Category: Ancestry (Page 8 of 8)

Monday, 1:50 p.m. in the Pack Horse at Affetside waiting for my sp of fish, chips and mushy peas. OK, I had look up sp too! What a strange day. When I checked the weather forecast this morning it looked the best day of the week for a long road trip to Affetside, so off I went, totally on the spur of the moment. 3 buses each way were involved. First to Todmorden, then to Bury  via Bacup (which looked extremely sad) and Rawtenstall (which looked flowery). I had a look around Bury’s famous market hall and the Mill Gate Shopping center, and then the bus to Affetside. The Pack Horse looked closed but I guess no-one enters through the front door any more because the car park is in the back, along with the wonderful dining room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Holcombe moor. However, it was open so I used their facilities and then walked down to 3rd Bungalow from Millenium pond. There’s a new bench now at the stile dedicated to Geoff Kilburn who died last year. He was the father of my friend from the village, Kristine who I went to the 2 room school with. Geoff worked at the abattoir in Bolton and he sometimes brought offal home for my dad (on the bus, of course. I don’t think any of the villagers had cars at that time).

Nothing significantly had changed at the house. Every time I visit I worry that it just won’t be there! I dream about it quite frequently. But it was still there. There’s no footpath diagonally across from the stile to the house, but there’d definitely been someone there before me. The grass in that field is now waist high though when we lived there it was cropped short by the famous cows. Apart from three inquisitive goats I couldn’t see any other changes, and I popped a note into the letterbox so that Margaret and Graham would know who it was on their CCTV snooping around their property. I left by the path lined by the trees that me and my dad grew from 1 inch seedlings and planted to form an avenue of trees. My dad would have been very proud at the results. My  school which doubled as a church on Sundays is still there, as is Geoffrey Bond’s phone number.He played the organ there when I was a child in the 1960’s and played for my mom’s funeral 50 years later.

Back on Watling Street it was time for lunch so in I went. I asked the server if there were any old time locals in but no, they tended to come in of an evening. In the middle of lunch I got a phone call from Keith. How surreal! We’re arranging a trip to do some ancestry hunting for him. His mom’s family issued from Beverley and he’s never been further north than Stratford-upon-Avon, so I can introduce him to ‘up North.’ On my way to pay at the bar i thought I’d take a look in at the snug. Rachel and I had hosted my mom’s wake in that room in 2010 and when i revisited the Pack in 2011 and 2015 I didn’t feel able to go into that room. But so much of the layout and decoration of the pub had changed that I thought I could handle it. Imagine my complete and utter surprise when the first thing I see in the room is my mom smiling down from the wall at me. No, I wasn’t experiencing some improbable psychic phenomenon, there, on the wall, was a large framed photo of my mom at 3rd Bungalow, shovelling roof high snow. I let out a yelp, disturbing the other customers in the room, just like at All Souls, Bolton, when I saw life size photos of my great great grandparents on display. But at least I knew how All Sous had come by the photo. I’d given them it on a previous visit! How did this picture of my mom get here??? (It’s still puzzling me 24 hours later. I contact the current residents of 3rd Bungalow but it wasn’t them). I asked the manager but she had no information, only saying that when she took over in 2014 there were a whole pile of photos in an upstairs room, and that at some point locals had been asked to submit memorabilia. The bar tender tried to take the frame off the wall to see if there was anything written on the back but it was so securely fastened that he couldn’t budge it. It seems a shame that there’s no name or location on the photo so that other people could make connections. Anyway, she looks exceedingly happy – and pretty – and yes, she was pregnant with me at the time of the photo. I should send them a picture I have of my dad standing on the roof of the Pack Horse that same winter.

After that very wonderful surprise I tried to take a selfie of me standing in the same position as in the Rose Queen picture (1959?). There was no-one around to ask to take my photo.  🙁  I had decided to walk down Watling Street towards the Bull’s Head since the views across the moors to Turton and Holcombe are very meaningful to me. Passing Walves reservoirs , now completely covered in yellow water lilies I kept walking, through Hawkshaw (The Wagon and Horses is closed for renovation), then on to Holcombe Brook timing it just right to get a bus back into Bury, passing through Tottington.  Imagine my horror when I discovered that the only bus of the day left to get me to Todmorden ends in Bacup. I had visions of having to get back to Hebden Bridge by train. However, I did find an inquiry desk and a helpful clerk who rerouted me through Rochdale. This drive is a bit glum, passing through Heywood, a place Rachel and I had visited briefly last year to see the church where some of our ancestors were married. There are no redeeming features here, apart from the bus station which is stunning and new.  From Rochdale I was able to get a bus directly to Hebden Bridge. So 7 hours of bus rides, 3 hours of pottering around my old haunts and I was too tired when I got back to plan for the following day.

Rain and thunder were forecast today. There was no coffee morning to go to so, after my conversation with Neal, the vicar of St Hilda’s Warley, about his time as chaplain at Wakefield cathedral I decided to hop on a train and head for Wakefield.

Today I visited Wakefield. I don’t think I’ve ever been there before but it features in my family history since my great, great, great, great grandfather was incarcerated in what is now England’s most secure prison. He was the guest of her majesty Queen Victoria on two separate occasions. He was also buried at Wakefield All Saints church which is now a cathedral and has recently undergone a huge face-lift. It has Saxon origins and during the refurbishment skeletal remains were found that were carbon dated to around 900 AD. The medieval rood screen still survives. There’s a strong music school and choral department in the crypt!

This looks fun

So stop number one was the cathedral where, having explained why I  was there,  a docent, Richard York,  took up my case with gusto. While I had lunch  – yeh, for the baked potato – he went in search of church archives, and wandered around outside in the pouring rain trying to decipher the horizontal gravestones that now make up the path into the church.

Richard, the helpful docent

No luck, but I gave him my business card in case he unearthed anything  in the future.   It turned out that his dad had exactly the same business card! Richard had been brought up, literally, at Bretton Hall (a college for the arts). I remember having a conversation over dinner at a  piano conference with Jane Bastien (piano pedagogue extraordinaire) about her going to give a presentation at Bretton Hall years and years ago. His father had worked there, surrounded by 23 pianos including 4 Steinways. my school friend Hilary Markland had gone there from Bolton School. Richard mentioned Keith Swallow whose name I recalled. Richard collects archival recordings, over 3000 of them, and his all-time favorite is the Bach/Busoni Chaconne in d minor which is my favorite piece that Keith performs.  A very elegant lady, Jill,  joined us , a would-be docent that Richard knows well and both of them knew Ramsbottom, Tottington and Rawtenstall (all close to my native village).I think she ‘was’ somebody, bedecked in pearls and very, very elegant. When I asked if I could take their photographs for my journal Jill was the only person on the trip who answered ‘No.’ Richard related the story of his trip to the US taking in King City and Las Vegas. Describing driving in those areas he said ‘You just sit there, hold the steering wheel, and don’t turn it for two hours! That’s not driving!’

The newly restored Nave, Wakefield cathedral

The barista at the cathedral recommended the Six Chimneys for watching the vital England v Wales  UEFA cup game and I was thrilled to get the reactions of the assembled crowd on video as England scored the winning goal after being 0-1 down. I consumed my first pint bitter shandy of the trip.

A quick peek in at the Hepworth Gallery, dedicated to the work of sculptress Barbara Hepworth (free

Sculptures by Hepworth

admission, and a free bus to get there from Wakefield center, though I walked it) and then off to take photos of the gaol.

I looked around carefully for ‘No photography’ signs but couldn’t see any so I began taking photos of the entrance. Within 30 seconds a prison guard came running out demanding my cell phone! As I explained that there was nothing to say I couldn’t she shepherded me into the prison itself. Yeah! Just what I’d hoped for , but not quite in this way. Explaining myself to another guard he told me it was fine to take photos from across the street, which I duly did. The prison is mainly Victorian, though parts date back to the 1500’s. There’s a mulberry tree in the center of the exercise yard and legend has it that this accounts for the nursery song Her We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.

Wakefield’s top security gaol

The door I entered!