Category: Uncategorised (Page 1 of 15)

Two more untimely deaths in my family’s story: this time a man and his son.

Every week Ancestry.com sends me ‘hints’ because I’m a subscriber. This week’s hint was for a man named Brighton Clark the brother-in-law of my 2nd cousin 3x removed! Now I’d researched my Clark ancestors during lockdown and written a blog about going up on t’ tops to find their residence at Stephenson house overlooking Mytholmroyd. One of my main goals in research is to find out something about the actual lives of my ancestors – not just names and dates, and to do this I refer to mentions of them in newspaper archives. As you can imagine the name James or William brings up hundreds of people in Heptonstall and Hebden Bridge. So when Brighton Clark, son of William Clark, popped up as a hint, I thought his first name might be uncommon enough to find newspaper references to him without too much fuss. I was certainly not expecting two untimely deaths, that of a father and his son, one of which resulted in the permanent closure of a pub in Heptonstall, the other an accident at Old Cragg Hall, plus a bastardy court case and a tragic accident resulting in a teenager being shot and blinded.

Born in 1841 in Erringden Grange, a remote large farm on the side of the moor just below Stoodley Pike which has always struck me a being quite spooky, William was the son of James Clark, a farm labourer from Gargrave. By the time William was ten the growing family had moved to Old Chamber, a tiny, idyllic looking settlement overlooking Hebden Bridge and whose glittering house lights high above me I can see from my house on the valley floor. 10 years later the family were living at Laneside and William was listed as an agricultural labourer in the census of 1861. On the 8th of February 1865 William married Sarah Mercy at Halifax minster. As Calderdale recovers from a cataclysmic storm last weekend when snow, black ice and flooding made travel through the valley impossible I can’t help but wonder what the weather was like as William made the 8 mile journey through Calderdale to St John’s for his wedding. Very unusually for my family Sarah was not from Calderdale. She had been born in Preston, Lancashire. Four years later find William and Sarah and their two children, Henry and William, living 5 houses away from William’s parents at Park and now William lists his occupation at mason.

Although I cannot be certain that the following article pertains to ‘my’ William Clarke I have my suspicions. July 18, 1879:

Soon after the family move to Stephenson House on Burlees Lane where William is a farmer of 10 1/2 acres. It seems a large building today with its attached laithe barn but in 1881 it was divided into just two homes – that of William and Sarah and their 6 children, and a retired clog manufacturer by the name of James Wade.

Stephenson House

Stephenson House is on the left, on Burlees Lane.

Stephenson House sits on the hillside above Mytholmroyd, a small town which is home to several clog manufacturing companies, one of which is still in operation and recently I took a peek into their building where I found a wonderful cobwebby display of clogs both ancient and modern.

In May of 1889 William and his two brothers John and Thomas sought to recover 9.4s from John Edward Greenwood of Cragg for boring for water in one of Greenwood’s fields at Stubbins. Initially Greenwood had employed a water diver named Mullens Mullens. I’d come across that name before in my research: https://blog.hmcreativelady.com/2023/09/17/a-day-with-mortimer-moss/ I’d read an account of this matter in Paul Weatherhead’s book ‘Weird Calderdale: Strange and horrible local history’ but he hadn’t named the contractors and at the time I’d read the account the name Brighton Clark was unknown to me. Apparently the Clarke brothers, William, John and Thomas made an agreement to bore for up to 100 ft if necessary to find water. They commenced digging and discovered water at 35 ft. William made a journey to Greenwood’s house where he was told to dig further.The resulting argument spanned three newspaper columns – the Clarkes wanted paying for a day when they had remained at the bore from ‘7 in the morning til 6 o’clock at night (the usual working hours) but the defendant did not come.‘ The Clark brothers were claiming 5s each for their day of lost wages but eventually Greenwood was not required to pay them.

The next time I read of William was in 1889 when, at the age of 48, he was found lying in Towngate, Heptonstall, outside the Dog and Partridge, suffering from mortal injuries. ‘His piteous moaning at midnight attracted the attentions of people living on Northgate and Towngate’‘ and a cart was obtained and William was taken to Thomas, his brother’s house, Green Syke on King Street, Hebden Bridge. A doctor was called who pronounced William to have sustained several broken ribs, a dislocated thigh and many internal injuries. Though he remained conscious he was not able to explain what had happened to him. He died there the following day. It transpired that he had been drinking heavily in the Dog and Partridge and the landlady, Mrs Hollinrake, had put him to bed in the attic and it was suggested that he had fallen from the attic window in a drunken stupor. But rumours of foul play soon gained currency, especially since the sash window was too small to have fallen from it accidentally. It was suggested that he had been robbed and pushed from the window. He had spoken of someone trying to get into his pocket as he dosed in the attic and that he’d been ‘knocked gaumless.’ It was later learned that a few days before the tragic incident William had got into the company of two strange women along with the landlady and another serving lady and they had all been invited by the landlady to an upstairs room where the drinking of whisky continued at a shocking rate until 8:30 when William had fallen asleep on a bed in the room. Earlier in the day he’d told his brother that he had 5 shillings upon him but when he was found in the street there was no money on him, so robbery was suggested as a motif for his murder. His hat and his watch were found in the upstairs room and scuffing on the window sill could have been made by his shoes. The inquest took place at the Bull Inn in Hebden Bridge (an inn that was kept by my ancestor Joshua Gibson who took his own life in the slaughter house behind his pub in 1858). So much interest in the case had been generated that hundreds of people lined the street outside the Bull Inn and inside the corridors were packed as people tried to gain access to the room where the inquest into his death was to be held. The account of the inquest covered 5 columns in the Todmorden District News. There was much insinuation of debauchery but nothing more than a ‘nice jollification’ was admitted by one of the ladies present, Elizabeth Fearby of Todmorden. The jury reached a verdict that there was no evidence as to how the fall came about.

The landlord, Elijah Hollinrake was subsequently charged with permitting drunkenness on his premises that day. One of the witnesses, Emily Clarke gave evidence that gill after gill of whisky was supplied to William Clarke in the garret resulting in that by the end of the carouse William, the landlady and herself were drunk. The landlord had already been previously summoned for permitting drunkenness in his premises at the Dog and Partridge. The opposition to the license being endorsed came mainly from The Band of Hope Union in Hebden Bridge. Besides the death of William Clarke they put forward other reasons – within a stone’s throw of the Dog and Partridge there were 4 other drinking establishments and considering the adult population of Heptonstall that only gave each pub around 190 patrons. ‘We do not look upon the refusal to grant a license as likely to increase the sobriety of the village but we regard it as an indication that the magistrates are beginning to recognise the demands of the temperance party.‘ The pub subsequently became Furley House Tea Rooms in the 1970s and then Furley House, a private dwelling.It was a late 17th century/early 18th century building at 35 Towngate.

Brighton, William’s third son was born in 1873 when the family were living at Park. He was baptised at St Michael’s church, Mytholmroyd. By 1881 the family had moved to Stevenson House on Burlees Lane where the family lived for at least the next 40 years. In 1895 at the age of 22 he married 20 year old Betsy Ambler of Bethel Terrace, Brearley, the daughter of John Ambler, a woolsorter at Halifax minster and the following year the first of 4 sons, Granville, was born. But a shadow lingered over their marriage for in May 1893 Brighton was charged with the paternity of the illegitimate child of 17 year old Mary Hannah Parkin of Foster Lane, Hebden Bridge. She had met Brighton at Fallingroyd Bridge and he had told her to go to Milton Law’s house at Sunny Brink, Mytholmroyd behind the old Huntsman’s pub. She had been going out with Brighton for 2 1/2 years: since she was just over 15 years old. She went there and stayed with Brighton until 4 a.m. the following morning. In November she told Brighton of her pregnancy and he replied ‘there was many a worse job than that.’

Other men were called to give evidence that they had seen Mary ‘walking out’ with several other men but the eventual verdict in this bastardy case was that Brighton should pay 3 shillings a week for the upkeep of Mary’s baby girl.

By 1901 Brighton and Betsy had set up home at Souter House, just two houses along Burlees Lane from Stephenson House. The building was shared between the Clarks and Joseph Thomas, a farmer and his family. Brighton lists his occupation as ‘cotton velvet weaver’ more commonly known as fustian in this area. Indeed, such was its prominence that Hebden Bridge was known as Cottonopolis and a sculpture of a fustian knife stands in the town square. By the 1911 census the family have moved back to Stephenson House. Brighton now lists his occupation as farmer but two of his children, Granville and Agnes are employed in the fustian manufacturing business – Granville, 15, as a presser and Agnes, 13, as a sewing machinist in ready made fustian clothing business. At this time Brighton was renting the Stephenson House building from William Sutcliffe of Stocks Hall, Mytholmroyd, and 10 acres of land from J. E. Greenwood of Glen House, Mytholmroyd. Ha! The very man with whom his father had had the altercation about the sinking of the water holes in 1889. 1931 find the family settled in the valley now, in fact, they have made their way from th’tops down onto the valley floor and are living at Broadbottom, directly beneath Stephenson House. Granville is still living with them. Two years later an entire newspaper column is given to ‘Fatality at Cragg Hall’ in which the inquest into the death of Brighton is told. It mentions that at the age of 61 Brighton was engaged as a tar sprayer, an occupation that I hadn’t come across before but it’s connection to the making and maintenance of roads. He had been employed by Sutcliffe’s, tar paining contractors, Mytholmroyd, for 13 years. Could this possibly have been the same Sutcliffe’s who owned Stephenson House? Brighton is now living at 5 Hobart Buildings right on the canal at Hawksclough. Luckily the snow and ice of the previous week had passed and on a chilly but dry day I walked along the canal to find Brighton’s final home. It was well sign posted. A 12ft carriageway was to be constructed around Old Cragg Hall. The work involved ‘clearing the hillside, felling the trees and removing the stumps.’ The work had been in progress for several months, Brighton being used as a general workman. 6 men were employed digging out the large tree stump and two were employed in carting away the soil from the excavations. Brighton had begun to undermine the root from the front with a pick ax when the stump became dislodged and started to fall. One man jumped clear, sustaining a fractured leg but Brighton, who was on his knees had no change of escaping the root as it fell on him It was estimated to weigh a ton.

Old Cragg Hall. Was this the carriageway that Brighton was working on when he was killed by the falling tree stump?

1935 Granville Clark died aged 39 at 5 Hobart buildings.

In loving memory of AGNES, beloved daughter of JOHN & SUSANNAH AMBLER, who died April 19th 1928, aged 65 yrs
Also BRIGHTON, beloved husband of BETSY CLARK, who died Oct.6th 1933, aged 61yrs.
Also of the above, BETSY CLARK, who died November 9th 1944, aged 70 years, “Be ye also ready for in such an hour an ye think not, the son of man cometh”
Also of GRANVILLE, son of BRIGHTON CLARK, died May 25th 1935, aged 39 yrs, ‘at rest”
Also of EMMA AMBLER, who died December 24th 1947, aged 70 yrs ‘remembrance’

A weekend in London

When did I last visit London? Well, there’s a question! Apart from changing trains coming back from Paris in 2020 it must have been the early 1980s when I lived in St Neots, Cambridgeshire. So when a friend suggested a weekend trip to the BBC Proms I jumped at the idea, especially since it would be a chance to see Daniel Barenboim conduct Brahms’s violin concerto with soloist Anne-Sophie Mutter.

Me at the Egyptian Sphinx, Embankment 1976

The train from Hebden Bridge to Leeds was already 15 minutes late when it arrived and I found myself panicking about missing the train to London from Leeds. I looked up the Live National rail site and found that the London train had been ‘delayed indefinitely.’ Arriving in Leeds the station was packed with people gazing up at the overhead screens, stomping around, stamping their feet. SO many trains had been cancelled. Eventually I found a member of the the train staff and was told to take the next train to Sheffield, then from there take the Plymouth train which stops in London St Pancras. The entire East coast main line was closed. I met up with my friend and we travelled across Yorkshire to Sheffield, a journey of just over and hour and then managed to board the train to London. We’d been informed that there’d be no food or drink on the train, it would be standing room only. I’d tried to buy snacks at Sheffield station but because of the chaos they were all sold out.

Having to stand for a three hour train ride was not something I am capable of doing, especially on one of the hottest days of the year- and of course, this being England there is no air conditioning. So pleading infirmity I managed to grab a seat in first class, where it was, thankfully, a little cooler, and there I remained for the next three hours. Two days before I set out on this trip my bank card had been cancelled due to a possible breach of security. Realising that there would be many occasions when only contactless payments would be accepted in London (I rarely use cash on a daily basis) I had purchased a cash card from the post office and spent the majority of the journey attempting to get this card up and running so I wouldn’t find myself stranded somewhere in London.

Reaching St Pancras we quickly took a hot underground Tube train to South Kensington, whilst finding out that I had not indeed managed to enable my new cash card. We were staying in the student dorms of Imperial College, directly opposite a line of famous museums – the V and A, the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum. The dorms were built around Prince’s Garden and the streets were lined with beautiful Georgian terraces. The price of these blew my mind:

5,700,000 for a one bedroom!!!!

View from my dorm

Lots of students were milling around, presumably taking summer school classes, many of them from distant countries. My dorm room was adequate, somewhat Spartan, but there was a window that opened 4″ and a small fan. The outside temperature was 77F.

We set off in search of food five minutes after arriving since we’d had no lunch. I’d noticed a Thai cafe with outdoor seating on the road from the station and we ate there. It was 5 o’clock and the traffic was bumper to bumper in every direction. The streets were also full of Uber Eats delivery bikes winding their way between the cars. It looked a very dangerous business. I was really enjoying the vibe of the city as I ate my early meal. Everyone looked very well dressed, expensively dressed. The streets were clean – no litter. Many expensive cars were to be seen. After all, this was only a stone’s throw from Harrods. After the meal I sat in Prince’s park for a little while watching the world go by. This didn’t feel like England – at least the England that I am familiar with.

Thai meal in South Kensington

On the way back to the dorm we walked past the Albert Hall. Last time I was here was when I organised a field trip with a group of 10 year olds from the school I was teaching at in Bedford back in the early 1980’s. We had sat up way in the gods but it was a first time experience at hearing live classical music for all the children. This evening a youth orchestra was in the middle of a photo shoot on the famous steps outside the concert hall and I couldn’t resist taking some photos too. Although the National Youth orchestra had performed in the Proms the previous evening I wasn’t able to find out who this orchestra were.

Youth orchestra

After a short time sitting in Prince’s Garden I headed back to my dorm. Just after midnight the fire alarm went off.

Prince’s Gardens

I hastily threw on some clothes and headed out. I was grateful for the balmy evening. The entire building was evacuated – several hundred people. After about 15 minutes we all were ushered back in, with no explanation. I went straight to sleep only for the same thing to happen 45 minutes later – and everyone piled out again. Same scenario – we were let back in after 15 minutes. I never found out what had occurred!

Fire alarm at the dorm in the early hours

The next morning we headed out for breakfast in the Albert Hall cafe where I had a dish of overnight oats and a cup of tea. I was looking forward to exploring London for the day.

Amazing curved building adjacent to The Albert Hall

The evening Proms concert was to start at 7:30 so I’d planned on taking a Hop On- Hop Off bus in order to see as many of the sites of the city as possible. I had found a flier which was advertising such a trip with a cruise along the Thames included so I headed off to find a bus stop for the open top bus. With the temperature threatening to reach 90F during the day I set off with a borrowed wide brimmed sun hat and a large bottle of water. As I walked along Exhibition Street the crowds were already several hundred strong outside each of the galleries and museums, awaiting the 10 a.m. opening time.

Queues outside the museum

It didn’t take me long to find a bus and off I went upstairs for the best view. Luckily the bus wasn’t too crowded. During the next hour I passed Harrods, Hyde Park, Marble Arch which is currently covered as it undergoes renovation, The Hilton Hotel, the boundary wall of Buckingham Palace (buses are not

Selfie – my style

allowed on the Mall), Piccadilly Circus with the Eros statue, Trafalgar Square with its lions, New Scotland Yard (where one of my students used to work) and arrived at Westminster bridge, home of the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey.

Palace of Westminster

Seeing some of these building brought back memories of the time I visited my college friend in London where she’d moved to when her boyfriend was studying obstetrics at a London hospital. They had lived on Praed Street close to Paddington station. I managed to dig out a couple of photos from that trip. The entire area was buzzing with tourists while I stood, awestruck by the complexity of the stone ornamentation on the major buildings.

So many people!

AMAZING! I crossed the bridge that was covered with people and saw places where people mudlark for ancient treasures the river sometimes unveils. I took a stroll beneath the London Eye.

Each pod holds 25 people and was opened in 2000. It can hold 800 people at a time, having 32 pods – one fore each of London’s boroughs. A full rotation takes 30 minutes. I must admit I was tempted but my head for heights is not good. Besides, the queue was so long it would probably require standing in line for over an hour. So forget that idea. Perhaps it was time to take the river cruise.

I was fortunate that I didn’t have to queue too long in the bright sunshine and within 20 minutes I’d take my place on the upper deck of the boat, being careful to hang on to my sun hat of the entirety of the hour ride.

All aboard

The boat, named The Mark Twain, sailed under the Golden Jubilee bridge, passing the Hayward gallery and the Royal national theatre, the famous Oxo building that got away with advertising when advertising on the waterfront was not allowed by having windows shaped OXO in the tower, the Tate Modern, the replica of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre,

Queue for The London Eye

passed under London Bridge, saw The Shard and eventually arrived at Tower Bridge where I decided to get off. Again I was overwhelmed by the number of tourists around the Tower of London and to enjoy the atmosphere I bought a take away salad and luckily found a bench in the shade where I could eat my lunch and people watch. The whole experience of the boat trip I’d found to be mind blowing mainly because of the modern architecture. From the open space of the river the complexity of the new high rise buildings was visible in a way that isn’t when you are on street level.

Passing beneath the Millennium Bridge

By the river the expanse of the buildings can be seen in all their splendour, and of course, their juxtaposition with ancient landmark buildings several hundreds of years old is what makes this place visually very special.

With thoughts of coming back to this area tomorrow to go inside Westminster Abbey I boarded the bus back towards Marble Arch and walked through Hyde Park back to my dorm.

Tower of London from the Thames

This walk seemed longer than I had anticipated but I think that was because of the heat. It was now registering 93F. I stopped for an ice cream cone and then went to explore a large gathering of people at Speakers’ Corner. It was a religious group eager to convert people and there were lots of people with tripods and video cameras recording the proceedings. Someone with a camera came over to me and asked if he could photograph me since I looked so delightful in my sun hat eating my ice cream cone. I smiled and moved on!

I passed the Serpentine Lake full of row boats trying to dodge the ducks and occasional swan but I didn’t see the Princess Diana memorial – it was just too hot to keep walking. I was back in the dorm by 3.30 and was eager to have a shower and relax before the evening’s entertainment. I’d walked 7 miles in temperatures that I’m not used to.

At 5.45 we headed out for dinner though it seemed too hot to eat very much. We found a fish and chip shop that served salmon salads – how weird is that? – but that was just a perfect meal for me.

Fresh salmon at a fish and chip shop!

Then over to the Albert Hall where long queues of people were waiting for the promenaders’ tickets. I’ve often wondered how on earth people mange to stand for an entire concert: judging from the queues they weren’t all spring chickens either. On the way up to my seat I stopped to buy a drink – very warm beer-ugh. Then up the stairs, and up more stairs until we arrived at our seats. We were on the top tier and just how high up that is can be seen in the photo below. The promenaders looked like they’d been brought in from a doll’s house, so tiny did they appear. There was another row of people standing behind the top tier of seats too. The concert was completely sold out which was not surprising since it was rumoured that this could well be Barenboim’s last conducting season. From our vantage point we had a perfect view of the entrance tunnel and we soon saw Anne Sophie Mutter and Barenboim link arms and enter onto the stage. The rapturous applause was deafening. She looked stunning in a shocking pink gown though I do have to say the colour and style reminded me of the Barbie movie. She was guiding him onto the stage and he shuffled onto the podium where a chair was waiting for him. At 81 he’s an absolute legend though not as mobile as he once was. Both Anne and Daniel had been married to legends too: he was married to cellist Jaqueline du Pre and she was married to Andre Previn. The orchestra this evening was co-founded by Barenboim, the West-eastern Divan orchestra and is comprised of Arab and Israeli musicians. I was expecting to see lots of TV cameras filming the concert but no, it wasn’t televised, but it was recorded for the radio. Unusually there was no overture so the first notes of the evening were those of Brahms’s violin concerto at quite a slow tempo. I was disappointed to be so far away, both for the sound and the visuals. I like to see the eye movements and body language of the performers as they interact with each other and that was just not possible from this height. After the intermission the second piece was Schubert’s 9th symphony, a piece much less familiar to me. There were some beautiful oboe and horn solos during the piece.

Promenaders
Mr Barenboim takes the applause

The concert finished at 9:45 and it was only a five minute walk back to the dorm.

Next morning we packed our belongings into our bags and left the bags in reception to pick up later. We bought breakfast at the students’ cafe and it was already warm enough to sit outside to eat in the garden.

Breakfast en plein air

I’d planned to go back to Westminster Abbey to see inside and so I flagged down a taxi to take me there. Already, at 9 a.m. the area around Westminster Bridge was chock-a-block with tourists and I was both surprised and very disappointed to discover that all the tickets for viewing the Abbey had already been assigned. Oooo. That was a bit of a blow.

Crowds outside Westminster Abbey

The detail of the stonework on the buildings astounded me. I think I spent half an hour with my mouth open oo-ing and ah-iing at the complexity of the carving. I crossed the road and through a narrow opening I saw what looked like a tower of much greater antiquity than the huge buildings surrounded by tourists.

Westminster Abbey from the Jewel Tower

This little tower was even surrounded by something that had clearly once been a moat leading into the Thames. I walked around the moat, more to find some shade and quiet away from the throngs of people and on seeing that you could climb the tower I decided to go in. It’s a national heritage site called the Jewel Tower.

It was delightfully cool inside and guess what? I was the only visitor!

Valuable silver platter

This was the building in which the standard measurements were established was the Weights and Measure office between1869 and 1938. There were silver cups and platters in glass cases, many hundreds of years old and to protect these valuable royal items the doors are made of metal.

Metal door in the Jewel Tower

The stairs were quite scary – even at their widest my foot overlapped the edges. The views from the upper windows (there are no windows on the ground floor for security’s sake) are interesting because the glass is old and bevelled – my favourite sort of view.

Death Warrant of King Charles l
Outside Westminster Abbey

Leaving the Jewel Tower I stopped for refreshments on a small street, sitting outside and people watching. One of the people I ended up watching was Baldric from Black Adder. Well, that’s what the sign on the coach said!

A coach driver named Baldric!

Eventually it was time to head back to the dorm to pick up my bag and head for King’s Cross and the train back north. I found a taxi with a chatty driver. He’s been a London taxi driver for 17 years and I felt totally safe in his hands despite the crazy traffic and Uber Eats bicycles weaving in and out of the narrowest passages. When I caught a glimpse of the horse guards returning to barracks after the changing of the guard at Buckingham palace the taxi driver immediately turned a sharp right onto a side street saying “Jump out, run to the end of the street and you’ll get a photo opp!” No sooner said than done. He dropped me off at the dorm, waited until I collected my bag and then we headed to King’s Cross. I bought a sandwich and found the platform where my train to Leeds would be leaving from. A hundred or more people were waiting at platform 9 3/4, standing in line to have their photos taken with the sign where Harry Potter left for Hogwarts. When I’d passed through King’s Cross on my way back from Paris in February 2020 I’d been the only person taking a photo there.

King’s Cross station

I found my way to my reserved seat on the train, sitting by the window and soon got chatting to the man sitting next to me. We remarked on the crazy hot weather and I helped him, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to use the QR code on the seat to order some refreshments so off he went to the buffet car. Meanwhile I watched the world go by, thinking how flat southern England looked in comparison to where I now live. I sometimes forget that I live in the Pennines – the backbone of England. When I moved to the south, Cambridgeshire, for my first job in 1978 I remember thinking how boringly flat the landscape was. As the train approached Leeds station I headed towards the exit door. The man had left the train at the station before – Wakefield. It was only then that I discovered that ‘a famous vet’ had been in my coach ‘from the telly.’ Apparently I’d spent three hours in the company of The Yorkshire Vet, of the TV series by that name, but then I’d never heard of the programme or him!

A simple change of trains found me back in Hebden Bridge with no fuss, and looking forward to my next excursion.

Me at Trafalgar Square 1976

Sally Wrigley, 1816-1886, my great, great, great grandaunt

What goes around comes around – from Lily Hall to New Zealand and back!

I began my day looking up at the Heptonstall hillside above Hebden Water. Lily Hall’s eyes were firmly fixed on me. I could feel them asking me a question, Well, what about Sally? I needed to find an answer and until I did so I wouldn’t be able to rest. 

Lily Hall

My 4th gt grandfather James Wrigley,1778-1846,   lived in Lily Hall and his son, Abraham was living there when, in 1837 he married Sally Nicholson, a straw bonnet maker, also living in Heptonstall. Both signed their name  on their marriage certificate very clearly and with apparent ease which was somewhat unusual for this time period. In the mid 1800s straw bonnets were fashionable for both men and women and plaiting was the process of braiding several strips of softened wheat straw into lengths up to twenty yards. During the boom years the earnings of a wife and her children from straw plaiting could equal the husband’s income from farm labouring. The only requirements were a supply of treated wheat straw, a straw splitting tool and nimble fingers. The straw was cut into 10 inch lengths, fumigated and bleached using sulphur fumes, known to irritate the nose, eyes, throat, and lungs. The next step was feeding each length of straw through an opening in the straw splitting tool to produce thin strips of straw that could then be easily worked into the lengths of finished plait.  Plaiting was not without its hazards. To improve the suppleness of the bleached straw, each length of straw was softened with saliva by running through the plaiter’s mouth. This led to sore lips, abrasions and mouth ulcers. 

So there sits Sally making her bonnets while Abraham carries out his weaving.  The view of the rolling hills from this elevated spot have not changed since their time. Did they admire the view over the valley or is their work so labourious that they have little time to appreciate it, especially with a growing family.

View of Hebden Bridge from the interior of Lily Hall

Over the course of the next twenty years they went on to have nine children. I have a lovely formal photograph of Sally, taken in a photographic studio wearing a dress with bishop sleeves,   full, long sleeves gathered into cuffs at the wrists.

The shape of her dress would have required a long-fronted, bust-flattening corset which was popular until the mid 1850s and the full skirt is pleated and must have required a lot of material to fall around the hoop. Perhaps she’s wearing a crinoline petticoat stiffened with horse hair, also in vogue at that time. 

I have a photo of Abraham with his arm around a little boy’s shoulders and clasping his hand. His son looks to be about 7 years old. Unusually for the time period Abraham is smiling in the photograph. This, and the way he’s clasping his son’s hand is very endearing.

Abraham with son John, born in 1838

Like the photo of Sally it  has been taken in a photographic studio complete with what appears to be a painted backdrop of classical columns and a framed painting of a landscape. It must have been taken for a very special occasion. For a little while Abraham kept a grocer’s shop on the high street in Heptonstall. Today the only shop in the village is the Post Office which sells a small selection of food items for which the village residents have been highly appreciative during the pandemic, though it was closed for a time when the shopkeeper tested positive for Covid19. When it reopened during lockdown I counted more than a dozen people standing in line outside the shop, socially distanced but in danger of getting too close to traffic, especially the wide delivery lorries. Following the death of two infant children the Wrigley family moved to Bury, close to where I was born and grew up but by 1849 they were back in the Pennines, this time taking up residence in Todmorden where another son died in his first year of life. Abraham had become a carpenter working for John Nicholson, Sally’s dad. After their move to Todmorden three more children were born , the last being born when Sally was 41, a veritable geriatric mother. By this time Abraham had become a master joiner and cabinet maker, employing a dozen boys. John Nicholson, Sally’s father, had a house and shop on Cross Street next to Myrtle Street in 1860 and Sally and Abraham were living just a few doors away also on Myrtle Street. By 1861 Sally’s father was calling himself an architect.

 I got off the bus in the centre of Todmorden and crossed the Halifax Road heading towards the market. Right now the indoor market is closed but there a few stalls open on the outdoor market, reminding me of the first time I visited – with Rachel in 2015. When I moved back to England I wrote a funny monologue about a visit to this market in the pouring rain and was invited to perform it at Todmorden Literary festival in 2019 held in the imposing brick edifice of the Todmorden Hippodrome. Today the only things left to recall where Abraham and Sally lived are the street signs, Myrtle and Cross which now form access roads into Bramsche Square comprising a small garden and car park. 

Abraham died in 1879 and is buried at Lumbutts Methodist chapel. This interestingly named place is a mere hop and skip from the even more astonishingly named Mankinholes. The word has Celtic origins and means ‘fierce wild man, while  Lumb means pool and butts means land in Old English. Both villages lie on the shelf of land half way between the bottom of the valley and the hill tops, providing flatter land for pasture and grazing, not to mention flatter land on which to erect buildings. 

Lumbutts chapel (from my visit in 2017)

There is a long-established history of dissent in the Upper Calder Valley – dissent from established religion and always a fight against authority. In its religious aspect this showed itself in the number of  ‘alternative’ religions such as Quakerism and Methodists. Quakers, formed in the mid 17th century would meet in people’s homes and at the time this was illegal and prosecutions were common. One of these early meeting houses was Pilkington Farm in Mankinholes.  Later John Wesley, founder of the Methodists, visited the tiny settlement in 1755 and by 1814 there was a thriving congregation and a Methodist chapel was built to serve Mankinholes and the adjacent settlement of Lumbutts. But dissenters not only broke away from the established church of England but they also had disputes within their own congregation and, hard as it is to believe looking around the scattered cottages and farms clinging to the hillsides in front of me this was even the case in  ‘out here.’ By 1836 so grave was the dispute within the congregation that a break away group set up their own rival chapel at Lumbutts in 1837 only half a mile away! As I stood there on the grassy shelf overlooked by the eagle eye of Stoodley Pike I listened in my mind’s ear for the resounding sound of  the church organ because, strange as it may seem, the disagreement had been sparked by the installation of an organ in a chapel in Leeds. The majority of Wesleyan Methodists were opposed to music during the service seeing as a distraction from God.  In fact Wesley wrote 

Still let us on our guard be found,

And watch against the power of sound,

With sacred jealousy;

Lest haply science should damp our zeal,

And music’s charms bewitch and steal

Our hearts away from thee.”

Charles wrote over 9000 hymns. Lumbutts chapel prospered so much so that demand outgrew the building and so in 1877 a much larger building replaced it, complete with a school underneath. The building’s symmetry with its surrounding carpet of neatly mowed grass gives it a very artificial look on these moors where groups of buildings cluster together at all angles and levels to protect themselves from the storms the area is subjected to throughout the year. With its steeply pitched roof and rectangular footprint today it stands abandoned. In 1904 the church underwent major renovations and the crowning point was the installation of a new organ which became known as  The Old Lady of Lumbutts – a huge 3-ton organ. The inaugural recital given on May 6 was given by one W. A Wrigley (!) Mus. Bac. Oxon, the resident organist at Todmorden parish church and the complete refurbishment of the church’s interior was carried out by Messr. Wrigley and sons of Todmorden and Hebden Bridge, direct descendants of non other than Abraham and Sally Wrigley.  It is one of very few left in the country and was renovated in in 1989 when villagers raised £11,500 to repair it is still inside I don’t know. Today the damp blue slate roof acted as a mirror reflecting the occasional bursts of sunlight breaking through the wet mist. So the new chapel was only two years old when Abraham was buried in the cemetery at Lumbutts Chapel.

29 April, 1881. Todmorden and district news. 

LUMBUTTS. 141 persons partook of tea at this place. The tables were supplied with the choicest well-cooked meats and delicacies by Mrs. Wild, of Mankinholes. The health of Mr. John Fielden, Dobroyd Castle was proposed, and carried most enthusiastically, with musical honours and cheers; “The health of Mrs. John Fielden” and “ Success to the firm of Fielden Brothers ” were duly honoured. After these preliminaries the time was spent in dancing, music and games, in turns. Mr. Young Mitton played on the piano in very good style, and accompanied the singers. The following is a list of songs rendered at intervals: “You never miss the water till the well runs dry,” The twin brothers,” “Camomile tea,” “Verdant fields,” and almost twenty more. During the evening a very nice refreshment stall, provided by Mrs. Holt, of Lumbutts, was placed in one of the class rooms; no intoxicating drinks were admitted. Mr. and Mrs. John Fielden paid visit during the afternoon, and were most heartily cheered. The whole affair was conducted with order and good will, and is likely to be remembered long as a very pleasing circumstance in personal history. Honest John Fielden donated the land.

Grave of Abraham in 2017

I’d visited the chapel twice before, once with my children, and had found the grave of Abraham, and his daughter, Mary who died when she was 17 in 1868. There’s a little zippy bus that somehow manages to negotiate the steep road and the hairpin bends up to the village from Todmorden  though if it meets an oncoming car someone has to give way and back up. I’d grown up knowing the name Mankinholes because my mum had stayed at the Youth Hostel there in her twenties. I was delighted to be able to visit it today, even though of course, it’s closed due to coronavirus. It’s a wonderful old stone building and today you can book a 2, 4 or 6 bedded room with adjacent bathrooms,  all comparative luxury to when my mum was there in the 1940s when there would have been one dormitory for men and another for women, and an outdoor toilet! 

Mankinholes youth hostel where my mum stayed

As I left the village and started my descent back into the valey my attention was drawn to a large stone with the sign ‘Mankinholes  2000’ carved upon it, together with an engraving of Stoodley Pike, the monument on the hilltop  overlooking the village. On either side of the sign were two  blocks of stone carved to represent two larger than life sheep with wrought iron horns. As I stopped to admire them and take a photograph a couple came along the path. “Do you like the sheep?” the lady asked. “They’re lovely” I replied. “They were carved for the Silver Jubilee. Me husband made ‘em, didn’t you, dear?” So here I was talking to the sheep carver in person! 

After Abraham had died Sally moved in with her unmarried daughter Hannah, 34, a  cotton weaver, and her son James, 23, a joiner in a terraced house on Brook Street in the centre of  Todmorden, now demolished and a car park. And then in 1883,  the three of them are on a boat going to New Zealand! This is remarkable. At the age of 66, Sally boards the ship named Westmeath with her two unmarried adult children, Hannah, 36, a cotton weaver  and James 25, a joiner. Not only is this uncharted waters for the three Wrigleys but it’s uncharted waters for the ship for this is her maiden voyage. Built in Sunderland, once dubbed the world’s largest ship building town, on 15 March 1883 The Westmeath sailed from London with cargo and emigrants and a number of saloon passengers, via the Cape bound for Auckland and Port Chalmers. For a  time assisted passages were offered by the New Zealand government and between 1871 and 1886 more than a quarter of a million people flooded into the country, three quarters of them sailing directly from the United Kingdom although about 40% of them took a look and moved on.

On more exploration I discovered that Sally’s decision was not so unexpected. Her son Edmund had already emigrated to New Zealand in 1862 at the age of 19 before the mass flood of immigration and her son John followed the following year when he was 25, also a joiner in 1861. Through the wonders of the internet I found Zena Wrigley, an ancestry hunter living in New Zealand whose husband was Abraham and Sally’s  great great grandson. Her husband’s father had personal recollections of the Wrigley brothers who emigrated to New Zealand,  John, his grandad was a Quaker, a very religious man, and Dad often spoke of him in an endearing way. A gentle man who loved looking after Edward Wrigley (Zena’s father-in-law) as a child, Edward found his own father a strong disciplinarian and found him hard to relate to and so did not speak much about him. Edmund, John’s brother, on the other hand was very much involved with Masonry and so I would imagine Quakers and Mason’s probably would not have had much in common!! The third brother was James, a Methodist minister, his work in those pioneering days is well documented in the Methodist archives and was instrumental in establishing churches throughout the North and South Islands. From Zena I obtained photographs of minister James, Abraham and son John as a child, Sally, John as  an old man, Hannah in studio. 

According to Zena “Edmund and John were both builders and saw migrating to NZ as a big plus!! To my understanding they paid their own way, John actually travelled with his wife to be and her father.  Most early settlers came out in groups through land ownership schemes that promoted pioneering opportunities to buy land and start a new life.” John was a joiner in  1861 census. Before the mass migration in the 1870s there was little to attract prospective immigrants, although some people did. When Mary’s father died in 1840 he left a trail of debt, and Mary became convinced she would benefit from starting all over again by emigrating to New Zealand.  Her youngest brother William Waring Taylor emigrated to Wellington in 1842, but Mary first spent several years studying music, French and German, and teaching in Germany and Belgium, before eventually joining him in 1845. Charlotte Bronte  wrote of her friend’s departure: ‘To me it is something as if a great planet fell out of the sky’. Not long after her friend’s arrival in New Zealand, Charlotte helped her out by sending £10 to buy a cow.

 People were put off by the bad reputation of New Zealand’s climate, its dangerous ‘natives’ and the high costs and perils of the journey. But in 1871 an engineering firm of John Brogden and Sons, brought out 2,712 labourers to work on railway contracts. From 1873 the fare of £5 per adult was waived and travel was free. In addition, New Zealand residents could nominate friends and relatives to come and join them. In England and Scotland local people such as  book sellers, grocers and  schoolteachers were recruited to spread the word about the benefits of emigration while newspaper advertisements and posters called for married agricultural labourers and single female domestic servants, provided they were ‘sober, industrious, of good moral character, of sound mind and in good health.’ As might be expected 80% of immigrants were under the age of thirty five. “Around that time there was the discovery of gold / coal / beautiful native timbers and so this brought in the miners, the pioneers, the builders, etc.

Where John and Edmund’s family came and settled was in Auckland a thriving city which offered such a huge potential to succeed.” I, too, was under thirty five when I emigrated to the USA. Many emigrants came from Scotland and the Scottish islands and the poet John Betjeman later commentated:

‘All over Shetland one sees ruined crofts, with rushes invading the once tilled strips and kingcups in the garden. “Gone to New Zealand” is a good name for such a scene, because that is where many Shetlanders go, and there are, I am told, two streets in Wellington almost wholly Shetland’. However, by the 1880s the promised land had not lived up to expectations. Those who had come out in the 1870s sent less positive messages home, and free passages were ended. The 1890s became known as The Long Depression and people began to leave. They went particularly to Australia, where ‘marvellous Melbourne’ experienced a boom in the 1880s.

But my story of Sally Wrigley ends where it began, in Lily Hall, for in the summer of 2019 a current resident of Lily Hall spotted a couple looking around the village of Heptonstall. They stopped to take a photo of Lily Hall and so she chatted with them. Knowing that I had ancestors who had lived at Lily Hall  named Wrigley, some of whom had emigrated to New Zealand, she immediately contacted me and later that day I found myself in the company of a lady who has the same great great great grandfather as me – James Wrigley, 1778-1846, Sally’s father-in-law.

“My great grandfather was John Wrigley born at Heptonstall, my great, great grandfather was Abraham Wrigley, and my great, great, great grandfather was James Wrigley. I am the daughter of Edward Nicholson Wrigley, whose father was William Wrigley, son of John Wrigley.All born at Heptonstall, so it is a special place for me.” wrote Ruth Morgan.

Lunch in Stubbing Wharf with Lily Hall’s current residents and two branches of descendants of the Wrigley family whose ancestors lived in Lily Hall

An hour later saw the current residents of Lily Hall and James Wrigley’s descendants, two from New Zealand and one from Bolton via the U.S.A having tea in what had been Abraham’s home in 1837 when he married Sally at the church five minutes walk away. 

Newton Gibson, photographer


One afternoon during lockdown I was determined to find Primrose Cottage. Even though, according to Google Maps it was only 0.1 miles away from where I live I’d failed to find it on two previous attempts. How could it possibly be so difficult to find? Well, much of the town of Hebden Bridge consists of houses that are on such steep hills that flights

Steps adjacent to Primrose cottage


of steps, often obscured by trees, connect the streets, making it difficult to see both
the houses themselves and the way of access to them. It appeared that access to
Primrose cottage was either up such a staircase, or up a steep cobbled road that
appeared to dead end in a high wall. I wound my way along the cobbles and today
my luck was in because a man was weeding the wall. “Am I close to Primrose
Cottage?” I inquired. The man pointed to a doorway at the bottom of a high three
storey wall, and there, above the door was a sign bearing the house name, decorated
with yellow primroses – of course. The man looked at me, questioning my inquiry. I
guess I didn’t look like a delivery truck driver. “An ancestor of mine used to live
here” I explained. He relaxed. “Ah, they’ll be right glad to see you, luv. Just go up
them steps round th’ back.” The steps led up to a lovely patio and sitting in the shade
of a colourful patio parasol were a couple quietly reading and enjoying the warm
afternoon sunshine. It reminded me so much of my patio in Santa Cruz where I
would often sit and read in the afternoons. The view from this patio however,
unlike mine, was expansive, taking in much of the centre of town and looking across
to the hills on the other side of the Calder Valley. I introduced myself and explained
my mission. They knew that Newton Gibson, my first cousin 4 times removed had
lived there. “But for this wretched virus we’d invite you in. Come back when it’s all
over,” they proffered.

Primrose cottage


Newton Gibson, born in 1848, was the son of Thomas Gibson and Sally Wrigley.
Sally was 18 years old and living at Lily Hall in Heptonstall when she married the 19
year old Thomas. Thomas was a whitesmith, as was his father, Samuel, making small
parts for machines, a indespensable profession during this period of industrial
expansion. Newton was born in one of the cottages at Foster Mill, a large cotton

Foster Mill about 1880 on the left with its chimney – all now demolished


spinning mill six storeys high with 17 windows running its length where his father
was head mechanic. The mill even had its own school set up by the mill owners in
1844 but Newton received the benefit of an education at Heptonstall Grammar
School, a school with a reputation for high standards. It’s now the Heptonstall Museum where I sometimes volunteer. I’d begun my day with Newton
at the former site of Foster Mill since that’s where Newton began his life. On what
was once Foster Mill Lane new houses sit on the site of the old mill and the mill
chimney was demolished. When Anna was here in May 2018 we’d gone to
have a look at a house for sale on that very street – Spring Grove, houses on flat land
a complete rarity in Hebden Bridge. Foster mill had been worked on extensively by
my Wrigley builder ancestors. In 1842 the mill chimney had been plastered by Thos.
Jas. & Geo Wrigley for Wilm & Jas Saga – 14.5 days work. Another day when I passed
an old disused two storey building on the mill site a man was planting some
bedding plants in some waste ground. On impulse I asked if he knew if the building
had once been connected with Foster Mill. “Perhaps,” he said. “That very old building on the
left, just before the bridge was the stables for the mill.”

The old stables of Foster Mill

I’d taken several photos of
that building since I’d moved to the town, simply because it had some great doors
with flaking paint – one of my specialities. “There used to be a row of cottage where
we’re standing. I have a photo of them. Would you like to come in and see it?” and with that he led the way over to one of the houses on Spring Grove. The photo was
framed and on display in his living room.
At the end of the road a small hump backed bridge, retaining its cobbled pathway
leads over Hebden Water. Built in the late 1700s this was part of the packhorse
track leading up the hill to Heptonstall and it’s a path I take frequently throughout
the seasons. The bridge is smaller but simlar in construction to its more famous
counterpart in the centre of town being very very steep, narrow, cobbled and with
very low parapets. The horses that used these Pack horse bridges were laden with
bolts of woven fabric which hung from the saddles and these needed to clear the
height of the parapets.

Foster Mill pack horse bridge

Once over the bridge and past the ramshackled huts
scattered in the allotments by the stream all is quiet, the trees dense with leaves
now. To the right of the stream is the mill goit chanelling the water to the mill and
close by is the former mill pond. One day I was drawn to the pond’s edge by an
unusual sound, and, clambering over moss covered stones I could see dozens of
frogs floating peacefully in the water, their head just above the surface, serenading
me. The pond is part of The Delph, an area of green space and allotments,
specifically designated for the recreational use of the mill workers and their families
including hot houses complete with boilers enabling prize chrysanthemum growing.
The millpond itself, was used not simply as a vital part of the mill’s functioning to
supply the mill steam engines with water, but also by locals for fishing and picnics.
In good weather I often pass picnickers here, children paddling in the stream and
there’s even a rope swing that will allow you to fly over the water. Overlooking this
idyllic scene is Dog Bottom the house Newton’s family had moved to and where his
father set up his photography business (story in another chapter).

A dog enjoying a paddle at Dog Bottom

By the time he
was thirteen Newton was apprenticed to Mr Charles Warner, a watchmaker in
Hebden Bridge. He did not serve his full time as an apprentice instead joining his
brothers in the manufacture of sewing machines which the family had started fifty
years before and took great pride in being the first firm to advertise and supply
various metal parts called castings for sewing machines. Ten years later Newton and
his brothers James and Samuel were living on Crown Street, as did I when I wrote this,
and was part of a sewing machine manufacturing business . They developed the ‘Z’
type whipping machine which created blanket stitches to neatly finish the edges of
blankets. The Science Museum in London holds one of their machines.

‘Gibson ‘Z’ type industrial blanket whipping sewing machine.’ The Science Museum

An
advertisement in the local paper in 1881reads “Gibson Bros. Sewing machines on
the Singer principle. Parties requiring sewing machines on the singer principle can
be supplied direct from The Works at considerably below the Agent’s prices.
Gibsons patent sewing machines for manufacturing purposes are the only machines
worth having as they are warranted to to double the amount of work of any other.”
Their business flourished and by the mid 1870s the family owned three houses, a
warehouse and a workshop all on Crown Street. If these buildings remain I must
pass them every day. Perhaps I can even see them from my window but I’ve not
been able to pinpoint them so far.
In 1888 Newton married Elizabeth Clegg. Surprisingly Elizabeth had not been born
in the Calder Valley. With very few exceptions almost every person in ‘my Hebden
Bridge family’ had been born, lived and died in the Calder Valley, and so it wasn’t
until lockdown that I had begun to explore another valley, that of Cliviger Gorge
which runs from Todmorden over to Burnley, following a geological fault line.

Buildings in Holme Chapel village

The terrain and landscape are quite different from the Calder Valley and I’d begun to
explore the small communities of Holme Chapel and Shore.

I began my day in the
small village of Holme, just over the Lancashire border, having recently read about
Holme Hall, a place dating back to 1340 when Richard de Whitacre arrived in
Cliviger. With several extensions by 1431 the building had become a manor house of
40 rooms, remaining in the Whitaker family until 1950.

Holm Hall

I found the building easily
enough, now converted into apartments after a devastating fire in 2003. It’s light
sandstone colour glowed in the afternoon sunlight. It still retains its stone slated
roof and mullioned windows. A gabled porch lies in the centre of the façade flanked
by two gabled wings. Then I discovered something totally unexpected. Rev
Alexander Whitaker of Holme Hall sailed with Sir John Dale in 1611 to the colony of
Virginia in Chesapeake Bay, becoming known as The Apostle of Virginia. My
goodness. From here to the U.S. (or at least what would eventually become the U. S.)
in 1611! Two years later Pocahontas, the daughter of the native American chief, was
captured and placed under Whitaker’s care where she was taught English and the
Christian religion. She was given the honorary title ‘Princess’ and it is generally
believed that this minister from Holme Hall officiated at her baptism and eventual
marriage to John Rolfe, the founder of the Virginian Tobacco Industry. Wow! The present church stands close to the site of a 16th century chantry chapel that had fallen into disrepair and had to be demolished (1788) – the present church being built upon the hill through the benefices of the Whitaker family of Holme, Cliviger, between 1888-1894, in particular Dr T. D. Whitaker, the eminent historian and antiquarian. (‘Journal of Antiquities’)

Holme Chapel


Another chapel now drew my attention. Above Holme Chapel and back in Yorkshire
is the tiny hamlet of Shore, meaning ‘steep sided valley.’ Just over 1000ft above sea
level it has a derelict church in its midst and I’d spent a wonderful afternoon in the
roofless chapel, its floor strewn with pews, the plaster moulding around the lights
still visible. I’d found an old film made in 1971 about a year in the life of this church
showing people arriving by taxi (yes, the road is REALLY steep) , singing in the
ladies’ choir, the children’s choir, the Sunday school prize giving, tea parties, the
annual coach trip.

The roof of the chapel fell in years ago, after the church had been
declared unsafe because of dry rot. With a bit of prodding the wrought iron gate
opened and I was able to see inside the chapel since the front wall has gone. It’s
interesting to note how mill gates and chapel gates are so similar. Someone
had made a bonfire of their rubbish in what had once been the nave. The coving
around the light fittings could clearly be seen and the wooden planks strewn over
the floor had once been pews. I’d read about a flight of stairs at the West side of the
chapel.

Steps leading from the church to the river for baptisms

The church is perched right on the edge of the cliff and so the extensive
graveyard appears to be falling down the hillside. 122 steps with an iron rail still
present in places goes down to the Wattenstall River and, this being a Methodist
church, people went down the steps to be immersed in the River as part of their
baptism ceremony. Then they would climb back up the stairs for the service in the
church. The General baptist Repository and Missionary observer of 1865 records that “on June 10th Mr Gill baptised 41 people, 21 men, 20 women, the youngest
candidate being 15, the oldest being 77.” 126 Some baptisms took place on Christmas
Day when the ice on the stream had to be broken. It wasn’t until 1871 that the
Baptistry was installed inside the church!
Across the stream, once the hive of so much activity, is the track leading to Blue Bell
farm and this is where Elizabeth, daughter of John Clegg, a farmer, was living at the
time of her marriage to Newton at Heptonstall church in June 1888.

The path to Blue Bell farm

I had noticed a stone datestone on the wall at Primrose Cottage. Yes, 1888. So I presume Newton
had the house built for him and his new bride. Perhaps he knew that Elizabeth was
used to having a good view from her parlour above Shore and he wanted to give her
something comparable. Newton and Elizabeth lived at Primrose Cottage for the rest
of their lives and it was there that their only child, Samuel, was born in 1894.

That
Newton develped an interest in photography is not surprsing. His father had started
off life as a whitesmith but by the time he was 42 he gave his profession as
photographer. While never becoming a professional photographer Newton was a
prolific photographer and painter. Unlike other members of his family he was of a
retiring disposition and took no part in public affairs. His obituary states “He will
not be remembered primarily as a business man but it was in his pursuits in his
spare time that he gained most recognition. With watercolours and oils he was a
painter of no little skill. He created cartoons and sketches of a particularly heated
election in the town, but it is as a photographer that he excelled, having some photos
hung in both the Royal Photographic Society and the Academy of Photography in
London. His “candle light” pictures found their way into journals in France,
Germany, Austria, Italy and America. Many of these are now reproduced on
postcards. He excelled in ‘table top photography’ too, that is the creating of outdoor
landscapes on a table. Mountains were made of crumpled paper, for snow fine sugar
was used. He often got good water scenes by placing the models on a sheet of tin
which reflected the models realistically. The horses, cows, sheep, cats and dogs were
simply wooden images. He and his brothers were the first to travel about the district
showing their images by a magic lantern.’ Several of his glass lantern slides are held
in the Hebden Bridge Local History Society Archive. He was president of the the
photographic section of Hebden Bridge Literary and Scientific Society of which I am
a member and during lockdown I received acclaim for a photo that I’d entered into
the society’s annual contest. The prize was to have the photo printed and be shown in
the exhibition to be held at the town hall. But on the day of the opening a national
lockdown for Covid was announced and the exhibtion is awaiting rescheduling.
Perhaps Newton’s most famous photograph is ‘Angel over Hebden Bridge.’

Angel over Hebden Bridge by Newton Gibson

I’d seen this
photograph during my research into the Gibson photographers but it wasn’t until I
was standing on the patio at Primrose Cottage overlooking the town that I realised
the photo had been taken from this very spot. The distictive former cooperative
building can be seen with its diagonal doorway. Looking over the town is an angel
with outstretched arm, as if in blessing. I don’t know the date of the photograph but
in Victorian times, as today, audiences were fascinated by visual special effects.
Skilful projectionists using specially designed lantern slides were able to create the
illusion of movement or gradually transform a Winter scene into a Summer one or
day into night. The devices used to achieve this could be simple, such as one piece of
glass with a painted picture on it moving in front of another or very complex slides
with levers, pulleys and rack and pinion mechanisms. The slides shown are known
as ‘dissolving views’. This might not sound wildly exciting now but when first
introduced in the 1820s it was magical and mysterious. In 1881 an evening’s
entertainment of dissolving views of Egypt that Newton gave was the talk of the
town. “A very successful exhibition of dissolving views took place in the upper room
of St. Thomas’s School on Saturday evening last by Mr. Newton Gibson, of Crown-
street, Hebden Bridge. The views were chiefly of places in Egypt, These were
followed by scenes of local interest. Views of the interior of St. Thomas’s Church,
Heptonstall and of St. James’s, Hebden Bridge especially delighted the audience. The
proceeds (which amount to a handsome sum) will be devoted towards defraying the
expense recently incurred in providing the Sunday Schools with new seats and other
requisites.”
Like his grandfather, after whom he was named, he had a desire for natural history
and was fond of literature being a particular admirer of Shakespeare with whose
entire series of plays he was thoroughly familiar.
Newton died in 1915 and I wondered if ‘Angel over Hebden Bridge’ which appears
to be a ‘contact print’ – made of two negatives sandwiched together – is perhaps a
symbol for wishing safety for the town and its inhabitants during the the first war.
It may seem strange today to think of Hebden Bridge participating in World War l
but it certainly played its part. Newspapers of the day carry obituaries of the town’s
young men, killed in battle. In the town itself men who were involved in essential
service industries could apply for exemption from ‘signing up.’ On Aug 4 1916
Hebden Bridge local military tribunal considered 80 applications for exemptions
ranging from poultry farmers to one Ernest James Sowden of Crown Street who
claimed to be ‘indispensable for shoeing horses.’ Greenwood Pickles, a fish and
potato frier, likewise a plumber and sanitary enginner and a watch, clock and
jewelry maker all applied for exemption as key workers in their local community.
Some were refused. Newton’s nephew, Edward Binney Gibson, a surgeon/dentist
claimed that since 1908 his work load had doubled and his father, Thomas, with
whom he ran the business in Croft Terrace, could no longer manage without him,
and that the business would have to close completely if he was not made exempt. He
was given a temporary expemption, likewise John Willie Horsfall, a hairdresser on
Bridgegate. Samuel Gibson, Newton’s only child, was given exemption for 3 months
in August 1916 as head of the firm of Gibson Bros. But the following year he was
summond to appear at Todmorden court and for not answering his telephone. But
this was no ordinary call. This was a test call in case of air raids etc. “At 12.05
midnight on the 20 th inst the firm were rung up and did not answer, whereas they
were bound to do so within 15 seconds. Two more rings were given without getting
a reply. Defendant pleaded that he took reasonable precaution and left a manager in
charge who declared that he never heard the bell ring. The Bench characterized the
offense as a very serious one, and fined the defendant 40s and 5s witness fee.”
Newton’s high standing in the Hebden Bridge community was aptly illustrated in his
extensive obituary in the local newspaper after his death May 1915. Following a
service at Primrose cottage Newton’s own car was used as the hearse and headed up
the steep hill to Heptonstall church, followed by ten coaches. Employees of Gibson
Brothers acted as bearers and amidst the numerous wreaths was one from the
photographic section of Literary and Scientific society.


Thomas Kershaw – architect

During my online research into the Halstead branch of my family I came across two Thomas Kershaws, one the grandnephew of the other who was destined to become a well known architect in the Calderdale area. Could this be ‘my’ Thomas Kershaw? I noticed that David Cant, a local historian who had helped me solve several puzzles in my ancestry research was responsible for the section about Thomas on the Malcolm Bull website and as it happened he attended the Hebden Bridge historical society meeting I was to attend that evening so afterwards, in Old Gate, when a few of the members went for a drink I asked David about his entry about Thomas and he got back to me a couple of days later with a copy of his notes. Handel’s daughter, Elizabeth Ann Halstead had married Thomas Kershaw in January 1882 in the registration district of Todmorden though I haven’t been able to find a marriage certificate online. In 1881 Elizabeth Ann was living on Bridge Street, Hebden Bridge and was a dressmaker along with her 2 sisters Mary and Clara. Thomas meanwhile was living at ‘Air View, Wadsworth’ in 1881 as an architect’s clerk. His father, John (born 1834) was a stone mason, a widower. John’s father, also Thomas (born 1807) states his occupation on his marriage certificate in 1831 as weaver but ten years later on the 1841 census he, too, gives his occupation as stone mason. So this interest in masonry and architecture goes back several generations.

Ayre View in the village of Old Town, above Hebden Bridge

Now the name Air View rang a bell immediately. Just to the West of Old Town is the adjacent community of Wainsgate and when I’ve walked along Akroyd Lane the little stone terrace with the most amazing views of Heptonstall and further to Stoodley Pike has always caught my attention. The River Aire is nowhere near here! How could this terrace be named Air View?

View from Akroyd Lane

Besides which, the sign on Air View terrace is spelled Ayre. This strange anomaly is why I’d noticed it. The next terrace is Hebden View – and yes, there’s a perfect view over Hebden Water. Both yesterday and today I’d expected to wake up to snow and ice and though dull, dreary and cold looking when I opened the curtains I decided to go up to Ayre View just to take a photo. I got off the little bus on Akroyd Lane and approached the terrace. Wouldn’t you just know it! Two stone masons were working on some pointing at the right hand house in the terrace, the one I’d determined must have been Thomas’s because it was closest to Wainsgate Lane on the 1881 census.

Current stone masons working on what was, in 1881, the home of the Kershaws, a family of stone masons.

I chatted with the stone masons for a few minutes. It was obvious that they’ve been doing some renovation on various bits of the stonework. And then the front door opened and out popped David, the current owner of the property. Despite the freezing temperature we spent some time talking about the building which has been his home for two years ‘mainly because of the view’ but he didn’t know anything about the history of the property – not even the date when it was built. He did tell me that he’d once been told that it probably dated from 1905 because the next terrace – Waterloo – was built in 1905. He’d been told that Ayre View terrace was ‘a step up’ from Waterloo. I pointed out the leaf carvings on the door lintels. ‘Ah’ he said, ‘I’ve never noticed them before.’ He suggested I came back sometime to chat with the man on the left of the terrace who has lived there since the 1950s and ‘knows all that’s to know.’

Air View is made up of 3 identical stone cottages on the corner of Wainsgate Lane that leads to the chapel where I’ve spent many an enjoyable hour at the annual concert series that now take place in the chapel that is no longer used for worship.

Wainsgate Chapel heritage day. The stark exterior gives no idea of what treasure are to be found inside
Darius Battiwalla playing the organ at heritage day, 2023

The cottages adjoin a taller building that protrudes from the cottages, and then 2 older looking cottages complete the row. In 1881 Thomas was living with his widowed dad, John and his 5 sisters who were all employed in the cotton industry as weavers, winders and spinners. Next door but one was the home of John’s parents, Thomas (stone mason) and Judith, and his unmarried brother, Jonas, also a stone mason and contractor. The next house on the 1881 census is the home of John and Ann Parker, both in their 30s with their 6 year old son John William. Surely they must be related to Thomas senior’s wife whose maiden name was Parker?

So, with 3 generations of the same family living in such close proximity up at Old Town, all pursuing careers as stone masons and building contractors I wanted to find out more about them, and find out more about Old Town, this small village perched on a narrow terrace between open moorland to one side and the steep drop into Hebden Bridge on the other. Dominating the view of the current one thousand residents of the village is the huge chimney built for the Mitchell Brothers mill which was opened in 1851. The mill itself is currently being converted into flats – see my blog: http://blog.hmcreativelady.com/?s=old+town

Old Town Mill from the reservoir

In 1841 there were 14 households at Boston Hill, an area of Old Town. Two of the families who were to become very important in the story of Old Town, the Mitchells and the Cousins, were living there, cheek by jowel with Thomas Kershaw and his wife Judith Parker who he had married on May 5, 1831 across the valley in Heptonstall. In fact, the tower of the new church in Heptonstall dominated the view across the Hebden Valley. The Kershaws must have witnessed its construction as the tower rose up above its predecessor’s.

Boston Hill cottages today

In fact, in 1851 Thomas Kershaw was at number 7 and numbers 8, 9 and 10 were the homes of the Cousins and the Mitchells who built Old Town Mill that very year. In the 1841 census Thomas was 35, a stone mason, his wife, Judith, also 35 was a weaver and they had three children Sarah, 10 John, 8 and Jonas 1.

Map dated 1910 showing Boston Hill House, home of the later Mitchells, built c 1910.
Boston Hill House. Perhaps one of the adjacent cottages had been home to the Kershaws. All the buildings have been demolished and the pond is now the cricket pitch!

In 1851 Thomas was continuing as a stone mason, Judith was a worsted weaver. Sarah, now aged 19 was a reeler in the cotton factory, while John, 17, and Jonas, only 11 years old was registered as a stone mason too. Next door were Mitchells (worsted manufacturer) and next door to the Mitchells were the Cousins (land proprietor).

By 1861, still working as a stone mason, Thomas had moved his family down the field to Fearney Field Farm where he combined farming with his masonary work. The farm was divided into three homesteads and Thomas’s son John had married Mary Ann and they lived in cottage number 3. Between father and son was Nimrod Haigh and his family. He was named Nimrod almost 60 years before Elgar named his Nimrod Variations! Nothing much had changed by the 1871 census except that John’s family had grown to 7 children – all born in the first 12 years of their marriage. The oldest was Thomas, aged 12, a factory operative. At the bottom of the valley, living close to Hebden Water was Thomas Gibson, another of my ancestors whose story can be found in a previous blog, who was operating a photography studio at Dog Bottom at the same time! Chances are that they knew each other being adjacent on the path of the census taker.

But by 1881 Thomas was living at Aire View on the main road through Old Town. I presume that these were new houses at the time. There must have been a strong family connection between father Kershaw and his sons because living next door but one, just as they had been at Fearney farm was his son, John Kershaw, already a widower at age 44, and John’s son Thomas and his 5 sisters. Aged only 22, Thomas is already described as a ‘clerk/architect, surveyor’ – suggesting he is a clerk to an architect. His academic prowess and determination was evident at an early age and he’d already been mentioned in three articles in the newspaper by this time. In 1875, aged 16, he’d taken machine construction and drawing in the Old Town Science Classes, gaining a 2nd class pass in the elementary class. The following year Thomas passed plane and solid geometry advanced stage 2nd class, machine construction and drawing advanced stage 2nd class (self taught) and inorganic chemistry elementary stage first class. In 1878, aged 19 he’d taken exams in Plane and solid geometry scoring A1, and also Magnetism and electricity E1. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to find out more about these Old Town science classes but I presume they were on a par with mechanics’ institutes. Indeed the next article in the newspaper were of the results of the science classes at Heptonstall’s Mechanics Institute. But it would appear that Thomas was still busy with his day job for an article in the 1878 paper states that it is “Resolved, that Thomas Kershaw be allowed to get sets in Skip-hill quarry at 2s 6d per yard, and boulders at ls. per yard.” There are many former quarries on Midgley Moor but I think the one near Mr Skip at the top of Wadsworth Lane is probably the one being referred to.

The next big event was his marriage at Slack Chapel to Elizabeth Ann Halstead, daughter of Handel Halstead, a shuttle manufacturer and sometime organists at Slack Chapel whose own story can be found on another page in my blog.

Slack Chapel is now someone’s home.

Unfortunately I cannot find a copy of their marriage certificate but their only child, a daughter named Florence Evaline, was born on June 13, 1882. In 1912 she was to marry Arthur Dobson, a gas engineer living at Stannary Hall in Halifax. Unfortunately the account of their wedding in the newspaper is poorly reproduced and difficult to decipher: The marriage took place this afternoon at Halifax Parish Church of Mr. Arthur eldest son of Mr. Wm Dobson,of Stannary Hall and Miss Florence Eveline Kershaw, only daughter ofMr. Thomas Kershaw, Trinity Place. . The bride, who was given away by her father wore a beautiful gown of ivory satin Oriental, having a full length train falling from the waist caught up at bottom with . . .

Thomas had been initiated into the Lodge of Probity, the oldest in the West Riding of Yorkshire in 1901, and I was curious to know if the Freemasons’ Hall in St John’s Place where his daughter’s wedding reception was held still existed. And yes, it did, in a rather unique way.

This was what it looked like when Florence and Arthur held their wedding reception there


And here is a current view. The Halifax Civic Trust urged the Department of the Environment to block the demolition of the hall, a listed building and subsequently although the rest of the building was demolished in 1988 the front facade was incorporated into offices of the Halifax Building Society.

A number of the Dobson family lived at “Stannary Hall” in Lewis st, Halifax. Originally from Barnard Castle, Durham, Nicholas, Matthew, Graham, and William Dobson were all managers at Crossley Mills. But I’ll save my research into the Dobsons of Stannary Hall for another day.

In the same year that Florence and Arthur were married Thomas submitted plans for the erection of 4 dwelling houses on the Hangingroyd estate in Hebden Bridge. Three years later a similar plan for 4 dwelling houses on Brunswick Street was also passed.

Brunswick Street

By 1891 Thomas, his wife and child had moved from the wild open moorland of Old Town to the built up area of Halifax known as King Cross.

15 Queen’s Road, Halifax where Thomas and his family were living in 1891

In the census of that year he gives his profession as architect’s assistant. By 1900 his skill as an architect was beginning to be recognised and he was responsible for the design of some large buildings in the centre of Halifax that I’ve often looked at but had no idea of my connection to their designer. Take for instance the bus stop on George Street where I’ve spent many a time waiting for the bus back to Hebden from Halifax. Directly across the street from the bus stop is a large ornate four storey building on the ground floor being occupied by a building society and a bank. It’s a perfectly symmetrical building with a central arched doorway with the words District Bank Chambers engraved in marble. In 1908 this building housed Thomas’s architect’s office. He had been engaged in the redevelopment of George street in 1900, removing a whole street of buildings to open up the street into a ‘square’ with gardens providing a picturesque entrance to the town from the West.

George Street before its redevelopment

The central street of houses were demolished to make the garden square.

In 1908 he is recorded to have a practice at Bank Buildings on Commerical Street, the main street of Halifax. There are several ornate bank buildings on that street and it took me a while to discover that the building where Thomas worked belonged to the Lancashire and Yorkshire Bank and is now occupied by Harvey’s, an upscale clothing and department store. I thought it would be appropriate if I purchased my mother-of-the-bride’s outfit from there, so off I went and found my perfect outfit for Anna’s upcoming wedding.

Harvey’s on the corner of Commercial and Rawson Streets where Thomas had offices in 1908

In 1904 Thomas announced plans to build 13 houses at Scarbottom in Mytholmroyd. I haven’t found them. Did he build them?

I found a reference a project back in his home village of Old Town in the middle of November 1905. In fact, it was on the very street where he had lived. Aire View is on the corner of the unpaved lane leading to Wainsgate Chapel. The graveyard at Wainsgate Chapel was fast running out of available space for new graves and so an additional acre and a quarter was added, fenced in along gentle slopes, enough room for an additional 1000 graves, 8 ft by 4ft each. The ceremonial opening of the gates to the new graveyard was performed by two of the Redman siblings whose connection to the chapel go back 5 generations. My family married into the Redmans too! The minister, Rev James Jack assured the gathered crowd that there was nothing sorrowful or pathetic about the ceremony but much to rejoice over. After opening the gate which was secured by a strand of vari-coloured ribbon each Redman was given a bible donated by Miss Mitchell of Boston Hill. Following a short meeting in the chapel the chairman of the extension committee, Mr Redman, presented the financial statement of the project, naming the architect as Thomas Kershaw who received  £21-2s 1d for his work. However, when all the contractors had been paid for their work there was still a  £210 deficit in spite of various contributions from various benefactors. But with 1000 grave spaces bringing in revenue of  £1 per grave he was confident that the scheme would redeem itself.

Inside Wainsgate chapel

Another church project was his work on the complete renewal of Heywood Chapel in Northowram in 1908, a chapel that had been in existence since 1673 when Oliver Heywood, a popular but controversial minister, first established a chapel in his parlour at Northowram House.

Photos from Alan Burnett. Heywood Chapel

Yorkshire Industrial heritage site has an article and photos of a very different building that Thomas designed just four years later. Wellington Mills on Quebec Street in Elland, a town halfway between Halifax and Huddersfield had two steam-powered cotton-spinning mills. A five-storeyed thirteen-bay built in 1860 burned down in 1875 as did the four-storeyed fifteen-bay mill built in 1868. In 1912 both mills were rebuilt both of fireproof construction to the designs of Thomas Kershaw,

Wellington Mills, Elland

Thomas’s next big project was to design a cinema in King Cross, just above Halifax. I’m amazed by the diversity of this man’s projects: a cemetery, a cinema, a church and a huge mill! From cinematreaures.org I read that The palladium cinema opened on 30th March 1914 and was designed by a local Halifax architect, a Mr Kershaw. It seated 895 patrons in stalls and most unusual balcony. This occupied only two thirds of the width of the building and barely projected over the stalls. It had the appearance of a giant private box but contained approximately 7 rows of seats. Sightlines cannot have been great as the ceiling above the main hall was lower than that of the balcony and an interesting lions head plaque decorates the drop wall from balcony to stalls ceilings. It must have given the effect of watching a film through a letterbox opening. It had a tiny foyer and a wide, clearly altered for cinemascope, proscenium opening. A barrel vaulted and segmented ceiling over stalls with muted decorated plaster bands.Owned by Star Cinemas from around 1944/45 it was re-named New Palladium Cinema. It closed on 18th April 1962 with Bobby Darin in “Come September” and went over to use as a bingo club. It is substantially intact and in a fair condition although the façade has been altered and the glass canopy removed.

I went along to look at Thomas’s former cinema. Downstairs is now a much used Cash and Carry, which always has its forecourt strewn with errant trolleys and crates of empty bottles.

It appears to do a roaring trade. However, upstairs is very different. It’s a fabric and yarn store stocking the most beautiful sari fabrics of silks, cottons and synthetic fibres. I climbed the stairs thinking about all the footsteps that must have trodden these stairs before me. It’s one huge room now with nothing to identify it as a former cinema. I chatted to the couple in charge and they knew all about the building’s former life as a cinema. What an array of buttons, threads, ribbons, and trimmings. It felt very appropriate that one of my ancestors was now connected with fabric art, a craft that both my daughter, Rachel, and I engage in prolifically!

Thre’s obviously a lot more research needed into Thomas’s architectural accomplishments. In March 2023 I set off to find Thomas’s grave. It wasn’t difficult. Slack Top cemetery is well maintained and has a beautiful view over Hardcastle Crags to Shackleton Hill. Thomas’s grave stone is an elaborate affair in keeping with his status in society.

From the centenary souvenir of Heptonstall Slack Baptist church 1807-1907 I found the poem and photograph of the church. As I prepare to play at Heptonstall Methodist church for a Christmas gathering it seems fitting to include this photo of a church that played such an important role in the lives of the Kershaws and the Halsteads.

A day with Mortimer Moss

A day with Mortimer Moss. 1846-1899

Mortimer and his siblings, shared with me by James Moss

On the 29th of March 1846 Mortimer Moss entered the world, the son of Hague Moss and his wife Martha who had married at St John’s Halifax exactly 9 months before. Hague was 20 and Martha 21 when they married, typical ages for marriage in the mid nineteenth century. The couple would go on to have at least seven more children. The family set up home in Garden Square in Hebden Bridge, an area now occupied by the Town Hall that was once the garden attached to The Hole in the Wall pub. There’s no evidence of a ‘garden square’ in the centre of Hebden Bridge now but I found this reference to it. In 1927 an article in the Hebden Bridge Times contains the following reminiscence: “Going up Lower Scout one is reminded of the narrow strip of land and Pitt Street where a few cottages and a smithy stood between the old bridge and St George’s Bridge. Then a fine garden, full of fruit trees, extended from the old buildings  by the Council Offices right on to Messrs. R. B. Brown’s works. It was a picture to see, but even that was once darkened by tragedy, for while the gardener  and some of his children were in the garden someone threw a stone from the Scout, killing one of his sons.”

Hague was a fustian cutter, by profession, as was his father, James, before him. On July 6, 1851 Mortimer was baptised in Heptonstall church along with his sister Mary Hannah, and brother James. Mary Hannah was 3 years old at the time and James was just a few days short of his first birthday. It was a common occurrence for several children from one family to be baptised at the same time. By the time of their christening the family had moved to Machpelah where Mortimer’s great grandfather, James Moss, had set up a fustian making business in an upper room which I had the fortune of visiting recently when the property went up for sale.

Photo showing the long line of windows necessary to bring light into the fustian cutting room.

By 1861 Mortimer’s family had moved yet again, this time to live in the tightly packed area of High Street now demolished, and his father Hague was now listed as an employer of one man and two boys as fustian cutters. On the same census Mortimer, now aged 15, is a cotton fustian cutter so it’s possible that one of Hague’s employees was his own son. During their time living on High street two of Mortimer’s brothers had died. John Whittaker was 16 months old and he died 11 months before his brother, Abraham was born. Another brother, Samuel, was 3 years old when he died in 1864 but his mother was 38 at his birth and would have been classed as a geriatric mother and she didn’t have any more children after him.

On April 14, 1869 Mortimer married Mary Harwood in the same place that his parents had married. Mary was the first of nine children born to James Harwood and his wife Mary Ann nee Ashworth. James was a whitesmith living at Foster Clough, a cluster of half a dozen houses high above the Calder Valley near Midgley. By 1851 James had added ‘shopkeeper’ to his whitesmithing business and by 1861 the family had moved to Stocks House Midgley.

The rear garden of Stocks House

One weekend in 2021 I’d been to the Midgley Open Gardens and had the pleasure of wandering around the rear gardens of Stocks House.

Stocks House from the main road

The year following their marriage the first of Mortimer and Mary’s eleven children were born. At first the family lived at Wood Bottom close to Foster Mill. Mortimer was a fustian cutter, a skilled job, but by 1881 the family had moved into the centre of Hebden Bridge and were living on Brunswick Street and Mortimer is listed as a fustian manufacturer although the word ‘employing’ has been crossed out. The 1881 census mentions that 3 houses were under construction on Brunswick Street and 6 were newly built. 5 more children would be born. 2 were twin baby boys who died during their first year, born when their mother, Mary was 41. How amazing it is that when my own twin daughters came to visit in November 2022 bringing my granddaughter to meet me for the first time they selected a place to stay on Brunswick Street, having no knowledge of our ancestral connection to the street. A few doors along from Mortimer’s family was the family of Handel Halstead, another ancestor whose story is to be found on another chapter in this blog.

Houses on Brunswick Street

An incident in the Spring of 1880 illustrates the level of achievement Mortimer had reached within the Hebden Bridge community while at the same time shows the plight of many of the workers in the town, especially the prevailence of misfortune due to intoxication. Mortimer was foreman of the jury into an inquest into the death of George Crabtree whose dead body was found in Colden Beck. Presumed he fell down a steep scar at Ragley above Eaves Bottom mill while in a state of intoxication. The body was washed down the clough the next day there being an unusually strong current and was recovered at Eaves Bottom and from there removed to the Bull Inn. Evidence given by PC Eastwood (the same policeman who had dealt with the drowning of Paul Taylor’s son in Colden Beck just a month before) ‘Only last week I was cautioning him I told him that he would some day be either getting killed or drowned if he continues to come home from Hebden Bridge the worse for drink. The road from valley up to the hilltop village of Blackshawhead runs along the side of a valley which is precipitous, the road being unfenced in places. A witness on Bridge Lanes saw him ‘badly drunk. He was staggering.’ A woman was wringing some clothes by the window when she saw the body in the river. She alerted some men at Eaves Bottom silk mill and the men pulled him out.

Colden Beck at Eaves Bottom

George, a widower, had worked as a scutcher tenter . According to a website explaining the various jobs in a cotton mill “Scutching is the separation of the valuable fibres from the woody seeds of the raw cotton. Considered one of the worst jobs in the mill – very low status!”

Later that year on the 6th of August 1880 6 year old Alfred Cobbe was found drowned in the canal at Hebble End wharf. Alfred had been playing with his a 6 year old friend James Heap around 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Alfred had a syringe and as he knelt down to fill it he overbalanced and fell into the canal. James ran to tell Alfred’s mum but when they got back to the canal they couldn’t see him. While they were searching for him Mortimer came upon them and learning of the situation he turned back for the grappling irons and started to search. He was on the opposite side of the canal from the tow path and the 4th time of casting in the grapples brought the body to the surface. The body would have been in the canal for ¼ of an hour. An inquest held at the Bull Inn, the same inn that George Crabtree’s inquest had been held in, returned a verdict of accidental death.

The former Bull Inn, now the home of artist Kate Lycett

The cafe at Hebble End is often where I can be found in the early evening on sunny summer days, sitting outside the cafe overlooking the canal with a glass of cider reading a book while keeping one watchful eye on the geese while a large flamingo stares down at me!

Afternoon relaxation at Hebble End

The building is part of Hebble End Mill and now houses some small shops and art studios, along with the cafes. In the Spring, during mating season the geese are aggressive and will actually attack the unsuspecting person out for a gentle stroll but by May the goslings hatch and one such evening I sat and watched 6 furry goslings trying to fit beneath their mummy’s wing. Once I learned of young Alfred’s unfortunate demise in this very spot I found myself always remembering his early death when I sit by the canal.

View from my table at Hebble End

From Hebble End it’s only a five minute walk to Brunswick Street where Mortimer was living in 1880, having been living at Wood Bottom since his marriage to Mary Harwood. Opposite the terraced houses is a large four storey former fustian factory that’s been converted into apartments. This was Brunswick Mill, built in 1883 owned and operated by the Moss Brothers. In the National Archives I found the following description: “The business started about 1867 although the Moss family were engaged in the neighbourhood for some time prior to that date. Mr H Moss died in 1870 and from that point the firm was known as Moss Brothers. The original site of the business was at Hebble End, Hebden Bridge, between the canal and the River Calder. (The current site of the Coop). In c1881, however, as business improved they acquired 3-storey premises in Brunswick St for their warehouse and a factory in Market St and dye works at Bridgeroyd, Eastwood, Todmorden (the building is still there and used as a warehouse). They produced a variety of fabrics including corduroy and moleskins. By 1890 they employed over 200 people and traded with America, South America, New Zealand and Europe. They also had a London Office at 1 Trump St, King St.” The upper floors of Brunswick Mill are accessed by the street above and so I pulled myself up to Melbourne Street. As I reached Melbourne Street the clouds which had looked threatening earlier in the day had decided to release their rain. There was a long row of houses on my left, their front doors opening directly onto the street and since there are no back doors the wheelie bins and recycling bags were strewn along the pavement. Flower pots and garden ornaments strove in vain to obscure next week’s contribution to the nearest landfill. I was in search of number 13, Abraham Moss’s home. I made my way past identical houses – 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11. But there the regularity stopped and a long low building, designated Melbourne House had two doors with buzzers alongside for several apartments. I was so disappointed. I looked further along the street and recognized the spot where I’d taken a photo of a man standing on a wall hanging out his washing when I’d stayed on the next street in 2016. I’d ended up composing another movement for my piece for concert band – Liquid Sunshine, so I headed towards this inspirational washing line! What I found surprised me, but it was unconnected with the washing line. The houses on my left began again, this time beginning with number 13, and yes, the door was open! I tried calling ‘hello,’ a few times into the darkened hallway but though I could hear voices inside I didn’t get any reply. As I turned to leave I noticed a man tending a small plot of land on the other side of the street. I explained my quest and he told me that the long low building between the houses had once been a mill and had been converted into apartments around 2005. Ah, that was making sense. I’d found the upper entrance to Brunswick Mill with its main entrance on the Brunswick street, the street below. I thanked him and returned to number 13 where, after a few more hellos into the darkness a man came to the door. He was interested in my quest, especially when I showed him a photo of Abraham Moss. “Just a minute. I’ll go and get the house deeds.” A few minutes he returned with papers in hand showing that the building had been built in 1883 and had belonged to Mortimer Moss, Abraham’s eldest brother. I think the man was quite surprised by the yelp I let out realizing that I’d just found Abraham’s house, and Brunswick Mill, the family’s first mill and the beginnings of the English Fustian Association. For a few moments the man was distracted less by my yelp than by his mother-in-law coming out to tell him to put on some shoes, since he was in stockinged feet and the rain was now quite relentless. Just as I took my leave a young man carrying some shopping bags came up the street. “When was the mill converted?” asked my man directing his question to the newcomer. “Well, me and me mates used to play around in there when it were derelict – and I’m 28 now. Eee, we ‘ad a reet ol’ time in there!” Living next door to Abraham at number 15 was his brother, Frederick, also a fustian manufacturer. It made perfect sense that the owners of the mill were living literally next door to it, and Mortimer just across Brunswick Street.

The current owner with the house’s deeds in hand

An 1885 report in the Todmorden and District News was very pertinent to the Covid pandemic of 2020 when four families were brought before the Todmorden petty sessions because they had not had their children vaccinated. Members of three of the families appeared before the sessions, raising conscientious objections, and pointing out how their previous children had previously suffered after receiving vaccinations. They were ordered to get their children vaccinated and pay the costs. In the case of Mortimer Moss, who did not appear at the sessions, a fine of 5/- and costs was imposed. Mortimer’s brother James, who was present at the sessions said, “I shall not have my child vaccinated, and I will pay all the fines you put on me.” In 1867 it had became law that all children under the age of 14 needed to receive the smallpox vaccine but there was much resistance to this law. For some Victorians these laws marked an infringement of civil liberties for the sake of improving public health and mass demonstration were held in many places throughout England. In 2021 several times I looked from my window in the centre of Hebden Bridge to see people gathering in the street below with placards urging people not to get vaccinated against Covid.

Nutclough House with Eiffel Street behind

In several issues in February and March 1889 of the Todmorden advertiser a detached house was advertised to let with or without stable and coach house. This was Nutclough House. In Bryan Moss’s extensive research he states that it was taken by Hague Moss but by 1891 Mortimer’s family had moved in back to the Nutclough area which was above the smoke and grime of the factory chimneys in the valley bottom.

1891 November 13 Arthur Wood farm labourer of Ferney Lee Midgley was charge with stealing game without a license to do so. According the the report in the newspaper Mortimer Moss’s wife, Mary testified –the defendant came to my house and wanted to sell her a brace of grouse. He wanted 5/6 for them and she gave the money to him and her took the grouse out of his pocket. No gun license. Said he had found the birds. Had tried the landlord of the White Swan and also to a game dealer in HB but they wouldn’t give him the asking price. Fine of 10s for each bird and 15/6 costs. The original Nutclough cotton spinning mill was built in 1797with water from the stream known at Ibbotroyd Clough providing the power. By the mid nineteenth century firms of dyers and finishers were taking over fustian cutting, which was still a hand craft, but meant that fustian cutters were losing their independence. A group of local fustian cutters, including Joseph Greenwood and James Moss were keen to start a cooperative workshop, becoming first signatories of the rules of the Hebden Bridge Fustian Manufacturing Society registered in 1870. The Manchester Co-operative Congress had taken place shortly before this, and this influenced Greenwood and others who were already supporters of the principle of profits to labour. Having set up their first workshop in Crown Street, they were very active in persuading cooperative stores in the valley to give them orders. In 1873 Nutclough Mill was purchased by the growing Hebden Bridge Fustian Manufacturing Society. HIn the 1880s and the 1890s it was extended and converted to steam power. As I passed the imposing building today I noticed for the first time a sign on the door The Nutclough Hotel.

Nutclough House was a hotel

I knew that it had become a hotel after the Moss family left but I’d never see the sign before. It’s a large two storey detached house on the Keighley Road, close to the river running through Nutclough woods and the reservoir that once provided the water for Nutclough mill directly opposite.

It still retains the name on the front door

Behind the house is a retaining wall, taller than the building, above which are up and over 4 storey houses on Eiffel Street. I went up to Eiffel Street to see if I could see into the rear garden of Nutclough house since I had found many references to Mortimer’s wife being a successful gardener. In 1892 she won 5/- for hand bouquet of wild flowers that she entered in the Hebden Bridge floral and horticultural annual show. Two years later it was Mary’s turn to present the prizes at the Hebden Bridge Sports Day, accompanied by music provided by the Black Dyke Mills band for whom I have a special affinity having seen them in rehearsals and concerts during one of which the conductor introduced me to the audience as a ‘rich Californian!’

With pictures of Mary’s beautiful colourful prize winning flowers in my mind’s eye I was fortunate to find a resident of Eiffel Street attending the potted plants outside her front door. She told me that the houses on Eiffel Street were built in 1898, and I thought of the difficulty of building these four story houses on the near vertical hillside. I jested with her that these retaining walls must have been well built unaware that in the very same year the retaining wall at the rear of Nutclough’s garden shunted into the yard.

Looking down on Nutclough House from Eiffel Street

As the newspaper reads: “October1898 For some time the wall had been noticed to be giving way but how to remedy it was a difficult problem. When the collapse came happily there was no one in the way although only a few minutes before several children had been walking on the new burr wall which was almost completed and partly railed. The collapse is described by an eye witness as terribly startling. This can easily be imagined seeing that tons upon tons of debris including stones weighing several hundredweight fell many feet. If any of the occupants of the house had happened to be passing they must have been killed outright and buried. The debris filled the yard behind crashing down four or five hen cotes and damaged 700 or o winter bulbs which were laid ready for potting. The only living things sacrificed were poultry; it was at first feared that a valuable dog had been buried in the rubbish but the animal was found to have been elsewhere at the time. A rough estimate of the damage put it at from £200-300.”

The following month in a further landslip Nutclough house was again the receptacle of several carts of soil. It was noted that ‘Mr Fleming, his groom, made good his escape.’ Presumably the construction of the houses on on Eiffel Street had destabilised the ground and after heavy rains in the autumn the weight of the water-soaked soil caused the landslides.

The same man, Mr J. E. Fleming, had, on Tuesday evening, February 4th, narrowly avoided being drowned. He was at Nutclugh feeding the hens and a pullet had got into a slam. Fleming tried to reach it and in doing so slipped and fell into the water himself. Fleming tried to reach it and in doing so slipped and fell into the water himself. He screamed out for help and Mr Harwood Moss, Mortimer’s son, tried to effect a rescue by means of a broom handle. This Fleming pulled into the water but Mr Moss managed to recover it and as Fleming rose for the second time was successful in leading him to the shallow part so that he could get out.

By 1894 it appears that Mortimer has entered the property market. An article in the local newspaper reads: ” The plots submitted by Mr. Mortimer Moss for the intended erection of 10 dwelling houses on the Hangingroyd estate, are rejected, on the ground that they do not conform to the Board’s bye-laws with regard to the width of new streets.” But by the following year, 1895, Mortimer had successfully purchased the vacant land on Hangingroyd lane from Mr J Sutcliffe, the Lee. 1100 yards – paid 1 pound per yard. “Various rumours have been circulated as to what Mr Moss purposes o do with the land but nothing is known”. Three years later Mortimer was the owner of Eaves Wood at the lover end of the Colden Valley. Five Hebden Bridge lads were charged with setting fire to it and were fined at Todmorden petty sessions.

Later the same year, 1898 one of the sons of late Mr Mullens, a water diviner, was engaged in searching for water in the same Eaves Wood for Mortimer.

One of the most famous British water diviners. He was born at Colerne, near Chippenham, Wiltshire, on November 12, 1838, into a family of 11 children. His father was a stone mason and Mullins followed the same trade. At the age of 21, while employed by Sir John Ould to build a house in Gloucestershire, a dowser (water diviner) was employed to locate a water supply. Various people present tried their hand with the divining-rod, including Ould’s daughter, who was frightened when the rod suddenly turned over violently. An abundant water supply was found at the spot. Ould was most impressed and later asked all the workmen on his estate, about 150 men, to try divining with a rod. When Mullins tried, the rod moved so violently it snapped in two. Thereafter Mullins was considered a dowser, although he continued in his trade as mason. He married in 1859 and continued his trade as a mason, however he devoted the last twelve years of his life to dowsing and well-sinking. He was immensely successful, locating over five thousand sources of water. After his death in May 1894, his business was carried on by his sons, one of whom was a dowser, although not so successful as his father. The firm of John Mullins & Sons was one of the most famous businesses of its kind, claiming royal patronage. (from Encylopedia.com). So John Mullens’s son came to Hebden Bridge and sought a water supply in Eaves Wood. “He succeeded in spotting 14 or 15 places where water could be found and none of them at no great depth below the surface. The system employed was the same as that adopted by his late sire – the forked hazel twig.”

1912 March 22- Eaves estate had been purchased for 3500pounds from the executors of late Mortimer Moss by a number of persons who found themselves out of employment during the cotton strike of 1907 with the idea of starting a manufacturing concern on co-partnership lines to be named Eaves Self-Help Limited. It is proposed to erect a weaving shed behind the larger mill. A large portion of the site is suitable for dwelling houses, there being stone quarries on the site for building purposes. Pennine Horizons tells of the fate of the self help concern: The Eaves Mills, Upper and Lower, had been silk mills but ceased trading early 20th century and were taken over by a workers co-operative for weaving but the venture failed and the mills were eventually demolished after the First World War and the site became a housing estate.

By the time he was 45 Mortimer is listed as a fustian manufacturer in his own right. Like most of the leading industrialists that I’ve researched not only was Mortimer a leading business owner but he made significant contributions to other areas of society, for, after all, his employees deserved looking after. Like many of the business men Mortimer was a free mason, as was my own father. In 1889 Mortimer had taken a leading position in Littleborough being installed as worshipful master at the Littleborough masons Benevolence lodge, an acting master of the lodge. Also of note is the strong affiliation that many of these business owners had with the masonic lodges, though it must be a mere coincidence that the school building that the Moss family constructed on Hangingroyd Lane later became a masonic hall – and is currently up for sale for £150,000, less than a one bedroom apartment sells for in Hebden Bridge, because it’s been deemed structurally unsafe. (Update: Summer 2023. It’s been purchased by a developer and is being converted into apartments.)

The former Moss School on Hangingroyd Road that later became the Masonic Hall

I find it remarkable that every one of these men are related to me in some way – but then again, perhaps it’s not so remarkable since all the leading fustian families in the town intermarried. On December 10 1894 five Fustian Manufacturers stood for the Council as Temperance Candidates including Mortimer, his brothers Abraham and James, and two relatives by marriage Richard Redman and Charles Lord. The wives of these prominent figures in town were also hard at work and highly visible in the life of the community. The summer of 1895 saw the fifth annual gathering of united choirs from the particular baptist churches of Lancashire and Yorkshire. Hope Street Sunday school (now the town’s library) was kindly lent for tea purposes and more than 500 friends turned up. “The visitors were highly pleased with their tea and the ample manner in which they had been served. Heading up The trayholders were Mrs Mortimer Moss, Mrs James Moss, Mrs Fred Moss, Mrs Abraham Moss,” along with another nine ladies. After tea they should have adjourned to Zion Chapel but it was too small for the 500 attendees so they obtained permission to use Hope Chapel for their renderings of pieces from Handel’s Messiah and Haydn’s Creation. This chapel, less than a minute’s walk from where I live is still the venue for many performances. I’m currently looking forward to seeing The Spooky Men’s Chorus perform there next week.

Spooky Men’s chorus performing in Hope Chapel in 2022

On September 2nd 1895 Notice was given that the partnership between the four Moss brothers, Mortimer, James, Frederick Hague, and Abraham Moss carrying on the business as Fustian Manufacturers, Merchants, Dyers, and Finishers at Brunswick Works Hebden Bridge, at Bridgeroyd Dyeworks, Eastwood, and at No 1 Trump Street, in the city of London (!) and elsewhere under the name of ‘Moss Brothers’, was dissolved by mutual consent so far as regards the said Mortimer Moss, who retires from the firm. All said businesses will for the future be carried on by the said James, Frederick Hague, and Abraham Moss, under the name Moss Brothers. Mortimer was just 49 when he retired which suggests ill health, and sure enough four years later he died at the family residence of Nutclough Clough house on March 25, 1899. He died somewhat unexpectedly though the local newspaper mentions that during the previous few days he had suffered from bronchitis. The cortege left Nutclough House, bound for Wainsgate Baptist Chapel high on the hillside in Old Town.

Wainsgate Chapel – An unassuming exterior gives little idea of the extravagant decoration inside

According to the chapel’s website: Today the chapel is a Grade 2* listed building hidden away amongst the trees and hills above Old Town. It is home to various artists who have their studios or workshops in the adjacent Sunday School building, whilst the main Sunday School room is currently used as a rehearsal space, part-time art gallery and as a venue for community events. It is also available for hire. The Chapel itself seats up to 300 and is used for special events, the occasional funeral and for an annual series of concerts held between April and October.

The intricate marble pulpit in Wainsgate chapel

(Update: I attended one last weekend and am looking forward to the history open day tomorrow, especially since I’ve recently discovered that one of my Kershaw ancestors was responsible for the extension and redevelopment of the graveyard adjoining the chapel).

The walls are in desperate need of repair

The newspaper account of Mortimer’s funeral read: In front of the hearse walked members of the Littleborough Benevolence Masonic Lodge followed by seven mourning coaches. As the cortege passed many of the neighbours showed respect by drawing their blinds. The coffin was pitch pine and walnut, with heavy brass furnishings. His fellow masons bore the body into the chapel and to the grave side. The Rev. Joseph Smith, pastor of Zion Particular Baptist church, read the 90th Psalm, after which the Rev. W. Jones of Hope church, offered few remarks. concluding with prayer. At the grave side Mr. Smith addressed the company concluding with prayer. The Freemasons filed past the grave, each dropping a spray of acacia on the coffin. It was finding Mortimer’s memorial at Wainsgate Chapel quite by chance in June 2022 that led me to find out more about this man whose estate at the time of his death was worth £20, 108 2s 5d, an equivalent of almost £3 million.

The grave of Mortimer, his wife and his daughter.

Just three weeks later Mortimer’s only surviving son Harwood, named after his mother’s maiden name, died at Nutclough House. Harwood was in business with his father on Crown Street working as a bookkeeper – the street I currently live on. Apparently they had a warehouse at 11 Crown Street. The building currently holds Weighsted, a sustainable food product shop, and Blue Sky Bakery. According to the newspaper “The deceased who was 26 years old had had a severe cold for several weeks. On Monday night, feeling rather worse than usual, he went to bed early. The following morning be began to be delirious and he continued in that state until his death.” His death certificate records the cause of death as Inflammation of the lungs and pneumonia. Like his father he was buried at Wainsgate Chapel and his name was added to his father’s memorial.

Harwood’s memorial

Mary found herself head of the household, still living at Nutclough House with her four daughters. Her brother, Wallace, moved in, perhaps to give support to the family. He was carrying on the Harwood family tradition of whitesmithing. However, Wallace passed away just three years later at the age of 42.

By 1909 Mary was living at Ibbotroyd, an imposing mansion on the steep road to Old Town, when she attended the funeral of Ada Harwood, her brother Edgar’s wife, who had fallen to her death from the trestle bridge at Blakedean.

Ibbotroyd

Abraham Moss, her brother-in-law had been the foreman of the inquest jury. Ibbotroyd had been the home of the Hoyle family for at least two generations – another family I can trace back in my own ancestry. By 1911 Mary has moved to Heath Hall, Mythom, an imposing stone building divided into two dwellings. In one, a 7 roomed dwelling, lived Mary and her unmarried daughter Florence, now aged 36. In the other half of the house, containing a massive 13 rooms, lived John Crowther, a retired wholesale fustian clothier and his family of a wife, two daughters and also two domestic servants. One half of the house, presumably Crowther’s, with its 7 bedrooms and 3 reception rooms recently came up for sale for £550,000.

On March 31, 1918 Mary died, aged, aged 70. According to probate records she was living at Sandy Gate, on the road from Old Town into Hebden Bridge. Today Sandy Gate comprises a Victorian-looking terrace of 6 houses and a much older building, now painted white, containing 2 dwellings. Both

Sandy Gate

She left her money to her daughter Florence – all £46 15s 1d of it. That’s equivalent of just less than £3,000. Where did the rest of the money go? Mortimer’s £3 million had been left to Mary and her brother James Harwood. Hmm, when James, a shuttle tongue maker died he left £730 in his will to his wife. Where had all Mortimer’s money gone? That’s the million dollar question! Or perhaps it’s the 3 million dollar question.

Pencil note on the back says Sandy Gate 1880s-1900

But what had made me started thinking about Mortimer yesterday? With rain forecast for the next few days I wanted to take full advantage of the sunny but windy morning so I headed out to Old Town with thoughts of sitting in the cafe and reading a book (Memoirs of a Fox Hunting Man by Siegfried Sassoon) for an hour and then walking back down to Hebden. Once on’t’tops I decided to have a wander around the cemetery at Wainsgate chapel. I had read that many of my ancestors are buried there but I’d not come prepared with a plot chart or indeed trowels or brushes to help with deciphering inscriptions. As it happened the first inscription that I recognised was that of Mortimer Moss inscribed on an elaborate plinth along with several members of his family. So with the expected rain pounding on my windows the following day, renewing my regard for the accuracy of British weather forecasting, I sat down to write the story of Mortimer Moss, focusing not on his manufacturing concerns which can be found in other sources, but on his family.

Destined to be leaders of the community here are the multi millionaires to be!

Cut out tickets

Building close to Manchester Victoria station- July 14, 2019
Concert, Leeds Town Hall
Midland Hotel, Manchester, October 2, 2019
Concert at Bolton School Girls’ Division
Statue of Ghandi, Manchester, July 26, 2021
Rear view IOU at the Piece Hall, Halifax
Jardin Nelson Mandela, Paris, January 26, 2020
Ticket to The Catacombs, Paris
Sinclair’s oyster bar, Manchester, November 10, 2017
Leeds International Piano Competition, 2018. Leeds Town Hall

Harvey Nichols, Manchester, August 11, 2017
BBC Proms, Leeds Town Hall

Statue taken from Castle Carr, now in Trevelyan Square, Leeds, January 19, 2020
The movie, Fleabag, Hebden Bridge Picture House
Henry Moore gallery, Leeds, November 15, 2017
Turn of the Screw, Opera North, Leeds
Busy bee, Chinatown, Manchester, September 14, 2018
Square Chapel, Halifax
Frederich Engels, Tony Wilson Place, Manchester, March 8, 2018
Rick Wakeman’s piano Odyssey tour, Victoria Theatre, Halifax
Oxford Road Station approach, March 8, 2018
Milton Jones – Is Out There, Victoria Theatre, Halifax
Marsax, Malta, October 18, 2019
Boarding pass from flight to Malta
Open gardens in Midgley, Calderdale, August 1, 2021
Ardal O’Hanlon, Brewery Arts Centre, Kendal
Statue First Street, Manchester, March 20, 2019
Royal Exchange Theatre Manchester
Leeds?

Castlefield Manchester, March 20, 2019
Judith Weir, Master of the Queen’s music, Hebden Bridge Town Hall

RAMBLES THROUGH MY FAMILY – 15 Untimely Deaths – Chapter 1: FANNY and GRACE GREENWOOD

Willie Wrigley is James and Mally’s great grandson

It was May, 2020. The country, indeed much of the world, was in lockdown – the Coronavirus pandemic. Yet here I stood on a remote hillside with a panoramic view of the Calder Valley. Atop Erringden Moor Stoodley Pike rose like an eagle commanding a view of its territory, but it’s a black eagle, no hint of gold on its ‘phallic spike.’ 1 The bleat of new born lambs filled the still air, a joyous sound now no longer obliterated by the overhead roars of planes on their flight to distant lands. A curious cow had introduced herself to me as I strolled along Burlees Lane, high above Hebden Bridge but her eyes warned me not to enter her field despite the public footpath sign.

A resident of Burlees Lane

It had been a steep climb up Wadsworth Lane, passing the housing estate of Dodd Naze on my left while to my right was open pasture but now I had a bird’s eye view of the Calder Valley and the small town of Mytholmroyd. Even though this town with its tongue twisting name is only 2 miles East of Hebden Bridge the valley here is much wider here with more expansive flat areas with scattered buildings , quite different from the tightly packed houses on top of each other, accessible by steep stone staircases.

Mytholmroyd from Heights Road

I was in search of Hill House, birthplace of one of my ancestors, Charlotte Greenwood. I turned off the main road onto a small unpaved lane, Raw Lane. Ancient cottages now mostly restored and exuding affluence, their windows overlooking a dramatic landscape are dotted along its length, seemingly at random, some with their front doors opening directly onto the lane and others set back. In places Raw Lane is tree lined and at this time of year the trees heavy with leaves bowed their boughs forming an arch above me for me to walk through onto centre stage.

Raw Lane

The scent of the white hawthorn flowers was everywhere, reminding me of the hawthorn tree close to my childhood bedroom window at Affetside, and the brilliant yellow gorse flowers vied with a field of vibrant yellow buttercups for the prize of best in show. Today the verges were ablaze with colour. Foxgloves stood tall, proudly displaying their pendulous bell-like blooms and as I became aware that my jacket perfectly matched their shade of purple-pink I assured the busy bees that I was bereft of pollen. Yet I had walked along this path in Autumn when the fog was so dense I could hardly see the roadside verges, let alone the expanse of the Calder Valley. Winters up here can be treacherous with ice and snow in abundance, and even today bins of grit lined the path reminding me of those dark days of winter when the lane lives up to its name.

Hill House in Autumn

With map in hand I picked out Hill House to my right, perched alone on top of a smooth sided grass-green hill, devoid of trees, and justifying its name 100%. A man was gardening at Hill House Lane Top and I chatted to him, admiring the lovely view his house had before taking the poppy lined cobbled track down towards my destination passing a beautifully landscaped garden with an ornamental pond.

The path leading to Hill House

Just as I approached the ancient stone house with its large barn across the yard a woman came into view, the current owner.

Hill House

I explained my quest and she was interested enough to bring out to me a framed aerial photo of the property taken about thirty years ago. It brought back memories of a similar photograph of my home at Third Bungalow, Affetside, framed and sitting in pride of place on top of my piano for many years. It had been taken from a helicopter some time in the 1970s and the pilot had landed in our field. Back at Hill House the owner pointed out a date stone above the front porch of 1678 and the initials IMG but she assured me that the building was significantly older than the stone indicated and that this was the date commemorating a rebuild.

Front porch with date stone

With an invitation to return after lockdown was over I took my leave and she directed me to a path running behind the house enabling me to hike back into the valley a different way, following the outline of the hill which gives the house its name. I found myself crossing a beautiful meadow awash with wild flowers, clovers, cowslip and buttercups before reaching Red Acre Wood. Much work has been done to preserve the footpaths traversing this woodland sanctuary but the path remains steep, often with stairways and I had to keep my focus on my footsteps until I reached the valley floor from where I looked back and could see, high above, Hill House, perched atop its hill, birthplace of Charlotte Greenwood.

Hill House, perched on top of the hill – taken from Mytholmroyd

In the Spring of 1894 Charlotte married Willie Wrigley, the great grandson of James and Mally, my 4th great grandparents who had lived at Lily Hall. Willie was an architect of some renown.

Willie Wrigley (courtesy of Sonia Howie)

I knew that Charlotte and Willie had a turbulent life together and his desertion of his wife and children resulted in a 3 month incarceration with hard labour in Wakefield gaol in 1901. But as I chatted to the current owner of Hill House that Spring morning I wasn’t aware of a tragedy that had occurred there one hundred and sixty years ago. A search later that evening produced an account in the newspaper that chilled me to the bone.

An article in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph 4th Nov 1861 reads ‘Murder and Suicide by a Mother Mytholmroyd: On Friday last, at midday, a most awful tragedy was perpetrated at Hill House, Wadsworth, Mytholmroyd, by a married woman, named Greenwood, wife of Mr. Greenwood, farmer. It appears that during the forenoon Mr. Greenwood had gone to Mytholmroyd with a week’s butter, and while away his wife cut the throat of her little daughter, about five years old, after which she cut her own throat, and ran out bleeding profusely into the house of a neighbour, (living at Hill House Lane Top where I’d chatted to the current resident) named Sutcliffe, and then ran back into her own house. She still had the razor in her hand. Sutcliffe took it from her, and the mother pointed to the child in an adjoining room, with its head almost severed from its body. It would seem she had had two razors at work; one was also lying on the table, opposite the looking glass, covered with blood, along with two empty razor cases. The house presented more the appearance of a slaughter-house than human dwelling, such was the quantity of blood on the floors. The little girl’s hands were tied with a shred of cotton lining. Mrs. Greenwood has been in a desponding state of mind for some time, but not so much so as to cause much alarm. Since the above was written, it is reported that Mrs. Greenwood is dead also.” 2

I found over sixty accounts of this tragedy in various newspapers, the story being reported as far away as Ireland, Wales and Scotland but only the Hull Advertiser suggested a reason for the tragedy. “She had been depressed in spirits for some time in consequence of her husband’s ill luck in business as a farmer, and also in consequence of the helpless and idiotic state of the child brought on by the violent fits to which it had been subject for two or three years.” 3

View of Stephenson House from Hill House

Three and a half years after the devastating death of both his wife and child James Greenwood remarried. I mean, it’s not surprising. He had four remaining children under eight years old and he had a farm of 28 acres to look after. Following his marriage to Elizabeth Jackson at Mytholmroyd church the couple had three more children, the youngest being ‘my’ Charlotte born in 1871. James and Elizabeth continued to live at Hill House for the rest of their lives and as I picked my way carefully along the steep path through Red Acre Wood I wondered what ghosts penetrated their lives there.

Emerging from the dark density of the woodsI found myself in the centre of a bright and sunny Mytholmroyd. This small town on the River Calder lies at the junction of Cragg Brook and the River Calder and the valley floor here is much wider than the narrow cleft in which Hebden Bridge cowers, just two miles to the East. Yet its propensity to flooding is equal to that of its neighbour and TV crews covering the floods often have a particular difficulty in pronouncing the town’s name, meaning a clearing where two streams meet. After a few minutes’ walk along the towpath I crossed the canal, the road and the river and arrived at the church, in search of the resting place of Fanny. It didn’t take me long in this well kept cemetery to find her grave, in which her daughter, Grace, also rests. So too is Grace’s sister, Sarah, aged 14 and Ann, aged 25. Fanny’s husband James lived to a grand old age of 72, and his second wife rests there too.

Grave of Fanny, Grace and James

At that moment the church bell struck the hour and as I looked up at the asymmetrical church tower the outline of Hill House perched on its hill appeared to be directly the tower. That morning on my way to find Charlotte’s birthplace I’d looked down with pleasure at Hill House and its commanding position and chatted happily with the owner. I know now that the place will hold different memories for me whenever I see it perched on the hill looking out to Mytholmroyd.

1 Glyn Hughes Millstone Grit p. 60

2 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0000250/18611104/049/0002?browse=False

3 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0001280/18611109/108/0005?browse=False

The tragic story of Fanny and Grace

2.FANNY GREENWOOD (This being chapter 2 of my ’13 Untimely Deaths’)

Willie Wrigley is James and Mally’s great grandson

It was May, 2020. The country, indeed much of the world, was in lockdown – the Coronavirus pandemic. Yet here I stood on a remote hillside with a panoramic view of the Calder Valley. Atop Erringden Moor Stoodley Pike rose like an eagle commanding a view of its territory, but it’s a black eagle, no hint of gold on its ‘phallic spike.’ 1 The bleat of new born lambs filled the still air, a joyous sound now no longer obliterated by the overhead roars of planes on their flight to distant lands. A highland cow had introduced herself to me as I strolled along Burlees Lane, high above Hebden Bridge but her eyes warned me not to enter her field despite the public footpath sign.

Above Hill House

It had been a steep climb up Wadsworth Lane, passing the housing estate of Dodd Naze on my left while to my right was open pasture but now I had a bird’s eye view of the Calder Valley and the small town of Mytholmroyd. Even though this town with its tongue twisting name is only 2 miles East of Hebden Bridge the valley here is much wider here with more expansive flat areas with scattered buildings , quite different from the tightly packed houses on top of each other, accessible by steep stone staircases.

I was in search of Hill House, birthplace of one of my ancestors, Charlotte Greenwood. I turned off the main road onto a small unpaved lane, Raw Lane. Ancient cottages now mostly restored and exuding affluence, their windows overlooking a dramatic landscape are dotted along its length, seemingly at random, some with their front doors opening directly onto the lane and others set back. In places Raw Lane is tree lined and at this time of year the trees heavy with leaves bowed their boughs forming an arch above me for me to walk through onto centre stage. The scent of the white hawthorn flowers was everywhere, reminding me of the hawthorn tree close to my childhood bedroom window at Affetside, and the brilliant yellow gorse flowers vied with a field of vibrant yellow buttercups for the prize of best in show. Today the verges were ablaze with colour. Foxgloves stood tall, proudly displaying their pendulous bell-like blooms and as I became aware that my jacket perfectly matched their shade of purple-pink I assured the busy bees that I was bereft of pollen.

Yet I had walked along with path in Autumn when the fog was so dense I could hardly see the roadside verges, let alone the expanse of the Calder Valley. Winters up here can be treacherous with ice and snow in abundance, and even today bins of grit lined the path reminding me of those dark days of winter when the lane lives up to its name. With map in hand I picked out Hill House to my right, perched alone on top of a smooth sided grass-green hill, devoid of trees, and justifying its name 100%.

The track to Hill House

A man was gardening at Hill House Lane Top and I chatted to him, admiring the lovely view his house had before taking the poppy lined cobbled track down towards my destination passing a beautifully landscaped garden with an ornamental pond and just as I approached the ancient stone house with its large barn across the yard a woman came into view, the current owner. I explained my quest and she was interested enough to bring out to me a framed aerial photo of the property taken about thirty years ago. It brought back memories of a similar photograph of my home at Third Bungalow, Affetside, framed and sitting in pride of place on top of my piano for many years. It had been taken from a helicopter some time in the 1970s and the pilot had landed in our field. Back at Hill House the owner pointed out a date stone above the front porch of 1678 and the initials IMG but she assured me that the building was significantly older than the stone indicated and that this was the date commemorating a rebuild.

Date stone commemorating the rebuild

With an invitation to return after lockdown was over I took my leave and she directed me to a path running behind the house enabling me to hike back into the valley a different way, following the outline of the hill which gives the house its name. I found myself crossing a beautiful meadow awash with wild flowers, clovers, cowslip and buttercups before reaching Red Acre Wood. Much work has been done to preserve the footpaths traversing this woodland sanctuary but the path remains steep, often with stairways and I had to keep my focus on my footsteps until I reached the valley floor from where I looked back and could see, high above, Hill House, perched atop its hill, birthplace of Charlotte Greenwood. In the Spring of 1894 Charlotte married Willie Wrigley, the great grandson of James and Mally, my 4th great grandparents who had lived at Lily Hall. Willie was an architect of some renown.

Willie Wrigley

I knew that Charlotte and Willie had a turbulent life together and his desertion of his wife and children resulted in a 3 month incarceration with hard labour in Wakefield gaol in 1901. But as I chatted to the current owner of Hill House that Spring morning I wasn’t aware of a tragedy that had occurred there one hundred and sixty years ago. A search later that evening produced an account in the newspaper that chilled me to the bone.

An article in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph 4th Nov 1861 reads ‘Murder and Suicide by a Mother Mytholmroyd: On Friday last, at midday, a most awful tragedy was perpetrated at Hill House, Wadsworth, Mytholmroyd, by a married woman, named Greenwood, wife of Mr. Greenwood, farmer. It appears that during the forenoon Mr. Greenwood had gone to Mytholmroyd with a week’s butter, and while away his wife cut the throat of her little daughter, about five years old, after which she cut her own throat, and ran out bleeding profusely into the house of a neighbour, (living at Hill House Lane Top where I’d chatted to the owner) named Sutcliffe, and then ran back into her own house. She still had the razor in her hand. Sutcliffe took it from her, and the mother pointed to the child in an adjoining room, with its head almost severed from its body. It would seem she had had two razors at work; one was also lying on the table, opposite the looking glass, covered with blood, along with two empty razor cases. The house presented more the appearance of a slaughter-house than human dwelling, such was the quantity of blood on the floors. The little girl’s hands were tied with a shred of cotton lining. Mrs. Greenwood has been in a desponding state of mind for some time, but not so much so as to cause much alarm. Since the above was written, it is reported that Mrs. Greenwood is dead also.” 2

Hill House

I found over sixty accounts of this tragedy in various newspapers, the story being reported as far away as Ireland, Wales and Scotland but only the Hull Advertiser suggested a reason for the tragedy. “She had been depressed in spirits for some time in consequence of her husband’s ill luck in business as a farmer, and also in consequence of the helpless and idiotic state of the child brought on by the violent fits to which it had been subject for two or three years.” 3

Three and a half years after the devastating death of both his wife and child James Greenwood remarried. I mean, it’s not surprising. He had four remaining children under eight years old and he had a farm of 28 acres to look after. Following his marriage to Elizabeth Jackson at Mytholmroyd church the couple had three more children, the youngest being ‘my’ Charlotte born in 1871. James and Elizabeth continued to live at Hill House for the rest of their lives and as I picked my way carefully along the steep path through Red Acre Wood I wondered what ghosts penetrated their lives there.

Hill House above the Dusty Miller. If only Fanny had taken notice of the sign. . . .

Emerging from the dark density of the woodsI found myself in the centre of a bright and sunny Mytholmroyd. This small town on the River Calder lies at the junction of Cragg Brook and the River Calder and the valley floor here is much wider than the narrow cleft in which Hebden Bridge cowers, just two miles to the East. Yet its propensity to flooding is equal to that of its neighbour and TV crews covering the floods often have a particular difficulty in pronouncing the town’s name, meaning a clearing where two streams meet. After a few minutes’ walk along the towpath towpath I crossed the canal, the road and the river and arrived at the church, in search of the resting place of Fanny. It didn’t take me long in this well kept cemetery to find her grave, in which her daughter, Grace, also rests. So too is Grace’s sister, Sarah, aged 14 and Ann, aged 25. Fanny’s husband James lived to a grand old age of 72, and his second wife rests there too.

Grave of the Greenwoods

At that moment the church bell struck the hour and as I looked up at the asymmetrical church tower the outline of Hill House perched on its hill appeared to be directly the tower. Grave That morning on my way to find Charlotte’s birthplace I’d looked down with pleasure at Hill House and its commanding position and chatted happily with the owner. I know now that the place will hold different memories for me whenever I see it perched on the hill looking out to Mytholmroyd.

A page from my fabricated book

1 Glyn Hughes Millstone Grit p. 60

2 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0000250/18611104/049/0002?browse=False

3 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0001280/18611109/108/0005?browse=False

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