Eighteen months ago I was contacted by a gallery in Cheltenham about their researching an artist for they had acquired four watercolours of London street scenes painted during a ten-year period from 1885. They were by Edward Angell Roberts who had lived with Mary Ann Shortland, an ancestral cousin of mine. Although they described themselves as husband and wife in official documents, Edward was already married to the exotically named Josephine Bartolozzi Vestry Anderson.
NewStreet, Spring Gardens Edward Angell Roberts, 1885
Edward was born in Kennington in the English county of Surrey in1836. His father was a tea merchant and aspiring gentleman which presumably he became for by the age of fifteen, Edward was being educated at Christ Church Hospital, a school for sons of clergy and gentlemen. It was a good springboard for Edward for in 1855 he was promoted to Deputy-assistant to the Commissary of the Inland Revenue before proceeding to becoming Clerk to the War Office. In his spare time, he painted.
Old Wooden Houses, The Strand Edward Angell Roberts, 1887
The four watercolours show great artistic detail of places within a stone’s throw of the War Office, in London’s Pall Mall. They are New Street, Spring Gardens (1885), Old Wooden Houses, The Strand (1887), Garden House, Clements Inn (1895) and Pump Court, Temple (1895). They have since been sold at auction to a buyer in the United States.
Garden House, Clements Inn Edward Angell Roberts, 1897
Edward had married Josephine in 1858 and the census, three years later shows them living apart. Whether that was a temporary separation is not known for shortly after they had two children, a girl in 1864 who died in infancy and a boy in 1866. However, by 1871 he was living with Mary Ann and Josephine and the son disappear from record. It is thought that they may have moved to Ireland for the son reappears in the English 1901 census return and claimed to have spent time there. As for Edward and Mary Ann, they never married (or had children) for in his will, Edward leaves his estate to Mary Ann Shortland, spinster.
Pump Court, Temple Edward Angell Roberts, 1897
I began to wonder if we had other artists in the family for several of my cousins, my sister and my father were all artistic, I always felt that the skill had passed me by until some kind person exclaimed that through my career as a garden designer, I paint with flowers, a description I rather hold onto. It is true that there are some similarities for a new garden is a blank canvas waiting to be given a backwash of green and then daubed with the colour shapes and textures of flowers. Below is a rather poor quality photo of one of my early designs inspired by a Japanese Imari plate which was, I suppose, quite any arty approach to take!!
Garden design inspired by Japanese Imari Plate John Shortland, 1999
Another ancestral cousin painted and illustrated books on the town of Rye. Marian Eleanor Granville Bradley was the granddaughter of the Dean of Westminster Abbey, George Granville Bradley. Mostly remembered for her line drawings, occasionally they or paintings of hers are available for sale at auction. An only child, born in the United States, she returned to England sometime during the 1880s. She never married and died in 1951. Her pencil sketches of Rye appear very simple at first sight and, like Edward Angell Roberts, belie the attention to detail that is executed. Interestingly, a couple of her close relatives are described as ‘oil and colour merchants’ so it seems that art provided a living for my family in more ways than one…
Ship and Anchor, Rye Marion Eleanor Granville Bradley,1920
And finally, there is Uncle Les – not my uncle at all but (yet another) cousin of my father and, in the convention of the time, known to me as Uncle. I only met Les the once for he died quite suddenly when I was young. However, I did get to know his widow well, so it came as rather a surprise when I was sent this little pen and ink drawing of (I think) a house in Kingston-upon-Thames many years after her death.
Edwardian House Arthur Leslie Shortland, 1935
A few lines on Josephine. With a name like hers, curiosity got the better of me and so enquiries were made and she turned out, as hoped, to be ‘interesting’. She was a close relative of Madame Vestris, a famous, if not infamous actress, contralto opera singer and theatre manager. Madame Vestris probably deserves a full article of her own!
Madame Vestris, c1831 [Wikipedia]
Family history research is always uncovering something fascinating, puzzling or new – I wonder what it will turn up next?
With thanks to Andy Shield of Brave Fine Art , Cheltenham www.bravefineart.com }for sending me copies of the four paintings
“Culbone, Oare and Stoke Pero – places where no priest will go-o” says the old Exmoor rhyme about three of the moor’s remotest churches. That’s not totally surprising for they must be some of the most isolated in England and all involve considerable effort to reach even with today’s modern transport. Or, perhaps, it was because of their association with witches, bandits and lepers that made them reluctant to go. In his book, Exmoor Memories, A(rthur) G(ranville) Bradley writing of his time spent on Exmoor in the 1860s, tells of how the parson of Simonsbath church wouldn’t stay on the moor during the winter, leaving his parishioners to spiritually fend for themselves. With no roads at that time crossing the moor, one can hardly blame him.
even today, Exmoor is a wild and rugged place
I recently visited Culbone church which can still only be reached on foot. Whichever of the two routes you take, a very steep climb is involved but the effort is well worthwhile when you finally get there. The deep wooded combe opens up just enough to allow room for the church and two houses. It is a very tranquil spot and, resting there in an attempt to recover breath, it did feel very spiritual too – perhaps because records show that it has been a place of worship and meditation for over sixteen hundred years. The present church was mentioned in the Domesday Book so is just a mere one thousand years old!
Culbone has been a place of worship & silent contemplation for over sixteen hundred yearsthe private box pews where only the gentry would sit
Claiming to be the smallest parish church in England – it is only 35 foot x 11 foot in size – it can seat about thirty on its hard, wooden pews. It also has a small box pew where the family of Ashley Combe House once sat. Like many of the buildings that must have once populated the area, Ashley Combe House has long since disappeared. Entering the church through its thirteenth-century porch two things are immediately noticeable: first that it is still lit by gas and secondly, the ancient, stone font, now also well over a thousand years old.
the church is still let by gaslampthe one thousand year old font – how many baptisms has it seen?
Despite the hardship in reaching the church and its very few houses, it is still very much a living church with services held there fortnightly. However, the priest, perhaps mindful of the old rhyme or the lepers that once roamed the woods lives elsewhere. To visit Culbone it is possible to park the car by the sea at Porlock Weir and climb 400 feet to reach it or, as we did, park at the top and walk down. If that sounds the easy option, remember there is still the steep climb back! Either way you’ll be rewarded with breathtaking sea views and the chance to glimpse a way of life (and worship) now almost totally past.
the church is hidden in a deep, wooded combePorlock Weir
Oare church, these days is by far the easiest of the three churches to reach for it is just a short drive down a narrow lane from the A38 Porlock-Lynmouth coastal road. Famed for its association with Lorna Doone, the novel by R D Blackmore, Lorna was shot at the altar on her wedding day by the wicked outlaw Carver Doone. A pretty, riverside walk through the stronghold of the Doones, the Doone Valley, is possible from nearby Malmsmead where there is camping as well as an art gallery and coffee shop named the Buttery. Overlooking the picturesque bridge and ford, it also serves great food and is well worth a visit.
Oare church is easily approached by a narrow lanethe bridge and ford at Malmsmead
Compared with the church at Culbone, Oare is a relative newcomer having been built in the 1400s and then partially rebuilt four hundred years later. Inside, it is light and airy with memorials to Blackmore and also to the Snow family who feature in the novel. Blackmore tended to use local family names and traditions in his writing and mixing fact with fiction. Ridd is another local name; its variation Red is recorded on many of the gravestones at Culbone. For those not too familiar with the tale of Lorna Doone, or to see photos of the Doone Valley take a look at my earlier blogs, The Story of Lorna Doone – just a myth? and A Walk in the Doone Valley.
the interior of Oare church is very light and airythe window through which Carver Doone shot Lorna on her wedding dayas she stood at the altar
There are wonderful, albeit rather long, walks to Stoke Pero church from Horner Woods (car park at Webber’s Post or in the village of Horner), taking in the ‘four corners of Horner’ and distant views of Dunkery Beacon, the highest point of Exmoor. It is well worth the effort for apart from the views there is a good chance, providing you walk quietly, of spotting red deer, the largest of our wild deer and for which Exmoor is now one of its few remaining strongholds. There is plentiful wildlife to be seen along the river too – Dippers and Kingfishers and with Buzzards soaring overhead. You may even be lucky enough to see Red Kites or even White-tailed Sea Eagles which are becoming ever-more frequent visitors to the area.
Dunkery Beacon from Webber’s Postwild red deer hind with its calf half-hidden in the deep woodland
It is possible to drive to Stoke Pero although the lanes are long, winding and narrow. The road even passes through a working farmyard which confuses many, especially visitors from overseas who find our narrow lanes scary enough at the best of times! If you choose to reach the church this way you will fully understand why a priest might not want to be bothered to travel there. Below is an Ordnance Survey map showing the three churches; I would strongly advise to carry a paper, rather than digital, version of the map for phone signals can be a bit erratic in such remote countryside.
the three churches – a good map and equally good boots are essential if travelling by foot
We’ve had lepers and bandits with our previous two churches which only leaves witches as a possible reason (other than the journey) why Stoke Pero might have been clergy-less. Look closely at the old oak door and scratched into its surface are a series of lines: witches marks. ‘Apotropaic’ marks to give them their correct name are symbols carved into buildings to ward off witches and protect people from evil spirits. They are usually found wherever there is a point of entry such as doors, windows or chimneys and usually date back many centuries when belief of the supernatural was commonplace. It is not known when the marks at Stoke Pero were made or what they mean but they may well have literally put the fear of God into any visiting priest.
witches marks – apotropaic marks – on the church door at Stoke Pero
The church at Stoke Pero lays claim to being the highest on Exmoor for it stands, isolated at over 1000 feet above sea level. Although much of the building is only a couple of hundred years old, the church tower dates from the 1200s, as does a list of the rectors which rather belies the story of lack of clergy. Like Culbone, an earlier church here is mentioned in the Domesday Book and, also like Culbone, services are held here lit by candles or gas lamps.
old sign staking its claim as highest church!Stoke Pero church sits high on a bank
I blogged about Stoke Pero over fifteen years ago (link here) and mentioned how simple its interior is with its whitewashed walls, the only colour being the splash of red from the altar cloth. Revisiting recently, unsurprisingly the place hasn’t changed, and the barrel roof is as spectacular as ever. However, this time I noticed other things too such as the delicate ferns growing inside the window of the ancient bell tower and the contrast between the rough-hewn stone windows and the smooth white plasterwork.
the magnificent barrel roof of Stoke Pero churchferns grow in the cool shade found inside the ancient bell tower
If you have the opportunity to visit Exmoor, now protected by its National Park status, there is much to see – but only if your pleasure comes from the joy of being in wild, open places for it remains remarkably uncommercialised. It has much to offer apart from the moorland (spectacular at this time of years smothered in purple heather) for it has the sea, rugged cliffs, fast-running boulder-strewn rivers and the unspoilt little towns of Porlock, Lynton and Lynmouth. It is a walker and nature lovers paradise.
the heather moorland tumbles away to the seaLynmouth
Regular readers of my blog will know of my love of Exmoor which I discovered now nearly sixty years ago. They may even recall how through a chance meeting it changed the direction of my life, giving me an outdoor career as well as many Exmoor friends. More remarkably, I have found numerous family references to the moor, unknown at the time, for A G Bradley was my grandmother’s cousin and other family members lived and are buried at Luccombe, a village not too far from Stoke Pero. An uncle was involved with the rebuilding of Lynmouth after the devastating floods and loss of life in 1952 and a few years prior to that my parents honeymooned on the moor. A small world indeed and one in a small way I have been privileged to be part of.
my first night spent on Exmoor – many, many years ago!old postcard of the cottage in Luccombe where my ancestors lived in the early 1900s
Just occasionally nothing prepares you for a visual and emotional onslaught however much you might have read or seen images of it. I had been planning my first visit to Warwick for a few years. Perhaps it is because it is so close to home – about an hour’s drive north from my part of the Cotswolds – that it had taken me so long to actually go there for, when a place is on your doorstep, you feel you can go at any time and so put it off for another day. As it happened, I finally arrived in the town on the first warm, sunny day of spring when the ancient black and white timbered buildings really stood out against the blue sky.
Warwick is even older than those medieval buildings for it has been inhabited since the 5th century. However, it came to prominence when William the Conqueror built Warwick Castle in AD1068. Today, it is possible to visit the castle and even stay there but this was not the purpose of my visit. I had come to see a later building – the Collegiate Chapel of St Mary, most of which is only a mere three hundred years old. A great fire had swept through the town in 1694 destroying much of it as well as the greater part of the original church. Miraculously, the fire was extinguished saving the chancel and the Beauchamp Chapel built during the 14th and 15th centuries. The crypt is all that is left of an even earlier church built over 900 years ago.
The Collegiate Church of St Mary, WarwickThe 900 year-old crypt – all that is left from the earlier church
I had only been standing in the church a few moments when the organ began to play; the timing could not have been better for it set the mood for the whole visit. Lovely as it was, I moved on quite quickly to the chancel dominated by the tomb and effigies of Thomas Beauchamp and Katherine Mortimer. Both died within a few months of one another in 1369 and their effigies are unusual for they lie there holding hands, signifying not just their undying love but also their equal status for Katherine had brought land and wealth to the marriage. The chancel is also unique for its light and graceful ‘skeleton rib’ vaulted roof simply adorned with the Beauchamp coat of arms clasped by angels.
The tomb of Thomas Beauchamp & Katherine Mortimer who died in 1369 – my ancestral grandparentsThe ‘skeleton rib’ vaulting & Beauchamp crest held by an angel
From the chancel it is possible to glimpse into the Beauchamp Chapel where Thomas’ grandson Richard’s tomb stands. I purposely avoided doing so for I wanted to enter the chapel and to see it for the first time in its full glory. As I mentioned in this blog post’s opening sentence, I was completely unprepared for the visual feast that stood before me. The colour, the light, the opulence, the sun-kissed, bronzed effigy of Richard lying there centre stage was pure theatre – just the effect Richard had planned when he left detailed instructions for the building of the chapel all those centuries earlier. With the organ still playing behind me, I stood in the entrance transfixed, feeling slightly silly for being so moved before descending the steps to explore further. I had finally come to see the burial place of my ancestral grandfather.
Richard’s dramatic tomb lying in the Beauchamp Chapel
A short (but necessary!) history of Richard’s life: Richard Beauchamp was born in England in early 1382, the son of the 12th Earl of Warwick. His godfather was King Richard II although within a very few years Richard’s father, also a Thomas, had fallen out of favour and imprisoned in the Tower of London for treason. Fortunately for him at least, the King was deposed and replaced on the throne by Henry IV; Thomas was released and his titles and land restored. During the King’s coronation in 1399, Richard was knighted and later succeeded to the title of 13th Earl of Warwick at his father’s death in 1401. When Henry V succeeded to the throne in 1413 Richard became one of the new King’s most trusted advisers and given responsibility for the education of his young son, later to become Henry VI. Richard then spent much of his time in France, part of which had been annexed during the Hundred Years War and he died there in Rouen on 30th April 1439.
Richard’s armour is captured in fine detailThe bear and the griffin are Beauchamp heraldic emblems
Richard’s body was brought back to England and buried in a temporary grave in the church, for in his Will of 1437 he leaves detailed instructions for the construction of the new chapel to house his tomb. No expense was to be spared for he wanted it to become one of the finest in England, in which he more than succeeded. The creation of the chapel as one complete and new entity, using only the finest materials and highest quality craftsmanship makes it unique – all the more so, for its surviving almost unscathed by the later Reformation, attempted destruction during the Civil War, as well as the great fire. He was finally laid to rest there in 1475.
The Great Fire of 1694 stopped behind the chapel wall destroying the lower part of the wall paintings
The tomb is, of course, the central feature of the chapel as well as its purpose. Richard lies on an intricately carved and highly coloured marble chest set with fourteen gilded ‘weepers’, namely his children and their spouses. There had been a dispute after Richard’s death within the family over inheritance for Richard had been married twice with children from each. It was Ann that finally inherited the title and estates, a daughter from the second marriage (my ancestor was Eleanor, the second daughter from the first marriage) and so it was she that oversaw the completion of the chapel. Richard’s effigy is of a younger man, his eyes open, his hands outreaching, and dressed in full armour, showing the world that he is ready to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. He gazes upon the stained glass that confirms this story.
Richard’s daughters, some of the fourteen ‘weepers’ that surround the tombAnn, who became the 16th Countess of Warwick in thoughtful pose
The stained glass is another miracle of survival for it is mostly complete. During the English Civil War (mid-1600s) many of the country’s churches and religious icons were damaged or destroyed with the Protestant dogma that followed. The Beauchamp Chapel’s glass was spared much of this with only its lower parts damaged. Although it cannot be seen in my photograph, it was hastily repaired – perhaps a little too hastily for Richard’s head and hands were replaced with those of a woman. The imagery depicts saints and angels in glowing colours, produced at huge expense. Musicians are shown with their instruments and a banner of sheet music runs across the entire window. The notations can be clearly seen and, as instructed by Richard, this is sung in the chapel each September with prayers said for his soul, a practice of huge significance in medieval times. There is a short YouTube video of the choir singing this original music in the chapel, as well as a brief history of the windows which can be found here.
Richard, reborn, raises his arms towards HeavenSection of the East Window surrounded by statues of saints
Within the chapel are many other delights although none overshadow Richard. Tombs of his descendants, the Dudleys (through his eldest daughter Margaret), were placed there. They are resplendent in their own right but do not form a part of this blog. Even the prayer stalls, quite modest compared to other features of the chapel deserve close attention with their heraldic emblems carved into their timbers; they are fine in quality as well as detail. They can more briefly be shown by photos but deserve inclusion.
The tomb of Robert Dudley and Lettice KnollysBeautifully carved prayer stalls, now almost 600 years old
My family connection to the Beauchamps. When you travel back through so many centuries from the present day you are bound to uncover many ancestral grandparents. The problem is the discovering of them for in most families, as in the rest of mine, they lived very ordinary lives that were not well recorded if at all. Just occasionally, it is possible to find one that has risen to fame and this is the case with my paternal grandmother’s family. Granny Shortland’s relatives had been well-known up to the early-1900s for they held high positions within the Church of England and Government. A friend of Tennyson, the Reverend George Bradley had risen to become the Dean of Westminster Abbey. His brothers and sisters had also risen to fame in their spheres of work. These connections, known as ‘gateway ancestors’ enabled the research to progress relatively easily through time to Thomas Bradley – my 8th great-grandfather – who had been Chaplain to King Charles I and later, after the restoration of the monarchy, Charles II. From there the connections to the Beauchamps and even further back are well-researched by historians. It had always been whispered that Granny Shortland had married ‘beneath herself’ – now I know the reasons why!
Granny Nellie Shortland c 1945
Visiting: The Collegiate Church of St Mary and The Beauchamp Chapel is open to visitors free of charge. Guided tours (which are well worth doing) are available at a modest cost, as is a climb to the top of the tower to view the town and beyond. Details can be found on their website here.
Warwick Castle is impressive and a popular attraction. It was the home of the Beauchamps but was built in the 11th century by command of William the Conqueror. It is possible to stay in the castle for short breaks. More details can be found here
There is a useful website (click here) if you are planning a visit to Warwick, which is situated a few miles south of the city of Birmingham and north-west of London.
In Part 1 of my review I began by saying words to the effect of life is for living – and when you become older there’s even less time to waste! The result of following my own advice is that part 2 of the review is a couple of weeks late in being published. than I would have liked
Keeping active was also part of the theme of a couple of my blog posts last year, specifically about England’s network of public footpaths. Although we Brits just accept them as part of our historic right to walk across privately-owned land, it seems that for a great part of the world, this would not be an option. My American friends and readers in particular find it hard to comprehend that we can walk across someone else’s property at will (assuming a public footpath crosses it) without confrontation. Many of our footpaths link villages and farms and so, on occasion, you may find yourself walking through someone’s garden or farmyard. The history behind the right to walk and what you can and can’t do was discussed in November’s post which can be found by clicking the link here.
Walking on designated footpaths across privately-owned land is a basic right in England and Wales
A few month’s earlier in August, I wrote of a walk that I had taken across fields, through woods and down country lanes back to my home in the secret valley. It was a lovely walk with the first signs of autumn colouring the trees and hedgerows which were laden with wild fruits and berries. After the noise and bustle of harvest, the fields were quiet and I met no-one for much of the walk. I prefer it that way for it is then, walking in silence, that you are likely to come across the wild birds and animals that also share this space, To follow the route that I took and to see the beautiful creatures I encountered click here.
When walking quietly you come across the wild creatures that live there
I have lived in the country all my life and my father was very much the epitome of the ‘English country gent’. My mother remained a ‘townie’ all her life (she had been brought up in the West End of London) and we both teased her mercilessly about her lack of knowledge of country ways. When she met and married my father it must have come as quite a culture shock to find herself living in a small, close-knit community where everyone knew one another and one another’s business. Neither of my parents were walkers but as a child they would drive my sister and I out to Turville Heath. Over time the heath became my place of refuge whenever I was in need of comfort or in need of re-charging the batteries. It would also be the place for summer walks, playing cricket and picnics. Of equal importance as the heath itself was the car journey out to it – past miniature farm and other magic moments that we children couldn’t get enough of. Click October’s link here to find out more.
My father, very much the country gent despite not liking guns!
Looking back even further in time, I explored the lives of ancestral aunts, uncles and cousins. They had been born, married and died in a village very close to the where I had been raised for our family have lived in the area for at least five hundred years. Discovering their stories had been quite a revelation – for my 3rd great-grandaunt had been about to marry in the local church when she gave birth to a child. The repercussion of this – for the child was obviously not that of the grooms – was far-reaching. Devastated Thomas cancelled the wedding and did something rather surprising shortly afterward, as told in September’s blog post. What happened to disgraced Ann? And what happened to poor Henry, the baby boy, who lived with the stigma of his birth? Was it this that took him down the path of self-destruction and a young death many thousands of miles from home in ….. – well, you’ll need to click on the link to find out what, when and where!
The village church where Thomas & Ann were to wed in 1809
So, what will 2025 bring, I wonder? World politics seems to be on the news with constant and often seemingly bizarre twists and turns unsettling many of us. I’m quite good at not getting too worked up about things that I have no control over. Fortunately, I live and work in stunningly beautiful countryside and my interest in family history has taught me that life carries on regardless of turmoil all around us. I shall continue to write about my adventures (if that isn’t too strong a word to describe them). I also have a couple of writing projects to see to, and of course, there are my garden projects too. In dues course, they may appear on these pages. As with all my blogs, there are lots of photos to view so why not take a look and please do comment as appropriate.
Three weeks into the new year and Christmas and 2021 already seems the distant past. A new year brings new hopes and plans, not least of all a Covid-free one where holidays and meeting up with friends and family can be carried out without the fear of cancellation. The past couple of years have been challenging and difficult for many people and blogging topics sometimes reflected this as well as the importance of family. Few people can be as tough and courageous as one of my ancestral cousins nor as unfortunate for another to be remembered because of his underwear. There were trials and tribulations for the people of Chipping Norton too, the nearest town to my secret valley and, elsewhere in the Cotswolds, the building of a great country estate to provide training in endangered skills for local people. These stories are a reminder that however large the challenge or the struggle, the end result is more often, very worthwhile.
1876: HMS Alert – with my cousin aboard – icebound as well as homeward bound
In July I wrote about the extraordinary storyof Welsh vagrant Glyndwr Michael who famously became known as ‘The Man Who Never Was’. His body was used in an elaborate hoax to fool the Germans during WW2. The ruse worked, saving many lives, partly thanks to the use of my cousin’s underwear. Sounds intriguing? Well, if you want to discover why and also how my Polish grandmother fits into the plot you will need to click on the link here to read all about it.
False papers of Major William Martin, RM [Source: Wikipedia]
August and September was also a tale of an ancestral cousin who in the May of 1875 set sail for the Arctic. As bizarre as it seems now, the expedition was searching for a ‘lost Eden’. for there was a popular belief that beyond the ice, at the North Pole, they would find a sub-tropical paradise. The expedition created worldwide interest and excitement and was widely reported in the newspapers. When the Royal Family began to take an interest, huge crowds descended on Portsmouth eager to see not just the Queen but ordinary members of the crew. My cousin, John Langston Saggers, a young man aged just 23, could have experienced nothing like it before as they were wined and dined and with no expense spared. To read about the preparation for the voyage and to discover the personal gift from a Royalty concerned that the men may suffer from cold ears click on the link here.
The dinner for the Officers given by the Mayor of Portsmouth the week before departure [Source: BNA]Sitting out the Arctic winter
When the ships became icebound, they had to sit out the Arctic winter in total darkness. That, however, did not stop the men from making the most of what they had. Aboard ship they had a full-size theatre where they produced plays and outside on the ice, despite the freezing temperatures and inadequate clothing they created a skating rink and played hockey. Their heroism – and despite (unsurprisingly) not finding a warm paradise – the men returned home to a hero’s welcome. However, the star of the expedition wasn’t human at all. To find out about Nellie and how she very nearly became a coat for an Eskimo chief’s wife click on the link here.
Mid-day, Thursday, 9th November 1876: HMS Alert & HMS Discovery enter Portsmouth HarbourNellie, who almost became a coat
Next month will be the 150thanniversary of the Great Fire at Chipping Norton, one of the gateway towns of the Cotswolds. Although not as popular with tourists as some of the ‘chocolate box’ villages and towns in the region, it boasts one of the Cotswolds most iconic images – that of Bliss Tweed Mill. The mill, that has become so well-known now, rose like a phoenix out of the ashes of the earlier mill which was razed to the ground early one February morning. The story of the fire and how the mill was rebuilt to exacting standards in less than two years is told in October’s blog post. Built to resemble a great house with the most modern technology of the day, it was the pride of the town. The jubilation wasn’t to last and a strike was called which took eighteen months to break. You can read all about the mill and see through numerous photographs how it has been transformed into luxurious apartments; a haven of peace and tranquillity within the town centre by clicking on the link here.
For November, we remained in the Cotswolds to explore the creation of another outstanding property and its gardens. In 1906, Claud Biddulph commissioned the building of a house with “the feel of a cottage in the country”. In so doing, he created one of the finest Arts & Crafts house in Britain, albeit one with seventy-four rooms, so hardly a cottage! Every item used in its creation and furnishing had to be of the best quality and hand-made; one of the reasons why the house took so many years to complete and why it is so exceptional today. Part of the house was dedicated to teaching local people the dying skills required and, more than an hundred years later, craft workshops and exhibitions are still held there. Open regularly to the public so why not take a tour of the house and garden? If you can’t visit physically, you can do so digitally byclicking on this link here.
Rodmarton Manor seen from one of the ‘gardenrooms’
And so we come to December, the year end and the start of this review – you can read what happened during the months of January to June by clicking the link here. I hope that your 2021 hasn’t been too troublesome – now the year is past we can look forward to this one with renewed hopes and aspirations. No doubt there will be challenges ahead but as we know from our own experiences, as well as hearing of those of our ancestors, life continues apace regardless. Sending all my readers, wherever you are in the world (and, my goodness, you’re a scattered bunch!) best wishes for 2022 and with the hope that it will be a happy and healthy one.
With restrictions on movement and socialising for much of the year, 2021 was definitely the year to remember times past, be it visits to favourite haunts or thinking about friends and family. As it was in the real world so it was in the blogging world.
In January my memories took me across the sea to Ireland and a visit to Clonegal, in Co. Carlow. Ireland is a beautiful country with an ancient history. The visit to Huntington Castle, very much still a family home, was very worthwhile as the building itself was interesting, and the gardens, perhaps because they weren’t ornate, relaxing to walk around. A visit to the cellars is a must for it is now a Temple dedicated to Isis. The Fellowship of Isis, started by members of the family, was recognised as a world faith in 1993. I found the ornate decoration rather too theatrical for my taste, reminding me of a scene from an Agatha Christie novel. Take a look at the post by clicking on the link here and tell me what you think.
Huntington Castle in the south of |reland
By February the earliest signs of the forthcoming springare beginning to show. In the garden snowdrops and aconites are in full flower; in favoured spots early daffodils are starting to bloom. In the hedgerows hazel catkins hang in clusters shedding clouds of their golden pollen in the slightest breeze. Hazel, a native shrub, is also a useful one to grow in the garden. It’s pliable stems can be used in a myriad of ways – cut as pea-sticks, or growing into intriguing living tunnels. February’s blog post concentrated on these uses and looked at the ancient art of coppicing – a method of extending the life of the plant and providing plentiful cover for wild birds, animals and flowers. Described as an art, it is however, a very simple technique. Click on the link here to find out more.
Catkins or Lamb’s Tails – harbingers of Spring
International Women’s Day occurs in March and I focused on the lifeof Lettice Fisher, the founder of the National Council for the Unmarried Mother & Child in 1918. Later, the charity changed its name to Gingerbread. A suffragette and economist, Lettice was also a cousin of my father and so family history came to the fore in this post (link here). Later in the year, the focus turned to her husband, H A L Fisher and his story but for March Lettice was the rightful star of the show.
Lettice Fisher, an ancestral cousin
In April, I was able to visit friends for a long weekend, a real treat after all the restrictions. I took the opportunity to go for a long walk in beautiful countryside. Rutland is England’s smallest county and was also the home of the poverty-stricken ‘peasant poet’ John Clare born in 1793. The walk took me past the old lime kiln where he worked and the village where he was raised – his poem The Ruins of Pickworth can be read in the blog post (link here) and there are lots of photos of the ruins as well as views along the paths and byways I walked. Several hours later, when I returned to my friend’s home, I was especially thrilled to have seen a group of wild fallow deer which included amongst them, a rare white hart,
The ruins at Pickworth were familiar to John Clare, the Peasant Poet
By May, spring is well and truly established and plants in the garden are flourishing. Everything is growing so fast that it can become overwhelming and with so many tasks to carry out, early supporting with canes and twigs can easily be forgotten until it is too late. Although this can’t be done to every tall plant in the garden, the Chelsea Chop is a drastic but very successful method of treating herbaceous plants so that they don’t need staking at all. The biggest hurdle to overcome with this technique is finding the courage to actually do it! By clicking on the link here you will find a step-by-step guide. Even if you don’t do it to many plants, I would highly recommend that you do it to the Ice Plant, Sedum spectabile which always collapses just as it comes into flower – once you have, you’ll wonder why you’ve never done it before.
Sedum, the Ice Plant – the perfect candidate for the Chelsea Chop
For June, it was back out into the countryside to check the state of a venerable old ash tree. Ash Dieback is a serious, recently imported disease that threatens to eradicate one of the most important trees in the British landscape. Younger trees in our parts of the Cotswolds are already showing signs of it, some much more severely than others. The farm where we keep our horses has one ancient tree that has stood sentinel over the adjoining fields for centuries (lots of pictures on the link here). It’s trunk is hollow and owls and bats roost within it; it must have seen generations of them leave its shelter at night. Likewise, it must have sheltered in the day many a farm labourer seeking shade during hot, summer harvests. It will be a sad day when it dies and we just have to hope that it may show some resistance to this new disease. I, all too well, remember as a child when a similar fate overtook elm trees and changed the English landscape forever. Let’s pray that it doesn’t come to that.
We ride past an ancient ash tree most days
If it sounds as if this review is ending on a sad note, don’t despair – July to December will be following shortly and there’s plenty of posts on an upbeat note there. My family’s fascinating exploits feature in some of them. Covid restrictions have given me plenty of time to root out the old stories of them – to be honest, I never knew what an interesting and, sometimes, brave bunch they are!!
Educator, economist, suffragist and founder of the National Council for the Unmarried Mother & Child (later to become known as the charity, Gingerbread).
Lettice Fisher, the eldest daughter of Sir Courtney Peregrine Ilbert came from a political family. Born 14th June 1875 in London, her father was responsible for the drafting of parliamentary bills and was later to become Clerk to the House of Commons. Her mother, Jessie, was a daughter of the Reverend Charles Bradley and her great-grandfather, another Reverend Charles Bradley was instrumental in the abolition of slavery. At the time of Lady Ilbert’s death in 1924, she was described as “one of the most remarkable political women of her time.” It was to this background of politics and campaigning that the young Lettice grew up.
Lettice Ilbert (image: Wikipedia)
Educated in London and at Somerville College, Oxford, Lettice later returned to Oxford in 1902 to teach history at St Hugh’s College. Whilst at Oxford she also taught economics to women and became an active suffragist. For two years from 1916 she was Chair of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies.
It was during WW1 that Lettice became involved with the women munition workers of Sheffield. Disturbed by the increase in wartime illegitimacy, the difficulties and prejudices the women faced, as well as the higher death rates of their babies, she founded in 1918 the National Council for the Unmarried Mother & Child. Campaigning for the reform of the discriminatory Bastardy Acts and Affiliation Orders Acts, the council gave advice and assistance to single mothers. Lettice remained in her role as first chair of the council until 1950. Much later in its history the council merged to become known as the charity, Gingerbread.
Lettice Ilbert married Herbert Albert Laurens Fisher (known as HAL Fisher), her Oxford tutor in early July 1899. They had one daughter, Mary – later Mary Bennett – who became principal of St Hilda’s College, Oxford. After HAL’s untimely death in 1940, Lettice moved from Oxford to Thursley, Surrey where she died from heart failure in 1956. Her ashes are interred at New College, Oxford where HAL had been warden for many years until the time of his death.
The theme of this year’s United Nations International Women’s Day is “Women in leadership: achieving an equal future in a Covid-19 world.” I’m not qualified to write about current matters but I am quite certain that Lettice Fisher embraced the qualities that are still needed today. One hundred years ago, Lettice Fisher found that the terrible aftermaths of World War and the ‘flu epidemic which caused even greater deaths and hardship, only hardened her resolve to tackle women’s rights, prejudice and injustice. Sadly, in many places in the world, these issues are still very much outstanding.
Why my interest in Lettice Fisher? Lettice Fisher (nee Ilbert) is an ancestral cousin through our mutual descent of the Bradley family.
Sometimes I get asked the question why do I write. The answer is usually just because I always have. Recently I’ve given more thought to it and I think that perhaps it is because (apart from having something to say) I like the way words look as much as the way they sound when arranged on a page. You can almost play games with them, juggling the written and the spoken so that both the emphasis and flow change. Nowhere is that more pronounced than with poetry.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate[photo credit: Wikipedia]
To be honest, I struggle a bit with poetry. I feel I ought to like it more. There are some that I love because they remind me of childhood although having to learn and recite, The Lady of Shallott didn’t excite me at the time. Having to read a poem at the front of the class must have destroyed any potential to love poetry for many a generation of children. I adore some of Christina Rosetti’s poems but mostly poetry is for me rather like jazz or wine – I know what I like and, sometimes, I discover a new one that is to my taste.
this beautiful angel statue is in the Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, Ireland
The quote in the photo is from Tennyson’s Maud. Of course, I knew the old song, Come Into The Garden, Maud that quickly rose to popularity as a parlour song. Because of this I assumed, like so many others, that Maud must be a love poem. Certainly, my quote above which comes earlier in the poem would make you think so.
a classic rendition of Come Into the Garden, Maud dating from 1940
Maud is one of Tennyson’s epic poems; a tale of hatred, infatuation, of death and destruction and the decline into insanity and, later, of war. The poem certainly wasn’t loved by the public when it was first published in 1855. So why do I find it so fascinating?
transcription of letter from Tennyson to George Granville Bradley1855
Many readers of my blog share an interest in genealogy and family history. I have been researching mine for many years and have shared some of my ‘finds’ and stories here. One such discovery was the long friendship between Tennyson and my ancestral cousin, George Granville Bradley. Bradley was first the Headmaster of both Rugby and Marlborough Schools before becoming the Dean of Westminster Abbey. Both he and Tennyson shared a love of geology, then in its early days of understanding. They would roam the hills of the Isle of Wight together where they both lived geologising and reciting poetry. The discovery of correspondence between them on the merits of Maud and how it may be altered before publication both excited and intrigued me. Here was one of Britain’s greatest poets, a Poet Laureate, seeking advice from a cousin of mine! I purchased an old copy of Tennyson to read it with a renewed interest and the rest – as they say – is (family) history.
George Granville Bradley with his family at Marlborough School about 1860 [photo credit: Ancestry]
So another year has gone by and as New Year’s Eve fast approaches it is time to reflect on the one past and look forward to the one to come.
I try to visit Exmoor National Park as often as possible for I consider it to be “home from home”. I spent a lot of my youth and early adulthood there on a remote farm not realising that I was witnessing a way of life now gone. With the benefit of hindsight I wish I’d taken many more photographs but, in the days before digital, films were both precious and expensive.
In January, I made a special trip to take a look at the new headquarters of the Exmoor Society in the pretty, little town of Dulverton. The enlarged space that they now have has meant that they it is now much easier to access the archives and seek information. If you are planning a holiday on the moor, it is well worth visiting. Click here to find out more about my day there.
February found me walking along the edge of a precipice and seeking an elderly great-aunt, fortunately not at the same time. I met Ba-ba (how she got this name is still a complete mystery) once as a boy when she was in her late nineties and she left a lasting impression on me. With everyone else that knew her now dead (I’m now the ‘old’ generation) I’ve been trying to research her. Despite the post creating a lot of interest it ended sadly without much success. Perhaps, this post might reach someone who knows who she was. To check out the detective work so far take a look here.
The Precipice Walk in Snowdonia, although not overly strenuous, is not to be attempted by the faint-hearted. Travelling clockwise, the path clings to the edge of the drop before turning back on itself alongside a more gentle and peaceful lake. If you’re afraid of heights go anti-clockwise for a delightful, if somewhat short, walk and turn around when you dare go no further. Alternatively, sit back in your armchair and take a look at the photos here.
A much longer walk, completely different in character, was described in two March posts. Dartmoor is another national park in the West Country but much harsher than Exmoor. Despite its bleakness now, in the past the climate was kinder, confirmed by the large number of Neolithic remains there.
The walk starts at a pub where according to tradition the fire has never been allowed to go out in the past two hundred years. Our path crosses the moor to the village of Postbridge, home of the famous medieval stone clapper bridge. The second part of the walk follows the river before continuing across the moor, taking in beehive huts dating back to 1500AD before arriving at the Grey Wethers stone circles. The twin circles are about two thousand years old. Reaching the stones is described here.
The history of the United States and Ireland are intertwined by mass emigration. In April I visited New Ross in the south of Ireland and the birthplace of John F Kennedy’s great-grandfather. Fifty years after JFK’s visit his sister came to light… Well, read here to find out exactly what she did. The image below might give you a clue.
I stayed with the Irish theme in May and wrote about the lovely village of Castlelyons where a friend spent her early childhood. Well off the tourist trail when you red about the place you’ll wonder why. In the meantime, we had the place to ourselves.
June is a lovely month both for walking and also for garden lovers, with hedgerows and gardens smothered in rose blossom. Continuing the theme of elderly ladies and ancient times the month’s post explored the history of Rosa de Rescht – fascinating for the mystery it holds. Incidentally, even if you a hopeless gardener (and no-one is completely so) this is the simplest of roses to grow…
A series of faded, sepia photographs have always been a mystery to me, just something else put into a cupboard and forgotten. Handed down through the generations they recently came to light once more and looked at with renewed interest. Who were these people and what connection might they have to my family? Two of the images were signed and with this name as my starting point the tale of their origin began to emerge. The story that is unfolding only deepens the mystery for they were part of the ‘Great Game’, a term I hadn’t come across before. Now, for me, it has two meanings: warmongering and my struggle to seek out the truth behind them.
Rudyard Kipling brought the ‘Great Game’ into everyday circles by using it in his novel Kim, published in 1901, although the term had been in use for many years before that. It described the cat and mouse rivalry between the British and Russian Empires that lasted throughout the nineteenth century.
Britain, alarmed at Russia’s expansion southwards, feared that Afghanistan would be used as the gateway to an invasion of India. To avoid this, troops were sent to install a puppet government in Kabul but within four years order was breaking down and the garrison was forced to retreat. Caught in a series of ambushes, Afghan warriors slaughtered all but one of the 4500 troops and 12000 followers. By 1878 the British invaded again following the Afghani’s refusal to allow a diplomatic mission to visit. A treaty was signed and the army withdrew leaving a small staff in Kabul: in the autumn of the following year they were killed leading to full-scale war – the Second Anglo-Afghan War. Travelling with the British army was a freelance photographer, John Burke, and it is his signature that appears on my photos.
History, as we all know, has a habit of repeating itself and sadly the rivalry between Russia and the West over Afghanistan has continued. Inspired by John Burke, the war photographer Simon Norfolk has carried out a new series of images. Intriguingly, he lists all of Burke’s plate numbers – the two of mine that are numbered are left blank so perhaps this is the first time they have been seen; rather an amazing thought.
All that is left now – and no mean feat – is to identify the places and the regiments and to find out where (and if) my family fit into all of this. I have been helped along the way by enthusiasts from a Facebook group. One of them, Arnie Manifold, has an ancestor that fought there and it is his medals that are shown in the image below. Wouldn’t it be extraordinary if we discovered his face on one of these old photos?
To view Simon Norfolk’s website and more information on John Burke, click here
To find out how a series of colourful postcards, brought back by my father from WWII, led to the discovery of a German fairy-tale castle, a love affair and an epic poem, click here.
Life in the English Cotswolds 