The portrait of Walter Scott, aged four, hanging in my mother’s living room, own photo
“I can shoot you” said the elder friend as he picked up the gun the boys found lying around. And so, he did.
Thus goes the family story of Walter Scott, passed down from Walter’s sister, Hilda Mary Scott, to her daughter Mary, my Grandma, and then to me. My Grandma loved to tell the tales of tragic death but it’s the beautiful, almost life-sized portrait of four-year-old Walter that has made his story so compelling. It is thanks to this portrait too, that I know so much about Walter’s story. My Dad inherited this picture from his Grandfather, Hilda Mary’s husband, Jesse, following Jesse’s death in 1977 and Aunt Clarrie, Walter & Hilda Mary’s younger sister wrote to my Grandma to tell of its history.
Letter from “Aunt Clarrie” (Clarice Scott, sister to Walter Scott), to Mary Houseman (my Grandma) sharing the history of the portrait, written on 12 January 1911, own records
Walter was born on 27 March 1893 above the family grocer’s shop in Langthorpe near Boroughbridge. He was the fourth of the eight children of Maria Reynard & John Scott. The Scott family were relatively prosperous for the time although not without their own sad tales. The first-born son, Charles, had died aged just two from an infection caused by a scratch on a rusty nail in his playpen (another of Grandma’s tales).
It was also a close and happy family. Maria’s sister, Aunt Nellie (Sarah Ellen Reynard who married a distant cousin, William Reynard) was unable to have children and asked if she might adopt one of Maria’s. “Mother said No, she couldn’t spare any one of us” records Aunt Clarrie. Nellie & William were later to adopt a boy, William Watson, at some point after 1901.
When Walter was four, a travelling photographer, C Watson from Ripon, arrived in the village. Aunt Clarrie picks up the story. He was a beautiful little boy of 4 years old when that photo was taken. A traveling photographer came to the shop & asked my Mother if he could take his photo, so she said yes. It was so good, so later on, he asked if he could paint & enlarge it, in colour. It would cost £5 which was a lot of money in those days. However, they agreed & this picture was so beautiful it was sent to an exhibition & shown all around. My Mother was getting anxious about it, but eventually it came back & it was our pride & joy.
The original photo of Walter Scott, aged four, taken c. 1897 by C Watson of Ripon. Own photo.
In the summer of 1900, Aunt Nellie asked if Walter might come and stay for a holiday and Maria agreed so Walter went to stay with his Aunt & Uncle at Birstwith. On 16 August, Walter asked his aunt if he might go with his friend, Edward Fraser, to collect eggs from the stable and cowshed and his aunt agreed, presumably thinking the thirteen year old Edward would take good care of the seven year old Walter.
Unbeknown to Aunt Nellie, one of the Reynard’s farm labourer’s George Smith, had been having trouble with his gun, a breech-loader, when he had been out shooting rats earlier in the month. The extractor had broken, the cartridges were too tight to remove and so he’d left the loaded gun by the door of one of the outbuildings. Edward, being a curious teenage boy found the gun and picked it up. Walter, being a frightened child, pleaded with him to put it down then turned to scramble over the railings to get out of the way. Too late, the gun went off shooting Walter in the back.
Reports from the Yorkshire Herald on 17 & 20 August 1900 recording first the accident and then the inquest. Note the first report refers to the friend as Gill, aged nine. The inquest report refers to Edward Fraser, aged thirteen. The inquest report has been taken as the correct one
Uncle William ran to the barn after hearing the report, he picked Walter up and ran back to the house. The doctor arrived to examine Walter and found him in a sorry state with both flesh & ribs blown away. Walter’s mother, Maria, was also sent for. Walter, loyal to the end cried “Tell Teddie I forgive him. He did not know it would go off” as he died, we believe, in his mother’s arms.
The funeral card to Walter Scott, own records
Walter was buried at Kirkby Hill on 19 August, later joined by his parents, and the inquest the following day returned a verdict of “death by misadventure killed by the discharge of a gun” and the tragic end of a beautiful child.
West Yorkshire County Coroner’s records, 1900
With much gratitude to Walter Scott, my great, great Uncle, who, despite his short life left a story that has lasted a hundred years, Clarice Scott, my great, great Aunt, who told the story of Walter’s portrait, to my Grandma for passing on the tale and to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
Norwood School’s seventeenth century day at Swinsty Hall. I am in the middle holding my baby brother, David. My sister Helen is to the left having been chosen to represent the wealthy owners, my oldest friend, Andrea, is just behind her to the left. The head teacher, Miss Robinson, is at the back. Own photo, 1985.
On 3 July 2021, as England were preparing for their quarter final match against the Ukraine, I was in Fewston – catching up with my oldest friend, Andrea (featured in the photo above), traipsing through knee high grass in the graveyard with my third cousin, Paul, and reliving childhood memories gazing across the adjoining reservoir towards the gabled rooftop of Swinsty Hall.
Later I was idly wondering whether we were related to any of the five Yorkshire-born players and Google, being Google, gave me an answer. It turns out our family connection to the England team is not with the players, but with the manager, as the gabled rooftop I was reminiscing over is the current home of Gareth Southgate and this being the Washburn Valley there was bound to be a family connection.
Back in 1985 my sisters & I were all attending the tiny village school of Norwood. What do I mean by tiny? I had two fellow pupils in my year group (one being Andrea). My sister Helen had none, she was the sole person in her school year. When I left the following summer there were twenty-seven pupils and when the school closed a few years later there were just sixteen. By contrast, I was walking with a London-born friend last week. As we passed one of the ubiquitous four-story Victorian London primary schools, he commented that he had long thought everyone went to schools of this kind where sixty plus pupils were admitted every year.
When one or two teachers are trying to effectively educate children ranging in age from four to eleven you have to be creative and engage with the whole community and that’s how we ended up at Swinsty Hall re-enacting the seventeenth century studying clothing, food, dancing & the English civil war. We were joined by parents (well, mothers), younger siblings and even the local vicar all dressed in seventeenth century garb. Lunch was served on the massive oak table in a wood panelled dining room and afterwards there was square dancing on the lawn surrounded by old flower beds.
“The front of the hall is simple, yet elegant, consisting of a centre and projecting wings, the latter like square towers, finished with gables and pinnacles at the angles and apex…..On the right is the great hall, a spacious room twenty-one feet square. The beams supporting the upper floors throughout the building are splendid specimens of oak timber, resting on corbels springing from the walls. The floor of this room has been originally laid with lozenge-shaped flagstones, some portions of which yet remain near the walls…… A door leads from this into the drawing-room, or dining-room;…..The doors are all made of oak, without nails; the battens; four in number, being fixed by wooden pins, with the heads projecting a little by way of ornament on the inner side, the two middle ones with three rows, and the top and bottom with only one each. This room is wainscoted with panelled oak, finely carved at the upper border and around the fireplace……The window is of twelve lights, the upper six of which yet retain their antique glazing, being variegated with stained glass; on one piece are the letters H.R.G. and the date 1627, the initials of Henry Robinson, the first owner of Swinsty of that name, and his wife. In this room is preserved a piece of the original furniture — a dining table, 17 feet 6 inches in length, by 3 feet in breadth, and the same in height, made of planks of solid oak, two inches thick, with massive frame and legs of the same material. This table has doubtless played its part in many a hundred feasts, and it is yet as strong, and clean, and bright, as when the wealthy owner of Swinsty, in the day of its highest greatness, sat at its head and dispensed hospitality. The forms, or benches, on which the feasters have been perched also yet remain; they are of such height that those seated on them would have to rest their feet on the lower frame, as they could not reach the ground……In the garden, a few old-fashioned plants remain, such as the Robinsons cultivated when they dwelt here ; roses red and white, aconite, rosemary, balm, lavender, peony, box, and golden rod ; while the wall is partially hidden by the green and golden masses of stone crop, and the walls of the old mansion are coated over with grey and golden lichen”.
Swinsty Hall’s heyday WAS the seventeenth & early eighteenth centuries and what i wasn’t aware of back in 1985 was that I was highly likely to have been feasting & dancing in the footsteps of my ancestors.
For much of the rest of this blog I have to thank my third cousin, Paul for his research. The same third cousin who was wading through knee-high grass in Fewston church. Paul & I first connected through a DNA match site, which is kind of strange as we grew up in the same village (albeit a few years apart) and he knew my uncle from primary school. He even appears on the wallpaper charts I drew up with my Grandma back in the 1980s. We are third cousins through Amelia Bradbury & Michael Houseman (the parents of Jesse Houseman, the father of my Grandma, Mary Houseman). Such is the inter-related nature of small Yorkshire villages I have since discovered several more distant connections. One of these connections is the Hardisty line which leads us back to the Robinsons the owners of Swinsty Hall for nearly two hundred years. Or rather almost……
Swinsty “old” hall was built for the Wood family in the first half of the sixteenth century. The far more substantive “new” hall was added in the 1570s, a wedding gift for Francis Wood & Ellen Sutell from Ellen’s father, Henry. However, Francis seems not to have had the means to maintain such a grand property. By 1590 he was in such debt that he signed over the property to Henry Robinson in exchange for writing off a debt of £2,000. Thus, Henry became the first Robinson to own Swinsty Hall.
The Robinsons of Swinsty Hall
Henry left Swinsty Hall to his son John. That is relatively straightforward.
John divided his estate up early. He gave Swinsty “old” hall to his son John, who then sold it to his older brother Henry for a nominal sum of just five shillings in 1681. John then deeded the “new” hall to Henry in 1683 thus re-uniting the two parts.
Henry had no heir and so left Swinsty Hall to his nephew, also named Henry. Henry then sold the property to his father, Edward, in 1725 and his father also inherited the remainder of the estate when this Henry, too, died childless.
Edward decided to bypass his children and bequeathed Swinsty Hall direct to his grandson John. And whilst John had one son, he died before John and the Hall was left to his daughters Mary & Ann, finally ending Robinson ownership after 182 years.
Meanwhile, Mary & Ann’s cousin, another Ann Robinson married Samuel Hardisty & they had a child Anne Hardisty in 1782. Anne is Paul’s 4 x great grandmother. Knowing I was related to Paul via the Hardistys I naively thought that meant that I too was related to the Robinsons and thus to the owners of Swinsty Hall. It turned out to be a little more complicated. Anne married another Hardisty, William, whose grandparents, Robert Hardisty & Ellen Kirton were my 7 x great grandparents. Whilst the Hardistys and the Kirtons were both established Fewston families it seems that they may have only been feasters at that grand oak table rather than the ones sitting at the head dispensing hospitality and it is not beyond the realms of imagination that they might have danced in the very same gardens my immediate family did in 1985.
So, whilst my connection to the Euro2020s seems somewhat tenuous, I can perhaps say that both my seventeenth century ancestors and my more immediate family have eaten in the grand panelled dining room of the current England manager’s home.
Images from www.ukhomesearch.org.uk showing the gardens we danced in and the hall in which we ate, Swinsty Hall
With much gratitude to my third cousin, Paul, Norwood County Primary School and my Hardisty ancestors. `
William Henry Barrett, 1894 – 1924. Own collection.
It is a family “truth” that, as farmers, we were exempt from military service in both WW1 and WW2. The “truth” of this statement is more complex than it first seems. Whilst none of my direct ancestors fought in either war, several siblings and cousins did including my great, great uncle, William Henry Barrett.
The truth that many farmers didn’t end up on the front line is illustrated through this letter dated 21 May 1946 in relation to George Houseman, my father’s father (Grandad), who had “indefinite deferment of calling up granted to him by the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries.” The letter was sent to his employer, Jesse Houseman, who also happened to be his father-in-law…….
Letter confirming deferment of military service for George Houseman. Own collection.
Farming was a reserved occupation but only once you had reached the age of 25. On my Mum’s side, my Grandpy was eighteen when war broke out, his brother, Henry, twenty-one so both of age to fight. The story passed down is that my great grandfather (George Thomas) sent one of his sons to work elsewhere to avoid them being drafted. We’d always understood it to be my Uncle Henry (the oldest brother) who worked elsewhere but it’s my Grandpy that I can’t find on the 1939 register. Whoever it was, both Grandpy and his brother joined the Home Front in 1941 and did their part in serving the country. This approach was well supported by the local estate manager as the only person from the local community who was drafted to the front was one who had, apparently, fallen out with his father.
But why was George Thomas so keen to keep his sons from the front? This is where William Henry comes in. William Henry was the third and last child of Jane Brooks & Henry Barrett. He was born on 5 December 1894, seven years after his brother, my great grandfather, George Thomas, and fourteen years after his sister, Mary Elizabeth. In photos he very much looks like the cosseted (perhaps unexpected) baby of the family and most definitely on the puny side.
Jane Brooks, Henry Barrett and their three (oldest to youngest) children Mary Elizabeth, George Thomas and William Henry. Own collection.
When war broke out in 1914 many in the locality volunteered to serve. The records of those serving in the 6th battalion of the Duke of Wellington’s West Riding regiment are helpfully captured in the wonderfully evocative book “Craven’s part in the Great War” which opens with the following: “A humble but sincere expression…of the gallant, heroic and self-sacrificing spirit shown by the sons of Craven in resisting the unscrupulous, malignant and pre-arranged design of Germany and her dupes to crush the British Empire and the civilised countries associated with her.” The authors being “confident that the volume will be treasured as an honoured heirloom in every family who representative has done his share in freeing our beloved Empire from the slavery of German hatred and military aggression.” Sadly, this “honoured heirloom” has failed to make it into my hands.
Pvte W. H. Barrett, 2/6th battalion of the Duke of Wellington (West Riding) Regiment. Own collection.
William’s service record seems to be one of the many destroyed in the blitz. What we do know is that, by 1915, Private W. H Barrett (regiment number 267160) was serving in the 2/6th Battalion of the Duke of Wellington (West Riding) Regiment, later transferring to the Labour Corps (regiment number 420996). In some senses it seems that William may have been lucky, the 2/6th battalion was a home services “second line” unit and did not serve at the front until 1917 by which time William may well have transferred to the Labour Corps. His service seems to be neither distinguished nor undistinguished, just one of the many young men that went to war and came back, seemingly physically unharmed (as evidenced by WW1 pension records).
Memorial plaque, Greenhow Hill https://greenhow-hill.org.uk/people/1914-1918/
When William’s father, Henry, died in April 1924 his will included a specific bequest of farm stock and implements “in acknowledgement of his service for his country in the late war” presumably setting William up to take over the family farm at Throstle Nest.
Sadly, William only lived a few more weeks. He died on 20 May 1924 of tuberculosis, aged just 29. Unmarried and childless, William is buried with his parents in Pateley Bridge cemetery.
We can’t know whether William caught tuberculosis whilst on active duty and yet his family may have suspected this as being the reason. Perhaps William’s last legacy was to ensure his nephews weren’t put in the same situation when WW2 broke out just a few short years later.
With much gratitude to William Henry Barrett for his service and for his legacy which kept my Grandpy safe from war, to the long long trail for helping me make sense of the regiments and to all those who served. Also, to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
Christine Mary Houseman, Mary Houseman, Hilda Mary Scott & Maria Reynard
From young to old: Christine Mary Houseman, Mary Houseman, Hilda Mary Scott & Maria Reynard. Own collection
It was Christmas 2002. Grandma (my Dad’s Mum) was known for mostly standard presents, with an occasional inspirational one dropped, unexpectedly, into the mix. This year, it looked like a box of chocolates. I was gracious in my thanks and then I realised it wasn’t in a cellophane wrapper. I opened it up and inside was a photo album working backwards through my life and beyond, from that very summer to the 1940s. Right at the back was photo you see here.
I don’t know exactly why Grandma decided to do this. My best guess is that I was her eldest grandchild and was two years married. I think, perhaps, she was looking to inspire a new generation.
I have loved this photo since I have first seen it. It is August 1947 outside Prospect Farm, Lindley. My Aunt Christine is the baby, her mother, my Grandma, her mother, Hilda Mary nee Scott, Grandma’s mother, my great grandmother and finally Maria nee Reynard, Hilda’s mother and my great, great grandmother. A fellow family story blogger shared their three Grandma photo and story last week and made me want to share this story. It’s a super brief summary of four “mothers” that I plan to share much longer stories about.
Christine Mary Houseman, the baby in the photo, is a very special person in my life. She was born on 13 June 1947. Her older brother, George Christopher, lived just two and a half days, so she was de-facto oldest child. I always got the sense she was encouraged to stay at home, the daughter who would look after her parents. Whether this is true or not, Christine never married. She was a farmer, a caterer, a WI produce judge and a Sunday School teacher at Norwood Bottom Methodist Chapel. Her twin loves that I witnessed were Young Farmers and us, her nieces & nephews. When my Dad, her brother, died in 1984, she was a constant support. The best epitaph for me, though, came many years later when talking to some ex-Young Farmer friends, who said “We still ask ourselves what Christine would have said” – she was as important in their lives as she was in ours. Sadly, Aunty Christine lost her battle with cancer on 1 April 1999.
Mary Houseman,the new mother, my Grandma, was born in 1921. This being the 100 year anniversary of her birth I plan to write a more fulsome story. She married my Grandad, George Houseman, in 1945. This photo, though, tells something of her life. It’s taken on the front doorsteps of Prospect Farm, Lindley. Grandma moved here when she was a young child. She left, briefly, when she married and had returned by the time of this photo. As she writes it
“One Monday when Thomas [Grandad’s brother] and George [my Grandad] went to Otley auction they had been talking to my Dad and he told them that George Baxter had got other work as an apprentice joiner in Otley. That just left Dad, Mother and George Barker to start hay time. Would we consider coming back home and taking over the farm? They would find somewhere else to live as soon as they heard of something near and suitable (what a decision for us to make). It was coming back home for me BUT I was now married and felt that I could not please both my husband and Dad. It was harder for George to leave home where he was born and Thomas at the face of hay time. What had we to do? Mother told me that Dad had been so sad and lost without me at home. He was not the only one. Meg my little dog from being a pup just whined and wouldn’t do anything for anybody else. Thomas and George had been to look at other farms previous over the past but never found anything that they liked. So we decided it was an opportunity not to be missed. We came back home to live here at the beginning of July.”
We have photos of Grandma and her own great grandchildren on her 90th birthday just a few steps away from this photo. Grandma didn’t leave Prospect Farm until she was too ill to live without full time specialist nursing care. She died on 31 March 2020 aged 98.
Hilda Mary Scott is stood to the right of the photo. Hilda was born on 31 August 1891 and grew up in Pickhill near Thirsk. She was a beautiful young woman who knew her own worth. She married Jesse Houseman on 28 September 1915 and moved, originally to Haverah Park and then to Prospect Farm. Everything I have read suggests this was a love match, like the postcard from Jesse to Hilda that reads simply “Dear Hilda, hope you are keeping alright, it seems very queer without you. Love from Jesse.” Hilda & Jesse had three daughters, Muriel born in 1916, Jessie in 1918 and my Grandma, Mary, in 1921. She was a champion butter-maker, competing and winning in a number of local shows. Her death on 9 August 1954, of cancer, left her family heartbroken.
Maria Reynard sits at the front of the photo. Maria was born on 16 December 1861, daughter of Mary Ann Gill & William Reynard. She married John Scott in 1885 and together they had eight children, Hilda Mary being the third child and first daughter. The family prospered moving into a detached property, Prospect House in Pickhill, that John had built. By the time this photo was taken, Maria, 85, was already a great grandmother several times over and yet she still looks delighted to be holding baby Christine in her arms. You can read more about Maria’s family photo album and her son, Walter Scott.
Four generations captured together in love and motherhood.
With much gratitude to my Aunt Christine, my Grandma, Mary, my great grandmother, Hilda and my Great Great Grandmother, Maria, in who’s arms the generations have been nurtured, to Joan Weise who’s three Grandma’s blog inspired this one and to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
The old leather suitcase full of genealogical goodies. Own photo.
Back in March I snuck up to Yorkshire to see my Mum. It was her birthday, I hadn’t seen her for eight months, she’d had her first jab and she was on her own for a few days. Technically we could be a household bubble as I live on my own, but we were both cautious not wanting to advertise a 200 mile trip at a point when we were still advised to stay close to home. I brought my scanner. Mum dug out a little leather suitcase full of old family photos and documents. We spent three wonderful days identifying photos, family artifacts and sharing family stories.
My Dad’s family history is well documented – my Dad’s Mum, my Grandma, was, essentially, a genealogist. I can also (benefiting from the hard work of others) trace Grandpy’s line (my Mum’s Dad) back to the 1500s.
That leaves me with my Mum’s Mum, my Nana, Mary Booth. Her parents, Marion Moody and Arthur Booth grew up in different parts of Yorkshire – Marion’s family were coal miners living close to Wakefield, Arthur’s family were farmers living around the Otley/Bingley area. Those who know Yorkshire will understand why I still have a question as to how they actually met. Both families were relatively poor (two feature in my paupers blog) and moved a lot for work. Of my first 126 direct ancestors (ie up to great great great great Grandparents) I have just one illegitimate ancestor and it’s in this branch [Postscript, November 2022, Annie’s father, also turned out to be illegitimate]. Even the DNA evidence is scattered – just enough distant cousins for me not to question the track, not enough to help me go back. That’s why the most exciting discovery in that little leather suitcase was a photo of my Mother’s Mother’s Mother’s Mother, Annie Bentley – the first one I had ever seen. This being just after Mother’s Day in many parts of the world is a good reason to tell the story of Annie and her family, particularly of her daughters Edith & Elsie, who, for different reasons, never got to be mothers, which makes it important to tell their tale too.
The sole photo of Annie Bentley, own collection
Childhood & marriage
Annie Bentley was born on 7 July 1876 in the village of Netherton, near Wakefield, the fifth of twelve children. Annie’s parents, Mary Hinchcliffe & George Bentley were both from mining families. The Hinchcliffes came from Barugh near Barnsley and the Bentleys from the Netherton area near Wakefield. Whilst Barugh and Netherton are within an easy half hour drive these days it was a very different proposition in the 1860s and 1870s. It seems likely both Mary & George moved for work associated with Parkhill Colliery as their marriage at Wakefield registry office in 1867, has them both living in Eastmoor without family as witnesses.
The marriage certificate of Mary Hinchcliffe & George Bentley, Annie Bentley’s parents, in 1867
By 1882, the Bentleys had settled in Netherton in a row of mining villages called Little London. This little strip of housing was apparently built by Emma Lister-Kaye. Emma was the daughter of Sir John Lister-Kaye who owned Caphouse colliery. Emma, being female, did not inherit the baronetcy, but she did inherit the colliery. She was heavily supportive of the local area and on her death her manager described her as “an aristocrat to her fingertips, and an excellent business brain, which could not be said for her father.” Annie grew up in a miner’s cottage, but likely a better than average one.
The Bentley girls seemed to have developed an obsession with the Greenwood boys. Three of Annie’s sisters married two brothers and their nephew (see my sister is also my aunt). One of these, Florence, moved to Otley, which might just be the explanation for how my great grandparents (Marion & Arthur) met. Annie, however, had different ideas and chose nearby boy, Ernest William Moody. Ernest was just a couple of months older and living in close by Horbury Bridge. In 1891 they were both working in a mill, Annie as an assistant feeder and Ernest as a millhand and whilst I haven’t, yet, been able to prove they were the same one it seems a likely explanation. They married on 26 December 1899 at St Johns, Horbury Bridge. A Christmas wedding sounds romantic but was more likely chosen to coincide with a factory closure.
St John’s church, Horbury Bridge complete with Mum. 2021. Own photo.
The Moody family
By 1901, Annie & Ernest were settled in a small terrace house on King Street, Horbury Bridge.
Children followed, Marion (my great grandmother) was born on 5 April 1902, Edith on 15 September 1904, Elsie on 8 February 1907 and then a bit of a gap before a son, George, arrived, on 10 September 1913.
The new century was a time of social movement. The labour party was formed in 1900. In Horbury canals had given way to railroads but left plentiful water for factories and of course there was the coal which drove the economy at that time. There are hints about how the family were involved in this social movement. George (their son) was heavily involved in the labour movement in adult life, Ernest gave some very detailed evidence at the inquest of a fellow worker in 1936 suggesting he was prepared to be public about workplace accidents and then there is an intriguing photo of Ernest at the Harrogate baths that feels like an organising conference of some sort. It’s a direction for future research.
Photo taken at Harrogate Baths. Ernest Moody is sitting on the front row, third from the left. Own collection.
What this meant to Annie is impossible to establish. There is a family rumour that George was the son of the lodger. There was such a lodger, Tom Atkinson, registered on the 1911 & 1921 censuses, but I suspect the rumour is more likely to be a reflection on a couple who had different lives than of an actual affair. More likely still is that this was a family dealing with an ill child. Elsie, Annie’s youngest daughter, died on 29 June 1924, at home with her family in Lodge Terrace, Netherton (now South Lane) in Netherton. She was just seventeen. In the one photo we have she is sat in a chair with a newspaper or magazine and I believe she would have been ill for some time.
Elsie Moody. Own collection.
Annie’s eldest daughter, Marion, my great grandmother, married the following year and moved away. Edith, however, stayed close.
Edith (aka Auntie Edie)
Edith Moody, possibly between 1914 & 1918, possibly in a work place – possibly either a factory or in a hospital. Own collection.
Whilst Elsie’s story is contained within Annie’s, Edith’s continued long beyond Annie’s and deserves its own telling. Whilst my great Grandmother, Marion, died when my Mum was just nine. Auntie Edie was someone I had the pleasure of having personally known. The two things that shine through for me are her love for family and her love for Uncle Charlie.
Annie died in 1932 aged just 56 and Edith married Charles (“Charlie”) William Hardy in 1934. Charlie was cute, came from a good family (his father was a police constable) and he had a solid job in a local factory. Did she wait until after her mother died and no longer needed her at home? Maybe. It was often the case that at least one daughter was “encouraged” to stay at home and look after her parents. There is further evidence of filial responsibility in the 1939 register. By then Edie & Charlie were living at Sunny-Dene, 17 Elmwood Grove, Horbury, the home where the two were to live out their whole lives and her father, Ernest and her younger brother, George, were living with them continuing to be supported by Edie.
Edith Moody. Own collection
Charles Hardy. Own collection
The photos I have continue to tell the tale of family love. They fall into two groups. One group has Edie by the side of her sister Marion either with or without Marion’s two children my Nana, Mary & her elder sister Hilda. The other group is generally taken in the garden at Sunny-Dene, Edie & Charlie with their arms around each other and, generally, a brother, a niece or a nephew.
Edith with her sister Marion (my great Grandmother) and her two nieces Hilda & Mary Booth (my Nana). Own collection
Auntie Edie & Uncle Charlie in the garden at Sunny-Dene. Own collection.
My strongest personal memory of Auntie Edie is of a trip to Horbury, to the garden of Sunny-Dene. I think it was around the time of my birthday and we had were visiting for tea. Auntie Edie’s neighbour gave me a black handbag and this became the holder of my marbles as we competed in the playground of Norwood School. I have no idea who that neighbour was, but this generous gift is a suggestion of someone who made deep friendships with their neighbours.
Sadly, Uncle Charlie died on 13 December 1978 and, yet, even here we have evidence of the closeness of the coupler. Charlie’s probate wasn’t finally settled until Auntie Edie, too, died on 20 February 1984 when the estate, such as it was, was split equally between Edie’s two nieces and one nephew. A few months later my Dad died. My Mum always says that she was grateful Auntie Edie had never had to learn of her great niece’s loss, a reflection of the great affection Auntie Edie had for my Nana & my Mum, who were almost as close as a daughter and granddaughter in her heart. With much gratitude to Annie Bentley and Edith & Elsie Moody who are just three of the people who make up my motherhood. Also, to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
Religious centres witness our beginning and our end, moments of intense joy and of deepest sadness almost always in the presence of our dearest family and friends. Even for those of us without strong faith they have so much more meaning than just the stone or brick from which they are built. St Oswalds church, Leathley has become that special place for me.
The picturesque village of Leathley is bounded by the river Washburn, a river which features heavily in my family history. It is an old settlement, established in the Anglo Saxon period, more sheltered than many of the surrounding villages. St Oswald’s Church occupies a piece of rising ground in the centre of the village, across the road from the village green, parish rooms and the almshouses. The tower dates from the Norman period and was enlarged in 1472. It is a simple, serene church surrounded by a peaceful graveyard.
St Oswald’s played an important role in our family for several decades prior to us moving to the village of Leathley in 1988 – this blog brings together some of those stories.
The story starts with my great grandparents, Mary & George Thomas Barrett. When Mary & George Thomas retired in 1948 (passing the tenancy of the family farm in nearby Stainburn onto their son, my Grandpy) they moved to Little London Cottage in Leathley. Sadly their retirement was not to last long. George Thomas died in 1951 and Mary followed in 1954. They were buried, together, at St Oswald’s.
Fast forward nearly twenty years. My Nana & Grandpy, Mary & Walker Barrett watched their two children, Richard & Ann, grow to adulthood. Nana was an active member of Leathley WI and would often have been in and around the church. Then tragedy struck, Richard was killed aged just 22. His funeral was held at St Oswald’s and Richard’s remains buried with his grandparents, no doubt in the hope they would be together.
Headstone for Richard Arthur Barrett, my uncle
It is then that our connection takes a more joyful turn – the wedding of Ann (my Mum) & George Christopher Houseman, otherwise known as Bob, (my Dad) on 9 June 1973. Although Stainburn has its own beautiful church, weddings were no longer being held there. Instead the wedding should have taken place at North Rigton. It was St Oswald’s though, that held a special place for the family and so Ann moved in with family friends (Dot & Dennis Beecroft) to be technically within Leathley parish for the three weeks whilst the banns were read. One must assume that this was with the blessing of the vicar!
It was a glorious, joyful, special occasion, a time to put aside the family sadness and celebrate the coming together of two very special people. Mum wore “a dress of palest blue chiffon with ribbon lace bodice and scallop-edged flowing skirt appliqued by flowers” made by Nana. The Young Farmers provided a guard of honour with forks and the tradition of lifting the bride over the lychgate was upheld.
Mum & Dad’s wedding
Then it was time for christenings, my own in 1975, and those of my three sisters in following years. It’s a beautiful old font topped by a carved wooden triangular canopy but, no matter how beautiful, the shock of the cold water was still making some of us cry!
My christening at St Oswalds. Left to right: George Christopher Houseman (my Dad), Jesse Houseman (my greatgrandad), me, Mary Houseman (my Grandma) and behind Joseph Ross (Godfather) & Tracey Ross.
Then in December 1984, my Dad was tragically killed in another road traffic accident. Someday I’ll feel able to write fuller stories of my Dad. But it was to St Oswald’s we turned for the solace provided by a final resting place. My brother’s christening, held early the following year at St Oswald’s, was bittersweet.
Although Nana & Grandpy had retired to Otley, it was to St Oswald’s we turned when Nana died in 1999 and she was buried close to her son. The church was overflowing, those planning perhaps not quite understanding how much she meant to so many people. It became Grandpy’s final resting place too, many years later.
Again the cycle turned. When I got engaged to Paul there were all the usual decisions to be made – location for the reception, wedding outfits, photographer, band, but there was only one place I wanted the ceremony to be held – St Oswald’s. I chose to walk to the church through the village providing a strange spectacle no doubt for the cars speeding past. Our wedding was witnessed by friends & family, there was a guard of honour from the Young Farmers (this time with shepherds’ crooks) and, although a little red-faced, Paul continued the tradition of lifting the bride over the lychgate. In amongst all the celebration there was time to visit my Dad’s grave and it helped to know that he was there in the churchyard with us.
My wedding, 9 September 2000, inside St Oswald’sThe lychgate at St Oswalds
Mum, too, chose St Oswald’s when she married six months later – in the church records there is only one other wedding between mine & Mum’s. One of my sister’s, too, chose St Oswald’s for her wedding.
My Mum signing the register at Leathley for her second marriage to Joe Ross.
I moved to Leeds and Mum moved to live with her new husband near York. We still visited Leathley regularly but were no longer living in the parish. Then our third family tragedy. On 3 May 2004 my husband Paul was killed, aged just thirty, in yet another road traffic accident. The vicar had changed since we were married and initially questioned why Paul’s funeral should be held at Leathley when we no longer lived in the village. It didn’t take long for someone to share the importance of St Oswald’s to our family. Paul has a small square stone close the second entrance. He’s safe there with my Dad, my Nana & Grandpy, my Uncle and his Grandparents. My family take wreaths at Christmas and bluebells in the spring.
Gravestone of George Christopher “Bob” Houseman with a wreath at Christmas.
It is the joy and the sadness that makes St Oswald’s hold a very special place in my heart.
With much gratitude to St Oswald’s of Leathley, to the many clergy who supported us through these times and to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
George Houseman in the uniform of the Darley Silver Band, own collection
We are not exactly what I would call a musical family. One of my sisters played the guitar for a while at middle school and another learned the cornet for a year and that was about it. Even mandatory recorder lessors were a trial for me, and I suspect they were even more of an ordeal for those forced to listen as I practiced……So it’s almost a surprise that the Houseman family was a core part of the musical scene in Darley, Yorkshire for at least a couple of generations. This is their story.
Our known family association starts with the Darley Temperance Band which was formed in 1901 as a successor to the original Darley String Band.
My paternal Great Grandfather, George Houseman (b. 1868) and his two brothers Fred (b. 1876) and Willie (b. 1870) were regular players, with George playing the cornet. The three are pictured on this 1911 photo, George is the one player not in uniform on the back row, Fred is stood on his right. Willie is named as being in the photo, but not identified and I don’t have a photo to compare.
Photo of Darley Temperance Band, 1911, featuring my Great Grandfather George and his two brothers, own collection.
The Darley Temperance Band quickly became popular in the area, with a particular favourite being the “Hospital Sunday” concerts where the band played at services and led the march between the two chapels and the church to help raise funds for the sick and destitute to pay their medical bills.
The band eventually became the known as the Darley Silver Band and by the 1930’s, my great, great Uncle Fred and his sons John Robert, William, Charlie & Ted were all stalwart members. My Great Grandfather, George, appears to have retired, replaced by his eldest sons Thomas & William.
My Grandad, also George, was the youngest of George’s Houseman’s children, born when Great Grandfather George was 52. Although Grandad was just fifteen when his father died there must have been plenty of time for musical education before then as at some point my Grandad, cornet in hand, joined his brothers in the band.
The Darley Silver Band continued to take part in the main festivities and ceremonial occasions in the village through the forties and fifties and headed up the fancy dress parade as part of Darley Thanksgiving Week at the end of the second world war.
Photo from own collection of a Darley Silver Band parade
Perhaps it was the trim blue, red & gold uniforms that appealed to my Grandma. In any event the band continued to be an important part of my Grandad’s life even after they married. As my Grandma wrote in her memoirs:
“George often went back to Darley to the band practice and other occasions. I liked to go and hear the band play they all had uniform trimmed with red and gold braid which looked very smart. George played a cornet, but not quite as good as Thomas and Arthur”.
That quote helps to demonstrate quite how much of a family affair the band was, with Thomas being George’s eldest brother and Arthur being his brother-in-law, married to George’s sister, Hilda. His cousins, John Robert & George Edwin rounded out the Houseman contribution to Darley’s musical life.
Photo from Summerbridge & Dacre Silver Band collection featuring (seated): my Grandad, George (second from the right), Arthur, husband of my Great Aunt (fourth from the right) and Thomas, my Great Uncle (fifth from the right).
Sadly, I have no memories of my Grandad playing. He was 54 when I was born and had long since ceased to play with the band. Darley Silver Band was disbanded in 1959 and although many members joined the Summerbridge and Dacre Silver Band this may have been when Grandad hung up his cornet. It was his love of cricket that I remembered him for. He died in 1987, when I was twelve, following two years of illness which left him bed bound for much of the time. Yet, who knows, through photos and stories maybe the musical tradition just might live on in our next generation.
With much gratitude to George Houseman (my paternal Grandad) and his father, George for their musical pursuits. Thanks also to the Summerbridge and Dacre Silver Band for their history page that enabled me to learn much more about my family and to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
My ancestors’ occupations were that of smallholder farmer, miner, weaver, charwoman, servant and other assorted rural labours. The occasional blacksmith or farmer of a few hundred acres hints at a steady income a step above the labouring poor, but we are not a family with a story of vast wealth. The rural poor leave little documentary trace. The daughters, sisters, wives and mothers, women in other words, don’t always even leave a record of their name. Yet without many of these women I would not exist.
Consequently, instead of using weeks #52ancestors theme of “fortune” as a prompt to tell the story of a fractionally wealthier (male) ancestor, I have taken it as an opportunity to document the lives of three women who were the exact opposite. It is a pleasure to introduce you to three of my maternal ancestors: Nanny Sidgewick, Martha Bottom and Widow Swinden.
Agnes (Nanny) Sidgewick
Litton is a remote village high up in Craven District in North Yorkshire. It’s a beautiful, fertile village which was apparently “notorious in the 18th century for its cockpit, situated between the village and the River Skirfare, where cock fighting and badger baiting took place.” It was here, c. 1773, that Agnes was born, the second child of Leonard Sidgewick & Dorothy Ashworth. Leonard died in 1778 leaving Dorothy to raise their four young children alone.
Agnes was 25 and John Preston, 29, when they married in Litton on 21 April 1798. Together they had five children, my great, great, great grandmother, Isabella, being the youngest. In the children’s baptism records Agnes’s name is listed as Nanny – one of those tiny snippets of detail which has survived the years.
By 1841 Agnes & John were living in Conistone, a village about seven miles downriver from Litton. This one census tells a story of their poverty. Agnes was living in one house in the village, still working, at the age of 68, as a farm servant. John, by then an invalid, was living in a different property with their daughter Isabella and died later that year of “natural decay.”
The last eleven years of Agnes’ life would have been tough. Isabella married and moved away in 1843 and Agnes was left alone. In her seventies, she would have struggled to survive. As Ian H Waller (My ancestor was an agricultural labourer) puts it so succinctly “In any rural community, labourers had to work while they could. Age was no deterrent and there was a not a pension. No work, no pay, no food.”
1851 census – Agnes Preston (nee Sidgewick)
In 1851 we come across Agnes again living alone in Conistone, with her “rank, profession or occupation” listed simply as “pauper.” She died of consumption, aged almost 80, on 17 February 1852.
Martha Bottom
Moving fifty miles south to Thornhill, near Wakefield we meet Martha Bottom.
Martha’s earlier life is hard to evidence. Later documents (the 1841 & 1851 censuses & her death certificate) suggest she was born c. 1781 but I’ve been unable to trace a baptism record.
In contrast the banns of marriage between Martha & her husband, Joseph Hall, appear to have been recorded twice, the first time on 28 January, 4 February & 11 February 1798 and second time on 27 January, 3 February & 10 February 1799. Possibly there were two sets of Martha Bottoms & Joseph Halls marrying in Thornhill in quick succession. Possibly the banns were duplicated. However, my favourite theory is the inconvenient arrival of a new born right before the wedding was due to take place causing the actual ceremony to be postponed.
Pallots marriage record
Martha & Joseph went on to have eleven legitimate children between 1799 and 1820: that’s a twenty-year span of pregnancy and childbirth…. Rachel, their tenth child born in 1817, was my great, great, great, great grandmother. The family lived in the township of Shitlington with different documents referencing the specific villages of Netherton, Overton and Midgely.
All of Martha & Joseph’s surviving children had left home by the time Joseph died in early 1841. However, the 60 year old Martha’s child rearing days had not ended. Her daughter, Mary, had had four illegitimate children before dying in 1839. Three of those four children (Henry, Emma & Sarah) were living with Martha in Midgely in 1841, with one having also died.
1841 census for Midgely village, Shitlington showing Martha (nee Bottom) and her three grandchildren
The 1840s would have been tough for an older widow with three small children to support as this extract from a book by Philip Ahier vividly illustrates.
“Conditions in Netherton, as well as elsewhere, during the “Hungry Forties” were very bad for the majority of the workers. Mr John Oldfield, in his “Recollections,” in a few terse sentences paints graphic word-pictures of these times:-
“Our food was nearly all porridge. Ebenezer Parkin made oatbread, and I have often sat by the back stone and eaten the shavings made. In 1845, my father played a whole winter and never earned a penny. When I was getting 4/6 weekly at Lord’s Mill, flour was 4/6 to 5/10 a stone, and I was nearly clammed to death. I used to take a meal dumpling for dinner and to eat it at breakfast time, and then walk and clam til I got home at night, when I had porridge. I have pined many a score of days after eating my dinner at breakfast time, and then having had to wait till night.””
Martha is still living in Midgely in 1851, at this point on her own, described as a pauper although several of her children were living in Midgely or nearby villages. She died aged 74 of apoplexy (or stroke) on 27 February 1855.
Widow Swinden
The evidence of my 7th great grandmother’s existence is slim and mostly circumstantial. Yet exist she must, less I wouldn’t.
Joseph Swinden married Ann Green on 27 December 1744 in St Michaels & All Angels church, Thornhill, Yorkshire. The following year, an Ann, wife of Joseph Swinden, was buried in the same church. Joseph went on to have had seven children baptised in the same church between 1748 and 1764, the eldest, Ann, being the mother of Martha Bottom described above. There is no evidence of a second marriage. Equally there is no evidence of any other Swindens whose wives could have died in Thornhill at the time and Joseph had to have had those seven children with someone. This leads me to believe that it was indeed Ann Green who died in 1745 and that at some point before 1748 Joseph married my 7th great grandmother, and, together with Joseph, had at least seven children.
In the baptism records, Joseph was described as being from Thornhill Edge. Joseph was buried on 14 May 1768, again at Thornhill, with his burial record describing him as “of the Lees, pauper” so we can assume this is also where my 7th great grandmother lived for the majority if not all of her life.
Finally, we come to the end of her life and the sole documentary evidence of my 7th great grandmother, a burial record from Thornhill in 1771 reading simply “Wid Swinden buried” – it’s not even possible to decipher the month in the copy of the record. Even in death she exists only in relation to another, her husband.
From Thornhill parish records, 1771
I’ve written this blog to give life to Widow Swinden, Martha and Agnes. I’ll never know what they looked like, what made them laugh or cry, whether they loved their husbands or merely tolerated them. Yet I do know that they were all daughters, wives, mothers and grandmothers and that in itself is worth celebrating.
Later note: I shared Wid Swinden’s story on a podcast which then inspired a poem.
With much gratitude to Agnes Sidgewick, Martha Bottom and Widow Swinden without whom I wouldn’t exist. Thanks also wharefegen.info for their incredible research into Wharfedale families and to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
Receipt from Staffa nursing home for the birth of George Christopher Houseman
Two and a half days is such a short period of time. Sixty hours. 3,600 minutes. Take a moment. Think back over the last two days or even the last week – what did you do, think, learn or feel? I’ve been content in lock down winter to treat each day as a new one, to let the hours and days flow past waiting for the year to start. I barely notice one day after the next.
George Christopher Houseman lived just two and a half days.
He was the first son of Mary & George Houseman. Born in Staffa nursing home in Harrogate on 25 February 1946. (Incidentally only seven months after Mary & George were married). He died two and a half days later.
Grandma (Mary Houseman) was the family story keeper. Being of Yorkshire heritage she wasn’t one to shy away from plain speaking. So, the facts she told were – George Christopher existed, he was born and a few days later he died, but she didn’t seem to want to share more – it was a sad memory.
That could have been the end of his story. It wasn’t.
Mary & George had a wonderful daughter, Christine Mary, born in 1947 and then a second son in 1950 who they also named George Christopher. This same named child was my father. The first George Christopher my Uncle.
I have a fascination with the siblings of my ancestors who remain unwed, or who married and didn’t have children. Without any descendants they tend to be less well researched, somewhat ethereal and in danger of being forgotten. Yet they often have fascinating stories much more likely to pop up on censuses with other relatives and have wills that help connect. I want George Christopher to be more than a memory (mine) of another’s memory (my Grandma’s) and so this blog is written.
George Christopher now exists for me in three documents: a receipt, my Grandma’s autobiography and his death certificate.
I found the receipt for the nursing home stay carefully folded up in a small wallet when I inherited Grandma’s papers. Staffa nursing home was popular with mothers in the 1940s in the years before the NHS came into existence and was where my own father was born too. It was the only document she had of her life.
My Grandma’s autobiography, the Changing Years, tells us more about the love she bore for her first son.
MOTHER FOR TWO DAYS
We have had so much sadness in our lives that I find it hard writing about it in detail but I can not overlook it as I spend many sad hours thinking about so many of my family that I loved so much and meant so much to me during my life. We were both heart broken when we lost our first baby, a little boy that we had very much looked forward to having in our family. I know that Dad and Mother were so pleased to have a little Grandson in the Houseman family. He was born on the 25th of February 1946 and only lived two and a half days and is buried at Dacre Top Cemetery. It took an awful lot of courage after a long three days in labour for me to get over it. But I was very well looked after at the Staffa Nursing Home in Harrogate and was soon able to come home and get back into my routine. The doctor told me that the only way I would get over it was to look forward to having another baby.
And finally, I ordered his death certificate. George Christopher died on 27 February 1946 at Harrogate General Hospital of purpura neonatorum, blood spots and discolouration of the skin resulting from coagulation in the small blood vessels. I have no way of knowing if he was a premature honeymoon baby or a pre-marriage full term. There doesn’t seem to be a particular increased incidence of purpura in premature babies but I can imagine a seven month pregnancy resulting in a weaker child much more than I can Grandma being pregnant when she married!
Two and a half days may not seem like a very long time but I hope this blog demonstrates it’s long enough to leave a legacy.
With much gratitude to George Christopher Houseman (1946 – 1946), and thanks also to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
Card sent from my Grandad, George Houseman to his wife, Mary Houseman, the author of the poem.
I’ve found tantalising glimpses of love in my family history research. One of my favourite documents is the will of my 4 x great grandfather John Booth. Written in 1860, John refers to his “dear wife” (Jane Lund) three times in just a few short lines.
Valentines – stories of romance and courtship – are more difficult to spot in formal records. It’s impossible to tell whether the marriage between neighbours was a story of childhood sweethearts or just one of proximity and convenience. Even John & Jane’s love is more likely a result of a long, shared life than of hearts & flowers.
Instead, I’m turning a poem written by my Grandma, Mary Houseman.
Grandma’s poems and scripts reflected the local countryside and farming life. They were written to celebrate a birthday, to be recited at a Sunday School anniversary or performed in Young Farmers entertainment competition. The writing is perhaps not of the highest artistic merit. It is definitely of its era and spelling and punctuation are best described idiosyncratic. (My Grandma & I may have attended the same school, Norwood County Primary, but education in the 1920s & 30s was distinctly different to that in the 1980s). Nonetheless her writing evokes an era and a place. It is also, frequently, funny, and consequently well-loved by those who have the opportunity either to read the poems or watch scripts performed.
So here it is, my Grandma’s reflections on courting.
Folk ask why girls wear mini skirts?
Its obvious to me
They’re on the marriage market
To let the buyers see. That.
The body work is neat and clean
And the boot is firm and round
The chassis well upholstered
And the moving parts are sound
The modern man. He has a choice
Not like in younger days
They took them at face value
Long skirts and whale bone stays
And many a Grandpa’s I’ll be bound
Felt sad that they’d been caught
When in the bridal chamber
They viewed – what they had bought
So modern men – remember this
Now. When you make your bid
You’ll not be caught, with a pig in a poke
The way your Grandpa’s did.
With much gratitude to my Grandma, Mary Houseman (1921 – 2020), who also features in in an earlier blog “Is Grandma related to Grandad?” and thanks also to Amy Johnson Crow whose 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge encouraged me to publish this series of stories.
