A tapestry I made as a child, found as I dug out my royal memories.
“Monday, Lord Chamberlain’s address in BP. This was fabulous.Walking in the main gate + across the central square, the state apartments. Then listening to Start as part of the main address. Then the reception. The state apartments are so sumptuous.We were about to move rooms & then saw them coming towards us. We quickly realised we’d get Prince Philip which was cool in its own right. He asked us all one by one where we were for Christmas with no real interest in the answer. But he does look younger in person than he does on film for his 89 years.+ then one of her majesty’s aides lined us up + we were introduced to the Queen! She was lovely (although more interested in royal collection marble than PoW ‘Start.’ So grandma like + gracious. Although her hands were less glam than expected. She spoke about dodgy marble + I said how lovely. I went home singing + told stories”.
Verbatim from my diary, written on 16 December 2011 about the day I became the only person in my family to meet the Queen in person and perhaps the only one to have met a reigning monarch. (Sisters-in-law excluded).
Here follow’s a swift roundup of our family’s love of & connection to the Queen in memory of a beloved monarch. May she rest in peace.
Scarf from Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. Belonging to either Nana or her mother, Marian Moody. Now proudly owned by my Mum.
Nana (Mary Booth) was an ardent Queenie fan. So much so that when her only daughter, my mother, was born in 1952 there was only one name she could call her, Elizabeth. Aunty Christine (Dad’s elder sister) was equally as devoted. Although we no longer have the scrapbooks that both faithfully collected, they passed on their love of the Queen to us, their family.
Mum and Uncle Richard were born more than ten years after the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II’s father, King George VI yet she still has these momentoes scratched with the initials RB & AB to ensure they knew who’s was who’s
Farnley Hall held an estate wide celebration for the Silver Jubilee in 1977. My sister & I were presented with gifts. Mum had to win hers….
Next up was the Royal Wedding of The Prince of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer on the 29 July 1981. By then I had started school.
A most special card written by my Mum to her in-laws living less than a mile away. Likely very soon after the birth of my sister in 1981.I always held out a faint hope that Sharon might become Prince William’s future bride. Which is perhaps why she still owns a thimble Or more likely it’s because Nana loved her thimbles as much as she loved the Queen.
We now take a 30 year interlude. Yes, we were excited about the birth of Prince Harry and the marriage of HRH The Prince Andrew & Miss Sarah Ferguson (how little did we know) and there was the frequently told story of how Mum cut the head of HRH The Princess Anne (in a photo of her presenting the 1st prize trophy in the NFYFC fashion competition to my sister, Helen), but the Royals did somewhat pass us by while we were growing up.
Until, on 15 February 2011, I started work in Clarence House as the project manager for Start, an initiative of HRH Prince of Wales charities.
It was here I really realised the pulling power of the palace. I have particular memories of sitting next to Sir Stuart Rose, talking about Yorkshire, hours after I had heard him on Radio 4 talking of his resignation as Executive Chairman of Marks & Spencer.
HRH Prince of Wales waiting to watch Jules Holland at the Start festival, September 2011HRH Prince of Wales with various executives whose companies were supporting Start including Sir Stuart Rose, July 2011
It was this role that led to the most remarkable series of Christmas parties. Clarence House, carols at The Queen’s Chapel and Buckingham Palace and the reflections with which I started this blog.
Unfortunately, I’d left just too soon to secure any sort of special access or insight into William & Kate’s wedding the following year. Already anxious that May Day Bank Holiday Monday was being moved to the Friday (it being my day of remembrance for Paul) I am not quite sure why I thought I could attend a celebration party where people were encouraged to where wedding dress for free entry. I pleaded widowhood and then later in the day changed my mind, cycling down to join the celebrations in Green Park.
Picked up in Green Park at a party I was initially reluctant to join.
Just as the Queen failed to head my edict that she had to live long enough to become the longest reigning monarch (damn Louis XVI for succeeding to the throne when he was four years old and ensuring the French will forever retain this title) Grandpy & Grandma both failed in my request that they live to 100 to receive their birthday card from the Queen. Fortunately Aunty Muriel (Grandma’s oldest sister) took up the mantle.
Aunty Muriel’s card from the Queen, October 2016
In a final ode to the Queen, Sharon & I decided to bid for a chance to join The Patron’s Lunch on The Mall to celebrate the Queen’s 90th birthday. Sharon is, I think, the staunchest Queenie fan in our generation and torrential rain was not about to spoil the most wonderful day.
The Patron’s Lunch on the Mall to celebrate the Queen’s 90th birthday. My favourite photo is not of the Queen directly, but rather of my sister Sharon keen to ensure she records her closest encounter.
In these next few hours, days and weeks many will remember the Queen. This is our story. Rest in peace Queenie. You have our family’s love.
(By strange coincidence, the last blog I wrote set out our purported relationship to King John. He “may” be our 25th great grandfather which makes Queenie our “cousin.” So be nice, we just lost a family member…..
“You are of royal descent, because everyone is. You are of Viking descent, because everyone is. You are of Saracen, Roman, Goth, Hun, Jewish descent, because, well, you get the idea. All Europeans are descended from exactly the same people, and not that long ago. Everyone alive in the tenth century who left descendants is the ancestor of every living European today, including Charlemagne, and his children Drogo, Pippin, and, of course, not forgetting Hugh. If you’re broadly eastern Asian, you’re almost certain to have Genghis Kahn sitting atop your tree somewhere in the same manner, as is often claimed. If you’re a human being on Earth, you almost certainly have Nefertiti, Confucius, or anyone we can actually name from ancient history in your tree, if they left children. The further back we go, the more the certainty of ancestry increases, though the knowledge of our ancestors decreases. It is simultaneously wonderful, trivial, meaningless, and fun[1]”.
Proving the connection of course is much, much, much more difficult. The following chain was taken from www.familysearch.org in February 2022. The first ten generations starting from my Grandad are from my research, the very earliest agreed by historians. The bit in the middle is likely simple guesswork. When I went back to family search just a few weeks later the middle bit had been disconnected, so we are likely just descended from the peasantry (which would better ensure our Yorkshire roots so suits me). Nonetheless this “could” be how we are descended from King John and from there to both William the Conqueror and Alfred the Great. Not sure it’s the king I would choose……
Natasha & Andrea Petty with their 8th prize plaques in the YFC National Final Country Spotter Competition, 1989. Coordinating colours completely accidental! Own photo.
Country spotters was a new competition for the national federation of young farmers. Who would sign up? With Aunty Christine as club leader, I was often volunteered for the non-obvious classes. And who better to join me in the two-person team than my oldest friend, Andrea Petty (see also Swinsty Hall). Somehow, we flew through the county round and were headed for Stoneleigh and the national finals. I remember thinking I should revise (I was a reasonably conscientious teenage) but honestly a competition that could require identification of anything from cows through weather to rock formations doesn’t allow for last minute cramming.
Fortunately, Grandma (Mary Houseman) was a nature explorer. Encouraged in her studies by Norwood School teacher, Miss Heaton, Grandma eventually spotted and recorded 150 species of wildflowers in our local area. (Almost, I should add, as keen eyed may notice the odd duplication in the list). Local really does mean local to within a few miles of her home at Prospect Farm, Lindley. Grandma was not an explorer in the conventional sense as she almost never left the Washburn valley.
Mary Houseman’s list of wildflowers from the Washburn Valley c. 1934. Own collection.
Together, aged six and sixty, we walked, explored, picked and pressed local wildflowers. Those of a certain age may remember the heavy thump of a telephone directory through the letterbox or more likely the postman knocking on the door because it wouldn’t fit through. Living on the boundary of several districts the towering pile of directories formed a perfect flower press. Two scrapbooks remain a beautiful reminder of that time.
The knowledge I had gained from those walks, together with Andrea’s own, led us to, if not quite to a victory, at least to an unexpected 8th place in the national finals.
Thirty years on I realise the most valuable thing is not the prize, nor is it my enduring knowledge. Rather, with both climate & biodiversity in crisis, it is the record of a list of wildflowers growing in the Washburn valley in the 1930s and a scrapbook of the same for the 1980s.
Scrapbooks of wildflowers in the Washburn valley c.1981. Own collection.
Watching test cricket at Lords has been on my bucket list for years. I can’t quite remember when or why it was added, possibly after watching the Olympics archery back in 2012, re-enforced every time I travelled past the grounds on a 274 bus. Mostly I suspect it being down to long distant memories of cricket being a Houseman “thing.” So, when the recent rain strikes prevented a friend of a friend from attending England v South Africa I jumped at the chance and whilst it wasn’t England’s best game (South Africa won without going into bat a second time) it did give me an opportunity to write about Housemans and cricket.
There is or rather was one “first class” Houseman cricketer, Ian, who played for Yorkshire between 1989 & 1991. Knowing I was a double Houseman with family from Darley, people would assume we were related. This being a Houseman from Yorkshire we are of course, but it took me many years to work out the relationship, 6th cousins, as Ian forms part of the third branch of Darley Housemans.
Playing cricket near Mikindani, Mtwara, Tanzania, 2006. Own collection.
I certainly didn’t inherit the gene. Cricket as a child involved watching the men play from the side lines whilst the women organised sandwiches and cakes as Dad played in young farmers advisory v members matches. I do have fond memories of making up numbers when working in Mikindani, Tanzania in 2006. Essentially if you put a South African in charge of a remote farm, mix in a public school educated English person or two, hot weather, sundowners and a need to avoid mosquitos by dusk, cricket seemed the obvious entertainment.
This blog is about family history though and not my own and there were two cricket obsessed men in our family, Grandad (Dad’s Dad, George Houseman) and Grandma’s Dad, Jesse Houseman.
George Houseman, Grandad, is in the forefront at the left. Own collection.
Grandad joined Farnley Estate club after the war and then moved to play for Darley as they were in a league and he felt they were more competitive. He was to remain a player and then staunch support of Darley for the rest of his life. Six club members were to be bearers at his funeral. On summer weekends George would throw his kit in the boot and travel round Yorkshire hoping that the team might be a man down and he would get a game. Saturday evenings would see him sat by the phone waiting for people to ring him to recount a match or to find out the result of a game they had missed.
I know little about Jesse Houseman’s cricketing career beyond two wonderful photos with which I will end this blog. The first is a postcard from Jesse to his sisters Beatrice, Alice & Emma, the second as a seemingly proud batsman. I think it’s meant to indicate a batting score of 131, which is just about as many as the whole England team scored in their second innings against South Africa!
Jesse Houseman. Own collectionJesse Houseman. Own collection
High Garnshaw & Tinklers Lane, taken in 2008 & 2012, from www.geograph.org.uk
The trees tell you all you need to know about the weather, strategically placed to counter the wind, rain and snow blowing off Mire Ridge to the west. The substantial stone walls bordering Tinkers (historically Tinklers) Lane carry their own story, of an ancient thoroughfare now forbidding to all but the most substantial vehicle. This is High Garnshaw, Hebden, home to several generations of our ancestors and Wellock cousins spanning 250 years.
The Wellocks have been linked to Linton in Craven ever since William Walok paid 4d of poll tax in 1379. (Incidentally this reference led me to researching the Peasants Revolt of 1381 and from there to a reference to Linton & Rylestone participants in the 1569 Northern Rebellion….but that will need to be a subject of another blog). Hebden was historically part of Linton-in-Craven parish but sufficiently different to be noted in the records.
Records from here on variously refer to Garnshaw, High Garnshaw, Tinkler’s Lane or even just Hebden. Whilst it’s hard to be certain these all refer to the same place (particularly as there is both a High Garnshaw and a Garnshaw house in close proximity), I take heart from Harry Speight, who in 1900 wrote the following about Linton “There are still resident in the parish several worthy families, descendants of the old yeoman class, who have lived on the land held by their forefathers for generations and even centuries.” Whilst the ever-present Harry neglects to make any mention of the Wallocke or Wellock families in his book “Upper Wharfedale” he was not alone in this characterisation of the people who lived in the parish of Linton for Rev. Thomas Dunham Whitaker wrote thus “the tenantry lived in so much plenty and security, the tenements descended so regularly from father to son” in his book “The History and Antiquities of the Deanery of Craven, in the County of York” published in 1818.
An extract of an ordnance survey map showing High Garnshaw House and its relationship to Grassington. Hebden and Linton-in-Craven are just off the bottom of the map.
Here follows a timeline showing the evidence of our connection to Garnshaw.
1651 – “John & Mary Twins of James Symson of Garneshaw bapt. 11o of May.”
The very first mention of Garnshaw belongs to our 9xG Grandfather, James Symson. James married Isabell Ramell in 1639 and by the time the twins were born had already baptized three children. It is entirely possibly James himself was born and brought up on the same farm. Sadly this baptism was not a happy occaision. Isabell likely died in childbirth (being buried on 4 May 1651 and the twins were to follow on 7 December the same year). Agnes, (b. 31 December 1653) James’s daughter with his second wife, Mary, was to marry George Wellock in 1674 and thus begin the connection between the Wellocks & Garnshaw.
1674 – “Robert son of George Wallocke [was] borne at Garneshaw bapt. 16to Augusti [1674]” followed swiftly on from “George Wallocke & Agnes Symson both of this Parish were married 28th day of April [1674]” suggesting that the newly married George had moved in with his father-in-law James.
1685 – “Willm son of George Wallocke Garneshaw bapt. 18th day of October.” George & Agnes were to have three further children including our 7x G Grandfather, William.
1702 – “Robert Wellock of Garnshaw burd ye 18 day of June.” Robert’s untimely death in 1702 (he would have been just 28) brought to an end this first period of connection to Garnshaw. William (our direct ancestor) (1685 – 1758) would have been too young to take over the property and clearly struggled to find a permanent tenancy, moving from Grassington to Threshfield to Coniston Cold all within a few miles of Garnshaw. William’s son William (6x G Grandfather) (1726 – 1813) was to establish a base at Upper Cow House in Winterburn where his son William (5x G Grandfather) (1748 – 1813) was born.
There is then a 50 year and three generation gap before we return to High Garnshaw.
1795 – “Richd. son of Richd. Wellock Tinkler lane Bapd. [June] 28th” – it was William’s son Richard (4 x G Grandfather) (1765 – 1849) who was to re-establish the Wellock connection to High Garnshaw. Richard married Mary Windsor at Arncliffe in 1789. Their first child, Jenny, was also baptized at the church there. By the time their son William arrived in 1792 the couple were described as living “near Hebden” and then in 1795 as “Tinkler Lane.” Whilst there would have been other dwellings on Tinkler Lane, the evidence of subsequent family connection to this specific property causes me to believe that they were now living at High Garnshaw house itself.
1810 – “Thomas son of Richard Wellack Tinkler lane, Farmer, Bapd. [June] 24th” – our 3 x G Grandfather, Thomas, was the eighth of Richard & Mary’s eleven children. Thomas was to establish another multi-generational tenancy at Toft Gate at Greenhow Hill. However, it was Thomas’s youngest sibling, Robert, who was to continue the connection the Wellock to High Garnshaw.
1846 title map showing an outline of the fields occupied by Richard Wellock.
1846 – thanks to a translation of the 1842 tithe assessment we can see the exact fields which made up the farm of High Garnshaw: Old House Field, Little Field, Low Laithe Field, Garth, Cow Garth, Far Field x 2, Strip, Intake, Paddock & Wogan Meadows plus the house itself were all occupied by Richard Wellock. The distinctive curve of Intake field (bottom left) can still be seen on modern photos.
1862 report of the alleged sexual assualt of Mary Wellock at High Garnshaw
1860 – Mary, Robert’s eldest daughter, went to work for a nearby farmer. In 1860, Mary alleged that a Mr Constantine “went into the room of the plaintiff, and committed an assault on her.” Mary moved back in with her family to have the baby and is recorded as living at High Garnshaw, together with her 4 day old daughter Fanny, in the 1861 census. Whilst at the time the case was judged to be nonsuited (meaning dismissed for lack of evidence) it is very hard to imagine a farmer’s daughter in the 1860s choosing to go to court to pursue a false allegation.
1865 – Robert’s youngest son, Jenkinson Wellock, was born. Jenkinson married Ellen Moore in 1888 and they had five children together.
1897 – John William Wellock, Jenkinson’s middle child, was born in 1897. John served in the West Riding regiment in WW1 and was killed in action on 8 September 1918. Although the family had moved out by the time of the war, John is remembered on the Hebdenhistory website.
The 1901 census is the last census showing Wellocks at High Garnshaw. Jenkinson heads the household, together with his wife, four of their children and his father, Robert.
1903 – John’s sister, Ellen, was the last Wellock child to be born at High Garnshaw on 21 February 1903.
By the time of the 1911 census, the Wellocks had moved out of High Garnshaw. Jenkinson, was boarding separately from his family with a woman he later went on to marry.
Ellen was my great grandmother (Mary Wellock)’s cousin and the 6x great grandchild of James Symson with whom we started our story.
In tracing our Wellock ancestry I owe a deep gratitude to my sister’s friend, Hazel Ratcliffe, whose daughter happened to have a child with a Wellock third cousin of ours and who kindly shared her research into our shared Wellock ancestry. I also am grateful to the Rev. F.A.C. Share M.A., Rector of Linton, who patiently transcribed the parish registers for St Michaels and All Angels Church, Linton in Craven for the Yorkshire Parish Register Society. These were published in 1900 (available on www.archive.org) and are the source for everything I quote in italics above. My final thanks go to the author of www.hebdenhistory.org for making the census and other research so much swifter.
frontispiece of the Parish Registers of Linton-in-Craven, published by the Yorkshire Parish Register Society in two volumes in 1900 & 1903. Many of the earlier volumes, these included, are available online at www.archive.org.
There are so many reasons to be proud and grateful for being born a Yorkshire lass and whilst I suspect that there aren’t many people who would put the Yorkshire Parish Register Society on that list they have proved absolute gold dust in helping evidence the depth of our Yorkshire roots.
Founded in 1899 the aim of the Yorkshire Parish Register Society was to transcribe and publish at least one volume of an original parish register every year (complete with indices, an absolute godsend). It came as no surprise to discover that the first volume concerned St Michael-Le-Belfrey, possible the primary church in York (minster excluded). As the introduction explains:
“The City of York is rich in Churches, and consequently in Parish Registers also. These cannot fail to be interesting to a large number of Yorkshiremen, because many of our County families sprang from amongst its citizens, and many of the junior members of other families of distinction, in the country, were brought up and followed their professions or callings here. As the capital of the north, also, York was the resort of many persons in the highest stations of life, from all parts of the Kingdom, so there can be no town in the county, and perhaps in the Kingdom, London excepted, in which the Parish Registers can equal, in interest, those of York”. Yet these parish registers are the most egalitarian of history books recording rich & poor, men, women & infants alike (almost, as mothers are for more rarely referenced) allowing us to trace, recognise and amplify our ancestors whatever their station and gender. The single mention in a parish register of of “Wid Swinden, pauper”, my 7x great grandmother even inspired a poem. Given our ancestors were agricultural labourers, tenants of a few acres or a yeoman at best there is little evidence of their existence. We were rarely poor enough to require a record of relief and never wealthy enough to for others to write about. Yet the parish registers have enabled me to trace several lines deep into the 17th & even 16th centuries.
St Michaels & All Angels Church, Linton-in-Craven. Own photo. The church dates back to the twelfth century. It’s hard to explain the surety of place that those of us with deep roots in rural Yorkshire parishes can feel. I can be fairly certain my ancestors saw this church being built.
Volume V (published 1900) & XVIII (published 1903) concerned the parish of St Michael’s & All Angels Church, Linton in Craven, faithfully transcribed in two parts by the Rev. F. A. C. Share. M. A. then rector of Linton. Thanks to the Rev. Share (and at least one other Wellock descendent) I have long since been able to trace my Wellock line back 450 years to one Robert Wellock, father of William Wellock, who was baptised his son in this very church in 1574.
This is where Agnes Symson, our 8xg grandmother crops up, apparently apparating into the parish of Linton-in-Craven, just in time for her marriage to George Wellock (Wallocke) on 28 April 1674. Whilst the Wellocks are well documented, their wives haven’t been accorded the same attention. In reviewing the original record, I was struck by one simple phrase “both of this parish.”
The hunt was on.
the first appearance of Agnes Symson in the Yorkshire Parish Register Society transcripts of the Linton-in-Craven parish registers.
Reviewing the registers suggested two possible candidates for her father, James “of Garneshaw” and Robert “of Hebden Moor.” Fortunately Robert was quickly eliminated as “Agnes the Dau : of Robert Symson of Hebden Moor side baptized the same day, viz: 6to March [1663/1664]” would not have been old enough to marry in 1674 and ensured that Robert would not have had an older Agnes, at least not one who survived childhood. (As an aside, I am reasonably confident that Robert & James must have been brothers with a mother named Agnes as it was not that common a name.)
I also knew that Agnes & George were also described as “of Garneshaw” in their children’s baptisms. This was looking promising.
James appears numerous times in the register: in 1639 when he married Isabel Rathmell and in 1651 when Isabel is buried, in the baptisms of Margaret (1640), William (1645), Ann (1646), Thomas (1656) and Mary (1662), in the burials of William (1646), John & Mary (twins buried in 1651) and John (1661) (where he is named as father) and of his second wife Mary (1681) as well as his own burial on 18 November 1684. If James was such a regular attender of church (at least so far as baptisms, marriages and burials were concerned) why why was there no baptism for Agnes?
This is where I am again grateful to Rev. Share[1] for his commitment to the task at hand extracting every last detail he could where records were in poor condition. I was struck by the following two entries.
…ghter of James Symson……in ye townshippe….borne ye last day of December, baptized ye 80 of January following [1653/1654]
[here follow. fragments of about a dozen baptisms ; only these Christian names are left, viz. : Margret, Elizabeth, Thomas, Agnes, Henry, and Isabell.] Wm Perte of Griston Hall yeat b…..d ye..th day of March. A……of….Knight…..rneshaw was borne the ….day of March 55 [sic]………[follows on from 4 October] [1655/1656]
Despite the obvious connection between “Agnes” and “rneshaw” I felt confident in ruling out the second entry as James’s son Thomas was born on 4 June 1656. Which left me with “…ghter of James Symson.” This had to be Agnes.
Here then, courtesy of Rev Share and the Yorkshire Parish Register Society, is Agnes’s story.
Agnes Symson was born on 31 December 1653, a non-momentous day for most in that age, as the calendar was not to change for another century. Momentous though for her mother, Mary, being the safe delivery of her first child. James, on the other hand, was doubtless hoping for a boy. Isabel, his first wife, had given birth to five children, Margaret (b. 1640), William (b. 1646), Ann (b. 1646) and then twins, John & Mary in 1651, but William & the twins had died as infants, the birth of the twins likely resulting in the death of their mother (Isabel was buried on 4 May, the twins were baptised on 11 May and buried on 17 December the same year).
Husbandry in these parts was not without challenges as these wonderful two entries illustrate: “Robert Holdgate of Garneshaw who was lost by a tempest of snow that fell the 3 day of January att night was found the 10th and buried the 11th day of the said January [1659/1660]” and “Septembr 17th 1673 happened a great fflood wch overflowing the Banke in the lower end of the Churchyard covered the most pt thereof below the Church. Burnesall bridge & Bolton Bridge & many more were driven downe by the violence of said fflood”. I’ve written before about Yorkshire snow, this can be a bleak and unforgiving landscape.
By 1674, James was getting on in life, likely in his late fifties or early sixties. Thomas, the only son James had not seen buried as a child, was still only 18, too young to take over the land. Agnes, then 20, may have been anxious when she shared the news of her forthcoming pregnancy, but, in reality, this must have been seen as a blessing. George Wellock, 26, was the third son of a local farmer, trained from birth to run a similarly placed smallholding but without a tenancy to inherit.
Agnes & George had four children: Robert (b. 1674) (Robert was baptised in August 1674, four months after the couple were married), Isabella (b. 1676) (named after James’s first wife?), Anne (b. 1683) and William (b. 1685) (our ancestor). The couple must have felt secure. Sadly, this was not to prove the case. George died in November 1694, leaving Agnes with four children aged between 9 & 20. It looks like Robert, then 20, may have been the one to take on the tenancy. Possible, not easy. Possible that is, until Robert, then aged 28, died in 1702, buried on 18 June in St Michael’s & All Angels churchyard. Agnes, then living nearby in Grassington, may well have come to tend her eldest son through illness, for she died and was buried just three days after Robert thus ending Agnes’s tale.
the last appearance of Agnes in the Yorkshire Parish Register Society transcripts of the Linton-in-Craven parish registers
[1] Harry Speight in his book Upper Wharfedale, describes the Rev Share thus “Of Mr Share’s labours in the parish little now need be said. He is a hard and zealous worker, and I believe has never missed preaching a single Sunday since his induction to the living in October 1891. The industrious rector appears quite content with the 13,000 and odd acres of ground within his parish, and has sought no holiday nor other means of recreation than what this large expanse of mountain, moor, and pasture afford. He has lately copied for publication by the Yorkshire Parish Register Society, the important but ill-kept and in places much tattered registers of his parish, a work requiring the closes scrutiny and painstaking transcription”.
Article about the recording of “With Wilfred in the Washburn Valley.” Jesse Houseman is standing in the top right. The Yorkshire Post and Leeds Intelligencer, 11 August 1955. Downloaded from the British Newspaper Archives.
Grandma’s memoirs contain only the briefest of entries about her Dad, Jesse Houseman’s, radio appearance in 1955.
“By this time Dad had lived on his own for a year. I used to bake him a pie. Muriel, Jessie also took him something and did his washing. He was on a programme with Wilfred Pickles”.
So brief in fact that I paid it no attention. Until, in a newspaper archives search for “Jesse Houseman” and “cricket” I stumbled across a little gem. Nothing to do with cricket. Instead, it’s a photo of Jesse, talking to Wilfred Pickles prior to the recording of a show about the Washburn Valley.
As an aside, Wilfred Pickles, an actor, radio presenter and proud Yorkshire man, was the very first BBC broadcaster to speak in an accent other than received pronunciation in 1941. Developed as a strategy to prevent Germany from so easily imitating our newscasters, the cheery “Good Neet” with which Wilfred ended his midnight news broadcasts endured him to many northern listeners.
Appearing with Jesse were Richard Grange, Brenda Dibb, Alfred Pope, Alan Bailey, Alf Evans, Mrs Armitage, Will Dolphin & Walter Flesher. It would have been wonderful to hear my great grandfather’s voice but sadly I’ve not yet been able to track down a recording of the programme. One day, perhaps, this briefest of blogs might attract the attention of someone researching a dusty old box of home recorded radio. It would be an amazing resource for the Washburn Heritage Centre too. For now, I’m just delighted to have found a little more context to Grandma’s memoirs.
I couldn’t resist a postscript to the blog I wrote a few months ago where I asked whether we were a political family. Or rather, I needed something to keep me busy whilst waiting for Sharon’s result today as I hope, exactly 100 years after my great, great grandmother lost her right to vote, we can prove that we are.
Just one hundred years ago, women were voting in a general election here in the UK for the second time. Well, some women were, those aged over 30 who were also registered property occupiers (or married to a registered property occupier) of land or premises with a rateable value greater than £5 or of a dwelling-house. Two thirds of women who would have met the male requirement were still denied the right to vote.
Three of my great grandmothers met the age requirement and possibly could. The fourth, Marion Moody was just twenty and so wouldn’t have been able to vote even if she had been born male.
Letters in relation to the tenancy of Long Liberty Farm held by West Yorkshire archives and published by their permission.
Five of my great, great grandmothers were still alive in 1922. Whilst it’s difficult to judge whether they would have met the property requirement, I know that one, Amelia Bradbury (wife of Michael Houseman who I talk about in the first blog) would have been disenfranchised just the previous year. When Michael died in 1892, Amelia had taken over the lease on Long Liberty Farm in Haverah Park together with her son, my great grandfather, Jesse Houseman. Unfortunately, she was not able to agree to a proposed increase in rent (to £165-0-0) and had moved in with her daughter and son-in-law in 1921. Without property Jesse could vote, Amelia was no longer entitled to take part in the democratic process.
Yet here we one hundred years later, the women in our family working together to get the first woman in our family elected.
Mum’s daily step count regularly passed the 20,000-mark, Sharon’s hair gained a yellow streak, Helen & Anna joined the delivery team, my eleven-year-old niece coached me on how to approach a doorstep conversation and I talked to more people in two weeks than I have done in the last two years. It was Leeds council election time.
On the campaign trail.
Weetwood was one of two Labour target wards in Leeds and it was going to be close. A local left-leaning website suggested that residents were being “bombarded” with literature but everyone I spoke to was delighted they might have the chance to vote for such a hardworking councillor and (often) a woman as well.
By this point you can probably guess that I am still waiting for the result.
And waiting
And still waiting
And, gutted. Despite increasing her vote when the overall vote decreased, Sharon was pipped again. How can someone take 4,458 votes across two council elections and still not have a seat?
Next time. For, we are (the women at least) a political force.
The Women’s Institute (WI) movement has been inspiring women for over 100 years, providing opportunities to learn, to campaign and above all to connect socially with other women. This is the story of fifty years of fun and friendship enjoyed by Nana as a member of her local group, Farnley Estate WI.
Nana’s 50-year certificate. Own collection.
Nana was just twenty years old when she married Grandpy and moved away from her childhood home in Askwith to join her in-laws at their farm in Stainburn. It was 1948, petrol rationing was still in force. Jumping into a car to visit friends & family, even those just a few miles distant, was simply not an option.
Fortunately, Nana’s mother-in-law had a solution. What better way to introduce the Nana to some new friends than to take her along to a meeting of the WI? Farnley Estate had been formed just over a decade before and in that time had become an established part of the local social scene for women living in the villages of Farnley, Leathley and Stainburn. I doubt anyone guessed how much of a long-lived gift this turned out to be.
This photo, taken in Leathley Parish Room in 1977, is typical of Nana. She’s the woman in the red jacket (she was to pass her love of red onto her daughter, my Mum) with a beaming smile tucked away amongst the crowd. Photo from Daphne Baxter.
The Nana I knew was never one to seek the limelight and totally unconscious of how much she was liked and admired. Huddled in a warm coat and hat (village halls were draughty places) I imagine she stayed close to her mother-in-law through those first few meetings listening to “a demonstration of slipper making and rope soled shoes” and “travel talks from the dark continent.” I also imagine her quietly slipping into the kitchen at the end of the evening to help with any washing up.
It wasn’t long before Nana became more actively involved, entering the monthly competitions with some success. Her first listed win was for ginger biscuits in March 1949 and it’s no surprise that Nana, a dressmaker by trade, triumphed with her “apron from a shirt” in May 1950. Sadly, her entry in another 1950 competition “a perfect husband in 14 words” has been lost to time……
Photo of Farnley Estate WI’s 21st birthday celebrations at Leathley Grange, published in the Wharfedale & Airedale Observer on 29 August 1958. Nana is second from the left and my Mum is the child stood at the front right. Own collection.
In August 1958 Farnley Estate WI celebrated their 21st birthday in style at Leathley Grange making the front page in the local newspaper. Nana is standing second from the left in a wonderful polka dot dress which she likely made herself. My Mum, possibly toothless, is the little girl on the front right.
A WI jumble sale in 1989. Nana is on the right and the youthful one on the left is me! Own collection
This certainly wasn’t the last time Nana would involve her family in WI activities. As children we often went along to “waitress” at the legendary Teas on the Green, or my favourite, to help sort the clothes and bric-a-brac donated for jumble sales which meant being the first to spot a new jumper or book.
WI outings. The photo on the left was taken on a trip to Holker Hall (Nana is wearing sunglasses), the one on the right is to a place unidentified (Nana in another red coat).
Then there were the outings which Nana loved, and this was where I was in for a wonderful surprise. I had a vague memory that Nana had once had a passport and may have even been on a plane. When you consider that my Mum, her daughter, reached her mid-thirties before taking her first flight it gives you a sense of quite how memorable this must have been. Yet between us we couldn’t remember the details. Leafing through Farnley Estate WI’s booklet “Celebrating 80 years” I came across a photo entitled “a member’s first experience of flying” and there in the middle of the trio boarding the plane was my Nana on her way to the tulip fields of Holland, which is coincidentally where my Mum is headed as I write this!
From the Farnley Estate WI booklet called “Celebrating 80 years.” Nana is the one in the middle.
Nana gave back as much as she received. She was voted onto the committee and was to hold the role of Treasurer although never President and it is not surprise that her commitment was honoured twice, close to the end. In 1997 she was chosen to accept Farnley Estate WI’s 60th birthday certificate Estate WI at the annual WI council meeting in Richmond, and then, in 1998 received a certificate for fifty years of continuous membership.
Sadly, this story of fun and friendship was to end just a few months later. The minutes from 1 February provide a final testament to the love and respect in which Nana was held by the WI.
“A minutes silence was held in memory of Mary Barrett, who died suddenly yesterday morning. Members were very shocked and sad at the loss of a good friend and regular attender at WI meetings over the past 50 years”.
With much gratitude to Farnley Estate WI for the pleasure they gave my Nana and to Daphne Baxter & Sue Kerridge in particular for providing me with extra stories and materials, to Amy Johnson Crow for the #52ancestors challenge and Natalie Pithers and the curious descendents club for keeping me writing and of course to my Nana, who is much loved and missed.
Smaller than a modern five pence piece made of nothing more valuable than gilt and paste, Grandma’s locket could hardly be considered an heirloom. Until, that is, you unpack the stories.
Grandma’s locket. Own photo.
The locket tells of two wonderful times in my Grandma’s life.
Grandad’s picture matches the wedding photos leading me to think this was a wedding gift. As my uncle recently said, “she worshipped me father.” There’s Thomas in the background, brother Thomas, twelve years older, who acted as the father figure when my Grandad’s dad died but perhaps didn’t always act in my Grandad’s best interest when it conflicted with his own.
Grandma’s picture appears to be taken from the one below. She’s with Mary & Jim Marshall (George’s sister & brother-in-law) and likely one of George’s sisters. Neither Aunty Mary nor Aunty Hilda ever had children of their own and remained close to Grandma all her life.
Grandma & Grandad are on the right, Mary (Grandad’s sister) & Jim Marshall on the left & I believe it’s either Hilda or Annie (Grandad’s sisters) in the middle. Own collection.
Yet the patina of this locket holds far more of our family history than just two photos of special times.
Twelve times in my life (so far) people have broken into my home and stolen money, TVs, computers, rings and whatever else was worth selling at the time. In one particular house it became fairly standard to come home on a Friday night and find that the house had been broken into. I’ve learnt how to hide or wear the few pieces of jewellery that is either valuable or sentimentally important. I’ve learnt not to take it personally.
Twice though the burglars have taken an entire jewellery box.
The second time was (I hope) my last burglary. I lost the necklace my dead husband had bought me and the ring I’d bought myself after sneaking away with my sister from him & his friends to visit the diamond museum in Amsterdam. I lost the silver bracelet which held charms purchased to reflect twenty years of my life. I lost the paste necklace that was my go-to for posh black-tie events. I lost the little silver stamp holders that made me smile every time I posted a birthday card. I lost the poppy brooch my Mum had bought me because it was the flower for my month of birth. I lost the cheap plastic orange ring that was festival perfect. I even lost the box that my sister had carefully chosen to store all these “treasures.” It hurt.
The first time this happened it was my Mum who suffered. Six months after my dad died Mum arrived home to find our house had been broken into. They’d watched the house; they knew she took my sister to playschool on a Friday morning. They’d gone straight to her bedroom and ransacked one jewellery box, before someone disturbed them, and they ran taking the whole of the second box. So many memories embedded in inexpensive jewellrey that would likely just get thrown were gone. Unlike when it happened to me, Mum had never been burgled before. Whether you’ve experienced this type of crime or not, take a moment to think how it felt to lose so many memories so soon after losing the person to whom they related.
Grandma did the best she could. She took out her own jewellery box and encouraged my mum to take what she wanted. The tiny locket was amongst the things Mum chose. And in doing so this tiny locket became a family heirloom.
An addendum
One of the wonderful things about writing up & sharing these stories is they often lead to more family memories. Amongst the contents of Grandma’s jewellery box was a broken signet ring. Mum had it mended and inscribed with A for Ann. When my sister tried it on she declared it was A for Anna and it has remained on her hand for the last 30 years!
Is it A for Ann or A for Anna?
I am planning a series of stories about objects imbued with family heritage. I’ve been thinking about this for a while and was finally inspired to write by a workshop on the history of an item by Gudrun Laurent part of the wonderful Curious Descendants Club run by Natalie Pithers.
