Search Results for 'benjamin'

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  • #7276
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Wood Screw Manufacturers

      The Fishers of West Bromwich.

       

      My great grandmother, Nellie Fisher, was born in 1877 in Wolverhampton.   Her father William 1834-1916 was a whitesmith, and his father William 1792-1873 was a whitesmith and master screw maker.  William’s father was Abel Fisher, wood screw maker, victualler, and according to his 1849 will, a “gentleman”.

      Nellie Fisher 1877-1956 :

      Nellie Fisher

       

      Abel Fisher was born in 1769 according to his burial document (age 81 in 1849) and on the 1841 census. Abel was a wood screw manufacturer in Wolverhampton.

      As no baptism record can be found for Abel Fisher, I read every Fisher will I could find in a 30 year period hoping to find his fathers will. I found three other Fishers who were wood screw manufacurers in neighbouring West Bromwich, which led me to assume that Abel was born in West Bromwich and related to these other Fishers.

      The wood screw making industry was a relatively new thing when Abel was born.

      “The screw was used in furniture but did not become a common woodworking fastener until efficient machine tools were developed near the end of the 18th century. The earliest record of lathe made wood screws dates to an English patent of 1760. The development of wood screws progressed from a small cottage industry in the late 18th century to a highly mechanized industry by the mid-19th century. This rapid transformation is marked by several technical innovations that help identify the time that a screw was produced. The earliest, handmade wood screws were made from hand-forged blanks. These screws were originally produced in homes and shops in and around the manufacturing centers of 18th century Europe. Individuals, families or small groups participated in the production of screw blanks and the cutting of the threads. These small operations produced screws individually, using a series of files, chisels and cutting tools to form the threads and slot the head. Screws produced by this technique can vary significantly in their shape and the thread pitch. They are most easily identified by the profusion of file marks (in many directions) over the surface. The first record regarding the industrial manufacture of wood screws is an English patent registered to Job and William Wyatt of Staffordshire in 1760.”

      Wood Screw Makers of West Bromwich:

      Edward Fisher, wood screw maker of West Bromwich, died in 1796. He mentions his wife Pheney and two underage sons in his will. Edward (whose baptism has not been found) married Pheney Mallin on 13 April 1793. Pheney was 17 years old, born in 1776. Her parents were Isaac Mallin and Sarah Firme, who were married in West Bromwich in 1768.
      Edward and Pheney’s son Edward was born on 21 October 1793, and their son Isaac in 1795. The executors of Edwards 1796 will are Daniel Fisher the Younger, Isaac Mallin, and Joseph Fisher.

      There is a marriage allegations and bonds document in 1774 for an Edward Fisher, bachelor and wood screw maker of West Bromwich, aged 25 years and upwards, and Mary Mallin of the same age, father Isaac Mallin. Isaac Mallin and Sarah didn’t marry until 1768 and Mary Mallin would have been born circa 1749. Perhaps Isaac Mallin’s father was the father of Mary Mallin. It’s possible that Edward Fisher was born in 1749 and first married Mary Mallin, and then later Pheney, but it’s also possible that the Edward Fisher who married Mary Mallin in 1774 was Edward Fishers uncle, Daniel’s brother.  (I do not know if Daniel had a brother Edward, as I haven’t found a baptism, or marriage, for Daniel Fisher the elder.)

      There are two difficulties with finding the records for these West Bromwich families. One is that the West Bromwich registers are not available online in their entirety, and are held by the Sandwell Archives, and even so, they are incomplete. Not only that, the Fishers were non conformist. There is no surviving register prior to 1787. The chapel opened in 1788, and any registers that existed before this date, taken in a meeting houses for example, appear not to have survived.

      Daniel Fisher the younger died intestate in 1818. Daniel was a wood screw maker of West Bromwich. He was born in 1751 according to his age stated as 67 on his death in 1818. Daniel’s wife Mary, and his son William Fisher, also a wood screw maker, claimed the estate.

      Daniel Fisher the elder was a farmer of West Bromwich, who died in 1806. He was 81 when he died, which makes a birth date of 1725, although no baptism has been found. No marriage has been found either, but he was probably married not earlier than 1746.

      Daniel’s sons Daniel and Joseph were the main inheritors, and he also mentions his other children and grandchildren namely William Fisher, Thomas Fisher, Hannah wife of William Hadley, two grandchildren Edward and Isaac Fisher sons of Edward Fisher his son deceased. Daniel the elder presumably refers to the wood screw manufacturing when he says “to my son Daniel Fisher the good will and advantage which may arise from his manufacture or trade now carried on by me.” Daniel does not mention a son called Abel unfortunately, but neither does he mention his other grandchildren. Abel may be Daniel’s son, or he may be a nephew.

      The Staffordshire Record Office holds the documents of a Testamentary Case in 1817. The principal people are Isaac Fisher, a legatee; Daniel and Joseph Fisher, executors. Principal place, West Bromwich, and deceased person, Daniel Fisher the elder, farmer.

      William and Sarah Fisher baptised six children in the Mares Green Non Conformist registers in West Bromwich between 1786 and 1798. William Fisher and Sarah Birch were married in West Bromwich in 1777. This William was probably born circa 1753 and was probably the son of Daniel Fisher the elder, farmer.

       

      Daniel Fisher the younger and his wife Mary had a son William, as mentioned in the intestacy papers, although I have not found a baptism for William.  I did find a baptism for another son, Eutychus Fisher in 1792.

      In White’s Directory of Staffordshire in 1834, there are three Fishers who are wood screw makers in Wolverhampton: Eutychus Fisher, Oxford Street; Stephen Fisher, Bloomsbury; and William Fisher, Oxford Street.

      Abel’s son William Fisher 1792-1873 was living on Oxford Street on the 1841 census, with his wife Mary  and their son William Fisher 1834-1916.

       

      In The European Magazine, and London Review of 1820  (Volume 77 – Page 564) under List of Patents, W Fisher and H Fisher of West Bromwich, wood screw manufacturers, are listed.  Also in 1820 in the Birmingham Chronicle, the partnership of William and Hannah Fisher, wood screw manufacturers of West Bromwich, was dissolved.

       

      In the Staffordshire General & Commercial Directory 1818, by W. Parson, three Fisher’s are listed as wood screw makers.  Abel Fisher victualler and wood screw maker, Red Lion, Walsal Road; Stephen Fisher wood screw maker, Buggans Lane; and Daniel Fisher wood screw manufacturer, Brickiln Lane.

       

      In Aris’s Birmingham Gazette on 4 January 1819 Abel Fisher is listed with 23 other wood screw manufacturers (Stephen Fisher and William Fisher included) stating that “In consequence of the rise in prices of iron and the advanced price given to journeymen screw forgers, we the undersigned manufacturers of wood screws are under the necessity of advancing screws 10 percent, to take place on the 11th january 1819.”

      Abel Fisher wood screws

       

      In Abel Fisher’s 1849 will, he names his three sons Abel Fisher 1796-1869, Paul Fisher 1811-1900 and John Southall Fisher 1801-1871 as the executors.  He also mentions his other three sons, William Fisher 1792-1873, Benjamin Fisher 1798-1870, and Joseph Fisher 1803-1876, and daughters Sarah Fisher  1794-  wife of William Colbourne, Mary Fisher  1804-  wife of Thomas Pearce, and Susannah (Hannah) Fisher  1813-  wife of Parkes.  His son Silas Fisher 1809-1837 wasn’t mentioned as he died before Abel, nor his sons John Fisher  1799-1800, and Edward Southall Fisher 1806-1843.  Abel’s wife Susannah Southall born in 1771 died in 1824.  They were married in 1791.

      The 1849 will of Abel Fisher:

      Abel Fisher 1849 will

      #7268
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        William Tomlinson

        1797-1867

         

        The Tomlinsons of Wolverhampton were butchers and publicans for several generations. Therefore it was a surprise to find that William’s father was a gentleman of independant means.

        William Tomlinson 1797-1867 was born in Wergs, Tettenhall. His birthplace, and that of his first four children, is stated as Wergs on the 1851 census. They were baptised at St Michael and All Angels church in Tettenhall Regis, as were many of the Tomlinson family including William.

        Tettenhall, St Michael and All Angels church:

        tettenhall

         

        Wergs is a very small area and there was no other William Tomlinson baptised there at the time of William’s birth. It is of course possible that another William Tomlinson was born in Wergs and the record of the baptism hasn’t been found, but there are a number of other documents that prove that John Tomlinson, gentleman of Wergs, was Williams father.

        In 1834 on the Shropshire Quarter session rolls there are two documents regarding William. In October 1834 William Tomlinson of Tettenhall, son of John, took an examination. Also in October of 1834 there is a reconizance document for William Tomlinson for “pig dealer”. On the marriage certificate of his son Charles Tomlinson to Emma Grattidge (mistranscribed as Pratadge) in 1872, father William’s occupation is “dealer”.

        William Tomlinson was a witness at his sister Catherine and Benjamin Smiths wedding in 1822 in Tettenhall. In John Tomlinson’s 1844 will, he mentions his “daughter Catherine Smith, wife of Benjamin Smith”. William’s signature as a witness at Catherine’s marriage matches his signature on the licence for his own marriage to Elizabeth Adams in 1827 in Shareshill, Staffordshire.

        William’s signature on his wedding licence:

        William Tomlinson signature 1

        Williams signature as a witness to Catherine’s marriage:

        William Tomlinson signature 2

         

        William was the eldest surviving son when his father died in 1844, so it is surprising that William only inherited £25. John Tomlinson left his various properties to his daughters, with the exception of Catherine, who also received £25.  There was one other surviving son, Sidney, born in 1814. Three of John and Sarah Tomlinson’s sons and one daughter died in infancy. Sidney was still unmarried and living at home when his father died, and in 1851 and 1861 was living with his sister Emma Wilson. He was unmarried when he died in 1867. John left Sidney an income for life in his will, but not property.

        In John Tomlinson’s will he also mentions his daughter Jemima, wife of William Smith, farmer, of Great Barr. On the 1841 census William, butcher, is a visitor. His two children Sarah and Thomas are with him. His wife Elizabeth and the rest of the children are at Graisley Street. William is also on the Graisley Street census, occupation castrator. This was no doubt done in error, not realizing that he was also registered on the census where he was visiting at the time.

        William’s wife, Elizabeth Adams, was born in Tong, Shropshire in 1807. The Adams in Tong appear to be agricultural labourers, at least on later censuses. Perhaps we can speculate that John didn’t approve of his son marrying an agricutural labourers daughter. Elizabeth would have been twenty years old at the time of the marriage; William thirty.

        #7267
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Thomas Josiah Tay

          22 Feb 1816 – 16 November 1878

           

          “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.”

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1878

           

          I first came across the name TAY in the 1844 will of John Tomlinson (1766-1844), gentleman of Wergs, Tettenhall. John’s friends, trustees and executors were Edward Moore, surgeon of Halesowen, and Edward Tay, timber merchant of Wolverhampton.

           

          1844 will John Tomlinson

           

          Edward Moore (born in 1805) was the son of John’s wife’s (Sarah Hancox born 1772) sister Lucy Hancox (born 1780) from her first marriage in 1801. In 1810 widowed Lucy married Josiah Tay (1775-1837).

          Edward Tay was the son of Sarah Hancox sister Elizabeth (born 1778), who married Thomas Tay in 1800. Thomas Tay (1770-1841) and Josiah Tay were brothers.

          Edward Tay (1803-1862) was born in Sedgley and was buried in Penn. He was innkeeper of The Fighting Cocks, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, as well as a builder and timber merchant, according to various censuses, trade directories, his marriage registration where his father Thomas Tay is also a timber merchant, as well as being named as a timber merchant in John Tomlinsons will.

          John Tomlinson’s daughter Catherine (born in 1794) married Benjamin Smith in Tettenhall in 1822. William Tomlinson (1797-1867), Catherine’s brother, and my 3x great grandfather, was one of the witnesses.

          1822 William Tomlinson witness

           

          Their daughter Matilda Sarah Smith (1823-1910) married Thomas Josiah Tay in 1850 in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah Tay (1816-1878) was Edward Tay’s brother, the sons of Elizabeth Hancox and Thomas Tay.

          Therefore, William Hancox 1737-1816 (the father of Sarah, Elizabeth and Lucy), was Matilda’s great grandfather and Thomas Josiah Tay’s grandfather.

           

          Thomas Josiah Tay’s relationship to me is the husband of first cousin four times removed, as well as my first cousin, five times removed.

           

          In 1837 Thomas Josiah Tay is mentioned in the will of his uncle Josiah Tay.

          1837 will Josiah Tay

           

          In 1841 Thomas Josiah Tay appears on the Stafford criminal registers for an “attempt to procure miscarriage”. He was found not guilty.

          According to the Staffordshire Advertiser on 14th March 1840 the listing for the Assizes included: “Thomas Ashmall and Thomas Josiah Tay, for administering noxious ingredients to Hannah Evans, of Wolverhampton, with intent to procure abortion.”

          The London Morning Herald on 19th March 1840 provides further information: “Mr Thomas Josiah Tay, a chemist and druggist, surrendered to take his trial on a charge of having administered drugs to Hannah Lear, now Hannah Evans, with intent to procure abortion.” She entered the service of Tay in 1837 and after four months “an intimacy was formed” and two months later she was “enciente”. Tay advised her to take some pills and a draught which he gave her and she became very ill. The prosecutrix admitted that she had made no mention of this until 1939. Verdict: not guilty.

          However, the case of Thomas Josiah Tay is also mentioned in a couple of law books, and the story varies slightly. In the 1841 Reports of Cases Argued and Rules at Nisi Prius, the Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case states that Thomas Ashmall feloniously, unlawfully, and maliciously, did use a certain instrument, and that Thomas Josiah Tay did procure the instrument, counsel and command Ashmall in the use of it. It concludes that Tay was not compellable to plead to the indictment, and that he did not.

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 2

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 3

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 4

           

          The Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case is also mentioned in the Encyclopedia of Forms and Precedents, 1896.

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 5

          Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 6

           

          In 1845 Thomas Josiah Tay married Isabella Southwick in Tettenhall. Two years later in 1847 Isabella died.

          In 1850 Thomas Josiah married Matilda Sarah Smith. (granddaughter of John Tomlinson, as mentioned above)

          On the 1851 census Thomas Josiah Tay was a farmer of 100 acres employing two labourers in Shelfield, Walsall, Staffordshire. Thomas Josiah and Matilda Sarah have a daughter Matilda under a year old, and they have a live in house servant.

          In 1861 Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife and their four children Ann, James, Josiah and Alice, live in Chelmarsh, Shropshire. He was a farmer of 224 acres. Mercy Smith, Matilda’s sister, lives with them, a 28 year old dairy maid.

          In 1863 Thomas Josiah Tay of Hampton Lode (Chelmarsh) Shropshire was bankrupt. Creditors include Frederick Weaver, druggist of Wolverhampton.

          In 1869 Thomas Josiah Tay was again bankrupt. He was an innkeeper at The Fighting Cocks on Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, at the time, the same inn as his uncle Edward Tay, aforementioned timber merchant.

           

          Fighting Cocks Inn

           

           

          In 1871, Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife Matilda, and their three children Alice, Edward and Maryann, were living in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah was a commercial traveller.

           

          He died on the 16th November 1878 at the age of 62 and was buried in Darlaston, Walsall. On his gravestone:

          “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.” Psalm XC 15 verse.

           

          Edward Moore, surgeon, was also a MAGISTRATE in later years. On the 1871 census he states his occupation as “magistrate for counties Worcester and Stafford, and deputy lieutenant of Worcester, formerly surgeon”. He lived at Townsend House in Halesowen for many years. His wifes name was PATTERN Lucas. Her mothers name was Pattern Hewlitt from Birmingham, an unusal name that I have not heard before. On the 1871 census, Edward’s son was a 22 year old solicitor.

          In 1861 an article appeared in the newspapers about the state of the morality of the women of Dudley. It was claimed that all the local magistrates agreed with the premise of the article, concerning unmarried women and their attitudes towards having illegitimate children. Letters appeared in subsequent newspapers signed by local magistrates, including Edward Moore, strongly disagreeing.

          Staffordshire Advertiser 17 August 1861:

          Dudley women 1861

          #6306
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Looking for Robert Staley

             

            William Warren (1835-1880) of Newhall (Stapenhill) married Elizabeth Staley (1836-1907) in 1858. Elizabeth was born in Newhall, the daughter of John Staley (1795-1876) and Jane Brothers. John was born in Newhall, and Jane was born in Armagh, Ireland, and they were married in Armagh in 1820. Elizabeths older brothers were born in Ireland: William in 1826 and Thomas in Dublin in 1830. Francis was born in Liverpool in 1834, and then Elizabeth in Newhall in 1836; thereafter the children were born in Newhall.

            Marriage of John Staley and Jane Brothers in 1820:

            1820 marriage Armagh

             

             

            My grandmother related a story about an Elizabeth Staley who ran away from boarding school and eloped to Ireland, but later returned. The only Irish connection found so far is Jane Brothers, so perhaps she meant Elizabeth Staley’s mother. A boarding school seems unlikely, and it would seem that it was John Staley who went to Ireland.

            The 1841 census states Jane’s age as 33, which would make her just 12 at the time of her marriage. The 1851 census states her age as 44, making her 13 at the time of her 1820 marriage, and the 1861 census estimates her birth year as a more likely 1804. Birth records in Ireland for her have not been found. It’s possible, perhaps, that she was in service in the Newhall area as a teenager (more likely than boarding school), and that John and Jane ran off to get married in Ireland, although I haven’t found any record of a child born to them early in their marriage. John was an agricultural labourer, and later a coal miner.

            John Staley was the son of Joseph Staley (1756-1838) and Sarah Dumolo (1764-). Joseph and Sarah were married by licence in Newhall in 1782. Joseph was a carpenter on the marriage licence, but later a collier (although not necessarily a miner).

            The Derbyshire Record Office holds records of  an “Estimate of Joseph Staley of Newhall for the cost of continuing to work Pisternhill Colliery” dated 1820 and addresssed to Mr Bloud at Calke Abbey (presumably the owner of the mine)

            Josephs parents were Robert Staley and Elizabeth. I couldn’t find a baptism or birth record for Robert Staley. Other trees on an ancestry site had his birth in Elton, but with no supporting documents. Robert, as stated in his 1795 will, was a Yeoman.

            “Yeoman: A former class of small freeholders who farm their own land; a commoner of good standing.”
            “Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.”

            He left a number of properties in Newhall and Hartshorne (near Newhall) including dwellings, enclosures, orchards, various yards, barns and acreages. It seemed to me more likely that he had inherited them, rather than moving into the village and buying them.

            There is a mention of Robert Staley in a 1782 newpaper advertisement.

            “Fire Engine To Be Sold.  An exceedingly good fire engine, with the boiler, cylinder, etc in good condition. For particulars apply to Mr Burslem at Burton-upon-Trent, or Robert Staley at Newhall near Burton, where the engine may be seen.”

            fire engine

             

            Was the fire engine perhaps connected with a foundry or a coal mine?

            I noticed that Robert Staley was the witness at a 1755 marriage in Stapenhill between Barbara Burslem and Richard Daston the younger esquire. The other witness was signed Burslem Jnr.

             

            Looking for Robert Staley

             

            I assumed that once again, in the absence of the correct records, a similarly named and aged persons baptism had been added to the tree regardless of accuracy, so I looked through the Stapenhill/Newhall parish register images page by page. There were no Staleys in Newhall at all in the early 1700s, so it seemed that Robert did come from elsewhere and I expected to find the Staleys in a neighbouring parish. But I still didn’t find any Staleys.

            I spoke to a couple of Staley descendants that I’d met during the family research. I met Carole via a DNA match some months previously and contacted her to ask about the Staleys in Elton. She also had Robert Staley born in Elton (indeed, there were many Staleys in Elton) but she didn’t have any documentation for his birth, and we decided to collaborate and try and find out more.

            I couldn’t find the earlier Elton parish registers anywhere online, but eventually found the untranscribed microfiche images of the Bishops Transcripts for Elton.

            via familysearch:
            “In its most basic sense, a bishop’s transcript is a copy of a parish register. As bishop’s transcripts generally contain more or less the same information as parish registers, they are an invaluable resource when a parish register has been damaged, destroyed, or otherwise lost. Bishop’s transcripts are often of value even when parish registers exist, as priests often recorded either additional or different information in their transcripts than they did in the original registers.”

             

            Unfortunately there was a gap in the Bishops Transcripts between 1704 and 1711 ~ exactly where I needed to look. I subsequently found out that the Elton registers were incomplete as they had been damaged by fire.

            I estimated Robert Staleys date of birth between 1710 and 1715. He died in 1795, and his son Daniel died in 1805: both of these wills were found online. Daniel married Mary Moon in Stapenhill in 1762, making a likely birth date for Daniel around 1740.

            The marriage of Robert Staley (assuming this was Robert’s father) and Alice Maceland (or Marsland or Marsden, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it presumably) was in the Bishops Transcripts for Elton in 1704. They were married in Elton on 26th February. There followed the missing parish register pages and in all likelihood the records of the baptisms of their first children. No doubt Robert was one of them, probably the first male child.

            (Incidentally, my grandfather’s Marshalls also came from Elton, a small Derbyshire village near Matlock.  The Staley’s are on my grandmothers Warren side.)

            The parish register pages resume in 1711. One of the first entries was the baptism of Robert Staley in 1711, parents Thomas and Ann. This was surely the one we were looking for, and Roberts parents weren’t Robert and Alice.

            But then in 1735 a marriage was recorded between Robert son of Robert Staley (and this was unusual, the father of the groom isn’t usually recorded on the parish register) and Elizabeth Milner. They were married on the 9th March 1735. We know that the Robert we were looking for married an Elizabeth, as her name was on the Stapenhill baptisms of their later children, including Joseph Staleys.  The 1735 marriage also fit with the assumed birth date of Daniel, circa 1740. A baptism was found for a Robert Staley in 1738 in the Elton registers, parents Robert and Elizabeth, as well as the baptism in 1736 for Mary, presumably their first child. Her burial is recorded the following year.

            The marriage of Robert Staley and Elizabeth Milner in 1735:

            rbt staley marriage 1735

             

            There were several other Staley couples of a similar age in Elton, perhaps brothers and cousins. It seemed that Thomas and Ann’s son Robert was a different Robert, and that the one we were looking for was prior to that and on the missing pages.

            Even so, this doesn’t prove that it was Elizabeth Staleys great grandfather who was born in Elton, but no other birth or baptism for Robert Staley has been found. It doesn’t explain why the Staleys moved to Stapenhill either, although the Enclosures Act and the Industrial Revolution could have been factors.

            The 18th century saw the rise of the Industrial Revolution and many renowned Derbyshire Industrialists emerged. They created the turning point from what was until then a largely rural economy, to the development of townships based on factory production methods.

            The Marsden Connection

            There are some possible clues in the records of the Marsden family.  Robert Staley married Alice Marsden (or Maceland or Marsland) in Elton in 1704.  Robert Staley is mentioned in the 1730 will of John Marsden senior,  of Baslow, Innkeeper (Peacock Inne & Whitlands Farm). He mentions his daughter Alice, wife of Robert Staley.

            In a 1715 Marsden will there is an intriguing mention of an alias, which might explain the different spellings on various records for the name Marsden:  “MARSDEN alias MASLAND, Christopher – of Baslow, husbandman, 28 Dec 1714. son Robert MARSDEN alias MASLAND….” etc.

            Some potential reasons for a move from one parish to another are explained in this history of the Marsden family, and indeed this could relate to Robert Staley as he married into the Marsden family and his wife was a beneficiary of a Marsden will.  The Chatsworth Estate, at various times, bought a number of farms in order to extend the park.

            THE MARSDEN FAMILY
            OXCLOSE AND PARKGATE
            In the Parishes of
            Baslow and Chatsworth

            by
            David Dalrymple-Smith

            John Marsden (b1653) another son of Edmund (b1611) faired well. By the time he died in
            1730 he was publican of the Peacock, the Inn on Church Lane now called the Cavendish
            Hotel, and the farmer at “Whitlands”, almost certainly Bubnell Cliff Farm.”

            “Coal mining was well known in the Chesterfield area. The coalfield extends as far as the
            Gritstone edges, where thin seams outcrop especially in the Baslow area.”

            “…the occupants were evicted from the farmland below Dobb Edge and
            the ground carefully cleared of all traces of occupation and farming. Shelter belts were
            planted especially along the Heathy Lea Brook. An imposing new drive was laid to the
            Chatsworth House with the Lodges and “The Golden Gates” at its northern end….”

            Although this particular event was later than any events relating to Robert Staley, it’s an indication of how farms and farmland disappeared, and a reason for families to move to another area:

            “The Dukes of Devonshire (of Chatsworth)  were major figures in the aristocracy and the government of the
            time. Such a position demanded a display of wealth and ostentation. The 6th Duke of
            Devonshire, the Bachelor Duke, was not content with the Chatsworth he inherited in 1811,
            and immediately started improvements. After major changes around Edensor, he turned his
            attention at the north end of the Park. In 1820 plans were made extend the Park up to the
            Baslow parish boundary. As this would involve the destruction of most of the Farm at
            Oxclose, the farmer at the Higher House Samuel Marsden (b1755) was given the tenancy of
            Ewe Close a large farm near Bakewell.
            Plans were revised in 1824 when the Dukes of Devonshire and Rutland “Exchanged Lands”,
            reputedly during a game of dice. Over 3300 acres were involved in several local parishes, of
            which 1000 acres were in Baslow. In the deal Devonshire acquired the southeast corner of
            Baslow Parish.
            Part of the deal was Gibbet Moor, which was developed for “Sport”. The shelf of land
            between Parkgate and Robin Hood and a few extra fields was left untouched. The rest,
            between Dobb Edge and Baslow, was agricultural land with farms, fields and houses. It was
            this last part that gave the Duke the opportunity to improve the Park beyond his earlier
            expectations.”

             

            The 1795 will of Robert Staley.

            Inriguingly, Robert included the children of his son Daniel Staley in his will, but omitted to leave anything to Daniel.  A perusal of Daniels 1808 will sheds some light on this:  Daniel left his property to his six reputed children with Elizabeth Moon, and his reputed daughter Mary Brearly. Daniels wife was Mary Moon, Elizabeths husband William Moons daughter.

            The will of Robert Staley, 1795:

            1795 will 2

            1795 Rbt Staley will

             

            The 1805 will of Daniel Staley, Robert’s son:

            This is the last will and testament of me Daniel Staley of the Township of Newhall in the parish of Stapenhill in the County of Derby, Farmer. I will and order all of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses to be fully paid and satisfied by my executors hereinafter named by and out of my personal estate as soon as conveniently may be after my decease.

            I give, devise and bequeath to Humphrey Trafford Nadin of Church Gresely in the said County of Derby Esquire and John Wilkinson of Newhall aforesaid yeoman all my messuages, lands, tenements, hereditaments and real and personal estates to hold to them, their heirs, executors, administrators and assigns until Richard Moon the youngest of my reputed sons by Elizabeth Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years upon trust that they, my said trustees, (or the survivor of them, his heirs, executors, administrators or assigns), shall and do manage and carry on my farm at Newhall aforesaid and pay and apply the rents, issues and profits of all and every of my said real and personal estates in for and towards the support, maintenance and education of all my reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon until the said Richard Moon my youngest reputed son shall attain his said age of twenty one years and equally share and share and share alike.

            And it is my will and desire that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall recruit and keep up the stock upon my farm as they in their discretion shall see occasion or think proper and that the same shall not be diminished. And in case any of my said reputed children by the said Elizabeth Moon shall be married before my said reputed youngest son shall attain his age of twenty one years that then it is my will and desire that non of their husbands or wives shall come to my farm or be maintained there or have their abode there. That it is also my will and desire in case my reputed children or any of them shall not be steady to business but instead shall be wild and diminish the stock that then my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority in their discretion to sell and dispose of all or any part of my said personal estate and to put out the money arising from the sale thereof to interest and to pay and apply the interest thereof and also thereunto of the said real estate in for and towards the maintenance, education and support of all my said reputed children by the said
            Elizabeth Moon as they my said trustees in their discretion that think proper until the said Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years.

            Then I give to my grandson Daniel Staley the sum of ten pounds and to each and every of my sons and daughters namely Daniel Staley, Benjamin Staley, John Staley, William Staley, Elizabeth Dent and Sarah Orme and to my niece Ann Brearly the sum of five pounds apiece.

            I give to my youngest reputed son Richard Moon one share in the Ashby Canal Navigation and I direct that my said trustees or trustee for the time being shall have full power and authority to pay and apply all or any part of the fortune or legacy hereby intended for my youngest reputed son Richard Moon in placing him out to any trade, business or profession as they in their discretion shall think proper.
            And I direct that to my said sons and daughters by my late wife and my said niece shall by wholly paid by my said reputed son Richard Moon out of the fortune herby given him. And it is my will and desire that my said reputed children shall deliver into the hands of my executors all the monies that shall arise from the carrying on of my business that is not wanted to carry on the same unto my acting executor and shall keep a just and true account of all disbursements and receipts of the said business and deliver up the same to my acting executor in order that there may not be any embezzlement or defraud amongst them and from and immediately after my said reputed youngest son Richard Moon shall attain his age of twenty one years then I give, devise and bequeath all my real estate and all the residue and remainder of my personal estate of what nature and kind whatsoever and wheresoever unto and amongst all and every my said reputed sons and daughters namely William Moon, Thomas Moon, Joseph Moon, Richard Moon, Ann Moon, Margaret Moon and to my reputed daughter Mary Brearly to hold to them and their respective heirs, executors, administrator and assigns for ever according to the nature and tenure of the same estates respectively to take the same as tenants in common and not as joint tenants.

            And lastly I nominate and appoint the said Humphrey Trafford Nadin and John Wilkinson executors of this my last will and testament and guardians of all my reputed children who are under age during their respective minorities hereby revoking all former and other wills by me heretofore made and declaring this only to be my last will.

            In witness whereof I the said Daniel Staley the testator have to this my last will and testament set my hand and seal the eleventh day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five.

             

            #6301
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The Warrens of Stapenhill

               

              There were so many Warren’s in Stapenhill that it was complicated to work out who was who. I had gone back as far as Samuel Warren marrying Catherine Holland, and this was as far back as my cousin Ian Warren had gone in his research some decades ago as well. The Holland family from Barton under Needwood are particularly interesting, and will be a separate chapter.

              Stapenhill village by John Harden:

              Stapenhill

               

              Resuming the research on the Warrens, Samuel Warren 1771-1837 married Catherine Holland 1775-1861 in 1795 and their son Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge, whose childless brother Benjamin Bridge left the Warren Brothers Boiler Works in Newhall to his nephews, the Warren brothers.

              Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland marriage licence 1795:

              Samuel Warren Catherine Holland

               

              Samuel (born 1771) was baptised at Stapenhill St Peter and his parents were William and Anne Warren. There were at least three William and Ann Warrens in town at the time. One of those William’s was born in 1744, which would seem to be the right age to be Samuel’s father, and one was born in 1710, which seemed a little too old. Another William, Guiliamos Warren (Latin was often used in early parish registers) was baptised in Stapenhill in 1729.

              Stapenhill St Peter:

              Stapenhill St Peter

               

              William Warren (born 1744) appeared to have been born several months before his parents wedding. William Warren and Ann Insley married 16 July 1744, but the baptism of William in 1744 was 24 February. This seemed unusual ~ children were often born less than nine months after a wedding, but not usually before the wedding! Then I remembered the change from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1752. Prior to 1752, the first day of the year was Lady Day, March 25th, not January 1st. This meant that the birth in February 1744 was actually after the wedding in July 1744. Now it made sense. The first son was named William, and he was born seven months after the wedding.

              William born in 1744 died intestate in 1822, and his wife Ann made a legal claim to his estate. However he didn’t marry Ann Holland (Ann was Catherines Hollands sister, who married Samuel Warren the year before) until 1796, so this William and Ann were not the parents of Samuel.

              It seemed likely that William born in 1744 was Samuels brother. William Warren and Ann Insley had at least eight children between 1744 and 1771, and it seems that Samuel was their last child, born when William the elder was 61 and his wife Ann was 47.

              It seems it wasn’t unusual for the Warren men to marry rather late in life. William Warren’s (born 1710) parents were William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton. On the marriage licence in 1702/1703 (it appears to say 1703 but is transcribed as 1702), William was a 40 year old bachelor from Stapenhill, which puts his date of birth at 1662. Elizabeth was considerably younger, aged 19.

              William Warren and Elizabeth Hatterton marriage licence 1703:

              William Warren 1702

               

              These Warren’s were farmers, and they were literate and able to sign their own names on various documents. This is worth noting, as most made the mark of an X.

              I found three Warren and Holland marriages. One was Samuel Warren and Catherine Holland in 1795, then William Warren and Ann Holland in 1796. William Warren and Ann Hollands daughter born in 1799 married John Holland in 1824.

              Elizabeth Hatterton (wife of William Warren who was born circa 1662) was born in Burton upon Trent in 1685. Her parents were Edward Hatterton 1655-1722, and Sara.

              A page from the 1722 will of Edward Hatterton:

              Edward Hatterton 1722

               

              The earliest Warren I found records for was William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton in 1703. The marriage licence states his age as 40 and that he was from Stapenhill, but none of the Stapenhill parish records online go back as far as 1662.  On other public trees on ancestry websites, a birth record from Suffolk has been chosen, probably because it was the only record to be found online with the right name and date. Once again, I don’t think that is correct, and perhaps one day I’ll find some earlier Stapenhill records to prove that he was born in locally.

               

              Subsequently, I found a list of the 1662 Hearth Tax for Stapenhill. On it were a number of Warrens, three William Warrens including one who was a constable. One of those William Warrens had a son he named William (as they did, hence the number of William Warrens in the tree) the same year as this hearth tax list.

              But was it the William Warren with 2 chimneys, the one with one chimney who was too poor to pay it, or the one who was a constable?

              from the list:
              Will. Warryn 2
              Richard Warryn 1
              William Warren Constable
              These names are not payable by Act:
              Will. Warryn 1
              Richard Warren John Watson
              over seers of the poore and churchwardens

              The Hearth Tax:

              via wiki:
              In England, hearth tax, also known as hearth money, chimney tax, or chimney money, was a tax imposed by Parliament in 1662, to support the Royal Household of King Charles II. Following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, Parliament calculated that the Royal Household needed an annual income of £1,200,000. The hearth tax was a supplemental tax to make up the shortfall. It was considered easier to establish the number of hearths than the number of heads, hearths forming a more stationary subject for taxation than people. This form of taxation was new to England, but had precedents abroad. It generated considerable debate, but was supported by the economist Sir William Petty, and carried through the Commons by the influential West Country member Sir Courtenay Pole, 2nd Baronet (whose enemies nicknamed him “Sir Chimney Poll” as a result).  The bill received Royal Assent on 19 May 1662, with the first payment due on 29 September 1662, Michaelmas.
              One shilling was liable to be paid for every firehearth or stove, in all dwellings, houses, edifices or lodgings, and was payable at Michaelmas, 29 September and on Lady Day, 25 March. The tax thus amounted to two shillings per hearth or stove per year. The original bill contained a practical shortcoming in that it did not distinguish between owners and occupiers and was potentially a major burden on the poor as there were no exemptions. The bill was subsequently amended so that the tax was paid by the occupier. Further amendments introduced a range of exemptions that ensured that a substantial proportion of the poorer people did not have to pay the tax.

               

              Indeed it seems clear that William Warren the elder came from Stapenhill and not Suffolk, and one of the William Warrens paying hearth tax in 1662 was undoubtedly the father of William Warren who married Elizabeth Hatterton.

              #6283
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Purdy Cousins

                 

                My great grandmother Mary Ann Gilman Purdy was one of five children.  Her sister Ellen Purdy was a well traveled nurse, and her sister Kate Rushby was a publican whose son who went to Africa. But what of her eldest sister Elizabeth and her brother Richard?

                 

                Elizabeth Purdy 1869-1905 married Benjamin George Little in 1892 in Basford, Nottinghamshire.  Their first child, Frieda Olive Little, was born in Eastwood in December 1896, and their second daughter Catherine Jane Little was born in Warrington, Cheshire, in 1898. A third daughter, Edna Francis Little was born in 1900, but died three months later.

                When I noticed that this unidentified photograph in our family collection was taken by a photographer in Warrington,  and as no other family has been found in Warrington, I concluded that these two little girls are Frieda and Catherine:

                Catherine and Frieda Little

                 

                Benjamin Little, born in 1869, was the manager of a boot shop, according to the 1901 census, and a boot maker on the 1911 census. I found a photograph of Benjamin and Elizabeth Little on an ancestry website:

                Benjamin and Elizabeth Little

                 

                Frieda Olive Little 1896-1977 married Robert Warburton in 1924.

                Frieda and Robert had two sons and a daughter, although one son died in infancy.  They lived in Leominster, in Herefordshire, but Frieda died in 1977 at Enfield Farm in Warrington, four years after the death of her husband Robert.

                Catherine Jane Little 1899-1975 married Llewelyn Robert Prince 1884-1950.  They do not appear to have had any children.  Llewelyn was manager of the National Provinical Bank at Eltham in London, but died at Brook Cottage in Kingsland, Herefordshire.  His wifes aunt Ellen Purdy the nurse had also lived at Brook Cottage.  Ellen died in 1947, but her husband Frank Garbett was at the funeral:

                Llewelyn Prince

                 

                Richard Purdy 1877-1940

                Richard was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. When his mother Catherine died in 1884 Richard was six years old.  My great grandmother Mary Ann and her sister Ellen went to live with the Gilman’s in Buxton, but Richard and the two older sisters, Elizabeth and Kate, stayed with their father George Purdy, who remarried soon afterwards.

                Richard married Ada Elizabeth Clarke in 1899.  In 1901 Richard was an earthenware packer at a pottery, and on the 1939 census he was a colliery dataller.  A dataller was a day wage man, paid on a daily basis for work done as required.

                Richard and Ada had four children: Richard Baden Purdy 1900-1945, Winifred Maude 1903-1974, John Frederick 1907-1945, and Violet Gertrude 1910-1974.

                Richard Baden Purdy married Ethel May Potter in Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, in 1926.  He was listed on the 1939 census as a colliery deputy.  In 1945 Richard Baden Purdy died as a result of injuries in a mine explosion.

                Richard Baden Purdy

                 

                John Frederick Purdy married Iris Merryweather in 1938. On the 1939 census John and Iris live in Arnold, Nottinghamshire, and John’s occupation is a colliery hewer.  Their daughter Barbara Elizabeth was born later that year.  John died in 1945, the same year as his brother Richard Baden Purdy. It is not known without purchasing the death certificate what the cause of death was.

                A memorial was posted in the Nottingham Evening Post on 29 June 1948:

                PURDY, loving memories, Richard Baden, accidentally killed June 29th 1945; John Frederick, died 1 April 1945; Richard Purdy, father, died December 1940. Too dearly loved to be forgotten. Mother, families.

                Violet Gertrude Purdy married Sidney Garland in 1932 in Southwell, Nottinghamshire.  She died in Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, in 1974.

                Winifred Maude Purdy married Bernard Fowler in Southwell in 1928.  She also died in 1974, in Mansfield.

                The two brothers died the same year, in 1945, and the two sisters died the same year, in 1974.

                #6267
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  From Tanganyika with Love

                  continued part 8

                  With thanks to Mike Rushby.

                  Morogoro 20th January 1941

                  Dearest Family,

                  It is all arranged for us to go on three months leave to Cape Town next month so
                  get out your flags. How I shall love showing off Kate and John to you and this time
                  George will be with us and you’ll be able to get to know him properly. You can’t think
                  what a comfort it will be to leave all the worries of baggage and tipping to him. We will all
                  be travelling by ship to Durban and from there to Cape Town by train. I rather dread the
                  journey because there is a fifth little Rushby on the way and, as always, I am very
                  queasy.

                  Kate has become such a little companion to me that I dread the thought of leaving
                  her behind with you to start schooling. I miss Ann and George so much now and must
                  face separation from Kate as well. There does not seem to be any alternative though.
                  There is a boarding school in Arusha and another has recently been started in Mbeya,
                  but both places are so far away and I know she would be very unhappy as a boarder at
                  this stage. Living happily with you and attending a day school might wean her of her
                  dependance upon me. As soon as this wretched war ends we mean to get Ann and
                  George back home and Kate too and they can then all go to boarding school together.
                  If I were a more methodical person I would try to teach Kate myself, but being a
                  muddler I will have my hands full with Johnny and the new baby. Life passes pleasantly
                  but quietly here. Much of my time is taken up with entertaining the children and sewing
                  for them and just waiting for George to come home.

                  George works so hard on these safaris and this endless elephant hunting to
                  protect native crops entails so much foot safari, that he has lost a good deal of weight. it
                  is more than ten years since he had a holiday so he is greatly looking forward to this one.
                  Four whole months together!

                  I should like to keep the ayah, Janet, for the new baby, but she says she wants
                  to return to her home in the Southern Highlands Province and take a job there. She is
                  unusually efficient and so clean, and the houseboy and cook are quite scared of her. She
                  bawls at them if the children’s meals are served a few minutes late but she is always
                  respectful towards me and practically creeps around on tiptoe when George is home.
                  She has a room next to the outside kitchen. One night thieves broke into the kitchen and
                  stole a few things, also a canvas chair and mat from the verandah. Ayah heard them, and
                  grabbing a bit of firewood, she gave chase. Her shouts so alarmed the thieves that they
                  ran off up the hill jettisoning their loot as they ran. She is a great character.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 30th July 1941

                  Dearest Family,

                  Safely back in Morogoro after a rather grim voyage from Durban. Our ship was
                  completely blacked out at night and we had to sleep with warm clothing and life belts
                  handy and had so many tedious boat drills. It was a nuisance being held up for a whole
                  month in Durban, because I was so very pregnant when we did embark. In fact George
                  suggested that I had better hide in the ‘Ladies’ until the ship sailed for fear the Captain
                  might refuse to take me. It seems that the ship, on which we were originally booked to
                  travel, was torpedoed somewhere off the Cape.

                  We have been given a very large house this tour with a mosquito netted
                  sleeping porch which will be fine for the new baby. The only disadvantage is that the
                  house is on the very edge of the residential part of Morogoro and Johnny will have to
                  go quite a distance to find playmates.

                  I still miss Kate terribly. She is a loving little person. I had prepared for a scene
                  when we said good-bye but I never expected that she would be the comforter. It
                  nearly broke my heart when she put her arms around me and said, “I’m so sorry
                  Mummy, please don’t cry. I’ll be good. Please don’t cry.” I’m afraid it was all very
                  harrowing for you also. It is a great comfort to hear that she has settled down so happily.
                  I try not to think consciously of my absent children and remind myself that there are
                  thousands of mothers in the same boat, but they are always there at the back of my
                  mind.

                  Mother writes that Ann and George are perfectly happy and well, and that though
                  German bombers do fly over fairly frequently, they are unlikely to drop their bombs on
                  a small place like Jacksdale.

                  George has already left on safari to the Rufiji. There was no replacement for his
                  job while he was away so he is anxious to get things moving again. Johnny and I are
                  going to move in with friends until he returns, just in case all the travelling around brings
                  the new baby on earlier than expected.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 26th August 1941

                  Dearest Family,

                  Our new son, James Caleb. was born at 3.30 pm yesterday afternoon, with a
                  minimum of fuss, in the hospital here. The Doctor was out so my friend, Sister Murray,
                  delivered the baby. The Sister is a Scots girl, very efficient and calm and encouraging,
                  and an ideal person to have around at such a time.

                  Everything, this time, went without a hitch and I feel fine and proud of my
                  bouncing son. He weighs nine pounds and ten ounces and is a big boned fellow with
                  dark hair and unusually strongly marked eyebrows. His eyes are strong too and already
                  seem to focus. George is delighted with him and brought Hugh Nelson to see him this
                  morning. Hugh took one look, and, astonished I suppose by the baby’s apparent
                  awareness, said, “Gosh, this one has been here before.” The baby’s cot is beside my
                  bed so I can admire him as much as I please. He has large strong hands and George
                  reckons he’ll make a good boxer some day.

                  Another of my early visitors was Mabemba, George’s orderly. He is a very big
                  African and looks impressive in his Game Scouts uniform. George met him years ago at
                  Mahenge when he was a young elephant hunter and Mabemba was an Askari in the
                  Police. Mabemba takes quite a proprietary interest in the family.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 25th December 1941

                  Dearest Family,

                  Christmas Day today, but not a gay one. I have Johnny in bed with a poisoned
                  leg so he missed the children’s party at the Club. To make things a little festive I have
                  put up a little Christmas tree in the children’s room and have hung up streamers and
                  balloons above the beds. Johnny demands a lot of attention so it is fortunate that little
                  James is such a very good baby. He sleeps all night until 6 am when his feed is due.
                  One morning last week I got up as usual to feed him but I felt so dopey that I
                  thought I’d better have a cold wash first. I went into the bathroom and had a hurried
                  splash and then grabbed a towel to dry my face. Immediately I felt an agonising pain in
                  my nose. Reason? There was a scorpion in the towel! In no time at all my nose looked
                  like a pear and felt burning hot. The baby screamed with frustration whilst I feverishly
                  bathed my nose and applied this and that in an effort to cool it.

                  For three days my nose was very red and tender,”A real boozer nose”, said
                  George. But now, thank goodness, it is back to normal.

                  Some of the younger marrieds and a couple of bachelors came around,
                  complete with portable harmonium, to sing carols in the early hours. No sooner had we
                  settled down again to woo sleep when we were disturbed by shouts and screams from
                  our nearest neighbour’s house. “Just celebrating Christmas”, grunted George, but we
                  heard this morning that the neighbour had fallen down his verandah steps and broken his
                  leg.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro Hospital 30th September 1943

                  Dearest Family,

                  Well now we are eight! Our new son, Henry, was born on the night of the 28th.
                  He is a beautiful baby, weighing ten pounds three and a half ounces. This baby is very
                  well developed, handsome, and rather superior looking, and not at all amusing to look at
                  as the other boys were.George was born with a moustache, John had a large nose and
                  looked like a little old man, and Jim, bless his heart, looked rather like a baby
                  chimpanzee. Henry is different. One of my visitors said, “Heaven he’ll have to be a
                  Bishop!” I expect the lawn sleeves of his nightie really gave her that idea, but the baby
                  does look like ‘Someone’. He is very good and George, John, and Jim are delighted
                  with him, so is Mabemba.

                  We have a dear little nurse looking after us. She is very petite and childish
                  looking. When the baby was born and she brought him for me to see, the nurse asked
                  his name. I said jokingly, “His name is Benjamin – the last of the family.” She is now very
                  peeved to discover that his real name is Henry William and persists in calling him
                  ‘Benjie’.I am longing to get home and into my pleasant rut. I have been away for two
                  whole weeks and George is managing so well that I shall feel quite expendable if I don’t
                  get home soon. As our home is a couple of miles from the hospital, I arranged to move
                  in and stay with the nursing sister on the day the baby was due. There I remained for ten
                  whole days before the baby was born. Each afternoon George came and took me for a
                  ride in the bumpy Bedford lorry and the Doctor tried this and that but the baby refused
                  to be hurried.

                  On the tenth day I had the offer of a lift and decided to go home for tea and
                  surprise George. It was a surprise too, because George was entertaining a young
                  Game Ranger for tea and my arrival, looking like a perambulating big top, must have
                  been rather embarrassing.Henry was born at the exact moment that celebrations started
                  in the Township for the end of the Muslim religious festival of Ramadan. As the Doctor
                  held him up by his ankles, there was the sound of hooters and firecrackers from the town.
                  The baby has a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon above his left eyebrow.

                  Eleanor.

                  Morogoro 26th January 1944

                  Dearest Family,

                  We have just heard that we are to be transferred to the Headquarters of the
                  Game Department at a place called Lyamungu in the Northern Province. George is not
                  at all pleased because he feels that the new job will entail a good deal of office work and
                  that his beloved but endless elephant hunting will be considerably curtailed. I am glad of
                  that and I am looking forward to seeing a new part of Tanganyika and particularly
                  Kilimanjaro which dominates Lyamungu.

                  Thank goodness our menagerie is now much smaller. We found a home for the
                  guinea pigs last December and Susie, our mischievous guinea-fowl, has flown off to find
                  a mate.Last week I went down to Dar es Salaam for a check up by Doctor John, a
                  woman doctor, leaving George to cope with the three boys. I was away two nights and
                  a day and returned early in the morning just as George was giving Henry his six o’clock
                  bottle. It always amazes me that so very masculine a man can do my chores with no
                  effort and I have a horrible suspicion that he does them better than I do. I enjoyed the
                  short break at the coast very much. I stayed with friends and we bathed in the warm sea
                  and saw a good film.

                  Now I suppose there will be a round of farewell parties. People in this country
                  are most kind and hospitable.

                  Eleanor.

                  Lyamungu 20th March 1944

                  Dearest Family,

                  We left Morogoro after the round of farewell parties I had anticipated. The final
                  one was at the Club on Saturday night. George made a most amusing speech and the
                  party was a very pleasant occasion though I was rather tired after all the packing.
                  Several friends gathered to wave us off on Monday morning. We had two lorries
                  loaded with our goods. I rode in the cab of the first one with Henry on my knee. George
                  with John and Jim rode in the second one. As there was no room for them in the cab,
                  they sat on our couch which was placed across the width of the lorry behind the cab. This
                  seat was not as comfortable as it sounds, because the space behind the couch was
                  taken up with packing cases which were not lashed in place and these kept moving
                  forward as the lorry bumped its way over the bad road.

                  Soon there was hardly any leg room and George had constantly to stand up and
                  push the second layer of packing cases back to prevent them from toppling over onto
                  the children and himself. As it is now the rainy season the road was very muddy and
                  treacherous and the lorries travelled so slowly it was dark by the time we reached
                  Karogwe from where we were booked to take the train next morning to Moshi.
                  Next morning we heard that there had been a washaway on the line and that the
                  train would be delayed for at least twelve hours. I was not feeling well and certainly did
                  not enjoy my day. Early in the afternoon Jimmy ran into a wall and blackened both his
                  eyes. What a child! As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and when at last the train
                  did arrive I simply crawled into my bunk whilst George coped nobly with the luggage
                  and the children.

                  We arrived at Moshi at breakfast time and went straight to the Lion Cub Hotel
                  where I took to my bed with a high temperature. It was, of course, malaria. I always have
                  my attacks at the most inopportune times. Fortunately George ran into some friends
                  called Eccles and the wife Mollie came to my room and bathed Henry and prepared his
                  bottle and fed him. George looked after John and Jim. Next day I felt much better and
                  we drove out to Lyamungu the day after. There we had tea with the Game Warden and
                  his wife before moving into our new home nearby.

                  The Game Warden is Captain Monty Moore VC. He came out to Africa
                  originally as an Officer in the King’s African Rifles and liked the country so much he left the
                  Army and joined the Game Department. He was stationed at Banagi in the Serengetti
                  Game Reserve and is well known for his work with the lions there. He particularly tamed
                  some of the lions by feeding them so that they would come out into the open and could
                  readily be photographed by tourists. His wife Audrey, has written a book about their
                  experiences at Banagi. It is called “Serengetti”

                  Our cook, Hamisi, soon had a meal ready for us and we all went to bed early.
                  This is a very pleasant house and I know we will be happy here. I still feel a little shaky
                  but that is the result of all the quinine I have taken. I expect I shall feel fine in a day or two.

                  Eleanor.

                  Lyamungu 15th May 1944

                  Dearest Family,

                  Well, here we are settled comfortably in our very nice house. The house is
                  modern and roomy, and there is a large enclosed verandah, which will be a Godsend in
                  the wet weather as a playroom for the children. The only drawback is that there are so
                  many windows to be curtained and cleaned. The grounds consist of a very large lawn
                  and a few beds of roses and shrubs. It is an ideal garden for children, unlike our steeply
                  terraced garden at Morogoro.

                  Lyamungu is really the Government Coffee Research Station. It is about sixteen
                  miles from the town of Moshi which is the centre of the Tanganyika coffee growing
                  industry. Lyamungu, which means ‘place of God’ is in the foothills of Mt Kilimanjaro and
                  we have a beautiful view of Kilimanjaro. Kibo, the more spectacular of the two mountain
                  peaks, towers above us, looking from this angle, like a giant frosted plum pudding. Often the mountain is veiled by cloud and mist which sometimes comes down to
                  our level so that visibility is practically nil. George dislikes both mist and mountain but I
                  like both and so does John. He in fact saw Kibo before I did. On our first day here, the
                  peak was completely hidden by cloud. In the late afternoon when the children were
                  playing on the lawn outside I was indoors hanging curtains. I heard John call out, “Oh
                  Mummy, isn’t it beautiful!” I ran outside and there, above a scarf of cloud, I saw the
                  showy dome of Kibo with the setting sun shining on it tingeing the snow pink. It was an
                  unforgettable experience.

                  As this is the rainy season, the surrounding country side is very lush and green.
                  Everywhere one sees the rich green of the coffee plantations and the lighter green of
                  the banana groves. Unfortunately our walks are rather circumscribed. Except for the main road to Moshi, there is nowhere to walk except through the Government coffee
                  plantation. Paddy, our dog, thinks life is pretty boring as there is no bush here and
                  nothing to hunt. There are only half a dozen European families here and half of those are
                  on very distant terms with the other half which makes the station a rather uncomfortable
                  one.

                  The coffee expert who runs this station is annoyed because his European staff
                  has been cut down owing to the war, and three of the vacant houses and some office
                  buildings have been taken over temporarily by the Game Department. Another house
                  has been taken over by the head of the Labour Department. However I don’t suppose
                  the ill feeling will effect us much. We are so used to living in the bush that we are not
                  socially inclined any way.

                  Our cook, Hamisi, came with us from Morogoro but I had to engage a new
                  houseboy and kitchenboy. I first engaged a houseboy who produced a wonderful ‘chit’
                  in which his previous employer describes him as his “friend and confidant”. I felt rather
                  dubious about engaging him and how right I was. On his second day with us I produced
                  some of Henry’s napkins, previously rinsed by me, and asked this boy to wash them.
                  He looked most offended and told me that it was beneath his dignity to do women’s
                  work. We parted immediately with mutual relief.

                  Now I have a good natured fellow named Japhet who, though hard on crockery,
                  is prepared to do anything and loves playing with the children. He is a local boy, a
                  member of the Chagga tribe. These Chagga are most intelligent and, on the whole, well
                  to do as they all have their own small coffee shambas. Japhet tells me that his son is at
                  the Uganda University College studying medicine.The kitchen boy is a tall youth called
                  Tovelo, who helps both Hamisi, the cook, and the houseboy and also keeps an eye on
                  Henry when I am sewing. I still make all the children’s clothes and my own. Life is
                  pleasant but dull. George promises that he will take the whole family on safari when
                  Henry is a little older.

                  Eleanor.

                  Lyamungu 18th July 1944

                  Dearest Family,

                  Life drifts quietly by at Lyamungu with each day much like the one before – or
                  they would be, except that the children provide the sort of excitement that prohibits
                  boredom. Of the three boys our Jim is the best at this. Last week Jim wandered into the
                  coffee plantation beside our house and chewed some newly spayed berries. Result?
                  A high temperature and nasty, bloody diarrhoea, so we had to rush him to the hospital at
                  Moshi for treatment. however he was well again next day and George went off on safari.
                  That night there was another crisis. As the nights are now very cold, at this high
                  altitude, we have a large fire lit in the living room and the boy leaves a pile of logs
                  beside the hearth so that I can replenish the fire when necessary. Well that night I took
                  Henry off to bed, leaving John and Jim playing in the living room. When their bedtime
                  came, I called them without leaving the bedroom. When I had tucked John and Jim into
                  bed, I sat reading a bedtime story as I always do. Suddenly I saw smoke drifting
                  through the door, and heard a frightening rumbling noise. Japhet rushed in to say that the
                  lounge chimney was on fire! Picture me, panic on the inside and sweet smile on the
                  outside, as I picked Henry up and said to the other two, “There’s nothing to be
                  frightened about chaps, but get up and come outside for a bit.” Stupid of me to be so
                  heroic because John and Jim were not at all scared but only too delighted at the chance
                  of rushing about outside in the dark. The fire to them was just a bit of extra fun.

                  We hurried out to find one boy already on the roof and the other passing up a
                  brimming bucket of water. Other boys appeared from nowhere and soon cascades of
                  water were pouring down the chimney. The result was a mountain of smouldering soot
                  on the hearth and a pool of black water on the living room floor. However the fire was out
                  and no serious harm done because all the floors here are cement and another stain on
                  the old rug will hardly be noticed. As the children reluctantly returned to bed John
                  remarked smugly, “I told Jim not to put all the wood on the fire at once but he wouldn’t
                  listen.” I might have guessed!

                  However it was not Jim but John who gave me the worst turn of all this week. As
                  a treat I decided to take the boys to the river for a picnic tea. The river is not far from our
                  house but we had never been there before so I took the kitchen boy, Tovelo, to show
                  us the way. The path is on the level until one is in sight of the river when the bank slopes
                  steeply down. I decided that it was too steep for the pram so I stopped to lift Henry out
                  and carry him. When I looked around I saw John running down the slope towards the
                  river. The stream is not wide but flows swiftly and I had no idea how deep it was. All I
                  knew was that it was a trout stream. I called for John, “Stop, wait for me!” but he ran on
                  and made for a rude pole bridge which spanned the river. He started to cross and then,
                  to my horror, I saw John slip. There was a splash and he disappeared under the water. I
                  just dumped the baby on the ground, screamed to the boy to mind him and ran madly
                  down the slope to the river. Suddenly I saw John’s tight fitting felt hat emerge, then his
                  eyes and nose. I dashed into the water and found, to my intense relief, that it only
                  reached up to my shoulders but, thank heaven no further. John’s steady eyes watched
                  me trustingly as I approached him and carried him safely to the bank. He had been
                  standing on a rock and had not panicked at all though he had to stand up very straight
                  and tall to keep his nose out of water. I was too proud of him to scold him for
                  disobedience and too wet anyway.

                  I made John undress and put on two spare pullovers and wrapped Henry’s
                  baby blanket round his waist like a sarong. We made a small fire over which I crouched
                  with literally chattering teeth whilst Tovelo ran home to fetch a coat for me and dry clothes
                  for John.

                  Eleanor.

                  Lyamungu 16th August 1944

                  Dearest Family,

                  We have a new bull terrier bitch pup whom we have named Fanny III . So once
                  more we have a menagerie , the two dogs, two cats Susie and Winnie, and
                  some pet hens who live in the garage and are a real nuisance.

                  As John is nearly six I thought it time that he started lessons and wrote off to Dar
                  es Salaam for the correspondence course. We have had one week of lessons and I am
                  already in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. John is a most reluctant scholar.
                  “Why should I learn to read, when you can read to me?” he asks, and “Anyway why
                  should I read such stupid stuff, ‘Run Rover Run’, and ‘Mother play with baby’ . Who
                  wants to read about things like that? I don’t.”

                  He rather likes sums, but the only subject about which he is enthusiastic is
                  prehistoric history. He laps up information about ‘The Tree Dwellers’, though he is very
                  sceptical about the existence of such people. “God couldn’t be so silly to make people
                  so stupid. Fancy living in trees when it is easy to make huts like the natives.” ‘The Tree
                  Dwellers is a highly imaginative story about a revolting female called Sharptooth and her
                  offspring called Bodo. I have a very clear mental image of Sharptooth, so it came as a
                  shock to me and highly amused George when John looked at me reflectively across the
                  tea table and said, “Mummy I expect Sharptooth looked like you. You have a sharp
                  tooth too!” I have, my eye teeth are rather sharp, but I hope the resemblance stops
                  there.

                  John has an uncomfortably logical mind for a small boy. The other day he was
                  lying on the lawn staring up at the clouds when he suddenly muttered “I don’t believe it.”
                  “Believe what?” I asked. “That Jesus is coming on a cloud one day. How can he? The
                  thick ones always stay high up. What’s he going to do, jump down with a parachute?”
                  Tovelo, my kitchen boy, announced one evening that his grandmother was in the
                  kitchen and wished to see me. She was a handsome and sensible Chagga woman who
                  brought sad news. Her little granddaughter had stumbled backwards into a large cooking
                  pot of almost boiling maize meal porridge and was ‘ngongwa sana’ (very ill). I grabbed
                  a large bottle of Picric Acid and a packet of gauze which we keep for these emergencies
                  and went with her, through coffee shambas and banana groves to her daughter’s house.
                  Inside the very neat thatched hut the mother sat with the naked child lying face
                  downwards on her knee. The child’s buttocks and the back of her legs were covered in
                  huge burst blisters from which a watery pus dripped. It appeared that the accident had
                  happened on the previous day.

                  I could see that it was absolutely necessary to clean up the damaged area, and I
                  suddenly remembered that there was a trained African hospital dresser on the station. I
                  sent the father to fetch him and whilst the dresser cleaned off the sloughed skin with
                  forceps and swabs saturated in Picric Acid, I cut the gauze into small squares which I
                  soaked in the lotion and laid on the cleaned area. I thought the small pieces would be
                  easier to change especially as the whole of the most tender parts, front and back, were
                  badly scalded. The child seemed dazed and neither the dresser nor I thought she would
                  live. I gave her half an aspirin and left three more half tablets to be given four hourly.
                  Next day she seemed much brighter. I poured more lotion on the gauze
                  disturbing as few pieces as possible and again the next day and the next. After a week
                  the skin was healing well and the child eating normally. I am sure she will be all right now.
                  The new skin is a brilliant red and very shiny but it is pale round the edges of the burnt
                  area and will I hope later turn brown. The mother never uttered a word of thanks, but the
                  granny is grateful and today brought the children a bunch of bananas.

                  Eleanor.

                  c/o Game Dept. P.O.Moshi. 29th September 1944

                  Dearest Mummy,

                  I am so glad that you so enjoyed my last letter with the description of our very
                  interesting and enjoyable safari through Masailand. You said you would like an even
                  fuller description of it to pass around amongst the relations, so, to please you, I have
                  written it out in detail and enclose the result.

                  We have spent a quiet week after our exertions and all are well here.

                  Very much love,
                  Eleanor.

                  Safari in Masailand

                  George and I were at tea with our three little boys on the front lawn of our house
                  in Lyamungu, Northern Tanganyika. It was John’s sixth birthday and he and Jim, a
                  happy sturdy three year old, and Henry, aged eleven months, were munching the
                  squares of plain chocolate which rounded off the party, when George said casually
                  across the table to me, “Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow to go on
                  safari?” “Me too?” enquired John anxiously, before I had time to reply, and “Me too?”
                  echoed Jim. “yes, of course I can”, said I to George and “of course you’re coming too”,
                  to the children who rate a day spent in the bush higher than any other pleasure.
                  So in the early morning two days later, we started out happily for Masailand in a
                  three ton Ford lorry loaded to capacity with the five Rushbys, the safari paraphernalia,
                  drums of petrol and quite a retinue of servants and Game Scouts. George travelling
                  alone on his monthly safaris, takes only the cook and a couple of Game Scouts, but this was to be a safari de luxe.

                  Henry and I shared the cab with George who was driving, whilst John and Jim
                  with the faithful orderly Mabemba beside them to point out the game animals, were
                  installed upon rolls of bedding in the body of the lorry. The lorry lumbered along, first
                  through coffee shambas, and then along the main road between Moshi and Arusha.
                  After half an hour or so, we turned South off the road into a track which crossed the
                  Sanya Plains and is the beginning of this part of Masailand. Though the dry season was
                  at its height, and the pasture dry and course, we were soon passing small groups of
                  game. This area is a Game Sanctuary and the antelope grazed quietly quite undisturbed
                  by the passing lorry. Here and there zebra stood bunched by the road, a few wild
                  ostriches stalked jerkily by, and in the distance some wildebeest cavorted around in their
                  crazy way.

                  Soon the grasslands gave way to thorn bush, and we saw six fantastically tall
                  giraffe standing motionless with their heads turned enquiringly towards us. George
                  stopped the lorry so the children could have a good view of them. John was enchanted
                  but Jim, alas, was asleep.

                  At mid day we reached the Kikoletwa River and turned aside to camp. Beside
                  the river, under huge leafy trees, there was a beautiful camping spot, but the river was
                  deep and reputed to be full of crocodiles so we passed it by and made our camp
                  some distance from the river under a tall thorn tree with a flat lacy canopy. All around the
                  camp lay uprooted trees of similar size that had been pushed over by elephants. As
                  soon as the lorry stopped a camp chair was set up for me and the Game Scouts quickly
                  slashed down grass and cleared the camp site of thorns. The same boys then pitched the tent whilst George himself set up the three camp beds and the folding cot for Henry,
                  and set up the safari table and the canvas wash bowl and bath.

                  The cook in the meantime had cleared a cool spot for the kitchen , opened up the
                  chop boxes and started a fire. The cook’s boy and the dhobi (laundry boy) brought
                  water from the rather muddy river and tea was served followed shortly afterward by an
                  excellent lunch. In a very short time the camp had a suprisingly homely look. Nappies
                  fluttered from a clothes line, Henry slept peacefully in his cot, John and Jim sprawled on
                  one bed looking at comics, and I dozed comfortably on another.

                  George, with the Game Scouts, drove off in the lorry about his work. As a Game
                  Ranger it is his business to be on a constant look out for poachers, both African and
                  European, and for disease in game which might infect the valuable herds of Masai cattle.
                  The lorry did not return until dusk by which time the children had bathed enthusiastically in
                  the canvas bath and were ready for supper and bed. George backed the lorry at right
                  angles to the tent, Henry’s cot and two camp beds were set up in the lorry, the tarpaulin
                  was lashed down and the children put to bed in their novel nursery.

                  When darkness fell a large fire was lit in front of the camp, the exited children at
                  last fell asleep and George and I sat on by the fire enjoying the cool and quiet night.
                  When the fire subsided into a bed of glowing coals, it was time for our bed. During the
                  night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches and strange indescribable
                  noises.” Just elephant”, said George comfortably and instantly fell asleep once more. I
                  didn’t! We rose with the birds next morning, but breakfast was ready and in a
                  remarkably short time the lorry had been reloaded and we were once more on our way.
                  For about half a mile we made our own track across the plain and then we turned
                  into the earth road once more. Soon we had reached the river and were looking with
                  dismay at the suspension bridge which we had to cross. At the far side, one steel
                  hawser was missing and there the bridge tilted dangerously. There was no handrail but
                  only heavy wooden posts which marked the extremities of the bridge. WhenGeorge
                  measured the distance between the posts he found that there could be barely two
                  inches to spare on either side of the cumbersome lorry.

                  He decided to risk crossing, but the children and I and all the servants were told to
                  cross the bridge and go down the track out of sight. The Game Scouts remained on the
                  river bank on the far side of the bridge and stood ready for emergencies. As I walked
                  along anxiously listening, I was horrified to hear the lorry come to a stop on the bridge.
                  There was a loud creaking noise and I instantly visualised the lorry slowly toppling over
                  into the deep crocodile infested river. The engine restarted, the lorry crossed the bridge
                  and came slowly into sight around the bend. My heart slid back into its normal position.
                  George was as imperturbable as ever and simply remarked that it had been a near
                  thing and that we would return to Lyamungu by another route.

                  Beyond the green river belt the very rutted track ran through very uninteresting
                  thorn bush country. Henry was bored and tiresome, jumping up and down on my knee
                  and yelling furiously. “Teeth”, said I apologetically to George, rashly handing a match
                  box to Henry to keep him quiet. No use at all! With a fat finger he poked out the tray
                  spilling the matches all over me and the floor. Within seconds Henry had torn the
                  matchbox to pieces with his teeth and flung the battered remains through the window.
                  An empty cigarette box met with the same fate as the match box and the yells
                  continued unabated until Henry slept from sheer exhaustion. George gave me a smile,
                  half sympathetic and half sardonic, “Enjoying the safari, my love?” he enquired. On these
                  trying occasions George has the inestimable advantage of being able to go into a Yogilike
                  trance, whereas I become irritated to screaming point.

                  In an effort to prolong Henry’s slumber I braced my feet against the floor boards
                  and tried to turn myself into a human shock absorber as we lurched along the eroded
                  track. Several times my head made contact with the bolt of a rifle in the rack above, and
                  once I felt I had shattered my knee cap against the fire extinguisher in a bracket under the
                  dash board.

                  Strange as it may seem, I really was enjoying the trip in spite of these
                  discomforts. At last after three years I was once more on safari with George. This type of
                  country was new to me and there was so much to see We passed a family of giraffe
                  standing in complete immobility only a few yards from the track. Little dick-dick. one of the smallest of the antelope, scuttled in pairs across the road and that afternoon I had my first view of Gerenuk, curious red brown antelope with extremely elongated legs and giraffe-like necks.

                  Most interesting of all was my first sight of Masai at home. We could hear a tuneful
                  jangle of cattle bells and suddenly came across herds of humped cattle browsing upon
                  the thorn bushes. The herds were guarded by athletic,striking looking Masai youths and men.
                  Each had a calabash of water slung over his shoulder and a tall, highly polished spear in his
                  hand. These herdsmen were quite unselfconscious though they wore no clothing except for one carelessly draped blanket. Very few gave us any greeting but glanced indifferently at us from under fringes of clay-daubed plaited hair . The rest of their hair was drawn back behind the ears to display split earlobes stretched into slender loops by the weight of heavy brass or copper tribal ear rings.

                  Most of the villages were set well back in the bush out of sight of the road but we did pass one
                  typical village which looked most primitive indeed. It consisted simply of a few mound like mud huts which were entirely covered with a plaster of mud and cattle dung and the whole clutch of huts were surrounded by a ‘boma’ of thorn to keep the cattle in at night and the lions out. There was a gathering of women and children on the road at this point. The children of both sexes were naked and unadorned, but the women looked very fine indeed. This is not surprising for they have little to do but adorn themselves, unlike their counterparts of other tribes who have to work hard cultivating the fields. The Masai women, and others I saw on safari, were far more amiable and cheerful looking than the men and were well proportioned.

                  They wore skirts of dressed goat skin, knee length in front but ankle length behind. Their arms
                  from elbow to wrist, and legs from knee to ankle, were encased in tight coils of copper and
                  galvanised wire. All had their heads shaved and in some cases bound by a leather band
                  embroidered in red white and blue beads. Circular ear rings hung from slit earlobes and their
                  handsome throats were encircled by stiff wire necklaces strung with brightly coloured beads. These
                  necklaces were carefully graded in size and formed deep collars almost covering their breasts.
                  About a quarter of a mile further along the road we met eleven young braves in gala attire, obviously on their way to call on the girls. They formed a line across the road and danced up and down until the lorry was dangerously near when they parted and grinned cheerfully at us. These were the only cheerful
                  looking male Masai that I saw. Like the herdsmen these youths wore only a blanket, but their
                  blankets were ochre colour, and elegantly draped over their backs. Their naked bodies gleamed with oil. Several had painted white stripes on their faces, and two had whitewashed their faces entirely which I
                  thought a pity. All had their long hair elaborately dressed and some carried not only one,
                  but two gleaming spears.

                  By mid day George decided that we had driven far enough for that day. He
                  stopped the lorry and consulted a rather unreliable map. “Somewhere near here is a
                  place called Lolbeni,” he said. “The name means Sweet Water, I hear that the
                  government have piped spring water down from the mountain into a small dam at which
                  the Masai water their cattle.” Lolbeni sounded pleasant to me. Henry was dusty and
                  cross, the rubber sheet had long slipped from my lap to the floor and I was conscious of
                  a very damp lap. ‘Sweet Waters’ I felt, would put all that right. A few hundred yards
                  away a small herd of cattle was grazing, so George lit his pipe and relaxed at last, whilst
                  a Game Scout went off to find the herdsman. The scout soon returned with an ancient
                  and emaciated Masai who was thrilled at the prospect of his first ride in a lorry and
                  offered to direct us to Lolbeni which was off the main track and about four miles away.

                  Once Lolbeni had been a small administrative post and a good track had
                  led to it, but now the Post had been abandoned and the road is dotted with vigourous
                  thorn bushes and the branches of larger thorn trees encroach on the track The road had
                  deteriorated to a mere cattle track, deeply rutted and eroded by heavy rains over a
                  period of years. The great Ford truck, however, could take it. It lurched victoriously along,
                  mowing down the obstructions, tearing off branches from encroaching thorn trees with its
                  high railed sides, spanning gorges in the track, and climbing in and out of those too wide
                  to span. I felt an army tank could not have done better.

                  I had expected Lolbeni to be a green oasis in a desert of grey thorns, but I was
                  quickly disillusioned. To be sure the thorn trees were larger and more widely spaced and
                  provided welcome shade, but the ground under the trees had been trampled by thousands of cattle into a dreary expanse of dirty grey sand liberally dotted with cattle droppings and made still more uninviting by the bleached bones of dead beasts.

                  To the right of this waste rose a high green hill which gave the place its name and from which
                  the precious water was piped, but its slopes were too steep to provide a camping site.
                  Flies swarmed everywhere and I was most relieved when George said that we would
                  stay only long enough to fill our cans with water. Even the water was a disappointment!
                  The water in the small dam was low and covered by a revolting green scum, and though
                  the water in the feeding pipe was sweet, it trickled so feebly that it took simply ages to
                  fill a four gallon can.

                  However all these disappointments were soon forgotten for we drove away
                  from the flies and dirt and trampled sand and soon, with their quiet efficiency, George
                  and his men set up a comfortable camp. John and Jim immediately started digging
                  operations in the sandy soil whilst Henry and I rested. After tea George took his shot
                  gun and went off to shoot guinea fowl and partridges for the pot. The children and I went
                  walking, keeping well in site of camp, and soon we saw a very large flock of Vulturine
                  Guineafowl, running aimlessly about and looking as tame as barnyard fowls, but melting
                  away as soon as we moved in their direction.

                  We had our second quiet and lovely evening by the camp fire, followed by a
                  peaceful night.

                  We left Lolbeni very early next morning, which was a good thing, for as we left
                  camp the herds of thirsty cattle moved in from all directions. They were accompanied by
                  Masai herdsmen, their naked bodies and blankets now covered by volcanic dust which
                  was being stirred in rising clouds of stifling ash by the milling cattle, and also by grey
                  donkeys laden with panniers filled with corked calabashes for water.

                  Our next stop was Nabarera, a Masai cattle market and trading centre, where we
                  reluctantly stayed for two days in a pokey Goverment Resthouse because George had
                  a job to do in that area. The rest was good for Henry who promptly produced a tooth
                  and was consequently much better behaved for the rest of the trip. George was away in the bush most of the day but he returned for afternoon tea and later took the children out
                  walking. We had noticed curious white dumps about a quarter mile from the resthouse
                  and on the second afternoon we set out to investigate them. Behind the dumps we
                  found passages about six foot wide, cut through solid limestone. We explored two of
                  these and found that both passages led steeply down to circular wells about two and a
                  half feet in diameter.

                  At the very foot of each passage, beside each well, rough drinking troughs had
                  been cut in the stone. The herdsmen haul the water out of the well in home made hide
                  buckets, the troughs are filled and the cattle driven down the ramps to drink at the trough.
                  It was obvious that the wells were ancient and the sloping passages new. George tells
                  me that no one knows what ancient race dug the original wells. It seems incredible that
                  these deep and narrow shafts could have been sunk without machinery. I craned my
                  neck and looked above one well and could see an immensely long shaft reaching up to
                  ground level. Small footholds were cut in the solid rock as far as I could see.
                  It seems that the Masai are as ignorant as ourselves about the origin of these
                  wells. They do say however that when their forebears first occupied what is now known
                  as Masailand, they not only found the Wanderobo tribe in the area but also a light
                  skinned people and they think it possible that these light skinned people dug the wells.
                  These people disappeared. They may have been absorbed or, more likely, they were
                  liquidated.

                  The Masai had found the well impractical in their original form and had hired
                  labourers from neighbouring tribes to cut the passages to water level. Certainly the Masai are not responsible for the wells. They are a purely pastoral people and consider manual labour extremely degrading.

                  They live chiefly on milk from their herd which they allow to go sour, and mix with blood that has been skilfully tapped from the necks of living cattle. They do not eat game meat, nor do they cultivate any
                  land. They hunt with spears, but hunt only lions, to protect their herds, and to test the skill
                  and bravery of their young warriors. What little grain they do eat is transported into
                  Masailand by traders. The next stage of our journey took us to Ngassamet where
                  George was to pick up some elephant tusks. I had looked forward particularly to this
                  stretch of road for I had heard that there was a shallow lake at which game congregates,
                  and at which I had great hopes of seeing elephants. We had come too late in the
                  season though, the lake was dry and there were only piles of elephant droppings to
                  prove that elephant had recently been there in numbers. Ngassamet, though no beauty
                  spot, was interesting. We saw more elaborate editions of the wells already described, and as this area
                  is rich in cattle we saw the aristocrats of the Masai. You cannot conceive of a more arrogant looking male than a young Masai brave striding by on sandalled feet, unselfconscious in all his glory. All the young men wore the casually draped traditional ochre blanket and carried one or more spears. But here belts and long knife sheaths of scarlet leather seem to be the fashion. Here fringes do not seem to be the thing. Most of these young Masai had their hair drawn smoothly back and twisted in a pointed queue, the whole plastered with a smooth coating of red clay. Some tied their horn shaped queues over their heads
                  so that the tip formed a deep Satanic peak on the brow. All these young men wore the traditional
                  copper earrings and I saw one or two with copper bracelets and one with a necklace of brightly coloured
                  beads.

                  It so happened that, on the day of our visit to Ngassamet, there had been a
                  baraza (meeting) which was attended by all the local headmen and elders. These old
                  men came to pay their respects to George and a more shrewd and rascally looking
                  company I have never seen, George told me that some of these men own up to three
                  thousand head of cattle and more. The chief was as fat and Rabelasian as his second in
                  command was emaciated, bucktoothed and prim. The Chief shook hands with George
                  and greeted me and settled himself on the wall of the resthouse porch opposite
                  George. The lesser headmen, after politely greeting us, grouped themselves in a
                  semi circle below the steps with their ‘aides’ respectfully standing behind them. I
                  remained sitting in the only chair and watched the proceedings with interest and
                  amusement.

                  These old Masai, I noticed, cared nothing for adornment. They had proved
                  themselves as warriors in the past and were known to be wealthy and influential so did
                  not need to make any display. Most of them had their heads comfortably shaved and
                  wore only a drab blanket or goatskin cloak. Their only ornaments were earrings whose
                  effect was somewhat marred by the serviceable and homely large safety pin that
                  dangled from the lobe of one ear. All carried staves instead of spears and all, except for
                  Buckteeth and one blind old skeleton of a man, appeared to have a keenly developed
                  sense of humour.

                  “Mummy?” asked John in an urgent whisper, “Is that old blind man nearly dead?”
                  “Yes dear”, said I, “I expect he’ll soon die.” “What here?” breathed John in a tone of
                  keen anticipation and, until the meeting broke up and the old man left, he had John’s
                  undivided attention.

                  After local news and the game situation had been discussed, the talk turned to the
                  war. “When will the war end?” moaned the fat Chief. “We have made great gifts of cattle
                  to the War Funds, we are taxed out of existence.” George replied with the Ki-Swahili
                  equivalent of ‘Sez you!’. This sally was received with laughter and the old fellows rose to
                  go. They made their farewells and dignified exits, pausing on their way to stare at our
                  pink and white Henry, who sat undismayed in his push chair giving them stare for stare
                  from his striking grey eyes.

                  Towards evening some Masai, prompted no doubt by our native servants,
                  brought a sheep for sale. It was the last night of the fast of Ramadan and our
                  Mohammedan boys hoped to feast next day at our expense. Their faces fell when
                  George refused to buy the animal. “Why should I pay fifteen shillings for a sheep?” he
                  asked, “Am I not the Bwana Nyama and is not the bush full of my sheep?” (Bwana
                  Nyama is the native name for a Game Ranger, but means literally, ‘Master of the meat’)
                  George meant that he would shoot a buck for the men next day, but this incident was to
                  have a strange sequel. Ngassamet resthouse consists of one room so small we could
                  not put up all our camp beds and George and I slept on the cement floor which was
                  unkind to my curves. The night was bitterly cold and all night long hyaenas screeched
                  hideously outside. So we rose at dawn without reluctance and were on our way before it
                  was properly light.

                  George had decided that it would be foolhardy to return home by our outward
                  route as he did not care to risk another crossing of the suspension bridge. So we
                  returned to Nabarera and there turned onto a little used track which would eventually take
                  us to the Great North Road a few miles South of Arusha. There was not much game
                  about but I saw Oryx which I had not previously seen. Soon it grew intolerably hot and I
                  think all of us but George were dozing when he suddenly stopped the lorry and pointed
                  to the right. “Mpishi”, he called to the cook, “There’s your sheep!” True enough, on that
                  dreary thorn covered plain,with not another living thing in sight, stood a fat black sheep.

                  There was an incredulous babbling from the back of the lorry. Every native
                  jumped to the ground and in no time at all the wretched sheep was caught and
                  slaughtered. I felt sick. “Oh George”, I wailed, “The poor lost sheep! I shan’t eat a scrap
                  of it.” George said nothing but went and had a look at the sheep and called out to me,
                  “Come and look at it. It was kindness to kill the poor thing, the vultures have been at it
                  already and the hyaenas would have got it tonight.” I went reluctantly and saw one eye
                  horribly torn out, and small deep wounds on the sheep’s back where the beaks of the
                  vultures had cut through the heavy fleece. Poor thing! I went back to the lorry more
                  determined than ever not to eat mutton on that trip. The Scouts and servants had no
                  such scruples. The fine fat sheep had been sent by Allah for their feast day and that was
                  the end of it.

                  “ ‘Mpishi’ is more convinced than ever that I am a wizard”, said George in
                  amusement as he started the lorry. I knew what he meant. Several times before George
                  had foretold something which had later happened. Pure coincidence, but strange enough
                  to give rise to a legend that George had the power to arrange things. “What happened
                  of course”, explained George, “Is that a flock of Masai sheep was driven to market along
                  this track yesterday or the day before. This one strayed and was not missed.”

                  The day grew hotter and hotter and for long miles we looked out for a camping
                  spot but could find little shade and no trace of water anywhere. At last, in the early
                  afternoon we reached another pokey little rest house and asked for water. “There is no
                  water here,” said the native caretaker. “Early in the morning there is water in a well nearby
                  but we are allowed only one kerosene tin full and by ten o’clock the well is dry.” I looked
                  at George in dismay for we were all so tired and dusty. “Where do the Masai from the
                  village water their cattle then?” asked George. “About two miles away through the bush.
                  If you take me with you I shall show you”, replied the native.

                  So we turned off into the bush and followed a cattle track even more tortuous than
                  the one to Lolbeni. Two Scouts walked ahead to warn us of hazards and I stretched my
                  arm across the open window to fend off thorns. Henry screamed with fright and hunger.
                  But George’s efforts to reach water went unrewarded as we were brought to a stop by
                  a deep donga. The native from the resthouse was apologetic. He had mistaken the
                  path, perhaps if we turned back we might find it. George was beyond speech. We
                  lurched back the way we had come and made our camp under the first large tree we
                  could find. Then off went our camp boys on foot to return just before dark with the water.
                  However they were cheerful for there was an unlimited quantity of dry wood for their fires
                  and meat in plenty for their feast. Long after George and I left our campfire and had gone
                  to bed, we could see the cheerful fires of the boys and hear their chatter and laughter.
                  I woke in the small hours to hear the insane cackling of hyaenas gloating over a
                  find. Later I heard scuffling around the camp table, I peered over the tailboard of the lorry
                  and saw George come out of his tent. What are you doing?” I whispered. “Looking for
                  something to throw at those bloody hyaenas,” answered George for all the world as
                  though those big brutes were tomcats on the prowl. Though the hyaenas kept up their
                  concert all night the children never stirred, nor did any of them wake at night throughout
                  the safari.

                  Early next morning I walked across to the camp kitchen to enquire into the loud
                  lamentations coming from that quarter. “Oh Memsahib”, moaned the cook, “We could
                  not sleep last night for the bad hyaenas round our tents. They have taken every scrap of
                  meat we had left over from the feast., even the meat we had left to smoke over the fire.”
                  Jim, who of our three young sons is the cook’s favourite commiserated with him. He said
                  in Ki-Swahili, which he speaks with great fluency, “Truly those hyaenas are very bad
                  creatures. They also robbed us. They have taken my hat from the table and eaten the
                  new soap from the washbowl.

                  Our last day in the bush was a pleasantly lazy one. We drove through country
                  that grew more open and less dry as we approached Arusha. We pitched our camp
                  near a large dam, and the water was a blessed sight after a week of scorched country.
                  On the plains to the right of our camp was a vast herd of native cattle enjoying a brief
                  rest after their long day trek through Masailand. They were destined to walk many more
                  weary miles before reaching their destination, a meat canning factory in Kenya.
                  The ground to the left of the camp rose gently to form a long low hill and on the
                  grassy slopes we could see wild ostriches and herds of wildebeest, zebra and
                  antelope grazing amicably side by side. In the late afternoon I watched the groups of
                  zebra and wildebeest merge into one. Then with a wildebeest leading, they walked
                  down the slope in single file to drink at the vlei . When they were satisfied, a wildebeest
                  once more led the herd up the trail. The others followed in a long and orderly file, and
                  vanished over the hill to their evening pasture.

                  When they had gone, George took up his shotgun and invited John to
                  accompany him to the dam to shoot duck. This was the first time John had acted as
                  retriever but he did very well and proudly helped to carry a mixed bag of sand grouse
                  and duck back to camp.

                  Next morning we turned into the Great North Road and passed first through
                  carefully tended coffee shambas and then through the township of Arusha, nestling at
                  the foot of towering Mount Meru. Beyond Arusha we drove through the Usa River
                  settlement where again coffee shambas and European homesteads line the road, and
                  saw before us the magnificent spectacle of Kilimanjaro unveiled, its white snow cap
                  gleaming in the sunlight. Before mid day we were home. “Well was it worth it?” enquired
                  George at lunch. “Lovely,” I replied. ”Let’s go again soon.” Then thinking regretfully of
                  our absent children I sighed, “If only Ann, George, and Kate could have gone with us
                  too.”

                  Lyamungu 10th November. 1944

                  Dearest Family.

                  Mummy wants to know how I fill in my time with George away on safari for weeks
                  on end. I do believe that you all picture me idling away my days, waited on hand and
                  foot by efficient servants! On the contrary, life is one rush and the days never long
                  enough.

                  To begin with, our servants are anything but efficient, apart from our cook, Hamisi
                  Issa, who really is competent. He suffers from frustration because our budget will not run
                  to elaborate dishes so there is little scope for his culinary art. There is one masterpiece
                  which is much appreciated by John and Jim. Hamisi makes a most realistic crocodile out
                  of pastry and stuffs its innards with minced meat. This revolting reptile is served on a
                  bed of parsley on my largest meat dish. The cook is a strict Mohammedan and
                  observes all the fasts and daily prayers and, like all Mohammedans he is very clean in
                  his person and, thank goodness, in the kitchen.

                  His wife is his pride and joy but not his helpmate. She does absolutely nothing
                  but sit in a chair in the sun all day, sipping tea and smoking cigarettes – a more
                  expensive brand than mine! It is Hamisi who sweeps out their quarters, cooks
                  delectable curries for her, and spends more than he can afford on clothing and trinkets for
                  his wife. She just sits there with her ‘Mona Lisa’ smile and her painted finger and toe
                  nails, doing absolutely nothing.

                  The thing is that natives despise women who do work and this applies especially
                  to their white employers. House servants much prefer a Memsahib who leaves
                  everything to them and is careless about locking up her pantry. When we first came to
                  Lyamungu I had great difficulty in employing a houseboy. A couple of rather efficient
                  ones did approach me but when they heard the wages I was prepared to pay and that
                  there was no number 2 boy, they simply were not interested. Eventually I took on a
                  local boy called Japhet who suits me very well except that his sight is not good and he
                  is extremely hard on the crockery. He tells me that he has lost face by working here
                  because his friends say that he works for a family that is too mean to employ a second
                  boy. I explained that with our large family we simply cannot afford to pay more, but this
                  didn’t register at all. Japhet says “But Wazungu (Europeans) all have money. They just
                  have to get it from the Bank.”

                  The third member of our staff is a strapping youth named Tovelo who helps both
                  cook and boy, and consequently works harder than either. What do I do? I chivvy the
                  servants, look after the children, supervise John’s lessons, and make all my clothing and
                  the children’s on that blessed old hand sewing machine.

                  The folk on this station entertain a good deal but we usually decline invitations
                  because we simply cannot afford to reciprocate. However, last Saturday night I invited
                  two couples to drinks and dinner. This was such an unusual event that the servants and I
                  were thrown into a flurry. In the end the dinner went off well though it ended in disaster. In
                  spite of my entreaties and exhortations to Japhet not to pile everything onto the tray at
                  once when clearing the table, he did just that. We were starting our desert and I was
                  congratulating myself that all had gone well when there was a frightful crash of breaking
                  china on the back verandah. I excused myself and got up to investigate. A large meat
                  dish, six dinner plates and four vegetable dishes lay shattered on the cement floor! I
                  controlled my tongue but what my eyes said to Japhet is another matter. What he said
                  was, “It is not my fault Memsahib. The handle of the tray came off.”

                  It is a curious thing about native servants that they never accept responsibility for
                  a mishap. If they cannot pin their misdeeds onto one of their fellow servants then the responsibility rests with God. ‘Shauri ya Mungu’, (an act of God) is a familiar cry. Fatalists
                  can be very exasperating employees.

                  The loss of my dinner service is a real tragedy because, being war time, one can
                  buy only china of the poorest quality made for the native trade. Nor was that the final
                  disaster of the evening. When we moved to the lounge for coffee I noticed that the
                  coffee had been served in the battered old safari coffee pot instead of the charming little
                  antique coffee pot which my Mother-in-law had sent for our tenth wedding anniversary.
                  As there had already been a disturbance I made no comment but resolved to give the
                  cook a piece of my mind in the morning. My instructions to the cook had been to warm
                  the coffee pot with hot water immediately before serving. On no account was he to put
                  the pewter pot on the hot iron stove. He did and the result was a small hole in the base
                  of the pot – or so he says. When I saw the pot next morning there was a two inch hole in
                  it.

                  Hamisi explained placidly how this had come about. He said he knew I would be
                  mad when I saw the little hole so he thought he would have it mended and I might not
                  notice it. Early in the morning he had taken the pewter pot to the mechanic who looks
                  after the Game Department vehicles and had asked him to repair it. The bright individual
                  got busy with the soldering iron with the most devastating result. “It’s his fault,” said
                  Hamisi, “He is a mechanic, he should have known what would happen.”
                  One thing is certain, there will be no more dinner parties in this house until the war
                  is ended.

                  The children are well and so am I, and so was George when he left on his safari
                  last Monday.

                  Much love,
                  Eleanor.

                   

                  #6248
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Bakewell Not Eyam

                    The Elton Marshalls

                    Some years ago I read a book about Eyam, the Derbyshire village devastated by the plague in 1665, and about how the villagers quarantined themselves to prevent further spread. It was quite a story. Each year on ‘Plague Sunday’, at the end of August, residents of Eyam mark the bubonic plague epidemic that devastated their small rural community in the years 1665–6. They wear the traditional costume of the day and attend a memorial service to remember how half the village sacrificed themselves to avoid spreading the disease further.

                    My 4X great grandfather James Marshall married Ann Newton in 1792 in Elton. On a number of other people’s trees on an online ancestry site, Ann Newton was from Eyam.  Wouldn’t that have been interesting, to find ancestors from Eyam, perhaps going back to the days of the plague. Perhaps that is what the people who put Ann Newton’s birthplace as Eyam thought, without a proper look at the records.

                    But I didn’t think Ann Newton was from Eyam. I found she was from Over Haddon, near Bakewell ~ much closer to Elton than Eyam. On the marriage register, it says that James was from Elton parish, and she was from Darley parish. Her birth in 1770 says Bakewell, which was the registration district for the villages of Over Haddon and Darley. Her parents were George Newton and Dorothy Wipperley of Over Haddon,which is incidentally very near to Nether Haddon, and Haddon Hall. I visited Haddon Hall many years ago, as well as Chatsworth (and much preferred Haddon Hall).

                    I looked in the Eyam registers for Ann Newton, and found a couple of them around the time frame, but the men they married were not James Marshall.

                    Ann died in 1806 in Elton (a small village just outside Matlock) at the age of 36 within days of her newborn twins, Ann and James.  James and Ann had two sets of twins.  John and Mary were twins as well, but Mary died in 1799 at the age of three.

                    1796 baptism of twins John and Mary of James and Ann Marshall

                    Marshall baptism

                     

                    Ann’s husband James died 42 years later at the age of eighty,  in Elton in 1848. It was noted in the parish register that he was for years parish clerk.

                    James Marshall

                     

                    On the 1851 census John Marshall born in 1796, the son of James Marshall the parish clerk, was a lead miner occupying six acres in Elton, Derbyshire.

                    His son, also John, was registered on the census as a lead miner at just eight years old.

                     

                    The mining of lead was the most important industry in the Peak district of Derbyshire from Roman times until the 19th century – with only agriculture being more important for the livelihood of local people. The height of lead mining in Derbyshire came in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the evidence is still visible today – most obviously in the form of lines of hillocks from the more than 25,000 mineshafts which once existed.

                    Peak District Mines Historical Society

                    Smelting, or extracting the lead from the ore by melting it, was carried out in a small open hearth. Lead was cast in layers as each batch of ore was smelted; the blocks of lead thus produced were referred to as “pigs”. Examples of early smelting-hearths found within the county were stone lined, with one side open facing the prevailing wind to create the draught needed. The hilltops of the Matlocks would have provided very suitable conditions.

                    The miner used a tool called a mattock or a pick, and hammers and iron wedges in harder veins, to loosen the ore. They threw the ore onto ridges on each side of the vein, going deeper where the ore proved richer.

                    Many mines were very shallow and, once opened, proved too poor to develop. Benjamin Bryan cited the example of “Ember Hill, on the shoulder of Masson, above Matlock Bath” where there are hollows in the surface showing where there had been fruitless searches for lead.

                    There were small buildings, called “coes”, near each mine shaft which were used for tool storage, to provide shelter and as places for changing into working clothes. It was here that the lead was smelted and stored until ready for sale.

                    Lead is, of course, very poisonous. As miners washed lead-bearing material, great care was taken with the washing vats, which had to be covered. If cattle accidentally drank the poisoned water they would die from something called “belland”.

                    Cornish and Welsh miners introduced the practice of buddling for ore into Derbyshire about 1747.  Buddling involved washing the heaps of rubbish in the slag heaps,  the process of separating the very small particles from the dirt and spar with which they are mixed, by means of a small stream of water. This method of extraction was a major pollutant, affecting farmers and their animals (poisoned by Belland from drinking the waste water), the brooks and streams and even the River Derwent.

                    Women also worked in the mines. An unattributed account from 1829, says: “The head is much enwrapped, and the features nearly hidden in a muffling of handkerchiefs, over which is put a man’s hat, in the manner of the paysannes of Wales”. He also describes their gowns, usually red, as being “tucked up round the waist in a sort of bag, and set off by a bright green petticoat”. They also wore a man’s grey or dark blue coat and shoes with 3″ thick soles that were tied round with cords. The 1829 writer called them “complete harridans!”

                    Lead Mining in Matlock & Matlock Bath, The Andrews Pages

                    John’s wife Margaret died at the age of 42 in 1847.  I don’t know the cause of death, but perhaps it was lead poisoning.  John’s son John, despite a very early start in the lead mine, became a carter and lived to the ripe old age of 88.

                    The Pig of Lead pub, 1904:

                    The Pig of Lead 1904

                     

                    The earliest Marshall I’ve found so far is Charles, born in 1742. Charles married Rebecca Knowles, 1775-1823.  I don’t know what his occupation was but when he died in 1819 he left a not inconsiderable sum to his wife.

                    1819 Charles Marshall probate:

                    Charles Marshall Probate

                     

                     

                    There are still Marshall’s living in Elton and Matlock, not our immediate known family, but probably distantly related.  I asked a Matlock group on facebook:

                    “…there are Marshall’s still in the village. There are certainly families who live here who have done generation after generation & have many memories & stories to tell. Visit The Duke on a Friday night…”

                    The Duke, Elton:

                    Duke Elton

                    #6247
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Warren Brothers Boiler Makers

                      Samuel Warren, my great grandfather, and husband of Florence Nightingale Gretton, worked with the family company of boiler makers in Newhall in his early years.  He developed an interest in motor cars, and left the family business to start up on his own. By all accounts, he made some bad decisions and borrowed a substantial amount of money from his sister. It was because of this disastrous state of affairs that the impoverished family moved from Swadlincote/Newhall to Stourbridge.

                      1914:  Tram no 10 on Union Road going towards High Street Newhall. On the left Henry Harvey Engineer, on the right Warren Bros Boiler Manufacturers & Engineers:

                      Warren Bros Newhall

                       

                      I found a newspaper article in the Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal dated the 2nd October 1915 about a Samuel Warren of Warren Brothers Boilermakers, but it was about my great grandfathers uncle, also called Samuel.

                      DEATH OF MR. SAMUEL WARREN, OF NEWHALL. Samuel Warren, of Rose Villa, Newhall, passed away on Saturday evening at the age of 85.. Of somewhat retiring disposition, he took little or no active part in public affairs, but for many years was trustee of the loyal British Oak Lodge of the M.U. of Oddfellows, and in many other ways served His community when opportunity permitted. He was member of the firm of Warren Bros., of the Boiler Works, Newhall. This thriving business was established by the late Mr. Benjamin Bridge, over 60 years ago, and on his death it was taken over by his four nephews. Mr. William Warren died several years ago, and with the demise Mr. Samuel Warren, two brothers remain, Messrs. Henry and Benjamin Warren. He leaves widow, six daughters, and three sons to mourn his loss. 

                      Samuel Warren

                       

                      This was the first I’d heard of Benjamin Bridge.  William Warren mentioned in the article as having died previously was Samuel’s father, my great great grandfather. William’s brother Henry was the father of Ben Warren, the footballer.

                      But who was Benjamin Bridge?

                      Samuel’s father was William Warren 1835-1881. He had a brother called Samuel, mentioned above, and William’s father was also named Samuel.  Samuel Warren 1800-1882 married Elizabeth Bridge 1813-1872. Benjamin Bridge 1811-1898 was Elizabeth’s brother.

                      Burton Chronicle 28 July 1898:

                      Benjamin Bridge

                      Benjamin and his wife Jane had no children. According to the obituary in the newspaper, the couple were fondly remembered for their annual tea’s for the widows of the town. Benjamin Bridge’s house was known as “the preachers house”. He was superintendent of Newhall Sunday School and member of Swadlincote’s board of health. And apparently very fond of a tall white hat!

                      On the 1881 census, Benjamin Bridge and his wife live near to the Warren family in Newhall.  The Warren’s live in the “boiler yard” and the family living in between the Bridge’s and the Warren’s include an apprentice boiler maker, so we can assume these were houses incorporated in the boiler works property. Benjamin is a 72 year old retired boiler maker.  Elizabeth Warren is a widow (William died in 1881), two of her sons are boiler makers, and Samuel, my great grandfather, is on the next page of the census, at seven years old.

                      Bridge Warren Census 1881

                       

                      Warren Brothers made boilers for the Burton breweries, including Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton.

                      This receipt from Warrens Boiler yard for a new boiler in 1885 was purchased off Ebay by Colin Smith. He gave it to one of the grandsons of Robert Adolphus Warren, to keep in the Warren family. It is in his safe at home, and he promised Colin that it will stay in the family forever.

                      Warren Bros Receipt

                      #6229
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Gretton Tailoresses of Swadlincote and the Single Journalist Boot Maker Next Door

                        The Purdy’s, Housley’s and Marshall’s are my mothers fathers side of the family.  The Warrens, Grettons and Staleys are from my mothers mothers side.

                        I decided to add all the siblings to the Gretton side of the family, in search of some foundation to a couple of family anecdotes.  My grandmother, Nora Marshall, whose mother was Florence Nightingale Gretton, used to mention that our Gretton side of the family were related to the Burton Upon Trent Grettons of Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton, the brewery.  She also said they were related to Lord Gretton of Stableford Park in Leicestershire.  When she was a child, she said parcels of nice clothes were sent to them by relatives.

                        Bass Ratcliffe and Gretton

                         

                        It should be noted however that Baron Gretton is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom, and was created in 1944 for the brewer and Conservative politician John Gretton. He was head of the brewery firm of Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton Ltd of Burton upon Trent. So they were not members of the Peerage at the time of this story.

                        What I found was unexpected.

                        My great great grandfather Richard Gretton 1833-1898, a baker in Swadlincote, didn’t have any brothers, but he did have a couple of sisters.

                        One of them, Frances, born 1831, never married, but had four children. She stayed in the family home, and named her children Gretton. In 1841 and 1851 she’s living with parents and siblings. In 1861 she is still living with parents and now on the census she has four children all named Gretton listed as grandchildren of her father.
                        In 1871, her mother having died in 1866, she’s still living with her father William Gretton, Frances is now 40, and her son William 19 and daughter Jane 15 live there.
                        By the time she is 50 in 1881 and her parents have died she’s head of the house with 5 children all called Gretton, including her daughter Jane Gretton aged 24.

                        Twenty five year old Robert Staley is listed on the census transcription as living in the same household, but when viewing the census image it becomes clear that he lived next door, on his own and was a bootmaker, and on the other side, his parents Benjamin and Sarah Staley lived at the Prince of Wales pub with two other siblings.

                        Who was fathering all these Gretton children?

                        It seems that Jane did the same thing as her mother: she stayed at home and had three children, all with the name Gretton.  Jane Gretton named her son, born in 1878, Michael William Staley Gretton, which would suggest that Staley was the name of the father of the child/children of Jane Gretton.

                        The father of Frances Gretton’s four children is not known, and there is no father on the birth registers, although they were all baptized.

                        I found a photo of Jane Gretton on a family tree on an ancestry site, so I contacted the tree owner hoping that she had some more information, but she said no, none of the older family members would explain when asked about it.  Jane later married Tom Penn, and Jane Gretton’s children are listed on census as Tom Penn’s stepchildren.

                        Jane Gretton Penn

                         

                        It seems that Robert Staley (who may or may not be the father of Jane’s children) never married. In 1891 Robert is 35, single, living with widowed mother Sarah in Swadlincote. Sarah is living on own means and Robert has no occupation. On the 1901 census Robert is an unmarried 45 year old journalist and author, living with his widowed mother Sarah Staley aged 79, in Swadlincote.

                        There are at least three Staley  Warren marriages in the family, and at least one Gretton Staley marriage.

                        There is a possibility that the father of Frances’s children could be a Gretton, but impossible to know for sure. William Gretton was a tailor, and several of his children and grandchildren were tailoresses.  The Gretton family who later bought Stableford Park lived not too far away, and appear to be well off with a dozen members of live in staff on the census.   Did our Gretton’s the tailors make their clothes? Is that where the parcels of nice clothes came from?

                        Perhaps we’ll find a family connection to the brewery Grettons, or find the family connection was an unofficial one, or that the connection is further back.

                        I suppose luckily, this isn’t my direct line but an exploration of an offshoot, so the question of paternity is merely a matter of curiosity.  It is a curious thing, those Gretton tailors of Church Gresley near Burton upon Trent, and there are questions remaining.

                        #3006
                        AvatarJib
                        Participant

                          The pond was full of black tadpoles. The creatures were wriggling restlessly, following invisible currents, connecting dark stains packed with thousands of them. Benjamin Goat immersed a small plastic bottle into one of the biggest node, it sucked the little buggers like a fat syringe.
                          “Such a small container won’t reduce their population too much”, he thought. Indeed, he had always wondered why there were so many of them in the early stages and why you would see so few frogs or toads. The remaining tadpoles were beginning to gather around his hand. He repressed a shiver. A new idea for a movie just sprang up from his subconscious. Something to do with man-eater tadpoles. That would certainly hit the box office for months.
                          He smiled. There were enough of them in the bottle.

                          “Yuck!” said a fat pink lady before licking her strawberry ice cream.

                          “It’s for my son”, said Benjamin just before realizing he was justifying again. His psychiatrist had told him there was no need for justifying, it was like apologizing, and he needn’t apologize, he was the great Benjamin Goat after all. He snorted and mimicked drinking from his bottle. This time, she was disgusted. She made the mistake to hold her ice cream too far from herself and one of those Gib’s monkey with the pink ass stole it. She was shouting now, people would pay attention to her instead of him. People always pay attention to what’s more annoying.
                          Paradoxically, he felt a pang of jealousy. He was not used to let go of others’ attention.

                          His cell phone vibrated, three long vibrations and seven short ones. The code for his secret society. It was a great idea to put it in his last movie, unfortunately it hadn’t had the desired effect. People were so gullible that they would believe everything that came out in a fiction movie.
                          “The Jesuit is in the place”, said a vocoded voice. That was all. It could only mean one thing. It was all going according to the plan. He smiled and handed out the bottle to a kid. He wouldn’t need that after all.

                          #3004
                          AvatarJib
                          Participant

                            Aqua Luna woke up. She was in her bed. She spent a moment wondering how she got there. She had no recollection whatsoever of what happened and her last memory was about the time she left work and met Tony in the parking lot.
                            She was craving. She went to the kitchen in her green frog pajamas, automatically turning on the TV on her way. The program was about the recent retirement of the Pope. The reporter was saying something about a possible blackmail by a secret society famous for their recent appearance in a Benjamin Goat’s movie.

                            She winced. The fridge was almost empty except for a few chinese cabbages and century eggs.

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