of female footballers. 

Notes:

  • [1] Edinburgh Evening News, 9 May 1881
  • [2] For example Riverford is sometimes Rimeford or Riweford
  • [3] 1881 Scotland Census, accessed via Ancestry, Reference – Parish: Campbeltown; ED: 16; Page: 13; Line: 6; Roll: cssct1881_150
  • [4] The Jedburgh Gazette, 14 May 1881
  • [5] The Dundee Courier and Argus, 10 May 1881
  • [6] Buxton Herald, 11 May 1881
  • [7] The Edinburgh Evening News, 9 May 1881
  • [8] Ibid
  • [9] Nottinghamshire Guardian, 13 May 1881
  • [10] The Ayr Advertiser, 12 May 1881
  • [11] The Fife Herald, 12 May 1881
  • [12] Glasgow Herald 17 May 1881
  • [13] The Ayr Advertiser 19 May 1881
  • [14] Birmingham Daily Mail and Edinburgh Evening News 23 May 1881
  • [15] Athletic News, 25 May 1881
  • [16] Athletic News, 8 June 1881
  • [17] The Leeds Times, 18 June 1881
  • [18] Athletic News, 22 June 1881
  • [19] The Manchester Courier, And Lancashire General Advertiser, 22 June 1881
  • [20] The Huddersfield Chronicle, 23 June 1881
  • [21] The Manchester Evening News, 27 June 1881
  • [22] The Liverpool Mercury 28 June 1881

The Fair Weather Genealogist – Summer Research Tips

Summer tends to be the time of year when family history research takes a back seat. Who wants to be stuck in front of a computer screen or closeted away in some dusty archive or local library when the days are long and the sun is shining brightly?

The meteorological summer is defined as June, July and August. Here are my five seasonal tips to continue with your family history research whilst making the most of those three long, hot summer months (we can but dream!)

  • Do a bit of ancestral tourism, visiting locations associated with your family history. It could be a street in which your ancestors lived, the school they attended, the church where they married, the cemetery in which they are buried, or even popping into the pub, if it still exists, where a family-associated inquest was held.
  • For me family history extends beyond names and dates. I love finding about the everyday lives of my ancestors, their occupations, leisure activities, transport methods, living conditions, and the health struggles they faced. I also want to try put their lives into the context of local and national history. Summertime provides ample opportunity to find out more, especially on those cooler summer days. It could be a visit to a museum such as the Thackray Medical Museum, the trio of Ripon Museums covering the workhouse, courthouse and police station/prison, Bradford Police Museum, the National Coal Mining Museum, the National Railway Museum in York, Ryedale Folk Museum or Beamish (the Living History Museum of the North). I’ve concentrated on some northern examples here, but there are so many possibilities to choose from up and down the country. It’s definitely worth checking out ones near where you are holidaying, as it’s something which could be incorporated in to a family vacation or a day trip.
  • Outdoor events are another option especially when the sun is cracking the flags, from 1940s weekends to Civil War events with living history camps. These require more seeking out, but they are well worth the effort.
  • Experience the transport methods of your ancestors. Journey back in time accompanied by the evocative smells and sounds of a real steam train, stopping off at stations liveried in colours and signs of a bygone era. In Yorkshire there are plenty to choose from and they’re fantastic for families too. There’s Middleton Railway in Leeds, the world’s oldest working railway; the Keighley and Worth Valley Railway, of Railway children fame and taking in historic Haworth with its Brontë associations; the Embsay and Bolton Abbey steam railway in the beautiful Yorkshire countryside; and the North Yorkshire Moors Historical Railway Trust operating between Pickering and Whitby, taking in Heartbeat country. Volunteer-run, these railways offer far more than the wonderful train rides, with offerings including themed events, tours and even hands-on experiences.

Haworth Station in the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway – Photo by Jane Roberts

  • And if you really are struggling to drag yourself away from the beach or the pool this summer holiday season, why not pack some genealogy crime and mystery fiction into those suitcases? That way you can get your genealogy fix through plotting the next research steps of a fictional genealogist and trying to crack the case whilst getting some well-earned rest and relaxation. Four authors of this genre to look out for are Nathan Dylan Goodwin with his Morton Farrier forensic genealogist book series; M. K. Jones who writes about genealogy detectives Maze Investigations; M. J. Lee and his former police detective turned genealogical investigator Jayne Sinclair; and Steve Robinson’s series of books based around American international genealogist Jefferson Tayte.

Whatever you end up doing this summer, I hope it’s a good one.

A Personal Post: The End of an Era

31 May 2019 marked the end of a huge chunk of my life over the past few years. I was at the Society of Genealogists in London for the award of my joint Pharos Tutors and Society of Genealogists Family History Skills and Strategies (Advanced) course certificate.

A bittersweet moment, it was the culmination of a couple of year’s hard work undertaking the various modules, the end of year one exam and a year two project. And even before that I had spent three years completing the Intermediate course.

Yes, submitting my final assignment last autumn and receiving my marks (a Distinction) just before Christmas were phases of the end. But the award ceremony was the moment which finally put a full stop on this period of formal learning

It was also wonderful meeting those who also undertook this learning journey, be it my fellow students or the ever-patient tutors who taught us along the way. I’ve learned so much through these courses and become a better genealogist as a result. They’ve also laid the foundations for my future continuing professional development.

But at the same time it was also a sad moment. Saying goodbye to everyone. Finally recognising that this phase of life was over and that the regular routine of formal learning had ended.

But has it?

Whilst the formal assessed courses are at an end, as part of keeping up-to-date with genealogical developments I will forge on with my personal programme of learning in order to continue to offer the best possible service to those who put their trust in me to research their precious family history.

Gone Fishing – Newton-by-the-Sea Past and Present

My recent holiday in Northumberland proved yet again that I can never totally switch off from research. I stayed in a Grade II Listed former fisherman’s cottage in the picturesque coastal village of Low Newton-by-the-Sea (historically known as Newton Seahouses). The cottage in which I stayed, according to Historic England, dates from the 18th century but was remodelled in the mid-19th century [1]. It is one of the whitewashed cottages which border three sides of the village green, owned by the National Trust [2]. The buildings on one side include the historic Ship Inn, parts of which are thought to date back to the 16th-17th century. The fourth side of the square leads directly to the beach and rocks of Newton, or St Mary’s, Haven.

It is a wonderfully relaxing location and the connection with the past is palpable. I felt compelled to delve into the history of the village and as a result discovered that the 19th century incarnation was a far cry from today’s holiday destination. It was a village very much shaped by the sea, and life for its inhabitants was decidedly tough.

Shipwrecks and death at sea were an occupational hazard, both for sailors transporting goods up and down the coast or across the North Sea to the continent, as well as for the locally-based fishermen. The predominant catches of these local fishermen were of turbot, lobster and herrings.

One early incident, reported in the local papers, occurred on 21 June 1833 [3]. William Cuthbertson’s sons William (age 22) and Robert, along with Ralph Archbold (age 19), the son or William Archbold, set off in a boat from Newton Sea Houses to Dunstanburgh Castle to gather sink stones for the brat nets [4].

Dunstanburgh Castle and the Cottages at Low Newton-by-the-Sea – Photo by Jane Roberts

On the return journey a heavy squall caught the sail and capsized the boat which sunk immediately due to the weight of the stones. Robert, who could swim a little, grabbed two of the oars and kept afloat until saved by some fishermen. The other two young men drowned, their bodies found the following day. Their burials on 24 June 1833 are recorded in the parish register of Holy Trinity, Embleton.

Back to the 21st century and hopefully those present-day holidaymakers savouring a thirst-quenching pint of one of the Ship Inn’s microbrewery offerings, or enjoying a delicious locally-sourced meal in the pub (turbot was on the menu for our visit) will not be put off by some of the 19th century activities which took place there. It was a convenient place to hold inquests, including for those whose bodies washed ashore. Some were foreign seafarers.

The Ship Inn – Photo by Jane Roberts

One such Ship Inn inquest took place before George Watson, coroner for North Northumberland, on Wednesday 26 February 1879. The body of 40-year-old Trieste seaman Francesco Carbone was discovered by labourer Thomas Anderson on rocks at Newton that Monday. He was one of the sailors on board the 542 tons Italian barque Stefano Padre, which foundered on the rocks just off Newton-by-the-Sea [5].

The barque, accompanied by a tug, set off from Aberdeen to North Shields in ballast [6] on Saturday 23 February. That night the sea started to get rough, and in the early hours of the following morning the barque struck the rocks. Although the tug managed to get a heaving rope to the vessel, it was unable to pull it free and abandoned the rescue attempt.

An attempt was made to launch the ship’s boat by those on the stricken craft. This ended in failure with most being forced to return to the Stefano Padre, whilst the four men on the front ended up in the sea. One of these did manage to cling on to the ship’s boat. When waves threw it clean on the rocks men from the Volunteer Life Company, comprised of coastguard and fishermen of Newton, managed to drag him to safety.

It was dangerous work with the men continually being washed off their feet. Not only was there the immediate danger of working in treacherous conditions, but the effects of the cold and exposure to the elements in undertaking what could be prolonged rescue efforts wreaked havoc on health. One of the coastguard men, Joseph Whiles, was completely drenched and blinded by the surf. He only reluctantly left the rescue scene after being advised to do so by Dr Magill.

Coastguards Cottages – Photo by Jane Roberts

Repeated attempts were made by the Coastguard to employ rockets to get a line to the barque and eventually this was successful, resulting in the rescue of the captain and six men.

The inquest jury returned a verdict of ‘accidentally drowned’ on Stefano Carbone. The courageous manner in which the coastguard and fishermen of Newton had endeavoured to save the lives of the crew in the face of great personal danger was acknowledged. William Pringle, a fish-curer who represented the fishermen at the inquest, and Mr Williams, the chief coastguard, were asked to inform those involved. The latter stated:

…a better class of men could not be found than those he had under his charge…

William Pringle was subsequently presented with an illuminated testimonial in vellum by the Board of Trade [7].

It seems the Ship Inn did not always sport this name. Though by time of the 1899 publication of the OS six-inch map of the area it was clearly marked as the Ship Inn [8], an earlier edition which was surveyed in 1860 and published in 1866 [9], shows its name as Smack Inn. And curiously, some newspapers reporting a Newton-by-the-Sea inquest in 1861 stated it took place in the Keelboat Inn. This was into the death of 59-year old Claas Foelders from Emden, Captain of the Hanoverian schooner Hortensia.

In stormy weather, heavy seas and thick rain the schooner, which was bound for Newcastle from Hamburg, lost its way in the darkness and struck the North Steel Rocks off Boulmer at around 8pm on the evening of Wednesday 27 March 1861. It being low tide the crew of the Boulmer lifeboat were able to walk out to the Hortensia, boarding at about 8.30pm. However, Foelders, who was described as tipsy, refused to leave. His crew of four also remained – some reports indicated that Foelders forced them to stay. With the tide on the turn, the lifeboat crew left the vessel and returned to shore at 10.30pm. By this time the captain was ‘dead drunk’. The sea quickly rose, the ship was driven further onto the rocks and began filling with water.

Now, in tricky conditions, the lifeboat was forced to launch. Despite all entreaties from his crew and the lifeboatmen, the captain once more obstinately refused to leave the Hortensia, holding on to the rails. With the situation becoming increasingly perilous the lifeboat returned to shore at 12.30 am, this time with the four crew members. The ship broke up entirely in the early hours of the morning of 28 March.

Later that morning, whilst out fishing about two miles off shore, Newton-by-the-Sea fisherman William Carss, and his two sons James and William, found the body of the captain floating head upwards dressed in drawers, stockings and a jacket. 

The inquest, held before the Coroner J. J. Hardy, on 30 March, returned a verdict that Foelders was found drowned. As mentioned some reports state it took place in Mr Jos Blair’s Keelboat Inn, Newton-by-the-Sea [10] and [11]. Others state it was the home of Newton-by-the-Sea innkeeper Mr James Blair [12] and [13].

Looking for alternative local inns, there was the Joiner’s Arms in Newton village (High Newton). Also, according to another OS map [14] there was one other public house in the vicinity, the Fisherman’s Arms. This is now a National Trust holiday cottage called Risemoor. The 1858 Kelly’s Post Office Directory of Northumberland and Durham does not help, its only listing being George Geggie’s Joiner’s Arms. However, the 1861 census was taken only days after the inquest on 7 April, so I checked this out.

There is no Joseph Blair in Newton-by-the-Sea (both the village itself of High Newton and Low Newton/Newton Seahouses). However, at ‘Newton Sea Houses Pub[lic] Ho[use].’ is ‘Fish[erman] and Inn Keeper’ James Blair, wife Hannah and five-year-old son James [15]. This seems to place him right in the square, where the Ship Inn is located. So it appears this was the inn in which the inquest of Claas Foelders took place. Perhaps the newspapers mistakenly called it the Keelboat Inn, or perhaps this briefly was its name. More work is needed to research this, probably more for archives than online, to enable a firm conclusion.

By 1871 [16] James and Hannah had moved in to Newton village itself (High Newton), and his sole occupation was fisherman. Skip forward to 1881 [17] and still in High Newton James now reverted to the dual occupation of fisherman and publican. But tragedy struck on 1 December 1883 when he too was claimed by the sea. He and John Patterson put out to Dunstanburgh haul in their lobster nets. A heavy wave hit their boat washing James and an oar overboard and knocking John over. With only one oar John could not control the boat and his attempts to reach James failed. John lost consciousness but fortunately his boat drifted to shore and he was found. James’ body was not discovered until 18 December on rocks near Dunstanburgh. His inquest the following day, ironically held at the Joiners Arms with which he knew well, returned a verdict of ‘accidentally drowned’ [18]. His son James took over the running of this pub, and is shown here with his family and widowed mother Hannah in the 1891 census [19].

Back to Low Newton, there is a gem of a description of it from a survey conducted by the Alnwick Rural Sanitary Authority which featured in the Alnwick Mercury of 18 October 1873. It paints a wonderful picture of life there in the latter half of the 19th century. It is such an evocative piece I’ve reproduced it in full.

NEWTON SEA HOUSES
This busy little fishing village lies close to the sea in the centre of “St. Mary’s,” or the rocky “Newton Haven.” It consists of fishermen’s cottages, a public house, and stable, forming three sides of a square (the fourth side being open to the haven), a couple of fish curing houses, and a fish curer’s – Mr Pringle’s – old and very damp house, together with coastguardsmen’s houses planted on the hill high above the village. The period of my inspection happened to be just when the herring fishing was coming to a close, and I had good opportunity of observing the peculiar requirements of the inhabitants in their houses and of noting where they were deficient or good. It appears that every fisher has three men to keep, called “Yarmouth men.” With the exception of the houses which are new, all of them consist of one room and a loft formed out of the high tiled roofs. The sleeping accommodation in these in the fishing season is, as one says, “Ourselves and three men have to pig in there,” and another “have to have a bed or two in the garret for the people to lie in that we have.” The interiors are made the most the space admits of, but they nearly all resemble the forecastle on board ship, they are so low, so crowded, so deficient in light, so like cabins and berths, and every sanitary contrivance. They look, indeed, like buildings made out of the materials of wrecks. “The couples [20] of this house is nothing particler, one of them’s broke.” “This is all the comfort poor people have; many nights I have to rise to put dishes to keep the rain coming in.” “It was a kind o’ blockit up, but it’s in very bad repair.” “Little or no back places, not a drain about the place.” “Our coals are piled up at the back of our beds.” “Only one privy for the whole of us, and that at the back door of the public house.” Such is the condition of the houses where there is an addition in the hot season of “three Yarmouth men.” At the present time the dark windowless lofts are being crowded with masts and sails (one for want of room was poked through the tiles), creel nets, covered with fish scales, festoons of bladders highly coloured in stripes and looking like Egyptian necklaces, tarpaulins, blocks, ropes, lanterns, and “all things useable at sea”, for, say the fishermen, “our fishing work gear takes a large garret.” In these cases, however, “the couples being nothing particular,” it is surprising how the things get packed over their heads, and a wonder that the whole loft does not come down upon them with a crash. A much better state of things appears, however, in the provision of these seafarers at the three new houses mentioned. Every careful thought has been bestowed in their erection, especially as to the provision of a large well lighted loft, where “the three Yarmouth men” and “all things useable at sea” can be alternately lodged; but here, alas! there is a deficiency of coal and washing-up places. In one of “these nice new houses” I saw one poor woman “possing”[21] in the pantry to keep, as she said, “the other places rid”; and in another they had secured a bargain of a winter’s supply of coals, and in the absence of a coal house have actually been obliged to pack them from floor to ceiling in the pantry. The central large and open place in front of the three-side square of houses is the common refuse heap, unwalled, and dependent upon the paternal care of Mr Dixon, the farmer tenant, to remove and keep it low. The owner of this property, Mr Mather, has a good opportunity to make this a model little fishing village, by rebuilding the older houses in the manner of the new. He should not, however, forget the provision of coal and washing-up places, and the usual sanitary conveniences. The well-to-do tenants would or should gladly pay a fair per centage on the outlay for the boon of good dwellings suitable to their occupation which they one and all sigh for. The coast guard houses are like all government buildings models of order. Smart with white and black wash, everything taut and in trim, they possess every sanitary contrivance, including the earth closet and commode. Water for all these places has to be brought a considerable distance from an arched cavern below some basalted rocks, which will require the care of your authority. [22] 

The Living Room and View, Unrecognisable from the 19th Century Description of the Cottages – Photo by Jane Roberts

The water supply was a persistent problem; and the village green where visitors now spread out picnic blankets, soak up the sun and smell the tang of the sea was far from a fragrant outside space back in 1873. And the situation had not improved by the start of the following decade as a damning report to the Rural Sanitary Authority on 28 January 1882 by the Alnwick Medical Officer illustrated. It stated:

….a mild case of small pox had appeared at Newton-by-the-Sea, contracted probably from the girl’s father who had just returned from a neighbourhood where the disease existed. Also that a rapidly fatal case of diphtheria had since occurred to a member of the same family in the same house. The house is very unfavourably situated in regard to a large midden ashpit occupying the centre of the village, which is built to form three sides of a square, the end towards the sea being open. The pit is capable of holding about sixty loads, and large accumulations are allowed to take place from which noxious effluvia arises. It was recommended to be paved at [the] bottom and the contents removed weekly [23].

The Square, Low Newton-by-The-Sea – Photo by Jane Roberts

The Low Newton of today would be unrecognisable to those late 19th century inhabitants. So, as you sit by the green sipping your beer, soaking up the atmosphere and admiring sea view and the picturesque cottages (you may even be holidaying in one), remember it was not always thus. And do spare a thought for those men, women and children who lived, worked and died here in centuries past.

Notes:

  • [1] Historic England – Nos 1 and 2 and Garage adjacent to Ship Inn, Newton Seahouses Square: https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1041750
  • [2] Report No. 0058/6-09, Historic Environment Survey for the National Trust Properties on the Northumberland Coast, Newton – July 2009: https://www.aenvironment.co.uk/downloads/historic-landscape-characterisation/newton-coast-management-plan.pdf
  • [3] Newcastle Courant – 6 July 1833 and Durham County Advertiser – 12 July 1833.
  • [4] Brat-Nets was the name given in Northumberland for fixed drift-nets which hung in slack folds in order to entangle and strangle turbot. Brat was the local name for turbot
  • [5] Alnwick Mercury – 1 March 1879, Newcastle Courant – 28 February 1879, Shields Daily News – 28 February 1879 and Shields Daily Gazette – 2 December 1904
  • [6] Having no cargo, but carrying ballast for stability
  • [7] The Berwick Advertiser – 5 November 1880
  • [8] OS Six-Inch Map, Northumberland XXII.SE, Revised 1896, Published 1899
  • [9] OS Six-Inch Map, Northumberland XXII, Surveyed 1860, Published 1866
  • [10] Newcastle Journal – 3 April 1861
  • [11] Morpeth Herald – 6 April 1861
  • [12] Newcastle Daily Chronicle – 2 April 1861
  • [13] Newcastle Courant – 5 April 1861
  • [14] OS Six-Inch Map, Northumberland XXVII, Surveyed 1861, Published 1867
  • [15] 1861 Census England & Wales, Newton-by-the-Sea, RG09/13881/60/13
  • [16] 1871 Census England & Wales, Newton-by-the-Sea, RG10/5176/56/3
  • [17] 1881 Census England & Wales, Newton-by-the-Sea, RG11/5125/60/7
  • [18] Alnwick Mercury – 8 and 22 December 1883
  • [19] 1891 Census England & Wales, Newton-by-the-Sea, RG12/4265/127/4
  • [20] Rafters (pair of)
  • [21] A northern term for washing clothes by agitating them with a long pole or rod. Pounding of washing.
  • [22] Alnwick Mercury – 18 October 1873
  • [23] Alnwick Mercury – 4 February 1882

Additional Sources:

  • Aflalo, F. G. The Sea-Fishing Industry of England and Wales: A Popular Account of the Sea Fisheries and Fishing Ports of Those Countries. London, 1904.
  • Post Office Directory of Northumberland and Durham: With Map Engraved Expressly for the Work, and Corrected to the Time of Publication. London: Kelly and, 1858.

I did find some 19th century images but due to copyright doubts I’ve not reproduced them.