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  1. #11
    lawsue
    Guest

    Default A day in the life of Rachel Grounds,widow.

    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.

  2. #12
    LittleSpark
    Guest

    Default

    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.

  3. #13
    busyglen
    Guest

    Default A very special day in the life of Ellen Ladd

    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!).

  4. #14

    Default

    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.
    Sadly, our dear friend Ann (alias Ladkyis) passed away on Thursday, 26th. December, 2019.
    Footprints on the sands of time

  5. #15
    Lizzy9
    Guest

    Default

    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.

  6. #16
    Thomasin
    Guest

    Default

    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.

  7. #17
    Knowledgeable and helpful stepives's Avatar
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    Jun 2011
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    Ireland, but born Buckinghamshire.
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    Default A day in the life of a barmaid servant.

    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.

  8. #18
    Coromandel
    Guest

    Default A day in the life of a forgotten child

    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.

  9. #19
    Knowledgeable and helpful stepives's Avatar
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    Jun 2011
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    Ireland, but born Buckinghamshire.
    Posts
    684

    Default A day in the life of a housemaid.

    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.

  10. #20
    Mutley
    Guest

    Default

    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/

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