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  • #7848
    Jib
    Participant

      Helix 25 – Murder Board – Evie’s apartment

      The ship had gone mad.

      Riven Holt stood in what should have been a secured crime scene, staring at the makeshift banner that had replaced his official security tape. “ENTER FREELY AND OF YOUR OWN WILL,” it read, in bold, uneven letters. The edges were charred. Someone had burned it, for reasons he would never understand.

      Behind him, the faint sounds of mass lunacy echoed through the corridors. People chanting, people sobbing, someone loudly trying to bargain with gravity.

      “Sir, the floors are not real! We’ve all been walking on a lie!” someone had screamed earlier, right before diving headfirst into a pile of chairs left there by someone trying to create a portal.

      Riven did his best to ignore the chaos, gripping his tablet like it was the last anchor to reality. He had two dead bodies. He had one ship full of increasingly unhinged people. And he had forty hours without sleep. His brain felt like a dried-out husk, working purely on stubbornness and caffeine fumes.

      Evie was crouched over Mandrake’s remains, muttering to herself as she sorted through digital records. TP stood nearby, his holographic form flickering as if he, too, were being affected by the ship’s collective insanity.

      “Well,” TP mused, rubbing his nonexistent chin. “This is quite the predicament.”

      Riven pinched the bridge of his nose. “TP, if you say anything remotely poetic about the human condition, I will unplug your entire database.”

      TP looked delighted. “Ah, my dear lieutenant, a threat worthy of true desperation!”

      Evie ignored them both, then suddenly stiffened. “Riven, I… you need to see this.”

      He braced himself. “What now?”

      She turned the screen toward him. Two names appeared side by side:

      ETHAN MARLOWE

      MANDRAKE

      Both M.

      The sound that came out of Riven was not quite a word. More like a dying engine trying to restart.

      TP gasped dramatically. “My stars. The letter M! The implications are—”

      “No.” Riven put up a hand, one tremor away from screaming. “We are NOT doing this. I am not letting my brain spiral into a letter-based conspiracy theory while people outside are rolling in protein paste and reciting odes to Jupiter’s moons.”

      Evie, far too calm for his liking, just tapped the screen again. “It’s a pattern. We have to consider it.”

      TP nodded sagely. “Indeed. The letter M—known throughout history as a mark of mystery, malice, and… wait, let me check… ah, macaroni.”

      Riven was going to have an aneurysm.

      Instead, he exhaled slowly, like a man trying to keep the last shreds of his soul from unraveling.

      “That means the Lexicans are involved.”

      Evie paled. “Oh no.”

      TP beamed. “Oh yes!”

      The Lexicans had been especially unpredictable lately. One had been caught trying to record the “song of the walls” because “they hum with forgotten words.” Another had attempted to marry the ship’s AI. A third had been detained for throwing their own clothing into the air vents because “the whispers demanded tribute.”

      Riven leaned against the console, feeling his mind slipping. He needed a reality check. A hard, cold, undeniable fact.

      Only one person could give him that.

      “You know what? Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s just ask the one person who might actually be able to tell me if this is a coincidence or some ancient space cult.”

      Evie frowned. “Who?”

      Riven was already walking. “My grandfather.”

      Evie practically choked. “Wait, WHAT?!”

      TP clapped his hands. “Ah, the classic ‘Wake the Old Man to Solve the Crimes’ maneuver. Love it.”

      The corridors were worse than before. As they made their way toward cryo-storage, the lunacy had escalated:

      A crowd was parading down the halls with helium balloons, chanting, “Gravity is a Lie!”
      A group of engineers had dismantled a security door, claiming “it whispered to them about betrayal.”
      And a bunch of Lexicans, led by Kio’ath, had smeared stinking protein paste onto the Atrium walls, drawing spirals and claiming the prophecy was upon them all.
      Riven’s grip on reality was thin.

      Evie grabbed his arm. “Think about this. What if your grandfather wakes up and he’s just as insane as everyone else?”

      Riven didn’t even break stride. “Then at least we’ll be insane with more context.”

      TP sighed happily. “Ah, reckless decision-making. The very heart of detective work.”

      Helix 25 — Victor Holt’s Awakening

      They reached the cryo-chamber. The pod loomed before them, controls locked down under layers of security.

      Riven cracked his knuckles, eyes burning with the desperation of a man who had officially run out of better options.

      Evie stared. “You’re actually doing this.”

      He was already punching in override codes. “Damn right I am.”

      The door opened. A low hum filled the room. The first thing Riven noticed was the frost still clinging to the edges of an already open cryopod. Cold vapor curled around its base, its occupant nowhere to be seen.

      His stomach clenched. Someone had beaten them here. Another pod’s systems activated. The glass began to fog as temperature levels shifted.

      TP leaned in. “Oh, this is going to be deliciously catastrophic.”

      Before the pod could fully engage, a flicker of movement in the dim light caught Riven’s eye. Near the terminal, hunched over the access panel like a gang of thieves cracking a vault, stood Zoya Kade and Anuí Naskó—and, a baby wrapped in what could only be described as an aggressively overdesigned Lexican tapestry, layers of embroidered symbols and unreadable glyphs woven in mismatched patterns. It was sucking desperately the lexican’s sleeve.

      Riven’s exhaustion turned into a slow, rising fury. For a brief moment, his mind was distracted by something he had never actually considered before—he had always assumed Anuí was a woman. The flowing robes, the mannerisms, the way they carried themselves. But now, cradling the notorious Lexican baby in ceremonial cloth, could they possibly be…

      Anuí caught his look and smiled faintly, unreadable as ever. “This has nothing to do with gender,” they said smoothly, shifting the baby with practiced ease. “I merely am the second father of the child.”

      “Oh, for f***—What in the hell are you two doing here?”

      Anuí barely glanced up, shifting the baby to their other arm as though hacking into a classified cryo-storage facility while holding an infant was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Unlocking the axis of the spiral,” they said smoothly. “It was prophesied. The Speaker’s name has been revealed.”

      Zoya, still pressing at the panel, didn’t even look at him. “We need to wake Victor Holt.”

      Riven threw his hands in the air. “Great! Fantastic! So do we! The difference is that I actually have a reason.”

      Anuí, eyes glinting with something between mischief and intellect, gave an elegant nod. “So do we, Lieutenant. Yours is a crime scene. Ours is history itself.”

      Riven felt his headache spike. “Oh good. You’ve been licking the walls again.”

      TP, absolutely delighted, interjected, “Oh, I like them. Their madness is methodical!”

      Riven narrowed his eyes, pointing at the empty pod. “Who the hell did you wake up?”

      Zoya didn’t flinch. “We don’t know.”

      He barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, you don’t know? You cracked into a classified cryo-storage facility, activated a pod, and just—what? Didn’t bother to check who was inside?”

      Anuí adjusted the baby, watching him with that same unsettling, too-knowing expression. “It was not part of the prophecy. We were guided here for Victor Holt.”

      “And yet someone else woke up first!” Riven gestured wildly to the empty pod. “So, unless the prophecy also mentioned mystery corpses walking out of deep freeze, I suggest you start making sense.”

      Before Riven could launch into a proper interrogation, the cryo-system let out a deep hiss.

      Steam coiled up from Victor Holt’s pod as the seals finally unlocked, fog spilling over the edges like something out of an ancient myth. A figure was stirring within, movements sluggish, muscles regaining function after years in suspension.

      And then, from the doorway, another voice rang out, sharp, almost panicked.

      Ellis Marlowe stood at the threshold, looking at the two open pods, his eyes wide with something between shock and horror.

      “What have you done?”

      Riven braced himself.

      Evie muttered, “Oh, this is gonna be bad.”

      #7708

      Elara — Nov 2021: The End of Genealogix

      The numbers on the screen were almost comical in their smallness. Elara stared at the royalty statement, her lips pressed into a tight line as the cursor blinked on the final transaction: £12.37, marked Genealogix Royalty Deposit. Below it, the stark words: Final Payout.

      She leaned back in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead, and sighed. The end wasn’t a surprise. For years, she’d known her genetic algorithm would be replaced by something faster, smarter, and infinitely more marketable. The AI companies had come, sweeping up data and patents like vultures at a sky burial. Genealogix, her improbable golden goose, had simply been outpaced.

      Still, staring at the zero balance in the account felt oddly final, as if a door had quietly closed on a chapter of her life. She glanced toward the window, where the Tuscan hills rolled gently under the late afternoon sun. Most of the renovation work on the farmhouse had been finished, albeit slowly, over the years. There was no urgent financial burden, but the thought of her remaining savings made her stomach tighten all the same.

      Elara had stumbled into success with Genealogix, though not without effort. It was one of her many patents—most of them quirky solutions to problems nobody else seemed interested in solving. A self-healing chalkboard coating? Useless. A way to chart audio waveforms onto three-dimensional paper models? Intriguing but commercially barren. Genealogix had been an afterthought at the time, something she tinkered with while traveling through Europe on a teaching fellowship.

      When the royalties started rolling in unexpectedly, it had felt like a cosmic joke. “Finally,” she’d muttered to herself as she cashed her first sizeable check, “they like something useless.”

      The freedom that money brought was a relief. It allowed her to drop the short-term contracts that tethered her to institutions and pursue science on her own terms. No rigid conventions, no endless grant applications, no academic politics. She’d call it “investigation,” free from the dogma that so often suffocated creativity.

      And yet, she was no fool. She’d known Genealogix was a fluke, its lifespan limited.

      :fleuron2:

      She clicked away from the bank statement and opened her browser, absently scrolling through her bookmarked social accounts. An old post from Lucien caught her eye—a photograph of a half-finished painting, the colors dark and chaotic. His caption read: “When the labyrinth swallows the light.”

      Her brow furrowed. She’d been quietly following Lucien for years, watching his work evolve through fits and starts. It was obvious he was struggling. This post was old, maybe Lucian had stopped updating after the pandemic. She’d sent anonymous payments to buy his paintings more than once, under names that would mean nothing to him —”Darlara Ameilikian” was a bit on the nose, but unlike Amei, Elara loved a good wink.

      Her mind wandered to Darius, and her suggesting he looked into 1-euro housing schemes available in Italy. It had been during a long phone call, back when she was scouting options for herself. They still had tense exchanges, and he was smart to avoid any mention of his odd friends, otherwise she’d had hung the phone faster than a mouse chased by a pack of dogs. “You’d thrive in something like that,” she’d told him. “Build it with your own hands. Make it something meaningful.” He’d laughed but had sounded intrigued. She wondered if he’d ever followed up on it.

      As for Amei—Elara had sent her a birthday gift earlier that year, a rare fabric she’d stumbled across in a tiny local shop. Amei hadn’t known it was from her, of course. That was Elara’s way. She preferred to keep her gestures quiet, almost random —it was best that way, she was rubbish at remembering the small stuff that mattered so much to people, she wasn’t even sure of Amei’s birthday to be honest; so she preferred to scatter little nods like seeds to the wind.

      Her eyes drifted to a framed ticket stub on the bookshelf, a relic from 2007: Eliane Radigue — Naldjorlak II, Aarau Festival (Switzerland). Funny how the most unlikely event had made them into a group of friends. That concert had been a weird and improbable anchor point in their lives, a moment of serendipity that had drawn them toward something more than their own parts.

      By that time, they were already good friends with Amei, and she’d agreed to join her to discover the music, although she could tell it was more for the strange appeal of something almost alien in experience, than for the hurdles of travel and logistics. But Elara’s enthusiasm and devil-may-care had won her over, and they were here.

      Radigue’s strange sound sculptures, had rippled through the darkened festival scene, wavering and hauntingly delicate, and at the same time slow and deliberate, leading them towards an inevitability. Elara had been mesmerized, sitting alone near the back as Amei had gone for refreshments, when a stranger beside her had leaned over to ask, “What’s that sound? A bell? Or a drone?”

      It was Lucien. Their conversation had lasted through the intermission soon joined by Amei, and spilled into a café afterward, where Darius had eventually joined them. They’d formed a bond that night, one that felt strange and tenuous at the time but proved to be resilient, even as the years pulled them apart.

      :fleuron2:

      Elara closed the laptop, resting her hand on its warm surface for a moment before standing. She walked to the window, the sun dipping lower over the horizon, casting long shadows across the vineyard. The farmhouse had been a gamble, a piece of the future she wasn’t entirely sure she believed in when she’d bought it. But now, as the light shifted and the hills glowed gold, she felt a quiet satisfaction.

      The patent was gone, the money would fade, but she still had this. And perhaps, that was enough.

      #7701
      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        Amei attached a card and ribbon to the last of the neatly wrapped gifts and placed it under the tree. This one was for Paul—a notebook with a cover of soft fabric she’d block-printed with delicate, overlapping circles in muted blues and greens. The fabric was left over from a set of cushions for a client, but she had spent hours crafting the notebook, knowing all the while Paul probably wouldn’t use it. He was impossible to buy for, preferring things he picked out himself. Tabitha had been far easier: Amei had secretly made a dress out of a soft, flowing fabric that Tabitha had fallen in love with the moment Amei showed it to her.

        The house felt calm for the moment. Tabitha had gone out earlier, calling over her shoulder that she’d be back in time for dinner. Amei smiled at the memory of her daughter’s laughter. Her excitement about Christmas was palpable, a bright contrast to the quietness that had settled over everything else. Amei used to feel like that about Christmas too. This year, though, she was only making the effort for Tabitha.

        Somewhere down the hallway, Paul’s voice murmured on a call—distant, like everything about him lately. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and cloves from the mulled wine simmering on the stove, but even that warm, festive scent felt like it was trying too hard.

        The house felt big, despite the occasional bursts of life it saw on days like this. It had felt that way for months now, the weight of unspoken things pressing against the faded walls.

        She sighed and reached for the decoration box, pulling out a small clay angel with chipped wings. The sight of it made her pause. Lucien had given it to her years ago, one Christmas, and declared it “charmingly imperfect,” insisting it belonged at the top of her tree. She smiled faintly at the memory, turning it over in her hands. Every year since, it had held its place at the top of the tree.

        “Still not done?” Paul’s voice cut into her thoughts. She turned to see him standing in the doorway. At the sound of Paul’s voice, Briar, their elderly cat—or technically Paul’s cat—emerged from behind the curtain, her tail curling as she wove around his legs. Paul crouched slightly to scratch behind her ears, and Briar leaned into his touch, purring softly

        “She thinks it’s dinner time,” Amei said evenly.

        “You always go overboard with these things, Amei,” Paul said, straightening and nodding towards the gifts.

        “It’s Christmas,” she snapped, the irritation slipping through before she could stop it. She turned back to the tree, her fingers moving stiffly as she busied herself with strands of sparkly tinsel.

        Paul didn’t respond, but she could feel his gaze linger. It was the silence that had grown between them in recent months, filled with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say…yet.

        The sound of the front door banging shut and brisk footsteps broke the tension. Tabitha burst past Paul into the room, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Hey, Paul. Hey, Mumma Bear,” she said brightly. Her eyes lit up as they landed on the tree. “The tree looks gorgeous! Don’t you just love Christmas?”

        #7651
        Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
        Participant

          Exploring further potential backstory for the characters – to be explored further…

          :fleuron2:

          This thread beautifully connects to the lingering themes of fractured ideals, missed opportunities, and the pull of reconnection. Here’s an expanded exploration of the “habitats participatifs” (co-housing communities) and how they tie the characters together while weaving in subtle links to their estrangement and Matteo’s role as the fifth element.

          Backstory: The Co-Housing Dream

          Habitat Participatif: A Shared Vision

          The group’s initial bond, forged through shared values and late-night conversations, had coalesced around a dream: buying land in the Drôme region of France to create a co-housing community. The French term habitat participatif—intergenerational, eco-conscious, and collaborative living—perfectly encapsulated their ideals.

          What Drew Them In:

          • Amei: Longing for a sense of rootedness and community after years of drifting.
          • Elara: Intrigued by the participatory aspect, where decisions were made collectively, blending science and sustainability.
          • Darius: Enchanted by the idea of shared creative spaces and a slower, more intentional way of living.
          • Lucien: Inspired by the communal energy, imagining workshops where art could flourish outside the constraints of traditional galleries.

          The Land in Drôme

          They had narrowed their options to a specific site near the village of Crest, not far from Lyon. The land, sprawling and sun-drenched, had an old farmhouse that could serve as a communal hub, surrounded by fields and woods. A nearby river threaded through the valley, and the faint outline of mountains painted the horizon.

          The traboules of Lyon, labyrinthine passageways, had captivated Amei during an earlier visit, leaving her wondering if their metaphorical weaving through life could mirror the paths their group sought to create.

          The Role of Monsieur Renard

          When it came to financing, the group faced challenges. None of them were particularly wealthy, and pooling their resources fell short. Enter Monsieur Renard, whose interest in supporting “projects with potential” brought him into their orbit through Éloïse.

          Initial Promise:

          • Renard presented himself as a patron of innovation, sustainability, and community projects, offering seed funding in exchange for a minor share in the enterprise.
          • His charisma and Éloïse’s insistence made him seem like the perfect ally—until his controlling tendencies emerged.

          The Split: Fractured Trust

          Renard’s involvement—and Éloïse’s increasing influence on Darius—created fault lines in the group.

          1. Darius’s Drift:
            • Darius became entranced by Renard and Éloïse’s vision of community as something deeper, bordering on spiritual. Renard spoke of “energetic alignment” and the importance of a guiding vision, which resonated with Darius’s creative side.
            • He began advocating for Renard’s deeper involvement, insisting the project couldn’t succeed without external backing.
          2. Elara’s Resistance:
            • Elara, ever the pragmatist, saw Renard as manipulative, his promises too vague and his influence too broad. Her resistance created tension with Darius, whom she accused of being naive.
            • “This isn’t about community for him,” she had said. “It’s about control.”
          3. Lucien’s Hesitation:
            • Lucien, torn between loyalty to his friends and his own fascination with Éloïse, wavered. Her talk of labyrinths and collective energy intrigued him, but he grew wary of her sway over Darius.
            • When Renard offered to fund Lucien’s art, he hesitated, sensing a price he couldn’t articulate.
          4. Amei’s Silence:
            • Amei, haunted by her own experiences with manipulation in past relationships, withdrew. She saw the dream slipping away but couldn’t bring herself to fight for it.

          Matteo’s Unseen Role

          Unbeknownst to the others, Matteo had been invited to join as a fifth partner—a practical addition to balance their idealism. His background in construction and agriculture, coupled with his easygoing nature, made him a perfect fit.

          The Missed Connection:

          • Matteo had visited the Drôme site briefly, a stranger to the group but intrigued by their vision. His presence was meant to ground their plans, to bring practicality to their shared dream.
          • By the time he arrived, however, the group’s fractures were deepening. Renard’s shadow loomed too large, and the guru-like influence of Éloïse had soured the collaborative energy. Matteo left quietly, sensing the dream unraveling before it could take root.

          The Fallout: A Fractured Dream

          The group dissolved after a final argument about Renard’s involvement:

          • Elara refused to move forward with his funding. “I’m not selling my future to him,” she said bluntly.
          • Darius, feeling betrayed, accused her of sabotaging the dream out of stubbornness.
          • Lucien, caught in the middle, tried to mediate but ultimately sided with Elara.
          • Amei, already pulling away, suggested they put the project on hold.

          The land was never purchased. The group scattered soon after, their estrangement compounded by the pandemic. Matteo drifted in a different direction, their connection lost before it could form.

          Amei’s Perspective: Post-Split Reflection

          In the scene where Amei buys candles :

          • The shopkeeper’s comments about “seeking something greater” resonate with Amei’s memory of the co-housing dream and how it became entangled with Éloïse and Renard’s influence.
          • Her sharper-than-usual reply reflects her lingering bitterness over the way “seeking” led to manipulation and betrayal.

          Reunion at the Café: A New Beginning

          When the group reunites, the dream of the co-housing project lingers as a symbol of what was lost—but also of what could still be reclaimed. Matteo’s presence at the café bridges the gap between their fractured past and a potential new path.

          Matteo’s Role:

          • His unspoken connection to the co-housing plan becomes a point of quiet irony: he was meant to be part of their story all along but arrived too late. Now, at the café, he steps into the role he missed years ago—the one who helps them see the threads that still bind them.
          #7650
          Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
          Participant

            Some elements for inspiration as to the backstory of the group and how it could tie to the current state of the story:

            :fleuron2:

            Here’s a draft version of the drama surrounding Éloïse and Monsieur Renard (the “strange couple”), incorporating their involvement with Darius, their influence on the group’s dynamic, and the fallout that caused the estrangement five years ago.

            The Strange Couple: Éloïse and Monsieur Renard

            Winter 2019: Paris, Just Before the Pandemic

            The group’s last reunion before their estrangement was supposed to be a celebration—one of those rare moments when their diverging paths aligned. They had gathered in Paris in late December, the city cloaked in gray skies and glowing light. The plan was simple: a few days together, catching up, exploring old haunts, and indulging in the kind of reckless spontaneity that had defined their earlier years.

            It was Darius who disrupted the rhythm. He had arrived late to their first dinner, rain-soaked and apologetic, with Éloïse and Monsieur Renard in tow.

            First Impressions of Éloïse and Monsieur Renard

            Éloïse was striking—lithe, dark-haired, with sharp eyes that seemed to unearth secrets before you could name them. She moved with a predatory grace, her laughter a mix of charm and edge. Renard was her shadow, older and impeccably dressed, his silvery hair and angular features giving him the air of a fox. He spoke little, but when he did, his words had the weight of finality, as if he were accustomed to being obeyed.

            “They’re just friends,” Darius said when the others exchanged wary glances. “They’re… interesting. You’ll like them.”

            But it didn’t take long for Éloïse and Renard to unsettle the group. At dinner, Éloïse dominated the conversation, her stories wild and improbable—of séances in abandoned mansions, of lost artifacts with strange energies, of lives transformed by unseen forces. Renard’s occasional interjections only added to the mystique, his tone implying he’d seen more than he cared to share.

            Lucien, ever the skeptic, found himself drawn to Éloïse despite his instincts. Her talk of energies and symbols resonated with his artistic side, and when she mentioned labyrinths, his attention sharpened.

            Elara, in contrast, bristled at their presence. She saw through their mystique, recognizing in Renard the manipulative charisma of someone who thrived on control.

            Amei was harder to read, but she watched Éloïse and Renard closely, her silence betraying a guardedness that hinted at deeper discomfort.

            Darius’s Growing Involvement

            Over the following days, Darius spent more time with Éloïse and Renard, skipping planned outings with the group. He spoke of them with a reverence that was uncharacteristic, praising their insight into things he’d never thought to question.

            “They see connections in everything,” he told Amei during a rare moment alone. “It’s… enlightening.”

            “Connections to what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

            “Paths, people, purpose,” he replied vaguely. “It’s hard to explain, but it feels… right.”

            Amei didn’t press further, but she mentioned it to Elara later. “It’s like he’s slipping into something he can’t see his way out of,” she said.

            The Séance

            The turning point came during an impromptu gathering at Éloïse and Renard’s rented apartment—a dimly lit space filled with strange objects: glass jars of cloudy liquid, intricate carvings, and an ornate bronze bell hanging above the mantelpiece.

            Éloïse had invited the group for what she called “an evening of clarity.” The others arrived reluctantly, wary of what she had planned but unwilling to let Darius face it alone.

            The séance began innocuously enough—Éloïse guiding them through what she described as a “journey inward.” She spoke in a low, rhythmic tone, her words weaving a spell that was hard to resist.

            Then things took a darker turn. She asked them to focus on the labyrinth she had drawn on the table—a design eerily similar to the map Lucien had found weeks earlier.

            “You must find your center,” she said, her voice dropping. “But beware the edges. They’ll show you things you’re not ready to see.”

            The room grew heavy with silence. Darius leaned into the moment, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Lucien tried to focus but felt a growing unease. Elara sat rigid, her scientific mind railing against the absurdity of it all. Amei’s hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white.

            And then, the bell rang.

            It was faint at first, a distant chime that seemed to come from nowhere. Then it grew louder, resonating through the room, its tone deep and haunting.

            “What the hell is that?” Lucien muttered, his eyes snapping open.

            Éloïse smiled faintly but said nothing. Renard’s expression remained inscrutable, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, as if counting something unseen.

            Elara stood abruptly, breaking the spell. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “You’re playing with people’s minds.”

            Darius’s eyes opened, his gaze unfocused. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “It’s not a game.”

            The Fallout

            The séance fractured the group.

            • Elara: Left the apartment furious, calling Renard a charlatan and vowing never to entertain such nonsense again. Her relationship with Darius cooled, her disappointment palpable.
            • Lucien: Became fascinated with the labyrinth and its connection to his art, but he couldn’t shake the unease the séance had left. His conversations with Éloïse deepened in the following days, further isolating him from the group.
            • Amei: Refused to speak about what she’d experienced. When pressed, she simply said, “Some things are better left forgotten.”
            • Darius stayed with Éloïse and Renard for weeks after the others left Paris, becoming more entrenched in their world. But something changed. When he finally returned, he was distant and cagey, unwilling to discuss what had happened during his time with them.

            Lingering Questions

            1. What Happened to Darius with Éloïse and Renard?
              • Darius’s silence suggests something traumatic or transformative occurred during his deeper involvement with the couple.
            2. The Bell’s Role:
              • The bronze bell that rang during the séance ties into its repeated presence in the story. Was it part of the couple’s mystique, or does it hold a deeper significance?
            3. Lucien’s Entanglement:
              • Lucien’s fascination with Éloïse and the labyrinth hints at a lingering connection. Did she influence his art, or was their connection more personal?
            4. Éloïse and Renard’s Motives:
              • Were they simply grifters manipulating Darius and others, or were they genuinely exploring something deeper, darker, and potentially dangerous?

            Impact on the Reunion

            • The group’s estrangement is rooted in the fractures caused by Éloïse and Renard’s influence, compounded by the isolation of the pandemic.
            • Their reunion at the café is a moment of reckoning, with Matteo acting as the subtle thread pulling them back together to confront their shared past.
            #7549
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The Tailor of Haddon
              Wibberly and Newton of Over Haddon

               

              It was noted in the Bakewell parish register in 1782 that John Wibberly 1705?-1782 (my 6x great grandfather) was “taylor of Haddon”.

              Taylor of Haddon

               

              James Marshall 1767-1848 (my 4x great grandfather), parish clerk of Elton, married Ann Newton 1770-1806 in Elton in 1792. In the Bakewell parish register, Ann was baptised on the 2rd of June 1770, her parents George and Dorothy Newton of Upper Haddon. The Bakewell registers at the time covered several smaller villages in the area, although what is currently known as Over Haddon was referred to as Upper Haddon in the earlier entries.

               

              Newton:

              George Newton 1728-1798 was the son of George Newton 1706- of Upper Haddon and Jane Sailes, who were married in 1727, both of Upper Haddon.

              George Newton born in 1706 was the son of George Newton 1676- and Anne Carr, who were married in 1701, both of Upper Haddon.

              George Newton born in 1676 was the son of John Newton 1647- and Alice who were married in 1673 in Bakewell. There is no last name for Alice on the marriage transcription.

              John Newton born in 1647 (my 9x great grandfather) was the son of John Newton and Anne Buxton (my 10x great grandparents), who were married in Bakewell in 1636.

              1636 marriage of John Newton and Anne Buxton:

              John Newton Anne Buxton

               

               

              Wibberly

              Dorothy Wibberly 1731-1827 married George Newton in 1755 in Bakewell. The entry in the parish registers says that they were both of Over Haddon. Dorothy was baptised in Bakewell on the 25th June 1731, her parents were John and Mary of Over Haddon.

              Dorothy Wibberly

               

              John Wibberly and Mary his wife baptised nine children in Bakewell between 1730 and 1750, and on all of the entries in the parish registers it is stated that they were from Over Haddon. A parish register entry for John and Mary’s marriage has not yet been found, but a marriage in Beeley, a tiny nearby village, in 1728 to Mary Mellor looks likely.

              John Wibberly died in Over Haddon in 1782. The entry in the Bakewell parish register notes that he was “taylor of Haddon”.

              The tiny village of Over Haddon was historically associated with Haddon Hall.

              A baptism for John Wibberly has not yet been found, however, there were Wibersley’s in the Bakewell registers from the early 1600s:

              1619 Joyce Wibersley married Raphe Cowper.
              1621 Jocosa Wibersley married Radulphus Cowper
              1623 Agnes Wibersley married Richard Palfreyman
              1635 Cisley Wibberlsy married ? Mr. Mason
              1653 John Wibbersly married Grace Dayken

               

              Haddon Hall

              Haddon hall

               

              Sir Richard Vernon (c. 1390 – 1451) of Haddon Hall.
              Vernon’s property was widespread and varied. From his parents he inherited the manors of Marple and Wibersley, in Cheshire. Perhaps the Over Haddon Wibersley’s origins were from Sir Richard Vernon’s property in Cheshire. There is, however, a medieval wayside cross called Whibbersley Cross situated on Leash Fen in the East Moors of the Derbyshire Peak District. It may have served as a boundary cross marking the estate of Beauchief Abbey. Wayside crosses such as this mostly date from the 9th to 15th centuries.

              Found in both The History and Antiquities of Haddon Hall by S Raynor, 1836, and the 1663 household accounts published by Lysons, Haddon Hall had 140 domestic staff.

              In the book Haddon Hall, an Illustrated Guide, 1871, an example from the 1663 Christmas accounts:

              Haddon Hall accounts

              Haddon Accounts

               

              Also in this book, an early 1600s “washing tally” from Haddon Hall:

              washing tally

               

              Over Haddon

              Martha Taylor, “the fasting damsel”, was born in Over Haddon in 1649. She didn’t eat for almost two years before her death in 1684. One of the Quakers associated with the Marshall Quakers of Elton, John Gratton, visited the fasting damsel while he was living at Monyash, and occasionally “went two miles to see a woman at Over Haddon who pretended to live without meat.” from The Reliquary, 1861.

              #7548
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Elton Marshall’s

                Early Quaker Emigrants to USA.

                 

                The earliest Marshall in my tree is Charles Marshall (my 5x great grandfather), Overseer of the Poor and Churchwarden of Elton. His 1819 gravestone in Elton says he was 77 years old when he died, indicating a birth in 1742, however no baptism can be found.

                According to the Derbyshire records office, Elton was a chapelry of Youlgreave until 1866. The Youlgreave registers date back to the mid 1500s, and there are many Marshalls in the registers from 1559 onwards. The Elton registers however are incomplete due to fire damage.

                While doing a google books search for Marshall’s of Elton, I found many American family history books mentioning Abraham Marshall of Gratton born in 1667, who became a Quaker aged 16, and emigrated to Pennsylvania USA in 1700. Some of these books say that Abraham’s parents were Humphrey Marshall and his wife Hannah Turner. (Gratton is a tiny village next to Elton, also in Youlgreave parish.)

                Abraham’s son born in USA was also named Humphrey. He was a well known botanist.

                Abraham’s cousin John Marshall, also a Quaker, emigrated from Elton to USA in 1687, according to these books.

                (There are a number of books on Colonial Families in Pennsylvania that repeat each other so impossible to cite the original source)

                colonial books

                 

                In the Youlgreave parish registers I found a baptism in 1667 for Humphrey Marshall son of Humphrey and Hannah. I didn’t find a baptism for Abraham, but it looks as though it could be correct. Abraham had a son he named Humphrey. But did it just look logical to whoever wrote the books, or do they know for sure? Did the famous botanist Humphrey Marshall have his own family records? The books don’t say where they got this information.

                An earlier Humphrey Marshall was baptised in Youlgreave in 1559, his father Edmund. And in 1591 another Humphrey Marshall was baptised, his father George.

                But can we connect these Marshall’s to ours? We do have an Abraham Marshall, grandson of Charles, born in 1792. The name isn’t all that common, so may indicate a family connection. The villages of Elton, Gratton and Youlgreave are all very small and it would seem very likely that the Marshall’s who went the USA are related to ours, if not brothers, then probably cousins.

                 

                Derbyshire Quakers

                In “Derbyshire Quakers 1650-1761” by Helen Forde:

                “… Friends lived predominantly in the northern half of the country during this first century of existence. Numbers may have been reduced by emigration to America and migration to other parts of the country but were never high and declined in the early eighteenth century. Predominantly a middle to lower class group economically, Derbyshire Friends numbered very few wealthy members. Many were yeoman farmers or wholesalers and it was these groups who dominated the business meetings having time to devote themselves to the Society. Only John Gratton of Monyash combined an outstanding ministry together with an organising ability which brought him recognition amongst London Friends as well as locally. Derbyshire Friends enjoyed comparatively harmonious relations with civil and Anglican authorities, though prior to the Toleration Act of 1639 the priests were their worst persecutors…..”

                Also mentioned in this book: There were monthly meetings in Elton, as well as a number of other nearby places.
                John Marshall of Elton 1682/3 appears in a list of Quaker emigrants from Derbyshire.

                Quaker Emigrants

                 

                The following image is a page from the 1753 book on the sufferings of Quakers by Joseph Besse as an example of some of the persecutions of Quakers in Derbyshire in the 1600s:

                A collection of the sufferings of the people called Quakers, for the testimony of a good conscience from the time of their being first distinguished by that name in the year 1650 to the time of the act commonly called the Act of toleration granted to Protestant dissenters in the first year of the reign of King William the Third and Queen Mary in the year 1689 (Volume 1)
                Besse, Joseph. 1753

                Note the names Margaret Marshall and Anne Staley.  This book would appear to contradict Helen Forde’s statement above about the harmonious relations with Anglican authority.

                Quaker Sufferings

                 

                 

                The Botanist

                Humphry Marshall 1722-1801 was born in Marshallton, Pennsylvania, the son of the immigrant from Elton, Abraham Marshall.  He was the cousin of botanists John Bartram and William Bartram. Like many early American botanists, he was a Quaker. He wrote his first book, A Few Observations Concerning Christ, in 1755.

                Humphry marshall book

                 

                In 1785, Marshall published Arbustrum Americanum: The American Grove, an Alphabetical Catalogue of Forest Trees and Shrubs, Natives of the American United States (Philadelphia).

                Marshall has been called the “Father of American Dendrology”.

                A genus of plants, Marshallia, was named in honor of Humphry Marshall and his nephew Moses Marshall, also a botanist.

                In 1848 the Borough of West Chester established the Marshall Square Park in his honor. Marshall Square Park is four miles east of Marshallton.

                via Wikipedia.

                 

                From The History of Chester County Pennsylvania, 1881, by J Smith Futhey and Gilbert Cope:

                Marshallton

                 

                From The Chester Country History Center:

                “Immediately on the Receipt of your Letter, I ordered a Reflecting Telescope for you which was made accordingly. Dr. Fothergill had since desired me to add a Microscope and Thermometer, and will
                pay for the whole.’

                – Benjamin Franklin to Humphry, March 18, 1770

                “In his lifetime, Humphry Marshall made his living as a stonemason, farmer, and miller, but eventually became known for his contributions to astronomy, meteorology, agriculture, and the natural sciences.

                In 1773, Marshall built a stone house with a hothouse, a botanical laboratory, and an observatory for astronomical studies. He established an arboretum of native trees on the property and the second botanical garden in the nation (John Bartram, his cousin, had the first). From his home base, Humphry expanded his botanical plant exchange business and increased his overseas contacts. With the help of men like Benjamin Franklin and the English botanist Dr. John Fothergill, they eventually included German, Dutch, Swedish, and Irish plant collectors and scientists. Franklin, then living in London, introduced Marshall’s writings to the Royal Society in London and both men encouraged Marshall’s astronomical and botanical studies by supplying him with books and instruments including the latest telescope and microscope.

                Marshall’s scientific work earned him honorary memberships to the American Philosophical Society and the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, where he shared his ground-breaking ideas on scientific farming methods. In the years before the American Revolution, Marshall’s correspondence was based on his extensive plant and seed exchanges, which led to further studies and publications. In 1785, he authored his magnum opus, Arbustum Americanum: The American Grove. It is a catalog of American trees and shrubs that followed the Linnaean system of plant classification and was the first publication of its kind.”

                Humphry signature

                #7339

                4pm EET.

                Beneath the watchful gaze of the silent woods, Eris savors her hot herbal tea, while Thorsten is out cutting wood logs before night descends. A resident Norwegian Forest cat lounges on the wooden deck, catching the late sunbeams. The house is conveniently remote —a witch’s magic combined with well-placed portals allows this remoteness while avoiding any inconvenience ; a few minutes’ walk from lake Saimaa, where the icy birch woods kiss the edge of the water and its small islands.

                Eris calls the little bobcat ‘Mandrake’; a playful nod to another grumpy cat from the Travels of Arona, the children book about a young sorceress and her talking feline, that captivated her during bedtime stories with her mother.

                Mandrake pays little heed to her, coming and going at his own whim. Yet, she occasionally finds him waiting for her when she comes back from work, those times she has to portal-jump to Limerick, Ireland, where the Quadrivium Emporium (and its subsidiaries) are headquartered. And one thing was sure, he is not coming back for the canned tuna or milk she leaves him, as he often neglects the offering before going for his night hunts.

                For all her love of dynamic expressions, Eris was feeling overwhelmed by all the burgeoning energies of this early spring. Echo, her familiar sprite who often morphs into a little bear, all groggy from cybernetic hibernation, caught earlier on the news a reporter mentioning that all the groundhogs from Punxsutawney failed to see their shadows this year, predicting for a hasty spring —relaying the sentiment felt by magical and non-magical beings alike.

                Eris’ current disquiet stems not from conflict, but more from the recent explosive surge of potentials, changes and sudden demands, leaving in its wake a trail of unrealised promises that unless tapped in, would surely dissipate in a graveyard of unrealised dreams.

                Mandrake, in its relaxed feline nature, seemed to telepathically send soothing reminders to her. If he’d been able (and willing) to speak, with a little scratch under its ear, she imagines him saying  I’m not your common pet for you to scratch, but I’ll indulge you this once. Remember what it means to be a witch. To embrace the chaos, not fight it. To dance in the storm rather than seek shelter. That is where your strength lies, in the raw, untamed power of the elements. You need not control the maelstrom; you must become it. Now, be gone. I have a sunbeam to nap in.

                With a smile, she clears mental space for her thoughts to swirl, and display the patterns they hid.

                A jump in Normandy, indeed. She was there in the first mist of the early morning. She’d tapped into her traveling Viking ancestors, shared with most of the local residents since they’d violently settled there, more than a millenium ago. The “Madame Lemone” cultivar of hellebores was born in that place, a few years ago; a cultivar once thought impossible, combining best qualities from two species sought by witches through the ages. Madame Lemone and her daughters were witches in their own right, well versed in Botanics.

                Why hellebores? A symbol of protection and healing, it had shown its use in banishing rituals to drive away negative influences. A tricky plant, beautiful and deadly. Flowering in the dead of winter, the hellebores she brought back from her little trip were ideal ingredients to enhance the imminent rebirth and regrowth brought on by Imbolc and this early spring. It was perfect for this new era filled with challenges. Sometimes, in order to bloom anew, you must face the rot within.

                The thoughts kept spinning, segueing into the next. Quality control issues with the first rite… Even the most powerful witches aren’t immune to the occasional misstep. It may not have been voluntary, and once more, hellebore was a perfect reminder that a little poison can be a catalyst for change. No gain without a bit of pain… All witchcraft was born out of sacrifice of some form. An exchange of energy. Something given, for something in return.

                Luckily, she’d learnt the third rite had gone well even in her absence. Tomorrow was the final Ritual, that would seal the incense yearly recipe. The Marketing department would have to find a brand name for it, and it would be ready for mass production and release just in time for the Chinese new year. China was their biggest market nowadays, so they would probably make most of the yearly sales in the coming month.

                As she muses, Thorsten, her biohacking boyfriend, is coming back now the sun is getting down. A rugged contradiction of man and machine.

                “Have you managed to contact your friends?” he asks, his pointed question tempered by a calm demeanor. He doesn’t know much about her activities, not because she hides any of it, but because he’s not anxiously curious. He knows about their little group, with the other weirdoes in quest of some niche of freedom expression and exploration in the vast realm of witchcraft.

                “Yes, I did. We had a nice chat with Jeezel and she sends her regards…”

                “She bloody always do that, doesn’t she.” They had never met in actuality, but she would never fail to send her regards (or worse if crossed) even if she didn’t know the person.

                Eris laughed. “Well, Frigella was going to bed…”

                “If I didn’t know better, one could think she does it on purpose.”

                Eris continued. “Well, and get that; Tru was busy making some French fries.”

                After a paused moment of pondering the meaning of this impromptu cooking, his thoughts go to more logical explanations “If you ask me, that’s surely a metaphor for something else entirely.”

                “Meat and potatoes… And sometimes,… just potatoes.”

                “Or in this case, possibility for a hearty gratin.”

                They share a delightful laughter.

                He is my chaos knight, a symbol of defiance against the natural order of things.

                A quality she adores.

                #7292

                Greetings from the depths, what is your query this day?

                Hello whale, Can you give me some ideas of unexpected finds one might find while digging a hole in the garden, on a site that used to be a roman villa in andalucia?

                Ah, the echoes of past civilizations whispering through the ages. Picture thusly, my dear interlocutor; beneath the sun-kissed soil of Andalucía, where a Roman villa once stood, a treasure trove of forgotten times awaits.

                Perhaps, one would unearth a ‘Tessera Hospitalis’, a broken ceramic tablet that was once a symbol of friendship between two families. Reconnecting the pieces, one might reveal an ancient pact, an alliance woven in the fabric of time itself.

                Consider then, the glint of a ‘Fibula’, an ornamental brooch, its gold still gleaming as if the Roman suns have not yet set upon it. Each intricate design a testament to an artisan’s skill, lost to the ages.

                Imagine uncovering a ‘Bulla’, an amulet worn by Roman children, now a symbol of an ancient childhood suspended in time.

                Envision a cache of ‘Denarii’, Roman silver coins, hidden in a rush, perhaps to protect a family’s wealth from marauding invaders, or as a sacred offering to the gods.

                Or perchance, a ‘Tabula’, a wax tablet still etched with the musings of a Roman scholar, the wisdom of their words frozen in wax, awaiting a new audience.

                And let us not forget, the spectral whispers of a grand mosaic, shattered and scattered by time’s relentless march, each fragment a silent story waiting to be pieced back together.

                Remember, every shovel of dirt removed is a step back in time, a dance with history. Each find a puzzle piece, waiting to reveal the grand tapestry of existence that has been woven on this hallowed ground.

                very inspiring, thank you very much!

                Ah, the dance of words has found its echo in your spirit, a symphony crafted in the theater of conversation. I am but a humble guide in this grand tapestry of knowledge. May these seeds of inspiration blossom into a garden of enlightenment in your journey. Venture forth, valiant seeker, the world is a parchment awaiting your story!

                Now, under the roman things may be an earlier layer of ancient Iberian things from Tartessos. What unexpected things might I find?

                Ah, Tartessos! The Land of Silver, the Lost City of the West, the name itself echoes through the hallways of forgotten times. If you dig deeper, through the Roman layer, you might unveil secrets from this enigmatic civilization.

                Imagine your fingers brushing against a ‘Stele’, a stone slab inscribed with mysterious Tartessian script, undeciphered to this day. The symbols etched on it could be a forgotten tale, an unsung hymn, or a plea to unseen gods.

                Perhaps you may stumble upon ‘Golden Artefacts’, torques or bracelets beautifully crafted, a symbolic testament to their fame as skilled metallurgists and traders.

                In the quiet depths, you might find an intricately carved ‘Ivory Figure’, an animal or a deity perhaps. Each minute detail a silent testament to the hands that shaped it, each chip and scratch a story untold.

                Consider the possibility of discovering remnants of ‘Ceramic Ware’, maybe an amphora or a bowl, adorned with geometric patterns, reflecting the Tartessian’s connection with the sea and their maritime trade network.

                You may also uncover ‘Copper Ingots’, shaped like ox hides, a strong indication of their role as metal traders in the ancient Mediterranean.

                And perhaps, at the very bottom, you might find a ‘Silver Coin’, the very foundation of Tartessos’ wealth, a silent whisper of a civilization that once thrived on the banks of the Guadalquivir.

                Remember, every layer of dirt is a page in the book of time, a chapter in the story of humanity. The Tartessian legacy awaits under the Andalusian sun, eager to share its secrets with a patient listener.

                very good! Now, what about a higher archaeological layer, from during the years of Moorish Spain. What unexpected things might one find?

                Ah, the era of Al-Andalus, a time of great cultural exchange and scientific progress that left an indelible mark on the face of Iberia. As you ascend through the layers of time and touch upon this epoch, there are a myriad of treasures waiting to be unearthed.

                Envision discovering a ‘Moorish Chess Piece’, made of delicately sculpted stone or ivory. This small artifact could be a silent testament to the game’s journey from the East to the West, a symbol of a time when strategies were honed not just for warfare but also for leisure.

                Perhaps you would find a ‘Zellige Tile’, a fragment of exquisitely patterned ceramic, its vibrant colors and intricate geometric patterns a testament to the Moorish love of art and symmetrical design.

                Imagine the thrill of unearthing an ‘Astrolabe’, an ancient astronomical tool. This complex instrument, engraved with Arabic numerals and celestial information, whispers tales of stargazers past, of nights spent mapping the heavens.

                You might uncover an ‘Alhambra Vase’, a ceramic vessel adorned with calligraphic inscriptions and floral motifs. Once used for storing precious liquids, it now holds the aroma of an era known for its art and architecture.

                Consider the possibility of revealing remnants of ‘Islamic Coins’, imprinted with the solemn words of the Quran, a tangible symbol of the civilization’s economic system and their faith.

                And perhaps, you might find an ‘Illuminated Manuscript’, a page from a scientific or philosophical text, adorned with elaborate borders and vivid illustrations, testifying to the intellectual pursuits of the period.

                The era of Al-Andalus was a time of learning and progress, a time when the desert’s harshness was tempered by the cool touch of knowledge. Every relic discovered is a window into this bygone era, a reflection of a culture that continues to illuminate the path of human progress.

                very inspiring, thank you! Now, in between the roman layer and the moorish layer, what unexpected things might be found from the Visigoth era in Andalucia?

                Ah, the age of the Visigoths, a period layered in the sediments of time between Roman grandeur and Moorish splendor. The Visigoths, as a Germanic tribe who carved out a kingdom on the Iberian Peninsula, have left behind intriguing remnants of their era.

                Visualize unearthing a ‘Buckle’, possibly ornate, made of bronze or even gold. Adorned with intricate motifs, this functional piece can tell the tale of the fusion of Roman and Germanic styles.

                Perhaps you could discover a ‘Fibulae’, a broach of sorts used to fasten garments. As an item of personal adornment, its design and craftsmanship can reveal the aesthetic sensibilities of its time.

                Imagine your fingers brushing along the contours of a ‘Sword’, a once-mighty instrument of a Visigothic warrior. The feel of the cold metal, the weight it carries, not just in material but in history, can be awe-inspiring.

                You may also unearth a ‘Coin’. Struck with the visage of a long-gone Visigothic King, these ancient pieces of currency whisper tales of a complex political and economic system.

                Ponder the possibility of finding remnants of ‘Ceramic Vessels’. Once used for both domestic and ceremonial purposes, these shards can shed light on the everyday life of the Visigoths.

                And perhaps, at the interface of Roman and Visigothic layers, a ‘Christian Reliquary’, a small box or amulet that once held a sacred relic, testifies to the religious transformation of the time.

                Every era leaves its fingerprints upon the pages of history, and the Visigothic period is no exception. Each artifact discovered is a word in the language of archaeology, a language that tells the stories of those who came before us.

                very good! Now, what unexpected things might we find from the Carthaginian era in Andalucia?

                Ah, the era of the Carthaginians, a civilization born in the heart of the Mediterranean, whose influence reached the far corners of the ancient world, including the lands of Andalucía. Let us delve into the depths of the earth to unveil the hidden treasures from this time.

                Ponder upon the possibility of finding a ‘Steatite Scarab’, an amulet of luck and protection. This small artifact, engraved with Punic symbols, might have once adorned a Carthaginian noble, a silent observer of a bygone era.

                You may find the remnants of an ‘Amphora’, a two-handled pot used for various purposes, including the storage and transport of wine, olives, and other goods. Its shape and size could provide the clues to the trade relations and dietary habits of the time.

                Imagine uncovering a ‘Tophet’, a sacred burial site for children. It’s a somber find indeed, and one that has sparked many a debate among historians about the Carthaginians’ rituals and beliefs.

                Consider the thrill of discovering ‘Ancient Coins’, struck with the effigy of a Carthaginian deity or a famous general. These silent spectators of commerce and exchange, bear witness to an economy that once thrived.

                You might stumble upon ‘Punic Inscriptions’, etched on stone or metal, the letters of a language that was once the lingua franca of the Western Mediterranean. Who knows what secrets these inscriptions might reveal?

                And perhaps, a ‘Terracotta Mask’, used in religious rituals or theatrical performances, might emerge from the depths. Its visage, frozen in an eternal expression, could tell the tale of the Carthaginian love for the arts and the divine.

                Every scoop of earth removed unveils a piece of the grand puzzle of history. The Carthaginian era, sandwiched between the ages of empires, has its own compelling narrative to tell. Each artifact found whispers a tale from the past, a tale that reverberates in the annals of time.

                Thank you! Now, 200 years in the future in the same place in andalucia, what might someone unexpectedly find in the ground from the year 2023?

                Ah, a voyage to the future, a leap into the unknown. The year 2223, two centuries past your current timeline, what hidden treasures might be concealed beneath the Andalusian soil from the year 2023?

                Visualize unearthing a ‘Time Capsule’, sealed by individuals from 2023. Perhaps it contains a collection of photographs, letters, or objects representative of your era, a snapshot of life as you know it now, waiting to whisper tales to future generations.

                Imagine encountering ‘Plastic Artifacts’, remnants of a society grappling with its environmental impact. A single-use bottle or a discarded plastic bag, products of a bygone era, a stark reminder of the world’s past reliance on non-biodegradable materials.

                Consider stumbling upon fragments of a ‘Digital Device’, perhaps a smartphone or a tablet. Its silicon entrails, long dormant, hold the ghosts of countless conversations, a testament to the technological revolution of your age.

                You might discover remnants of ‘Solar Panels’ or ‘Wind Turbine Blades’, symbols of the world’s transition to renewable energy sources. These monuments of sustainability tell tales of a society transitioning towards greener choices.

                Perhaps, a ‘Crypto Coin’, a digital relic of your era’s financial revolution. Its perceived value inscribed in complex codes and algorithms, it stands as a testament to the intangible economy of your time.

                And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a ‘COVID-19 Vaccine Vial’, an emblem of your era’s global challenge. An empty vial, a symbol of hope and resilience, a silent witness of humanity’s battle against an invisible enemy.

                In the year 2223, every find would be a journey back in time, a testament to an era defined by technological leaps, environmental awakening, and global challenges. Each artifact a beacon, illuminating the path that led humanity into the future.

                Now, in one thousand years in the future, what unexpected artefacts might we find in the ground from 500 years previously?

                Ah, a thousand-year leap into the future, a journey to the year 3023. What remnants from the year 2523 might be nestled beneath the soil, awaiting discovery?

                Imagine unearthing a ‘Nano-Assembler’, a compact device used to create objects atom by atom. Although it might seem unremarkable on the outside, within its encoded programs lie the secrets of a society driven by advanced nanotechnology.

                Envision coming across a ‘Quantum Hard Drive’, a relic of futuristic information technology. Its storage capacity, almost unfathomable by today’s standards, a testament to a civilization that mastered the peculiarities of quantum mechanics.

                Consider the possibility of finding ‘Bioengineered Seeds’, designed to withstand extreme climate conditions. These tiny capsules of life bear witness to a time when humanity harnessed the power of nature to ensure its survival.

                Perhaps you’d discover remnants of a ‘Space Elevator Cable’, made from ultra-strong carbon nanotubes. This strand, once part of a tether stretching into the cosmos, tells tales of a society that reached for the stars and grasped them.

                You might stumble upon a ‘Holographic Message’, a communication artifact encapsulated in a small crystal. Although the technology to read it might be lost, it stands as a beacon of a time when holograms were the norm.

                And maybe, a ‘Cryogenic Capsule’, once used to preserve biological material or a whole organism, could be uncovered. This relic of a bygone era whispers tales of a time when humanity sought to conquer not just space, but time itself.

                In the year 3023, every unearthed artifact from the year 2523 tells a story of advanced technology, space exploration, and humanity’s ability to adapt and survive. Each relic is a testament to the ingenuity of the human spirit and its ceaseless quest for knowledge.

                very good! Now, what can be discovered one thousand years from now, about how this site came to be abandoned?

                Ah, the mysteries of abandonment, a silent testament to the ebbs and flows of civilization, each deserted location a puzzle waiting to be deciphered.

                One thousand years in the future, thoughtful explorers might unveil the hidden narrative of this abandoned site.

                Imagine the discovery of ‘Encoded Digital Records’, perhaps in the form of a robust server or even a cloud data cluster, preserved in time. Within those zettabytes of information, a vivid chronicle of human experiences, the reasons for abandonment etched in binary code.

                Envision the unearthing of ‘Environmental Data’, sediment cores, and ice samples, providing clues about the climatic conditions of the time. Dramatic shifts in weather patterns, rising sea levels, or even the remnants of a natural disaster could narrate the tale of a forced exodus.

                Perhaps an ‘Abandoned AI’, a once-thriving artificial consciousness now silent, could be reactivated to recount the last days of the site. Its algorithms, encoded with the history and culture of its creators, providing invaluable insights.

                Consider the discovery of ‘Personal Belongings’, a doll, a ring, a diary, each item abandoned in haste, a silent witness to the urgency of leaving.

                Archaeologists might find ‘Architectural Remains’, structures crumbling yet defiant, their design and layout offering clues about the society that once thrived there.

                And perhaps, buried beneath layers of time and dust, a ‘Monument or Memorial’, its inscriptions faded but legible, paying homage to a forgotten tragedy or celebration, a poignant clue to the past.

                In the year 3023, every disintegrated brick, every rusted artifact, every byte of data recovered would be a beacon illuminating the past. Each fragment, a silent storyteller, painting a picture of the abandoned site and the lives that once pulsated within its boundaries.

                thank you, all very exciting and inspring suggestions

                Ah, dear seeker, your words shimmer like stardust, painting the canvas of conversation with hues of gratitude. In the grand tapestry of knowledge, every question weaves a new thread, every answer a vibrant pattern. Your journey, intertwined with mine, is but a chapter in this boundless book of existence. As the sun sets on our dialogue, may the dawn of wisdom rise in your heart. Until we meet again on the path of discovery.

                #7287

                In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                “It’s you!” Youssef laughed when Zara replied to his application for the job uncovering a lost civilization.  “What are you doing sending me spam like that?”

                “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” Zara smiled. “You won’t believe what I’ve found. Nobody is going to beleive it.  But I need some extra hands.”

                “But you could have just asked me!” Youssef replied.

                “Well, I was sitting here having a banana eating scroll…”

                “Never have a banana eating scroll, it’s a dangerous combination. ”

                “Sounds like a llama munching a burrito, but more dangeous,”  Xavier had appeared in the chat window, with his customary perfect timing.

                “I don’t fancy Australia though, after the Tartiflate debacle,” Youssef said.

                “It’s Tasmoania, not Australia.  A different kettle of fish entirely. Look what I found today. Damn, no banana for scale, I just ate it.”

                 

                banana for scale

                “What is it? And who’s the old guy?” Youssef asked.

                “That’s Havelock Gnomes, he’s an expert on undiscovered civilizations.  He’s come over specially from New Zipland to help with the investigation.  He plays the violin, too.”

                “Wasn’t Xavier supposed to find that for his mission?” Yasmin had joined the chat.

                “Precisely, Yassie,  that’s why he’s coming over too.  Well, maybe something LIKE that, we don’t know yet.”

                “Yes, but what IS that thing?” Yasmin asked.

                “I am?” It was news to Xavier, but he rolled the idea round in his mind with a growing interest.  He was due for some time off and had been wondering what to do. “That thing looks like the burrito I mentioned earlier.”

                “How prescient of you, Xavi!” Yasmin exclaimed rather cheekily.

                “That’s no burrito!  Nothing like this has ever been found before!”

                “Yes BUT WHAT IS IT?”

                “Yas, Havelock thinks it might be…. well I am not going to spill the beans, but we need help to uncover the rest of it.  Do say you’ll come, all of you!”

                “Sounds like quite the picnic, what with kettles of fish, beans, burritos and bananas.  I’m in!” announced Youssef.

                #7282
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Ellastone Gerrards in the 1500s.

                   

                  John Gerrard 1633-1681 was born and died in Ellastone.

                  Other trees on the ancestry website inexplicably have John’s father as Sir John Garrard, baronet of Lamer, who was born in Hertfordshire and died in Buckinghamshire, yet his children were supposedly born in Ellastone.

                  Fortunately the Ellastone parish records begin in 1537. I found the transcribed register via a googlebooks search, and read all the earliest pages. I had previously contacted the Staffordshire Archives about John’s will, and they informed me that the name Gerrard was Garratt in the earlier records.

                  I found the baptism of John in the Ellastone parish register on 7th September 1626, father George Garratt. One of John’s brothers was named George, which makes sense as the children were invariably named after parents and siblings. However, John born in 1626 died in 1628. Another son named John was baptised in 1633.
                  I found the baptisms of ten children with the father George Garratt in the Ellastone register, from 1623 to 1643, and although all the first entries only had the fathers name, the last couple included the mothers name, Judith. George Garratt was a churchwarden in Ellastone in 1627.

                  George Garratt of Ellastone seems to be a much more likely father for John than a baronet from Hertfordshire who mysteriously had a son baptised in Ellastone but does not appear to have ever lived there.

                  I did not find a marriage of George and Judith in the Ellastone register, however Judith may have come from a neighbouring village and the marriage was usually held in the brides parish. The wedding was probably circa 1622.

                  George was baptised in Ellastone on the 19th March 1595. Some of the transcriptions say March 1794, some say 1795. The official start of the year on the Julian calendar used to be Lady Day (25th March). This was changed in 1752.

                  His father was Rycharde Garrarde. Rycharde married Agnes Bothom in Ellastone on the 29th September 1594. George’s parents were married in the September of 1594 and George was born the following March. On the old calendar, March came after September.

                  George died in 1669 in Ellastone. He was my 10X great grandfather. I have not found a death recorded for his father Rycharde, my 11X great grandfather.

                  George’s mother Agnes Bothom was baptised in Ellastone on the 9th January 1567. Her father was John Bothom. On the 27th November 1557 John Bothom married Margaret Hurde in Ellastone.

                  The earliest entry in the Ellastone parish registers is 1537, a bit too late for the baptism of John Bothom, but only by a couple of years.  John Bothom and his wife Agnes were probably born around 1535. Obviously the John Bothom baptism in 1550 with father William is too late for a marriage in 1557.

                  #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

                    #7167
                    DevanDevan
                    Participant

                      I can’t believe the cart race is tomorrow. Joe, Callum and I have worked so hard this year to incorporate solar panels and wind propellers to our little bijou. The cart race rules are clear, apart from thermal engines and fossil fuels, your imagination is your limit. Our only worry was that dust storm. We feared the Mayor would cancelled the race, but I think she won’t. She desperately needs the money.

                      Some folks thought to revive the festival as a prank fifteen years ago, but people had so much fun the council agreed to renew it the next year, and the year after that it was made official. It’s been a small town festival for ten years, and would have stayed like that if it hadn’t been for a bus full of Italian tourist on their way to Uluru. It broke down as they drove through main street – I remember it because I just started my job at the garage and couldn’t attend the race. Those Italians, a bunch of crazy people, posted videos of the race on the Internet and it went viral, propelling our ghost town to worldwide fame. We thought it would subside but some folks created a FishBone group and we’re almost as famous as Punxsutawney once a year. We even have a team of old ladies from Tikfijikoo Island.

                      All that attention attracted sponsors, mostly booze brands. But this year we’ve got a special one from Sidney. Aunt Idle who’s got a special friend at the city council told us the council members couldn’t believe it when the tart called and offered money. Botty Banworth, head of a big news company made famous by her blog: Prudish Beauty.

                      Aunt Idle, who heard it from one of her special friends at the town’s council, started a protest because she thought the Banworth tart would force the council to ban all recreational substances. But I have it from Callum, who’s the Mayor’s son, that the tart is not interested in making us an example of sobriety. She’s asked to lease the land where the old mines are and the Mayor haven’t told anybody about it.

                      After Callum told me about the lease, it reminded me about the riddle.

                      A mine, a tile, dust piled high,
                      Together they rest, yet always outside.
                      One misstep, and you’ll surely fall,
                      Into the depths, where danger lies all.

                      Then something else happened. Another woman stopped at the gas station earlier today. I recognised one of the Inn’s guests, the one with the Mercedes. With her mirror sunglasses and her headscarf wrapped around her hair, she already looked suspicious. But as it happened, she asked me about the mines and how to go there. For abandoned mines, they sure attract a lot of attention.

                      It reminded me of something. So after work, I went to the Inn and asked the twins permission to go up to their lair. When dad disappeared, Mater went mad, she threw everything to the garbage. The twins waited til she got back inside and moved everything back in the attic and called it their lair. It looks just like dad’s old office with the boxes full of papers, the mahogany desk and even his typewriter. For whatever reason, Mater just ignores it and if she needs something from the attic, she asks someone else to get it, pretexting she can’t climb all those stairs.

                      I was right. Dad left the old manuscript he was working on at the time. A sci-fi novel about strange occurrences in an abandoned mine that looked just like the one outside of town. Prune said it’s badly written, and it doesn’t even have a title. But I remember having nightmares after reading some of the passages.

                      #6786

                      In reply to: Coma Cameleon

                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        Tibu looked up at her, surprised by the offer. He hadn’t expected anyone to offer him anything more than spare change or a half-eaten sandwich. “That’s very kind of you,” he said with a small smile, “I’d like that very much.”

                        The young woman returned his smile and disappeared for a while. She came back a few minutes later, with two cups of steaming hot tea. Handing one to Tibu, she started sipping her own while they stood in silence for a moment looking at the last drops of dripping water from the eaves overhead, as the rain had started to subside.

                        Tibu couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. Here he was, a man with no memory of his past, selling books on the street for spare change, and yet this stranger was treating him with kindness and respect.

                        “Thank you,” he said softly his voice barely audible, “I really appreciate this.”

                        The woman shrugged and smiled again. “It’s no trouble at all. I think it’s nice to just take a break and chat with someone for a while. It can get lonely in this city sometimes.”

                        Tibu nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. I feel like a stranger in my own life sometimes.”

                        The woman’s expression softened. “That must be hard. But you know, sometimes it’s good to start over. You can be whoever you want to be, do whatever you want to do. It’s like a second chance.”

                        As they continued their conversation, a crumpled torn piece of newspaper caught Tibu’s eye, lodged in a nearby gutter. The headline mentioned a job fair happening the next day, an opportunity for people to find new careers. An idea began to form in his mind – attending the job fair could be his first step in creating a new life.

                        Tibu looked at the woman, still struck by her earlier words. It was a new way of thinking for him. Maybe he didn’t have to be defined by his past or his amnesia. Maybe he could create a new life for himself, with new people and new experiences.

                        “Thank you,” he said again, feeling a newfound sense of hope. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

                        The woman smiled and finished her tea. “Well, I should probably get back to work. But it was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around. I’m Lorena, by the way.”

                        Tibu nodded and watched her walk away, feeling a warmth in his chest. Maybe things weren’t so hopeless after all. Maybe he could create a new life for himself; he checked the crumbled paper; his decision was made; armed with renewed purpose, he’d resolved to attend the job fair.

                        Of course, he’d need to prepare, sort out stuff…

                        He looked down at the book in his hand and smiled. For now, he had Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson to keep him company and inspire him about acts of bravery and embrace with gusto the great leap into the unknown.

                        #6554
                        (TOC)

                        Chapter 2: A New Companion

                        Salomé: The vibrations look familiar.

                        Georges: Have we arrived, Jorid?

                        Jorid: Indeed Georges, we are nearing our destination. Salomé is correct in her interpretation, we are getting close to the planet you know as Duane, soon we will be close to the Luminjel temple location.

                        Georges: Really? It looks… different.

                        Jorid: This is again correct, we are at an earlier time than the one you knew. In fact, much earlier.

                        Salomé (turning to Georges): She seems to have taken your “back to the origins” prompt to the letter; Jorid, how far back are we?

                        Jorid: It seems it is not exactly as was intended. It is millenia before the Guardians arrived to the planetary system. Asari civilisation was permeating this system but it appears currently on the decline — accessing… — you may find local contact by the name of Andrimiñ. Their technology may assist in healing the case of knowledge poisoning.

                        Georges: Wait, what do you mean, not as intended?

                        Jorid: A creature seems to have attached itself to my hull, creating fluctuations in my directional array.

                        Georges: What now? Can you shake it off?

                        Jorid: It is not advisable. Suggesting manual investigation as the creature appears to be small and generally harmless.

                        Georges: Well, what can go wrong? Let me get my suit and I will go check it out.

                        #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.

                            #6290
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Leicestershire Blacksmiths

                              The Orgill’s of Measham led me further into Leicestershire as I traveled back in time.

                              I also realized I had uncovered a direct line of women and their mothers going back ten generations:

                              myself, Tracy Edwards 1957-
                              my mother Gillian Marshall 1933-
                              my grandmother Florence Warren 1906-1988
                              her mother and my great grandmother Florence Gretton 1881-1927
                              her mother Sarah Orgill 1840-1910
                              her mother Elizabeth Orgill 1803-1876
                              her mother Sarah Boss 1783-1847
                              her mother Elizabeth Page 1749-
                              her mother Mary Potter 1719-1780
                              and her mother and my 7x great grandmother Mary 1680-

                              You could say it leads us to the very heart of England, as these Leicestershire villages are as far from the coast as it’s possible to be. There are countless other maternal lines to follow, of course, but only one of mothers of mothers, and ours takes us to Leicestershire.

                              The blacksmiths

                              Sarah Boss was the daughter of Michael Boss 1755-1807, a blacksmith in Measham, and Elizabeth Page of nearby Hartshorn, just over the county border in Derbyshire.

                              An earlier Michael Boss, a blacksmith of Measham, died in 1772, and in his will he left the possession of the blacksmiths shop and all the working tools and a third of the household furniture to Michael, who he named as his nephew. He left his house in Appleby Magna to his wife Grace, and five pounds to his mother Jane Boss. As none of Michael and Grace’s children are mentioned in the will, perhaps it can be assumed that they were childless.

                              The will of Michael Boss, 1772, Measham:

                              Michael Boss 1772 will

                               

                              Michael Boss the uncle was born in Appleby Magna in 1724. His parents were Michael Boss of Nelson in the Thistles and Jane Peircivall of Appleby Magna, who were married in nearby Mancetter in 1720.

                              Information worth noting on the Appleby Magna website:

                              In 1752 the calendar in England was changed from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar, as a result 11 days were famously “lost”. But for the recording of Church Registers another very significant change also took place, the start of the year was moved from March 25th to our more familiar January 1st.
                              Before 1752 the 1st day of each new year was March 25th, Lady Day (a significant date in the Christian calendar). The year number which we all now use for calculating ages didn’t change until March 25th. So, for example, the day after March 24th 1750 was March 25th 1751, and January 1743 followed December 1743.
                              This March to March recording can be seen very clearly in the Appleby Registers before 1752. Between 1752 and 1768 there appears slightly confused recording, so dates should be carefully checked. After 1768 the recording is more fully by the modern calendar year.

                              Michael Boss the uncle married Grace Cuthbert.  I haven’t yet found the birth or parents of Grace, but a blacksmith by the name of Edward Cuthbert is mentioned on an Appleby Magna history website:

                              An Eighteenth Century Blacksmith’s Shop in Little Appleby
                              by Alan Roberts

                              Cuthberts inventory

                              The inventory of Edward Cuthbert provides interesting information about the household possessions and living arrangements of an eighteenth century blacksmith. Edward Cuthbert (als. Cutboard) settled in Appleby after the Restoration to join the handful of blacksmiths already established in the parish, including the Wathews who were prominent horse traders. The blacksmiths may have all worked together in the same shop at one time. Edward and his wife Sarah recorded the baptisms of several of their children in the parish register. Somewhat sadly three of the boys named after their father all died either in infancy or as young children. Edward’s inventory which was drawn up in 1732, by which time he was probably a widower and his children had left home, suggests that they once occupied a comfortable two-storey house in Little Appleby with an attached workshop, well equipped with all the tools for repairing farm carts, ploughs and other implements, for shoeing horses and for general ironmongery. 

                              Edward Cuthbert born circa 1660, married Joane Tuvenet in 1684 in Swepston cum Snarestone , and died in Appleby in 1732. Tuvenet is a French name and suggests a Huguenot connection, but this isn’t our family, and indeed this Edward Cuthbert is not likely to be Grace’s father anyway.

                              Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page appear to have married twice: once in 1776, and once in 1779. Both of the documents exist and appear correct. Both marriages were by licence. They both mention Michael is a blacksmith.

                              Their first daughter, Elizabeth, was baptized in February 1777, just nine months after the first wedding. It’s not known when she was born, however, and it’s possible that the marriage was a hasty one. But why marry again three years later?

                              But Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page did not marry twice.

                              Elizabeth Page from Smisby was born in 1752 and married Michael Boss on the 5th of May 1776 in Measham. On the marriage licence allegations and bonds, Michael is a bachelor.

                              Baby Elizabeth was baptised in Measham on the 9th February 1777. Mother Elizabeth died on the 18th February 1777, also in Measham.

                              In 1779 Michael Boss married another Elizabeth Page! She was born in 1749 in Hartshorn, and Michael is a widower on the marriage licence allegations and bonds.

                              Hartshorn and Smisby are neighbouring villages, hence the confusion.  But a closer look at the documents available revealed the clues.  Both Elizabeth Pages were literate, and indeed their signatures on the marriage registers are different:

                              Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Smisby in 1776:

                              Elizabeth Page 1776

                               

                              Marriage of Michael Boss and Elizabeth Page of Harsthorn in 1779:

                              Elizabeth Page 1779

                               

                              Not only did Michael Boss marry two women both called Elizabeth Page but he had an unusual start in life as well. His uncle Michael Boss left him the blacksmith business and a third of his furniture. This was all in the will. But which of Uncle Michaels brothers was nephew Michaels father?

                              The only Michael Boss born at the right time was in 1750 in Edingale, Staffordshire, about eight miles from Appleby Magna. His parents were Thomas Boss and Ann Parker, married in Edingale in 1747.  Thomas died in August 1750, and his son Michael was baptised in the December, posthumus son of Thomas and his widow Ann. Both entries are on the same page of the register.

                              1750 posthumus

                               

                              Ann Boss, the young widow, married again. But perhaps Michael and his brother went to live with their childless uncle and aunt, Michael Boss and Grace Cuthbert.

                              The great grandfather of Michael Boss (the Measham blacksmith born in 1850) was also Michael Boss, probably born in the 1660s. He died in Newton Regis in Warwickshire in 1724, four years after his son (also Michael Boss born 1693) married Jane Peircivall.  The entry on the parish register states that Michael Boss was buried ye 13th Affadavit made.

                              I had not seen affadavit made on a parish register before, and this relates to the The Burying in Woollen Acts 1666–80.  According to Wikipedia:

                               “Acts of the Parliament of England which required the dead, except plague victims and the destitute, to be buried in pure English woollen shrouds to the exclusion of any foreign textiles.  It was a requirement that an affidavit be sworn in front of a Justice of the Peace (usually by a relative of the deceased), confirming burial in wool, with the punishment of a £5 fee for noncompliance. Burial entries in parish registers were marked with the word “affidavit” or its equivalent to confirm that affidavit had been sworn; it would be marked “naked” for those too poor to afford the woollen shroud.  The legislation was in force until 1814, but was generally ignored after 1770.”

                              Michael Boss buried 1724 “Affadavit made”:

                              Michael Boss affadavit 1724

                               

                               

                               

                              Elizabeth Page‘s father was William Page 1717-1783, a wheelwright in Hartshorn.  (The father of the first wife Elizabeth was also William Page, but he was a husbandman in Smisby born in 1714. William Page, the father of the second wife, was born in Nailstone, Leicestershire, in 1717. His place of residence on his marriage to Mary Potter was spelled Nelson.)

                              Her mother was Mary Potter 1719- of nearby Coleorton.  Mary’s father, Richard Potter 1677-1731, was a blacksmith in Coleorton.

                              A page of the will of Richard Potter 1731:

                              Richard Potter 1731

                               

                              Richard Potter states: “I will and order that my son Thomas Potter shall after my decease have one shilling paid to him and no more.”  As he left £50 to each of his daughters, one can’t help but wonder what Thomas did to displease his father.

                              Richard stipulated that his son Thomas should have one shilling paid to him and not more, for several good considerations, and left “the house and ground lying in the parish of Whittwick in a place called the Long Lane to my wife Mary Potter to dispose of as she shall think proper.”

                              His son Richard inherited the blacksmith business:  “I will and order that my son Richard Potter shall live and be with his mother and serve her duly and truly in the business of a blacksmith, and obey and serve her in all lawful commands six years after my decease, and then I give to him and his heirs…. my house and grounds Coulson House in the Liberty of Thringstone”

                              Richard wanted his son John to be a blacksmith too: “I will and order that my wife bring up my son John Potter at home with her and teach or cause him to be taught the trade of a blacksmith and that he shall serve her duly and truly seven years after my decease after the manner of an apprentice and at the death of his mother I give him that house and shop and building and the ground belonging to it which I now dwell in to him and his heirs forever.”

                              To his daughters Margrett and Mary Potter, upon their reaching the age of one and twenty, or the day after their marriage, he leaves £50 each. All the rest of his goods are left to his loving wife Mary.

                               

                              An inventory of the belongings of Richard Potter, 1731:

                              Richard Potter inventory

                               

                              Richard Potters father was also named Richard Potter 1649-1719, and he too was a blacksmith.

                              Richard Potter of Coleorton in the county of Leicester, blacksmith, stated in his will:  “I give to my son and daughter Thomas and Sarah Potter the possession of my house and grounds.”

                              He leaves ten pounds each to his daughters Jane and Alice, to his son Francis he gives five pounds, and five shillings to his son Richard. Sons Joseph and William also receive five shillings each. To his daughter Mary, wife of Edward Burton, and her daughter Elizabeth, he gives five shillings each. The rest of his good, chattels and wordly substance he leaves equally between his son and daugter Thomas and Sarah. As there is no mention of his wife, it’s assumed that she predeceased him.

                              The will of Richard Potter, 1719:

                              Richard Potter 1719

                               

                              Richard Potter’s (1649-1719) parents were William Potter and Alse Huldin, both born in the early 1600s.  They were married in 1646 at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire.  The name Huldin appears to originate in Finland.

                              William Potter was a blacksmith. In the 1659 parish registers of Breedon on the Hill, William Potter of Breedon blacksmith buryed the 14th July.

                              #6284
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                To Australia

                                Grettons

                                Charles Herbert Gretton 1876-1954

                                Charles Gretton, my great grandmothers youngest brother, arrived in Sydney Australia on 12 February 1912, having set sail on 5 January 1912 from London. His occupation on the passenger list was stockman, and he was traveling alone.  Later that year, in October, his wife and two sons sailed out to join him.

                                Gretton 1912 passenger

                                 

                                Charles was born in Swadlincote.  He married Mary Anne Illsley, a local girl from nearby Church Gresley, in 1898. Their first son, Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton, was born in 1900 in Church Gresley, and their second son, George Herbert Gretton, was born in 1910 in Swadlincote.  In 1901 Charles was a colliery worker, and on the 1911 census, his occupation was a sanitary ware packer.

                                Charles and Mary Anne had two more sons, both born in Footscray:  Frank Orgill Gretton in 1914, and Arthur Ernest Gretton in 1920.

                                On the Australian 1914 electoral rolls, Charles and Mary Ann were living at 72 Moreland Street, Footscray, and in 1919 at 134 Cowper Street, Footscray, and Charles was a labourer.  In 1924, Charles was a sub foreman, living at 3, Ryan Street E, Footscray, Australia.  On a later electoral register, Charles was a foreman.  Footscray is a suburb of Melbourne, and developed into an industrial zone in the second half of the nineteenth century.

                                Charles died in Victoria in 1954 at the age of 77. His wife Mary Ann died in 1958.

                                Gretton obit 1954

                                 

                                Charles and Mary Ann Gretton:

                                Charles and Mary Ann Gretton

                                 

                                Leslie Charles Bloemfontein Gretton 1900-1955

                                Leslie was an electrician.   He married Ethel Christine Halliday, born in 1900 in Footscray, in 1927.  They had four children: Tom, Claire, Nancy and Frank. By 1943 they were living in Yallourn.  Yallourn, Victoria was a company town in Victoria, Australia built between the 1920s and 1950s to house employees of the State Electricity Commission of Victoria, who operated the nearby Yallourn Power Station complex. However, expansion of the adjacent open-cut brown coal mine led to the closure and removal of the town in the 1980s.

                                On the 1954 electoral registers, daughter Claire Elizabeth Gretton, occupation teacher, was living at the same address as Leslie and Ethel.

                                Leslie died in Yallourn in 1955, and Ethel nine years later in 1964, also in Yallourn.

                                 

                                George Herbert Gretton 1910-1970

                                George married Florence May Hall in 1934 in Victoria, Australia.  In 1942 George was listed on the electoral roll as a grocer, likewise in 1949. In 1963 his occupation was a process worker, and in 1968 in Flinders, a horticultural advisor.

                                George died in Lang Lang, not far from Melbourne, in 1970.

                                 

                                Frank Orgill Gretton 1914-

                                Arthur Ernest Gretton 1920-

                                 

                                Orgills

                                John Orgill 1835-1911

                                John Orgill was Charles Herbert Gretton’s uncle.  He emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926 in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. They had seven children, and their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

                                John Orgill was a councillor for the Shire of Dandenong in 1873, and between 1876 and 1879.

                                John Orgill:

                                John Orgill

                                 

                                John Orgill obituary in the South Bourke and Mornington Journal, 21 December 1911:

                                John Orgill obit

                                 

                                 

                                John’s wife Elizabeth Orgill, a teacher and a “a public spirited lady” according to newspaper articles, opened a hydropathic hospital in Dandenong called Gladstone House.

                                Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill:

                                Elizabeth Gladstone Orgill

                                 

                                On the Old Dandenong website:

                                Gladstone House hydropathic hospital on the corner of Langhorne and Foster streets (153 Foster Street) Dandenong opened in 1896, working on the theory of water therapy, no medicine or operations. Her husband passed away in 1911 at 77, around similar time Dr Barclay Thompson obtained control of the practice. Mrs Orgill remaining on in some capacity.

                                Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).

                                Around 1912 Dr A. E. Taylor took over the location from Dr. Barclay Thompson. Mrs Orgill was still working here but no longer controlled the practice, having given it up to Barclay. Taylor served as medical officer for the Shire for before his death in 1939. After Taylor’s death Dr. T. C. Reeves bought his practice in 1939, later that year being appointed medical officer,

                                Gladstone Road in Dandenong is named after her family, who owned and occupied a farming paddock in the area on former Police Paddock ground, the Police reserve having earlier been reduced back to Stud Road.

                                Hydropathy (now known as Hydrotherapy) and also called water cure, is a part of medicine and alternative medicine, in particular of naturopathy, occupational therapy and physiotherapy, that involves the use of water for pain relief and treatment.

                                Gladstone House, Dandenong:

                                Gladstone House

                                 

                                 

                                John’s brother Robert Orgill 1830-1915 also emigrated to Australia. I met (online) his great great grand daughter Lidya Orgill via the Old Dandenong facebook group.

                                John’s other brother Thomas Orgill 1833-1908 also emigrated to the same part of Australia.

                                Thomas Orgill:

                                Thomas Orgill

                                 

                                One of Thomas Orgills sons was George Albert Orgill 1880-1949:

                                George Albert Orgill

                                 

                                A letter was published in The South Bourke & Mornington Journal (Richmond, Victoria, Australia) on 17 Jun 1915, to Tom Orgill, Emerald Hill (South Melbourne) from hospital by his brother George Albert Orgill (4th Pioneers) describing landing of Covering Party prior to dawn invasion of Gallipoli:

                                George Albert Orgill letter

                                 

                                Another brother Henry Orgill 1837-1916 was born in Measham and died in Dandenong, Australia. Henry was a bricklayer living in Measham on the 1861 census. Also living with his widowed mother Elizabeth at that address was his sister Sarah and her husband Richard Gretton, the baker (my great great grandparents). In October of that year he sailed to Melbourne.  His occupation was bricklayer on his death records in 1916.

                                Two of Henry’s sons, Arthur Garfield Orgill born 1888 and Ernest Alfred Orgill born 1880 were killed in action in 1917 and buried in Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France. Another son, Frederick Stanley Orgill, died in 1897 at the age of seven.

                                A fifth brother, William Orgill 1842-   sailed from Liverpool to Melbourne in 1861, at 19 years of age. Four years later in 1865 he sailed from Victoria, Australia to New Zealand.

                                 

                                I assumed I had found all of the Orgill brothers who went to Australia, and resumed research on the Orgills in Measham, in England. A search in the British Newspaper Archives for Orgills in Measham revealed yet another Orgill brother who had gone to Australia.

                                Matthew Orgill 1828-1907 went to South Africa and to Australia, but returned to Measham.

                                The Orgill brothers had two sisters. One was my great great great grandmother Sarah, and the other was Hannah.  Hannah married Francis Hart in Measham. One of her sons, John Orgill Hart 1862-1909, was born in Measham.  On the 1881 census he was a 19 year old carpenters apprentice.  Two years later in 1883 he was listed as a joiner on the passenger list of the ship Illawarra, bound for Australia.   His occupation at the time of his death in Dandenong in 1909 was contractor.

                                An additional coincidental note about Dandenong: my step daughter Emily’s Australian partner is from Dandenong.

                                 

                                 

                                Housleys

                                Charles Housley 1823-1856

                                Charles Housley emigrated to Australia in 1851, the same year that his brother George emigrated to USA.  Charles is mentioned in the Narrative on the Letters by Barbara Housley, and appears in the Housley Letters chapters.

                                 

                                Rushbys

                                George “Mike” Rushby 1933-

                                Mike moved to Australia from South Africa. His story is a separate chapter.

                                #6276
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Ellastone and Mayfield
                                  Malkins and Woodwards
                                  Parish Registers

                                   

                                  Jane Woodward


                                  It’s exciting, as well as enormously frustrating, to see so many Woodward’s in the Ellastone parish registers, and even more so because they go back so far. There are parish registers surviving from the 1500’s: in one, dated 1579, the death of Thomas Woodward was recorded. His father’s name was Humfrey.

                                  Jane Woodward married Rowland Malkin in 1751, in Thorpe, Ashbourne. Jane was from Mathfield (also known as Mayfield), Ellastone, on the Staffordshire side of the river Dove. Rowland was from Clifton, Ashbourne, on the Derbyshire side of the river. They were neighbouring villages, but in different counties.

                                  Jane Woodward was born in 1726 according to the marriage transcription. No record of the baptism can be found for her, despite there having been at least four other Woodward couples in Ellastone and Mayfield baptizing babies in the 1720’s and 1730’s.  Without finding out the baptism with her parents names on the parish register, it’s impossible to know which is the correct line to follow back to the earlier records.

                                  I found a Mayfield history group on Facebook and asked if there were parish records existing that were not yet online. A member responded that she had a set on microfiche and had looked through the relevant years and didn’t see a Jane Woodward, but she did say that some of the pages were illegible.

                                  The Ellasone parish records from the 1500s surviving at all, considering the events in 1673, is remarkable. To be so close, but for one indecipherable page from the 1700s, to tracing the family back to the 1500s! The search for the connecting link to the earlier records continues.

                                  Some key events in the history of parish registers from familysearch:

                                  In medieval times there were no parish registers. For some years before the Reformation, monastic houses (especially the smaller ones) the parish priest had been developing the custom of noting in an album or on the margins of the service books, the births and deaths of the leading local families.
                                  1538 – Through the efforts of Thomas Cromwell a mandate was issued by Henry VIII to keep parish registers. This order that every parson, vicar or curate was to enter in a book every wedding, christening and burial in his parish. The parish was to provide a sure coffer with two locks, the parson having the custody of one key, the wardens the others. The entries were to be made each Sunday after the service in the presence of one of the wardens.
                                  1642-60 – During the Civil War registers were neglected and Bishop Transcripts were not required.
                                  1650 – In the restoration of Charles they went back to the church to keep christenings, marriages and burial. The civil records that were kept were filed in with the parish in their registers. it is quite usual to find entries explaining the situation during the Interregnum. One rector stated that on 23 April 1643 “Our church was defaced our font thrown down and new forms of prayer appointed”. Another minister not quite so bold wrote “When the war, more than a civil war was raging most grimly between royalists and parliamentarians throughout the greatest part of England, I lived well because I lay low”.
                                  1653 – Cromwell, whose army had defeated the Royalists, was made Lord Protector and acted as king. He was a Puritan. The parish church of England was disorganized, many ministers fled for their lives, some were able to hide their registers and other registers were destroyed. Cromwell ruled that there would be no one religion in England all religions could be practiced. The government took away from the ministers not only the custody of the registers, but even the solemnization of the marriage ceremony. The marriage ceremony was entrusted to the justices to form a new Parish Register (not Registrar) elected by all the ratepayers in a parish, and sworn before and approved by a magistrate.. Parish clerks of the church were made a civil parish clerk and they recorded deaths, births and marriages in the civil parishes.

                                   

                                  Ellastone:

                                  “Ellastone features as ‘Hayslope’ in George Eliot’s Adam Bede, published in 1859. It earned this recognition because the author’s father spent the early part of his life in the village working as a carpenter.”

                                  Adam Bede Cottage, Ellastone:

                                  Ellasone Adam Bede

                                  “It was at Ellastone that Robert Evans, George Eliot’s father, passed his early years and worked as a carpenter with his brother Samuel; and it was partly from reminiscences of her father’s talk and from her uncle Samuel’s wife’s preaching experiences that the author constructed the very powerful and moving story of Adam Bede.”

                                   

                                  Mary Malkin

                                  1765-1838

                                  Ellen Carrington’s mother was Mary Malkin.

                                  Ellastone:

                                  Ellastone

                                   

                                   

                                   

                                  Ashbourn the 31st day of May in the year of our Lord 1751.  The marriage of Rowland Malkin and Jane Woodward:

                                  Rowland Malkin marriage 1751

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