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Jan1954
27-01-2013, 3:31 PM
Back by popular request, competition time is here again.

Have you all managed to store your family history information so that you know where to find everything or is it scribbled on scraps of paper that are littering the dining table? The prize for this competition is a CD of Family History Research Record Forms supplied by Maxbal Genealogy. (http://www.parishchest.com/family_history_research_record_forms_cd__P95686) Not only are there colour forms for you to print off, but also GRAMPS Family Tree Software Program, a relationship chart and a 2,500 year perpetual calendar! All of this would make your research so much easier.

What do you have to do to secure this marvellous CD? Occupations of some of our ancestors can be fascinating – even that of an Agricultural Labourer! So, as very kindly suggested by Lizzy9, we would like to read about…. A day in the life of a ?????? in the nineteenth century. Please replace the ????? with an occupational title of your choice.

Post your entries on this thread and we will have a poll at the end of the competition time so that you can vote for the winner. The closing date and time for this competition will be 3:30pm GMT on Sunday 10th February, which is when the poll will open.

Good luck everybody and I will certainly look forward to reading all about those 19th century occupations.

also added....

I think all the entries are outstanding so with that in mind, I have decided that rather than just have one winner, we will have a winner and two runners up. The three prizes will be:-

Family History Research Record Forms (http://www.parishchest.com/index.php?cmd=viewproduct&cat=&id=P95686&pageOffset=0) (CD)
The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman (http://www.parishchest.com/index.php?cmd=viewproduct&cat=&id=P92359&pageOffset=0)
Coffers, Clysters, Comfrey and Coifs (http://www.parishchest.com/coffers_clysters_comfrey_and_coifs__P95189)

The winner will have the first choice, the first runner up the second, and the remaining prize will go to the person in third place.

stepives
28-01-2013, 1:56 PM
My 3xGt.Gramps, woke up, went out and worked in the fields. In the 'quiet' moments of his life, he and his wife, produced 8 children. The sons, in turn, did the same except for one, who had 11 children.

So whatever they touched in there mundane lives, at least it grew.

Steve.:cheers2:

fullscott
29-01-2013, 11:36 AM
A Day In The Life Of An Inmate on Mount Edgcumbe Industrial Training Ship for Homeless and Destitute Boys 1878

Hello, I'm Billy Baines. I'm 11 years old, although people think I'm 12 'cos that's what my mum told the Magistrates. She told them she couldn't control me, but I think she wants rid of me - she got married again and has a new family now. (My older sister has gone to work as a servant. My younger brother is living with my gran.)

So here I am on the 'Mount Edgcumbe', moored off Saltash (Devon). There are 250 of us. This morning (like every other) we were woken at 0550h, dressed and stowed our hammocks, got the tables and benches onto the main deck and had half an hour for breakfast. By 0700h the tables were stowed away and the school desks put in their place.

I was on "Port Watch", so from 0700h to 1000h I was on the Upper Deck with Instructor Farlow - Gunnery. We practised cleaning and dismantling the carbines. I like learning about the guns - it's more fun than learning how to splice ropes and tie all the different knots. (My fingers are raw after handling wet rope for 3 hours!)

From 1000h to 1300h our watch had Cookery Instruction with Seaman Sullivan. We prepared the ship's lunch. I hate peeling potatoes! But at least it was warm in the galley. And I saw Miss Nellie, Captain Price Knevitt's eldest daughter. (I got birched for staring, but she's worth it!)

"Starboard Watch" set up the main deck for lunch after their school lessons, so we served the food and ate. By 1400h we ("Port Watch") had the school desks set up again and spent until 1700h learning to read and write with Mr Gitsham and I even did a bit of arithmetic. And I only had the birch once! ('cos I got a spelling wrong).

Tea-time was a disaster. I forgot about the "invisible lines" dividing the "messes"! I went to ask Seaman Tesdale about tomorrow's Seamanship practice in the 'Goshawk' and forgot to ask permission to move. Another lashing with the birch! OW!

From 1730h I practised with the band (I like the drum, but I want to learn the bugle). At 2000h everyone came back below decks to the dormitory, slung up the hammocks and now I'm ready for sleep. I'll stay here on the 'Mount Edgcumbe' until I'm 16, then they'll sling me off. I think I'll join the Royal Marines. That's what my Dad was, and Mum's new bloke is a Marine, too. (Mum likes the uniform)

(Names are accurate; detail is poetic licence. I don't know what happened to William Baines after 1881. His mother married my ancestor and seems to have abandoned her first 3 children)

dylan thermos
29-01-2013, 3:29 PM
Hello,
My name is Elizabeth Chriswick I am ten years old.
Today is my birthday but no one knows. It is 1899 and I am living in Welsh Wales you know the part on the end of England.
I get up at six sharp and light the fire downstairs so that the girls (my masters daughters) can be warm while they eat their breakfast before going to school.
I do not go to school because I have to work here in this family business to pay for my board and keep.
Last year my dad died whilst overseas, he died when he was in Poland, now that seems so far away.I never got to kiss him before he left.
My mother said that I had to go into service because she could not feed me. This was just after my baby brother died, I miss him so much.
She was right really to put me into service at least I get fed here.
This blackened stove takes a lot of black leading, my nails and hands are black by the end of my time getting it to look spick and span.
I don't mind really because I get to warm myself for a while at least for a little while.
Once the fire is done I wash myself and prepare the breakfast for everyone.
Mr. Batten loves his bacon and eggs with that thick fried bread no wonder his stomach protrudes from his belly.
Like a big egg he is, yes thats it, too many eggs…..
Well now that breakfast is done time to clear away the dishes and wash them up, my hands are red raw what with cinders and this harsh soap suds.
Sweep the floor and tidy away the pots and pans then up stairs to sort the girls rooms out.
Mrs. Batten loves her bed, I can hear her snore when I go back up to begin the bedrooms.
She is quite kind but not like my mam.
My mam used to spoil me, come to think of it I miss her too.
Must get on with my work make three beds pick up clothes and then sweep all the little bits of fluff onto some newspaper and take it down stairs to the rubbish bins.
While I'm up here I'll just go and tidy my little room right at the top of the house. Well when I say room I mean cupboard and when I lean to look out the tiny window I can see the sea well just a little bit over the roof tops.
Time goes so quick it won't be long before Mr. Batten is calling me to work in the shop.
Usually I go down and he makes me peel potatoes for hours on end and then I get to serve in the shop.
I eat a chip now and then just to make sure they are cooked see, well that's my excuse, I'll be as fat as Mr. Batten if I carry on like this.
Tea time I get to go and fetch the girls when they come out of school they love to dawdle on the way home.
Prepare tea and help bath the girls ready for bed.
Thinking of bed I'm very tired myself.
Not long now I think to myself.
Just then Mrs. Batten calls me and gives me a small box with a card tied to it.
I am so surprised she can be so kind.
I thank her for my gift of scented soap and make my way to my room to hide my sophisticated soap.
Once the girls are fast asleep Mrs. Batten tells me to get off to bed and be up early next day so that we can all go to church together.
Sundays are like a day off but then it is not a day off. I still have my chores and have to fit church in too.
Sleep, glorious sleep, hope I can see my mam soon.
I'm so tired…………

Sue Mackay
29-01-2013, 9:24 PM
My name is Thomas and I am 40 years of age or thereabouts – never did have much time for birthdays. I come from Deal, in Kent, so the sound of the sea ain’t nothing new to me, but little did I think I’d ever see my name on a ship’s muster roll. I’m on board the Weymouth, a store ship in His Majesty’s Navy, and a fine ship she be, but she don’t half heave about. I’m not supposed to be part of the crew, see, as I am bound for a better life, God willing, at the Cape of Good Hope, along with my good Jane and our three littl’uns, James, Hannah and Ruth. They say we’ll have our own ground when we gets there – well a few acres at least – but times are hard and I don’t have much saved, so when the Captain said we was light a few crew I jumped at the chance to sign on. I am a wheelwright by trade and so they’ve signed me on as a cooper. I did mend a few barrels this morning, but mainly I just hauls them up from the hold. There be hundreds of emigrants on board, so we gets through lots of barrels of water, flour and salt. Still, I’m glad I don’t have to climb the rigging!

We left Portsmouth on 7th January in the year of our Lord 1820 and perishing cold it was – there was a fierce blizzard and I thought we’d lose little Ruthie before we even got on board, what with having to travel in an open cart from Kent. Fortunately I was able to sign on as crew straight away, so it’s a bit easier to slip the kids some extra rations, seeing as I help haul them up to the galley. We’ve been at sea a month now, and the weather is getting warmer. Today we all had fresh meat as we slaughtered one of the live bullocks we brung with us, and we came in sight of Cape Verde, so the kids were running around by the rail trying to see land and getting under everyone’s feet. There was quite a lifting of the spirits to see some land, but then little Sarah Hobbs passed away with the measles and we had to assemble on deck for another funeral. The way the fever is spreading we’ll commit a few more little bodies to the deep before the week is out, but God be praised my family has been spared to date. The captain got us all to help bring the bedding up on deck to air it and I think that’ll help. I’m glad I have a hammock, even if it do mean I’m separated from Janey. Still, even with big Will snoring fit to bust I gets a better night’s sleep with the crew than down there with the emigrants and all those kids wailing. Tonight if we get a calm sea I plan to sit on deck and whittle a toy for James and listen to the Wiltshire settlers – they’ve got lots of Chapel folk and their singing gives us all hope that God will be kind to us in Africa.

ellyjane70
30-01-2013, 8:24 PM
I'm Mary, yesterday I was Mary Corneilius, today I am Mary Morrison,aged 39 - it is 1839 and I have just married my new husband one day after burying my old one. I still have to work for our 8 children so I will sit at my embroidery until the candle blows out..my eyes ache but I have to work. When it is the fishing season I will be at the quayside gutting the fish that my husband has trawled overnight. This Ayrshire coast is cold, and very dangerous for the men and women so I consider myself fortunate that I can sit indoors sometimes and take up the skill I have learned-that of the beautiful Ayrshire embroidery, worked on pristine white linen. I do this for the rich people.I will sew the very best I can then wrap the work in white cotton sheeting..which we often also use as shrouds.

I have a pot hanging over the fire and I can smell the fish bones cooking for us all - I have to be careful it doesn't taint the work I am doing or the rich people will refuse to take it into their homes. I must work, I must keep my eyesight and I have to be able to buy candles to see at night when the children are in their beds. The Parish Board will be harsh if I have to apply for relief.



One day my great great great granddaughter in England will treasure a piece of my embroidery. It will be old, it will be thin but she will say with pride-Great Great Great Gran Mary embroidered this and it is beautiful.

Colin Rowledge
30-01-2013, 10:12 PM
The saddest day of my life was today, 2 October 1849.

My name is Robert Rowledge, a Tailor by trade, and my wife and family have a home and business in Rickmansworth. I am from Rickmansworth and after our marriage, Catherine and I moved back to Rickmansworth. I was always busy with my tailoring and Catherine sewed and made shirts, blouses and dresses that we sold. Life was good and we started a family

By 1849, we had 9 children ranging in age from 17 down to 3 years old. All were healthy,and the 2 eldest boys were learning my trade while their older sister was working as a Domestic Servant. The others were in school and the baby was in a nursery run by the Vicar and his wife in the afternoon. As a family we were very happy.

During the summer, an outbreak of Cholera hit the area.Many families suffered and as a result Catherine and I along with our 2 sons were kept very busy making clothes for funerals of their deceased loved ones. For these good folks, money was tight and so we didn't make a charge.

Then the illness hit our home!! Over a 3 day period 3 of our children died of the illness. They all suffered greatly, but didn't complain.

Today, 2 October, we had the burial service for David age 6. At the same time we had the burial and dedication service for William age 16 and Emma age 13. Our eldest daughter couldn't attend, the baby was cared for by the Vicar's wife and the others were with us at the service.

As night fell Catherine and I said our Prayers, thanked God for giving us such wonderful children and the opportunity to provide for them. Later, in bed, I comforted Catherine, told her that their time had come and that God was taking care of them. She cried herself to sleep. As I lie here with her tear-stained face upon my pillow, I realize how lucky and blessed I am.

Tomorrow is another day!!!

pennydog
30-01-2013, 11:26 PM
I 'av never been on a train before, and I don't want to be on this one. It is cold, the bench is hard and the bloke looking over us boys has an evil look in 'is eye. We know we 'ad better do 'as he says or he is likely to give us one wiv that big stick 'e is 'olding. There are 10 of us, some from the East End and uvvers from sarf of the river. We 'ave not spoken, I fink they is as frit as I am. We dare not even look at each uvver in case the big guy catches us. As I look out of the winder I can see lots of grass and fields, I don't like grass and fields I like noise and smoke and brick buildings and big ships in the dock.

I am not really a bad boy. I know I have done a bit of nicking and begging, but I 'ad me reasons. Me Pa 'as been 'aving a tough time these past couple of years. Ma ran orf with anuvver bloke, he 'as a good job and she is 'aving all the nice things that she wanted from Pa, but he could not afford to buy 'er, since he got ill and could not work. Pa has 'ad to bury me brother George who got sick and died last year, he was 5 year older than me and kept me in line. 'E used to give me a fick ear when I got into trouble and I really miss 'im. Pa and I could not even give 'im a propper send orf, Ma did not bother to come to say goodbye eiver. I do not know 'ow Pa will cope now I have been taken away too, I'll not forget the look in his eyes when the coppers came and took me off. They said I was on the road to rack and ruin and that if I stayed with Pa I would end up in the gaol. So here I am on me way to a place called Macclesfield. I do not know where that is, all I know is it is a long long way from me 'ome in Deptford. They say they will teach me to read and write and that when they are done with me I will be a man who will be able to work. Well I 'ave been working down the docks, that is proper man's work and the pickings is good too. They say I could go in the army and fight for me Country, I am good at fighting I learned that down the docks too.

I 'ope we get there soon, I can feel me eyes closing with the rocking of the train and I do not want to sleep, I need to keep me wits about me as it aint going to be a party once we get there. The train is slowing down and the bloke with us is telling us we is 'ere. I pick up me belongings, I tied them in a bit of strong sack so they would be safe. It feels good to stand again but even colder on the platform. I pull my coat around me and tie the string tight to hold it there. We march off down the road, at least there are buildings here and roads and noise. We finally get to the gates of a big building and make our way up the path to the huge front door, it looks a pretty grim place. We go inside and I can hear the sound of lot of voices, a shout rings out - then silence. We are taken into a long room lined wiv beds, I am pointed to one and a box to put my sack in, I push it right under the bed out of sight. The man that bringed us 'ere leads us into anuvver room where there are lines of tables and lots of boys all eating. I am told to sit on a bench and a bowl of steamin' thin soup is put infront of me with a doorstop of bread. I am so 'ungry that I do not care about what it tastes like I just wolf it down. Soon the food is finished, a voice bawls out “to your beds” I follow the others back to the room where my bed is, the boys are staring at me, but I am not going to show 'ow frit I am. I climb into my bed, (my very own bed I do not have to share it with anyone) and pull up the rough blanket over me. I know I should stay alert but I am just so tired and I can feel the sleep shutting me eyes. This is going to be me life for the next few years. I just 'ope I can survive it.

This is a part fictional tribute to William Henry Downard b1866, my grandad's cousin who vanishes after the 1881 census where he can be found at the Macclesfield Industrial School. Whether he did get the education and a trade is the mystery I have yet to crack. Whatever he did, I hope the rest of his life was better than the first 15 years.

Thachuk
31-01-2013, 5:06 PM
Can you believe a farmer with NO chores in 1926! Hard to do from a jail cell! I was out in the barn hitching up the horses when it all began this morning. Two men appeared and hauled me off to jail. They say I entered the USA illegally in 1906. I told him how I came to Canada as a Barnardo boy in 1898 and worked hard in Manitoba for another tyrant. I saw my chance and ran away to seek my fortune in the US. After getting to Washington state I worked hard as a farm labourer for James Turner my wife's father. He's a hard man, and abusive as well. I thought I had done a good thing by rescuing my wife, Sara, from her horrid father but am finding out he is also vindictive. So after marrying my sweet girl, she was only 15, I provided her with a home and children. I did my best to win her father over, even confiding my past to him. He thinks I stole her from him but we are properly married . I'm a simple farmer , trying to scratch out a living here in Washington, just like him. But now he gets his revenge - after all these years he called the Immigration people and turned me in as illegal alien! So now I sit here waiting for deportation, they say, to ENGLAND. What will happen to wife and family? The're gonna send me- not Sara and the children. And all my neighbors will think I am a criminal since my story is being written in the local newspaper. He will probably claim all my animals and sell them off. How can I eat this meal they just shoved at me when I might never see my family again? So tomorrow will I be right back where I started?

AnnB
31-01-2013, 6:47 PM
Last Saturday must ’ave been one of the worst day of our lives. We’ll remember Thursday right enough, but Saturday was worse. It started off fine, with me and George doing our usual, me getting the littluns ready for the day and George going off to Farmer Elliott’s, his master. The master had said George could finish early so as us could go into Barnstaple to see George’s mother, us having been obliged to take her into the House on Thursday. He even offered us the use of his cart again, for he lent us it to take her in – he is a very good man and George has done well to be working for him. To tell the tale as short as I can, Mother had been living with us for a few weeks, her not being able to look after herself no more. She was a very great age – 80 I believe - and was almost stone deaf. ‘Cause of that, she’d to rely on me and my maid Rosa to look after her, which was very hard, as she didn’t get out of her bed after she moved in. Rosa is only 9, but she is a big help, she do ‘er best to help me. Anyhows, afore we could set out on Saturday afternoon, Mr Vickery the relieving gentleman, rode up to tell us that Mother had gone. He was a bit short with us and told us we ‘ad to get to the House to attend an inquest on Mother that very afternoon as we could be in a lot of trouble. We were so flummoxed and upset, but as we ‘ad the Master’s cart we set off almost at once in a right state. We left the maids and little Henry with Alice next door and we managed the journey in less than two hours. When we got to the House we were that scared, to tell the truth of it, I cannot remember very much of what happened next.

The Coroner was a kindly man but firm, as us heard tell from others, but I was still afeard. Mr Vickery told him that Mother wanted to go into the House, as she had said so in front of him when he called a week ago after we applied for some extra relief. He told us there could be no more money and so we should take Mother into the House as soon as possible, her being so frail and old. Mother knew that George’s brother’s maid was helping out the nurses in the House, she said she would be quite happy to go in until she got her strength back, she’d been in once before and so wasn’t bothered. The Coroner wanted to know how much Mother was getting in relief and I told him it was 2s 6d a week but us hoped us might get a few extra pence as I couldn’t go out to do any work being as I had to look after her.

At the time, George’s master was away for a few days and we knew no-one else with a horse and cart that we could borrow, so we waited till Farmer Elliott came home. He was willing to lend us the cart, but he said it would have to wait till Thursday, as he needed it till then. The Coroner said that it was waiting till Thursday what us done wrong and why us was here being asked questions, we should have made more effort to get Mother in to Barnstaple workhouse sooner. I explained that as soon as us had use of the cart, us filled it with straw, put in a feather pillow and some blankets and took Mother to the House. She was very weak and so George carried her in when we arrived and she was put to bed. Betty was on duty and came along to see her settled in, so us went home knowing she was being looked after.

The Coroner asked if I had been able to keep Mother clean and fed and I answered that I had, but that I had been run off my legs trying to cope as I had to do everything for her. Having three small children as well (our other seven children were either married or in service) it made life very difficult, but she was George’s mother and that was all there was to it. After some more questions, the Coroner spoke to Dr Lane who had seen Mother about two weeks ago. He said that Mother was really too poorly to have been kept at home and that she should have been sent to the House sooner, but he did not think it would have made any difference to her living any longer. He said us should have asked him to see Mother again when we couldn’t take her in at the beginning of the week.

The Coroner said it was a pity Mother hadn’t been sent to the House sooner but there was no reason to blame us for anything – the Guardians of the Union had to report the death to him, it was the law. He then had a private talk with the gentlemen who made up the jury and told us that they had decided that Mother had died of extreme old age and that us could go home. I should have felt relieved but all I wanted to do was cry – us never got to say goodbye to Mother and that will always stay with me.

Ann

lawsue
02-02-2013, 9:01 AM
Well today I had a letter from the Dept of Education in Sydney, telling me that the 9 shillings and 6 pence that I owed in school fees had been forgiven. Ada Alice can keep on at school, thank goodness. Poor Mr Scully though, he has to find the money he owes. It seems unfair but he is a strong man and I'm sure that he will soon find work.
Since 1879 the gold fields have been quiet and even the Ironclad mine is finding it hard. So because of that the sewing that I've been taking in is getting scarce.
Before Ada returns from school I must find the doings of a decent meal for her, her brothers and her sister. Both boys need to find work and Mary's wage at the shop doesn't go very far. Perhaps there is work for them at the graveyard, with the typhoid epidemic and all.
How I wish that John hadn't sold the drapery business in Accrington to come here and chase gold dust. But he did and it is too late now. I'm sure a little help from his father wouldn't go astray. After all he is a rich lawyer in Wigan, but John would not approve of my asking and I guess I should not be bitter. Although if I was completely honest I would say without hesitation how much I hate this place.
I hate the cold, I hate the heat, I hate the snakes, I hate the spiders, I hate the constant threat of bushrangers, I hate the lack of rain and I hate the way the typhoid took my John.
But some good news. I have another sewing job just come in, so I will stay up late and get that started tonight.
Rachel Grounds, widow, Cargo, NSW, Australia.

LittleSpark
02-02-2013, 1:53 PM
The 2 Men In My Life.

It's 1917 and tomorrow is my wedding day - I should be so happy but I'm sad too.
I'm sitting here remembering my other wedding day just over 2 years ago when I married 'my Benjamin'.
Oh! he was such a handsome man and I felt I was the luckiest girl in the world when he asked me to marry him.

We'd known each other for some years, he was working as a Bricklayer's Labourer and he had many plans for our future together.
It was during the War - Benjamin, like all the other men around here, eagerly signed up and he joined the Worcestershire Regiment.

We got married in the Church a few streets away from where I'd lived all my life. It was January 1915, a bitterly cold day. Benjamin looked so handsome in his uniform and I was so proud to be standing next to him as his wife - we were so happy and in love!
We had such little time together after the wedding - he had to leave and was posted overseas. I can still see us holding each other at the station neither of us wanting to let the other go.

My thoughts were always of 'my Benjamin' and I prayed every day that he'd come come safe. Our daughter Florence (named after me) was born later that year - Benjmain was still away from home.

I'll never forget that day my father-in-law came to tell me that Benjamin had been Killed in Action in France.
My heart felt as if it would break - he'd never seen his daughter and now he never would. He'll be buried somewhere in France - I can't even pronounce the name of the place and know in my heart, I will never get to see his grave.

So tomorrow, I'm marrying William. I've known him all my life as he lives in the house next door - he knew Benjamin too. He's kind and I think he'll make a good, fine husband and be a good father to Florence who he's taken a shine to. We won't be getting married in Church but at the Registery Office and I'm sure he won't mind me wearing the gold locket which contains photos of 'my Benjamin' and our daughter Florence.
I see Benjamin in Florence every time I look at her for she has his eyes and smile.

William's serving in the Royal Navy so is on leave for our wedding tomorrow. I hope and pray that this terrible War ends soon - so many women have lost their husbands and sons and I pray that William will return home safe to us.

Tomorrow, hopefully will be a new beginning for the 3 of us as a family.

Florence & William had 11 children.
William died June 1967 and Florence died a few months later in August 1967 - some say of a broken heart.
The locket containing the photos of Benjamin & his daughter Florence is now treasured by the son of Florence, Benjamin's daughter.

busyglen
02-02-2013, 2:16 PM
Today is November 11th, 1918, and it is my 14th birthday. A day I shall never forget as it also happens to be Armistice Day! My ears are ringing with the noises of the crowds as they sing and follow the bands, waving flags. People are dancing, linking arms with strangers, and pulling others along to join them from those watching on the pavements. I am a bit scared that I will get lost, and keep close to my employer, Mrs Ratcliff, who has brought me with her to London as a birthday treat.

I was employed by Mrs Ratcliff as a Kitchen Maid, and she was also a friend of my mothers. Although we were simple folk (my father was a Gardener who looked after the gardens of some of the large hotels on the sea-front at Deal, and my mother had previously looked after an elderly lady and kept house for her), they had gained the respect of Mr. & Mrs. Ratcliff who lived in a large house called Beech Court, in Deal. They had quite a few staff, from the Housekeeper, to the Cook, Parlour Maid, Kitchen Maid (that’s me) Scullery Maid, footman and the Chauffeur. We’d travelled from Deal in her chauffeur driven car, which was very exciting as I felt very grand, but also a bit sick as I wasn’t use to being in a car. I was terrified that I would shame myself.

“Nellie, are you alright?” asked Mrs Ratcliff, “We are almost there.” I took a deep breath. “Yes thank you Ma-am” I replied. We had come to a stop as people were starting to cross into the road, so we decided to walk from there. We joined the throng of happy people, singing and dancing and cheering the bands, whose music got louder, and louder. Mrs Ratcliff held my arm so that we wouldn’t get separated, but told me that if I got pulled away to make my way back to where they had left the car.

Eventually, they made their way to the Lyons Corner House for tea. Ellen, (her given name) couldn’t believe her eyes when they walked in and she saw all of the lovely cakes, and dainty sandwiches. They were lead to a table, and Mrs Ratcliff ordered some sandwiches, cakes and tea. A stand was brought to the table, containing a variety of sandwiches, and several mouth watering cakes, plus a pot of tea. Ellen was so excited, she didn’t know what to choose, and waited to be guided by her employer. “Nellie, have exactly what you would like as it is your birthday, and at the same time, I would like you to observe how everything is displayed, to make it look tempting to eat” “Yes ma-am, thank you.” Ellen replied. She chose two small sandwiches, and was so hungry her stomach rumbled. “Excuse me Ma-am” she said embarrassed, but she was assured not to worry. When she had finished the sandwiches, Mrs Ratcliff encouraged her to choose a cake. They looked so fragile but were beautifully decorated, and she chose one with delicate flowers in pastel icing, noting that they didn’t really look edible. The cake melted in her mouth, and the taste of the icing was something she had never experienced before. Her mother made a cake as a treat, if she could get the ingredients but as it was war time, it really depended on what she could find. Hopefully now that it was at an end, and again, depending what was available, she would be able to make one of Ellen’s favourites.

Eventually, it was time to make their way back to the car, and a happy Ellen, tired out from all of the excitement, fell asleep, not waking until they were home.
Her 14th birthday, was one she was never going to forget, and indeed, she never did.

(Ellen Ladd, went on to become the Cook at Beech Court, and enjoyed making special cakes for parties, and also helped her employer at functions, when her talents were needed. Ellen was my mother who died aged 96, but I’m ashamed to say, I never inherited her talent!).

Ladkyis
03-02-2013, 10:00 PM
Sunday for an Actor:

If the company was moving to a new town and a new theatre then Sunday was the day they travelled. Everything that Charles Guilfoyle Seymour owned would be packed up before the last performance on a Saturday evening. This would include his children and their nursemaid as well as his wife, if she was appearing with him as she usually did. The trunks, containing the costumes and clothes as well as the bedding and pillows for three adults and four children. The bed would usually wait until Sunday morning to be taken apart and stacked with the trunks. Oh yes, Miss Bessie Nathan could not travel without her own bed and mattress so her husband had no choice but to organise that as well.
During the time Charles was the Actor/Manager for the company he would have been responsible for all the props and scenery as well as his wife and her bed. Everything would be transported to the closest railway station where the rest of the company would gather. Sometimes the journey was a long one and as they travelled they would rehearse their lines or practise a little "business" - the movement about the stage and deciding what to do with their hands. On arrival at the new town or city Charles would leave Bessie to settle into the lodgings while he went to the theatre to ensure that the scenery has survived contact with the railway company and that nothing was damaged or lost. Being a Sunday there would not be many places to find food and they would have to hope that the lodging keeper was feeling in a good mood.
Mostly they rented a small house or apartment and they had their own food as well as Bessie's bed. After the 1880s they rented a house in Chorlton cum Hardy where the children lived full time and Charles and Bessie would return there between engagements.

Lizzy9
04-02-2013, 12:28 AM
Thomas, 1841.

Thomas worked as a Wheelwright/Blacksmith from his workshop in the city, now 65 years old he had raised a family of three sons and a daughter. Thomas was born in a rural village and moved to the city circa 1820 to seek a more prosperous life for his wife and family, his three sons had served apprenticeships in the Wheelwright or Blacksmith trades.
Daily, Thomas would reflect on the past, thinking how things may have been different if he hadn't made the decision to uproot his family from the countryside to settle in the city. On this day he was feeling particularly pensive as his youngest son had yesterday sailed to America to make a new life for himself, his wife and children; his wife and children were still at home and would travel out to America in a few months time.

Mr Waring, a long standing customer called into the workshop that day, he had become a friend and confidante to Thomas over the years. Thomas had repaired Mr Waring's carriage wheels for a number of years, today however, Mr Waring was commissioning Thomas to build him a carriage, and it was to be a very grand one. Now Thomas, although thrilled to get the order couldn't help feeling nostalgic, you see his ambitions had been shattered over the years, he'd had dreams of a big workshop with flash signage advertising 'Hargreaves & Sons', however it wasn't to be. Thomas poured his feelings out to Mr Waring telling him how he berated himself believing the move to the city was to blame. He disliked the city and it's smoke, stench and filth, he disliked living in town and it's social problems; he'd led a simple life in the country village where he knew everyone, and his day's work was very different to now. He shoed horses, crafted cart and carriage wheels, built carriages and buggies for the farmers and local gentry, he understood horses, was in tune with them and folks would ask Thomas' advice if they had a sick horse. His workday for the past 21yrs had mostly been repairing and making wheels and shoeing but no nursing sick horses, or carriage building; the order for a carriage from Mr Waring was exciting for Thomas though he did think 'if only'. If only I'd stayed in the village where the air was clean and villagers' all helped one another, had time for each other, where the walk to Church on Sundays was pleasant and familiar, Thomas knew every stone in the walls, every bend in the lanes and never tired of the wonderful views, here in the city the walk to Church over the cobbles was uninspiring, an unhealthy walk with no big oak trees, no hills and dales or hedgerows, and no greenery to speak of.

Mr Waring was a kindly soul and enjoyed Thomas' company; that day, Mr Waring, knowing Thomas was feeling down in the dumps and already missing his youngest lad had offered a sympathetic ear.

Thomas reflected on the year 1829 telling his visitor why it wasn't a good year for him. His eldest son had died of consumption and Thomas blamed the city environmental conditions, afterall he'd been a strong lad, how it broke Thomas' heart watching his son waste away and listening to his chronic coughing, the lad had started around five months earlier, coughing and suffering exhaustion he became progressively worse and eventually bed ridden, he and his wife had taken shifts to stay up through the night trying to cool his fever and relieve his cough. They fretted too in case their other children contracted it. Inevitably, the lad had passed away, the family were bereft to lose their lad who had been in the prime of his life, he was 23yrs old. Later that year, Thomas' middle son - who had always been willful and hotheaded but was a good worker with promise of being a great craftsman - brought more heartache to the dwindling family. After a night out with friends, probably spent in the local Public Houses, he and his two chums broke into a house and stole eggs, bread, elderberry juice and dripping. They took their haul to the house of a relative of Thomas' wife, this man was most displeased with them and informed the Police. The three lads ran for it! Later they were apprehended, and when realising there was no escape they threw the foodstuffs into a destitute lady's lap. The consequence was 7yrs transportation. I had lost another son reflected Thomas, and yesterday my youngest left for America. Mr Waring was a 'Gentleman', a local mill owner known to be a good master, he was surprised to hear a relative had reported the lads, but Thomas believed the relative didn't realise what the outcome would be, 'he thought it was the right thing to do to teach the lads a valuable lesson and bring them in line'! Now, he can't look us in the face as he feels bad for what happened. I also feel bad as I believe had I stayed in the Dales I'd still have my three sons here. Mr Waring told Thomas, 'stop beating yourself up, what's done is done, not your fault and you can't change the past'.

Mr Waring left, and Thomas thanked him for his order telling him he was looking forward to making the carriage and putting his skills to use.

Thomas had jobs to finish before he could make a start on the carriage, he would work flat out for the next few days being eager to design and begin building the carriage. He was looking forward to going home that evening and sharing the good news with his wife, she deserved something to uplift her as she too was feeling dejected over their son emigrating to America.

Thomas went into the yard and lifted some wood from his stacks, he had orders pending and they would take some time to finish. He sharpened his tools on the grindstone and was ready to make a start. He had a wheel to finish, the spokes were shaped and the holes marked out, the hub was in the wheel pit, he picked up his sledge hammer and began tapping the spokes into place. Once a wheel is spoked some Wheelwrights' would call on the service of a Blacksmith to make the iron tyres, not Thomas, Thomas was capable of smithing as well, he'd had a good master all those years ago as an apprentice in the Dales. He was on a roll now, couldn't wait to finish his orders, Mr Waring's commission had been the tonic he needed. Thomas knew that tomorrow and for many days after he'd have a rush of enthusiasm he'd not felt in a long time. Still he had a tinge of sorrow that his sons' weren't there to share his happiness and help build the grand carriage.

Postscript

The son who went to America is my 3xgrandfather, his wife and children never did join him as his wife became ill soon after he sailed and died within months, his children were raised by Thomas and his wife. The children and their father kept in touch by letter, but he never saw those children again. By 1850 he had a new wife and two children, who incidentally were given the same names as two of his children in England!!!

The son transported to Tasmania eventually made good. Whilst imprisoned in York Castle Gaol (now York Castle Museum) he etched his name on the prison exercise area wall and the etching can still be seen today.

He was a Carpenter and of valuable use to the government works in Hobart. Working outside the prison barracks gave him the opportunity to abscond several times, mostly he was found in the local alehouses, captured, and sentenced to work in irons for a month, in 1832 he absconded from the barracks managing to evade the authorities for three weeks, only to be captured and sentenced to two years hard labour at Port Arthur. Eventually he settled down, and in 1841 got his ticket of leave and later that year he was married. In 1847 he appealed to Queen Victoria for a pardon, the pardon granted covered Australian Colonies only, meaning he could never return to Britain but could settle anywhere in Australia. He and his wife went on to have six children. The family moved to Geelong where he set himself up in business as a successful Coachbuilder.

Thomasin
06-02-2013, 5:32 PM
A day in the life of an Army Trouser Hand

“Nellie Jones! Will you stop daydreaming and bring me a box of trouser buttons?” “Yes, Miss Filkins.” I hurried around the big table with the buttons, then went back to my place.

Eleanor Sarah is my name, but in our family, the pretty names we were christened with have all been shortened. There’s Lizzie, named after our mother, and, like her, a tailoress. Then Carrie and Tom, who help our father in the shop. Tom talks of joining the Army when he’s older. Then it’s me, followed by the youngest, Em, Harry and Kate, all still at school (Kate was actually christened Kate though).

It doesn’t seem long since it was my job to take these three to school with me, but now it’s up to Em. When I was 12 the school told Pa and Ma that I had learned all they could teach me, and I would have to leave. Ma found me a job as a skivvy in a doctor’s house, living in. Oh, how I hated it. The work was bad enough, although I’m not an idle person. It was mainly being away from my noisy, loving family. One day, after two weeks, I went home on my day off, and was in such floods of desperate tears that Pa said, “She doesn’t have to live in. She can live at home and go to work on the tram. Never mind the fare – I’d much rather see my girl happy again.”

So that’s what we did, and it was so good to be back with my family. I still didn’t like the skivvying work though, and when we heard about these apprenticeships for needlewomen at the Army and Navy Stores workshops, it seemed almost too good to be true. I’ve always loved sewing – I think I always shall. It must run in the family. We all had our photograph taken once and it was Ma’s proud boast that she had sewn every stitch of what we were all wearing – except for Pa’s suit – and I’m sure she could have turned her hand to that, too.

So, every morning we are all up early. First the fire has to be lit, and Carrie usually does this, and then helps Ma with the breakfasts. My task is to make sure the little ones are clean and neat for school, and to prepare a bite to eat a midday for myself and for them, which they carry in their pockets. Usually a doorstep of bread and a hunk of cheese, and a little apple if there are any. For me, the most important component of my lunch is my book.

I am the first to leave, as I walk to work, rain or shine. My normal route is past Lambeth Palace and St Mary’s, and over Lambeth Bridge, but if I am earlier than usual I cross the Thames at Westminster, watching the laden barges going non-stop up and down the river, and gazing at the Houses of Parliament and the beautiful Westminster Abbey before striking up Victoria Street, crowded with traffic, to my place of work with its rows of sewing machines and the big cutting and hand-finishing tables.

Then it’s down to several hours of hard work, measuring, chalking, cutting, pinning, tacking and finally sewing on the big, busy machines, with the finishing touches done by hand.

I don’t know why Miss Filkins thinks I daydream. Perhaps it’s because I don’t chatter as much as the other girls. I do have plenty to fill my mind, but it’s definitely not dreams! It’s most probably about the book in my bag. At midday most of the girls go out to the pie shop, but Ma says what’s the point of paying a penny or two for a pie when I’m going home at night to as good and nourishing a family meal as she can manage? So – when the other girls go off, chattering, for their break, I pick up my bag and find a quiet nook, indoors in the winter, and perhaps the Abbey cloisters in the summer, eat my lunch and, more importantly, devour my book.

Ma says that ever since I could read I’ve had my nose stuck in a book, and I believe I always will. I’ve learned so much more about the world and everything since I left school than I did when I was still “being educated”. If anyone at home has a question that puzzles them, it’s always “Oh ask Nell – she’ll know!”

I know when it’s time to go back to work by the Westminster Abbey chimes or, if I’m indoors, by the rushing of returning feet. Then it’s a long stretch of toil until knocking-off time. As I said, I enjoy it, but my mind’s in a whirl with what I’ve been reading, and the up and down rhythm and clicking of all the sewing machine needles is soporific. Than goodness for buttons and buttonholes to keep me awake!

At last we are set free, and I make for home by the shortest route possible. Ma always has a tasty meal ready, usually a slowly-cooked stew (she’s very economical – has to be - and can do wonders with the cheaper cuts of meat), and we gather round the kitchen table to compare our days while we eat.

It’s soon time for Kate and Harry to be off for bed. Little Kate always wants a story. Sometimes I read her one, but we’ve never been able to afford many books for small children, so it’s usually a story out of my head. Apart from the popular princesses and dragons stories, we have a completely fictional running saga of the goings-on at the Army and Navy Stores, all featuring Miss Filkins and a very naughty girl called Gerty Button, who gets up to all kinds of mischief. When it’s a Gerty Button story I can hear Harry chuckling under the bedclothes – and yet he claims he’s too old for stories at bedtime.

Then downstairs to the rest of the family, gathered in the warm circle of light from the lamp on the table, more talk and discussions, arguments even, but all too soon it’s the end of another day.

stepives
06-02-2013, 7:37 PM
INTRODUCTION.

My name is Elizabeth Allen, at a young age I had a daughter who was conceived and born out of wedlock. The father was the son of the landowner, who my father and family worked for.
The father denied all knowledge of our union, and it was up to me and my family to bring up my daughter the best we could.
My sister Maria got married, and offered to raise my daughter as her own, which would help me find work, farther afield and obtain a reasonable wage to help with her upkeep. So I put on my best clothes and shoes, and travelled by coach to the nearby town of Aylesbury., which was only 12 miles away, and gave me the opportunity to visit my daughter when I could get time off from my work.


I found a job as a barmaid servant, in the Crown Hotel, at the top of the market square, which was always busy most days, because of the livestock market and the general market on the square. It’s quite pleasant, but rather boisterous at times and the tips are good. Not much, but it helped towards my living expenses, and makes it possible for me to send money to my sister. The Hotel didn’t get much trade from letting out the rooms, and mostly they remain empty.
The hours were very long and tiring, but I enjoy myself in the smoked filled bars. There were a few times where hands would go in unwanted places, but that was the lot of a barmaid. A swift kick on the shin would usually do the trick, but one particular fella seemed to enjoy the pain. He was not unattractive, and had pleasantness about him, and a wonderful smile that would always catch my gaze. He’s a cheeky one, he is.
It was never an early start to the day, usually around 8 in the morning and not much before. The owner was always up early, and he would set the hot water boiler going for us to use, to clean and mop the floors and surfaces. As long as the place was clean for the start of the day’s trade, old ‘Windy’ Windsor, didn’t care what time we started, but if we didn’t get the job done, he went doo lally tap. That has only happened the once. Youz never seen a face go so red......and his eyes would shoot left and right, looking for more things to rave about. He was a good sort though.
It’s Saturday, our busiest day of the week, coz both markets are in full swing.....you could hear the bellows of the cattle in the pens, and that was over four hundred yards away. Odd times, the sheep would join in the chorus, but they did struggle to be heard. And with that lot, the chickens and those gorgeous looking ducks would do there bit to harmonise, but they was on the market square.
If youz never seen them Ducks, they’re a sight to behold....large white fat bodies, with a bright yellow beak. Seems a shame to eat the poor things, but they’re tasty alright. There a dozen or so cooking as I speak, but that’s not my lot, I can’t cook for toffee.........well, not that posh stuff. My sisters hubby breeds and deals in them Ducks, and he makes a fair living. I might get to see her today, if she’s here with him.......very rare though. I can see him from the window; he always gives me a wave if we catch each other’s eye. He won’t come in the Bar, as we’re all don’t take the drink in our family, except on the odd occasion at do’s. Funny that, coz I was born in a pub, and my Dad was the landlord.
My knees are giving me pain this morning, it’s these damn hard floors we got to scrub.......most are stone, but we got some with oak boards that are a bit easier on the knees. We still have to keep our eye out for that randy barman, Jacob......it’s not beyond him to creep up behind and grab a handful. He caught me once, but he got a good whack with the scrubbing brush.......saw stars he did. The other girls are more restrained, but I’ll let him have it on their behalf. If I told his missus, he’d get far worse....she’s a monster, about the size of decent bullock.
Cool day today, so I’ll set he fires going, I asked old ‘Windy, and he agreed. The sticks are in the yard, along with the logs, but it not easy to set them going........but today will be easier, as that old duck fat will get the fire roaring in no time. I’ll see how the day goes, if it gets any warmer, I’ll let them go. By tonight, it’ll be warm enough with all those bodies in here drinking.
Us girls, go and get changed and have a quick wash before the doors open up.........don’t want to be seen looking like farm hands, and worse, smelling like them as well.
It’s nearly 11 o clock, just time for us to snatch a cup of tea and a sandwich, or whatever’s left over from breakfast. My luck was in.......three bacon slices, first come first served. I’ll share it with the girls.......they do for me in the same way. Fresh baked bread......gawd, did we pig on that loaf after we cut the burnt crust off.
Right o, here I go. Windy has thrown open the doors, and those poor old parched throated men, fall in through the doors.........quite a few toffs amongst them today, and a good few losing their top hats in the rush. I doubt they’ll be fit for purpose, by the time they’re retrieved. Some of these toffs, haven’t the brains they were born with.
The tables fill up, and arms with fistfuls of money are waving in the air, trying to get my attention ahead of the other punters. I’ve got the left side of house today, looks like there’s some well dressed money on my tables, and hopefully good tippers.
Ok gents.......ale or spirit, name you’re poison. 7 ales and 4 gins.......and a large plate of tatties, and beef........and a whisky, came a timid cry. Poor little fella, he nearly got lost under the table. He’s the curiosity from the fair, forty inches in his socks, bless him.
Come on chaps......make your mind up, not as if you’ve got much choice. 9 ales, 3 gins......no make that 5 gins.
Jacob was pouring the beer, and setting the tankards on the bar as fast as it would pour. He had some help today, as Windy poured the spirit very carefully. These were set up on the back bar, so as not to get coloured by the beer that’s sloshing about.
Boys, boys, what is yours to drink.......4 ales and 4 ciders, and a gin. Plate of tatties, no beef.
And so the day was set, ales and gin, cider and tatties.......no Duck on my side, but it seemed to be going well in the snug. I would take a peek, when I had a moment, the cream of the crop all crammed in that tiny bar, and spending their money like it’s gone out of fashion.
The floor was wet with upset ale, the baccy pipes were puffing out their aromatic odour, coughing and choking filled the air with talk and laughter, raised voices shouting for more and more drink. And then the sound of a piano filled the air, and the place went as quiet as a graveyard. All the faces strained to see who was making this music, and from where was it coming. Emily was sat on the stool, and was gently stroking the keys of Windy’s prized possession. This was Windy’s ploy, to get the punters to quieten down, so we could shoot around and clear away the empties, and give the floor a quick wipe over with the mop. We even got a bit of time to catch our breath, and a short rest if we were lucky. 30 minutes pass, and Emily stands to great applause and showered with ha’pennies and pennies, the odd one thrown a bit too hard. She retreated upstairs, to her father’s sitting room, and to count her gifts of coinage.
Peace was over.......beer, beer, where’s the beer. So off we go once more, 8 ales, 5 gins........4 ales. 2 gins, 4 ciders and a whisky for the midget. 6 more ales, 8 gins.......5 ales. 6 ciders and a Brandy.
Brandy, who the hell has the money for brandy. And there he was, the fella who enjoyed his shins being kicked, with that wonderful smile on his face. I was under his spell, and I was almost helpless. I fetched his drink, and he pulled me onto his lap and put his arm around my slender waist. I must admit, I didn’t fuss too much, and enjoyed his attention. I sat there briefly, until Windy bellowed over the bar at me to get myself back to work. I stood up to go, and smiler grabbed my hand and thrust a note into my sweaty palm. I quickly put it in my pocket, and with a swoosh of my dress, I turned on my heels and was back to work.
The evening was late, and I was clearing the tables of the mess left behind by the day’s trade, but I had seen it worse. The other three barmaids were doing the same, but we made short work of it between us. Just a few stragglers were hanging on to their tankards, and seemed they had no home to go to. Come on boys, off you go.
That’s it, all clear of punters, except for a shaded figure in the doorway. I squinted my eyes, to see who it was. Mr.Smiley ‘sore shins’........how could I miss that smile. I walked over to him, and whispered in his ear to wait in the yard by the stables. Windy came through, and locked and bolted the doors, as I closed and latched the window shutters.
Okay girls, the day is done......off for supper and bed. We sat in the kitchen with Jacob, and picked through the remains of the Duck and tatties, of which there was aplenty for us to consume. A glass of warm milk and a small slice of fruit cake to finish off our late night meal.
I went up to my room and rinsed and washed my face, and dabbed some rose water here and there. Opening the window to the stable yard, I threw down a small piece of tile from the roof, at the dark shadow beneath.
He climbed up onto the stable roof, and across onto the lower roof above me, and slowly slipped down to my window. I stepped back, as he entered the window of my tiny room. He closed the window behind him, and turned to me with his beautiful beaming smile. I stepped forward, and slowly put my arms around his neck, and we kissed so passionately.
He stayed with me, in my bed that night, but when I awoke the following morning he was gone. I sat up in bed, and noticed a folded piece of paper on the candlestick. I opened the note, and inside was a message, and a folded five pound note.

The message read.....’I love you with all my heart, and have done since setting my eyes on you. Forgive my foolish and fumbled attempts at trying to get to know you better. I am shy at heart, but my heart is true, and last night I share my body with you. If and when, I return from South Africa, I would be dearly honoured if you would marry me. The money is for a ring, if that is your desire, but I apologise for not making purchase myself. With all my heart and soul, I will return'.

With dearest love, Edward'.


"COME ON GIRLS.!!!.....time to start work", came Windy’s command.

Coromandel
07-02-2013, 1:51 PM
Bristol, 5 October 1893

'The man was a French polisher earning 27s. a week'
The Man's 'ands are all brown an' 'e smells funny. 'e shouts if I go in 'is workshop.

'They lived at 22, Upper York street, St. Paul's . . .'
It's in that row over there. But I'm stayin' down 'ere, so the Woman don't see me.

I amn't 'lowed out most days, 'cept for fetchin' water, but the Woman's busy with the new babbie and she forgot to lock the door . . . so out comed I ! And what a lot I see'd!! Lamps bein' lit, men comin' to work at the factry (they make nails there), 'UGE cart'orses pullin' a dray full of barrels, a boy sellin' apples (shh! don't tell nobody, I put one in my pocket). It was a big a'venture. Now I'm waitin' for Bob to come back from school.

'. . . where they sold secondhand clothes and let lodgings.'
Most days I sit in the shop and fetch the Woman when someone wants to buy somethin'. Sometimes I go there at night too and sleep under piles of clothes. It's warmer there.

'They had three children.'
Bob ('e's nine) and Maggie (she's five). And me, 'Arriet Cavill. 'My little 'Attie', Uncle Tom called me.

'The little girl whose state was the subject of that inquiry was the middle of the three.'
I am seven years old, nearly seven and an'alf.

'On the 5th October the Inspector of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children visited the house and found the child in a dirty, filthy, horrible condition.'
Now Tom's gone away, gone for a so'dier. Now they call me Dirty B*****, Piss-the-bed, Nit-head.

'He asked the father where the child slept, and he showed him the cellar underneath the shop. It had an earth floor and was very damp, and a number of fowls and ducks were kept there.'
I like this one best: it follows me round and don't mind me cuddlin' it. The Man says don't get too 'tached to that thing 'cos it's for the pot soon.

'In a corner was an old mattress covered with filth . . . The bed clothes . . . consisted of a piece of rag.'
The Man and Woman and Bob and Maggie sleep upstairs. I amn't 'lowed to sleep with them.

'According to the man's statement the child had slept there a fortnight.'
I don't know what 'fortnight' means. I 'spose it must be ever such a long time.

'The child's face was covered with dirt, and her eyelids were almost stuck together. Her neck was covered with scratches, and on her head were several sores. She was infested with vermin, and her body was covered with dirt. Her clothes were saturated with filth.'
The 'Spector looked at me and shaked 'is head. He did some writin' in a little book.

'The child had for some time lived with her grandparents in Ireland, and that might be the reason why there should be some distinction showed between her and the other children.'
Nana's gone to live with Jesus, Uncle Tom said. Then 'e taked me 'cross the sea, to the Man and Woman. He said they's your real Ma and Pa. But Bob says I'm not his real sister.

After the 'Spector went the Man said 'You stupid child, what have you done now? Why can't you BEHAVE? I told you to stay inside. Why do you never listen? What will become of us all?'

'Cos I was bad I didn't 'ave no supper.
So 'ere I am sat in the corner in the dark.
Waiting for another day.
P'r'aps the door will be open again tomorrow?

- - - - - - - - -

Harriet's parents appeared at the Bristol Assizes in November 1893, charged with 'wilfully and cruelly neglecting their child'. At their trial they denied that the child habitually slept in the cellar. They claimed that she (or 'it' as the newspaper called her) was 'of filthy habits' but that 'every endeavour was made to keep it clean'. The judge criticised SPCC inspectors, saying that 'They must not interfere unless there was something flagrantly wrong.' Despite medical evidence that the child was 'in an emaciated condition' the parents were acquitted.

It is not known how long Harriet remained with them. She has not been found on the 1901 census. By 1911 she was a laundress in the 'refuge for penitent women' at the Good Shepherd Convent, Bristol. She remained there until her death in the 1930s. The circumstances surrounding her admission to the refuge remain to be discovered.

According to the authorised version of the family history passed down via Bob's children, there was no such person as Harriet.

stepives
08-02-2013, 1:07 PM
A day in the life of a housemaid.

Mr Wright, my employer, was thick set man and a master butcher. The mistress of the shop and house was his wife Sarah, she’s only ten years older than me, and I’m the wrong side of 16 years old. Mind you, old Mr Wright is nearly six years older than his wife, and he’s not gifted with the looks of a angel. But it takes all sorts, and the beauty is skin deep..........but his skin must be really thick. Gawd, if they caught me saying such things, I’d be for it. I will admit to being a rather cheeky little thing, but me heart is solid enough, it’s just me mind that’s a bit wayward.
I only live 3 houses away from the shop and house, so’s I don’t need to stay on the premises. But my mate, Eliza Twichen, who is also a housemaid there, has a room up top and is a long way from home, so it suits her.
Uncle John wakes me at 5 o clock, and I set the breakfast, while my Aunty Mary brings in the fresh milk from the cow........she got the hands of a man with all that milking she does. Mind you, my eight cousins aren’t shy of work, and they all pitch in with the buisness in hand. Tom, the eldest, we grew up together, and we was baptised on the same day so it was said. He looks out for me more like a brother, but he did play tricks on me the little devil. He’s past all that now, thank gawd, so I don’t need to check my clogs for those worms any more.
Uncle John and Tom, and his other son George, are out checking the animals, while the rest of us tuck in to out breakfast.
I help clear the table, then I skip upstairs to get ready for work........nearly a quarter to six, so I’d better get a move on. I swap my clogs for my boots and stockings......fine boots they are as well........all laced up at the front, but they take time to tighten. I change into my ‘blacks’, as I call ‘em, and and pin my lace headpiece to me head. On with me apron, and I’m just about ready for the off. Down the stairs and give aunty a quick peck on the cheek, and I’m out the door.
A few seconds later I’m at the butchers shop, and go next door to the house. Eliza is just setting the table for the Wright’s breakfast, so give her a hand to finish off. There’s only Mr & Mrs to set up for, as their three kiddies are only babies, the oldest is nearly four, the nurse is sorting them out. I do wonder why the need two house maids and a nurse, but I suppose it shows off the status, if that’s what it is. I leave ‘Lizzie’, and go to set the fires in the house, only three to sort out today........the parlour, dining room and the children’s bedroom. The Wrights don’t like a fire in their bedroom, even though the grate is there. But it takes all sorts I suppose. I’ll need to change my apron, would do to get my whites filthy dirty with soot and ashes. Down in the cellar, are the buckets and shovels, the mucky apron, as I call it, that’s hanging on the back of the door as I go up the steps to the hallway. I will say, I like setting the fires, as it gives life to a dark house.......too many trees outside for my liking, they cut out too much sunlight. I’m giving the surrounds a quick wipe over today, as I’d given them a good blacking the day before, and made ‘em shine like new pins, I did. The tiles in the reveals need a bit more care, as they are made from china, the same as the tea cups. Who’d have thought you could make tea cups from tiles, I ask.........funny world.
That’s the fires set, but I’d better keep an eye on them, coz the one in the dining room set a spark on the carpet the other day, and burnt a hole the size of a egg in it. The Lady wasn’t at all happy about it, and set Mr Cummings, the blacksmith, a task to make some screens for them all. I suppose that’s something else for me to clean. I best get washed again, as I don’t want mucky up her ladyships bed sheets. That water is cold from the water pump in the yard, even in mid summer. I’ll see if there’s a drop of hot water to be had from the kitchen, no doubt there will be, but I’ll see. Oh dear, I’ve forgot to put on my sleeve protectors, and my lace cuffs on my sleeves are all sooty.......best I sort them before I get inspected. Lizzie was busy washing the dishes from breakfast, so I helped myself to the kettle. She cut a look and smiled, and handed me a small piece of soap. She’s a diamond that Lizzie.
I cleaned myself up, and refilled the kettle before taking it back to the kitchen, saved Lizzie a trip, didn’t it. Told you I was cheeky. Back in my white apron, I headed upstairs to the masters bedroom to tidy up and make his bed. His room was never that untidy, just a quick strip of the bed, and little dusting, and a remake with clean sheets. Her ladyships room was a different matter, you’d think there been a hurricane gone through it, and emptied all the drawers and cupboards. And that new fangled face powder all over the dresser, like a bleeding snow storm it was. Oh well, lets to task. I’ll hang up the clothes and see what’s what........need to sort the dirties from the clean first, and that’s not easy you know. Such a drab lot of clothes she wears, hard to see what’s dirty, and what isn’t. Her undergarments are easy to spot, they’ll be off to Mrs Pauling, with the bed sheets. She has a thriving business in the village, and she employs three other washer women and five part timers. Mr Cummings has made some fine flat Irons for her to use, he’s a clever old sort.
The bed looks like it’s been trampled by a herd of cattle, and she’s only a slip of thing, what does she do all night to cause such a mess. Oh well, I’d better get on with it and take the dirties to Mrs. Pauling. I’ll beat the carpets tomorrow, as they don’t look dirty or mucky, just a few threads from her dresses to pick up.
I gather the washing in the baskets, and see if Lizzie and the Nurse have anything else to be washed. That’s the lot, so I’ll take the wee trolley and load on the baskets. Blimey these are heavy, one end at time is the way to go today, fair made me back break nearly. I trundle on down the road to deliver this load, only half a mile or so, and it’s a glorious sunny day, so I might take an extra bit of time and enjoy it. Here you go Mrs Pauling, do your best for her ladyship, and I’ll pick them up tomorrow evening as usual.
I’ll take a walk through the church yard, only a few minutes out of my way. I’ll gather some wild flowers from the verge, in readiness to put them on the graves, but I can’t linger too long, or madam will give me what for.
Hello Grampy, thought you’d like these little buds of flowers, you always liked them. Old George Parslow has nearly finished your headstone, so it won’t be long until your names been added to Granny’s. Shame she died so young, nearly thirty years ago now. You told me what she was like, and she looked the image of my mother, so that’s a comfort. Haven’t seen mother for over a year now, she must be so busy in her life. Anyway, I best get off, or I’ll be in trouble. Bye for now Gramps.

I put a spring in my step, as I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in the churchyard, but I needn’t have worried, nothing was said on my return.
Mr Wright came in from the shop, not a pleasant sight, all covered in blood from his butchering. He asked me to drop everything I’m doing, and would I mind helping in the shop. Lizzie looked at me, and she looked scared......I could see it in here yes.
I hadn’t set foot in the shop, except only to make purchase, but being the other side of the counter would be a whole new experience. He said there’d be a few more shillings at the end of next week in my wages, and maybe more if we could be successful. He told me not to worry about my outfit, as I could change into one of his wife’s dresses, which now had me scared as well as Lizzie. So I hurried upstairs to find the most suitable attire to wear in the butchers shop, which I duly found in the clothes I had earlier put away. It seemed the oldest dress there, but what did I know about their ages, but it was and seemed the best one. Plain, dark with no frills and bows.
I walked into the shop, and there was Mr Wright, who had cleaned himself up somewhat, and changed his apron. He handed me one of the same to wear, and assured me it wouldn’t be that necessary. I enquired the whereabouts of Mrs Wright, and he explained that her father was ill, and she had to rush off to Marlow. I bet Lizzie thought, he’d done her in, and it explained the bedroom disorder to pack a few clothes for her trip. I usually pack her stuff, if she goes on a trip, but I guess she was a great deal of hurry.
It was quite busy in the shop, or at least I think it was.......not being an expert in butchery goings on. I’m not of a feint heart, with all this blood about, having been employed by my Uncle to kill and pluck goodness knows how many chickens and ducks in previous years. Those feathers got everywhere, tickled they did. Got a bit easier when we scalded the carcass in hot water.
Oh look, here comes George Stevens, he’s got the eye for me so I been told. George is a tall fella, and he works on his father’s farm.......but they have started doing fruit you know, raspberries, gooseberries and the like, they’ve even extended the old orchard at the back of the farmhouse, which I believe has apple and a few pear trees.
Good afternoon Mr Stevens, I says.....I fair took him by suprise, coz he was expecting to see, and be served by Mrs Wright. That made his cheeks rosey up, I tell ya. Rather than speak, he pointed to some lamb shanks........How many I asked. He blurted out 8, in a rather loud voice. I will say, he’s got a lovely singing voice in church, sort of comforting deep tone, not bellowed out like the Vicar......he can’t sing for fudge, but he does his best. In all honesty, I am a bit taken with him, but I don’t let on......don’t want to seem too eager, do I.
Is that it, I asked.......he hesitated a reply, and looked to Mr Wright for a moment as he disappeared to the cold room.
May I visit you this evening, and maybe take a walk in the village. He spoke so quiet, I hardly heard him, but I nodded in agreement and handed him his pieces of lamb. He quickly turned and left, and he forgot to pay, the daft beggar. I wrote it in the book, and informed Mr Wright, when he appeared from the cold room. It’s alright, we settle up at the end of the month, he informed me. Ok, now I know the game of things.
Well Ruth, you did well today in the shop, and thank you for filling the gap left by my good woman. Just need to wash the floor down with some hot water, but I’ll do that.....you nip off home, and get ready for your visit from George, and with said, he gave me wink and a smile.
I went to the house to see how Lizzie was doing, she was having a cup of tea, so I joined her and told her my news. Blimey, she was more excited than I was, and giggled like a school girl. She’d got dinner in hand for all in the house, so it was obvious she was alright on her own. I left Lizzie to herself, and made my way home, but as I walked past the shop, Mr Wright thrust a package in my hands and waved me on my way.
Nearly 7 o clock, so I’d better get a jig on.....I need to eat and get ready for George’s arrival. I was getting a good bit of ribbing from my cousins, but Uncle John soon put them in order, as did Aunt Mary, who clipped young Tom’s ear for his cheek. Not that he fealt it, as it was just a reminder from his Mum to behave himself. I gave the parcel to Aunt Mary, who revealed the contents to be some nice pieces of lamb, that would stew up nicely for tomorrow night’s dinner. We sat at the table, and said grace, before we tucked into the meal at hand. Chicken and vegetables made a pleasant change from beef, of which Uncle John had plenty of. I made short shift of dinner, and went t my room to freshen up, and to my surprise there was a dress laid out on my bed.......it was Aunt Mary’s best dress, with all the trimmings......she was an expert lace maker, but I wasn’t too bad myself.
I shouted my thanks down the stairs, and more ribbing followed from those little tikes of cousins. All in good fun, so no harm. It seemed like minutes had past, before that knock on the door got me in a tizzy.......I was nearly ready, but these boots laces take some work. I grabbed my shawl, and threw it over my shoulders, and made my way down the stairs..........Georges jaw dropped to his chest. Close that mouth, before you catch flies, I said. Poor bloke, didn’t know where to put his face.
Uncle John asked Mary, to chaperone us..........No John, George will be safe enough with Ruth, and no chance of tricks with all those curtains twitching in the village, she said jokingly. We all had a chuckle about that, and so we carried on our way. George turned back, and invited the family for a drink at The Nags Head a bit later, after we’ve had our walk. You never seen so many nodding heads go at once.
We walked and talked, for what seemed hours......past the dovecot, and up through the church yard. I saw you here today, George said, don’t this place give you shivers. I’m alright with the dead, but are you. Nah, I’m fine day or night, there’s comfort here, and nothing to be scared of, I said. E walked up the footpath from the church, and nebbed over the wall to take a peek at the Vicar’s house. Quite a grand house it was, and the garden seemed well tended. The vicars son was at the piano, with the family gathered around him. The Vicars voice is still rotten, but who cares.....they’re enjoying themselves.
We walked up past the bakehouse, where Georges Uncle was still at work kneading the dough for tomorrows bake. A friendly wave, with a wink and a nod, as we passed his ghostly appearance.
At the top of the lane, we turned left along the main road.......it’s an aweful mess at the moment, as the town council have ordered, that the road be diverted slightly, to take the it away from house frontages, as well as Chestnut farm, just past the pub, and a new turnpike to be set up.
We walked in to The Nags Head, it was warm and friendly, and filled with laughter and jollity. Seemed all the characters were out tonight. I walked into the salon, and George hung back at the bar to make purchase. Must be the night for romance, as there were a fair few of my old school mates with their beau’s. This made good company, for me and George, as we all grew up together, pretty much. George passed me my glass of beer, while his hand embraced his own. We talked and laughed about all sorts of things, and mostly about our school days. We got up to tricks alright, but not too bad to get collared.
Soon after, the rest of my family rolled in, and George dug deep in his trouser pocket. Uncle Jon stayed in the bar, while the rest squeezed into the snug. Oh it was fun, all these happy and smiling faces, without a care in the world it seemed.
Sorry George, I must get home now......a very early start tomorrow. I’ll walk with you, said Aunt Mary....... Uncle John won’t be far behind us.
Ten minutes later, we were home, and George and I stood at the door, as Aunt Mary walked in. He kissed my hand, and I kissed his cheek......I fair took him by surprise again. Good night George, no doubt we’ll see a lot more of each other. George replaced his cap on his head, and slowly backed away to the gate, before turning to go through it, and walk down the lane.
Watch out for the spookies......I said. He smiled and vanished into the night.
I sat at the kitchen table with Aunt Mary, my mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts........she held my face, and gently kissed my forehead.
Now that is a day you won’t forget my girl.

Mutley
08-02-2013, 11:50 PM
A shocking tale!

That’s St. Saviour’s bells, I can hear, ‘tis midnight, time for me to be orf to work.
Now where are me boots? I think under the bed but I’d best be careful, the chamber pot is there also and there is but no moon tonight, better for working but not for finding me boots.

By god it’s cold, I’m right taken with me new flannel drawers, they reach from me neck to me ankles and they fair keep me warm but I could do with anuvver pair, must be a good three months now that I’ve been wearing these. Mebbe when the summer comes I’ll be able to take them orf and the ‘ospital might find me anuvver pair from a toff that don’t need them no more.

I’ll want me tot tonight, I will, probably more than one – that doctor fellow is generous with the ale but not so with ‘is cash. Can be a bit tight he can and I do ‘ave my expenses. I keep telling ‘im, “I ain’t doing no Burking”. I could do with a new spade an all. Wooden ones are quieter but they don’t last as long.

I checked out ole John’s story this afternoon. Cost me four pots and 5s at the Red Lion but it’s worth it.
Two young girls were found dead, huddled together in a dingy tenement. They were only young uns, though one was with child, but not much older than a child ‘erself. They were both ravaged by syphilis and ‘orribly disfigured. I doubt they made enough to eat, let alone afford the Mercury treatment. They will be buried togevver in a shallow unmarked pauper’s grave. There are many in the 'single women's burial ground', they was once known as the "Winchester Geese" from the stews that was. Poor lost souls denied a Christian burial in graves unconsecrated. Me an John wandered around the Cross Bones and he give me the nod, that one there. I know this place well enough. Tonight’s work will be worth a good few bob to the nobs.

I’ve to meet his nibs at 2.00 of the morning in Chapel Court, I’ve a cousin that lives there and ‘e’ll cover if I need it but I doubt there will be any trouble. The ‘Bobbies’ don’t roam this area, that’s for sure! I’d best be orf. ‘Sir’, does not like to be kept waiting.

‘Tis quiet tonight so I can get on with me work. The soil is soft and though I’ve normally only 18 inches to get through, ole John as promised me an easier dig tonight wivout any lime. He also left the gate open so I don’t ‘ave to get back over the high wall wif the glass on top, wouldn’t ‘ave managed that wif two of ‘em in tow. The night watchman has had enough pots to knock out a shire so he will be out cold. These poor lasses won’t have any family to keep watch or build a mortsafe to keep them intact.

Nearly done now, best be careful, I always return the effects so I ain’t doing no wrong. I’ve got me principles I ain’t into nicking their stuff and they ‘ave the right to keep what was precious to them. Mortal remains don’t belong to no one. Sadly, these two had nowt but mebbe one day, society will learn from them and a little bit of knowledge will come from the likes of us that strive to make a living in whatever way we can. I feel for these young girls, that I do.

Gently does it, got the ropes around, now haul ‘em into the sacks, treat ‘em kindly, I ‘opes their spirits will rest in peace somewheres. Onto me barrow, quick like and I’m away. Get thee going Joseph, you’ve got to push it through the Borough yet, though these two lasses don’t weigh much at all.

Blimey, ‘Sir’ will be coming along Park Street in ‘is carriage soon, he’ll ‘ave been up West, I’ll just make it in time. He has a box on the back of ‘is gig, it takes but a few minutes to lift the sacks in and then I gets me money.

The good doctor fellow ‘as paid ‘ansome and is well pleased with me nights work. Perhaps I’ll retire though I need to call in at the ale house and drown a few pots to forget the horrors of this night. I’ll return later in the morning to me beloved wife Mary, afflicted with the melancholia after the death of dear Elizabeth, our thirteenth child. This is not the way I ever thought I’d make a living, so I would change it if I could but me family comes first and in these difficult times – I pray that the end sometimes, justifies the means.

1832 - A night in the life of a Resurrectionist in Southwark, London.


There's a big rusty iron gate adorned with ivy, ribbons, flowers, feathers, jewellery, other curious totems and a bronze plaque picturing a goose about to take flight with the epitaph: 'R.I.P. The Outcast Dead'.
www.
crossbones.org.uk/

susan-y
09-02-2013, 4:26 AM
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF EVERETT THOMPSON, A MEMBER OF THE YUKON FIELD FORCE

CHRISTMAS DAY 1898
FORT STEELE, KLONDIKE, YUKON TERRITORY CANADA


First of all here is a bit of background about me.
I was born in 1872 in Glanford, Ontario. I am the 6th of 16 children, sadly 2 brothers have passed away and one of the triplets was stillborn .
I have worked hard on the farm all my life and recently joined the Canadian Militia serving with the Royal Canadian Artillery ( Permanent Force) . I am one of 203 men selected to form the Yukon Field Force.
We arrived at Fort Steele this past October after the longest journey of my life. We travelled across Canada on the train arriving in Vancouver in June. Once in Vancouver we were sent north on a steamer ship to Wrangell, Alaska. Then we transferred to a river ship and proceeded to Glenora and then to Telegraph Creek, British Columba.. Finally we were back on dry land and that’s when the trip really began. It then took us 2 more back breaking months hauling our supplies with the help of pack horses and mules and our own man power over land and mountains until we reached Teslin Lake. We then had to build scows and small boats to navigate the river until we reached Fort Selkirk where are barracks are set up., although we spend most of our time in Dawson City, helping the Northwest Mounted Police keep law and order and also guarding the gold shipments..


Good morning…..!

Today is Christmas. It certainly looks like Christmas! All this snow and is it ever cold! The snow is squeaking under my boots and I had to chop a hole in the bucket of water with the axe this morning before I could make some tea. It is dark! It will be dark almost all day so things should be peaceful in this land of greed and ill repute. Because it is Christmas no one will be transporting gold so I shouldn’t have anything to guard today.

I am missing my family this morning. When you come from a family as large as ours Christmas is a time to get together. My parents were married Christmas Eve in 1862. Our family is poor, but at Christmas we always had candy for a treat and along with the turkey ( one of our own) my mother made a delicious round plum pudding…English style. None of that up here in the cold and dark.


Good afternoon…!
Everyone needs a bit of time for themselves on this special day. After our Christmas service conducted by the local chaplain I went for a walk. Although there is snow, it is not too deep, even in the thicker forest. As I strolled through the twilight which is daylight for this time of year when you are so far north in Canada I met a few of God’s creatures. A majestic moose drank his fill from the fast flowing stream and several small birds flitted from tree to tree. Somewhere the wolves were howling sending shivers up my spine, but it is Christmas and a time to appreciate this great country we live in and thank God for our riches in life. The peacefulness of the mountains and forests make the day feel very spiritual.

Everyone needs a bit of time for themselves on this special day. After our Christmas service conducted by the local chaplain I went for a walk. Although there is is snow, it is not too deep, even in the thicker forest. As I strolled through the twilight which is daylight for this time of year when you are so far north in Canada I met a few of God’s creatures. A majestic moose drank his fill from the fast flowing stream and several small birds flitted from tree to tree. Somewhere the wolves were howling sending shivers up my spine, but it is Christmas and a time to appreciate this great country we live in and thank God for our riches in life.

We had our Christmas dinner at noon when there was a bit of brightness to the sky. The cook had several succulent grouse and a large piece of moose meat on the fire, along with our daily ration of beans and we have managed to save a few potatoes to have with it. In this cold, desolate place fresh vegetables are very few and some folks are starting to show signs of scurvy. I sure miss the pit we have dug on our farm at home which will contain a lot of our summer harvest from the garden. What I wouldn‘t give for some green cabbage or crunchy carrots!

It’s now evening!

There’s a young English chap, ’bout the same age as my brother George, who is a clerk at the Canadian Bank of Commerce who is writing poetry of his experiences in the Klondike. Today for a special treat he recited some of his poems around the fire. His name is Robert W. Service. I do believe some day these poems will make him famous! I have always enjoyed poetry and listening to Robert today was a nice escape from listening to disgruntled miners fighting over a gold claim when any of any value have already been snapped up.

I am looking forward to learning to mush a team of sled dogs… I can manage a team of horses so a team of dogs should be a breeze….Next Christmas I will diary that event.

Some of the other chaps were hoping some of the dancehall girls would put on a performance for us…just because it is Christmas, but sadly it was not meant to be. This evening has been spent in the barracks as usual, playing cards with the other chaps by lantern light. All in all, a pretty good Christmas Day!

We were, however given a dram of whiskey for a special treat and I savoured mine when I got back to the barracks to prepare for the night.
Soon I shall be snuggled in bed with several layers of clothing to keep warm and I will dream of Christmas with my family in Ontario and perhaps of Christmases to come with family of my own. My oil lamp is running low so I will blow it out and retire now.

The Yukon Field Force was established from infantry, artillery and cavalry and were based in Fort Selkirk, Yukon and Dawson City Yukon to help the North-West Mounted Police maintain law and order during the heyday of the Klondike gold rush. Eight out of ten people in the Yukon at this time were American and this posed a huge threat to the security and sovereignty of Canada. ( from the Canadian Encyclopedia)

Everett Thompson was one of my great uncles. His brother James was my paternal grandfather and was one of the first white men to smoke a peace pipe with the native Indians in the town of Lytton, BC.
When Everett’s time in the Yukon was finished he returned to southern Ontario and married Etta Nelles in June of 1903. Etta died in 1931 and Everett married Margaret Jamieson in 1935. He worked for General Electric for 41 yers and was known as E.T. to his co-workers. Although Everett and his wives never had any children he loved children and was very involved as a Sunday School teacher for over 35 years and with his 2nd wife’s great nieces. I never met Everett as I grew up in BC and he was in Ontario, but one of those great nieces was my classmate at the small college I went to and I got to learn a lot about him and see many pictures. ( small world!) Everett died in 1965 and yes, he really did meet Robert Service in the Yukon! ( The poetry reading is fictional…..maybe!)

Sue

stepives
09-02-2013, 5:15 AM
I’ve been waiting for this day for years and years; at last my Mother is tying the knot. She’s been a single mother too long I reckon, about time she had company after all this time.
It’s a bit strange though, she marrying her nieces and my cousin’s father in law. Talk about keeping it all in the family. Strange where love takes you I suppose. She’s known him for ages, and his wife Fanny. And what’s even more strange than that, my sister Mary has married my mother’s fiancé’s son. It fair gives my head a spin, as who is who in the family.
My sister Mary never met her father, a bit like me I suppose. All mother knows, his name was Edward, and he went to South Africa and never came back. She looked for his death in the papers, but it was a bit of loss without a last name. Mother says Mary has got his smile, and I will say it lights up a room when she walks in. Almost as pretty as me she is.........but her smile is a joy. She got the ring that her dad bought for mother, but mum never wore it, just kept it on chain around her neck until Mary got married.
Mother never let on who my father was, so there must be some ill feeling somewhere along. It has been embarrassing on the odd occasion, no more so when the Vicar asked for my father’s name at my marriage to George. So me and Mary are in the same boat I suppose, not a father to be seen between us, but we turned out alright. I had it easier then Mary I suppose, my Uncle John & Aunt Mary brought me up, ‘cause Mother was always working away in Aylesbury in some posh Hotel. Mary was in the workhouse for 4 years or so, as Mother couldn’t stay at the Hotel with a kiddie.......but she got through it all ok, I think.
My daughter Julia is going to be a bridesmaid for her Grandma.........she’s nearly four years old now, so I hope she behaves herself. Her dress was made by Aunt Mary, but I did all the lace trimmings for it, and embroidered the little pink roses on it. It looks a treat. Mothers dress is rather plain, but she says at her age, anything fancy is just too showy. She is over fifty years old, so she may have a point......but she sure doesn’t look it. I think old John Orchard has got good catch there.......I say he’s old, but he’s ten years younger than mother........just hope Mother hasn’t fibbed about her age. Oooh, I got the giggles now thinking about that.
George cleaned the carriage this week, but he had to borrow a pair of horses, as one of ours went lame, and we can’t use a stranger with old sooty, because he’s a bit peculiar like that. Anyway, George says you can’t mix a strange horse in a pair, but what do I know......a horse is a horse, as far as I’m concerned. He’s at them as I speak, he’s doing a good job with them.......he’s plaited their manes, polished their hooves......they do look a treat, I must say. I’ll give them a woman’s touch closer to the wedding this afternoon. Mr Cummings, the blacksmith had to repair the carriage, something to do with the wheel hub.......whatever that is, but he says he’s done a temporary job, as the whole thing needs replacing in the near future. Knowing Mr Cummings, his temporary fixes last for years.
Mothers having a moment of panic, she’s lost her new stockings somewhere........they can’t be far away, not as if they got legs and run off. I can see them from here, and I’m sat in the doorway taking the sun, and watching my man brushing the horses. I suppose I’d better get them, before she has a real turn. Here you are Mother, but you won’t need them yet, as it’s over 4 hours before you get wed. You have plenty of time, so calm down and come and sit a while with me, and I’ll make a pot of tea for us all. She almost swallowed her words, when she said.......’how do you know how I feel’, and then burst out laughing. She is genuinely a funny woman, always having a laugh. Mary says she should be on stage as a comedienne. And talking of Mary, here she comes from next door; she must have caught up on the gossip. I’ll pour her some tea, and give George a call so he can join us. He’ll no doubt take his mug, and sit with the horses, and leave us women to natter. Our daughter Julia seems content today, she has plenty to amuse herself with in the garden. Just hope the contentment last’s through the service later this afternoon. She made no fuss at her baptism, she slept right through it. Oh well, time will tell.
Mother has arranged a man that will take photographs of her wedding.......he’s fairly new to the town, and he has a small studio at the end of Duke Street. He’s been there about three months now, I think, and by the look of the pictures in the window, he does a good job. I daren’t ask mother the cost of such things, but it will be nice to have more than memories. I’ll ask George if we can ask the man, if we can have some extra ones done of our family. They will look nice on our parlour wall. I wonder if he could get our whole extended family in one picture, now that would be nice. Nearly all the family will be leaving from here for the church, so hopefully we can have a picture taken in garden. I’ll nip around and see what he says.......I best ask George first.
My George is a treasure; he likes the idea, and says it will be something to leave our Great Grandchildren. I wonder how many we will need, and how many Grandchildren will we have. Oh, and I have some news for George, but I’ll tell him after my Mother has wed.
Four pounds and three shillings and four pence, I think that is too much, but George says that’ll be alright. I didn’t ask how many pictures he will be taking, but I would guess there’ll be plenty.
More tea Mother, and how about you Mary, more for you. I’ll make another pot, because I’m sure Mister tea belly out there, will like another mug full. Mary is brushing Mothers hair, and when she is ready, I’ll plait it and raise it in a bun. It will show off her slender neck, and her string of pearls that her John has bought her. I would think Mothers figure hasn’t changed much at all since her early years. One thing I do know, she’s never worn those horrendous bone stays to keep her figure. He’s always had a slender waist as far as can remember, and it runs in the family, because Mary and l have a waist most women would kill for. Oh, that sounds so vain.......but some of the sights I’ve seen, where women have squashed their waist line so much that the rest of their body, above and below, has expanded. They can hardly breathe, and walk like a stuffed chickens. Oh there I go, being rude and cheeky still. One day I’ll be overheard, and vengeance will be swift.
Mother hair is thick, but as soft as silk. A dark nutty brown in colour, with the tell tale signs of ageing.......grey in other words. I can sort that out, so she’ll not have to worry about that today. Mary has put it in one large plait, to keep it tidy for now, but I’ll arrange it later before she goes to the church. I take George his mug of tea and by now Julia is in the carriage, and enjoying her father’s attention. He dotes on her at every free moment; you can see the joy in his face as he makes her chuckle with funny faces. He sings her lullabies at night, and you can hear his mellow voice throughout the house. It’s not the first time I’ve took a nap, listening to the sound of his voice. Perhaps he should be on stage, as a second act to mother.
Two hours to go, till mother gets wed. Still no urgency to get ready. The Church is only two minutes walk away, or three minutes carriage ride, I can’t see why mother needs the carriage really. Oh well, it’s her day, so she’ll do as she pleases. We have a new Vicar at the church, well a curate, he’s been with us nearly a year now, George King is his name. We’re waiting for a new Vicar, but I would think Mr King might be with us a good while, as he seems to be well liked. He can also sing far better than the previous Vicar, so that maybe why. I’m not sure of the politics, regarding curates and vicars, but I would guess it would be money, I don’t know and neither care, as long as he meets all our needs and we’re all happy with our lot. His only misfortune, if I can call it that, is he is rather on the short side. It is not a problem whilst he’s in the pulpit, but when he’s not; he seems to vanish in thin air. We can hear his voice very well, but it hurts the eyes when straining to see him. There I go again, my cheek runneth over.
It looks like my mother and Mary have dozed off in the sunlight........oh, and Julia has fallen asleep in George’s arms. What a scene of tranquillity to behold. I think George will soon be off, I can see his eyes giving way. I’ll take a walk to the church, and see what preparations are left.
Hello Grandpa and Granma, I bet you’d never see the day of our daughter’s marriage. Seems funny me saying that. I’m sure she’ll be happy, as you know John, and were always fond of him as a child, as mother recollects. I see Mary has given you fresh flowers, they do look better in a vase, and last that bit longer. Julia comes to see you, but she’s unaware why at present, given her age. But I’m sure she’ll carry on, once she understands your significance to us all. Bye for now will see you later. Oh that’s really pretty; the posies at the end of each pew look really wonderful. I have never seen that done before. Blue bells and daisies, extremely pretty. Mrs Angood has done a marvellous presentation for mother, and all of us it seems. And more cushions on the pews, someone has been really busy this week. I could never understand, why pews should be so uncomfortable, when we go to church for comfort. I think comfort of the body is as important as comfort of the soul. I just hope they remain forever. I best get back and wake the bride and bridesmaid.
I’ll just prepare a some bits of food to eat, as it will be a good while before get the chance again. Cheese and apple, and a few slices of bread and butter that should keep us going. I’ll make more tea to wash it down. Mother, Mary, George......come and join me in the kitchen. George carries Julia in his arms, but she is awake and her eyes are drawn to the apples. We sit at the table, and pick at the food with our fingers; it’s a far better way to enjoy these small morsels before us. I’ll pour, says Mary.......who has sugar. George clears away, as us women get ready for the big moment.
Julia will be last to get ready, as I want her looking clean and tidy at the last moment. Come on mother, sit at the mirror, and I’ll set your hair. I undo the plait and comb through her hair once more. I divide her hair into for bunches, and make each a plait, I then curl each one to the back and side of her head. Using egg white and a good many hair pins, I manage the task in hand. Told you mother, easy easy. What do you think? Her head turns left and right, and she gives me a smile and a nod......that will be fine, that’s grand enough. Mary and I are just having one plait in our hair, so we do each others, as we have done before. Two ribbons of pink and white, and our hair is done. Mother asks where her ribbons are, but I have a surprise for her. Let’s get your gown on, and then I’ll sort you something special.
Her gown was a simple affair, cream in colour, with large flowing lace cuffs, a high neck with a lace trim. Buttoned from the front, in two rows from the waist to the shoulders. A lace train from the shoulders just short of the floor. The train has small pink flowers embroidered all over the lace, with a very thin pale green lace edging. Her Lace gloves match the train, with the same flowers and green trim. Opening the wardrobe door, and I removed mother’s veil from the rail. Her eyes lit up at the sight of this gossamer like spiders web of silk lace.......it was almost a mist over her face, as it was so fine. Her face said it all, a vast beaming smile, and not a word said. She was speechless for the first time in her life.
Ok Mary....let’s get ourselves done, while mother gathers her wits. It took us a few minutes, as we were well rehearsed. Here’s our shoes mother, all of us with matching shoes, covered in cream silk. We stood together and looked in the mirror. Job done I say......said mother.
Julia had sat there watching us in amazement.......your turn, I said. She stood up and waited for her dress to be lowered over her head.......it was almost the same as mothers, but it had less flowers and no train. Her hair was a shock of curls, and was gently brushed just to tidy it up. A lace bonnet topped her off.......beautiful.
Mother waited upstairs, as the rest of girls went down to a house full of relatives, you never seen such a site of country toffs. My man George looked a peach, smart as a new pin. Mrs Angood had brought our bouquets around, and quickly ran off to get ready herself.
Ok you lot, out the back for a photograph or two. The all filed out the back, nearly thirty of them in all. George had set a few chairs for us ladies to park ourselves. Mr Forcette, had already set his machine up ready for the taking of out portraits, or whatever you’d call them. The mother walked out, and you could hear the intake of breath. She’s a stunner alright.
Six pictures and we’re done, it seemed to take forever.........don’t move, hold your breath, don’t blink.......we were close to corpses by the time he took them things. He quickly gathered his machine up, and he and his assistant headed for the church.
Then mother dropped it on us.........’George, we’re all walking to the church, but I’d appreciate very much, the use of the carriage from the church to our supper. Is that alright’.
‘Okay Ma......fine with me’.....said George. ‘Just need to get them out of harness, and in the stable. I’ll keep the tack on them for later.’
So after a few minutes, we filed out of the house and gathered in the road to sort us all out in order. Mother in arm with George, then Julia behind mother, and Mary and I followed on. Everyone else fell in line of two. Looked like a military parade, but so much better.
We walked down the footpath to the church, and there was Mr King to greet us.
Just before we walked in, mother turned and stroked our faces, Mary, Julia and myself. Mother, daughters, and Granddaughter. What a day it was.

Hilda Woodley
09-02-2013, 6:44 AM
REBECCA ELDERKIN born in Cambridge in 1879, the youngest of 6 children of Isaac Elderkin and Ann Elizabeth Longland. The family managed well enough in the slum conditions of those times and Rebecca grew up in a happy and loving home but, in March 1882 her older sister Francis Mary and brother Herbert Isaac died . Everything changed when in June her mother died of TB. From that time life became very difficult for Isaac having to work and care for two young boys and three year old Rebecca so, in desperation, he sought the help of the Community Sisters who, at that time, operated a school in Cambridge. The Sister who knew Rebecca wrote in the Whitsuntide 1892 edition of East and West (the Magazine of the Community)

“Whilst working, some ten years ago, in the slums of Cambridge, Becca first came under our notice. It was in this way. We had a little unpretentious Church School for the poorest of the children in the parish in which we worked, there being none other near, except the higher grade National, where the fee was ninepence per week (a School Board was unknown in Cambridge then). Attached to our humble “College” as we used to call it in our fun, was a special class for infants, whom we admitted at the tender age of two years, for the sake of relieving the mothers whilst they were at work at the Colleges, properly so called.
At the school door, one morning, there appeared a man, who said he was a bricklayer's labourer (Isaac), and with him were three boys and Becca. The Sister informed the man that the school-room was full, and the most she could do was to admit the two younger ones (Percy Thomas and Rebecca), and advised him to send the boys, of ten (William) and eleven (Robert) years, to a Boys School. But the man and the elder boys were not so easily disposed of. He stood and pleaded and pleaded till he got his way. What woman's heart could stand against their having no mother, no-one to do for them, to see after them in the streets, if the elder boys had to go farther away, and the speech ending something to this effect - “I did think if I brought them to you, you would mother them a bit?” So room had to be found and enquiries made. No; none of them were baptized. He had belonged to the Wesleyan persuasion. Yes; he would come to Church and he would have his children baptized, and he had no objection to either (All four children were baptized on 18 December 1882). He did not know whether Becca was two or three years old, but her birthday was on some day in August. Of course, a frock had to be found for Becca's Baptism, and thus early she developed the besetting sin of her sex, and would not submit to having the old one put on, the next day, till nearly noon.
One morning, soon after this, she was again missing from school, and Sister was told that Becca was ill. The Sister went to see her, as soon as possible, and found her suffering from inflammation of the lungs, and utterly refusing to take any nourishment. The poor little thing was never strong, and was also deformed. It seemed that on leaving school the children had all gone to play by the river; that Becca had tumbled in; was fished out, and attended to by a kind neighbour, who left her in bed when she went to her duties in one of the Colleges; but that the boys, afraid of their father's anger, and hoping to conceal the matter from him, directly she was gone had got the child up and dressed her in some of the clothes, when only partially dried. Do not be hard on them – they were only boys, and certainly did not know what they were doing; and we are well aware that the poor little mite was never intentionally treated unkindly by them. To go back to Becca, we felt in rather a fix about her, as it was impossible to nurse her in her own home, not to speak of necessaries or comforts – there was not accommodation for a female. The doctor was consulted, and it was decided there was as much risk to leave her where she was as to move her to better surroundings. The father stood out against the Hospital, said she was sure to die if taken there, and that his sister (I believe this should read wife) had died there, and that was enough for him – so we took her to our own home; a Sister carrying her safely wrapped up in an old wadded quilt like a bundle. A good deal came with her, uninvited, that was very objectionable: the poor little creature was as dirty, in every sense of the word, as could be. She shrieked at the sight of water, and no wonder; but coaxing and petting, and an appeal to vanity, eventually won the day, and accomplished what was necessary, and in a few days the transformation was great. Her father was astonished: he could not think what had been done to make her look so nice, and said he never knew before she had such pretty hair; and neither did we. For some wise purpose, the little one's life was spared, but the weakness and delicacy were insurmountable. Better food was not appreciated. Becca craved for the fleshpots of her Egypt, and was constantly crying out for cabbage, “b'ed and d'ipping,” and “d'ops of tea.” How to let her go back to her Egypt we did not know. The late Mother Superior came to the rescue. In one of her visits to Cambridge at this time, she saw the fragile little creature; interviewed the father, who thankfully accepted her offer of taking the child to Ditchingham; and here she has been ever since, till a few weeks ago, when God in His wisdom and love removed her to a still better home. When first taken to Ditchingham, she was received at the Hospital till she was strong enough to be with the other children at the Cottage; and here her short life, a happy little one too, has been spent, loving and loved, for she was a general favourite. Christened Rebecca, “Becca” was left behind at Cambridge, and became “Rebie” at Ditchingham, and had a birthday found for her – St Bartholomew's Day, 24 August – and the change in the name was not greater than the change in the appearance of their owner, for never did child respond more to, or rise more with, its better surroundings. One of the Sisters communicated with the father from time to time, and kept alive the child's remembrance of him, till she could write herself. She managed to do this when she was six or seven years old, and anxiously looked for what we thought and said would be her first letter that the postman had brought her; but the childish epistle was returned, and caused a great deal of pain in the little one, in spite of our trying to make her think it was grand to have a letter on H.M.S. And so the father was lost sight of; the Sister who knew him thought he must be dead, but did not, of course, impart this fear to the child; but, consequently, the remembrance grew fainter, and except the mention of him in her little prayers, he was seldom spoken of, as time went on. “ (Isaac had remarried and moved to another part of Cambridge with his younger sons, Percy Thomas was my husband’s Great Grand father)

Excerpt from the Hospital report.
“Among our patients last year was R.E., a dear little girl of about eleven, who has been under the shelter of All Hallows since she was three years old, and of whom some mention has been made in the account of our Industrial Home.
Always of a delicate constitution, during the latter part of last year she began to waste away rapidly, so she was brought to the Hospital, to be under medical treatment; but no skill or care availed to arrest the progress of the disease, and it soon became evident that her young life was drawing swiftly to its close.
Loving, patient, and contented, industrious, and ever ready to help others to the utmost of her declining powers, she became a great favourite in the ward, and with the visitors to the Hospital.
One of them, an eminent novelist (believed to be Ryder Haggard), who was settled in our neighbourhood, was unwearied in his loving attentions to the frail little creature, and often sent his children to see her, and bring her little gifts. The very day she died, he happened to come, as he often does, to visit the patients. Knowing the child would like to see her kind friend once more, he was taken to her bed-side.
It was touching to see the tall man, in all the vigour of his manhood, bending tenderly over her, supporting her on his strong arm while she drank a few drops of stimulant, the only nourishment she could take, then laying her gently back on her pillows, bidding her farewell with a kiss, as lovingly as he might have done to one of his own little ones.
Little R., industrious to the last, only laid aside her needle the day before she died; and even with her failing breath, never omitted the gentle “Thank You,” which had always followed every little service rendered to her.
R. shared gladly in the ministrations of the kind Chaplain who ministered so faithfully and unwearingly to the spiritual needs of our patients. “

Extract of the Entry from the Burial Register of Ditchingham.
Rebecca was buried on 3 March 1892 recorded as age 11. (she was 13 years old)

Rebecca is buried in the Parish Cemetery of the church at All Hallows, all the early Sisters are buried there in one corner and Rebecca is amongst them. Her grave has a smaller cross than the Sisters.

The words 'In loving memory' are still visible. The rest of the inscription is covered by grass with just the words

Rebie Elderkin
Fell Asleep 27th Feb 1892


Compiled in remembrance of Rebecca Elderkin, by Hilda Woodley, wife of John Henry Damerall Woodley, great grandnephew of Rebecca from information kindly provided in April 2010 by Sister Rachel of The Community of All Hallows, Ditchingham.

pippycat
10-02-2013, 12:33 PM
A day in the life of Elizabeth.

It was the shouting and arguing that woke me up, again, its very dark so must still be night. My parents are both drunk and fighting again. Happens all the time but now I can hear Grandmother shouting as well, she usually stays in her room but it must have been the sound of things crashing and breaking that made her join in.

Now I'm awake, scared and cold, 2 coats on the bed are not enough to keep me warm and I can't sleep with all that going on.
Not that it matters because I know in a while I shall be very warm with him lying on top of me - oh please, I pray, don't let him come in here again, I don't like it.
Maybe the prayers of a 4 year old don't get through because 'it' happens all the time...but thats what fathers do and I expect there are other little girls like me who wish it would stop.

The next morning my parents seem different to last night, they even walk without falling over and seem the best of friends as they go off to work.
We are left with Grandmother. She clears up the mess and gives my brother his breakfast - a huge bowl of porridge and milk, it looks lovely, and I have a piece of dry bread. At 4 years old you don't complain, especially to HER.

I know Grandmother is going out because SHE is putting her shoes on and my brother already has his coat on. Its not fair, I would like to go with them, but I never do because SHE doesn't like me.
I can hear the front door closing from this tiny dark coal cellar where SHE leaves me. It smells and is all lumpy to sit on. Its not cold but you can't move around much - its worse after the coal man has made a delivery, sometimes theres only a tiny gap to sqeeze into after the door has been shut.

I hope they aren't out for too long, I'm scared and eating coal makes you thirsty.. Its so dark and I know there are spiders, they sometimes scuttle across your legs. But I've been told not to make a sound ("or else") so I scream quietly inside. If Im lucky I fall asleep and don't know where I am.

I'm always in trouble when SHE comes back, my clothes are dirty and if I've wet myself she slaps me saying you can't put wet coal on the fire...and SHE is so rough with that flannel on my face.

I wish my parents were home, I don't care if they are both drunk because thats when I get something to eat and SHE stops pinching and slapping me.
We had stew with lots of my favourite carrots, and I had a big cup of milky, almost tea, to myself...that soon washes away the coal dust.

SHE sits in HER chair in the corner and listens to the wireless. My brother shows me his new colouring book and crayons and says I can colour a picture. Im going to do the big flower with red and the leaves green, I like red.
My parents are upstairs shouting and fighting, its probably over the bottle of "cough medicine" they share. They must always have a cough to be drinking that medicine all the time.....but it doesn't matter because Im going to do some colouring. Till SHE takes away the book saying I will only break the crayons.
I start crying because I so wanted to use the red crayon, but she slaps me and tells me to go to bed...you don't argue with HER.

Elizabeth didn't start school till she was over 5 years old, and this was her life day in day out...night in night out.

One day SHE punched 6 yr old Elizabeth hard enough to show bruises on her face.
The bruises and red eyes from crying were at last spotted by her parents and that evening it all came out.
Her brother said Elizabeth was locked in the coal cellar every time they went out, SHE was always hitting her and never gave Elizabeth anything to eat or drink.
SHE had threatened her brother with dire things if ever he said anything about it - I suppose HER little gifts every day were the sweetener for him.

The father removed his mother from the house that very same night - SHE was only ever to be seen by Elizabeth once after that. It was 4 years later in a shop where Elizabeth left after SHE refused to serve her.

The 'it' went on till Elizabeth was 10 years old, who knows why it stopped, but her mother never would believe 'that sort of thing' happened in her house.

Elizabeth is still alive today, she went on make her career in the RAF...she never married saying she had enough of 'that' when she was younger.

Rebecca

Jan1954
10-02-2013, 4:03 PM
The Winter 2013 competition is now CLOSED for entries..... but is now OPEN for voting!

Please read through the entries and place your vote. The poll will close at 4pm GMT on Sunday 17th February.

Thank you for all of your contributions – they have made for some absolutely fascinating reading.

Sue Mackay
11-02-2013, 10:23 AM
If you click on Thread Tools in the blue banner above #1, then choose Show Printable Version, this will either make it easier for you to scroll through all the entries or, as I have just done, print them out to peruse in comfort over a cuppa, with a pen to hand to mark my short list.... except I think it will be a long list :smile:

stepives
11-02-2013, 1:40 PM
I've cut and pasted the stories to an email, and sent them to myself. :thumbsup:

Steve.|cheers|

ellyjane70
11-02-2013, 3:26 PM
as they came in, I copy/pasted them and saved them to a scrapbook for my grandchildren

Jan1954
11-02-2013, 8:58 PM
as they came in, I copy/pasted them and saved them to a scrapbook for my grandchildrenWhat an excellent idea!

Ladkyis
14-02-2013, 10:51 AM
I have voted. The standard is so high it was hard to choose. All the stories are so different, I had a wonderful time reading them. Makes me wish there was some way to put them together into a collection or something...

Jan1954
14-02-2013, 4:14 PM
The standard is so high it was hard to choose. That is so true, but I got there in the end. :smile5:

Jan1954
15-02-2013, 3:44 PM
There are just over 48 hours to go until voting closes at 4:00pm GMT on Sunday.

Jan1954
16-02-2013, 8:37 AM
The voting closes tomorrow, so there is not much time left for you to cast your votes.

Ladkyis
16-02-2013, 9:26 AM
I read them all and then went away and made a cuppa. Then I thought about them and the one that left the most clear impression was the one that got my vote.
It was hard though, so many impressive stories. So many deserve a chance at the prizes.

Mutley
16-02-2013, 3:21 PM
I must admit, I am still dithering. I have narrowed my choice down to 10. :smile5:

But I better get a move on, less than 24 hours to go.

They are all so good they must have taken the entrants some time to research and write.
They deserve to receive our votes, just a few seconds of our time.

Jan1954
16-02-2013, 7:36 PM
I know that it is hard to choose, but make your vote count! :smile5:

Mutley
17-02-2013, 1:23 AM
I finally made up my mind. I've chosen. :clap:

How are you all getting on with making a decision? It is difficult isn't it?

Jan1954
17-02-2013, 4:02 PM
Voting in this competition has now closed and the winners will be announced shortly.

Thank you,

Jan1954
17-02-2013, 6:32 PM
I am pleased to announce that the winner of the competition is Coromandel! Congratulations!

In joint second place is Thomasin and Pippycat. Frank, has kindly agreed to be an independent judge of these two entries and will let me know his decision. Once known, the prize choice can be made.

Meanwhile, Coromandel, please could you PM us with your choice of prize and your address.

Many congratulations to the winners and thank you to all of you who wrote such stunning entries.

Thank you.

LittleSpark
17-02-2013, 6:52 PM
Many congratulations Jane - well deserved, a brilliant story! |woohoo|

Congratulations to Thomasin and Pippycat too.

The entries have all been fantastic and it's been really hard to pick a winner this time - so many good stories which have been fascinating to read.

Well done everybody - Sheila

Coromandel
17-02-2013, 6:53 PM
I am overwhelmed that Harriet's story has been chosen as the winner when there were so many other wonderful stories to choose from.

Thank you so much to everyone who voted for Harriet. It has really motivated me to try to find out more about her life and to discover why she was erased so completely from the family history.

I cannot do anything to change her troubled life, but thanks to Brit-Gen this little lost soul now has a voice. There's much more to be discovered, I'm sure: at the moment I know nothing at all about her between that day in 1893 and the next sighting of her in 1911. Then there's another gaping hole between then and her death in 1939. I hope that one day I will be able to find where she is buried, so that I can go and tell her that she isn't forgotten any more.

Thank you Lizzy9 for your brilliant idea which inspired all those marvellous stories. :flowers:

Thank you Pam for letting us have another competition and for donating the prizes. :flowers:

and thank you Jan for all the work you've done in encouraging people to contribute and to vote. :flowers:

Congratulations to Thomasin and Pippycat and to everyone else who contributed stories, I think they were all wonderful: so varied! They show just what it is that makes genealogy such a rivetting pursuit: discovering real people's stories. Thank you all for sharing them: you all get my vote. x x x

:grouphug:

malcolm99
17-02-2013, 7:02 PM
Very many congratulations Coromandel and well done to everyone else who contributed their stories - it takes a lot of cool and imagination to do that!

Mutley
17-02-2013, 7:13 PM
Congratulations Coromandel, a well deserved winner.
Congratulations to Thomasin and Pippycat for such superb entries.
Congratulations to all the entrants, I don't think anyone lost this competition because all the entries will be read and savoured and some will be used long into the future.

Thanks to Lizzy9, Pam and Jan for making it happen and thanks to all who did make the effort to vote.

Frank Drake
17-02-2013, 7:24 PM
First rate competition; its a shame there have to be losers! It was extremely difficult to make a decision but by a very narrow margin, I award second place to Pippycat. Well done everybody!

Jan1954
17-02-2013, 7:28 PM
Thank you, Frank.

As soon as I have heard which prize Coromandel has chosen, I will be contacting Pippycat and then Thomasin.

terrysfamily
17-02-2013, 7:40 PM
CONGRATULATIONS to Coromandel, Pippycat and Thomasin. I'm so pleased for you all.

CONGRATULATIONS too, to all those who took part. They were all worthy of winning.

A big thank you to Lizzy9, Pam and Jan for setting the quiz up. Thanks too, to all those who voted.
And a final thank you to Frank, you get all the good jobs hayyyy.

Terry

Waitabit
17-02-2013, 8:45 PM
Coromandel, Pippycat & Thomasin, congrats, & congrats to all who delivered such heart-warming-rending stories at a time when I didn't have the'...' to participate in any more than a reading jag. It helped keep my mind out of a tuff area.

All improving now, & back on track. Thank you all.

Colin Rowledge
17-02-2013, 9:40 PM
Congratulations to our three winners, Coromandel, Pippycat and Thomasin.

Praise should be given to everyone who submitted entries as the standard in this competition was superb. Frank, I'm sorry we had to put you in such an unenviable position but once again you proved more than capable of rising to the task. Many thanks to you, Pam and Jan and to Lizzy9 for suggesting the subject and a big thanks to all who entered.

My thoughts entirely.

Every contribution was fantastic to read and I would dearly love to have this series of stories put together into a booklet so that as we proceed with our mundane lives, and think that we are 'hard-done by', we can look back and say - 'I'm glad to be alive TODAY'.

susan-y
17-02-2013, 10:02 PM
Congratulations to the three winners, Coromandel, Pippycat and Thomasin.
All the stories were superb and I enjoyed reading them. I think we should do this more often :yikes:
Just the education from the research involved makes each and every story a winner.
I hope that some day you get to tell Harriet how many friends and supporters she has, Coromandel.

Sue

Lizzy9
17-02-2013, 10:12 PM
Congratulations to Coromandel. 'Harriet's Story' was emotive, well written and a most worthy winning entry.

Congratulations too to Pippycat and Thomasin both of whom are also worthy winners.

And to everyone who entered - all your stories gave me an interesting read.

Sue Mackay
17-02-2013, 10:32 PM
I echo everyone's thoughts. I think this has been the best competition yet, and the entries show why we are family historians rather than mere genealogists.

lawsue
17-02-2013, 10:49 PM
Congratulations to the winners. A great read and insight into 19th century life in the 'old country' and it's far flung outposts. Well done everyone.
Sue

pippycat
17-02-2013, 10:56 PM
Congratulations to our three winners, Coromandel, Pippycat and Thomasin.

Praise should be given to everyone who submitted entries as the standard in this competition was superb. Frank, I'm sorry we had to put you in such an unenviable position but once again you proved more than capable of rising to the task. Many thanks to you, Pam and Jan and to Lizzy9 for suggesting the subject and a big thanks to all who entered.

That sums it up perfectly!


Many congratulations to Coromandel, a well deserved winner with Harriet.
Would be nice to complete Harriet's story, so lets hope you get to fill in the missing parts - with or without our help!

Congratulations Thomasin, very well done 'my partner in crime'

A big Thanks for all your votes,

......... and Thank You to the coin that Frank must have tossed into the air :lol:

Rebecca

AnnB
18-02-2013, 7:33 AM
I want to agree with everything already said - and add my congratulations to Coromandel, Pippycat and Thomasin. I really struggled with who got my vote, I almost wished there could have been a 'can't decide' vote!

Well done one and all
Best wishes
Ann

ellyjane70
18-02-2013, 7:36 AM
well done the winners and everyone who gave us such an insight into the lives of our ancestors back then..

huxley76
18-02-2013, 7:39 AM
a great topic and wonderful stories, well done the winners..I found it particularly fascinating how everyone who wrote their stories were able to get right deep into the hearts, lives and minds of their ancestors.

Ladkyis
18-02-2013, 10:41 AM
I echo everyone's thoughts. I think this has been the best competition yet, and the entries show why we are family historians rather than mere genealogists.

I'll just add a "me too" - although I have to shout hear, hear at the "mere genealogists" comment.
My personal thanks to the winners for allowing us to share their ancestral stories, so enlightening and so well told.

stepives
18-02-2013, 3:25 PM
Well done to the successful winners, and thanks to everyone who voted and the very nice comments.:001_icon16:

Steve.|cheers|

busyglen
18-02-2013, 3:50 PM
Congratulations Coromandel, pippycat and Thomasin! :) I agree with everyone, it was such a hard task to pick one out of the superb stories. I read, re-read, made a list, changed my mind, and then went with my heart. This has been the best competition ever. :)

Coromandel
18-02-2013, 4:44 PM
I hope that some day you get to tell Harriet how many friends and supporters she has, Coromandel.

Thank you, Sue. Now that I know where and when she died, I have a good idea of where to start searching for her burial.
So I may be able to visit her soon.
|hug|


Would be nice to complete Harriet's story, so lets hope you get to fill in the missing parts - with or without our help!

Thank you too, Rebecca. There are still a lot of unanswered questions so I may well be posting an appeal for help very soon!

pennydog
18-02-2013, 4:52 PM
I can only echo all of the previous posts.
Many congratulations to the winners, Coromandel, pippycat and Thomasin.
What a great competition, it has been so moving reading the entries, all so very different.
Voting was really difficult, each was so deserving.
Thank you to Jan for organising and chivving everyone to take part and to vote, and to Pam for the prizes.

lesleys
18-02-2013, 5:21 PM
Congratulations to the winners - very well deserved Coromandel, Pippycat & Thomasin.
I spent so long trying to formulate my story that I ran out of time - but it did inspire me to do some more background research ready for the next opportunity!

austinward
05-05-2014, 11:56 AM
Well done maid