Gratitude

Hello, and thank you for your kind comments on my last post.  Today is the fourth Thursday in November and when I looked at my Facebook feed this morning I saw that the poet David Whyte, who is based in the USA, had posted part of his essay on Gratitude.  Thanksgiving and Gratitude have been on my mind recently.

 

At the beginning of last month I was driving home from The Teacher's house when my car broke down about four miles from home, in a residential area.  She had invited me to stay for tea but I had (reluctantly) declined her offer and, as the light was lovely that afternoon, I decided to take the picturesque route home rather than the fast route - I often do that when the weather is good because the countryside is so pretty.  Just before 4.30pm the clutch stopped working while I was waiting at temporary traffic lights which had been set up just before some roadworks, and the car was undriveable.  I put the hazard lights on, got out of the car and walked down the queue of cars behind me, explaining what had happened and telling the drivers to drive around me.  I returned to the car, locked myself in and checked my mobile 'phone: I only had 6% battery power left.  I rang the Best Beloved and left a voicemail message, then I rang The Teacher and told her what had happened and where I was, explaining that if my 'phone ran out of charge she would have to liaise with her father.  I rang the garage I always use to service the car and asked if someone could come out to me but the mechanic explained that he was the only one there so he couldn't leave.  The Best Beloved then rang me and promised to come and find me.  He thought he would be able to get the car going but if not, he would ring the breakdown service.  I was in a bit of a state but all I could do was sit in the car and wait.

He arrived about an hour later, while it was still light, but in the meantime, a rather lovely thing had happened: the two men who were working on the road came over to find out what was happening and pushed the car, with me in it, into a safer place before surrounding us with traffic cones "to keep you nice and safe".  They were so kind.  I was a bit panicky by this point and one of them touched my head with his hand and said, "It'll be all right, Bab."  I almost cried.  So the Best Beloved found me quite easily and once he had pumped the clutch and established that I wasn't an idiot and the car really had broken down, he rang the breakdown service and they sent out a relay vehicle to load up my car (her name is Martha) and carry her home.  We were back safe and sound just after 7pm, three hours after I had left The Teacher's house.

 

The next morning I walked up the road to the garage and was met by the mechanic who I had spoken to on the 'phone, so I didn't have to explain the problem again.  "Where's the car now?"  he asked.  "Parked outside my house, just round the corner, " I replied.  He walked to the end of their drive, looked down the road, came back and said, "Is it that grey one down there?"  "Yes," I said, "but I'll have you know that's not grey, that's Faded Denim!"  We both laughed.  "We can push that up here," he said and so we walked down the road with another mechanic.  Once he had pumped the clutch and established that I wasn't an idiot and the car really had broken down, the two mechanics pushed the car up the road, me walking on the pavement a little behind them.  They were joined by a friendly BT engineer who added his muscle to the task.  At the end of the road is a roundabout which is very busy at 9am so...they decided to push the car up the footpath instead!  It's a sight I shan't forget in a hurry.  Neither shall I forget the eventual bill, which was £350.

 

We weren't expecting this expense, the car having been fully serviced and passing it's MOT in September.  However, the week after all this drama our other car, Rosie, went to the garage for her MOT.  She is nineteen years old and the Best Beloved expected that she would need some work, in fact he expected that he would need to spend about £350 to get her through the MOT, but she sailed through without needing any attention at all.

 

I am sharing this with you because although I found it a bit traumatic, as I thought about it I realised that there were things to be thankful for.  If I had accepted my daughter's invitation and stayed for tea, I would have broken down at about 7pm and it would have been dark by then and much more scary; if it had not been such a lovely afternoon and I had decided to drive my usual route home I would have broken down on the slip road as I came off the motorway, a much more dangerous and remote place, and there would have been no roadworkers to look after me; if I lived further away from the garage, the mechanics wouldn't have been willing to simply push the car up the road and deal with the situation entirely themselves.  I am grateful for all of this, as well as the fact that we didn't have to spend any money on Rosie this time.

 

I am grateful, too, for our half term trip to Guernsey to visit The Mathematician.  Stormy weather delayed our departure for twenty-four hours which was very frustrating because not only did we lose the money we had spent on that night's accommodation, we lost the only full day we would have been able to spend with our island-dwelling daughter as she was unable to take a day off work while we were there.  The day before we left, Barbara over at Coastal Ripples posted that the arrival of her triplet visitors had been delayed by a day because of the weather and, as our ferry would continue on from Guernsey to Jersey, where she lives, I thought they might be travelling on the same ferry as us.  So when I saw twin girls with a brother who might be their triplet seated almost opposite us I just had to go and ask their parents if they were going to visit "Barbara in Jersey".  They were.  "How did you know that?" asked their mother, "Have you been stalking us?!"  It was a funny encounter, we all had a little chat and I asked them to give Barbara my best regards.  "I am Mrs Tiggywinkle," I said, and there was more laughter.  It does look as if they had great fun visiting Jersey and I was glad to have met them and given them a funny anecdote to recount.

 

 Cobo Bay

 









L'Eree Bay

 

 





Unlike our previous two holidays in Guernsey, the weather this time wasn't good and we didn't see the sun at all.  We were able to get out to a beach three times, wrapped up against the cold in coats and hats, and Tom Kitten was thrilled to make sandcastles and fly a kite with his grandfather.  He was also thrilled to dress up as a knight at Castle Cornet. 

However, being two years old, his favourite word is "No" and he behaves like a two year-old so inevitably, there was a bit of challenging behaviour, and his three month-old sister was teething and so cried a fair bit, and their father missed his flight and was only able to join us two days before the end of our trip AND IT RAINED A LOT.  Also, the dishwasher in our apartment wasn't plumbed in as had been promised - and I know that I sound like a spoilt brat but we don't have one at home and were looking forward to it, and the apartment wasn't cheap- and on the evening the heating stopped working I almost cried (again).  So really, you might forgive me if I thought this wasn't a great holiday.  However, as I said to the children, "It doesn't really matter because the important thing is that we are all together," and I meant it.  The Mathematician joined us every day during her lunch break and after she finished work in the evening and she was able to take one afternoon off work.  On that day we all went out for lunch together and then walked on the beach at Vazon Bay.  I held back and watched my children and grandchildren walking across the sand towards the gentle waves and suddenly, my heart was full of love and gratitude and I did cry.

 

 

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who are celebrating today.  I hope the day has brought you everything you hoped for.

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

Pumpkins

Hello, thank you for dropping in.  Proper blogging is resuming.  The last leaves are still clinging onto the tree branches in beautiful colours of yellow, amber and red and while almost everyone on my Facebook feed seems to be putting up their Christmas decorations I am firmly stuck in the autumn and today I want to talk about... pumpkins.  If you've been here for a while you'll already know that I'm not keen on Halloween or its pumpkins but it seems that the squashes are here to stay and I can't fight progress.  I have come to the conclusion that the pumpkin is a perfectly acceptable autumnal symbol (although a Halloween lantern will always be a swede for me).

 

 

Last year, The Teacher took Tom Kitten to a pumpkin farm and they had a lovely time in the field, where she took some sweet photographs before buying a pumpkin.  She enjoyed it so much that I knew she would want to go again this year so I hatched a plan to knit some little pumpkin hats for Tom Kitten, Cottontail and their Big Cousin, who is five years old.  The weather can be bitterly cold here in October and I wanted to keep their little heads warm and cosy.  I used Stylecraft Special DK in Spice and Green, lovely soft yarn which can be washed in the washing machine when a hat is dropped in the mud by an excited child.

 

The hats were very well received and I was thrilled to bits.  The Teacher told me that they engendered lots of positive comments and laughter from other people at the farm and as it was indeed a bitterly cold day, they kept the children warm and cosy.  I was very pleased with myself.

 

 

The hats also kept the children's heads warm and cosy when we went to Guernsey, where the weather was not as kind as it has been during our previous visits.  Storms delayed our departure by twenty-four hours so Tom Kitten wasn't there in time to help his aunt carve her pumpkin.  I think she managed very well without him.

 

When we returned home I realised that my heart had softened towards the pumpkin.  The Teacher had piled the pumpkins she had bought at the pumpkin farm onto her mantelpiece and, inspired by that, I felt the urge to crochet some little pumpkins for my own autumnal decoration.  I hunted around the internet for a suitable pattern and found one in Attic 24 here which in turn led me to June's pattern here.  I used yarn and stuffing from my stash and in a couple of days I had these four beauties.  They are cute and squishy and one of them is even sparkly and I love them.  It's that simple.  The Teacher has already asked me to make some for her for next year and I think I might have to make some more for myself, too. 

The pumpkins won't be on the mantelpiece for much longer as I shall be putting my Advent calendar there on Sunday but in the meantime, I am enjoying them very much.

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

Lurching

Hello, and thank you for sticking with me.  The last five weeks have been very busy:  we have been to Guernsey for a week (almost) and to Anglesey for a long weekend, we have celebrated Cottontail's Thanksgiving and we have helped The Teacher and her family to move house.  I feel that I have lurched from one thing to the next, my feet touching the ground, somebody else's ground, one day each week as I have done my regular day at The Teacher's house but other than that, barely touching the ground at all.  As I drove home in the dark on Saturday afternoon, 23rd November, I noticed a house which had its Christmas tree up and twinkling away in the front room window, more lights flashing outside the house and threaded through the railings which topped the garden wall and a huge inflatable snowman in the front garden, and I realised that we are hurtling towards Christmas at full speed.  Yesterday evening I saw the Coca Cola Christmas advert on television and it felt absurdly early.  I am not ready.  I want to savour autumn's last hurrah and the quiet reflection of Advent before I start to twinkle.

Of course, I have had some wonderful days and made beautiful memories and I can't regret that, but I feel very unsettled.  I need a little time to breathe slowly, to feel my way into the ground beneath me and steady myself.  I began that process on Sunday; I stayed indoors all day, in my pyjamas, and made lots of lists - an Advent list, a Christmas gift list, a shopping list, a cleaning list and a decorating list.  I do like a list to keep me on track.  The Best Beloved cooked a chicken with roasted vegetables and as we sat at the table, we chatted gently about the things we really like about Christmas and we drew up some plans. I did some knitting.  It was a slow and thoughtful day.  Today I have done some laundry and some more knitting and pottered about the house.  I am steadying.  A small shopping trip is on tomorrow's list.

 

I have lots of things to share with you here - beaches, mountains and lots of knitting.  I'll be catching up with your blogs this week and trying to live in the moment.

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

The Mr Tumble's Spotty Bag Birthday Cake

Hello, I'm sorry I've been absent for so long.  I really can't believe it's been four weeks since I shared anything with you here so thank you for sticking with me.  I've been busy, busy, busy and some of that busyness has been about celebrating Tom Kitten's  2nd birthday.

 

"Mum, can you make a Mr Tumble's Spotty Bag cake for his birthday?" asked my daughter.  Hmm.  I didn't commit myself immediately.  I like baking but my cakes are rather homely, I've never wielded a piping bag because one of my children didn't like butter icing and I've never used fondant either.  My grandest cake is the Christmas cake, which gets covered in royal icing whipped up with a knife to look like a snow scene.  I didn't feel that I had the necessary skills to meet the current birthday cake standard for two year-olds so it was a couple of weeks before I agreed, reluctantly, on the basis that I can bash out a sponge quite easily and Mr Tumble's bag is a simple, square shape.

 

What I do have is a good friend who makes incredible celebration cakes so I asked her for advice.  "What proportions should I use to make a single tier sponge in an 8" square tin?"  I asked her.  She suggested that a Madeira cake would be better than a Victoria sponge and gave me her recipe.  Now, I expect that many of you are familiar with all of this, and I don't wish to teach anybody's granny to suck eggs, but I have decided to share my new-found knowledge with you because some of you may be as inexperienced as I was and I managed to make something far better than I expected!  Would you like to see my fabulous Spotty Bag cake?  Here it is. -

 

 

Isn't it fab?  Best of all, it was far more straightforward than I had anticipated.  So, if any of you are called upon to make a Mr Tumble's Spotty Bag cake, this is what I did.

 

The Recipe

8oz margarine or butter

8oz caster sugar

4 large eggs

10oz self-raising flour

 

First I put the oven on - my friend said 170 degrees Celsius so I know that means 160 degrees Celsius in my fan oven.  Then I sieved the flour into my biggest mixing bowl and added 1tsp baking powder because I noticed that my flour was out of date.  Hey ho.  Then I put everything else into the bowl, added a dash of vanilla extract because it felt like the right thing to do, and turned on my electric whisk.  Pretty soon it was ready and I spooned it into my tin.  Then it was into the oven and 55 minutes later, it was ready.  (My friend said to bake it for 60-75 minutes but to check it after 30 minutes.)

 

The Decoration

I cheated enormously here.  While the cake was cooling on a rack I went out to Hobbycraft and bought coloured fondant icing in yellow, red, blue and green - I know that I could have bought white fondant and coloured it myself, or even made white fondant and coloured it myself, but I've never done that before either and I didn't think that this was the right time to experiment.  The coloured icing was expensive but it was within my budget.

 

Well, I have to tell you that the whole process went like a dream.  I heated up some apricot jam (in a bowl in the microwave oven) until it was runny and brushed it over the cake.  I didn't sieve it first but I tried to make sure that I avoided the lumps of fruit, not that there were many because I used cheap jam!  I zapped the yellow fondant in the microwave oven for about 20 seconds to make it more pliable and then, having watched a few instructional videos online in advance, I sprinkled icing sugar on the worktop and on the rolling pin, rolled it out, draped it over the cake and smoothed it out before cutting off the excess.  Then came the fun bit: the coloured spots.  I used small enough quantities that I could squeeze the fondant icing in my hand to warm it up to soften it, rolled them out and used a small dessert glass for the large spots and the metal screw top from a bottle of wine for the small ones, sticking them on with a dab of water.  It was so easy that I completed it very quickly, which was a shame because I enjoyed doing it SO much!  I can totally understand why some people love this hobby now.

 

So, we packed up the cake and I sat in the passenger seat of the car and nursed it on my lap all the way to The Teacher's house.  The birthday boy and his family had been to the safari park for the day and he was very excited.  "Mr Tumble, Mr Tumble!" he said when he saw the cake, and he toddled off to find his own spotty bag.  We lit the obligatory birthday candles and sang the birthday song to him and then his mummy helped him to blow out the candles.  The cake was cut and I can assure you that it tasted delicious, and I'm not afraid to say that myself. 

 

 

The following day, when he was offered some cake for his pudding, he insisted that his parents sing "Happy Birthday To You" to him before he ate it! 

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

 

P.S.  I'm sorry that my photos are so poor.  The lighting in my kitchen really isn't photo-friendly and I'm just not a good photographer and we got so caught up in the excitement at The Teacher's house that I forgot to ask anyone else to photograph the cake before it was demolished. 

 

A Wonderful Day

Hello, thank you for calling in.  The earth has moved a little further around the sun and we have slipped into autumn.  There is a chill in the air in the early morning and the rain has fallen out of the sky as if it has been queuing up behind a locked door.  No washing has been dried on my line and for the first time in weeks I have worn long sleeves.

We were very busy during the school summer holidays, in the best of ways: a new grandchild, a special birthday celebration, a wedding, family visits and four days at the Shrewsbury Folk Festival.  All were good but it felt quite tiring and there was no time for the Best Beloved and I to get away by ourselves for a bit of restorative peace and quiet, which I really missed, so when a friend suggested that we go to her flat by the seaside for a weekend, I gratefully accepted.  Of course, this weekend had to fit around Shrewsbury Town F.C.'s home matches because the Best Beloved has a season ticket and he gets VERY grumpy if he has to miss a home match (we are currently in negotiations over an important family party in Cardiff on a December Saturday)!

 

 

That was last weekend and the flat is on the south coast of the Lleyn Peninsular in Wales, in Criccieth, which styles itself as "The Pearl of Wales on the Shores of Snowdonia".  We'd never been there before but knowing that it has two beaches and a medieval castle was enough to get me fizzy with excitement as we loaded up the car and set off on Friday evening.  We arrived in darkness at about 9.30pm, unpacked the car, opened a bottle of wine and ate a cold dinner before watching a film.  Now, the Best Beloved had told me that I could choose the DVDs to take with us, a rare treat indeed, so I chose Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, An Officer and a Gentleman and Local Hero; I did not choose any science fiction, superheroes, detectives or action films.  That evening we watched...Sherlock, which the Best Beloved pulled out of the basket of DVDs we found in the flat because he didn't fancy any of the films I had brought!  Harrumph!  I began to feel a bit dubious about the weekend.

 

 

I needn't have worried because Saturday turned out to be a wonderful day.  We went out for breakfast, bought a newspaper on the way and found Tir a Mor, which I think means Land and Sea and which describes itself as "a daytime coffee shop restaurant".  Hmm.  Well, their grammar may be a bit peculiar but their food is delicious and the service is good.  It was a real treat. We lingered.  I do think a leisurely breakfast is an excellent way to start the day.

 

We went back to the flat, packed a bag, collected a picnic blanket and went straight to the beach, where we spent the rest of the day.  The temperature was 25 degrees, the breeze was warm, the sky was blue and the sea sparkled.  It really didn't feel like the penultimate day of summer.  The Best Beloved swam, napped and wandered up to the castle while I read a book and, when I really couldn't read any more, indulged in some crochet and looked around.  To the west I saw the castle atop the headland which divides the town's two beaches and to the east I could see across Cardigan Bay to the golden beaches of the west coast of Wales, backed by mountains.  I could just make out Harlech Castle, several miles across the sea.  A seal popped up a few metres from the shore, disappeared and popped up again, repeating the entertainment for a couple of hours.  In the late afternoon we had delicious ice cream from Cariad Gelato - actually, I suppose that was delicious gelato - while we watched a raft of about thirty sea birds diving for food near the shore.  I didn't have anything else to plan, do or worry about and I felt properly content. 

 

 

We left the beach at about 5 o'clock and went back to the flat for a cup of Earl Grey and a relaxing soak in the bath.  To be honest, I was relaxed before I got into the bath but I was a bit sandy and salty, whereas after the soak I was relaxed and clean, which is not the same.  I gently rubbed in some scented body lotion and donned my pyjamas.  I felt lovely.  We opened a bottle of wine (again) and ate a cold dinner (again), snuggled up on the sofa together and watched... Local Hero.  I hadn't seen it for about twenty-five years and I had forgotten how much I like it. 

 

 

I cannot remember the last time I felt so relaxed and happy.  I said to the Best Beloved, "This has been a wonderful day, the best day I have had for a long time."

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

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



St James' Church, Stirchley

Hello, thank you for popping in to my Shropshire patch.  We are definitely heading towards autumn here, as we turned into our street yesterday I noticed that the leaves on the trees are changing colour.  However, it is still summer until next Saturday, the weather has been sunny and unseasonably warm for the last few days and on Friday I saw four small tortoiseshell butterflies and a comma on the small buddleia in the garden.  I was pleased to see so many small tortoiseshells as their numbers declined by 75% between 1976 and 2018. 

Telford is an interesting place - or group of places.  Created as a New Town in 1968, it appears that the planners actually took a group of much older communities, plonked a large shopping centre in the middle, made a good road network to join it all up and built lots of housing estates in the gaps.  Parts of it are very old, some places being recorded in the Domesday Book, and parts of it are very beautiful, although nobody seems to talk about those places.

 

Stirchley is one of the old places, originally a farming community whose church dates from the twelfth century.  It is a church I had wanted to visit for many years and last September, I finally made it. 

 



 

We parked outside the churchyard and entered through the wrought iron gate.  This is the view which confronted us: a lot of brickwork.  However, as we walked all around the building, this is what we saw. -

 

 

 

Intriguing, isn't it?  The chancel, at the east end of the church, shows the original Norman stonework.  In about 1740 the nave and the tower were remodelled: the windows were enlarged, the whole thing was encased in bricks, the roof was replaced and an extra storey was built onto the tower.  Why they didn't also encase the chancel in bricks I don't know because it all looks quite odd.  Moving forward it time to 1838, a family of wealthy local employers, the Botfield brothers, paid for a brick extension to be added to the north side of the church, which is the block with large windows which you can see in the photo above.  This extension added seating for an additional 120 people, including a gallery for the brothers' employees.

 

Inside, the church is typical eighteenth century with high-sided box pews, pulpit and reading desk which probably date from that 1740 remodelling.  I do love box pews, that whole thing about closing the door and being in your own little space is very cosy.  However, I have to report that the seats inside these particular little spaces are very narrow and quite high; I couldn't put my feet flat on the floor, which was tricky as my well-padded bottom was sliding off the perch!  I really found them very uncomfortable.

 

 

I sat there for quite a while because this church has a lovely, serene feel, perhaps because of the plain white walls which are free of memorials and other "clutter".  Looking from the chancel towards the west end of the nave, there is a rather lovely clock.

 

 

However, the real jewel of this church is the twelfth century carving which decorates the arch between the chancel and the nave and which looks so crisp and fresh that it's hard to believe that it's nine hundred years old.  I sat and looked at it for a long time.

 





 

In the picture above you can clearly see that the chancel arch was once very much bigger.  This was revealed when the plaster was removed from this wall in 1979.

 

The stained glass windows date from the nineteenth century and were bought from another church in the 1970s and installed here.  On the day we visited they were simply and sweetly decorated ready for Harvest Festival.

 

 

The church was declared redundant in 1975 and later sold to Telford Development Corporation who restored it for use as a museum.  It now belongs to The Churches Conservation Trust and is kept locked but you can borrow the key from the people who live in The Old Rectory next door, which is now a guest house.  However, if you visit next weekend, 21st and 22nd September, the church will be open between midday and 4pm and friendly volunteers from a local historical society will be there.  You could even stay for the Harvest Festival at 4pm on Sunday.

 

 

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x