Norfolk: A Hidden & Forgotten Railway.

Amongst the list of Victorian British railway pioneers you will not find the name of William Betts (1810-1885), principally because he was not a ‘major player’ – today’s terminology! But he was certainly important, around the mid-19th century, as far as the local community that lived and worked in the Scole Parish in Norfolk were concerned. Betts was also the diving force behind the development of his 400-acre market garden business there, together with the design and construction of his very own railway system which serviced that business. His railway, built very much to his design of its route and its waggons, has been referred to as either the ‘Frenze Farm Railway’ and ‘The Scole Railway’ – whichever one prefers perhaps! Either way, we have here a story of William Betts, along with some detail of the geographic structure and layout of the parish community in which he once conducted his business.

Scole Railway (Frenze Beck)
The Ford across the stream leading to Frenze Hall. Photo: © Copyright John Walton and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

The present-day Scole Parish is in the local government district of South Norfolk. To the south it is bordered by the River Waveney and the neighbouring County of Suffolk, with the town of Diss facing it from the west. This parish now contains not just the village of Scole, but also Billigford, Thelveton and Frenze – not forgetting the deserted village of Thorpe Parva. Indeed, in Betts’s time, the Parish was known as ‘Scole with Thorpe Parva and Frenze’, but reverted to simply ‘Scole’ when in 1935 the parishes of Billingford and Thelveton were abolished and were joined to Scole. The village of Frenze – in earlier times Frense, Frens or Frence and locally pronounced as ‘Fi-renze’ – stands in a picturesque spot on the banks of Frenze, a fast-flowing tributary of the larger river Waveney.

Scole Railway (St Andrews)
The ancient church of St Andrew at Frenze Hall, near Diss in South Norfolk. More info here: www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/frenze/frenze.htm. Photo: Carol Gingell.

William Betts himself, was born in 1810 to parents Thomas Betts (1783-1847) and Sarah (nee’ Smith 1784-1855) who produced a total of eight children. William became a businessman and brick manufacturer and was married to Julia Wildman Sparling on 30 March 1843 at All Saints Church, Colchester. Then, in 1844, he became Lord of the Manor of Frenze, within the parish and patron of St Andrew’s Church and becoming, along with a Mr Browning, the chief landowners at Frenze. Betts also had extended family connections there – along with his dreams!

Scole Railway (Frenze Hall)
Frenze Hall, near Diss in South Norfolk. Built in the early 17th century, the hall and it’s estate was purchased by William Betts in the 1860s and it’s 400 acres of land were converted into vast market gardens supplying London with fresh vegetables. To service the estate, Betts built a standard gauge railway which connected to the mainline at Diss and ran eastwards to Scole and north above Frenze hall, covering around 7 miles in total, with branches leading off in several directions to cover the whole estate. William Betts also owned two brick fields in the area and, in the 1880s, added the brick facade to Frenze Hall using his own wares. Photo: Carol Gingell.

By around 1861, Betts was in the position to buy the Frenze Hall Estate from his uncle Sheldrake Smith – but, apparently, did not live in the Hall itself. Instead, in 1863, he bought ‘The Court’ (see Map, bottom L/H corner) from a William Ellis and this became his home. The Court, once stood between Vince’s Lane and the railway line, but has long been demolished. Concurrent with his property acquisitions ran his ‘master plan’ of transforming the Estate’s 400 acres from agricultural fields into a vast market garden. Large barns and other ancillary buildings were to be built, in conjunction with the building of his railway, a system that would allow him to export his fresh vegetable produce direct to London by way of a connection to the Great Eastern Railway system at Diss station.

Scole Railway (lost-scole-railway-line)2
This track across the fields near Diss, in South Norfolk was once part of the Scole Railway, built by William Betts in the 1860s to service his vast market gardens at the Frenze Hall Estate. The standard gauge rail line ran between the main station at Diss and the Scole Inn to the east, and above Frenze hall to the north. This part of the track ran between Dark Lane, along Millers lane to towards Scole. Photo: Carol Gingell.

The railway would transport his produce to London daily, and to avoid empty runs back to Norfolk, the returning wagons would be filled with fresh manure from the City’s streets and stables; this would be spread on the land. But manure would not necessarily be the only commodity delivered back to the market garden; some train wagons returned filled with coal and delivered direct to the brickworks located just behind Diss station; these brickworks had been created by William Betts to both enhance the value of his line, but also to provide materials for the building of his workers’ houses in and around Scole. As owner of Frenze Hall, he also saw to it that his red bricks encased the 17th century timber-framed Hall with a façade, resulting in the present-day ‘late Victorian’ external appearance protecting its much older oak-framed structure more-or-less intact inside.

Scole Railway (Map_ Carol Gingell)
Map of the Scole Railway which was built by William Betts to service the Frenze Estate in South Norfolk. Photo: Carol Gingell.

As for the railway track itself; this was of standard gauge, which allowed his trains to run straight on and off the Great Eastern line. In total, the length of the Frenze Farm/Scole Railway network reached approximately seven miles, including a number of sidings near the Great Barn on the Frenze Estate, where the produce was sorted and packed. According to Christopher Weston, the route of Betts’s railway began at Diss station, from behind the Jolly Porter’s Inn (closed 25th October, 1973) in Station Road. The line headed east to Dark Lane, where it branched east and north, via a turntable. Then the eastern branch continued to buffers behind the Scole Inn public house, with two more branches leading south to Betts’ brick fields, then north to Nab Barn and several sidings. Here, again was where the produce was sorted and packed. From Dark Lane, the northern branch went to Frenze Hall Farm, before crossing the river and ending at buffers near the Great Eastern line. Yet another branch below Frenze Hall continued to a field known as ‘Scotland’.

 

(Adove Photos) This girder rail bridge crosses the river at Frenze Hall. It was once part of the Scole Railway which was built by William Betts. This northern branch of the railway, from Dark Lane, took the line up to Frenze Hall farm before crossing the river over this bridge and ending at buffers near to the GER line at Diss station. Photos: Carol Gingell.

William Betts owned the Frenze Hall Estate until his death in 1885 and, as his son had already pre-deceased him, the entire property was put under the management by the Court of Chancery while his affairs were sorted out. The manager was a Thomas W. Gaze, auctioneer and land agent who became the tenant of the Estate from 1886. Gaze not only took over the Frenze Estate but closed the market garden and railway, which was said to be under capitalised by then. He also arranged for the line to be pulled up before running the subsequent two-day auction of the entire estate’s equipment, horses, railway track and locomotives. The rail lines were sold for scrap to George Archer of Yarmouth, with some track syphoned off by thieves. The two locomotives, (one a 2-4-0 saddle tank, manufactured by Brotherhoods of Chippenham and the other, an 0-4-OT made by Hughes of Loughborough), raised £20 each and were shipped to India. In 1898 the Frenze Estate was eventually purchased by the neighbouring Thelveton Estate.

Scole Railway (Great Barn)
More evidence of the vast market gardens and the Scole railway established at Frenze Hall  in the 1860s by William Betts. This is marked on contemporary maps as being the “Great Barn” and the rail line ran directly behind it. Given the huge arched doorways, one wonders whether this could possibly have been used as an engine or maintenance shed for the locos? A large water storage tank was housed at the barn, fed by underground pipes which led from a pumping station that Betts built near to the river. Nearby stood the large Lay’s Barn, also built by Betts, and used for sorting and packing of produce from the market gardens. Lay’s Barn is no more, the site on which it stood is now occupied by a handful of 1960s built houses. The Great Barn has been renovated as small office units as Diss Business Centre, run by South Norfolk District Council.Photo: Carol Gingell.
Scole Railway (Farm)
When William Betts purchased the Frenxe Hall estate in the 1860s, he expanded the farm at the hall. This range of barns looks to be contemporary with that expansion and are certainly marked on maps of the time. These were no doubt used in connection with the 400 acres of market gardens established here by Betts. In the background is the small church of St Andrew’s – no longer used regularly but still consecrated and under the care of the Churches Conservation Trust.Photo: Carol Gingell.
Scole Railway (Derelic Building)
Another legacy of William Betts ownership of the Frenze Hall Estate in the late 1800s. A sadly derelict barn on the farm. One map of the railway which Betts built to service his market gardens shows that a section of railtrack led directly into this building. The track certainly ran along the rear of the farm, over the river and on up to buffers near to the GER mainline above Diss. Photo: Carol Gingell.

As an aside, the Frenze Hall estate was a RAF Bomber Command ‘Splasher Six’ site during World War II; its transmissions guiding aircraft missions. Radio equipment was installed inside a collection of single-deck buses and huts in one of the fields. The transmissions frequently interfered with local BBC radio, resulting in complaints from the populace. During the war bombs did fall at Frenze but the Hall and St Andrew’s Church were undamaged. Finally, ‘Splashers’, operated by the RAF in the East Anglia area during this period were: Splasher 4 – Louth; Splasher 5 – Mundesley (near Cromer); Splasher 6 – Scole (S of Norwich); Splasher 7 – Braintree; Splasher 10 – Windlesham and Splasher 16 – Brampton Grange.

Scole Railway (Splasher Six)
A derelict building in the grounds of Frenze Hall which is believed to have been one of those built during WW2 when the hall was used as a Splasher Six Beacon site. Frenze Hall was one of a series of transmitting bases along the east coast which helped to guide returning aircraft back to base. The Thorpe Abbots airbase was just up the road. Photo: Carol Gingell.

Today, you would be hard pushed to trace the once busy Scole Railway – unless, of course, you were an archaeologist! Again, according to Christopher Weston, it was back in 2015, that work was scheduled to begin on the construction of a new care home in Diss; however, ahead of this an archaeological dig was permitted, with unbelievable results. As digging progressed, floors, ovens, brick kilns and even traces of railways sidings were found. Then, not too far from today’s Diss mainline station, hidden railway sidings were located. These did not, initially, seem unusual but opinion soon changed when further research revealed that this was only part of something much bigger and it was just the brick kilns, which were thought to have been used for the 19th century’s housing in Diss. The railway sidings discovered were eventually confirmed as being part of the 7-mile private railway network built by William Betts.

Scole Railway (Betts Grave)
The memorial stone over the grave of the Betts family at St Andrew’s Church at Frenze, Diss, in Norfolk. William Betts, born December 1810, died June 1885. Sadly, the memorial shows that William’s wife Julia Wildman Betts, and his two eldest sons, William and Edward, predeceased him. Census returns show that William and Julia also had six daughters and another son. Photo: Carol Gingell.

So, Dr Beeching of the 20th century could not be blamed for the closure of the Scole Railway; although he was certainly responsible for Norfolk losing numerous miles of its railway track and dozens of stations during the early 1960’s. Neither did he have his hand in the closure of numerous ’Light’ or ‘Narrow-Gauge” railways in Norfolk, built to commercially transport goods across estates, through private land, for RAF use and for other industrial purposes. Finding these could be a project for someone interested in discovering evidence of pioneering engineering some of which, like the Scole railway, have long been hidden in the Norfolk landscape.

THE END

Sources:
‘The Scole Railway’ by N.A. Brundell and K.J. Whittaker, published in The Railway Magazine April 1955; ‘Waveney Valley Studies’ by Eric Pursehouse, published by the Diss Publishing Company in 1969. Also, ‘Branches & Byways of East Anglia’ by John Brodribb.
Photos:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/28466597@N04/albums/72157637874175125/
https://www.flickriver.com/photos/28466597@N04/sets/72157637874175125/
www.blennerhassettfamilytree.com/Frenze-Hall,-Norfolk.php

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Elizabeth Fry – Prison Reformer 

by Rachel Knowles
(reproduced here by kind permission of the author)

Elizabeth Fry1
Elizabeth Fry from Elizabeth Fry, the angel of the prisons
by LE Richards (1916)

Profile:
Elizabeth Fry (née Gurney) (21 May 1780 – 13 October 1845) was a Quaker minister famous for her pioneering work in prison reform. She was featured on the British £5 note from 2001-2016.

An unhappy childhood:
Elizabeth Gurney was born in Norwich, Norfolk, on 21 May 1780, one of the 12 children of John Gurney and Catherine Bell. Both her parents were from families that belonged to the Religious Society of Friends, more commonly referred to as the Quakers. John Gurney was a wealthy businessman operating in the woollen cloth and banking industries.

Elizabeth, known as Betsy, was moody, often unwell and tormented by numerous fears. She was dubbed stupid by her siblings for being slow to learn, but was most probably dyslexic. In 1792, Betsy was devastated when her mother died.

Conversion:
Betsy’s family were ‘gay’ Quakers as opposed to ‘plain’ Quakers. Though they attended the weekly Quaker meetings, they did not abstain from worldly pleasures like the theatre and dancing or wear simple clothes as ‘plain’ Quakers did.

In 1798, an American Quaker named William Savery visited the Friends’ Meeting House in Goat Lane where the Gurneys worshipped. Betsy had a spiritual experience which was strengthened later that year when she met Deborah Darby, a Quaker minister, who prophesied that Betsy would become “a light to the blind, speech to the dumb and feet to the lame”. (1)

Betsy gradually adopted the ways of a plain Quaker, wearing the simple dress and Quaker cap in which she is depicted on the British £5 note. In 1811, Betsy became a minister for the Religious Society of Friends and started to travel around the country to talk at Quaker meetings.

Elizabeth Fry2
Elizabeth Gurney from ‘Elizabeth Fry, the angel of the prisons by LE Richards (1916)

Marriage and family:
On 19 August 1800, Betsy married Joseph Fry, a plain Quaker whose business was tea and banking. They went to live in Mildred’s Court in Poultry, Cheapside, London, which was also the headquarters for Joseph’s business. In 1808, Joseph inherited the family estate at Plashet in East Ham, further out of London.

It was a fruitful marriage though not always a harmonious one. Joseph and Betsy had 11 children: Katherine (1801), Rachel (1803), John (1804), William (1806), Richenda (1808), Joseph (1809), Elizabeth (1811), who died young, Hannah (1812), Louisa (1814), Samuel Gurney (1816) and Daniel Henry (1822).

Betsy’s prison ministry:
Throughout her life, Betsy was active in helping others. At Plashet, she established a school for poor girls, ran a soup kitchen for the poor in cold weather and was the driving force behind the programme for smallpox inoculation in the parish.

In 1813, while living at Mildred’s Court, she visited the women’s wing of nearby Newgate Prison for the first time. Betsy was filled with compassion for the awful state of the women and took flannel clothes with her to dress their naked children.

Elizabeth Fry3
The front of Newgate Prison
from Old and New London Vol II by Walter Thornbury (1872)

Over the next few years, Betsy’s life was absorbed by family issues, but in 1816, she resumed her visits to the women in Newgate Prison. With the support of the female prisoners, she set up the first ever school inside an English prison and appointed a schoolmistress from among the inmates.

Encouraged by her success, Betsy set out to help the women themselves. She read the bible to them and set up a workroom where the women could make stockings. All the female prisoners agreed to abide by Betsy’s rules. Against all odds, the scheme was successful. The women became more manageable and the atmosphere of the prison was transformed.

Elizabeth Fry4
Elizabeth Fry in Newgate Prison from Elizabeth Fry, the angel of the
prisons
by LE Richards (1916)

Fame and influence:
News of Betsy’s success spread and she was inundated with requests for advice from prison authorities and ladies who wanted to set up prison visiting. Over the years that followed, Betsy visited prisons up and down the country, in Scotland, Ireland and on the continent. She became one of the foremost authorities on prison conditions and twice spoke as an expert witness on the subject to Parliamentary Select Committees – in 1818 and again in 1835.

Many of Betsy’s recommendations were included in the Prison Act of 1823 and in 1827 she published Observations on the Visiting, Superintendence and Government of Female Prisoners which became a manual for good management of prisons and prison visiting.

Family problems:
Betsy found it hard to balance family life with her extensive ministry. She was plagued continuously with ill health and oscillated between periods of intense activity and times of nervous exhaustion and depression. She often had to delegate her domestic responsibilities to her husband and other family members whilst she devoted herself to good works. Although Joseph always supported his wife, he sometimes complained that she neglected him.

The Frys were often forced to economise because of financial problems with Joseph’s business. Betsy’s brothers repeatedly came to their rescue, but in 1828, Joseph was declared bankrupt. They had to move permanently to a much smaller house in Upton Lane, Essex, and Joseph was expelled from the Society of Friends in disgrace.

Other areas of ministry:
As well as her prison work, Betsy was able to improve the lot of women being transported to Australia for their crimes, providing them with a bundle of belongings to help each woman make a fresh start after their long voyage.

She instigated a project to provide libraries of books for the coastguards whose chief role of preventing smuggling made them isolated and unpopular. This was so successful that the government took over the project and extended it to the navy. Betsy also set up the first nursing academy, to train nurses who could go into private homes and provide care for those who could not normally afford it.

A fitting end:
Betsy died on 13 October 1845 whilst on a holiday in Ramsgate. Her funeral was held at the Friends’ Meeting House in Barking on 20 October. The funeral procession from her house to Barking was over half a mile long. Even more mourners waited in Barking to celebrate the life of this remarkable woman.

In 1914, a marble statue of Elizabeth Fry was erected inside the Old Bailey in London, on the site of the Newgate Prison where her prison ministry had begun.

THE END

Notes:
(1) From the journal of Elizabeth Fry, 4 September 1798, as recorded in Life of Elizabeth Fry: compiled from her journal, as edited by her daughters, and from various other sources by Susanna Corder (1853).
(2) Corder, De Haan, Hatton and Isba all record Elizabeth Fry’s death as the 13 October 1845, but some sources state the 12th.

Sources used include:
Corder, Susanna, Life of Elizabeth Fry: compiled from her journal, as edited by her daughters, and from various other sources (1853)
De Haan, Franciscas, Fry (née Gurney) Elizabeth (1780-1845), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn May 2007, accessed 24 Aug 2015)
Hatton, Jean, Betsy – the dramatic biography of prison reformer Elizabeth Fry (2005)
Isba, Anne, The Excellent Mrs Fry – unlikely heroine (2010)

Banner Heading Photo: NEN Gallery.

*This article (originally published Here) has been reproduced
by kind permission of the author.

 

 

A Norfolk Couple Who Made It Down-Under!

On the 10th February 1788 Henry Keable/Cable/Kable (the surname has varied over time) and Susannah Holmes married in Australia; theirs was the first wedding ceremony in the new colony. In 2018, their descendants in Austalia celebrated not only the 230th Anniversay of the First Fleet’s arrival, but also the couple’s Wedding, and Susannah Holmes birth around late February in the year of 1764 – now some 255 years ago. Here is their story:

Susannah Holmes (Surlingham Church)1
St Mary’s Church, Surlingham where Susannah Holmes was baptised.
The round tower of St Mary’s dates from Norman times. The north aisle was added in the late 15th century and the church was extensively restored during Victorian times – the chancel was completely rebuilt in the 19th century. The original box pews were replaced by the present seating in 1888. The organ in the gallery was built by Norman and Beard around 1898. A couple of old brass memorials can be seen on the chancel floor. Photo: © Copyright Evelyn Simak

Maybe, with enough imagination, one could visualise a low March sun quietly painting tones of chilled colour on Surlingham Church’s ancient round tower. Everything would be quiet, except maybe, the sound of rooks gossiping as they left their late winter’s roost nearby. That almost perfect silence would remain as long as the visitor stayed still, but any movement forward towards the grounds of the church to enquire further would bring a possible soft crunch of frosted grass, or a squelch waterlogged soil as footsteps left a silent trail of prints.

Susannah Holmes (Surlingham Church Font)1
The Font in St Mary’s Church, Surlingham at which Susannah Holmes was baptised.
The church was extensively restored during Victorian times but several medieval relics survived inside such as this 14th century font (as above) which is supported on a stem surrounded by four lions. The oak font cover is a recent addition. Photo: © Copyright Evelyn Simak

Just over 255 years ago, on the 6th March 1764, a baby girl was baptised in St Mary’s Church, Surlingham, a village that still sits near the River Yare and Norwich in Norfolk. Present must have been her parents, Joshua Holmes and Eunice, (nee’ Brooks) and probably siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, all tidily dressed and adourned as befitted such a special moment. To everyone outside the family that child may not have been particularly special; but, after she had grown into a woman, married and brought up her own children years later in a far off British Colony – she would be! This baby would leave her own footprints in history and from the other side of the world. Norfolk would forget her and she would remain so until her story, and that of her husband Henry Keable was written, passed on to future generations and eventually finding its way back to the County of her birth. The events surrounding this couple’s story could possibly be described as stranger than fiction.

All Saints (Laxfield)
All Saints Church, Laxfield, Suffolk where Henry Keable was baptised.
The first impression on entering this great church is its sheer size. There is no aisle, no clerestory, just a vast roof spanning 36 feet across the mighty space, one of the widest in Suffolk. Photo: Wikipedia.

Thirty-three miles due south of Surlingham, Norfolk lay Laxfield in the county of Suffolk the birthplace of a Henry Keable. The first record we have is that Henry was baptised at Laxfirld’s All Saints Church on the 26th August 1764. Present were his parents, Henry Keable Senior and Dinah, (nee’ Fuller), and just like at Susannah Holme’s  baptism in March of the same year, Henry junior was also probably blessed by having siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins present. We can reasonably assumed that both the Holmes and Keable families were poor and that both children helped their respective families to scratch a living and live on the margins of the law until both children fell foul of it. 

Susannah Holmes (Laxfield Font)1
The ‘Seven-Sacrement’ font at All Saints Church, Suffolk used for the baptism of Henry Keable in 1764. Photo: Suffolk Churches.

Whilst Susannah’s story started in Surlingham, her early life remained in the shadows of village events until the ancient pages of the Norfolk Chronicle and the Norwich Mercury newspapers recorded that in November 1783, Susannah Holmes had been committed to Norwich Castle Gaol, accused of stealing clothing, silver teaspoons and linen, to the value of £2.00, from the home of her employer Jabez Taylor of Thurlton, which was nine miles away. Then, on the 19th March 1784 at Thetford Assizes, Mr. Justice Nares donned his black cap and sentenced Susannah to be ‘hanged by the neck until she was dead’. For reasons unknown, this death sentence was commuted to fourteen years transportation, first to the plantations of America before being switched to that of the British colony of Australia. But first, Susannah Holmes was committed to Norwich Castle gaol to await deportation and would never see her Surlingham village and its round-towered church again.

Susannah Holmes (Norwich Castle Prison)1
Inside Norwich Castle Goal. Photo: Public Domain.

In the claustrophobic squalor of Norwich Castle cells Susannah Holmes met Henry Keable, now a convict himself. also sentenced to death at Thetford Assizes and later reprieved. His story was darker still. The Norfolk Chronicle reported that Henry [now Cabell] from Laxfield in Suffolk had joined his father and uncle Abraham Carman in robbing a house at nearby Alburgh. According to the Chronicle:

“they stripped it of everything moveable, took the hangings from the bedsteads and even the meat out of the pickle jars. They also regaled themselves with wine having left several empty bottles behind them.”

The Norwich Mercury also reported how the local Constable Mr Triggs and three assistants went to Carman’s house and discovered the gang trying to burn the evidence. When they broke down the door they were attacked by the three men:

“A severe combat took place in which Mr. Triggs received a terrible cut to the head and was otherwise much hurt.”

Susannah Holmes (Lord North)1
Home Secretary, Lord North.

Sentenced to death, all three awaited their fates – that was until young Henry was reprieved on the orders of the Home Secretary Lord North, probably because of his age, and sentenced instead to seven years transportation. These were the days of ‘the Bloody Code’ when more than 150 offences carried the death penalty. What became of Henry’s father and uncle is recorded by the Chronicle in one chilling seventeen word sentence:

“On Saturday last Carman and Cabell were executed on the Norwich Castle Hill in pursuant to their crimes.”

Susannah Holmes (Prison Cell)1
A typical prisoner’s cell at Norwich Castle Goal. Photo: Norwich Museum Service.

Having been sentenced to death for separate robberies, Susannah and Henry were both fortunate to be reprieved but incarcerated in Norwich Castle for three years whilst the authorities decided what to do with them. Circumstances of the time were that The American War of Independence had halted transportation to the New World and plans were being made at Government level to send convicts to Australia instead, to a place on its eastern coast that the explorer James Cook had only set Western eyes upon in 1770. The couple had to wait until the authorities came to a decision; until then Susannah and Henry had to survive in prison conditions that were unsanitary, over-crowded and disease-ridden – stifling in summer, ice-cold in winter and in cells that often were under water. But according to the prison reformer John Howard who visited the prison at this time, the gaoler George Glynne was a humane man. Although prisoners were shackled they were allowed to mix, providing the opportunity for Henry and Susannah to meet, fall in love and produce a baby son who was named Henry, after both his father and grandfather.

Prison Ship (Dunkirk)
The prison hulk ‘Dunkirk’. Photo: Public Domain.

In 1786 Susannah gave birth in her Norwich Castle cell to Henry. That same year mother and baby were sent on the long journey to the stinking prison hulk ‘Dunkirk’ at Plymouth to await transportation. They went alone. Agonisingly, the order from London forbade father Henry from going with them. He must have thought that he would never see his family again – but this story was about to get worse, much worse, before it got better. Mother and baby were also cruelly separated. Captain Bradley who was in charge of the ‘Dunkirk’ had orders only to receive Susannah and turned her baby away. The Norfolk Chronicle made reference to the plight of the girl from Surlingham:

“The frantic mother was led to her cell execrating (cursing) the cruelty of the man and vowing to put an end to her own life.”

What happened next became a ray of hope when John Simpson, the Norwich prison Turnkey (warder) who had escorted mother and child to Plymouth, gathered up baby Henry and made haste to London where, in an age governed by almost unbridgeable class conventions, the humble turnkey did something truly astonishing. He went to the palatial offices of the new Home Secretary Lord Sydney who was finalising plans for the first convict fleet to sail for Australia. Refused entry, Simpson slipped in a side door only to be told that he would have to wait several days to see the man whose name would soon be bestowed on a new city on the other side of the world. The Norfolk Chronicle again tells the story much better:

“Not long after, he saw Lord Sydney descend the stairs and he instantly ran to him. His Lordship shewed an unwillingness to attend to an application made in such a strange and abrupt manner. But Mr. Simpson described the exquisite misery he had been witness to and expressed his fears that the unhappy woman in the wildness of her despair should deprive herself of existence.”

Susannah Holmes (Lord Sydney)1
Home Secretary, Lord Sydney. Photo: Public Domain.

It worked. Lord Sydney not only ordered that mother and child be reunited but gave instructions that the father should be allowed to join them as well. So Simpson set off wearily for Norwich to collect Henry Cabell. Together with the baby, they made the final journey to Plymouth and a remarkable reunion.

The Norwich gaoler, widely feted for a short time as ‘the humane turnkey’, would slip back into the shadow of anonymity, maybe to be rediscovered by descendants of his own children? – if indeed, there are descendants of this Norwich hero living today? It is not even known the fate of the two other female felons Elisabeth Pulley and Anne Turner who were sent from Norwich with Susannah to await transportation. What we do know is that transportation was a one-way ticket for both Susannah and Henry. There was no coming back, despite having deportation sentences that were far short of being for life……….On a different note, it is worth noting here that the spelling of Henry’s name changed more than once over the years. Parish records show that he was the son of Henry and Dinah Keable. Later, the newspapers called him Cabell, perhaps a mispelling. When he arrived in Australia it became Kable (probably a phonetic spelling) which it remains with his descendants. From here on – Kable it is.

Susannah Holmes (The First Fleet leaving Portsmouth)1
The First Fleet sets sail from Portsmouth on 13th May 1787. Photo: Public Domain.

On 11th May 1787 a fleet of 11 ships slipped anchor and edged out of Portsmouth into a stiff westerly breeze. Amongst them was HMS ‘Friendship’ with sails trimmed to meet the stiff breeze. The ship sat deep in the water with a course set to take its crew and passengers to the other end of the world. On board was this Susannah Holmes, a young Norfolk girl, her lover from Suffolk and their recently born son. They were just three amongst a total of some 800 convicts being carried by the First Fleet – to be hailed ever after by their Australian descendants as ‘the reluctant pioneers.’ Ahead lay one of the greatest sea voyages in history and an adventure for the young Norfolk family which is well beyond the wildest imagination of any story-teller.

Susannah Holmes (Friendship)2
HMS ‘Friendship’ – 278 Tons (a) 274 (k) 75 ft. (22.9m.) long, 23 ft. (7.0m.) beam, carried 73 people + 76 male and 21 female convicts. (170) Lt. P. G King’s Journal states 25 Seamen, 40 Marines, 76 and 21 Female Convicts (162).  Possibly skippered by Master Francis Walton.

That ‘First Fleet’ of eleven sailing ships set out on a voyage of epic proportions and into the unknown and into the history books. Altogether, the fleet was carrying almost 800 male and female convicts and a similar number of crew and marines. The ships were overcrowded. The ‘Friendship’ carried 72 unwilling prisoners, many of them originally sentenced to death and now sentenced to ever-lasting exile in the British Empire’s newest colony. All must have cursed their vessel’s ironic name.

But perhaps Susannah, from Surlingham, and her Suffolk-born Henry may have felt differently. At least they and Henry Jr were together and, remarkably, they did not travel with empty-handed thoughts. The separation of mother and baby prior to departure had caused such an outcry that the Home Secretary, Lord Sydney, had been compelled to reunite them. Their plight had captured the public imagination and an appeal raised money to buy them clothing and a few possessions; but even here there is yet another twist in the story – but more of that later.

How extraordinary that this simple and uncomplicated couple, together with their companions were to have more than a future for themselves; One day, sometime after being shuffled away from our shores, they would be feted as the founders of modern Australia. Extraordinary, too, that whilst it appears that so much is known about Henry and Susannah, the available contemporary documents reveal scant personal details. It is  known that Henry Kable was the first of nine children and that Susannah Holmes had a brother and sister, but there are no images of what either looked like. There is only one description of Henry as being a “fine, healthy young fellow” and a suggestion that he might have been red-haired. That’s it! Much more is known about the ships; two naval vessels, six convict transports and three supply ships. The itineraries survive and include lists of handcuffs, leg irons, livestock, coal, tools, food and water of course, as well as 5,000 bricks and a ‘piano’ belonging to the naval surgeon.

At Cape Town, Susannah and the other women on board HMS Friendship were transferred to the Charlotte to make way for 30 sheep. One of the marines wrote in his diary: “I think we will find them more agreeable than the women.”

Susannah Holmes (Charlotte)1
HMS ‘Charlotte’: – 346 Tons (a) 335 (k), 105-ft. (32m.) long and 28-ft. (8.5m.) beam. When surveyed at Deptford Yard on 3 November 1786 measured 6’6′ afore, amid and aft and weighed 345 tons. Carried: Crew ± 30 + 45 others + 88 male and 20 female convicts. (183) Lt. P. G King’s Journal states 30 Seamen, 42 Marines, 86 Male and 20 Female Convicts. (178) Skippered by: Master Thomas Gilbert (qv). Built in 1784, A three masted fully square rigged with neither galleries or figurehead. After her return to England she was sold to a Quebec merchant in 1818 and was lost off the coast of Newfoundlands in Nov. 1818.

The 13,000 mile voyage through often uncharted and turbulent seas took 252 days and almost unbelievably not a single ship was lost. Sadly the same cannot be said of the convicts. Forty three either died en route or, as the manifest puts it, ‘left our vessels.’ Twenty two babies were born to prisoners or marines’ wives. Remarkably, only two died. Henry Kable Jr. also survived.

Susannah Holmes (Capt Philips)2
Captain Arthur Phillip – Captain of the First Fleet
Painting: Museum of Sydney Collection.

Enter another hero in this strange story. If the first was John Simpson, the Norwich prison turnkey whose efforts had reunited Susannah and Henry, the second was the Commander of the First Fleet Expedition, a Captain Arthur Phillip. Clearly a competant sailor, his navigational skills were to take the Fleet safely through the iceberg-strewn Southern Ocean to arrived in Botany Bay on the 18th January 1788. A week later the Fleet sailed into what they called Port Jackson at the time. A strong belief endures to this day in Australia that the ‘fine, healthy young fellow’ Henry Kable carried the Captain, later to become Govenor Phillip, through the surf and on to the beach where he dedicated the new settlement to the Home Secretary Lord Sydney who had ordered the establishment of this far-off penal colony.

Two weeks after arrival the the colony,  Susannah and Henry (together with three other couples) were married by the Fleet’s chaplain – theirs were the first marriages in the new land. A happy affair no doubt; however, it must have been somewhat tarnished by the fact that the couple’s only possessions, ones which had been purchased from that earlier public appeal in England, had disappeared – presumed stolen from the ‘Alexander’. In an effort to secure justice, they sued the ship’s Captain, Duncan Sinclair. 

Susannah Holmes (Alexander)2
HMS ‘Alexander’: Barque-built – Convict Transport – 453 Tons ,114 ft. (34.75m.) long and 31 ft.(9.5m) at the beam. Deptford survey in October 1786 recorded her measurements of 7’3″ between decks afore, 6’11” midships and abaft. Carried: Crew ± 30 + 20 others + 195 male convicts. (245) Lt. P. G King’s Journal states there was 30 Seamen, 35 Marines and 194 Convicts (259) 14? Skippered by: Master Duncan Sinclair – Owner: William Walton & Co. Built as a 3 master-square rig, 1 quarter deck ± 114 x 31ft and 2 decks without galleries or figurehead, and was registered at Hull in 1783. Little is known of this ship, the largest ship of the fleet, after her return to England in 1789, and it disappeared from the records by 1808.

Before mentioning what followed, it would be worth mentioning a little about Captain, Duncan Sinclair:

It would appear that this Captain had faced a series of problems throughout the First Fleet’s voyage to the new colony. On 12 May 1787, as the fleet got underway, ten sailors on board the Alexander mutinied because they had not been paid. On 18 July 1787, when illness was rife, Sinclair had to be ordered to pump out the bilgewater. Then, in the October he was faced with a more serious mutiny amongst the crew and the convicts; surgeon Bowes surmised that it was caused by Sinclair “not exerting a proper spirit over them”. After Susannah and Henry’s case against Sinclair had been concluded, and Sinclair had set off on a return voyage of the Alexander in September 1788, the crews of both his ship and those on board the Friendship went down with scurvy. They all became so weak that the Friendship had to be scuttled. In addition to this, Sinclair allowed the remaining crews a half-share in the Alexander’s cargo. Sinclair sighted the Isle of Wight on 28 May 1789 – without further mishap!

As for Susannah and Henry Kable, they not only won their case against Captain Sinclair, but two and half centuries later that Court ruling remains an historic legal precedent. Governor Phillip had obtained Royal assent to establish a court of civil jurisdiction with a judge advocate; the writ issued by the Kables was the new Court’s inaugaural hearing. This would have been impossible in England where convicts were regarded as ‘dead’ in law with no rights whatsoever. Blackstones’ criminal law bible had put it rather more bluntly about convicts:

“A felon is no longer fit to live upon the earth…to be exterminated as monster and a bane to society…he is already dead in law.”

Well, on the other side of the world, the young Norfolk born Susannah and her Suffolk born husband, Henry who were considered ‘felons’ and once condemned to death, were well and truly alive – both in person and in young Australia’s law book. The Court that day, ordered the Captain to pay Susannah and Henry £15 in compensation. It was a wise decision of course for how else would convicts ever reform and develop in a civilised way without any legal rights, especially as 80,000 more convicts would arrive in the years ahead.

So it was that in the years that followed, the Kables thrived. At first, conditions were harsh, trying to survive in the primitive hovels that sprung up round the Bay. Famine was ever-present but it became clear that the Colony remained undaunted. Henry was made an overseer of a convict gang, then a constable and finally Governor Phillip appointed him as the first Chief Constable of New South Wales. Susannah laboured in a different way by way of not only feeding her growing family, giving birth to ten more children of which all but one survived. The family grew rich and even powerful. For a while Henry ran a public house called the Ramping Horse, named it is believed after Rampant Horse Street in Norwich. Its drunken revellers conveniently carted off to the nearby gaol which was also run by Chief Constable Kable.

At the last we are still not quite done with the firsts. The first ship of any size in the new colony was named after the Kable’s eldest daughter Diana. It was built by her father as part of a fleet that traded across the Pacific. And the same daughter of convict parents married brilliantly to a senior civil servant who had come to help establish the colony. It was Australia’s first ‘society’ wedding. By now her father had served his sentence and grown ever more wealthy with several estates and trading partnerships as well as just one more first on this vast continent, a stage coach service.

Susannah Holmes (The Kable Grave)1
The Kable Grave, Australia

Henry Kable died in 1846 at the age of 82. He was buried alongside his beloved wife who he had outlived by 21 years. Susannah was 61 when she died in 1825. Ten generations later the dynasty they founded appears to be thriving and has been known to meet-up at the appropriately named Kable’s restaurant in Sydney; no doubt to remember their celebrated forebears who famously became known as the ‘First Fleeters’.

The 250th anniversary of the birth of Susannah Kable, (nee Holmes) – the Surlingham lass who is rightly regarded as one of Australia’s founding daughters, was celebrated in 2018. It took place on 10 February 2018 when a ‘Kable Family’ reunion was organised for the descendants of Henry and Susannah, to also celebrate the couple’s 230th Wedding Anniversary. The main venue for those activities was held in the Hawkesbury Race Club, Windsor. It included Registration and Welcome followed by a Church service and Dinner. Then on the following day, 11th February 2018 a Windsor heritage walk and bus tour took place, followed by a Light lunch. A few years previously to all this, Susannah was also voted one of that country’s most influential historic figures. Strange, and how very undeserving, that in the country and county of her birth, she is seldom remembered – except maybe by parish historians!

Back in the graveyard of St. Mary’s Church at Surlingham, Norfolk the February sun had risen higher and taken the crispness from the early frost, but everywhere remained white. and the bare trees were leafed with snow. Beneath them the graves continued to say nothing. If it had not been for the theft of linen and silver teaspoons and a house robbery, Henry Kable and Susannah Kable may have eventually been laid to rest in Norfolk, beneath a Broadland sky – instead of in another country far away?

Footnote:On  30 January 1813 the “Norfolk Chronicle” reported:

“A small farmer, who a few years since resided in the neighbourhood of Norwich, has written from Botany Bay to his former landlord, stating that Cabel, who about 25 years since was sent from Norwich Castle, is now become a very great merchant and the owner of twenty-five ships.”

The newspaper then went on to present a resume’ of past circumstances surrounding the couple, and which confirms some of the essential substances of this story:

“In the year 1786 Cabel and a female prisoner were in Norwich Castle under sentence of transportation.  During the two years that elapsed between the trial and the departure of the first batch of convicts, the woman gave birth to a child.  Cabel, the father, was passionately fond of the infant, and appealed to the authorities to allow him to marry the mother.  This was refused.  The female and her infant were sent with the first contingent of convicts, and after a wearisome journey by coach in the depth of winter arrived at Plymouth in charge of Simpson, the turnkey of the prison.  When Simpson handed over his prisoners to the captain of the transport that officer refused to take the child on board, alleging that he had no authority to do so.  The mother was distracted by the separation.  Simpson acted with great humanity.  Taking with him the six weeks old child he proceeded to London by coach, and with much difficulty obtained an interview with the Secretary of State, to whom he related the story.  The result was that not only was an order issued for the restoration of the child to its mother, but Cabel was permitted to sail by the same transport to the land of their exile.”

(Taken from the Norfolk Annals, A Chronological Record of Remarkable Events in the Nineteeth Century, Vol. 1 , Charles Mackie 1901)

THE END

Sources:
https://australianroyalty.net.au/individual.php?pid=I49754&ged=purnellmccord.ged
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Kable
http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/kable-henry-2285
http://www.fellowshipfirstfleeters.org.au/henry_kable.htm
https://convictrecords.com.au/convicts/holmes/susannah/129238
http://www.genealogy.com/ftm/w/h/i/Arlene-White/WEBSITE-0001/UHP-1168.html
http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/kable-henry-2285
http://www.geniaus.net/getperson.php?personID=I3913&tree=geniaus001
http://www.fellowshipfirstfleeters.org.au/henry_kable.htm
Eastern Daily Press: Article by Dick Meadows dated 26 January 2013
https://surlingham.org/susannah-holmes/

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items which are considered deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where possible, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. Nevertheless, please rest assured that any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to sources, are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

 

 

Weird Georgian Beauty Treatments!

Norwich, 4th March 1736: It was on this day when the City ladies read with mounting excitement of “A Fresh and Neat Parcel of the Royal Beautifying Fluid” which had arrived in Norwich. Praise for its efficacy was not modest:

“So exceedingly valued by the Ladies of Quality and all who have used it for  its transcendent Excellency in beautifying the Face, Neck and Hands, to the most exquisite Perfection possible. It gives an inexpressible fine Air to the Features of the Face and a surprising Handsomeness to the Neck and Hands which it immediately makes excellent Smooth, Fine and delicately White” As if that is not enough:

“It takes away all disagreeable Redness, Spots, Pimples, Heats, Roughness, Morphews [blemish or birth mark], Worms in the Face, Sun-burnt, Freckles or any other Discolouring in the Skin”.

It needed only a few wipes with a little of the royal fluid, dropped on to a clean napkin, to make a lady’s face “fine, clear, soft and fair, as to cause Admiration in the Beholders”. The same retailer, William Chase, a Norwich bookseller, also stocked “the incomparable powder for the teeth, which has given such great satisfaction to most of the Nobility and Gentry in England for these Twenty Years”.

(Norwich Mercury, 4/5 March 1736)

Beauty is big business: thousands of column inches are devoted daily to discussing the latest beauty trends, from the simple to the absurd. But, as historical writer Catherine Curzon revealed for History Extra in 2016, the beauty regimes of the Georgian era could put even the most bizarre modern fads to shame:

Bless them, the Georgians cared greatly about their appearance. Indeed, the lure of a pretty face in make-up became so strong in the Georgian period, and was considered so irresistible, that parliament, apparently, considered passing a law to protect men from being duped by painted ladies with designs on their purse:

“An Act to protect men from being beguiled into marriage by false adornments. All women, of whatever rank, age, profession or degree, whether virgins, maids or widows, that shall, from and after such Act, impose upon, seduce or betray into matrimony, any of His Majesty’s subjects, by the scents, paints, cosmetic washes, artificial teeth, false hair, Spanish wool, iron stays, hoops, high-heeled shoes and bolstered hips, shall incur the penalty of the law in force against witch-craft and like misdemeanours and that the marriage upon conviction shall stand null and void.”

Put forward in 1770 likely as a wry jab at fashion rather than a serious law, this amendment to the Witchcraft Act was never passed, nor did it make it into the debating chamber. Nevertheless, beauty treatments were abundant in Georgian Britain. Here are just seven which today may be considered as the most weird and wonderful…….!

White, White and White!
Our obsession with acquiring the perfect sun-kissed tan would have utterly perplexed the Georgians. In the 18th century a suntan was a sure sign that one worked outdoors, whereas the polite, wealthy classes remained indoors and out of the sun’s glare. The most basic and perhaps famous Georgian fashion was porcelain white skin, for both men and women.

Alongside horse manure and vinegar, the main ingredient in skin-whitening creams and powders was lead. Daubed liberally on the face and neck, these creams and powders helped to achieve that all-important ‘never been outdoors’ look. Whiteness was accentuated by using blue colouring to highlight veins, while lips and cheeks were tinted with yet more lead – this time coloured with carmine [a bright-red pigment obtained from the aluminium salt of carminic acid] or even with mixes containing highly toxic mercury.

With the widespread use of lead, it was hardly surprising that fashionable sorts began to suffer serious reactions to their make-up. From eye disorders to digestive problems and even, in extreme cases, death, the price of following the fashion for blanc was high. The prized porcelain skin tone so beloved of Georgian fashionistas wasn’t financially easy to achieve either. Deadly or not, skin creams were an expensive addition to a lady’s make-up bag and for those seeking beauty on a budget the options were limited: for both hair and face a light dusting of wheat flour might have to suffice.

Beauty Treatments (Kitty Fisher)
A portrait of Kitty Fisher by Sir Joshua Reynolds, painted between 1723 and 1792. Some sources say the celebrated courtesan died from the effects of lead-based cosmetics. (Photo by Carl De Souza)

Speaking of Patches…
Also known as mouches, beauty patches were small clippings of black velvet, silk or satin that were attached to the face to cover blemishes, including smallpox scars and damage wrought by white lead, or just as a bit of decoration. Often kept in highly decorative containers, these patches enjoyed many years of popularity.

Beauty Treatments (Box)
Cylindrical box, possibly by Joseph Taylor, dated from 1797 that would have contained pills, cachous (lozenges to sweeten the breath) or patches to cover smallpox scars. (Photo by SSPL/Getty Images)

Just as fans could be used to communicate a secret message, the position of these skin patches eventually came to be associated with coded meanings. For example, if one wished to show political allegiance, a patch on the right-hand-side of the face denoted a Tory while a Whig wore a patch on the left. On a more intimate note, a patch in the corner of the eye might be an invitation to a would-be paramour.

Unlike face creams, patches weren’t only the preserve of the rich. If you couldn’t afford finely shaped silk and velvet then a little bit of clipped mouse skin would do just as well. Patches even appeared in many pieces of Georgian art; perhaps most famously in William Hogarth’s A Harlot’s Progress:

Georgian Beauty (a harlots progress)
These were a series of paintings and engravings in which heroine Moll Hackabout’s face – once fresh and pretty – takes on more and more patches until she resembles the haggard brothel madame who initiated her into London brothel life. For Moll, the patches no doubt covered the telltale signs of diseases such as syphilis – a world away from the fashionable ballrooms of France where a patch might mean flirtation, seduction and intrigue.

Even Hugh Hair!
The popular image of the later 18th century is one in which enormous and flamboyant wigs teetered precariously atop the heads of fashionable ladies, but this isn’t actually accurate. There was plenty of teetering hair but it was often real, with wigs generally worn only by 18th-century men.

Ladies and gents alike achieved their fashionable pale hair colour by applying hair powder, which was made from flour or starch and puffed onto the head with a pair of bellows [a device constructed to furnish a strong blast of air]. For that typically Georgian ‘big haired’ look the wealthy employed an army of stylists who built elaborate structures atop their heads around wooden frames padded with extra sections often made from horse hair.

Curling tongs were also developed: these resembled a pair of blunt scissors, with two metal prongs and wooden handles. When the prongs were heated in the fire the hair could then be wrapped around them and held in place until the curl had set. Alternatively, clay rollers were heated in an oven and then applied to the hair or wig. Heads also would often be adorned with wax fruit and other decorations such as flowers or even model sailing ships, and the most elaborate hairstyles would remain in place for days or weeks at a time. Within these monumental headpieces our fashionable gentleman and ladies acquired the occasional lice, but the Georgians had an answer for that too: specially designed rods were sold that could be slid between the layers of hair and used to scratch the lice bites, while ensuring that their fashionable hairstyles stayed perfect. If the lice became really itchy there was always the possibility of treating them with mercury, but given that this was known to potentially cause madness or death, a scratching rod was usually the preferred option.

Beauty Treatments (Barber)
A barber dispensing powder over his customer, from a print after Carle Vermat, c1700. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

Mouse Eyebrows
With lead liberally applied to the face as a matter of routine, it is hardly surprising that people’s eyebrows often fell out. Georgian fashionistas therefore adopted a new approach and began to pluck out or shave what eyebrow hair remained before pencilling on a new brow or using lead or burnt cork to colour one in.

As black brows became a popular look, occasional mentions of a rather strange new fashion began to emerge: in 1718, celebrated poet Matthew Prior wrote a satirical poem about Helen and Jane, who wear eyebrows made of mouse skin. Evidence for mouse skin brows remains scant, but mention of them does appear in satire throughout the early 18th century.

It was a ‘Must’ to Pad the right places
Many 21st-century celebrity careers have been established upon (or at least bolstered by) the strength of a shapely bottom. Yet this is nothing new: fashionable Georgian men were no strangers to a bit of strategic padding.

Beauty Treatments (Ballroom)
‘Hackney Assembly. The Graces, the Graces, Remember the Graces’, 1812, artist anon. Ballroom scene in which a man is presented to a woman. Pads could be inserted to breeches to give the appearance of muscular calves, says Catherine Curzon. (Photo by Guildhall Library & Art Gallery/Heritage Images/Getty Images)

Skin-tight breeches designed to show off the well-formed legs of their wearer became all the rage – but what if one didn’t have well-formed legs? For those who were too skinny to fill the garment, padding was the natural answer. Just like a modern padded Bra enhances the bosom, pads of fabric or horsehair could be inserted to breeches that would give the impression of muscled calves.

Georgian Beauty (The Dandies)

These pads could also be inserted anywhere else the male wearer might like a boost! These pads were the preserve of the most fashion-conscious of Georgian and Regency men. They found popularity among the highly fashionable, flamboyant chaps known as Dandies who wore corsetry and pads to create the perfect male shape.

Georgian Beauty (The Dandies)2
The Dandies at Work!

What about that Gleaming Smile!
With the upper classes indulging in all manner of sugary treats, it’s hardly surprising that the teeth of our Georgian beauties were far from perfect. Tooth powders (also known as dentifrice) were therefore used to whiten teeth: among their ingredients of cuttlefish and bicarbonate of soda was often the mysteriously named spirit of vitriol. Better-known today as sulphuric acid, this mineral (which we now know to be highly corrosive) certainly whitened the teeth, but primarily because it stripped them of their enamel completely.

Unsurprisingly, many Georgians required dental surgery and, without anaesthetic, such procedures were a skin-crawling affair. Once the troublesome tooth was removed, the richest patients could opt for a replacement live tooth to be purchased from a donor and threaded directly into the socket. Some of these live teeth had actually come from the mouths of corpses, bringing with them whatever disease and infections their original owner had been subject to.

If a pricey live tooth was beyond your means and a gap simply wouldn’t do, there were alternatives on offer: anything from a single tooth to a complete set of dentures could be constructed from materials including porcelain, ivory, or even the teeth of soldiers who died at the battle of Waterloo. Known as ‘Waterloo teeth’, these were gathered from the mouths of dead soldiers and became highly sought after. After all, a client knew that a Waterloo tooth had come not from a man who died of disease or a corpse dug up by grave robbers, but a young and (hopefully) healthy soldier who died honourably on the battlefield.

Beauty Treatments (Teeth)
A set of 18th-century dentures that once belonged to Arthur Richard Dillon (1721-1806/7), Archbishop of Narbonne in France. Archaeologists discovered them, still in his mouth, when they opened his coffin in London’s St Pancras graveyard during excavations in advance of construction work for the Channel Tunnel Rail Link’s new London terminus. (Photo by Scott Barbour/Getty Images)

Plus a Face Pack!
Less well-known than white Georgian faces and huge hair is ‘Fard’, a regency face mask used to soothe sunburn and “cutaneous eruptions” [spots].

Fard was a mix of sweet almond oil, spermaceti [a waxy substance found in the head of a sperm whale] and honey that was dissolved over heat and, once cooled, applied to the face and left on overnight. The recipe, was first published in The Mirror of the Graces,1811 followed by reprints which must have meant that the fashion continued decades later.

Georgian Beauty (Fard Paste)

THE END

Catherine Curzon is the author of Life in the Georgian Court, published by Pen and Sword Books in 2016. Catherine also runs an 18th-century themed website named A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life.

Sources:
https://www.historyextra.com/period/georgian/7-weird-and-wonderful-georgian-beauty-treatments/
This Blog is based on various sources but inspired by Catherine Curzon, author of “Life in the Georgian Court”, by Pen and Sword Books . Curzon also runs an 18th-century themed website named “A Covent Garden Gilflirt’s Guide to Life” acessed via:  http://www.madamegilflurt.com/

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

The Disfunctional Thurtell’s!

On Sunday, October 21, 2018, Seann McAnally posted on his blog site, seann-mcanally.blogspot.com, the following:

“Goodnight Blog: I haven’t posted here in a very long time. I’d say the life of this blog (as in, my desire to attend to it) has run its course. A fresh start is in order. Eventually, I’m going to pull this down and archive the interesting bits somewhere. This gave me joy when it needed to. For that I’m glad. But I don’t need it anymore. Thank you.”

This is a pity, for without knowing where ‘the interesting bits’ will go, much may well be lost – despite good intentions. The following blog of Seann’s is a case in point and, because it has a connection with Norfolk, it has been rescued before it is too late and the body text re-published here. Full credit remains with Seann McAnally and is confirmed in this Blog.

Seann’s own blog is the first contribution below, followed by further information on the principal named ‘Thurtells’ who played such a part in the defunctional nature of this 19th century family and the problems that this ‘defunctionality’ – [extinct] brought about.

1. History’s Jackass: John Thurtell.

John Thurtell (rhymes with “turtle”) was known to his friends and family as “Jack.” That’s appropriate, as few Jackasses of History approach the level of jackassery John Thurtell achieved in his short, tragic life. About the only thing he did right was die without (much) drama. He was a confidence man and a murderer. If you’re going to be one of those, make sure you’re good at it, or, like Thurtell, you’ll end up at the end of a rope.

john thurtell 1
“Now where did I hide that gun?”. Photo: Public Domain.

Thurtell was born on 21 December 1794 into a wealthy family in the English town of Norwich. His father, Thomas Thurtell, was a prominent merchant and city councellor who also served as mayor of Norwich in 1828. Thurtell shared his father’s ambition, but lacked his skill. Rather than apply himself to his studies, he was mad for competitive sports, mainly horse racing and prize-fighting (boxing). After one too many tussles, his father decided a career in the navy would do young Thurtell good, so at age 15, with a freshly purchased commission, he joined Company 99 of the Royal Navy and set out on the HMS Adamant – which promptly sailed to The Firth of Forth in Scotland, and docked for a few years. Other than raising hell in local taverns and insulting the Scots, it appears Thurtell and his crew mates spent their time doing pretty much nothing. When the fleet got a new commander, Thurtell was disciplined and discharged by Rear Admiral William Otway for some misconduct. We don’t know what he did, but they didn’t kick you out of the Royal Navy on a whim. Record-keeping slip-ups ensured Thurtell found another berth on the HMS Bellona, despite not technically being in the Navy. The only action the HMS Bellona saw during Thurtell’s service was a convoy trip to St. Helena and back.

john thurtell (hms bellona)1
HMS Bellona

Of course, when Thurtell proudly returned home in 1814, he told his friends and family about his gallant action as he stormed the port of San Sebastian on the north coast of Spain. Naval records prove that his stories of action on the Bellona were baloney. It was docked at the Isle of Wight during the battle, and merely cruised past San Sebastian several days after hostilities had died down. He also told a story of how the Bellona captured a brig of war. It was, in fact, an unarmed merchant schooner that surrendered without a fight. Nevertheless, folks around Norwich were impressed with the tales of derring-do that surrounded the popular mayor’s son.

Thurtell’s father arranged for local merchants to extend credit to his son to set up business with his friend Giddens as manufacturers of bombazine, a fancy twilled silk dress fabric that was popular at the time. However, Thurtell soon turned back to his old obsession with prize-fighting. He made friends with a boxer from London who’d moved to Norwich to seek easier pickings. His tales encouraged Thurtell to make regular visits to London, where he frequented disreputable taverns and gambling houses devoted to betting on horse races, prize fights, and other sporting events. At this time, Thurtell impressed his contemporaries, one of whom described him as “a man of integrity.”

Thurtell’s jackassery was soon exposed, however. While Giddens plugged away managing the bombazine business, Thurtell was often absent from Norwich, and was chronically short of funds. The partners soon became delinquent in payments to their creditors, to the embarrassment of Thurtell’s father. When a London mercantile firm purchased several thousand pounds(£), a huge sum at the time, worth of silk, the gallant Thurtell offered to travel to London (alone) to collect the payment. Lo and behold!, he returned without the money, saying he’d been ambushed and robbed by footpads. He helpfully displayed some bruises and a small cut on his head as evidence. His creditors, however, were quite vocal about not believing him. His father’s influence ensured Thurtell was not charged with a crime, but his reputation in Norwich plummeted, as did that of the over-trusting and innocent Giddens. Their partnership went bankrupt in 1821 – see *Footnote below.

It was a bad year for the Thurtell family – his brother Thomas had attempted the simple life of a gentleman farmer, but found it not so simple. Owing £4000 in debt, he soon followed his big brother into bankruptcy (though he owed half of that to his father, so his credit was better than Thurtell’s). He blamed his failure on excessive taxation and sub-standard seeds.

The two brothers fled to London, their bankruptcy cases still not discharged by the court in Norwich. The two launched various schemes and enterprises, usually under Tom’s name but with Thurtell as the mastermind (if you can call it that) and active agent. Jack came up with a plan to get both he and Tom out of trouble by exploiting the Act of Relief for Insolvent Debtors, recently passed by Parliament. Thurtell believed there was a loophole. Tom was, of course, the Guinea pig. Thurtell lent his brother 17 pounds, and, as arranged, Tom defaulted on the loan. Thurtell then had Tom thrown into King’s Bench prison for debt. They banked on this expediting Tom’s original bankruptcy case and having it forgiven. This was a staggering mistake, as Thurtell missed some of the finer points of the Act. He let Tom languish in prison for 14 long months before finally withdrawing the complaint. Tom appears to have left London immediately after being released, but this didn’t stop Thurtell from continuing to do business under his brother’s name.

Thurtell took out a lease on a tavern called, appropriately, The Cock (in Tom’s name). He immediately sold off the contents of the basement (which did not belong to him). He also purchased a warehouse in both he and Tom’s name. Using proceeds from the sale of the stuff in the basement, Thurtell made a down payment to finance hundreds of pounds (£) of bombazine. He stored it in the warehouse and took out an insurance policy on it all for some £2000. He spent a few more pounds making alterations to the warehouse so that no one could see inside. Then, under cover of darkness, he transferred the silk to another location and sold it for cash, making a huge immediate profit (since he’d mostly paid with credit). Then, surprise! The warehouse mysteriously burned down – Thurtell’s remodeling job ensured the night watch didn’t see the fire until it was too late.

But the local constable was suspicious. There were no tell-tale remains of silk in the warehouse, and the remodeling obviously served no purpose other than to hide the interior. The county fire office refused to pay the insurance claim. Thurtell, in Tom’s name, sued the office and won, but the director of the fire office still refused to pay the claim, and in fact used his contacts to procure an indictment against Thurtell and the hapless Tom for conspiracy to defraud the insurance company. This would eventually come back to bite Tom, although Thurtell, as we’ll see, managed to avoid conviction by dying first.

Most of his money slipped through his fingers in the gambling dens. Thurtell fled The Cock and the mountain of unpaid bills he’d racked up running it and went into hiding under an assumed name at another tavern. During this time, his friend Joseph Hunt wrote that Thurtell “suffered from an observable disintegration of his personality.” He spent much time drinking and brooding on his ill-fortune, and writing lists of grievances against all those he’d imagined had wronged him. Chief among them was William Weare, a notorious but non-violent underworld figure who seems to have started as a waiter, then moved to professional gambling. Thurtell had, in his depression, lost £300 to Weare, and it rankled to the point of obsession. He refused to pay, and spread rumours that Weare had only won by cheating. He said because of Weare, it he’d become a laughing-stock.

john thurtell (three accomplinces)2
Taken from the book ‘Account of the Murder of the Late Mr William Weare – publishers J Nichols & Sons 1824. Photo: via Hordern House.

In October 1823, Thurtell decided on a way to avoid paying Weare the £300 he owed him. Feigning reconciliation and vowing to clear the debt, Thurtell invited Weare for a weekend in the country at the cottage of a friend, Bill Probert. However, Thurtell had enlisted Probert and another crony, Joseph Hunt, to murder Weare (how, we’ll never know, but the two were also debt-ridden ne’er-do-wells – think of them as assistant jackasses). The plan was that Thurtell would hire a gig (a gentleman’s carriage) and drive to the village of Radlett. Probert and Hunt were to follow along, catch up, and then the three would kill Weare. But the assistants got cold feet, and delayed for hours debating whether they should go through with it.

Eventually they decided to go along, but by the time they caught up with Thurtell, he’d already killed Weare – and made a real mess of it, too. Once dusk fell, Thurtell turned into a dark lane near Probert’s cottage, produced a pistol from a matched set, and shot Weare in the face. This failed to kill him. The poor bastard managed to escape from the carriage, but did not get far stumbling into the darkness. Thurtell chased him and caught Weare when he tripped over a root. Thurtell drew a knife and slit Weare’s throat from ear to ear, then, for some reason, bashed Weare in the head repeatedly with his pistol, until Weare’s brains were dashed all over the ground. Thurtell hid the pistol and the knife in a nearby hedge. Then, when Probert and Hunt arrived, they helped him throw the body into a pond on Probert’s property – after searching it and looting it, of course. The trio then went to Probert’s cottage, where Thurtell presented Mrs. Probert with a gold chain he’d taken off Weare’s corpse. They all stayed up late into the night singing over rounds of grog.

The next day, Thurtell went to retrieve the murder weapons – but he couldn’t find them. Nervous, the men waited for dark, fished Weare’s body out of the pond, and dumped it in another pond by the road to the village of Elstree. Meanwhile, a road maintenance crew found the pistol and knife, and saw the brains and blood, and notified authorities. It wasn’t long before they showed up looking for Thurtell – whether they were skilled investigators or not is moot. Thurtell, jackass that he was, made it easy for them. All of Weare’s friends knew he’d planned to spend the weekend with Thurtell. When he didn’t show up at his regular haunts the following Monday, they reported it. The horse Thurtell had hired to pull the gig had rare and distinctive coloration – all gray, with a white face. Several witnesses on the road remembered seeing it, and Thurtell and Weare, riding along on the day of the murder. When the authorities questioned Thurtell, they found the other pistol from the matched set, which was, of course, identical to one of the murder weapons.

At this, Probert and Hunt immediately turned King’s Evidence against Thurtell and told everything. All charges were dropped against Probert, but Hunt, who initially lied to investigators about helping to hide the body, was banished to Australia (where, settling in Botany Bay, he married, had two children, and became a pillar of the community). Thurtell proclaimed his innocence throughout his arrest, confinement, and trial. He attempted to delay the trial by calling witnesses who he knew to be absent from London. This tactic didn’t work. He was convicted of Weare’s murder and hanged on 9 January 1824. Meanwhile, Hunt sold his story to the newspapers, and the lurid details of the crime ensured a major media circus at the execution. Oddly, Thurtell seems to have died well, without any blubbering or begging. On the scaffold, he admitted to the murder, said justice had been done, and then, in a classic jackass move, instead of asking for forgiveness, announced in a loud, steady voice: “I forgive the world!” His body was dissected and studied (common with criminals at the time) and today his skeleton is still on display at the Anatomical Museum of Edinburgh University.

Later that year, his brother Tom was convicted in the warehouse insurance fraud scheme, even though his only crime was to let Thurtell write his name on the paperwork. He, too, was hanged.

Thurtell became something of a celebrity after his death as the subject of penny dreadfuls and cautionary tales about the dangers of young gentlemen coming to London and getting involved in the vice of underworld gambling. But it seems clear that Thurtell’s jackassery began long before his gambling days, and we must conclude that he is, indeed, one of the true Jackasses of History.

  • This Footnote to Seann’s story (above) comes from Meeres, F., ‘A History of Norwich, Phillimore, 1998: “On the 22nd January 1821, John Thurtell advertised that he had been in Chapel Field, Norwich at 9pm when three men had knocked him down and robbed him of £1,508. The cash was in his pocket-book “In notes, 13 of which were of the Bank of England, value £100 each and the name “John Thurtell” is endorsed on them”. A reward of £100 was offered to whoever might give information “which may lead to the apprehension and conviction of the persons concerned in this robbery”. It sounded an incredible sum of money to be carrying and before long it was discovered to be a scam. Thurtell’s bombazine firm had been declared bankrupt and he was hoping to enjoy a public subscription.”

2. Others Of The Thurtell Family.

The following is based on the reseach done by Susan T. Miller, plus information received by her from the Norwich Public Library on the records of the Thurtell family. According to her research, Thomas Thurtell (father and later Mayor of Norwich) was born to John and Anne Thurtell (below) in 1765, baptised on July 21, 1765, at St. Julians Church, Norwich, and died April 8, 1846, aged 81. He married, in Blundeston, Suffolk, on September 25, 1787 to Susannah Browne, who was born in 1764 and died in 1848.

Purely as an aside – Susannah’s sister, Anne Browne, married Thomas’ brother, John Thurtell and Anne’s brother, Robert Browne, married Thomas’s sister, Sarah Thurtell, in a triple wedding ceremony at the Church of St. Mary in Blundeston, Suffolk in 1787.

Thomas Thurtell (our notorious killer’s father), Susannah his wife, and a daughter are buried in the new church at Lakenham with two of their other children buried in the churchyard of Lakenham Old Church. Thomas’s residence was Harford Hall farm, Ipswich Road by Harford Bridge in Lakenham Parish. We are told that he farmed this property under Southwell, landlord, and died there. However, property records for the farm apparently show that Thomas, described as ‘Esquire’, only occupied it as leassee between 1811 and 1819, so perhaps the rest of the time there was some other arrangement?

According to the family’s researchers, the convicted killer John Thurtell’s father, Thomas Thurtell, was an extremely tempetuous, violent, and unforgiving character. His treatment of his family was often tyrannical, and it was felt that much of the son’s criminal behaviour was his responsibility. However, he refused to pay the lawyer’s expenses in connection with John’s trial for murder; he also deprived another son of his promised marriage settlement and legacy. Thomas Thurtell’s mayoralty was said to be ‘extremely tempestuous and his critics vocal’. Nevertheless, he was a “highly respected and opulent merchant of Norwich” and three times Mayor of Norwich. He was also a prominent member of the Whig party in Norwich and became a member of the Common Council in 1812, Alderman in 1815, Sheriff in 1815, and Mayor in 1828 (elected by the Court of Aldermen after two inconclusive popular votes). He was again Mayor in 1829 when the Old Fye Bridge was built – as indicated on a brass tablet which was uncovered in 1932 when the bridge was widened.

It must be noteworthy that Thomas Thurtell was chosen as Mayor even after the trial and execution of his son John Thurtell on 9 January 1824, whom his father disowned. Thomas senior had done his best to set his two sons, Thomas and John, up in business in 1814 and, with his help, the two boys purchased and manufactured silks and bombasin for him. Later they became involved in something underhanded that Thomas senior knew nothing about. Nevertheless, he appears to have survived this and other scandals, related to his sons, with an undiminished reputation; and the dreadful legal troubles of his sons must have caused much grief. However, in the obituary on his death it is stated that he was universally esteemed as an honest and upright man.

THE END

Sources:
http://seann-mcanally.blogspot.com/2015/03/jackasses-of-history-john-thurtell.html
http://www.thurtellfamily.net/geotf/gp/nti00035.html
http://www.thurtellfamily.net/geofvm/uk/johnandannebrownethurtell.html
https://www.capitalpunishmentuk.org/thurtell.html
http://www.murderpedia.org/male.T/t/thurtell-john.htm
Photos:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radlett_murder
https://www.hordern.com/pages/books/3812957/transportation-george-henry-jones/account-of-the-murder-of-the-late-mr-william-weare-of-lyons-inn-and-portraits-of-the-prisoners-john
Feature Heading (Credit.Robert-Cruikshank) : https://www.onlinecasinoground.nl/gokhuizen-rond-1800-in-londen-en-een-moord/

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

 

The Delights of Domestic Lighting!

The history of domestic lighting has been governed by economics, but also by snobbery and tradition, and occasionally by a dangerous desire for novelty. So wrote Lucy Worsley.

If, for one moment, you think the subject of domestic lighting is dull then just think about life without artificial light; and remember, somewhere in all that was a basic need, which has remained ever since artificial light was first discovered – snobbery and novelty came later. Before then, changes and improvements to the differing forms of lighting were necessary, but this was a gradual process, evolving over many centuries. It was not until the late 19th century when one of the biggest changes in domestic life emerged – the development of, and from, electricity; a ‘miracle’ that happened from the moment its power was switched on.

Early Light (Hogarth)
Photo: Night in the early 18th century, as painted by William Hogarth. Photograph: Bridgeman Art Library.

Rushlights/Rush-Candles:
For starters – take rushlights. For centuries past, they were the poor person’s light-source of choice. They were made by soaking the dried pith of the rush plant in fat or grease, building up the layers so as to create a rather scrawny candle. For several centuries rushlights were a common source of artificial light for poor people throughout the British Isles. They were extremely inexpensive to make, as pointed out by English essayist William Cobbett who once wrote:

“This rushlight cost almost nothing to produce and was believed to give a better light than some poorly dipped candles.”

These long, gently-curving lights were balanced in special holders, and to double the illumination, both top and bottom would be ignited – ‘burning the candle at both ends’ as we still say! One of the earliest printed descriptions of rushlights was written by English antiquary John Aubrey in 1673; then in 1789, Rev. Gilbert White gave a detailed description of rushlight making in ‘The Natural History and Antiquities of Selbourne’.

*The boat-shaped vessel (above), used to hold the fat etc. for coating rushlights, was sometimes called a ‘grissit’.

It was, in fact, well into the third or fourth decade of the 19th century that many labouring families could afford nothing better than rushlights; made at home and, apart from fire-light, had been the one means of lighting for all the preceding generations. In the summer, the common rushes were collected by women and children and peeled to leave all but a narrow strip, which was left to strengthen the pith; these were hung up in bunches to dry. Fat of any kind was collected, though fat from salted meat was avoided if at all possible. It was melted in boat-shaped grease-pans that stood on their three short legs in the hot ashes in front of the fire. They were of cast-iron made for the purpose. The bunches, each of about a dozen peeled rushes, were drawn through the grease and then put aside to dry:

“You peels away the rind from the peth, leaving only a little strip of rind. And when the rushes is dry you dips ’em through the grease, keeping ’em well under. And my mother, she always laid hers to dry in a bit of hollow bark. Mutton fat’s the best; it dries hardest.”

*These two delightful images of making rush candles at home, showing the rushes being peeled and soaked in salt-free melted lard. Photos: By Geoff Charles 1909-2002. Copyright: National Library of Wales.

Rushlight holders were mostly of the same pattern, particularly as to the way the jaws held the rush; the chief variation being in the case of the later spring holders – in these, the jaws were horizontal; although, the usual and older patterns had the jaws upright, their only difference being in the shape and treatment of the free end of the movable jaw and the shape of the wooden block. The counter-balance weight was formed either into a ‘knob’ or a ‘curl’. Occasionally, it had the shape of a candle-socket and later, when tallow dipped candles came into use, the counterbalance was made into an actual candle-socket. There were several kinds of tall rushlight holders to stand on the floor, both of wood and iron. The iron ones nearly always had a candle socket in addition, indicating a later date, and the same kind of spring arrangement to ‘allow of the light being adjusted to the right height. Unless all of iron they nearly always had the cross-shaped block for a foot.

Early Light (Rushlight)5
These holders were sometimes called ‘a sconce’. It was three and a half, or four foot high and stood on the floor. When the rushlight was burning, it had to be ‘snuffed’ now and again with an iron scissors to make it burn brighter. Photo: Public Domain.

Early Light (Rushlight)4
Table Holders

Apart from the effort of actually making rushlights, which was a greasy job, many would say that the work of servicing the lighting, thereafter, was not suited to the fingers of the mother at her needlework. ‘Mend the light,’ or ‘mend the rush‘ was the signal for one of the children to put up a new length. A rushlight, fifteen inches long, would burn for about half-an-hour. Then, two crossed pins would extinguish a rushlight and often, when cottagers were going to bed, they would lay a lighted rushlight on the edge of an oak chest or chest of drawers, leaving an inch over the edge. It would burn up to the oak and then go out. The edges of old furniture were often found to be burnt into shallow grooves from this practice.

Rush-candles, on the other hand, should not be confused with rushlight. A rush-candle is an ordinary candle (a block or cylinder of tallow or wax) that uses a piece of rush as a wick. Rushlights, by contrast, are simply wicks which were not separate from the fuel. As for the expression ‘the game’s not worth the candle’; this implies that lighting a candle felt like burning money itself. Then there was the twenty minutes, a familiar unit of time, for which one rushlight lasted; this often needed to be exploited, like the housewife who might have invited village neighbours over to share a rushlight for an interval of gossip, or hurried knitting.

Candles:
Although candles are one of the oldest light sources, they have not changed fundamentally throughout history. Every candle is basically a mass of wax or some other fuel through which is embedded a wick which, when lit, produces light – Simple! They are still used for illumination, although sometimes in the past were used as a means of getting a degree of heating. Early nomadic tribes were first to make candles in Europe and these were made from tallow or animal fat because olive oil became almost non-existent when the Roman Empire fell. Thus, candles made from tallow were to spread across Europe and into Britain.

Early Light (Candle)
Beeswax Candle.

Early Light (George II_Candlesticks)1
George II Candlesticks.

It was like this until the 18th century when whaling began. It was found that spermaceti, crystallized oil of sperm whale, could replace tallow. It produced brighter light and was available in great quantities and did not produce a bad smell – unlike tallow. After that, some other materials were found that did not involve the hunting of whales – like colza oil which was derived from turnip and oil made from rapeseed that also gave smokeless light. In the 1850s, James Young refined paraffin wax by distilling coal. Paraffin wax is white wax that burns clearly, did not have bad odour and was cheap so it could be produced in great quantities. Because of that, it became common commodity in households.

Early Light (Night Watchman)
The Midnight Hour. Night street scene in which a man steals the candle from the lantern of the sleeping night watchman in his sentry box. Two lovers embrace from a window, which the man reaches with a ladder. And two men break into a silversmith’s shop. Photo: Museum of London.

However, it was only the rich who could afford the profusion of beeswax candles. In large households, a daily ration of candles was often included in employment conditions, and the fate of candle-ends was hotly disputed: they were the preserve of senior servants, who would sell them to supplement their wages. Yet there was another, cheaper alternative.  The tallow candle was made from animal fat, ideally sheep or cow, because ‘that of hogs …… gives an ill smell, and a thick black smoke’.  The art of creating the longest-lasting blend was very valuable, and in 1390 tallow chandlery was listed among the foremost crafts of London.  Tallow candles had a horrible brown colour and made a dreadful meaty stink.  Despite this, desperate people would eat them in times of famine for the calories they contained.

Early Light (Tallow_Chandlers'_Hall)
Tallow Chandlers’ Hall, Dowgate Hill, London.

Apart from the unpleasant smell, the great drawback to tallow candles was the need to snuff.  Their wicks had to be trimmed every few minutes or they smoked.  And, in an age of candles, fire-light and timber-framed houses, accidents were common.  Once in seventeenth-century London a servant named Obadiah illicitly took a candle up to his bedchamber.  There it fell over and burnt ‘half a yard of the sheet’.  But the quick-thinking Obadiah woke a fellow servant, and together they ‘pissed out the fire as well as they could’.

Chateau de Versailles - Galerie des Glaces
The Hall of Mirrors at Versaille. Photo: Wikipedia.

The Interiors of the rich, lit by candle-light, were designed to magnify the limited light available.  The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles was the first room in history to be illuminated to something approaching the light-levels we’d find safe and pleasant today.  Its ubiquitous glass reflected candle-light so effectively that the French court began for the first time to hold regular evening parties. In prosperous Georgian drawing rooms, there was likewise silver or sparkle everywhere.  The gold rims of plates, the silver of keyholes, even the metallic embroidery on waistcoats: all were intended to aid the eye and maximise candlelight.  In fact, a lady’s silver dress had the effect of making its wearer gleam.

Oil Lamps:
Early Light (Oil Lamp)2The light, bright colours of candle-lit Georgian interiors would be replaced by rich, dark hues in the Victorian age. These Deeper tones helped hide the soot produced by oil lamps, which began to replace candles in the later eighteenth century.  ‘I have seen houses almost filled with the smoke from lamps, and the stench of the oil’, one footman recollected.  In grand houses, lamps required a new room for the cleaning of their glass shades.  The Duke of Rutland at Belvoir Castle had a trifling 400 for his hard-working servants to polish.

Early Light (Oil Lamp)3
An Argand oil lamp illustrated in the 1822 portrait of James Peale by his brother Charles Wilson Peale. In this design the reservoir for the thick colza oil supplies one light only and is urn-shaped. The shade is probably silk (Detroit Institute of Arts, USA/Bridgeman Art Library

Gas:
Yet the oil lamp would soon be superseded by gas, and if we are looking for someone to blame for the substance, it may as well be William Murdoch. We know that the flammability of coal gas had long been established and in 1735, Dr John Clayton of Wigan had entertained the members of the Royal Society in London by telling them of how he had burned a few pieces coal, released its “spirit”, and captured it in animal bladders; then, to the great amusement of his friends, set it alight. However, it was Murdoch who, in Britain at least, pioneered the practical use of this party trick for the purposes of lighting. As an early steam buff, he worked out how to produce and store coal gas so that, by 1792, he was able to light his house in Redruth, Cornwall. Darkness – our primordial dread – had lost its dominion with the emergence of gas lighting.

Gas made its debut in London when an entrepreneur, named Frederick Windsor, organised a public demonstration of the new lighting for George III’s birthday in 1807.  People both marvelled at and feared the properties of this ‘illuminated air’.  Windsor reassured potential clients that gas is even ‘more congenial to our lungs than vital air’. By the 1840s, gas began to make a tentative appearance in the urban home.  Gradually it became a middle-class must-have.  A contributor to the Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine even recommended that parties ‘must always be given by gas light ….… if it be daylight outside, you must close the shutters and draw the curtains, the better to show off your ‘gasoliers’. But that was not all, gas must have provided a quite stunning improvement to people’s ability to read, write or sew in the evenings with minimal effort.

Early Light (victorian)
Victorian Drawing Room. Photo: Public Domain.

Nevertheless, gas had many drawbacks, despite its greater illumination qualities. There were frequent explosions, and it replaced the oxygen in the air with black and noxious deposits.  The aspidistra, became a hugely popular plant in the home because it survived well in oxygen-starved conditions.  Victorian ladies frequently fainted partly because of tight-lacing, but also because of a lack of oxygen in their gas-lit drawing rooms.

As an aside: – Many middle-class houses traditionally had a pendant light by the bay window of a bedroom. It was not there to principally illuminate a dressing table, but to prevent a person’s shadow from being cast on to the closed curtains when undressing, and thus being seen from the street. Instead, the shadow would be cast only on to the interior walls and away from ‘prying eyes’. away from the outside. This innovation was not confined to the gas era, but carried on with the emergence of electricity and well into the 20th century.

Electricity:

Early Light (Electrity)1
Victorian Electric Lamp

The arrival of electricity in the 1880s caused quite a stir with those who could afford the installation, for it was immensely expensive – and therefore terribly chic!  A light bulb would cost the same as the average week’s wages, and you needed your own home generator.  Several Fifth Avenue millionaires installed generators in their houses in New York of the 1880’s, and Mrs Cornelius Vanderbilt even went to a costume ball as an Electric Light.  But these early enthusiasts always ran the risk of accidents; like the very same Mrs Vanderbilt who, after her electrical system caught fire, not only panicked, but had it taken out.

Cost was not the only reason that the widespread adoption of electricity was delayed for many years; another significant factor was that there was no such thing as a standard generators – different brands had different outputs. This meant that many towns had differing currents, and manufacturers were reluctant to develop light fittings because there was no uniform national market for their products. It was not until the National Grid was created in the 1930s that electricity achieved ubiquity. Of course, this bright white light, which saw off the night and was enormously convenient, ensured that we lost something significant: the art of entertaining ourselves in low light levels, conversation, singing and storytelling. All these, and probably much more, were all the casualties of this modern technology.

THE END

Sources:
www.lucyworsley.com/a-quick-history-of-domestic-lighting/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rushlight
www.victorianweb.org/technology/domestic/1.html
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/oct/31/life-before-artificial-light
Jekyll, Gertrude ‘Old West Surrey: Some Notes and Memories’. London: Longmans, Green, & Co, 1904.
Banner Heading Photo: https://www.oldhouseonline.com/interiors-and-decor/guide-to-victorian-lighting

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

Norfolk Regiment’s ‘Rule Britania’

The patriotic song ‘Rule, Britannia!, Britannia rule the waves’, is the regimental March of the Royal Norfolk Regiment; it became its Regimental March in 1881. Even today, some Royal Navy vessels are called HMS Britannia. It is also traditionally performed at the ‘Last Night of the Proms’ which takes place each year at the Royal Albert Hall. ‘Britannia’ still conjures a sense of pride and patriotism today.

Rule Britanni5
The badge of the Royal Norfolk Regiment.

Originally, Great Britain was called ‘Albion’ by the Romans, who invaded Britain in 55BC, but this later became ‘Britannia’. This Latin word referred to England and Wales, but was no longer used for a long time after the Romans left.

The name was then revived in the age of the Empire, when it had more significance. The word ‘Britannia’ is derived from ‘Pretannia’, from the term that the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus (1BC) used for the Pretani people, who the Greeks believed lived in Britain. Those living in Britannia would be referred to as Britanni.

The Romans created a goddess of Britannia, wearing a Centurion helmet and toga, with her right breast exposed. In the Victorian period, when the British Empire was rapidly expanding, this was altered to include her brandishing a trident and a shield with the British flag on, a perfect patriotic representation of the nation’s militarism. She was also standing in the water, often with a lion (England’s national animal), representing the nation’s oceanic dominance. The Victorians were also too prudish to leave her breast uncovered, and modestly covered it to protect her dignity!

Rule Britanni2

The ‘Rule, Britannia!’ song that we recognise today started out as a poem co-written by the Scottish pre-Romantic poet and playwright, James Thomson (1700-48), and David Mallet (1703-1765), originally Malloch. He was also a Scottish poet, but was less well-known than Thomson. The English composer, Thomas Augustine Arne (1710-1778), then composed the music, originally for the masque ‘Alfred’, about Alfred the Great. Masques were a popular form of entertainment in 16th and 17th century England, involving verse, and, unsurprisingly, masks! The first performance of this masque was on 1st August, 1740, at Cliveden House, Maidenhead.

Rule Britanni(Clivedon)
Cliveden House, Maidenhead

It was at Cliveden that the Prince of Wales, Frederick, was staying. He was a German, born in Hanover, son of King George II. His relationship with his father was strained but he came to England in 1728 after his father became king. The masque pleased Prince Frederick because it associated him with the likes of Alfred the Great, a medieval king who managed to win in battle against the Danes (Vikings), and linked him to improving Britain’s naval dominance, which was Britain’s aim at this time. The masque was performed to celebrate the accession of George I (this was the Georgian era, 1714-1830) and the birthday of Princess Augusta.

There were various influences on the poem. Scottish Thomson spent most of his life in England and hoped to forge a British identity, perhaps the reason for the pro-British lyrics. Another of his works was ‘The Tragedy of Sophonisba’ (1730). Rather than giving in to the Romans and becoming a slave, Sophonisba chose to commit suicide. This could have had an influence on ‘Rule, Britannia!’, with ‘Britons never will be slaves’. The words vary slightly between the original poem and the song we know today. Below is the poem, as it appears in ‘The Works of James Tomson’ by Thomson (1763, Vol II, pg 191):

When Britain first, at Heaven’s command
Arose from out the azure main; floor
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:/ “Britons never will be slaves.”

The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall;
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:/ “Britons never will be slaves.”

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
“Britons never will be slaves.”

Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
“Britons never will be slaves.”

To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
“Britons never will be slaves.”

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair; Blest Isle!
With matchless beauty crown’d,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
“Britons never will be slaves.”

Rule Britanni1

The first public performance of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ was in London in 1745, and it instantly became very popular for a nation trying to expand and ‘rule the waves’. Indeed, from as early as the 15th and 16th centuries, other countries’ dominant exploratory advances encouraged Britain to follow. This was the Age of Discovery, in which Spain and Portugal were the European pioneers, beginning to establish empires. This spurred England, France and the Netherlands to do the same. They colonised and set up trade routes in the Americas and Asia.

Throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, England’s dominance grew, hence the significance of ‘Rule, Britannia!’. England had been unified with Wales since 1536, but only in 1707, by the Act of Union, did England join parliaments with Scotland, after years of tense relations. This occurred because it would benefit both countries. Scotland’s failed attempt to establish a colony in Panama costing £200,000, made a union with England look very appealing.

Scotland could use English trade routes without having to pay. England, which was experiencing fractious relations with the French, felt it made sense to have someone on their side, to fight for them, but also to simply not present a threat themselves. The Kingdom of Great Britain, the United Kingdom had been formed.

In 1770, Captain James Cook claimed the east coast of Australia, setting a precedent for later expansion in the Victorian era. In 1783 however, the nation experienced a set-back after the American War of Independence, in which 13 American territories were lost. Britain then turned her efforts to other countries, to try and establish more permanent colonies.

In 1815 after years of Napoleonic Wars, France was finally defeated at the Battle of Waterloo, and this heralded the start of Britain’s century of power. At the height of the Empire, Britannia was in control of approximately one quarter of the world’s population and a fifth of the land mass.

Rule Britanni4
British Empire 1921

The original words of the song altered with the fluctuations of Britain’s power; ‘Britannia, rule the waves’ later became ‘Britannia rules the waves’ in Victorian times, because Britain did, indeed, rule the waves! The famous phrase, ‘the sun never sets on the British Empire’ at first seems simply hopeful and poignant, ever-glowing and successful. However, it was actually coined because Britain had colonised so many areas across the world, that the sun had to be shining on at least one of them!

The 19th century, though, was also a time of growth for Germany and America which led to conflict resulting in both World Wars in the 20th century. This began the decline of the British Empire. There was also subsequent decolonisation, and today only 14 territories remain.

Since 1996, ‘Rule, Britannia!’ has been transformed into ‘Cool Britannia’. This play on words reflects modern Britain, the stylish nation of music, fashion and media. It particularly encapsulates the atmosphere and buzz of cosmopolitan London, Glasgow, Cardiff and Manchester.

‘Rule, Britannia!’ has been so popular that it has been used in a variety of ways. In 1836, Richard Wagner wrote a concert overture based on ‘Rule, Britannia!’. Arthur Sullivan, who wrote comedy operas in Victorian times, quoted from the song too.

Rule Britanni6
The Royal Albert Hall, London

“Rule Britannia!
Britannia rule the waves
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.
Rule Britannia
Britannia rule the waves.
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.”

Footnote: The mistake that seems always to be made by ‘Promenaders’ (at the Last Night of the Proms) is that ‘rule’ becomes ‘rules’ and is expressed as a statement. It is more correct for the first line of this ‘anthem’ to be an instruction – or aspiration! We no longer have a ‘Navy’ worth boasting about.

THE END

Sources:
https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/Rule-Britannia/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Empire

COPYRIGHT NOTICE2

The Profit On The Side Of The Plate!

Jeremiah James Colman was once asked how he had made such a vast fortune from the sale of mustard. His reply was:

“I make my money from the mustard that people throw away on the sides of their plate”.

 

colmans (pockthorpe towermill)
Pockthorpe Towermill 1885. Photo via Norfolk Mills.

‘Old’ Jeremiah Colman, as he was to be known in later life, was originally a farmer and had also owned Bawburgh Mill. He had no children and was to adopt James, the eldest of his brother Robert’s fifteen children. Jeremiah was a devout Baptist, kindly, honest and a good master.  Jeremiah Colman bought Pockthorpe smockmill in March of 1804 and sometime during the next ten years he demolished the old mill and replaced it with a towermill; to be known as either Bagshaw’s Mill, Bayfield’s Mill or St Paul’s Mill. The towermill had six floors and stood on land between Magdalen Road and Silver Road, approximately where Knowsley Road was later laid. After ten years had passed, Jeremiah Colman branched out when he leased Stoke Holy Cross watermill on the 3rd April 1814. He bought it as a going concern and paid £51 2s 0d to Edward Armes for his stock of mustard.

Mustard Revolution (Advert May 7th 1814)

This is the point where the story of Colman’s Mustard really begins. It was from this moment when Old Jeremiah plotted his Company’s prosperous 50-year period at Stoke and gradually introduced a range of products, starting with the introduction of starch manufacturing. Under his ownership, between 1814, when he set up at Stoke, and 1851 when he died, wages rose regularly – although employees, including 8 and 9-year old boys, worked 12 hour shifts with two breaks and wages were 3d per hour. The working day for employees was normally from 6.00am to 6.00pm, although sometimes a shift could go on until midnight when some workers faced a long walk home.

mustard revolution (stoke holy cross mill. colman's home 1814-1862)2

‘Old’ Jeremiah had no children whilst his brother Robert, who was farming at Rockland St. Andrew, had fifteen – eleven of them were boys. It was the eldest, named James, who was adopted by Jeremiah, brought up and when he became 22 years of age, Jeremiah took him into his Company and gifted him partnership; the date was 15th February 1823. This date proved to be a significant date for the future development of Colman’s Mustard, because from that point Jeremiah shared the management burden of looking after a growing business, which in turn, opened up further job prospects for many people in and around Norwich. Young James began with a quarter share which increased to one-third in 1827 and half in 1831. Later on, two other brothers, Jeremiah the 2nd and Edward who were to represent the business in London, were also admitted into partnership; but this was not until 1844, six years before land was purchased at the Carrow Abbey district of Norwich for further expansion of the Company.

colmans (stoke map 1880)
Stoke Holy Cross Mill, 1880.

Before then, however, young James had to roll up his sleeves to sift and mix the mustard flour obtained from the crushed seed. Old Jeremiah remained at his desk, starting his day’s work at 7am, just one hour after the men had commenced their labours. With such commitment from everyone, the business prospered and by 1851 the firm was advertising mustard in casks, tinfoil packets, round tins and several types and different packages of starch, along with indigo and Prussian blue for laundries and manufacturers. The size of the business in those early days was relatively small and can be gauged from the records of a member of the Colman family who recalled his boyhood memories of 1834. Those memories included the moment when he watched Lazarus Horne:

“……who had only one arm, doing all the day’s packing himself; packing the mustard into wooden casks which, apart from a small amount of mustard being packed in bottles for export, were the only containers then used for the mustard flour……”

mustard revolution (colmans dynasty)
The Colman Dynasty. Photo: Public Domain

Then, on the 3rd December 1851, “Old” Jeremiah died; he was aged 74 years. Barely two years later, on the 24th November 1853 James Colman, his adopted nephew and successor, also died. It was his 24-year-old son, Jeremiah James Colman, who took over full control of the family business – he being the third member of the family to do so.

colmans (advert 1855)
An advert from 1855 which shows the London head office of Colman’s Mustard in Cannon Street. Photo:  (c) Unilever.

colmans (the bull)Young Jeremiah J Colman now controlled what was still a small local company selling modest amounts of mustard and starch. However, in the space of 50 years he was to build, what was essentially a mustard company, into a global brand by using innovative marketing techniques, hard-work, honesty and integrity. J.J. Colman also proved to be a brilliant innovator whose masterstrokes included creating Colman’s famous Bull’s Head trademark in 1855 and moving, in 1858, from nearby Stoke Holy Cross to a site at Carrow Abbey in Norwich.  His decision to leave Stoke Holy Cross was brought about partly by an uncertainty about the lease renewal, coupled with the obvious advantage of working near to river and rail transport links which the City of Norwich offered. The young entrepreneur had also identified a ready-made workforce in the city – cloth workers made redundant by the decline of the textile industry in Norfolk and its exodus to northern mills.

colmans (factory-1850-photo-by-j-stewart)
Colman’s Carrow Factory, circa 1850’s. Photo: J Stewart.

The mid-19th century was a time of great poverty in Norwich following the dwindling of the textile industry. Land was cheap and labour plentiful. The grounds of the historic Carrow Abbey were selected as the site for the new factory and, without planners to satisfy, the Carrow mustard mill was working by 1858. Before long, flour and mustard mills began to appear along the bank of the river, with engine houses, granaries, and stores. The Company’s ‘Counting House’, still identifiable today, was built shortly afterwards for use as the administrative headquarters.

colmans (carrow abbey)
A second millenium view of Jeremiah Colman’s 19th century home, known as ‘Carrow Abbey’. The figures on the left are entering Colman’s Mustard canteen. Photo: via Fanny Cornforth.

After Jeremiah J. Colman married Caroline, they set up home at Carrow Abbey, where they remained for 40 years with the head of a growing company able to give personal supervision daily to his business which was at the bottom of his garden. The Colman family had always been in advance of their time in recognising the need to look after the welfare of their employees. Even the wife of James Colman organised a clothing club at Stoke in the very early days. It was the move to Carrow and the great and rapid expansion of the business which accelerated the provision of social welfare for employees on a scale not seen in the neighbourhood before. In 1857 Carrow School began with 22 children in an upper room in King Street. This was followed by Colman building a school on Carrow Hill in 1864, years before education was compulsory. There was no better indication of the growth of Carrow Works than the fact that when, in 1870, the State took over responsibility for education in 1870, continuing in partnership with Colmans, there were 324 children on the school register. When the school opened, Colman sent a letter to each of his employee’s extolling the benefits of education. Here are a few highlights from that letter:

‘In these days of progress, that man is sure to be left far behind, who has neglected the cultivation of his intellect while he who strives to improve his mind stands a fair chance of raising himself in the social scale’

‘Remember the motto of your Reading Society ‘KNOWLEDGE IS POWER’, power for advancement, power to be good and to do good, power to be happy and to cause happiness to others’

‘It is of the utmost importance that you should teach your children to be punctual, neat and industrious.’

mustard revolution (colman's school 1864)2
Colman’s School built on Carrow Hill in 1864. Photo: Norwich Museum Service.

The truth was that the Colman family had always taken a benevolent interest in their workforce and, increasingly as the Company grew, they not only supplied schooling but contributed to the social life of its staff; for example: Christmas dinners in the granary, staff outings, a meals service for its workers – 4p bought hot meat, vegetable stew and a pint of coffee. Colman’s also provided a clothing club and lodgings for working girls, followed by a lending library and a pension fund; but these benefits were provided once the Company had grown to many hundreds of employees at the Carrow Works in Norwich.

mustard revolution (employees day trip 18th-century)
Colman’s Employees. Photo: Norwich Museum Service

In 1872 he set up a self-help medical club for his workers, encouraging them to contribute, matching their contributions with his own donations. Then, in 1878, the Company established a nursery for younger children, and employ an industrial nurse, called Phillipa Flowerday; plus, a dispensary set up for the benefit of his workers. Colman’s were also to build coffins for workers and their families, and build and rent out houses to workers and pensioners. The company owned hundreds of homes and accommodation was provided for many workers, but special provision was made for single women who were provided with low-cost accommodation. Most houses were in neighbouring Lakenham and Trowse, and some of the terraces were said to have had mustard-coloured front doors.  He even provided public houses in which his workforce could enjoy a pint or two. – And, it did not stop there!

mustard revolution (school terrace)
Former Colman Cottages built in School Terrace, Norwich by the Company for employees. Photo: Broads Authority.

An onsite kitchen was opened, this provided tea or coffee in the morning and a hot meal for lunch, charged at cost. Workers who were off sick long term would have food parcels delivered to them at home courtesy of the Company; to do this, somebody was employed full-time to deliver these food provisions. A clothing club was also established; this made saving towards the cost of clothing much easier. Additionally, the company contributed to the savings scheme. From 1874 a dressmaking teacher was hired to help female employee’s learn new skills that could be used in the home and save money. In fact, a whole series of educational classes were provided free of charge to all employees. Jeremiah Colman then insisted that his employees were insured against sickness or injury, the Company ran its own scheme for workers who could choose between that or joining a Friendly Society. From 1864 the dispensary employed a doctor to work alongside the nurse.

colmans (leaving work)
Hand tinted glass plate showing thousands of workers leaving Colma’s Carrow works in 1900. Photo: (c) Unilever BNPS.

In 1856, Colman’s employed just 200 people, by 1862 this had risen to 600 and by the time of his death in 1898 it was closer to 2,000. The story of the rise of Colman’s and of the work and life of Jeremiah James Colman is fundamental to understanding the history of Norwich in the 19th century. Colman’s influence could be seen everywhere and his morals, actions and achievements drastically altered the lives of many thousands of people living in Norwich. This rapid growth of Colman’s Mustard ran counter to the general narrative of English 19th century industrial growth. In an age characterised by child labour, unsafe working environments and long hours for low pay, Colman displayed a remarkable duty of care to his employees. Many industrialists of the time in this country claimed they could ill afford to treat their workers better or pay them more; to do so, would destroy their business and the nation’s economy. Jeremiah Colman proved that it was possible to grow a profitable business whilst treating workers with humanity and giving them some form of dignity.

mustard revolution (jeremiah james colman-1867-1868)
Jeremiah James Colman 1830-1898. Photo: Norwich Museum Service.

When Jeremiah James Colman died, he left £2,000 in his Will to the employee’s trust and the money from this was used to set up a pension fund. By the time he had departed Colman had built up a system of nurseries, schools, medical care, food provision, housing and pensions. A system of protection for his workers from cradle to grave – 50 years before the creation of the welfare state!

mustard revolution (carrow works 19th century)2
Carrow Works, circa 1890. Photo: Public Domain.

Why did Colman feel the need to provide such assistance? He could very easily have turned a blind eye to the plight of his workers, like the majority of his contemporaries did. He was no social revolutionary, in an age of socially radical ideologies Colman was politically a liberal. He was however a devout Christian paying strict adherence to the Protestant religion. This drove his belief in a strong work ethic but also his compassion for his fellow man and his ethical approach to business. Colman’s brand of charity was that of self-help, he believed in giving to help people, but he believed that once helped people had a duty to do everything in their power to help themselves.

colmans (barrel making 1880)
Carrow Works barrel making, circa 1880. Photo: (c) Unilever BNPS

Such was Colman’s religious conviction that at a young age he had been tempted to turn down the opportunity to run the family business, for he feared it would impinge upon the time he could devote to religion and self-improvement. He even questioned the morality of wealth and feared he would become corrupted and greedy. As a future close friend of four-time Prime Minister William Gladstone, who offered Colman a baronetcy, Colman was to decline the offer saying:

‘anything I can do to promote the principles I have always supported … I am glad to do, but I much prefer that it should be without the reward or rank a title is supposed to give’.

colmans (wherry 1900)
A Norfolk wherry moored outside the Carrow works in 1900 – the sailing barges were used to transport the mustard plants to the factory. Photo: (c) Unilever BNPS.

Outside of business, Jeremiah Colman had a great sense of civic responsibility stating:

‘Men should go into municipal affairs to see what they could do for the town, instead of seeing what the town could do for them’.

At the young age of 29 he was elected to Norwich Town Council. He was sheriff in 1862-63, mayor 1867-68, in 1869 he became a magistrate for Norwich and then for Norfolk in 1872. In 1871 he was elected as a liberal MP for Norwich, serving for 25 years but his political career was mixed.  He did not thrive in the Houses of Parliament as a Liberal MP, in part due to his poor oratory skills, but also because he very quickly became disillusioned with national politics. He was however much more successful as a local politician he sought to end the corruption for which Norwich was well known.

colmans (packing 1910)
Female workers packing penny oval tins in 1910. Photo: (c) Unilever BNPS.

He was a part of Norwich Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Society, this group met regularly and spent their time writing, reading and debating the great questions of the day focusing on politics, religion, society, and morality. He was closely involved with the successful launch of the Eastern Daily Press in 1870; a newspaper that is still going strong today. He also fought for, and won, having a preservation order placed upon the Norwich City Walls – or what was left of them after the City had decided to remove the ancient city gates in the previous century.

colmans (packing 1920)
Staff packing at the Carrow factory in the 1920’s. Photo: (c) Unilever BNPS.

Colman was one of the leaders of a subscription campaign that sought to argue for all public buildings in Norwich being used for the public benefit. By 1886 they had been successful in securing both the Castle and Blackfriars Hall for public use. At the time Colman was a trustee of Norwich Museums, whose collections were then housed in a purpose-built building on Exchange Street. After closing as a prison, the castle was offered to both the city and county councils for purchase, but they were unwilling to meet such expense. Briefly the decision had been made to allow the castle to become a ruin, however banker John Henry Gurney purchased the castle, and it re-opened as the museum we know today.

colmans (coat of arms)2So how was a small local company able to transform itself into one of the top 100 British companies in just under 50 years, whilst simultaneously providing a decent living for its workforce? Well, Marketing was the key to their success, and Jeremiah James Colman was the man driving this forward. In 1855 they adopted the now instantly recognisable bright yellow packaging with the distinctive bull’s head and in 1865 they gained a royal warrant from Queen Victoria. Colman’s products are still used by the Royal household today. They were one of the first companies to really push forward the marketing of their products to a consumer market. As early as the 1840’s Colman’s made the decision to start selling their products in much smaller packages (penny tins). This enabled smaller amounts to be purchased more cheaply which opened up a huge new potential customer base. Railway carriages were decorated in the distinctive brand colours to transport their goods across the country. Before the age of Television this allowed the whole country to see the Colmans imagery.

By the 1870’s Carrow had its very own marketing department, and by the late 1890s they had started hiring famous artists to create high quality advertising posters for them. Including the illustrator John Hassall and later the painter Alfred John Munnings. The growth of the business rested on the increasing nationwide and world-wide demand for the limited ranges of its quality products, and on what today would be known as good marketing. The selling and marketing were carried out by other members of the Colman, and carried on through their sons and grandsons from the Company’s Cannon Street offices in London.

In 1896 an important change took place in the structure of Colman’s Mustard when the partnership became a limited company with a capital of £1,350,000. The first chairman was Jeremiah James, who was succeeded after his death two years later by one the London cousins, Frederick Edward Colman.

By Acquisition and Amalgamation

The growth of Colman Mustard over 150 years or so did not come about solely by the introduction of new products, methods of manufacture, and increasing sales. These played their part, but so did the Colmans’ gift of creating the means by which competing firms could be taken over. This policy of expansion by acquisition appears to be as old as the 20th century, for it was in 1901 that a rival starch-making firm of Orlando Jones & Co. was absorbed. Two years later, principally interested in their competitor’s mustard and spice trade, Colmans took over Keen Robinson & Co., but found they had become one of the most important baby-food manufacturers in the country through sales of Robinson’s Patent Barley and Patent Groats.

colmans (keen robinsons 1925)
Keen Robinson & Co 1925. Photo: (c) Robinsons.

The period up the first world war marked the continued transformation of Colmans from a paternal 19th century business employing a great deal of labour, and relatively little mechanised, to one using mechanical processes tending towards automation, and backed by the different financial approach of the limited company. Then in 1936, Colmans became a public company and two years later, in 1938 joined forces with Reckitt’s of Hull to become Reckitt & Colman Ltd. The amalgamation was in the fateful year of Munich when, to all but the optimists, war was inevitable.

Carrow Works was severely damaged by air raids during the war. One in 1941 destroyed four buildings including the cereal and mustard departments and a year later the seed granaries, starch, blue and advertising departments were blitzed. In 1943, six months after his son Alan had been killed while flying as a war-time ferry pilot, Mr. Russell Colman retired from the board. For the first time for 130 years there was no Colman on the Norwich branch among the directors. In the main the heavy burden of carrying on the business under the difficulties of wartime fell on the shoulders of Sir Basil Mayhew and Mr. H. A. G. Salter.

colmans (bombed)2
Destruction: The Carrow Works following one of the WW2 Luftwaffe raids. Photo: Norfolk County Council.

In 1945 the Reckitt & Colman Group was joined by another large business, Chiswick Products Ltd., manufacturers of polishes and similar lines, building up towards what were a world-wide range of foods, wines, soft drinks, household goods, toiletries, pharmaceuticals and industrial and other products. Probably the most significant developments of recent years were the acquisition in 1968 of the Norwich-based wine company Coleman & Co., long known for its tonic wine, Wincarnis. Because of the similarity of names many people thought that this was always a Colman product, but until 1968 it was not, although a hundred years before Colmans bought up Colemans of Bury St. Edmunds, a small mustard and starch manufacturer. The proprietor, Mr. W. J. Coleman, a chemist, then developed the tonic wine. Colemans had by this time become a considerable business as shippers and distributors of branded wines. Reckitt & Colman extended it by further acquisition of the business of Edward Robinson and, in 1969, of Moussec sparkling wine.

When the Colman family picked the site around the old Abbey at Carrow something like 160 years ago, they were really looking ahead. Despite automation, computers, and mechanical processes not dreamed of by the early employees who put the mustard into large and small containers by hand, there was a sizable number of workers in the Food & Wine Division in Norwich. It was a point touched upon by Mr. James Cleminson, who came to Carrow in 1960, was appointed managing director of the food division in 1970, and then went on to become chief executive of the then £200 million parent company, Reckitt & Colman Ltd. At the 150th Anniversary of Colmans in 1973, James Cleminson said that it was appropriate that the Company should acknowledge the debt owed to predecessors when he opened a mustard shop in Bridewell Alley in Norwich.

“I am sure”, he added, “that they would regard it as more important that we should maintain their progressive outlook for the future.”

colmans (mustard shop)
The Mustard Shop in Bridewell Alley, Norwich. Photo. EDP.

In 1995, Colman’s became part of Unilever’s Van Den Bergh Foods when it was purchased from Reckitt & Colman PLC. As part of the acquisition, Unilever acquired the dry sauces, condiments and mustards sold under the Colman’s brand name. In 2018, Unilever confirmed that it would close its base [Colmans] in Norwich! They went on to say that a transition period of moving production from Norwich to Burton-upon-Trent and Germany would begin in the autumn of 2018 and would continue until the end of 2019. To sweeten a bitter pill for many, Unilever said that it planned to open a new milling facility near Norwich for the production and packing of Colman’s mustard powder!

THE END

Sources:
Eastern Daily Press – ‘Mustard – Seed of a Great Idea’, Friday 9th February 1973
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colman%27s
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sir_Jeremiah_Colman,_1st_Baronet
https://shinealightproject.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/the-mustard-revolution-the-life-of-jeremiah-james-colman/
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2717690/History-never-hot-Colmans-Mustard-celebrates-200-years-Britains-tables-fascinating-archive-photos-adverts-showing-went-strength-strength.html

COPYRIGHT NOTICE2

Norwich Shawls: Once Ahead of the Game!

Those in the know would recognise the ‘boteh’, a tear-drop motif with a name which was inspired by the territories which bordered Kashmir. It was where shawls were made from the fine, under belly fleece of Tibetan goats. These Kashmir shawls became very fashionable in 18th century Britain, but they were very expensive. It was the sight of these shawls which inspired Britain and France to produce cheaper alternatives of their own. Ironically, within one-hundred years, shawls produced in Kashmir were influenced by European designs.

Norwich Shawls (Little_Norwich_Shawl_Worker)
The Little Norwich Shawl-Worker. By Joseph Clover (engraver, T Overton) 1826

Norwich Shawls (boteh)1
A typical ‘Norwich’ boteh design of the time.

The Kashmir ‘boteh’ pattern was developed from an image of a vase, or bunch, of flowers with tightly packed heads bending at the top and forming the familiar decorated pinecone shape that we all recognise. For many-a-year, fabrics woven with a series of these tear-drop motifs were known as ‘Paisley’, the name of the Scottish town which used the design to decorate its shawls in the early nineteenth century. However, the town of Paisley was not the first British town to produce shawls decorated in this way. The fact of the matter was that the city of Norwich, in Norfolk, had been using a very similar pattern on the borders of their shawls ever since the latter part of the 18th-century.

Norwich Shawls (John Harvey)1
John Harvey (1755–1842), Mayor of Norwich (1792), who was credited with introducing shawl weaving to Norwich in 1791. Painting by John Opie (1761–1807)
Norwich Civic Portrait Collection, Norwich Castle Museum and Art Gallery

(Gladstone House, 28 St Giles, Norwich. Former home of John Harvey).

It was John Harvey (1755-1842) who was credited with introducing shawl weaving to Norwich in 1791. He was a person of some standing in the city, becoming Sheriff in 1784, Mayor in 1792, High Sheriff of Norfolk in 1825 and, as an aside, was also credited for reviving horse racing on Mousehold Heath, on the outskirts of Norwich. Harvey also became associated with Norwich citizen Philip Knights. In 1794, it was Knights, Shawlman to Her Majesty, who mounted an exhibition in his London showroom at 136 Bond Street to honour Her Majesty’s birthday. There, at the windows of the showroom, little children could be seen embroidering Norwich shawls.

Norwich Shawls (Pattern Book)1
In the illustration above there is an interesting figure to the left working at cloth and the wording surrounding the cartouche is often seen on samplers: Train up a child in the way it should go. To the right the matching cartouche has the inscription And when old twill not depart from it. These pictures are linked by their format and continuation of text. So the link between the young embroiderer and older weaver is strongly implied.

By the nineteenth century, Norwich had at least twenty shawl manufacturers, and the number grew. It has been said that in the 19th century, successfull manufacturers of Norwich shawls included Towler and Campin, Clabburn, Sons & Crisp, Edward Blakely, Willett & Nephew, and Bolingbroke & Jones. These, along with others, made the best use of the Jacquard Loom, which was developed in 1804 and worked on the basis of using perforated pattern cards.

Norwich Shawls (jacquard-loom)1
An early Jacquard Loom

Joseph-Marie Jacquard – the developer:

Norwich Shawls (A_la_mémoire_de_J.M._Jacquard)
This portrait of Jacquard was woven in silk on a Jacquard loom and required 24,000 punched cards to create (1839). It was only produced to order. Charles Babbage owned one of these portraits, and it inspired him in using perforated cards in his analytical engine – which is in the collection of the Science Museum in London, England.

To be clear, Joseph-Marie Jacquard was not the inventor of what could be termed, the ‘programmable’ loom – as many people imagine. Actually, he created an attachment to the loom, which played a very important role not only in the textile industry, but also in the future development of other programmable machines, such as computers. In other word’s, Jacquard’s genius did not lay in originating the revolutionary ideas behind his loom, but in building upon the work of previous innovators, bringing their ideas together, adding his own insights, and solving a variety of practical engineering problems, to create an automatic loom that was fast, reliable and most importantly—commercially viable. The Jacquard loom revolutionized the speed at which decorated fabrics could be woven. Using the Jacquard loom, a skilled weaver could produce two feet of decorated silk fabric per day, compared with one inch per day that could be produced by a skilled two-man draw loom team.

Norwich Shawls (Pattern)1
Pattern Book

As far as the Norwich weaving companies were concerned, the development of the Jacquard Loom allowed for ever more complex patterns to emerge, eventually covering most of their shawls rather than stopping at the borders. However, even though they could copy the ‘boteh’ designs, they found it difficult to reproduce the soft feel of the high-quality woollen shawls from Kashmir. Fortunately, Norwich, with its long experience of weaving fine quality, lightweight fabrics, came up with a combination of silk and ‘worsted’ wool; the result was a warm and strong fabric with a soft feel.

Continuing success seemed assured but it did not come without one inevitable offshoot. Norwich manufacturers became dismayed by towns, such as Paisley, copying the Norwich pattern and flooding the market; by doing this, the exclusivity of the design was watered down. Only Government legislation could help, but it was not until 1842, when it became possible to register a design at the Patent Office for one shilling; however, this protection was limited to between six and twelve months from registration. Most Norwich companies thought this to be a waste of time and effort and, in fact, only seven manufacturers bothered to take the opportunity to protect their patterns against what they thought to be piracy.

Norwich Shawls (Pattern)3

But it seemed as if there was ‘something for everyone’; certainly in Norwich from the turn of the 18th century, some companies were receiving orders for up to 42,000 shawls. Inevitably perhaps, this spawned the desire of the workers to have a share of this prosperity and it seems that, in some parts of the trade at least, there was a degree of ‘reward’ handed out (if one ignored the long hours), for wages in the trade were good for that period; Mr Marten, a visitor to the City in 1825 recalled:

“We then walked about the large city & came by St Giles Church into Heigham, and called on Mr Grout who permitted us to go through his important Silk Manufactory. The works are in several floors and the winding twisting bobbins are by machinery moved by a beautiful 20-horsepower engine. These operations are watched and conducted by more than seventy females, some so young as 7 to 8 years of age. These are on foot from seven in the morning till eight in the evening watching the threads, repairing the broken & seeing that all go on well – occasionally supplying oil where wanted to prevent evil from friction. Only that they have half an hour to breakfast & an hour for dinner. And these little girls earn some 5 shillings, some 5 shillings/6d a week.”

By way of description – Norwich shawls were long, narrow and square with woven borders which featured the ‘boteh’ motif and a plain central area or one sprigged with tiny flowers. Other shawls were fringed and contained varying sized ‘boteh’ which sometimes crossed each other and completely covered the background. Even full dresses of this period, showed off these designs with shawls at their peak of fashion. The most beautiful of Norwich shawls were produced between 1830 and 1850 and one of the companies in the forefront of high-quality production was Towler & Campin. Others were not far behind and, because of the competition, every manufacturer had to employ what today may be thought of as a ‘stylish’ selling approach, certainly on those who had the most money to spend on ‘luxuries’. One such company was that of Edward Blakeley; the following report appearing in the Norwich Mercury on the 5 March 1831:

“Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen and HRH the Duke of Sussex having condescended to patronise the manufacturer of Norwich shawls, Edward Blakely begs most respectfully to inform the Nobility and ladies that he will have ready for inspection, on Tuesday 15th inst, a splendid assortment of the same description of shawls which Her Majesty has been pleased to select”.

In 1848, an employee of Edward Blakely, a certain William Piper, went to London and obtained an introduction from the Countess Spencer to the Queen and was able to secure ‘sales of Norwich shawls with Her Majesty, the Queen Dowager, the Duchess of Kent and many members of the aristocracy’. In 1851, Edward Blakely took the opportunity to display his shawls at the Great Exhibition, showing Anglo-Indian scarves, shawls, dresses and brocades. He was rewarded with two orders for shawls ‘made in the pure Indian style’ from Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. It was by 1851 when ‘printed’ shawls also came on to the market with many being dyed with a colour identified as ‘Norwich Red’. These shawls were designed to cover crinolines and were over six feet square, or a twelve-foot rectangle and sometimes five feet in length, again filled with boteh and filled with flowers. The Great Exhibition of 1851 gave Norwich the chance to show off this development.

(Norwich shawl patterns, as displayed at the 1851 Great Exhibition)

There had always been a problem wearing a shawl which had a right and a wrong side. Kashmir shawls overcame the difficulty by sewing two together but this was not suitable for the heavier European shawls. However, in 1854 Clabburn, Sons and Crisp successfully produced a reversible shawl. Their shawls were the most intricate, woven from silk using the Jacquard loom. The pine cone shape became elongated, resembling the handles of a pair of scissors and scrolled from the border boteh to the centre of the shawl, where there may or may not have been have been a plain central eye. Zebra shawls featured lines of complex patterns scattered throughout with tiny pine cone motifs. However, as the crinoline, so well suited for supporting a heavy shawl fell out of fashion, the shawl was superseded by a short jacket or cape. The shawl once epitomising elegance and gentility, was now identified with the frail and dispossessed and by the 1870s the heyday of the shawl in Norwich, as in other European towns, was over.

Norwich Shawls (1865 Fashion )1
A fashion plate from 1865 showing how shawls were worn at this time

The Shawl in Norwich today:
Norwich Museum Service remains the custodian of what remains of original Norwich shawls and Carrow House in King Street Norwich, which was once home to the Service, held its collection there until 2011. At that time, there were over 100 Norwich shawls in the collection and around 500 shawls of other types. The Norwich examples were credited to the companies that made them and where possible, a provenance was given, so it was possible to get a good sense of the shawl’s place in the history of costume, the contribution Norwich made to the shawls’ production – and made visitors realise the sheer variety of what was termed as the paisley pattern.

Norwich Shawls (recently-restored-Jaquard)
A restored Jacquard Loom at the Norwich Museum Service of Bridewell.

One may well wonder what the current value of original Norwich Shawls would be? – and certainly, it remains difficult to positively attribute any such shawl to the city. Many textile specialists have, in the past, listed them as European – or possibly Norwich. However, in the early years of the Second Millennium, the price of shawls at London auction houses and identified as Norwich fell. Immediately prior to this period, Phillips offered a good selection of Norwich shawls. In 1996 they sold a number of Norwich shawls for between £320 and £460; then, in May 1999 two Norwich shawls were sold by them for £280 and £300; on the other hand two, with an estimate of £250-£300 failed to sell. Later the same year they offered almost a dozen Norwich shawls and although two were sold for around £400, nearly half with an estimate of £200-220 remained unsold. Others went for £130, £220 and £300. Also, in 1999, Sotheby s sold one lot containing two printed Norwich shawls for £207.  In October 2000, Christies sold a shawl possibly Norwich for £235. A month earlier, Phillips had sold one for £138.

Norwich Shawls (Ballet)
A ballet costume including a silk shawl with a paisley pattern showing how the shawl would have been worn in the early 19thC. Sold for £1,410 at Christie’s on 12th Dec 2000.

Norwich Shawls (Weaving)1
James Churchyard, the oldest Norwich handloom silk weaver, 1913. Credit: Museum of Norwich at the Bridewell.

THE END

Sources:
rubens.anu.edu.au/htdocs/bytype/prints/greatexhib/byexhibitor/display00018.html
https://www.visitnorwich.co.uk/explore-and-experience/sights-and-attractions/listing/the-bridewell-/
https://shiftjournal.org/seam/shawls/
www.antiques-info.co.uk/new/pdf/Mar01/4.pdf
conserveanddisplay.co.uk/all-about-the-shawl/
angalmond.blogspot.com/2016/07/when-norwich-beat-paisley.html
https://www.cathedral.org.uk/whats-on/events/detail/2016/10/01/default-calendar/norwich-shawls-past-glories-present-inspiration–yyI07qASukGTpFvCL29C-w
https://www.edp24.co.uk/going-out/exhibition-celebrates-the-history-of-the-norwich-shawls-1-4719977
history-computer.com/Dreamers/Jacquard.html
https://www.thebowesmuseum.org.uk/

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Great Yarmouth: The Smuggler’s Return!

On 31 October 2016, the following article by Helen Rogers, appeared on her ‘Conviction Blog site. Its title: “The Smuggler Returns”. In it she cites the County of Norfolk, England and Great Yarmouth in particular. For that reason, readers of who may have missed the article the first time round, might like to read it for themselves here. Apologies to the Author for a few minor tweaks to the article, and for leaving out the advertising and other extraneous matter which only detracts from a very interesting read:

The date is 5 February 1840. Charles Lewis Redwood stands at the helm, steering the St Leonard into the Yare. He remembers the tightening of his stomach the last time he watched Yarmouth coming into view, shackled as he was then with his men aboard the Admiralty cutter as his sloop, the Nancy, was towed into port. Deftly, he slips the St Leonard up against the quay and oversees his men unloading her cargo. Honest fare, now, he carries between Harwich and London. Not like the bales of tea and barrels of brandy, stashed in the hulk, discovered when the excise officers intercepted the Nancy crossing the Yarmouth Roads, disguised as a fishing smack.

Smugglers Return (Harwich)3
‘Harwich: The seashore and lighthouse’ by John Constable (RA), about 1815, Museum no. 302-1888, given by Isabel Constable. (c) V & A Museum.

It’s four years since he was on this quay. The Harwich men were waiting outside the Gaol to greet the five smugglers from the Nancy after six-months imprisonment. Singing and slapping each other’s shoulders, they marched down to the dock and into the nearest tavern. He was impatient to return home but first he must treat the band of smugglers for supporting his men during their confinement with regular supplies of food and tobacco. It felt ungrateful to watch his friends supping their ale and not join them in a glass. After all this time, he was glad to get the commission to come back to Yarmouth. At last he can call on the prison teacher he promised to visit. He seeks directions to Row 57. Will Miss Martin remember him?

She recognizes the sailor instantly, welcoming him into her little room. He’s taken aback by its bare simplicity. Brewing the tea strong, she manages to get two cups out of the teapot, made only for one. It was a hard time, he tells her, when he left the Gaol. Fourteen months he spent, searching for honest work. With his wife and children to feed, it was a sore temptation not to go back to the contraband. But he stood by what his teacher taught him. Now, he says proudly, he is master of a respectable merchant’s ship.

Smugglers Return (Sarah Martin Preaching)1
Sarah Martin preaching in Yarmouth Gaol

The mariner’s eyes light up when she asks after his family. Sarah, his wife, has another baby on the way. William, his first-born, has become a sailor. He’s a strapping lad. Good and steady. The teacher rummages through a box of envelopes, and takes out the letters of thanks from Edmund Cole and his wife, to read their cheery news. Like Redwood, the first mate had struggled when he returned home. But Cole had visited last summer and  told Miss Martin how all the Nancy’s crew had finally left off smuggling. They are doing well, Charles Redwood nods. Fine men. He sees them often. The teacher is happy to hear him confirm Edmund Cole’s reports. Shyly, before he leaves, the former prisoner takes from his sack two presents for the teacher. He bought them in France, a token of his gratitude for all she has done for him. He hopes she will like them. But sat on the table between them, the pretty vase and jewellery box look out of place, he thinks.

Once the master mariner bids her farewell, Sarah Martin opens the Liberated Prisoners book and writes of his visit and gifts—a vase covered in shells, and a curious glass box—his gratitude for what he thought his obligation to me. At the end of their confinement, she remembers smiling, the smugglers asked to speak with the prisoners, and begged them to listen to her advice, and treat her with respect. She picks up the vase and box, and hesitates, weighing the strange trinkets in her hands. I am not sure if she stands them on the mantelpiece or hides them away in a cupboard.

****

The smugglers on the Nancy had been in prison before, as they told Sarah Martin. Why did her teaching touch them when previous correction had failed to deter their illegal activities?

In 1832 Charles Redwood was found in charge of the Union of Ipswich, sailing as a collier hauler with contraband concealed under the coal. His men were pressed into the Navy for five years—a gain for the Admiralty that won the services of experienced sailors, and for the Home Office that saved on the cost of imprisoning them. Of the six crew members, only the cabin boy was acquitted, as at the Yarmouth trial. But the captain must be made an example. Unable to afford the £100 fine, Redwood was sent to Springfield Gaol, a convict prison near Chelmsford.

Smugglers Return (Chelmsford Gaol)
Springfield/Chelmsford Gaol

The County Gaol, at Springfield, stands in an airy and pleasant situation on about 9 acres of land, half of which is enclosed by the boundary wall.  The erection of the old buildings was commenced in 1822, and took six years to be built at a cost of about £57,000. Springfield opened in 1828 as a modern penitentiary, designed in the radial style to ensure close observation of inmates, with a tread wheel for hard labour. Under a ‘silent system’, inmates were prohibited from speaking with each other, on pain of punishment.

Smugglers Return (Sarah Martin Reads to Prisoner)1
Mateship had bound the Nancy men together on the open seas. It sustained them in prison, with gifts from the smugglers’ band—one of the illicit friendly societies formed by contraband men. The vision of Christian fellowship, offered by the prison teacher, shared much in common with the values of fraternity and mutual obligation expressed by friendly societies across the trades, often symbolized in Christian terms, especially in the figures of the Good Samaritan and St Christopher. They were embedded, too, in the sea-faring life where the maritime spirit of hardy independence was built on the interdependence of crewmen. Those same values girded the men in the difficult months after release, when the older ones kept a careful eye on their younger mates.

Determination to leave the smuggling trade was surely strengthened by the strain their imprisonment had placed on the men’s families and the fear of transportation if they were caught again. When Charles Redwood was arrested in 1836, his son Lewis was just two-years-old.

The census returns for the Redwood household suggest the precarious nature of sailoring life but also the principles of kinship and reciprocity that kept the master mariner on the straight-and-narrow and his family together. At each census the sailor and his wife lived at a different address but always in the streets by the harbour. In 1841, five of their eight sons and daughters, were with them in Castle Street. When the children left home, they remained close by.

All Redwood’s sons became mariners and his daughters married sailors or men employed in trades connected with the sea. In 1851 his widowed daughter Jane had returned to live with her parents, while she worked as a charwoman to support her young daughter and newborn son. By 1861, now remarried to another sailor, she was living next door to her mother Sarah, who was caring for two of her grandchildren.

The former smuggler passed away in 1859, aged sixty-five. Proudly, his family or his friends placed notices in the Essex Standard and Chelmsford Chronicle, to note the death at Harwich of Mr Charles Redwood, mariner of that town.

Smugglers Return (Harwich)
Harwich was, a busy port on Essex’s north sea coast. In the 1850s, the town’s quays were extended through land reclamation. Credit: Essex Record Office.

****

At the click of the latch, young Lewis Redwood runs squealing to the door and tugs at his father’s breeches. Sarah is all smiles. He feels the baby, firm in her belly, as he presses her in his arms. This one will not know his Daddy once went to gaol.

Sitting in his chair by the hearth, he keeps an eye on the potatoes bubbling on the stove while his daughters set the table. Suddenly he is hungry as the herrings, bought today in Yarmouth, sizzle smoky-sweet on the griddle. Up on the mantelpiece, Sarah has added the vase to the collection of shell decorations, beloved by sailors, which her husband has brought back from his travels. The new jewellery box has pride of place, already containing her blue bead necklace and money for next week’s housekeeping. Its glinting glass casts flickering rays of lamplight onto a picture, cut out from a magazine; it is his favourite print – ‘A Sailor’s Family’ by Thomas Rowlandson:

Smugglers Return (A Sailor's Home 1787)1
Thomas Rowlandson, ‘A Sailor’s Home’ (1787), Metropolitan Museum of Art, credit Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1833 

Though often portrayed as rowdy, drunken womanisers, sailors are rarely shown in that domestic role that many of them played – that of father. Aboard a ship, a jack cradles his infant child in one hand, while embracing his wife with the other. Even a dog joins the happy family, looking up to the sailor for approval or acknowledgement. Though drawn in a year of relative peace for the Crown, the pistol, musket, sword, and powder keg above the family all hint at the ever present threat of war that intrudes on their private moment.
The sailor wears a round hat with a low crown and very short brim. His hair is long and unruly. Though it is difficult to make out, the neckcloth appears to be plaid or striped. Our tar’s jacket has unbuttoned slash cuffs. The trousers are very narrowly striped, his stockings are white, and his pointed toe shoes have oval buckles.

He turns away from the merry picture and looks at his own happy band, gathered around the table, his wife beckoning him. For a moment he thinks of Miss Martin, sat at the table in her spartan room, writing out verses for the prisoners to copy. Charles Redwood shakes his head and then joins the homecoming supper, beaming. And because everyone loves a sailor, here are more returning sailors (and some smugglers)………

Smugglers Return (A Sailor's Home)
A more Raunchy Sailor’s Return by Rowlandson. Does the flitch of bacon suggest impending marriage?

More typical of Rowlandson is his bawdy style of many Sailor’s Returns

Smugglers Return (A Sailor's Return)1
That’s enough of that!

img_3078
The Sailor Boy’s Return from  a Prosperous Voyage.

img_3079
A Sailor’s Return in Peace. Credit National Maritime Museum

img_3081
A Married Sailor’s Return, c. 1800. Julius Caesar Ibbetson. Credit Tate

img_3082
An Unmarried Sailor’s Return, c. 1800. Julius Caesar Ibbetson. Credit Tate

The Sailor’s Farewell and The Sailor’s Return were familiar motifs on pottery:

img_3080
Credit Sunderland Lustre. United Collections

And then there was The Smuggler’s Return…

img_3083
David Wilkie, The Smugglers Return, wikigallery

img_3084
The Smuggler at Home after a Successful Cruise, Henry Perlee Parker 1850

img_3085
Smugglers Alarmed. Staffordshire Archives & Heritage

img_3086
The Arrest of the Smuggler in West Looe, 1820. Credit Looe Guildhall

Fortunately, perhaps, there are no links here to extremely lewd and graphic set of Sailors Returns which I’m sure Charles Redwood did not display on his walls!

THE END

Sources:
https://convictionblog.com/2016/10/31/the-smugglers-return
[1] Based on the following sources: Great Yarmouth Borough Gaol Committal and Discharge Book, Sept 1831-Dec 1838, Y/L 2/6, 18 May 1835; 1840 [258] Inspectors of Prisons of Great Britain II, Northern and Eastern District, Fifth Report, House of Commons Parliamentary Papers Online (Proquest, 2005), 126–27 and 1839 [199], Inspectors of Prisons, Fourth Report, ibid, p. 172. Charles Edward Lewis was born April-June 1840: FreeBMD. England & Wales, Civil Registration Birth Index, 1837-1915 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2006. Born in 1819, William was a sailor by 1841, living with his wife Mary on Church Street in Harwich, married to Mary: Class: HO107; Piece: 344; Book: 19; Civil Parish: St Nicholas; County: Essex; Enumeration District: 2; Folio: 29; Page: 17; Line: 19; GSU roll: 241380. Details of Edward Cole from the Liberated Prisoners Book are from 1839 [199] Inspectors of Prisons, 173–74. For further analysis of Redwood and other apparently reclaimed prisoners, see Helen Rogers, ‘Kindness and Reciprocity: Liberated Prisoners and Christian Charity in Early Nineteenth-Century England’, Journal of Social History 47.3 (Spring 2014): 721-45, doi: 10.1093/jsh/sht106.
[2] Essex Standard, 29 September 1832, p. 3.
[3] See extract from White’s Directory of Essex, 1848 at ww.historyhouse.co.uk/articles/prison.html, which also includes excerpts on the gaol from the Inspector’s Reports. Accessed 25 October 2016.
[4] Daniel Weinbren, ‘The Good Samaritan, Friendly Societies and the Gift Economy’, Social History, 31:3 (2006), pp. 319-336, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03071020600764464
[5] 1841 Census; Class: HO107; Piece: 344; Book: 20; Civil Parish: St Nicholas; County: Essex; Enumeration District: 4; Folio: 14; Page: 20; Line: 6; GSU roll: 241380; 1851 Census, HO 107/1760; 1861 Census, RG 9/1094; England & Wales, Free BMD Death Index: 1837–1915 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2006.
[6] Essex Standard and Chelmsford Chronicle, 11 March 1859, both p. 3
[7] Thomas Rowlandson, ‘A Sailor’s Home’, etching from series Imitations of Modern Drawing (London, 1787), Metropolitan Museum of Art, credit Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1933 http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/407353 . This illustration is a variant of the Sailor’s Return genre, itself part of a wider genre on the Labourer’s Return. Usually the homecoming sailor or worker is pictured at the threshold of the home, rather than in it, as here, reflecting longstanding ambivalence about the relationship between masculinity and domesticity. See Brian Maidment, ‘Domestic Ideology and its Industrial Enemies – The Title Pages of The Family Economist 1848-1850’ Christopher Parker, Gender Roles and Sexuality in Victorian Literature (Abingdon: Scholar Press, 1995), pp.25-56; Trev L. Broughton and Helen Rogers, ‘The Empire of the Father’, in Gender and Fatherhood in the Nineteenth Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2007); and Joanne Begatio (Bailey), Parenting in England 1760-1830: Emotion, Identity, and Generation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012).

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