The Bare Bones of it!

Whatever you might think of our current Government - and I imagine my readers will vary in their opinions from 'utter rubbish' to 'doing a fine job' - the range of styles through which our government has swung down the years is very broad indeed.  For a short while in 1653, this country was ruled by a nominated assembly that became known collectively as Barebone's Parliament.

It was named after one of London's appointees, Praise-God Barebone (or Barbon), and first sat on 4th July of that year. It consisted of 140 men selected by Cromwell and his Army Council and couldn't be described as remotely representative, being mostly drawn from the rich and famous with a sprinkling of tradespeople and members of an extreme puritan sect called Fifth Monarchists.  Apart from half a dozen each from Ireland, Scotland and Wales, the rest were all from the English counties.  On 12th December - just 161 days later - it broke up in disarray, being unable to agree on anything.  

Having explained my title, I'll now move on to something more relevant to today.  If our present lock-down in one form or another lasts until the end of August, it will have existed for the same length of time as Barebone's Parliament and, in some ways, it has - at the outset, at least - brought us back to the bare bones of life.  We've come to realise just what is - and what is not - essential to our existence.  

This is different for each of us, of course, and its definition has morphed as the weeks have passed.  After securing a reliable source for food, medication and other necessities, one thing after another has been added to that early definition of 'essential to life'.  Disciplines, vital and well-heeded at the beginning, have slipped.  We've exchanged ideas with our friends and neighbours; isolation has been relieved by Zoom and other technologies.  Social media and the more widespread news channels have made us aware of what else is possible and - for good or ill - following the principle of 'if they can do that, then so can we' has become commonplace.

The challenge presented by the Covid-19 pandemic has often been described as a war; the strategies advised and imposed to overcome it as 'weapons to fight this unseen enemy' and so on.  While it's not the sort of war that can be fought by armies on a battlefield, there is, I suggest, a similarity to the privations of daily life on the home front.  I'm not old enough to remember the Second World War but I've just finished reading a novel set in 1942 that has, in some measure, made real for me many of the restrictions that had by then become part of everyday life.

Then as now ways were found, some legal and some not, to get around the constraints of the time.  Substitutes were developed and discovered for foodstuffs no longer available; a black market grew up to overcome the strict rationing that had to be imposed and make-do-and-mend became a way of life.  In one poignant scene, an old man, who had been involved in a dramatic rescue from a bombed hotel, arrived home in the small hours, raided the larder and enjoyed a slap-up meal before collapsing still dressed and exhausted onto his bed, falling into a deep and well-earned sleep.  His daughter-in-law, whose house it was, discovered the debris in the kitchen the next morning, found half the week's rations gone, and was understandably furious.

Our present situation is by no means so severe but at times, and perhaps especially so in such fine weather as we have enjoyed this week, there is a need - a desperation, almost - to break out of the restrictions, to let loose and make whoopee, whatever the cost.  But there is a cost, of course.  It might be as simple as going without for a while longer until the larder is refilled, or it could be an unwanted disease, or worse.  And the cost is not always paid by those who have broken free.  Our newsreels this week have shown the tonnes of rubbish that was left on Bournemouth beach and the declaration of a 'major incident' by the local authority so that more help can be engaged to prevent a recurrence.

Yes, this is partly the result of the need people have found to defy the restrictions placed upon them, to stretch to the limit and beyond the bounds on their activities.  But even these could have been carried out responsibly.  Where has our sense of responsibility gone?  When I grew up, there was a saying "What did your last servant die of?"  It wasn't an expression of concern for the well-being of the lower classes; it was an attempt to instil awareness that such people as servants were not part of our lifestyle and that, to an ever-increasing level as we grew older, we had to look after ourselves.  This didn't so much mean providing for our own needs - that would come later - but that if we made mess, strewed things about, then it was down to us to clear up, put away and make tidy, not just for our own comfort and benefit, but for that of others around us too.

Digging up a Soldier

The 1911 census is the first one for which the individual householders' schedules have been preserved ... as opposed to the information that enumerators extracted from them in previous censuses.  It's clear from his entry that Patrick Robert Howard Henry was a man to whom other information was more important than his own name.  He referred to himself as 'Robert' (the other names came from other records), but provided two forenames for his wife and sons.  He was born in Leitrim in about 1849 but he was keen for all to know that this wasn't just anywhere within that county, but in Leitrim town itself, for the name was written twice on the form, to indicate both 'town' and 'county'.   

He was also meticulous in declaring his 'occupation', stating that he was 'Pensioner Sergt. Major, 4th Suffolk Regt.'.  In previous censuses he had rounded his age up: 42 in 1891 and 52 in 1901, but was he sensitive about being eleven or twelve years older than his wife when he rounded it down this time to 61 years?  The '4th Suffolk Regt.' was actually the 4th Battalion of the Suffolk Regiment.  It was formed, when the army was re-organised in 1881, by the amalgamation and absorption into the Suffolk Regiment of the Cambridgeshire Militia, which was based in Ely, and the Cambridgeshire Rifle Corps.  These two units became the 4th ('Cambridge University') Volunteer Battalion of the newly-formed regiment.  Robert was an instructor of musketry and in 1891, he was awarded a 'long service and good conduct' medal.  It isn't clear just when he enlisted, but it was almost certainly before 1880, for in that year he married Mahala Marjorem in the garrison city of Colchester.

Sadly, Mahala died in Ely at, or shortly after, the birth of their son in the summer of 1883.  She was only 24 and the son was named Robert Marjorem Henry in her honour.  Towards the end of the next year, Robert married again.  His bride was Mary Esther Rignal, who had been born in the Fenland city in 1860.  Their first two children, Mabel and Albert, were born in Ely, where the battalion was based, in 1892 and 1894.  It may have been about then that Robert retired, for their third child, John, was born in 1896 at Hopton in north Suffolk.

Mabel was married in the spring of 1909 to Charles Boggis.  Charles was the youngest surviving son out of eleven children born to Benjamin and Harriet Boggis.  These two were both from Norfolk; Benjamin was from Fersfield and Harriet from Garboldisham, where they had been married in 1866.  They settled in Barningham, where all their children were born, but then moved to Market Weston in that same northern corner of Suffolk.

Charles was a blacksmith and the occupations of the rest of the Boggis family were all in that general mechanical and production sector: carpenter, mechanical engineer, engineering apprentice, and so on. It was no surprise, then, to discover that the son of Charles's brother Arthur was the William Arthur Boggis who founded the famous organ building firm of W A Boggis, based at Roydon next door to my own native town of Diss.

Robert died in 1929, but it was actually Mary who led me into this story, for she appeared as a widow - described almost casually as a 'visitor' - at the home of her granddaughter on the 1939 Register.  Unlike the censuses, the Register contains no indication of the relationships within a household, and I was curious to prove or disprove whether she was in fact the grandmother of Mrs Jerrold in the household at Felsham where she was registered.

And why, you may ask, was I led to be looking at this family in the first place?  Simply that in 1917, when they were both widowed, my great-great-aunt, Sarah Francis née Sturgeon married Charles Boggis's eldest brother John.

Roll out the ... Statue!

I have great affection for the city of Bristol.  Apart from spending a week there on a study-holiday in 2002, I was sent there on many occasions during my working life, including a memorable Saturday when I returned from an early delivery there, only to be assigned a second job to the city later in the day!

Undoubtedly there will be some to accuse me of 'band-wagon jumping' and, while they could be right, it's time that these locked-down posts diverted from endless stories of my genealogical researches.  Since the whole of one morning this week - and more time besides - have been taken up in reading about this matter, I feel I can claim that to write about it reflects, in part, the activities of my week.

Edward Colston (1636-1721) was MP for Bristol 1710-13 but before this (and probably during that time as well) he had a very profitable career as a merchant.  Consequently, he was able to support many local charities ... provided their aims coincided with his own beliefs and interests as a high churchman and a Tory.  As a result, the city benefited by the creation of a number of hospitals, schools and other facilities.

Unfortunately, much of his wealth arose from his involvement with the Royal African Company, of which he was a member 1680-92 and a director for part of that time.  This company held, until 1698, a monopoly for the provision of African slaves to the tobacco and sugar plantations of America.  It is said that, in order to sell approximately 84,000 slaves, a further 19,000 died on the way across the ocean, their bodies being dumped in the Atlantic.  When he died, Colston left much of his fortune in trusts to be administered by the Society of Merchant Venturers, which was formed as a trade guild in the 13th century for a variety of worthy purposes.

In Victorian times, one of the amusements of the social elite was the formation and running of societies.  Many of these had laudable aims, but it must be admitted that the creation of, and adherence to, rules and rituals was a large part of their attraction.  Four principle philanthropic societies were active in Bristol in the late 19th century and many of their members were also involved with the Society of Merchant Venturers.

The president of one of these societies, James Arrowsmith, proposed the erection of a statue of Colston as a tribute to his impact on the development of the city and an appeal went out to raise the £1,000 required.  Interest in the project was significantly less than expectation; the appeal raised less than a quarter of the target and a subsequent repeated request advanced the fund only a little.  Nevertheless, the statue was commissioned and it was unveiled with great pomp in 1895.  Arrowsmith and other members of the Merchant Venturers eventually provided the balance of funds to pay for it.

21st century attitudes to slavery have called into question memorials such as this statue and other structures and streets across our land that bear the names of those engaged in the slave trade.  Consideration has been given to possible changes to their name or purpose.  As regards the Colston statue, some years ago a newspaper poll returned 42% in favour of its removal; proposals instead were brought forward for the addition of a plaque explaining the balance of Colston's beneficence and the source of his wealth.  Apparently this had been agreed in principle but, owing to objections from the Society of Merchant Venturers, who own the monument, agreement of the exact wording had never been achieved.  One city councillor is reported as saying that the matter had never been brought before the full council for a vote, but I'm not sure whether this referred to the plaque or the removal of the statue entirely.

After the events of last weekend, few can be unaware of the present location of the statue at the bottom of the harbour.  I have to admire the decision of the police in regarding the keeping of the peace more important than the prevention of an act of criminal damage.  As a result of their maintaining a low profile, there were, I believe, no injuries and no arrests.  However, it is important that a precedent is not set, whereby any group with an apparently worthy aim can take the law into their own hands with immunity.  My preference would be that those responsible are arrested, properly charged according to law, and given only modest punishments, taking into account the safe manner in which the offences were carried out and the provocation caused by the inability of the city authorities to act on a decision once taken.

One commentator made a further point, with which I heartily agree.  It is clear that the adversarial nature of our political system - both at local and national level - makes agreement on anything of a controversial nature very difficult.  Had a proportional electoral system been in force here, as it is for local elections in Scotland, a more balanced council, reflective of the mood of the city might have resulted, and the whole matter could have been resolved long before events in the USA led to the present tensions here.

Acknowledgement: Many of the historic details in this post are taken from Wikipedia.

Follow the Money!

If there's one paradox that's more important - predominant you might say - when starting to research your family history to any appreciable depth, it's this: "True or false: 'our ancestors didn't move far from home'?"  I've come to realise in the last few weeks just how much - or how little - I've learned the importance of this over the years.  More than once, I've tripped over - no, 'blundered into' would express it better - a minor brickwall where, in times past, I've picked up a marriage or a death from the other side of the country, applied it to someone born in Suffolk and then not been able to trace any further links to him or her.  

At that point, I would have left it as 'just another puzzle' and moved on.  Now I can see the solution, to broaden the date range of the subject, perhaps apply a 'wild card' and look again, locally.  He/she is there, but the age doesn't quite match, or the spelling of the name is different.  Conversely, it is sometimes quite amazing how far people did move and it's important to take into consideration why they might have moved, and when it was that they might have done so.  I've sometimes proved (to my own satisfaction at least) that I've got the right spouse or census entry, but asked myself, 'how did he meet her?'  

In the 20th century, of course, the two World Wars accounted for many romantic discoveries between people who would otherwise never have met.  I've often wondered why my uncle, for example, came out of the army in 1919 and settled in Derbyshire with the widow of someone from the Gloucestershire Regiment (... and how she met him in the first place!)

In the case of many families, the agricultural depression of mid-19th century drove people great distances to find work.  Most lines of my family had sons or daughters who moved to the mining or mill towns of the midlands and north.  One of the families I've been looking at during these last few weeks had a son who moved to Derbyshire in the 1850s and became a coal miner and my great-great-uncle, whom I wrote about last week, went to Canada in the 1880s.  

In some ways, it's helpful that movement was less in earlier centuries.  Finding anyone in indexed records is more difficult once you get beyond (in other words, into a period before) recognised milestones in recording history: 1911, the inclusion of mother's maiden name in birth registration indexes; 1866, the inclusion of ages in death registration indexes; 1851, the first census to include place of birth; 1837, the start of civil registration in England & Wales.  Beyond these we are reliant on parish registrations of baptisms, burials and marriages, and here again there are milestones, beyond which fewer local indexes are likely to exist: 1813 when Roses Act introduced formal recording of baptisms and burials, and 1754 when the Hardwick Marriage Act did the same for marriages and introduced the recording of banns of marriage.

Where there are no indexes, it is important to know where people lived and to be able to get to the appropriate record office to search records for one place at a time.  If someone isn't where we're looking, it's hard to know where next to look.  One of my former bosses - I've forgotten which one - told me the key to unravelling a mystery was to 'follow the money' and that's certainly true here.  In many ways the pattern of life remained unchanged for centuries.  A young man would find work near the home that had raised him.  If he thought he could better himself, he would change jobs and, if that meant going farther than an acceptable daily commute, then he would move nearer the job.  

Only the distance has changed down the years, according to the transport available.  In the eighteenth century few young men could afford their own horse, so the alternative would be to work within the village or only a few miles away.  With the advent of the bicycle, work could be a little further away without needing a move of home and cars made a similar difference during the twentieth century.

The same consideration applied to the move of a home.  In earlier times, possessions would be few and could be loaded onto a borrowed wagon, drawn by a borrowed horse; in industrial towns and cities, families would move from one street to the next or even in the same one, not for a different job but to accommodate an increasing family, and much could be moved by hand cart or simply carried by hand from one home to the next.  The coming of the railway age made movement up and down the country far more possible.

My own parents both died in the home they had moved into as newly-weds in 1948.  They benefited from it being a new house, and were able to have larger items delivered directly there.  I was never told, but I imagine the smaller items they had collected during their engagement would have been loaded onto a farm trailer and drawn from my mother's home two streets away.  I suspect the necessary upheaval and transport were the main reasons that she was always reluctant to move to a smaller place once she was on her own.

And in my own case, the only significant move I've made was to Hertfordshire, prompted by work, and carried out by professionals.  Other minor changes of address have been accomplished piecemeal by my own efforts with the help of friends.  Like my mother, and for similar reasons, I have no desire to make any more ... although we've all heard of the commentator's curse!