The South Tawton Forger

Hello, thank you for calling in.  Today I am sharing with you an ancestral tale I have been working on for a couple of years; it's not finished yet, and indeed it may never be finished, but I suppose family stories are never finished because there is always more to discover, but I feel that I now know enough about this one to tell it. 

Ashburton is a small market town on the edge of Dartmoor in rural Devon and in about 1778, when King George III was on the British throne and America was newly independent, John Orchard was born there.  At least, I think he was, but I can't be entirely sure because I haven't yet found any record of his birth or baptism.  However, he was said to be 49 when he died in April 1827 and I am entirely sure that his parents, John and Elizabeth, were married in Ashburton in December 1777 and that his brothers Thomas and James were born there in 1781 and 1784, so please indulge me.  I don't know anything about John's childhood except that his father inherited property from a relative in the nearby parish of South Tawton in 1784, when John was about six years old, and that the family moved there, where two more brothers, Paul and William, were born in 1787 and 1790.  James and Paul will feature later in this story.

John married Grace Curson in October 1806 and their daughter, Dorcas, was born five months later in March 1807 but Grace died in December of the same year.  I lose sight of John at this point until 1818, when this story really begins.  Before I tell this story, however, I need to explain about mortgages - I know that you probably know how a mortgage works, but you might not, and I do believe that there's no such thing as a silly question.  So, when you take out a mortgage, the ownership of your property is transferred to the person who lends you the money, usually in a document called a deed, and when you have paid all the money back, with any interest which has been agreed, the ownership of the property is transferred back to you.  This transfer of ownership means that if you default on your payments, the lender can sell the property and so recoup the money they lent you.  Right then, on with the story...

On 15th December 1818 (the date is important) John married again, a young woman called Elizabeth Mortimore.  They married in the church in her home parish of Lustleigh and a son, John Mortimore Orchard, was born nine months later in September 1819.  Eventually, three more children were born, a girl and two more boys, the last, Jabez, in April 1826.  However, by the time Jabez was born, his father was in trouble.

 

It came to light that in 1818 John's father, John Sr, had mortgaged an estate called Ford to a woman named Mary Lane for £1,000.  John Jr had negotiated the arrangement through a solicitor and was present when all the paperwork was signed because his father, who was in his seventies, was said to be frail and "unable to transact his own business".  The money was released to John Jr on 23rd December 1818, eight days after his wedding, and he paid it into his own account at the Devonshire Bank; it later transpired that he actually paid in £971, of which £750 was used to clear a debt.  (£750 in 1818!!!)  So, ownership of Ford was transferred from John Sr to Mary Lane at this point.

The mortgage agreement included interest payments at 4.5% and they were paid for a few years but then stopped so in 1824, Mary Lane's solicitor gave John notice for the sale of the Ford estate so that she could recoup her money - effectively, this was a repossession notice.  The sale was advertised but did not actually go ahead because it was discovered that John Sr had actually transferred the legal ownership of the Ford estate to his son in 1817, a year before Mary Lane had lent him the £1,000.  This meant that the loan was not secured on the property after all and the mortgage document signed by John Sr was worthless as, in effect, he didn't own the Ford estate, so there was no way for Mary Lane to recoup her money.  When John Sr was asked why he had transferred the property to his son in 1817, he replied that he didn't know anything about it.

When James Tyrell, a solicitor based in Exeter, saw the advertisement for the Ford estate he came forward and said that he had arranged a mortgage for £1,400 on the estate between John Jr and a Mr Sparke of Ashburton in 1817 - so the estate was effectively owned by Mr Sparke when John Jr arranged the mortgage with Mary Lane, and I suspect that he used her money to make the outstanding interest payments to Mr Sparke.  Another solicitor, Mr Partridge of Tiverton, also came forward and said that he had conducted business for John Sr: an earlier mortgage had been raised on a number of properties, the loan having been made by a Mr Pope and the ownership of those properties had been transferred to him.  Presumably some of the money must have been repaid because Mr Partridge's job was to transfer the ownership of all the properties except the Ford estate back to John Sr, the actual wording on the document read "save and except that capital messuage tenement called Ford".  However, the document was altered and the words "save and except"  were erased and replaced by "also" so the transfer now read "also that capital messuage tenement called Ford".  So, ownership of the Ford estate was transferred back to John Jr and Mr Pope had no way of recouping his money as the deed was everything.  Mr Partridge testified that the word "also" was in John Jr's handwriting.
 

This is all quite complicated but are you still with me?  To put it in a nutshell, it seems that John Orchard Jr forged the title deeds to the Ford estate so that he could use them to borrow money fraudulently from Mr Sparke and Mary Lane.
 

The English legal system was developed to protect property ownership and these were very serious offences.  In January 1827 the newspapers reported that 
 

John Orchard, father and son, of South Tawton, Devon, were last week fully committed for trial at the next assizes, charge with having forged and altered a deed conveying an estate, with intent to defraud a Mrs. Mary Lane of £1,000.  The elder of the prisoners is nearly eighty years of age.
 

John Jr's wife, Elizabeth, pawned everything she had to pay for her husband's legal defence.
 

The men were tried on twelve counts at Exeter assizes on 26th March 1827 in front of a crowded gallery.  The witnesses who gave evidence included Reverend Oliver, who testified that he had known the defendants for more than thirty years and that they were "honest and respectable men".  The judge, Sir James Burrough, gave his summing up and the jury delivered their verdict about two minutes later: John Orchard Sr was Not Guilty but John Orchard Jr was GUILTY.  These are the words of the Salisbury and Winchester Journal:
 

The Judge directed the father to be removed from the bar, and an awful silence pervaded the court as the fatal cap was placed on his head.   The Judge said, "Prisoner, you have had the benefit of a fair and most impartial investigation into your case, - you have just heard the opinion a jury of your countrymen have formed upon it; of the justice of their decision I entertain no doubt; during your trial you have had the benefit of most able legal assistance; it now becomes a painful but necessary task for me to perform my duty - your crime is of that description that strikes at the root of all security of property, and must be checked with the strongest hand; a man to borrow £1000 and tender as security for it that which he knows not to be worth one farthing, is a degree of offence, as affects the public, of the first moment, and bids me imperatively to permit the law to take its course - therefore, form no delusive hope, for, be assured, I shall not interfere to sty the completion of the awful sentence I am about to pronounce upon you, and as an accountable being, I recommend you to diligently employ the little time that yet remains to you in this world, in preparing to appear before a tribunal from which no action of our lives can be concealed; - the sentence of the court is, that you be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck, till you are dead, and may God have mercy on your soul."
 

John Jr was sent back to Exeter Gaol and his brother James, who was a solicitor based in London, immediately organised an appeal against the conviction.  A letter was sent to the Home Secretary, Robert Peel, asking for clemency and signed by James, Elizabeth, Mary Lane's solicitor, the Mayor of Okehampton, the Vicar of Okehampton and several notable citizens of that town.  The stated grounds for clemency were
 

No intent to defraud; since obtaining the mortgage he has paid several years interest thereon; in a recent agreement for sale of the property to his brother he had stipulated that £1000 plus interest be paid by the purchaser to Mary Lane; previous good character; he has a wife and five children, four of whom by his present wife and under eight years of age without the means of subsistence; the prosecutor joins in the petition; he was ignorant of the capital nature of the offence; the purchaser was not called as a witness.

The letter is in the National Archives at Kew and this list is copied from their catalogue description which also states "April 12th 1827, Mr Peel sees no ground for interfering".   

The following day, Friday 13th April, Elizabeth took her children John, Elizabeth and Paul to the prison to bid their father goodbye.  John, the eldest, was seven years old.  Elizabeth returned to the prison two days later with baby Jabez and twenty year-old Dorcas, her stepdaughter, to see him for the final time.  The newspaper reported that "The prisoner conducted himself with becoming fortitude through this trying scene" so I imagine that everyone else was distraught. 

John Jr seems to have spent most of that Sunday night and the following morning praying - in fact, the contemporary reports state that after his conviction, he spent most of his time praying and reading the bible.  His brother Paul, a Methodist minister, arrived early on Monday with another minister, Rev Mr Burgess, who had "constantly visited" the prisoner since his conviction and they stayed with him until just before midday.  This is the newspaper report for the rest of that day, Monday 16th April 1817:

"as the moment drew near for ascending the platform his fortitude forsook him, and a considerable time elapsed before with the assistance of two sheriff's officers, he walked down the pathway from the governor's house: his eyes were closed and his ejaculations incessant; his dress was that of a man on his farm - fustian jacket and trousers.  While the officers pinioned him in the press room, he appeared scarcely conscious of what was passing, continuing his ejaculations without the smallest intermission; the support of the officers was again necessary in ascending the steps, and being placed on the machine, the Chaplain in vain waited several minutes for the usual signification of the prisoner's being ready to join in the last service, when seeing his state, the Chaplain mercifully commenced the service, and all being ready, as he had nearly closed the service for the dead the bolt was drawn, the platform fell, and in a few moments life appeared to be extinct."

The newspaper reported that a huge crowd of spectators gathered to witness the execution.  John's body was cut down and at 5 o'clock the next morning it was placed on a hearse and sent to South Zeal where he was buried that  same day.

A little over two weeks later, on 5th May, this notice appeared in the  Exeter and Plymouth Gazette:

To all who feel for the Distresses of Others.

The case of the WIDOW and FOUR INFANT CHILDREN of JOHN ORCHARD, who was lately executed at Exeter, is respectfully presented.  They are left in a state of perfect destitution, and the poor Woman, who was brought up tenderly, (now residing in St Thomas) has been driven to pawn all she had for the purpose of raising the means of his defense.

The object of this application is to raise if possible a sum that may enable the poor widow to redeem her Furniture, and place her in circumstances whereby she may be able to support herself and children.

Subscriptions will be thankfully received at the Exeter, City, and General Banks, and at Curson's and Balle's, Booksellers. - Exeter, 30th April 1827

I'm afraid I don't know whether or not this attempt at crowdfunding was successful.  I do know that the legal proceedings had not finished because, after all, Mary Lane was still owed money.  Remember that women were not legally able to own property in this country until the Married Women's Property Act of 1868 so when John Jr was executed, the ownership of any property he owned passed not to Elizabeth but to her son, John Mortimore, even though he was only seven years old, but being a minor, he was not able to legally agree to any contract.  So, when he reached the age of majority, which at that time was twenty-one, there was another court case, this time a civil case rather than a criminal one, which resulted in his inherited properties being sold and his father's debts repaid.  

I haven't been to South Tawton but I hope to visit at some point, to walk in the footsteps of my ancestors.  The South Tawton Forger was my great, great, great, great grandfather.  

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x



A Family Heirloom

Hello, thank you for calling in.  Is all well?  We are still enjoying warm weather and sunshine.  Isn't it lovely how everything feels better when the sun is shining?

 

A number of nice things happened during my unintended blogging break, things which I would like to share with you, and today I'm going to tell you about the nicest one of all.

 

When Alice's first grandchild was born in 1955, she commissioned her friend and neighbour, Betty, to knit a Christening gown for the baby, a girl, to wear.  Alice could knit herself, but Betty was a more skillful knitter and the gown she made of soft, white, 2 ply wool was beautiful, the lacework incredibly fine and even.  The gown was long, as is traditional, and lined with white satin and through the eyeholes was threaded a fine, white, organza ribbon.  Here is a photo of the gown, the baby and her mother in 1956.

 

In 1965 Alice's third grandchild was born, another girl - me.  Betty was fond of my mother so she knitted a shawl to match the gown she had knitted a decade earlier, a gift for the new baby.  I was Christened, wearing the gown and wrapped in the shawl, in the spring of that year.  

 

 In 1971 the gown was worn again by Alice's sixth grandchild, another girl.  Here she is, on the lap of her other grandmother.

And here is Alice with that baby on her knee, surrounded by one of her daughters and four more of her granddaughters.  That's me kneeling at the front on the right, wearing the pink dress!

 

On Mothering Sunday 1973 Alice's ninth grandchild, another girl, wore the gown for her Christening.   

 

After this, the gown was washed, carefully wrapped and stowed away for a generation until Mothering Sunday 1996, when The Mathematician wore it for her Thanksgiving.  "Let's have a look at the family heirloom," said my aunt.  So here I am, carefully holding my lovely girl in a way which shows off said heirloom while one of my sisters ensures it is properly draped.  (You've met my sisters earlier in this post!)

 

The gown was carefully wrapped and stowed away again for another generation. Last year, the gown was passed to me.  Oh, the responsibility!  When The Teacher asked me if Tom Kitten could wear it for his Thanksgiving in March, my heart skipped a little beat.  We unwrapped it together and were dismayed to see that it was yellowed and stained!  However, I did not stay daunted for long. After all, I earned my Laundress badge in the Girl Guides and that may have been in 1978 but wool is wool and the rules hold true - tepid water, no wringing or spinning, just gentle squeezing before wrapping in a thick towel.  I searched online for advice about stain removal and discovered that my usual products would eat the wool.  Yikes!  So, I approached the task very gently, with a specialist wool washing liquid and a couple of quick squirts of Vanish.  Hmm.  The result was an improvement, but not perfect.  I searched online again and sent the Best Beloved out to buy some distilled vinegar.  I soaked the gown in a solution of vinegar and water before rinsing it thoroughly and allowing it to dry.  This time, the result was much better - still not perfect, but much better.  We took out the stained organza ribbon and replaced it with new green ribbon, which hid the most obvious stain.  The Teacher was thrilled.

I was worried about Tom Kitten's head and his feet as early March can be very cold, so I used my mother's 1960s knitting patterns and knitted him a bonnet and some bootees in 3 ply wool.  I threaded them with more of the green ribbon and send the parcel over to The Teacher.

 

While the Best Beloved and I were driving to the church, The Teacher dressed Tom Kitten and sent me this photo.

 

And here we are, the six of us who have worn the family heirloom over the last sixty-two years, four granddaughters, one great-granddaughter and one great, great-grandson of Alice. 

 

 

See you soon.

 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9th May 1917 - The End Of The First Battle of Doiran

Great Britain declared war on Germany on 4th August 1914 and three days later Field Marshal Lord Kitchener, the newly appointed Secretary of State for War, made his first appeal for volunteers to join the British Army.  By 12th September 478,893 men had joined up including John "Jack" Spiers, a French polisher who lived in Shoreditch in London.

 

Jack enlisted on his thirty-first birthday, 2nd September, although he lied about his age and claimed to be only thirty.  Leaving behind his wife, Carrie, and two year-old daughter, Julie, he marched off into the Royal Field Artillery, transferring into the Royal Berkshire Regiment, 7th (Service) Battalion after six months.  The battalion set sail for France on 19th September 1915 and from there moved to Salonika, now called Thessaloniki, where the borders of Greece, Serbia and Bulgaria meet, two months later.  There, the British Salonika Force (BSF) joined an international Allied army which had been asked to protect Serbia from the Bulgarian Army. 

 

The Salonika Front stretched from Albania to the mouth of the River Struma in Greece and by March 1917 the BSF was holding 90 miles of that front. In April, the Allied forces launched an offensive and on the night of 24-25 April the BSF tried to overpower the Bulgarian armed positions near Lake Doiran.  The British retreated with heavy casualties and tried again on the night of 8-9 May, sending in the first of five waves of troops at 9pm.  The fighting continued all night and into the next day until the British retreated again, ending the First Battle of Doiran.  They had lost 12,000 men (killed, wounded or captured); the Bulgarians had lost 2,000.

 

One of those wounded men was Jack, shot in the head, chest and right arm.  The army sent a standard letter to Carrie which has a date stamp on it of 23 May 1917 from the Infantry Record Office in Warwick.

 

MADAM,

 

I regret to have to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office to the effect that (No.) 16995 (Rank) A/Cpl. (Name) J. Spiers (Regiment) ROYAL BERKSHIRE REGT. was wounded on the 9th day of May 1917.

 

It has not yet been reported into what hospital he has been admitted, nor are other particulars yet known, but directly any further information is received it will be at once communicated to you.

 

I am to express to you the sympathy and regret of the Army

 

Yours faithfully

 

W. Payton

 

The words and numbers I have shown in italics were handwritten on the lines printed on the form, the name of the regiment was stamped and the rest of the letter was typed.  Poor Carrie.  Two days later, another standard letter was sent:

 

MADAM,

 

I regret to have to inform you that a report has on this day been received from the War Office to the effect that (No.) 16995 (Rank) A/Cpl (Name) Spiers. J. (Regiment) ROYAL BERKSHIRE REGT. is dangerously ill at 28 Gen. Hospital Salonica suffering from wounds.  12.5.17

 

I am at the same time to express the sympathy and regret of the Army Council.

 

Any further information received in this office as to his condition or progress will be at once notified to you.

 

I am, Madam,

Your obedient Servant,

 

W Payton

 

On 26 May, another standard letter was sent:

 

MADAM,

 

With reference to previous notification I have to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office to the effect that

(No.) 16995 (Rank) Pte

(Name) Spiers J.

(Regiment) ROYAL BERKSHIRE REGT.     is

Still dangerously ill.  19.5.17

 

Any further information received in this office as to his condition or progress will be at once notified to you.

 

I am, Madam,

Your obedient Servant,

 

W Payton 

 

Over the ensuing weeks, a further seven of these forms were sent to Carrie.  On 2 June, Jack's condition was "slightly improved" (and his rank was restored to Acting Corporal), on 9 June he was again "slightly improved" but on 16 June, more than seven weeks after he was wounded, he was "still dangerously ill".  On 23 and 30 June he was "slightly improved" and at last, on 7 July, he was "out of danger".  How Carrie's heart must have lifted when she read that.  The last of these forms, dated 24 August but not dated in Warwick until 18 September, reported that Jack "is now at Military Hos. Tigne Malta".  He was well enough to be moved. 

 

Jack was in hospital in Malta for more than five months before he came home to England, arriving at the beginning of February 1918.  He had been away for more than three years but I don't think he was home yet because this photograph shows him wearing the blue invalid uniform, "Hospital Blues", which was issued in British hospitals to those patients who could get out of bed.  Jack is the first chap on the left of the back row (as usual, click on the photo to see it enlarged and it's probably worth it with this one). - 

 

 

 

Jack was discharged from the army in August 1918, "no longer fit for war service" and in March 1923 the Ministry of Pensions assessed his disablement at 30% due to the wounds in his head and his right arm and so awarded him a life pension: 13 shillings with 5 shillings 3d for his wife and child every week, to be readjusted in 1926.   I am glad that he was awarded that pension for the rest of his life because he received it for more than thirty years: a boy born in this country in 1883 had a life expectancy of 42 years but Jack was 70 years old when he died in 1954, not killed by a Bulgarian bullet but by lung cancer.

 

Carrie kept those ten letters sent to her by the army and then her daughter, Julie, kept them until she died in 2005.  Julie's son, my father, has them now, along with the medals Jack was awarded for his service. 

 

Jack was my great-grandfather. 

 

See you soon.

 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

 

 

 

On 13th November 1916

Hello, thank you for dropping in.  Today is Remembrance Sunday and it carries special poignancy in this year, the centenary of the Battle of the Somme, the largest battle of the Great War on the Western Front.  On the first day of the conflict we often simply call "The Somme" 19,240 British soldiers died.  19,240.  The battle did not finish that day, however, as fighting continued for a further 140 days, by which time the British army had advanced just seven miles and more than one million men were dead or wounded. 

 

The last battle of the Somme Offensive was the Battle of the Ancre which began one hundred years ago today and ended on 18th November 1916.  Today I am going to tell you the story of a young man who was injured at that battle, one hundred years ago today, and died a grim and painful death.  A volunteer who lied about his age in order to join up, so keen was he to do his bit and serve his country, he left behind no wife or children to tell his story and he lay unspoken of for almost a century, his sad tale untold.  I am not going to tell you his story: my cousin Anne is, for she is his great niece.  These are her words and I am thrilled to bits that she has written this post for us. 

 

WOR JOE

 

Wor Joe, wor kid, the bairn, Able Seaman Joseph Garside. He would have been all of these names to those who knew him. He was born in Newcastle upon Tyne on 16th September 1897 to Joseph and Annie Garside my great grandparents. He was 5' 4" tall, had dark brown hair and eyes, his occupation was a pitman. I only know all this because of my research into our family history. My Mam gave me all the information I needed to get started. She told me all about her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, who married who etc. But nothing about Joseph. Now why on earth should Joseph be missing? Perhaps it was because he died before she was born or perhaps Joseph's life was too short and too painful to talk about. But now, on this the 100th year anniversary of the Somme, Joseph Garside, along with all our brave young men, needs to be remembered and talked about.

 

Joseph joined the Royal Naval Division on 27 May 1915 giving his date of birth as 1896. In December 1915 he was drafted to Hawke Battalion and his records show the Division was moved to Egypt in January 1916 preparatory to the Gallipoli Campaign. At the end of the Gallipoli Campaign the Division were re-designated 63rd (Royal Naval) Division and were moved to France, departing Mudros 18th May, arriving Marseilles 23rd May 1916. Joseph's Hawke Battalion were involved in the Battle of Ancre, a phase of the Battles of the Somme. It was here he was wounded on 13th November 1916. His records show he was admitted to the Gen Hos Dannes Camiers on 17th November and later transferred by Amb. Train/ HMS Cumbria on 23rd November and arriving at Warncliffe War Hospital, Middlewood Road, Sheffield on 25th November. On 24 August 1917 Joseph was discharged (invalided) from the RN and spent the rest of his days being cared for by the Mary Magdalane Home for Incurables Newcastle upon Tyne, close to his family. He died on 11th June 1918 aged 20 of (1) Gun Shot Wound Spine (2) Paralysis Cystitis. It is hard to imagine how dreadful his last 19 months would have been. Joseph was buried in his local churchyard with full military honours.

 

However this is not the end of Joseph's story. I was contacted last year by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and informed that Joseph was one of several hundred servicemen who were not on any official war memorial. Many, like Joseph, had died after they had been discharged. A new 1914-1918 Memorial to include all these servicemen was to be unveiled at Brookwood and,  as Joseph's name was on this new memorial, I was asked if I would like to attend the inauguration and dedication ceremony? It was an unforgettable, very moving day and my husband Alan and I were introduced to the Duke of Kent who is President of the CWGC and I was able to tell the Duke all about Joseph Garside! 

 

Now you have been remembered and talked about. God bless you wor Joe, you were just a bairn.

 

 

P.S. A little update to this story.  Joseph's great nephew Robert Garside has discovered his burial site in St James Churchyard, Benwell, Newcastle upon Tyne and informed the CWGC who have sent the following email:

 

I can confirm that the Commission is in the process of producing a headstone to mark the grave of Able Seaman Joseph Garside in Benwell (St. James) Churchyard as his official place of commemoration. We cannot say when this work will be completed at this stage, but the Commission update you once we have any further information.

 

So perhaps another ceremony may be in the offing with his family attending.

 

 

See you soon (she said, wiping a tear from her eye as she pinned on her poppy),

 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

Gramps

Hello, thank you for calling in, and special thanks for your kind messages of sympathy and support.  I shall be back soon to catch up with you, but in the meantime, I have this special post for today.  This was always going to be today's post, whatever happened, and it will become clear why..

This is Arthur Holland Budd, known to many as Art, to a few as Dad and to me as Gramps.  He was born in Hackney in North London on 18th December 1909, the first child of Arthur and Florrie.  The family was not well off: Arthur made just enough money selling newspapers to enable them to live together in one rented room.  When Gramps was three years old, his father became ill and died, three months before his younger brother, George was born.  Poor Florrie, she was only twenty-six years old and now had two little boys to support.  So what did she do?  She married again, of course, providing her sons with a stepfather, a merchant seaman who was also called Arthur!  Gramps was almost eight years old.

 

Gramps left school when he was fourteen years old and was apprenticed to a cobbler, but that didn't work out - I think he couldn't stand the smell of the glue - and he eventually found a job as a warehouseman in Shoreditch with Hobday Brothers Ltd, a wholesaler of bicycle, motorcycle and motor car accessories and latterly, electrical applicances.  He stayed there for years, it's where he was working when he married his sweetheart, Julie, on Christmas Eve 1933 and he was still there when their first child, my father, was born in 1941. 

 

 

Of course, this was during the Second World War, and it wasn't long before Gramps had to leave the warehouse and join the Royal Air Force - he always said that Hobdays had to replace him with two men to get the same amount of work done.  So what did the RAF do with this experienced warehouseman?  They assigned him as a storekeeper, of course, and sent him off to the Cocos Islands in the Indian Ocean. 

 

 

 

Gramps' brother, George, was also conscripted into the RAF and wrote to Art in March 1943, "war is a curse, still I think it will soon be over now, we can't go wrong now the Budd boys are on it".  I had never heard that until it was read out at Gramps' funeral and the poignancy of it made me smile then and still does.  As my father wrote in his eulogy, "Unfortunately, a storekeeper in the Cocos and a RAF driver in Iraq were unable to deliver quite that quickly and it was 1946 before Arthur returned home."  When I asked my father's permission to write this post, my mother asked me if I would like a copy of a photo of Gramps and George together in their uniforms, a photo I had never seen before and am proud to show you now, so here they are, the handsome Budd Boys -

 

  

After Gramps was demobbed, he went back to Hobdays because firms were legally obliged to hold open pre-war jobs for returning servicemen.  A second son was born in 1947 and five or six years after that, Gramps became ill with a hernia - which he blamed on having to do all the work of the two men who had replaced him during the war - and spent six weeks in hospital, during which time, Hobdays sacked him!  However, I think this was really a blessing in disguise because he became a bus conductor with London Transport.  Now then, gentle reader, you may not know what a bus conductor is, so please allow me to explain: each bus had a driver and a conductor, the passengers got on the bus at the back and while the bus travelled on to the next stop, the conductor walked around the bus, took their fares and issued them with tickets.  My Gramps did that for almost thirty years as well as acting as the local Trade Union Representative, administering the sick fund and running the Dalston Garage football pool.  Gramps was A Bus Conductor:  when my sisters and I visited his house, his cap would be hanging on the peg in the hall and we loved to put it on and play at being bus conductors.  In 1977, when London Transport introduced a compulsory retirement age of 68 years, Gramps was the only member of staff who had to retire but even that didn't stop him completely as he still went to the garage every Friday to run the football pool and, as my father put it, "offer advice to his successors".

 

Twelve years later, Gramps moved out of the house in Hackney he had lived in for 37 years and, with Nanny, moved to Cardiff to be closer to his elder son.  Obviously, he memorised the bus timetable and made full use of it!

 

In his youth, Gramps had been a keen sportsman, excelling at cricket and football, he remained a keen Leyton Orient supporter and he loved to watch sport on the television.  He was interested in current affairs and in history and when I was a little girl he took me to visit the V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green and, with Nanny, the Tower of London.  Those are precious memories.  He loved the seaside and I think he thought that a holiday was not a proper holiday unless it was spent by the sea - I have precious memories of those, too.  He especially loved small children and in his eighties, would get down on the carpet to play with my daughters, much to their delight.  He had two sons, two daughters-in-law, six grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren and I think he was hugely proud of all of us; when he lived in London he used to take us on the Underground sometimes and as he waved his free pass to the person at the barrier, he would say, "My grandchildren," very proudly, and we would all be ushered through without tickets, on a nod and a wink.

 

Gramps died at the age of 99.  Can you imagine the changes he saw in his lifetime?  Five British monarchs, two world wars, women's suffrage, men at the South Pole and on the moon, television, computers...It has been said that it is a seminal moment when your last grandparent dies and I have to agree.  I felt bereft, and as the eldest child of the eldest child, I also felt the generations shift.  The London bus has become a kind of totem for our family, a symbol of our identity, a reminder of Gramps, our London heritage, our roots and our memories.

 

He often used to say to me, when nobody else was listening, "You're my number one," with a knowing smile.  I knew exactly what he meant: it wasn't that I was his favourite because he loved us all equally, it was simply that I was the first-born grandchild, number one of six.  It was a play on words, his little joke.  I used to reply, "And you're my number one."  He knew exactly what I meant.

I have to thank my dear Dad for giving me permission to write this post, for allowing me to use parts of his eulogy and for sharing his photos with me.

Happy Birthday Gramps.

 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trafalgar Day

Hello.  Thank you for the kind comments and messages you left for me after my last post.  October is turning out to be a difficult month, but I am able to enjoy the beauty of the mists and mellow fruitfulness.  Today, however, I'd like to talk about something different.  Allow me, if you will, to take you back to 21st October 1805: King George III was King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the kingdom had been at war with France for twelve years (on and off) and by this time, the threat of invasion by Napoleon Bonaparte and his forces felt imminent.  If you like, think of Horatio Hornblower and Richard Sharpe.  This was the day that Admiral Lord Nelson led twenty-seven ships into battle against thirty-three French and Spanish ships in the Atlantic Ocean just off the southwest coast of Spain, west of Cape Trafalgar, and destroyed twenty-two enemy ships without losing a single one of his own.

Nelson's masterstroke was to divide his fleet into two parallel columns and sail them perpendicularly into the enemy line.  At the head of one column was HMS Victory, led by Nelson himself, and at the head of the other, HMS Royal Sovereign, led by Admiral Collingwood, but I do not intend to give you a history lesson here.  I reckon that most of you know the outcome, that although Admiral Nelson won the battle, he lost his life there that day, shot by an enemy musket, and has been feted as a great British hero ever since.  No, I shan't go into battle tactics.  Instead, I wish to take you further down the line of eleven ships headed up by HMS Victory, to the ship at the back, HMS Spartiate, a 74-gun (for which read "cannon") ship of the line under the command of Captain Sir Francis Laforey, Baronet.  

On board HMS Spartiate were sailors and and Royal Marines, identifiable by their scarlet jackets as they stood on deck and shot at the men aboard the French and Spanish ships. One of these Marines was twenty-nine year-old Private John Rendle who had joined up four years earlier, lying about his age because men had to be under the age of twenty-five in order to enlist.  They also had to be unmarried, perhaps because the work was so dangerous that any wife was likely to be widowed before too long?  John was born in 1776 in Washfield in Devon, a rural, scattered parish a couple of miles outside the town of Tiverton with only a few hundred inhabitants.  Employment opportunities were few and he earned a meagre living as an agricultural labourer before he went to Tiverton on 9th October 1801, took the king's shilling and donned the scarlet coat.  And now here he was, playing his part in the Royal Navy's most famous battle.

The Fall of Nelson by Denis Dighton

By the end of that day, five of Spartiate's crew were dead and twenty wounded, including one Marine...but it was not John.  The ship, according to The Trafalgar Roll, "had her foretopsail yard shot away, and her masts, yards and rigging in general were a good deal damaged" and she returned to Plymouth for repairs.  John stayed in the Royal Marines until September 1814 when, aged thirty-seven, he was discharged because of chronic rheumatism - which, I think, is hardly suprising after thirteen years spent on wooden ships. And his pension after thirteen years of service?  Twenty-one days' pay.  That's all.  He returned to Tiverton and found work as a labourer.

There are many memorials to Lord Nelson in the UK.  One of them, known as The Nelson Monument, was raised on Portsdown Hill, just north of Portsmouth Harbour, in 1807.  Do you know how it was financed?  The Royal Navy took two days' pay from every man who fought at Trafalgar to pay for the monument.  So, not only did these men risk their lives, they paid for the privilege of doing so!  There doesn't seem to me to be much glory in that.

So, today I am raising a glass to Private John Rendle, my great, great, great grandfather.  The Royal Navy may not have honoured him, but I do.

Happy Trafalgar Day

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x 

From Farmboy to Fusilier, Part Two

Hello, thank you for dropping here.  I am a bit grumpy: I should be camping by the sea but the Best Beloved decided that we shouldn't go because of the weather forecast (wet, wet, wet), so instead I am at home.  He says that I am on holiday so I can do whatever I want, so I have been writing all this up for you (and for me).  You may want to settle down with a cup of tea because this is going to take a while.

It's time for this month's family history post and I would like to tell you some more about John McKeon, known as Jack, my great-grandfather.  I told you the first part of his story last month (you can find it here) and when we left him in 1886, he had been posted to the East Indies, which we now call India, with the 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers.   On Tuesday 22nd July 1890 while stationed in Nasirabad he wrote home to his brother, Pat, about an impending promotion to Colour Sergeant:

I have nothing important to inform you.  I am doing right well and today the Colonel sent for me and offered me Color Sgt a vacancy having occurred today.  I refused it for two reasons first I do not care for the Company officer he is a contrary chap, got two Cr Sgts reduced in his time. + second there will be a vacancy in my own Company in November next, the Cr Sgt is going home to the Depot.  I am doing the work of my Coy. Officiating as Cr Sergt this is to be mine, the Colonel gave me my choice and I said I would prefer my own Compy. knowing it so well.  he gave me till tomorrow morning to consider the question of course I am still in the factory and drawing my extra cash – no trifle.  I have a good deal of work to do but I don’t mind it as long as it profits me.  We are shifting from here  in January to Karachi, a fairly good place on the coast, it will be welcome after spending three years in this hole.  One of the worst in India. 

I can report that Jack was promoted to Colour Sergeant on 9th October 1990, so I guess he must have turned down the immediate offer and waited for the vacancy in his own company.
 

That's all I know about Jack's time with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.  He remained in India until he left the service on 7th May 1895, being discharged at Gosport in Hampshire, presumably when he got off the ship which brought him home.  His army record states "Free after 13 years service" - to be precise, 13 years 97 days.

 

The next eighteen months are a mystery, but SOMETHING obviously happened during those eighteen months because on 3rd November 1896 Jack rejoined the British army in Ireland under a different name.  I suspect that he may have gone to America - certainly, a 31 year-old farmer named John McKeon did go to America with his wife Rose, leaving Liverpool on the Britannic on 29th May 1895.  When John and Rose arrived at Ellis Island in New York ten days later their surname was recorded as McKeown and John's occupation was given as "Clerk".  I cannot yet prove it, but this may well have been my Jack and if that is the case, I don't know what happened to Rose; she may have died, she may have left him, he may have abandoned her and returned home to Ireland without her.  We just don't know.  All I know is that there is no record of Jack being married during his service with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers but that in June 1899 he described himself as a "widower".  It's infuriating! 

 

So, in November 1896 Jack went to Armagh in what is now Northern Ireland and joined the Royal Irish Fusiliers.  Lying about his age, he claimed to be 24 years and 3 months old when he was, in fact, at least thirty-two years old, although his enlistment papers show that he appeared to be 24 years and 3months old (these are genes which I should dearly like to have inherited!).  They also record that he had scars on his back and his right knee and I wonder if these dated from battles fought in the Sudan eleven years earlier?  Again, Jack started off as a Private and worked his way up through the ranks, becoming a Lance Corporal within ten months.

 

The Battalion was stationed in Colchester in Essex and while Jack was there he met a girl, Martha Jane Stevens, who was living there with her elder sister and brother-in-law, Alice and John, and their three children.  Martha and Alice were tailoresses, having learnt their skills in an orphanage after their parents died.  Jack and Martha were married at the registry office in Colchester on 17th June 1899 and Alice and John were their witnesses.  Jack claimed to be thirty-four years old and a "widower".  Oddly, the army didn't seem to know about the marriage for another three years.  Did Jack not tell them? It's another mystery.  What we do know is that almost exactly three months later, on 16th September 1899, Martha gave birth to their daughter, Mary Alice McKeon, my grandmother.

Almost four weeks after that, on 11th October 1899, the Boer War was declared and on 23rd October Jack and his Battalion sailed for South Africa on the Hawarden Castle, expecting that the war would be over before they arrived.  Three weeks later, they landed at Durban and they remained in South Africa until January 1903.  In November 1902 Jack wrote a long letter to Pat, telling the tale of his war.  Here is the third sentence:

 Regarding myself, well I have not had an hour’s illness in S.A. nor have I ever stopped a man’s bullet – come through it all without a scratch. 

That wasn't quite true as he was injured in a fire in May 1902, an accident about which we know very little except that all of his possessions were burnt.  Thanks to this letter, I know a great deal about Jack's war, but I would like to share with you just this little snippet about the Battle of Pieter's Hill, which took place over a fortnight in February 1900:

Our losses were terrible it was sunset before the Hill was ours but the fighting continued all night, meantime the Boers got away all their munitions of war.  We kept the Hill all night and the following day each buried their dead.  I saw the next morning a Lance Corporal of ours, and a young Boer both lying dead in handigrips among the rocks with their rifles on the ground and beneath them both shot through the head with the muzzle evidently touching.  Colenso and Spion Kop are not to be forgotten by those who were there, but Pieter’s Hill should, I think, be henceforth called “Pieter’s Hell”.  Pieter's Hell.

There is another section of this letter which I would like to share with you as I think it says something about Jack's character:

Well on 5^th September 01 we joined a mobile column operating in the East under Kitchener’s brother and we started off, on 16^th we reached Ermelo (as nice a little town as I ever saw), and damn his soul he reduced the town to ashes.  It was a most sickening sight, the town was burning for days and the Colonials took away all the best furniture for firewood.  Furniture of all sorts, of polished mahogany, the costliest on the market.  8 day clocks and pianos were smashed up for firewood.  The looting did not end here, when all this was consumed, the sons of bitches had recourse to sacrilege the church, the only building standing, was robbed of seats, pews, pulpit, altars (Dutch church), the flooring and balconies the latter portions being so roughly removed that the building is quite useless, it may fall down any day.  I passed there a few months ago it was still standing but it must be rebuilt again...There was plenty of wood growing about the town, and coal mines at the surface everywhere. 

Jack was awarded the Queen's South Africa Medal with clasps for Tugela Heights, Relief of Ladysmith, Cape Colony and Transvaal as well as the King's South Africa Medal with clasps for 1901 and 1902 and in August 1902 he was paid the South Africa War Gratuity of £12 and 9 shillings.

So, by October 1902, in his late thirties, Jack was a Sergeant and two significant things happened in that month: on 16th he informed the army that he was married and had a child and on 18th he extended his period of army service, signing up to carry on for another six years.  I reckon those two events must have been related.  You see, Jack's battalion was not posted home to the UK after the Boer War; in January 1903, shortly after his promotion to Colour Sergeant, they went to India, to Rawal Pindi, and this time, Martha and (Mary) Alice travelled halfway across the world to join him.  They hadn't seen each other for three and a half years and the new baby he had left behind was now a walking, talking, lively little girl.

On 20th April 1903 Jack wrote to Martha's sister to let her know of their safe arrival.

I am at length extremely happy to be able to inform you that my darling wife and daughter arrived here safe and well last Monday morning but needless to state they were awfully tired and weary of the journey and no wonder for I know the hardships a woman endures when travelling alone under military arrangements and I assure you my dear sister it is a shame the way they treat women and children.  Of course we men do not feel it half so much.  Well I think, considering the hardships of the journey my darling Martha looks fairly well and our little daughter is, I think, the most engaging little child I ever saw.  She is such a beauty and so lively all day long, so sharp and talking and running about the whole day, never takes a rest, and is dada's girl, but says she also loves her Mama dearly. 

I love this letter.  As Martha was six months pregnant when she and Jack were married, I had thought that theirs was perhaps a "shotgun" wedding, but when we found this letter I realised that I had been mistaken, there is so much love and delight contained in Jack's words.  And his description of his daughter, who I knew only as an elderly woman with impaired mobility, is very poignant. 

On 16th January 1904, almost nine months to the day after Martha's arrival in Rawal Pindi, she gave birth to a boy who they named Hugh.  He was baptised three weeks later - remember that, for I shall come back to it.  However, later that year Hugh fell ill and he died of enteritis on 26th October, only nine months old.  Heartbreaking.  He was buried the same day. 

Now, you remember that Jack joined up this time under an assumed name?  Well, by April 1904 the army knew that he was really John McKeon, but I can't find anything in his records to explain how they found out.  I did write to the regimental museum and ask for help but they were not forthcoming, so it's another mystery I have yet to solve.  That's the thing about family history, there is always more to discover.

There were no more babies born to Jack and Martha in India.  In 1906 Jack signed up for another eleven years in the army and in March 1907 he was posted home, I think to the regimental garrison depot in Armagh.  Certainly, that is where their second son, John Joseph, was born in military barracks on 29th January that year.  He was baptised in St Patrick's Catholic Cathedral in Armagh just four days later. 

Colour Sergeant John McKeon was discharged from the Royal Irish Fusiliers at Bordon in Hampshire on 20th January 1911, having been found medically unfit for further service.  His pension claim stated that "the disability has been gradually progressing for several years to very shaky and debilitated.  Always very quiet and at times somewhat depressed.  Prematurely aged.  Not result of service, climate or exposure on duty.  Aggravated by campaigning in S. Africa and service in India directly following.  Permanent."  The Medical Board concurred.  The records showed treatment for jaundice, colic and ague in India during his time there with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers and it was minuted that "the disability of this man may be regarded as the result of service."  Jack was about forty-seven years old and he had spent more than twenty-seven of those years in the British Army...Sudan...South Africa...India...

Jack's discharge papers record that his conduct and character while with the Colours was "exemplary", that he was "steady, sober and reliable" and that he was "a good clerk and accountant".  I should have thought that his employment prospects were good.  He intended to return to County Roscommon, not to the family farm but to the town of Boyle.  I don't know whether or not he did, but I do know that two years later, in September 1913, he was at his wife's sister's home in Portland in Dorset when he had a brain haemorrhage and died.  We think that he was not yet fifty years old; Martha was forty-two and would live for a further twenty-nine years; the children were fourteen and four. 

Would you like to see a photo?  Last time I showed you a fine portrait of Jack in his scarlet tunic.  This time I offer something a little different, a rather more casual photo of a group of soldiers, taken in India. You may wish to click on it to look more closely.  The small girl sitting in the middle is my grandmother, Alice, and the man to her left, with his arm around her, is Jack. 

 Oh yes, and I promised to come back to Hugh, the baby who was born in India and died within a year.  Remember that I told you that he was christened when he was three weeks old?  There are no photographs of him, only words written down on official documents to prove he ever existed, but I have something which belonged to him, something which makes him real, a living, vital baby who was loved and to whom I feel connected: it is his christening mug.

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

P.S. Blogger is driving me mad: it keeps changing the fonts and their sizes and I can't work out how to fix it.  Sorry.  Please bear with me and thank you for your patience.