Hoste: One of The Finest!

Although the story of Royal Navy Captain Sir William Hoste is not so well known as that of Lord Nelson, he is yet another Norfolk hero from the age of the sail and of the Napoleonic Wars of which the County can be proud of. Hoste was to be best known as one of Lord Nelson’s protégés, he was one of the great frigate captains of the Napoleonic wars, taking part in six major actions including the capture of a heavily fortified port. He was however absent from the Battle of Trafalgar having been sent with gifts to the Dey of Algiers. This blog relates to both Hoste’s early relationship with Nelson and also of how Nelson nurtured him and laid the foundation for Hoste’s own fame.

Hoste1
Captain Sir William Hoste, 1st Baronet KCB RN. Born 26 August 1780 and died 6 December 1828

William Hoste was the second of eight children of the Reverend Dixon Hoste (1750–1805) and Margaret Stanforth. At the time of his birth on the 26 August 1780 at Ingoldisthorpe, a village which lay approximately 9 miles north-east of the town King’s Lynn, William’s father was Rector of Godwick and Tittleshall some 20 miles south-east. Later, the family moved there to lease Godwick Manor from Thomas Coke, the eventual 1st Earl of Leicester of Holkham Hall.  Hoste was educated for a time at King’s Lynn and later at the Paston School in North Walsham, where Horatio Nelson himself had been schooled some years previously.

Godwick (Drawing of Manor)
Reconstruction of the old Godwick Manor as it looked in the late 16th Century. Image: Copyright Sylvanus.

Hoste (Europa_approaching_Port_Mahon,_Minorca_-_Anton_Schranz)As early as 1785, Revd. Dixon Hoste arranged for William’s name to be entered in the books of HMS ‘Europa’ as a Captain’s servant; he was just 5 years old; although he would not actually go to sea until he reached the age of 12 or 13 by which time war with France broke out, that was in February 1793. Lacking any influence or naval contacts himself, the Revd Dixon Hoste asked his landlord, Thomas Coke, for assistance and was introduced to Horatio Nelson, then living nearby in Burnham Thorpe and who had recently been appointed as Captain of HMS Agamemnon a 64-gun third-rate, which was being fitted out at Chatham Dockyard. Nelson accepted William Hoste as a captain’s servant on the Agamemnon which he boarded at Portsmouth at the end of April 1793, just before the ship joined the Mediterranean Fleet under Lord Hood. It was in the Mediterranean and Adriatic that Hoste was to see most of his naval service. Extracts from Nelson’s letters to his wife frequently mention Hoste:

‘without exception one of the finest boys I ever met with’ and ‘his gallantry never can be exceeded, and each day rivets him stronger to my heart’.

These letters suggest that Hoste quickly became a favourite of Nelson, at the expense of another captain’s servant on the Agamemnon who was Josiah Nisbet, Nelson’s own stepson. Even at this stage of the youngsters’ careers Josiah compared unfavourably with that of Hoste in many respects. We do not know what these differences may have been but a brief outline of Josiah Nisbet’s naval career would provide some answers. Hoste became a naval hero, Nisbet ultimately failed miserably.

Hoste (HMS Agamemnon)
HMS ‘Agamemnon’

Josiah Nisbet was five years old when Nelson, his future stepfather, first met his mother in Nevis. After Nelson married Frances ‘Fanny’ Woolward, Josiah spent five years at school in Norfolk. Then at the outbreak of the French Revolutionary wars in 1793 he joined his stepfather on the 64-gun HMS ‘Agamemnon’ as a midshipman. At first, Nelson was able to write favourably that Josiah’s ‘understanding is excellent, and his disposition is good…… He is a seaman, every inch of him.’ Then, early in 1797, Josiah served as a junior lieutenant on the 74-gun HMS ‘Captain’ at the Battle of St. Vincent, followed by a disastrous night landing and attack at Santa Cruz later that year. It was Josiah who was instrumental in saving Nelson’s life at the battle of Santa Cruz, after the latter’s arm was nearly severed by grape-shot. Having seen him fall, Josiah carried Nelson, bleeding and unconscious, to a waiting boat, where a sailor formed a tourniquet that stopped Nelson from bleeding to death. He then helped to paddle the boat to the safety of a waiting ship, where Nelson’s arm was later amputated.

Regrettably, Nelson’s early ‘good opinion’ of his stepson was not to last – and who’s to say that the thought that Josiah also fell in love with the bewitching Emma Hamilton later in Naples, was not one more factor in Nelson’s change of heart towards his stepson. Certainly, Josiah Nisbet was beginning to display bouts of ill-temper and drunkenness, personality failings that were to blight his career in the Navy. Nelson’s early patronage had Josiah promoted lieutenant and then post-captain within a remarkably short time, and through Nelson’s efforts Josiah had secured command of the 36-gun frigate HMS ‘Thalia’ in the Mediterranean. The Thalia was not to be a happy ship. Captain Nisbet took to messing in the gunroom and discipline and morale plummeted. In 1799 Nelson wrote, when sending HMS Thalia to Admiral Duckworth at Gibraltar that: ‘he could say nothing in her praise, inside or out’, and added – ‘Perhaps you may be able to make something of Captain Nisbet; he has, by his conduct, almost broke my heart.’

Hoste (HMS Thalia)
HMS ‘Thalia’

It quickly followed that Hoste was promoted to midshipman by Nelson on 1 February 1794 and served with him during the blockade of and subsequent assault on Corsica on 7 February of that year.

HMS Captain and the Battle of Cape St Vincent:
Hoste moved with Nelson to HMS ‘Captain’ in 1796 and was with him at the Battle of Cape St Vincent, when a British fleet under Admiral Sir John Jervis defeated a Spanish fleet almost twice its size. HMS Captain was heavily involved in the fighting and captured the larger ‘San Josef’ and ‘San Nicolas’ of 112 and 80 guns, respectively.

Hoste (Battle of Cape_St_Vincent_Robert_Cleveley)
Battle of Cape St Vincent by Robert Cleveley

HMS Captain started the battle towards the rear of the British line. Instead of continuing to follow the line, Nelson disobeyed orders and made for the Spanish van, which consisted of the 112-gun San Josef, the 80-gun San Nicolas and the 130-gun Santissima Trinidad. Captain engaged all three, assisted by HMS Culloden which had come to her aid. After an hour of exchanging broadsides which left both Captain and Culloden heavily damaged, Nelson found himself alongside the San Nicolas which he boarded and forced her surrender. San Josef attempted to come to the San Nicolas’s aid, but became entangled with her compatriot and was left immobile. Nelson led his party from the deck of the San Nicolas on to the San Josef and captured her as well.

Hoste (HMS Theseas)
HMS Theseus

In June 1797, he transferred to HMS Theseus a 74-gun third-rate. Theseus was a ‘troubled’ ship, and Nelson and a few handpicked officers, including Hoste, Captain Ralph Willett Miller and Lieutenant John Weatherhead, were sent aboard to restore order. The tactic was successful and Nelson received a letter from the would-be mutineers which stated,

“We thank the Admiral (Nelson) for the Officers he has placed over us”.

In July, Theseus was present at the Battle of Santa Cruz de Tenerife, although Hoste remained aboard and took no part in the assault. Following the death of a Lieutenant Weatherhead in the battle, Nelson promoted Hoste to lieutenant to fill the vacancy, his position being confirmed, thanks to his ‘book time’ in Europa, in February 1798.

Hoste (The_Battle_of_the_Nile)
The destruction of L’Orient at the Battle of the Nile by George Arnald. Photo: Wikipedia.

Later that year, Hoste, still aboard HMS Theseus, was at the Battle of the Nile. The Royal Navy fleet was outnumbered, at least in firepower, by the French fleet, which boasted the 118-gun ship-of-the-line L’Orient, three 80-gun warships and nine of the popular 74-gun ships. The Royal Navy fleet in comparison had just thirteen 74-gun ships and one 50-gun fourth-rate. Nevertheless, the battle was a decisive victory for the British.

Following the battle, Nelson sent his report to London, taking the precaution of sending a duplicate in the brig HMS Mutine, commanded by Lieutenant Thomas Capel. At Naples, Capel was to carry on with the dispatch, handing command of Mutine to Hoste. Upon taking command, Hoste became an acting-captain at the age of 18. Hoste, carrying news of the victory, first sailed to Gibraltar, before re-joining the fleet, under St Vincent, off Cadiz. His promotion was confirmed in December 1798.

Hoste (18th Century Frigate_HMS Mutine)
HMS Mutine

Hoste continued in command of the HMS Mutine for the next three years, campaigning in Italy under Nelson, where in the autumn of 1799, he took part in the capture of Rome. He later served under Lord Keith, who knew little of him and his career appeared to have stalled until, possibly at Nelson’s prompting, he was promoted post-captain by Lord St Vincent, First Lord of the Admiralty, in January 1802.

At this time, Hoste was in Alexandria, where he contracted malaria and then a lung infection, which were to have a lasting effect on his health. He convalesced with Lord and Lady Elgin in Athens, where he began an education in classical antiquity, completed following his appointment to the frigate HMS Greyhound in Florence, when his ship was cruising on the Italian coast. Hoste served almost continuously throughout the Peace of Amiens, returning to England briefly in April 1803 before being given command of HMS Eurydice in October.

Notable Actions:
Nelson summoned Hoste to Cadiz in September 1805 and gave him command of the 32-gun frigate HMS Amphion. Sent on a diplomatic mission to Algiers, he missed the Battle of Trafalgar by a matter of days, and only learned of Nelson’s death on his return in November. He wrote to his father –

“Not to have been in it is enough to make one mad, but to have lost such a friend besides is really sufficient to almost overwhelm me” (Hoste’s letters).

A number of successes while engaged on active service in the Mediterranean over the following 18 months brought Hoste to the attention of Lord Collingwood, who sent him into the Adriatic Sea. Here he single-handedly conducted an aggressive campaign against enemy shipping and coastal installations, bringing coastal trade with the enemy more or less to a halt. It was said that by the end of 1809, Hoste and his crew had captured or sunk over 200 enemy ships.

Hoste (HMS Amtheon)
HMS Amphion, Cerberus, Volage, and Active attacking the United French and Italian Squadrons at the Battle of Lissa in the Adriatic, on 13 March 1811

His endeavours were rewarded with command, as commodore, of a small detachment of frigates, comprising HMS Amphion, HMS Active (36 guns), HMS Volage (22 guns) and HMS Cerberus (32 guns), operations continued and by establishing a base at Lissa, now known as Vis, Hoste was able to dominate the Adriatic with just four ships. In March and April 1810 alone, they took or destroyed 46 vessels.

The French and their allies became so frustrated by the disruption to their shipping that a Franco-Venetian squadron, under the command of an aggressive frigate commander named Bernard Dubourdieu, was dispatched to attack Hoste’s small force in what became known as the Battle of Lissa.

Hoste (Battle of Issa)
Battle of Lissa on 13 March 1811, painted by Nicholas Pocock. Image: Wikipedia.

The Battle of Lissa was a naval action fought on 13 March 1811. It was between a British frigate squadron, led by William Hoste, and a larger squadron of French and Italian frigates and smaller ships led by Bernard Dubourdieu during the Adriatic campaign of the Napoleonic Wars. Dubourdieu’s squadron of seven frigates and four smaller warships possessed a total of 276 guns and nearly 2,000 men which significantly outnumbered Hoste with his 4 frigates and mounting only 124 guns and manned by less than 900 men. The engagement was fought in the Adriatic Sea for possession of the strategically important island of Lissa (also known as Vis), from which the British squadron had been disrupting French shipping in the Adriatic. The French needed to control the Adriatic to supply a growing army in the Illyrian Provinces, and consequently dispatched an invasion force in March 1811 consisting of six frigates, numerous smaller craft and a battalion of Italian soldiers.

In the subsequent battle, Hoste sank the French flagship, captured two others, and scattered the remainder of the Franco-Venetian squadron. The battle has been hailed as an important British victory, due to both the disparity between the forces and the signal raised by Hoste, a former subordinate of Horatio Nelson. Hoste had raised the message “Remember Nelson” as the French bore down, and had then manoeuvred to drive Dubourdieu’s flagship ashore and scatter his squadron in what has been described as “one of the most brilliant naval achievements of the war”. Dubourdieu was killed and apart from the French frigate that was driven on shore, another was captured and two of the Venetian frigates were taken. Hoste’s signal had a profound effect on his men. It was universally greeted with loud cheers and Captain Hornby of the Volage wrote of it later:

“Never again so long as I live shall I see so interesting or so glorious moment”.

Cattaro, Spalato and Ragusa:
The Siege of Cattaro was fought between a British Royal Naval detachment and Montenegrin forces under Captain William Hoste, John Harper and Petar I Petrović-Njegoš respectively and the French garrison under command of Jean-Joseph Gauthier of the mountain fortress of Cattaro (now Kotor, Montenegro). The siege lasted from 14 October 1813 to 3 January 1814 during the Adriatic campaign of the Napoleonic Wars when the French surrendered; the engagement was fought in the Adriatic Sea for possession of the important fortress of Cattaro.

HMS Amphion was so badly damaged that she was obliged to return to England, where Hoste was given the command of HMS Bacchante (38 guns), although he did not return to the Adriatic in her until 1812. Hoste continued to demonstrate the same kind of initiative and aggression as before. He helped capture Spalato (Split) in November 1813 with the assistance from the 35th regiment of foot. Then working with Montenegran forces, he attacked the mountain fortress of Cattaro, hauling ships’ cannon and mortars to positions above the fort using block and tackle. The French garrison had no alternative but to surrender, which it did on 5 January 1814. Hoste immediately repeated these tactics at Ragusa (now Dubrovnik), which also surrendered later on the 27th.

Hoste (Koto)
Walls of Ragussa (Dubrovnik today) which Hoste and his small force managed to capture from the French in 1814. Photo: Wikipedia.

Later life:
Hoste’s health, compromised by his malaria and earlier lung infection, worsened and he was forced to return to England. In 1814, he was made a baronet, and in 1815 he was knighted KCB.[8] In 1825, he was appointed to the royal yacht Royal Sovereign. Then in January 1828, he developed a cold which affected his already weakened lungs, and he died of tuberculosis in London on 6 December 1828. He was buried in St John’s Chapel, London.

Personal life:
William Hoste married Lady Harriet Walpole (1 March 1792 – 18 April 1875) on 17 April 1817. She was the daughter of Horatio Walpole, 2nd Earl of Orford and Sophia Churchill. They had the following children:

Caroline Harriet Clementina Hoste.
Priscilla Anne Hoste (Unknown – 21 October 1854).
Admiral Sir William Legge George Hoste (19 March 1818 – 10 Sept 1868).
Theodore Oxford Raphael Hoste (31 July 1819 – 1835).
Psyche Rose Elizabeth Hoste (4 April 1822 – 8 July 1904).
Wyndham Horatio Nelson Hoste (2 Feb 1825 –).

Legacy:
Hoste’s actions at Cattaro and Ragusa were later immortalised in fiction, where they are attributed to Captain Jack Aubrey, the principal character in Patrick O’Brian’s 20 novels of the Aubrey–Maturin series. A small island in the entrance to the bay of Vis town is named Hoste Island after him, while the Sir William Hoste Cricket Club in Vis was founded by the Croatian islanders after learning that he had organised the game there during the British occupation of the island.

Once, while in conversation with Hoste’s father, Nelson remarked:

“His worth as a man and an officer exceeds all which the sincerest friend can say of him. I pray God to bless my dear William.”

Lord Radstock once wrote:

“I look at you [Hoste] as the truly worthy eleve [Noun. élève – masculine, referring to a boy] of my incomparable and ever to be lamented friend the late Lord Nelson.”

Hoste (Hoste Armes_Burnham Market)
The Hoste Hotel in Burnham Market, Norfolk, is named after William Hoste.
Nelson frequented The Hoste – formerly the Pitt Arms – in his early years. Before being recalled to service in 1792, he is known to have stayed in Room 5; he would catch the morning coach to London from Burnham Market, as well as receiving his dispatch papers there. He also used the Pitt Arms as a recruiting post.

The following clip is mainly about Nelson but does briefly mention Hoste: https://youtu.be/rMqm0cUXUas

THE END

Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Hoste
https://www.thistlepublishing.co.uk/page348.html
https://www.wikiwand.com/en/William_Hoste

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.

4. Christmas: Georgian Style!

It was often assumed that during the Georgian period (1714-1830) Christmas was not celebrated with as much gusto as during the Victorian era. Although traditions, foods and celebrations differed, Christmas was, in fact, actively celebrated by the Georgians. We know that Christmas was banned by the Puritans in 1644, Christmas completely abolished and shops and markets kept open during the 25th of December. People were expected to continue going about their normal business and not partake in holiday celebrations or face fines and imprisonment. Puritans disliked Christmas because of its heathen origins and because of its association with extravagance and excess. This gave rise to the belief that Christmas fun and frivolity was not rekindled until the Victorian period. This was not stictly true for with the restoration of Charles II, Christmas was, in fact, re-instated – albeit in a more subdued manner. By the Georgian period (1714 to 1830), it was once again a very popular celebration.

Georgian Christmas 1
Christmas Eve, Willam Allan (1782-1850). Photo: ArtUK, Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums.

When searching for information on a Georgian or Regency (late Georgian) Christmas, who better to consult than Jane Austen? In her novel, ‘Mansfield Park’, Sir Thomas gives a ball for Fanny and William. In ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the Bennets play host to relatives. In ‘Sense and Sensibility’, John Willoughby dances the night away, from eight o’clock until four in the morning. In ‘Emma’, the Westons give a party. And so it would appear that a Georgian Christmas was very much all about parties, balls and family get-togethers. The Georgian Christmas season ran from December 6th (St. Nicholas Day) to January 6th (Twelfth Night). On St. Nicholas Day, it was traditional for friends to exchange presents; this marked the beginning of the Christmas season.

Georgian Christmas (Pudding)
Bringing in the Pudding. Photo: Jane Austen World.

Christmas Day was a national holiday, spent by the gentry in their country houses and estates. People went to church and returned to a celebratory Christmas dinner. But what of the food? Well, agriculture had come a long way since the Tudors, and so it was more likely than ever that every house could afford some kind of bird for the table. For the wealthy, venison was still the order of the day and a real indicator of status to show off to those invited to dinner. Another departure from Tudor tradition was mince pies which, under the Tudors, contained real mutton to honour the shepherds. During the Georgian era the mince pie recipe would include spices, dried fruit and suet, essentially a mixture we’d recognise today. Food indeed played a very important part in a Georgian Christmas. Guests and parties meant that a tremendous amount of food had to be prepared, and dishes that could be prepared ahead of time and served cold were popular.

Georgian Christmas (Hogarth Wanstead)
Hogarth’s ‘The Assembly at Wanstead House’, 1728-31. Photo: HistorisUK

For Christmas dinner, there was always a turkey or goose, though venison was the meat of choice for the gentry. This was followed by Christmas pudding. In 1664 the Puritans banned it, calling it a ‘lewd custom’ and ‘unfit for God-fearing people’. Christmas Puddings were also called plum puddings because one of the main ingredients was dried plums or prunes.

In 1714, King George I was apparently served plum pudding as part of his first Christmas dinner as a newly crowned monarch, thus re-introducing it as a traditional part of Christmas dinner. Unfortunately there are no contemporary sources to confirm this, but it is a good story and led to his being nicknamed ‘the pudding king’.

Georgian Christmas (George I)
King George I – The ‘Pudding King’. Image: Wikipedia

Traditional decorations included holly and evergreens. The decoration of homes was not just for the gentry: poor families also brought greenery indoors to decorate their homes, but not until Christmas Eve. It was considered unlucky to bring greenery into the house before then. By the late 18th century, kissing boughs and balls were popular, usually made from holly, ivy, mistletoe and rosemary. These were often also decorated with spices, apples, oranges, candles or ribbons. In very religious households, the mistletoe was omitted.

The tradition of a Christmas tree in the house was a German custom and apparently brought to Court in 1800 by Queen Charlotte, wife of George III. However it was not until the Victorian era that the British people adopted the tradition, after the Illustrated London News printed an engraving of Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and their family around their Christmas tree in 1848.

A great blazing fire was the centerpiece of a family Christmas. The Yule log was chosen on Christmas Eve. It was wrapped in hazel twigs and dragged home, to burn in the fireplace as long as possible through the Christmas season. The tradition was to keep back a piece of the Yule log to light the following year’s Yule log. Nowadays in most households the Yule log has been replaced by an edible chocolate variety!

Georgian Christmas (Wassail)
A wassail bowl is passed around the table. Photo: Findmypast.

The day after Christmas, St Stephen’s Day, was the day when people gave to charity and the gentry presented their servants and staff with their ‘Christmas Boxes’. This is why today St Stephen’s Day is called ‘Boxing Day’. Then there was the popular drink at assemblies of the Wassail bowl. This was similar to punch or mulled wine, prepared from spiced and sweetened wine or brandy, and served in a large bowl garnished with apples.

January 6th or Twelfth Night signalled the end of the Christmas season and was marked in the 18th and 19th centuries by a Twelfth Night party. Games such as ‘bob apple’ and ‘snapdragon’ were popular at these events, as well as more dancing, drinking and eating.

Georgian Christmas (hogarth midnight conversation)
Detail from Hogarth’s ‘A Midnight Modern Conversation’, c.1730.

A forerunner of today’s Christmas cake, the ‘Twelfth Cake’ was the centrepiece of the party and a slice was given to all members of the household. Traditionally, it contained both a dried bean and a dried pea. The man whose slice contained the bean was elected king for the night; the woman who found a pea elected queen. By Georgian times the pea and bean had disappeared from the cake.

Once Twelfth Night was over, all the decorations were taken down and the greenery burned, or the house risked bad luck. Even today, many people take down all their Christmas decorations on or before 6th January to avoid bad luck for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, the extended Christmas season was to disappear after the Regency period, brought to an end by the rise of the Industrial Revolution and the decline of the rural way of life that had existed for centuries. Employers needed workers to continue working throughout the festive period and so the ‘modern’ shortened Christmas period came into being.

To finish, it seems only fitting to give Jane Austen the last word:
“I wish you a cheerful and at times even a Merry Christmas.” Jane Austen

THE END

Source:
https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/A-Georgian-Christmas/
www.earlymodernengland.com/2013/12/georgian-christmas-an-eighteenth-century-celebration/
https://blog.findmypast.co.uk/a-georgian-christmas-dinner-1503656888.html

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.

An 18th Century Architect of Note.

Matthew Brettingham the Elder, (1699–1769), was an 18th-century Englishman who rose from humble origins to supervise the construction of Holkham Hall, and become one of the country’s best-known architects of his generation. Much of his principal work has since been demolished, particularly his work in London, where he revolutionised the design of the grand townhouse. As a result, he is often overlooked today, remembered principally for his Palladian remodelling of numerous country houses, many of them situated in the East Anglia area of Britain. As Brettingham neared the pinnacle of his career, Palladianism began to fall out of fashion and neoclassicism was introduced, championed by the young Robert Adam.

Matthew Brittingham (Portrait)
Matthew Brettingham the Elder (1699-1769) by Heins Senior, John Theodore (1697–1756). Image: The Royal Institute of British Architects.

Brettingham, an architect, was born in Norwich, the son of Lancelot Brettingham (1664–1727) and his wife, Elizabeth Hillwell (d. 1729), of the parish of St Giles. Lancelot Brettingham was called a mason in the city poll-book recording the parliamentary election of 1714. Both Matthew and his elder brother Robert were apprenticed, as bricklayers, to their father and, having served their time, both brothers were made freemen of the city of Norwich on 3 May 1719.

Matthew Brittingham (Thomas Coke)
Thomas Coke, 1st Earl of Leicester. Image: Wikipedia.

Matthew Brettingham’s transition from builder and craftsman to architect was gradual. Pivotal to this process was his appointment in 1734, at an annual salary of £50, as clerk of works for the building of Holkham Hall on the north Norfolk coast, a large Palladian mansion based on the designs of William Kent with a major input of ideas from the patron, Thomas Coke, earl of Leicester.

Matthew_Brettingham (Holkham)
Interior of Holkham Hall

Brettingham’s work at Holkham, which included the design of a number of structures in the park and was to extend over a score of years, earned him the respect and friendship of his employer and provided him with contacts which were to prove critical in the development of his career. His public work at this time, all within the bounds of Norfolk, included: the construction, in 1741, of Lenwade Bridge across the River Wensum; the rebuilding of the nave and crossing of St Margaret’s Church in King’s Lynn, damaged by the collapse of the spire in 1742; the raising of the new shire hall at Norwich Castle in 1747–9 and, over the same period, repairs to the castle itself; and repairs to Norwich Cathedral. Brettingham received a number of commissions for the design and remodelling of country houses in the 1740s which were initially confined to the county of Norfolk: the halls at Hanworth, Heydon, Honingham, and Langley were altered, while the hall at Gunton was an entirely new structure.

Matthew_Brettingham (Gunton Hall)
Gunton Hall, Norfolk. Image: Public Domain.

The outward extension of Brettingham’s country-house practice in the late 1740s coincided, more or less, with his increasing presence in London which, as his surviving account books show, from 1747 and for most of the next two decades, was the centre of his activity. His first major London commission was, appropriately, the building of Norfolk House in St James’s Square for Edward Howard, ninth duke of Norfolk. Other work followed in St James’s Square, Piccadilly, and Pall Mall. Engravings for the house in Pall Mall, raised in 1761–3 for Edward Augustus, Duke of York, appeared in volume 4 of Vitruvius Britannicus, published in 1767. Brettingham’s country-house work in these years included alterations to Goodwood, in Sussex (1750), Marble Hill, Twickenham (1750–51), Euston Hall, Suffolk (1750–56), Moor Park, Hertfordshire (1751–4), Petworth House, Sussex (1751–63), Wortley Hall, Yorkshire (1757–9), Wakefield Lodge, Northamptonshire (1759), Benacre House, Suffolk (1762–4), and Packington Hall, Warwickshire (1766–9).

Matthew Brittingham (NorfolkHouse_St James Square)2
Norfolk House is on the far right on this mid-18th-century engraving. Image: Wikipedia.
Matthew Brittingham (NorfolkHouse_Map)3
The location of Norfolk House is shown on the right of this 1799 map. Image: Wikipedia.
Matthew Brittingham (NorfolkHouse_1932)1
Norfolk House in 1932. Photo: Wikipedia.

Brettingham’s architecture has been described as an unexciting, if dignified, variety of Palladianism. His practice was, however, successful, and the secret of his success was his ability to adapt the grander ideas of others to the purposes of his clients, confining himself to a limited number of design themes. His corner-towered scheme for Langley was, essentially, a restatement of the same theme at Holkham; the minimal Palladianism of Norfolk House, the façade of which was no more than blank walling relieved only by door- and window-cases and a parapet, a continuation of the minimalist treatment he had observed at Hanworth and which he himself had followed earlier at Gunton. Having encountered difficulties in obtaining ashlar, the earl of Leicester settled for the facing of Holkham Hall with white brick: Brettingham was to repeat the use of white brick at Gunton and again at Norfolk House, arranging, for Norfolk House, for the bricks to be made at Holkham and brought to London.

Matthew_Brettingham (St Margarets)
St Margarets Photo, Kings Lynn. Photo: © Copyright John Salmon and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Brettingham’s forays into Gothic and his use of round arches, as in the nave arcades of St Margaret’s, King’s Lynn, and the galleried exterior of the shire hall in Norwich, indicate the approach of an engineer rather than an antiquary and are now seen as outlandish. It was towards the end of his working life, in 1761, that Brettingham published The Plans, Elevations and Sections of Holkham in Norfolk, with his own name inscribed on the plates as ‘architect’. Critics, from Horace Walpole onwards, have assumed that Brettingham was claiming the credit for Kent’s designs but he himself may have used the inscription, legitimately from his view, to indicate his status as executive architect and draughtsman.

Matthew_Brettingham (St Augustine Church)
St Augustine Church, Norwich. As seen from the southwest with a large brick tower on the left and the flint body of the church on the right, showing the clerestory, south aisle and porch Photo: Wikipedia.

Matthew Brettingham died in his own house in the Norwich parish of St Augustine on 19 August 1769 and, as epitaphs in the parish church state, is buried in a vault at the east end of the north aisle, alongside his wife, Martha Bunn (c.1697–1783), whom he had married on 17 May 1721; their resting places are close to those of two of their sons, Matthew Brettingham the younger (1725–1803) and Robert Brettingham, who was probably a worsted weaver and was the father of Anthony Brettingham Freston (1757–1819). Nine children were born to him and his wife and all those for whom baptismal records have been identified were baptized in the church of St Augustine.

Matthew_Brettingham (Monument)
Matthew Brettingham’s memorial in St Augustines Church, Norwich.. Photo: Norwich Heritage.

THE END

The above text is an extract from an article by Robin Lucas in the Oxford Dictionary of National Bibliography – see link under ‘Sources’ below.

Sources:
www.norwich-heritage.co.uk/monuments/Matthew%20Brettingham/Matthew%20Brettingham.shtm
https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-3354?rskey=pHhjMe&result=1

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.

Tunstall: For Whom The Bells Toll!

Nobody goes to St Peter and St Paul, Tunstall by accident for it stands in a landscape of narrow, high-hedged lanes and a rolling landscape that dips to meet the rivers, the aspect becoming flatter and bleaker the further east one goes. Apart from the little ferry at Reedham, there is no way of crossing the Yare and so this area remains isolated and the visitor really is on the far side of the back of the beyond. The church is a mile from Halvergate, along a straight, narrow lane where there is couple of houses. That’s it, pretty much, except that further east of Tunstall, and for almost five miles, there is nothing but the marshes where there are no roads, houses, people; that is until the river can be crossed, changing from almost quiet and isolated world to the brash and noisy  Great Yarmouth which sits slap bang on the coast.

Tunstall (Halvergate Marshes)2
Part of the Halvergate Marshes. Photo: NFU.

When this church first built, it served a coastal village which overlooked a great estuary, serving as a beacon for shipping. But the estuary was eventually drained to become grazing land, and the church found itself inland with a tower which has long been a ruin. What remains of it now overlooks an empty and equally shattered nave, open to the elements and a shadow of what it once was in Catholic England before Protestant Reformation asserted itself. What was once a big church soon found out that there would never be enough parishioners to fill it and so it and the parish in which it stood was absorbed into the larger Halvergate and the building here fell into disuse.

Tunstall (Halvergate Marshes)1
Looking northwest along one of the many drains that traverse the Halvergate marshes, towards Yarmouth. Photo: © Copyright Evelyn Simak

We know from a crude plaque above the entrance that the chancel was restored by the Jenkinson family early in the 18th century and that the chapel was extended eastwards and a pretty window added in the 1860s. Since then nothing seems to have been touch and the ruin is, today, maintained by the local community and supported by a charitable trust. Visitors are, of course, welcome but they should expect nothing more than a church interior which is rather dark, gloomy and with little historical interest; the sky taking the place of the roof. But of course, according to Simon Knott:

“that doesn’t matter. You come here for the atmosphere, a sense of the presence of God – out here where the land takes over, the silence, and perhaps, a very rustic feeling of what it might have been like to live in 19th century rural Norfolk.”

Tunstall (Plaque 1705)
Photo: A commemorative plaque at the church of St Peter & St Paul, Tunstall. It sits above a doorway in the bricked-up chancel wall. Photo: © Copyright Evelyn Simak

Inevitably perhaps, remote churches are particularly prone to fall victim to ghostly tales and myths by superstitious folk who look for meaning in everything around them. Tunstall church and its past small community were no exception. How many stories might there have been about such a place as Tunstall – no one knows. However, at least two versions of one tale survived the passage of time and these have been told and re-told probably countless times; each teller putting his or her slant on the detail; probably that’s why here we have two versions.  The first goes something like this:

Tunstall (StPeterStPaulsChurch)2
St Peter and St Paul Church, Tunstall. Photo: ANTONY KELLY

There was once a fierce fire at the Church of St Peter and St Paul at Tunstall. We know not when – but it did. We are told that as the flames brushed close to the stone walls and the church building began to crack and collapse, its parishioners feared that nothing would remain of the church that they loved; a church that had been a beacon for ships on the edge of a long-lost estuary which was replaced by the lonely marshland that now stretches towards Great Yarmouth.

Tunstall (StPeterStPaulsChurch)5
The Ruins of St Peter & St Pauls, Tunstall. Photo: Norfolk Churches.

Although the fire ravaged the church its bells were left unscathed, even after falling on to the floor below; some people saw some meaning behind what was to them a minor miracle – their bell actually escaped the blaze. The topic became the re-hot epicentre of a fierce row that erupted between the local Parson and the St Peter & St Paul’s churchwardens; both parties battling over who should have them.

Tunstall (StPeterStPaulsChurch-)3
The Ruins of St Peter & St Pauls, Tunstall. © Copyright Evelyn Simak.

Now the story goes on to relate that while this argument raged, the Devil took the opportunity settle the matter in his favour. He slipped effortlessly into the still smouldering and red-smoking timbers of the bell chamber and spirited the bells away. But not without the Parson noticing, for he was a godly man. He hastily began to exorcise the Devil as this heathen creature, together with his loot, began to dissolve into the distance: “Stop, in the name of God!” called the Parson, “Curse thee!” cried the Devil as he sank into the earth, towards his underworld. In his wake a boggy pool of water, known nowadays as ‘Hell Hole’, appeared on the surface and remains there to this day. It is still said that in the summertime, ominous bubbles can sometimes be seen rising to the surface; past folk attributed this phenomenon to the stolen bells which they said were still sinking on their endless journey through a bottomless passage to hell.

Tunstall (StPeterStPaulsChurch)4
The Ruins of St Peter & St Pauls, Tunstall. Photo: Norfolk Churches.

A second version of the same tale has both the parish priest and the churchwardens planning separately to steal the bells, sell them and pocket the spoils. Turning up at the same time both parties clashed as each tried to take the bells for themselves. Again, as they quarrelled, a gigantic black form materialised, seized the bells and disappeared with them. The priest and the churchwardens immediately forgot their row and joined together to chase whatever this fiend was, but just as they appeared to be gaining on this almost ghostly creature, it vanished into the earth, still clutching the bells. Again, behind it, a dark pool appeared from which bubbles rose for many years thereafter, marking the spot where the bells disappeared and less than a mile west of Tunstall.

Less than a mile west of Tunstall is a long strip of marshy woodland called, in part, ‘Hell Carr’, and near this alder clump was the boggy pool known as ‘Hell Hole’. They do say that sometimes, on quiet nights, the sound of muffled bells can still be heard drifting across the bogs and marshland towards the church from whence they were stolen.

Footnote:

In Roman times the River Bure flowed into a large estuary extending from Acle to present-day Great Yarmouth; Faden’s 1797 map of Norfolk shows the then coastal villages of Tunstall, Halvergate and Wickhampton on a spur of higher ground that was surrounded by Moulton Bog (west), Acle Wet Common (north) and the Halvergate Marshes (east). According to old records the church had fallen into disrepair by 1704; the chancel arch was bricked up in 1705 and a plaque above the doorway into the chancel informs that it was rebuilt by Mrs Elizabeth Jenkinson. More repairs were carried out in 1853. In 1980 the church was declared redundant and a Trust was formed to help repair and maintain what remains of the church: the chancel is still intact and visitors are welcome.

THE END

Sources:
www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/tunstall/tunstall.htm
http://www.greatyarmouthmercury.co.uk/news/weird-norfolk-the-devil-and-the-bells-of-tunstall-church-1-5204927
http://www.geograph.org.uk/
Photos:
https://aeroengland.photodeck.com/media/bf8f7a83-31bf-4da9-bffc-3aa43fc88afc-aerial-photograph-of-st-peter-st-paul-s-church-ruin-tunstal
http://www.geograph.org.uk/

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.

A Norwich Hospital That Moved On.

This blog was inspired by an essay by J K Edwards back in 1967 when he looked back at the changes that had taken place at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital during the time it was located at its old city centre site on St Stephens Street. However, I was initially thrown by his opening sentence when he wrote: “To understand the matter of the chimney we have to go back 200 years”; but from there on, things began to fall into place with a concluding, but all too brief, explanation at the end.

Hospital
The Norfolk and Norwich Hospital in 1959. Photo Credit: Archant Archives.

He considered that both Norwich and the County of Norfolk prospered during the 18th and early 19th centuries and their peoples increased yearly in numbers; however – and according to modern thinking, living conditions were bad then, even for thrifty working-class people where there was only a small margin between being able to “manage” and being forced to depend on charity. Also, the philosophy of the times was hard:

“God had created the high and the low, work was part of the process of salvation, and only if you were diligent and God-fearing would all be well in this world and the next”.

Unfortunately, accident and disease, along with horse-drawn traffic and squalid living conditions produced plenty of each, either of which could bring even the most deserving family to the verge of starvation:

“What confusion and distress must enter a family when the father is overcome with one of the innumerable accidents and how deplorably wretchedness is increased when sickness visits any member of the family”, wrote one contemporary author.

Hospital (Original)2
The Original Norfolk and Norwich Hospital of 1771-72. Photo: Public Domain.

The first firm proposal for a hospital for Norfolk and Norwich was made at a public meeting called by a Mr. William Fellowes, of Shotesham, in 1770. But even before then, certainly before 1754, Fellowes and a local surgeon by the name of Benjamin Gooch joined forces to set up one of the very first cottage hospitals in the country – and in Fellowes’s his own village of Shotesham by the way! He was, after all, Lord of the Manor and owned almost all the land and houses thereabouts but, at the same time, he did care for the people in his charge.

Hospital3 (Fellowes)
William Fellowes of Shotesham (1706-1775) by Joseph Highmore. Original Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo Credit: ArtUK.
Hospital5 (Benjamin-Gooch)
Benjamin Gooch. Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo: (c) Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation.

The idea of a new hospital for Norwich was, in fact, a late-comer in the wave of provincial hospital building, which had begun in the 1730’s. Certainly, by 1744, there was pressure for the City to have one of these new voluntary hospitals, although impetus was lost after 1761 when Thomas Hayter, Bishop of Norwich and a leading advocate, moved to a bishopric in London. Enter William Fellowes who was the one to call this open meeting in 1770, the moment when subscriptions were opened – kick-started by a fund-raising concert in Norwich Cathedral.

Very soon the Norwich City Council came on board when it made the St. Stephen’s site available at only a nominal rent, thus enabling the first steps towards fulfilling a dream. Subsequently, the sentiment towards the scheme was so great that funds of some £13,000 was raised, building plans adopted and the fabric fitted and furnished in little more than two years. In this way, a much improved Norfolk and Norwich Hospital came to the city.

The building was constructed in the form of a great figure ‘H’ and it had many of the characteristic features which, at the time, was considered very satisfying – red brick, beautiful proportions, large well-placed windows and a most imposing front porch and doorway; it “justifiably generated a great deal of local pride”. It therefore followed that when the hospital took its first seven in-patients in November, 1772, the event was marked by a celebration in the city.

Hospital (Edward Colman)
Edward Colman (d.1812), Assistant Surgeon (1790-1812). Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo Credit: ArtUK.

The original rules of the hospital, as outlined by Edwards, threw an interesting light upon charitable attitudes of the times. It would appear that since public subscribers had provided the hospital, donors naturally expected to be able to see that their money was being well spent. A gift of two guineas brought governorship for a year and one of 20 guineas brought the same for life. All governors in turn had to visit the hospital every day for a week and:

Hospital (Jonathan Matchett)
Jonathan Matchett, Physician (1773-1777) by an unknown artist. Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo:  ArtUK.

“walk through the wards with White Wands in their hands and enquire of the patients whether the Physicians, Surgeons, Matron and Nurses had attended them agreeably, and enquiry of the Matron and Nurses whether the patients had all conducted themselves decently.”

Hospital (Gallstones)
Woman suffering the cholic etching by G. Cruikshank, 1819. Photo Credit:  Wellcome Library

One of the main local troubles was “the stone” for which people had to be “cut.” The stones extracted were kept in a special chest-of-drawers and put on public display; and so successful was “cutting” that after 20 years or so the chest was crammed so full that another had to be ordered. In fact, whatever the limitations and dangers, the hospital dealt with 12,000 people by the end of the 18th century and of these “upwards of 7000 have been dismissed in perfect health.”

On this subject, Dr. Benjamin Gooch’s accounts of ‘bladder stones’ are particularly interesting for he, along with John Harmer of Norwich,  were the leading lithotomists of the first half of the 18th century when bladder stones in Norfolk were reputedly to be more common  than anywhere else in the country. The Norwich Gazette, of 14th July 1746 (2071/2) reported one instance of a stone removal operation, which was conducted by John Harmer, with Benjamin Gooch assisting:

“On Sunday last (June 8th) was cut for the stone by Mr John Harmer surgeon in this city, John Howse, a gardener from Poringland aged 48 years, from whom he extracted a stone of prodigious magnitude; measuring 12 inches one way and eight the other and weighed upwards of fourteen and a half ounces; and is said to be the largest ever extracted from any person who recovered the operation, as this man is likely to do, not yet having had a bad symptom” ….. and a week later:

“John Howse …… is in a final way of recovery and is judged to be out of danger. Mr Harmer has cut for the stone upwards of 170 persons, and that with as much success as any man living, but never extracted one so large before.” (Norwich Gazette 21/7/1746).

As an aside:- John Harmer is buried in Stoke Holy Cross churchyard, his monument bears carvings of his lithotomy instruments.

Benjamin Gooch said of the operation:

“It was found impracticable to extract the stone through a wound of common size, which the operator had made, or to break it by the force of the forceps, therefore at his desire I divided the parts occasionally, as he continued gentle extraction. The stone was of hard texture and was covered by a substance like spar of a considerable thickness on many parts of its surface.”

The wound remained in a foul and bad condition and was made worse by the continued wetting of urine which prevented applications from healing it. The poor unhappy sufferer’s secret of how he managed to survive is revealed next. He [the patient] tempted a little favourite dog to lick the parts. It became such a habit for the little dog that whenever his master laid down and uncovered them he [the dog] immediately set to work with his tongue; this gave the sufferer a pleasing sensation; “As long as he lived his dog was his surgeon”, and the wound kept tolerably clean and easy “to his great comfort and satisfaction” as he [John Harmer] often told Gooch.

Hospital (Operation)2
Early 18th century surgeons performing a dissection, circa. 1730. Photo Credit: Wellcome Library

People today often question the effectiveness of medical treatment during years long past and, of course, there were many deficiencies. But it was the 18th century that brought forward many new ideas, like ventilation, sanitation and cleanliness. Equally, there were some people who held advanced views on many things. The then matron of the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital was judged to be “most unusually able” and as a result the hospital acquired a reputation for being “kept very neat and clean, not crowded with beds and well ventilated.” True, the floors were sanded in exactly the same way and for the same reasons that public-house floors were until comparatively recently, but they were swept daily and entirely washed each week. This by the standard of the times was cleanliness amounting almost to mania. One can doubt, too, the efficiency of medicines and surgery of those days, for drugs were very few and surgery without antiseptics was dangerous. Even so, cold baths, enforced rest, clean living conditions and dieting cannot have failed to be beneficial. As for surgery, the risks were perhaps fewer than we imagine.

The early years did, of course, present their problems. How to advance surgically was always difficult; but it was not unknown for the bodies of executed murderers to be provided for the hospital and doubtless there were other sources too – this helped. But money was always scarce and, in 1788, someone conceived the idea of a ‘Grand Musical Festival’ to help the Hospital’s Fund; this particular event was to be much grander than previous funding raising concerts in aid of the hospital. It proved such an enormous success that it was repeated three years later; after which it was decided to make the festival a permanent function, using St Peter Mancroft Church in the morning and St Andrew’s Hall in the evening. In 1824 the Norfolk & Norwich Triennial was founded. This event, known as the ‘Triennial’ continued for almost one hundred years, presenting a programme of concerts in St Andrew’s Hall. In time, the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital and the Triennial went their separate ways but, importantly, they both continued to flourish.

Hospital2
The Norfolk & Norwich Triennial at St Andrew’s Hall late 19th century. Photo: Public Domain.

If you had walked along St Stephen’s Road in 1967 – going away from the city – you would have seen the then new hospital chimney on the right, “rearing up like a rocket launcher, monstrous, a thing of no beauty”. Clearly, Edwards hated its massiveness and the domination it exercised over that part of the city of Norwich. But, in his opinion, the chimney symbolised progress – in medical science, in humanity and in ideas – but, equally, “one had to weigh-up the balance of advantages”. He concluded that all these developments were “well on the side of progress”.

 

Hospital4 (Fellowes_Plaque)
The large plaque once dominated the first floor of the St Stephens Street side of the then enlarged narrow side of the 1927 rebuilt outpatient building. Fellowes is shown in a bust length portrait in contemporary costume and wig. The bust rests on a ledge with an inscription identifying him set into a classically inspired field. There are no obvious surviving images of Fellowes for the sculptor to have followed. Photo: The Recording Archive.

THE END

Blog based on the following Source:
https://www.eveningnews24.co.uk/views/two-centuries-of-progress-in-making-norwich-well-again-1-5300545

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.

 

 

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

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.

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/

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