History is full of coincidences and ironies. The date of 28th January is one such coincidence – 28 January 1457 and 28 January 1547 – two dates 90 years apart. The former the date of birth of the first Tudor despot, the later the date of his son’s death, the most tyrannical Tudor monarch of all.
Calendar page for January with additions from three different handwritting: 1. the obit of Catherine de Valois and the date of marriage of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York (black ink); 2. the date of birth of Henry VII (in Latin – faded brown ink); and 3. the obit of Henry VIII (brown ink at bottom of folio), from Book of Hours (The ‘Beaufort/Beauchamp Hours’), Use of Sarum, (England (London), after 1401, before 1415) shelfmark Royal 2 A XVIII f.28 January
Below are close-ups of the entries for the birth of Henry VII and the death of Henry VIII.
Natale d[omi]ni Henrici filij Emundi comitis Richemondie ac d[omi]ne M[ar]rgarete vxoris sui filie Joh[ann]is nup[er] duc[?is] Somersete anno d[omi]ni millio cccc quinquagesimo sexto. Born Henry son of the Earl of Richmond and Margaret his wife daughter of John, Duke of Somerset 1456. (Latin text kindly transcribed by Rob Ellis of Medieval London)
The xxviijth [28th] daie of January deceassd the noble prynce Henry the eight the yere of owr lorde 1546
Although Henry VII’s date of birth was 1457, and Henry VIII’s date of death 1547, the years above of 1456 and 1546 are correct because these are contemporary entries written at times when the old Julian Calendar was still in use in England. Until 1752, the 1st January was only the start of the ecclesiastical New Year but not when the year-date changed. The change to a new year started on Lady Day (25th March). Thus English documents written prior to 1752 will have any dates between 1st January and 24th March written in the Old Style. Modern historians either have to adjust these dates to the New Style or ‘double date’ the entry to show both old and new date (e.g. the above dates would be dated ‘1456/7’ and ‘1546/7’).
Henry VII from Guild Book of the Barber Surgeons of York (England, N. (York?), 2nd half of the 16th century) shelfmark Egerton 2572 f.7.
Henry VIII from Guild Book of the Barber Surgeons of York (England, N. (York?), 2nd half of the 16th century) shelfmark Egerton 2572 f.8.
Henry VII giving the manuscript to the monks of Westminster from Indenture for Henry VII’s Chapel (England, S. E. (London), 1504) shelfmark Harley 1498 f.98.
Henry VIII praying in his bedchamber from The Psalter of Henry VIII (England, S. E. (London), c1540-1541) shelfmark Royal 2 A XVI f.3.
If you want to receive my regular history newsletter, then please subscribe below:
A slightly strange thing to be doing on a cold winter’s afternoon on a Sunday in January, but those of you who know me, know that I’m slightly obsessed with the witches of Essex. Essex people (mainly women) who – between the 1560s and c1680s – were legally convicted of the crime of witchcraft.
Living close to the Essex town of Maldon, I’m a mere stone’s throw from some of the major “outbreaks” of England’s Tudor witchcraft. So, hence my decision to go on a witch-hunt.
Today, I visited the village Hatfield Peverel. In this village lived one of the first people to be executed for witchcraft in England. She was executed in 1566. If Essex was Tudor witch-county (which it was), then Hatfield Peverel was witch-village. The parish had more Elizabethan witches living in it than anywhere else in Essex (and therefore, by default, anywhere in England).
Hatfield Peverel today, despite being near the City of Chelmsford, is still relatively small. It is probably better known for its a train station with fast trains into London and its very easy access to the A12.
Not many people realise that it was once a witch village.
So, I went hunting for poor Agnes Waterhouse of Hatfield Peverel – executed in Chelmsford in 1566 for being a witch. Her grandmother, sister and daughter – all of Hatfield Peverel – were witches too.
A woodcutting of Agnes Waterhouse. Executed in 1566 for murdering William Fynee by witchcraft
Today, there is very little trace of the Tudor or medieval village. A small amount of remnants are present in a few buildings and within the names of some of the houses. Such as Priory Lodge – located where there was once a medieval priory. Later, the ruins of the former priory were heavily amended during the 18th century.
Born in the early 1500s, Agnes Waterhouse and her family would have known the original Benedictine priory. It was closed in 1536, during Henry VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries – part of the consequences of the English Reformation. Long before her execution in 1566, as a young poor woman of the village, Agnes might have visited the priory, seeking charity and alms – such as bread and milk – for her family from its monks.
With most of the medieval/Tudor village long gone, the nearest I could get to poor Agnes was today’s parish church – St Andrew’s.
Agnes Waterhouse was born in the early 1500s – during the reign of Catholic Henry VII. Today’s parish church was originally part of the pre-Reformation Catholic priory’s church. But by the time of her trial in 1566, England had changed and was Protestant under Queen Elizabeth I’s Religious Settlement.
So much religious change happened during the 60 years of Agnes’ life.
A booklet printed at the time of her execution stated that Agnes said her prayers in Latin. A clear indication to Tudor folk that she was of the old religion – the banned Catholic faith. During Elizabeth I’s reign, England was a Protestant country and everyone was legally forced to say their prayers in English – the language of Protestantism.
Agnes’ prosecutors used the fact that she said her prayers in Latin – the language of the banned Catholic faith – as evidence that she was a witch.
Strange times…
Unfortunately, today Hatfield Peverel’s church was locked, so I couldn’t get inside it. The interior probably looks very different to how it was during Agnes’ childhood. Back then, at the start of the 1500s, the priory’s church must have been highly decorated with paintings of Catholic saints and symbolism. The interiors of English churches were white-washed on the orders, first of Henry VIII and then later by his son Edward VI.
Today, 450 years on, it was the nearest I could get to Agnes Waterhouse.
It was very peaceful in today’s churchyard – although I could hear the constant roar of the nearby A12 – East Anglia’s equivalent to a motorway. A murder of crows was calling in the churchyard’s trees (I love that expression – I’ve always wanted to say it!). But even in the coldness of the first Sunday in January, snowdrops were in full bloom.
Normally, when I’m witch-hunting, my next steps would be to look in the parish registers – baptisms, marriages and burials. It’s unlikely I’d find the burial of a convicted Essex witch– they were buried in a pit of executed criminals in Chelmsford – in unconsecrated ground. But I might find a witch’s victims buried in the local churchyard.
However a quick look at Essex Record Office’s website shows that Hatfield Peverel’s parish registers start in the early 1600s. I don’t know the complete history of St Andrew’s – particularly when it started to be the village’s parish church after the priory (and therefore it’s church) was closed. Agnes may have worshiped at another nearby church such as the one at Ulting.
So that’s one avenue of my research closed.
I didn’t quite find Agnes. But I certainly found the places where she played and roamed – and learnt her craft of being a witch – as a child in Henry VII’s and Henry VIII’s England.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
By the way, many people think that the major road in Chelmsford – Waterhouse Lane – was named after her. Even Chelmsford’s local newspaper has published an article saying that it was….
But think about it carefully… Witches were feared throughout England. Would a road (even what was, in Tudor times, a small country lane) really be named after a convicted notorious and much dreaded executed witch? Moreover, poor Agnes came from Hatfield Peverel – not Chelmsford.
But then, playing devil’s advocate, maybe the lane was named after her because of her place of execution. Chelmsford’s gallows was located approximately at the start of Waterhouse Lane. The hangman’s gallows were roughly where the road called Primrose Hill now is.
Then again, would the great and good of Tudor Chelmsford really really name a road after an executed and much feared witch from Hatfield Peverel who had a cat called Satan – who spoke to her and told her to say her prayers in Latin.
I think not.
Agnes Waterhouse’s cat – Satan
You can learn more about Agnes Waterhouse and other witches of Essex by enrolling in my online course on the Witches of Elizabethan and Stuart Essex. Click the “Learn More” button below to discover more details…
The 5th December, is the Eve of the Feast of St Nicholas. The 5th and 6th December are times of much celebration for the excited children (and parents!) from many countries across Europe. Saint Nicholas is due to make his arrival and give presents to the children of Europe. Parts of France, Italy, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Poland all celebrate, in different ways, this saint – known as the protector of children.
However, in England, as a consequence of Henry VIII’s break with Rome and the English Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century, it is no-longer the custom to celebrate Saint Nicholas on 6th December. But before Henry VIII’s break with Rome in the 1530s, the feast of Saint Nicholas was celebrated in many towns and villages of England as part of the Catholic festivities of Yuletide and Christmas.
The legend of Saint Nicholas
The stories and legends of St Nicholas made their way into the exquisite and breath-taking illuminated manuscripts of medieval England. One such legend is the tale of three children who had wandered away from their homes and got lost. A wicked butcher lured the children, by now cold and hungry, into his shop where he attacked and murdered them, then pickled them in a large tub. Fortunately Saint Nicholas saved them and brought them back to life – thus forever taking his place in legends as the protector of children.
Another story was that he saved sailors from drowning after their boat capsized. Thus becoming the patron of mariners.
Below is a selection of images of Saint Nicholas, the saviour of pickled children and drowning mariners.
Bishop Nicholas of Bari (or Myra)
By the 1400s, the illuminated manuscripts changed from showing the stories of the pickled children and drowned mariners. Instead, the exquisite medieval manuscripts shifted their focus to show St Nicholas in his bishopric finery.
Saint Nicholas and Boy Bishops By medieval times, the Feast of Saint Nicholas on the 6th December was a firm part of English cultural life. The feast was coupled with the medieval practice of electing young boys as bishops. A boy from the local community was elected as the parish’s (or establishment’s) ‘Bishop’ on the Feast of St Nicholas and he replaced the authority of the real Bishop until Holy Innocents day (28th December). (See my blog-post Boy Bishops & the Feast of St Nicholas for more details about this medieval custom).
In 1542, Henry VIII abolished the custom of having boys-bishops on Saint Nicholas’s feast day. It was probably around this period, with Henry VIII’s full-on attack on the Catholic cult of saints, that Saint Nicholas’s feast day itself was brought to an end.
The late Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries
During the reign of Elizabeth I, Christmas was still celebrated with great feasts, games, and the celebrations of the 12 Days of Christmas from 25th December until 6th January. But the celebrations were without Saint Nicholas.
Christmas itself was legally stopped during the Interregnum of the mid-seventeenth century. In 1647, Christmas was officially banned with the Ordinance for Abolishing of Festivals. Deemed as a throwback to Catholic days and too full of Popery, frivolity, merry-making and gluttony, the Puritans didn’t want any part of Christmas.
However, it was during the Interregnum that we once again catch a glimpse of Saint Nicholas. Although by this time, calling him Saint Nicholas was far too much for Puritan sensibilities. Two satirical pamphlets about Christmas were published in the 1650s. And, for the first time in literature, Father Christmas (aka Old Christmas) was named as such.
‘The Vindication of Christmas’ by John Taylor,(London, 1652/3). The central figure is Old Christmas
‘The examination and tryall of Old Father Christmas At the assizes held at the town of Difference, in the county of discontent. Written according to legal proceeding’ by Josiah King, (London, 1658 – this image is from the 1686 reprint)
The 1658 woodcutting of Father Christmas clearly shows that by the mid-seventeenth century, he had already taken on the appearance that we know and love today. Who knows what colour his robe would have been if they had colour printing then! Would it be red? Or green? Or brown? Or purple…
The 1650s’ Father Christmas looks very familiar!
Fortunately for us, when the monarchy was restored in 1660, Christmas was too.
References to Old Christmas are tantalising glimpsed in a small number of plays and pamphlets throughout the eighteenth century. But it wasn’t until the Victorian era that there was resurgence of the popularity of Father Christmas.
Charles Dickens and the Ghost of Christmas Present
The Victorian revival and obsession with Father Christmas was partly due to Charles Dickens’ 1843 story A Christmas Carol. His pen-portrait of the Ghost of Christmas Present along with the accompanying illustration by John Leech showed that Father Christmas was alive and very much kicking! Dickens described Scrooges’ encounter with the Ghost thus:
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me.”
Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
The Ghost of Christmas Present with Ebenezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens (1843). Illustrated by John Leech
Early Twentieth Century Father Christmas
Dickens described the Ghost as having a green robe. We’re not quite there with our modern day Father Christmas! By the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, Father Christmas had a variety of different coloured robes. This was before that well-known gigantic soft-drinks company unilaterally made him a little rotund beaming fella with red robes trimmed with white fur!…
Below are a selection of early twentieth postcards showing Saint Nicholas/Father Christmas/Santa Claus in a wide variety of robes. Notice that even when he was dressed in red, the early 20th century Father Christmas was a tall and lean chap. Not the little fat fella of today!
Early 20th Century – Father Christmas in a brown robe
Early 20th Century – Father Christmas in a browny/purple robe
Blue robed Father Christmas
There was even a white-robed Father Christmas!
Early 20th Century – Father Christmas in a red robe. Nearly like today’s Father Christmas – but not quite as cuddly!
Early 20th Century – Father Christmas in a red robe. A lot taller and thinner then today’s Father Christmas.
Father Christmas had nearly fully transformed. From being a pre-Reformation Catholic saint and the saviour of pickled children, he was now a tall angular man with a fur trimmed robe, who brought gifts and presents to good children throughout the world.
Nearly transformed… But not quite…
Modern day Father Christmas
The Father Christmas that we all know and love today is the consequence of a massive advertising campaign by that well known soft drinks company. In the 1930s, the artist Haddon Sundblom, created the very familiar image of Santa for Coca-Cola. Below is “Somebody Knew I Was Coming” and the basis for the company’s advertising material during the 1930s/1940s at Christmas.
Father Christmas from December 1940 by Haddon Sundblom
Sundblom based his Santa on the 1822 poem by Clement Clark Moore
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads
Saint Nicholas’ metamorphism into Father Christmas (aka Santa Claus) was complete! Although, strictly-speaking Santa’s red-robe wasn’t because it was Coca-Cola’s corporate colours. Or was it?
His red-robes had long been established before Sundblom’s creativity, as seen in the early twentieth century postcards. But just maybe, by using their corporate colours, Coca-Cola stopped all the other brown/blue/purple/white robed Father Christmases!
Looking at Sundblom’s image and the ones above showing the saintly bishop, it occurred to me that six hundred years after the beautiful illuminated manuscripts of the middle ages, Father Christmas’ right hand is still raised in a form of benediction.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Please subscribe to my newsletter using the link below
I am planning exciting events during 2019 – including two unique online courses:
Revealing The Past Secrets of Your Home: step-by-step, discover how to research the story of your home through time;
The Witches of Elizabethan and Stuart Essex: uncover the myths and truths about witches of the 16th and 17th centuries and society’s attitude towards them.
My newsletter will give you more details about all my events, courses, talks and local history services.
The Remembrance Sunday parade at the Cenotaph in London is a moving occasion that has been taken very much to many people’s hearts and souls. The first commemoration took place today at 11am on 11 November 1920. That first year, it was held on a Thursday, as that was the day of the week the anniversary of Armistice fell on. But over time, it was moved to the nearest Sunday.
From my book on the First World War, “Postcards from the Front”, here is the history about the Cenotaph and the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior.
*_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_ *_*_
In 1918, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the fighting finally stopped; the First World War was at its end. The Allies and Germany signed the Armistice in a French railway carriage within the forest of Compiègne in Picardy. However, for many British men and women still on active duty, their war was far from over.
The first of the various peace treaties which marked the end of the First World War, the Treaty of Versailles, was not signed between the Allies and Germany until the end of Paris Peace Conference in June 1919. Further treaties followed with the Allies’ other former enemies: the Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye was signed on 10 September 1919 (Austria), the Treaty of Neuilly-Sur-Seine on 27 November 1919 (Bulgaria), the Treaty of Trianon on 4 June 1920 (Hungary), and the Treaty of Sèvres on 10 August 1920 (Turkey). Until these peace treaties between the Allies and their former enemies were agreed and signed, British troops remained overseas and were not demobbed nor discharged. During the course of 1919, soldiers were demobilised and sent back to Britain. After the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in June 1919, large street parties and community celebrations were held throughout the towns and villages of Britain to celebrate. The British Prime Minster persuaded the architect Edwin Lutyen to build a temporary Cenotaph (or ‘empty tomb’) in Whitehall for the nation’s July Peace Celebrations. Originally constructed of plaster and wood, the Cenotaph was unveiled on 19 July 1919 and was meant to remain only a few months. However, it proved so popular with the politicians and mourning British public that the Cenotaph was made permanent and rebuilt using Portland Stone. The permanent Cenotaph was unveiled at 11 a.m. on the 11 November 1920; two years after the Armistice was signed in a French railway carriage within the forest of Compiègne in Picardy. On the same day, the unknown warrior was brought back from the Western Front and transported with great solemnity by gun carriage through the hushed crowd-lined streets of London, past the King and his Generals at the Cenotaph, to be laid to rest within the hallowed walls of the ancient Westminster Abbey.
“ The Great Silence London. Cenotaph unveiling and unknown warrior’s internment: The two minutes’ silence most impressively observed throughout the Metropolis on Thursday morning. On the first stroke of eleven o’clock all traffic and business ceased, and pedestrians stood bareheaded, and paid their silent tribute to the dead. The unveiling the Cenotaph and the interment of the unknown British warrior in Westminster Abbey were attended with impressiveness never before witnessed. Thousands lined the route of the procession. A Field Marshal’s salute of nineteen guns was the signal that the cortege, surrounded by all the panoply of war, had started from Victoria Station, headed firing party and the massed bands of the Guards. The King and the Prince of Wales, with the officers State, awaited the arrival of the body at the Cenotaph, which His Majesty unveiled, and the procession afterwards completed the journey to the Abbey. At the Abbey the body of the Unknown was laid rest in the presence of the King, the Queen, members the Royal Family, the Prime Minister and members the Government, delegations from the Houses of Parliament, representatives the Forces, and relatives of those who fell in the war. All telephonic and telegraphic communication in the country was suspended during the great silence. Services were held in many towns. At all the naval ports and military stations, in conformity with the King’s message. Colours were lowered half-mast, all work ceased, and two minutes’ silence was observed the Government servants and troops. The Union Jack was flown from half-mast at a good many business premises. “
From Western Gazette, Friday 12 November 1920
The unveiling of the permanent Cenotaph and the funeral procession of the Unknown Warrior, 11 November 1920.
The Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, Westminster Abbey, November 1920.
If you wish to learn more about the Cenotaph and the burial of the Unknown Warrior, please join in the comments on my Facebook page, where we are currently discussing Remembrance Sunday and the history behind it. Kate Cole’s Facebook Page
My book “Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919” is available from Amazon and various bookshops across the country. Click on the link below to be taken to Amazon
At present my blog is becoming sadly neglected whilst I concentrate on my other local history activities – such as researching and writing my history books and giving talks on Essex’s past to clubs and societies. I now mainly write about Essex’s history on my own Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/KateJCole), so in the future, I will be using this blog only for longer articles.
I also now run a Facebook group in connection with the history of Maldon and Heybridge. If you are interested in this beautiful part of Essex, please do join our Facebook group Maldon & Heybridge Memories / History. This post, about the River Blackwater in Maldon, is one such post that is too long to put in its entirety on the Maldon/Heybridge Facebook group – so here it is on my blog. This essay – about the River Blackwater – was written by C R Barrett in 1891 and published in his book Essex: Highways, Byways and Waterways.
It was after careful consideration that I selected the estuary of the Blackwater as the subject of a chapter, and my reasons for so doing were as follows :—The mouth of the Stour from Manningtree to Harwich, skirted as it is on the Essex side by the railway, is tolerably familiar to many. Brightlingsea, which is situated at the mouth of the river Colne, is well known as a yachting station, the neighbouring Priory of St. Osyth being one of the shows of the county. Investigation led to the conclusion that the river Crouch, with its network of tributaries and creeks, though out of the way, was uninteresting ; while some account of the comparatively little known estuary of the Blackwater would form a fitting sequel to the previous chapter.
Hence it was that on the morning of the 23rd of November, 1891, at 4.30 A.M., the friendly landlord, according to promise, punctually aroused me. The long wide street of the old town was dark and entirely deserted as I made my way down to the landing-place known as the Hythe, stopping only en-route at a small inn rejoicing in the uncommon name of the “Welcome Home” to pick up the landlord, owner and skipper of the little thirteen-ton boat in which my voyage was to be made. Arrived at the landing place or “hard” we were soon on board, where guns and provisions for the day had previously been stowed away ; and a few minutes after five o’clock we hoisted sail, and with tide and sufficient wind in our favour started on our trip. Ahead everything was shrouded in mist, one twinkling light in the distance alone being visible to indicate the position of the port of Maldon—a cluster of houses and a small dock, situated some way further down on our port bow. Astern some of the town-folk were beginning to wake up, dim lights from upper casements breaking the monotony of the grey dawn ; and the tower of St. Mary’s Church, once a beacon, was pointing upwards with its outline almost lost in the mist. For the rest, Maldon was invisible in the gloom : the silence that reigned everywhere was broken only by the faint ripple of the waters under the bows of the boat.
This church of St. Mary, which stands low down in the town near the river, is the oldest of the three churches in Maldon. From an architectural point of view there is nothing in it of any great importance, with the exception, perhaps, of the west door. In the beginning of the seventeenth century the tower fell, and as this tower was then a beacon, much inconvenience was caused to those who navigated the river. On the 16th of January, 1609, Thomas Bilson, Bishop of Winchester, writes from Bishops Waltham to Sir Thomas Lake, to further the petition of John Good, and other inhabitants of Maldon, for the rebuilding of their church. Curiously enough we find the house of this John Good searched for arms on the 3rd of December, 1625, by Sir John Lytcott and Francis Drake, who report thereon to the Council. Three years later a brief was issued by Charles I., authorizing the collection of subscriptions in various specified places in furtherance of the rebuilding. One copy of this brief still extant is endorsed as follows : “Collected in the church of Cowley towards this brief May 3, two shillings. Daniel Collins parson of Cowley.“
Now, though I had started with the intention of seeing what there was to be seen on the river and sketching whatever struck my fancy, I had also hope of a little sport. Hence my conversation with the skipper—a clever and experienced wildfowler, by the way—soon drifted to the congenial topics of wild fowl and their habits, fowling in general, and specially as to our prospects of sport that day. Those who have any experience in wild-fowling need not be told that, except in hard weather, sport is always a great lottery ; but one likes to chat about one’s prospects. Shooting “yarns,” too, are for the most part amusing, even when you mentally feel compelled to halve the range, and divide the total of the bag by three. We soon passed Northey Island, after which the real estuary begins, for there the river widens out to a mile or more in breadth. There were now signs of the dawn of day, and the flat, desolate patch known as Osea Island was visible ahead. An old “frank” heron got up lazily from the bank as we glided slowly by, and methodically winged his way along to his next wonted resting-place.
The breeze now dropped almost entirely, and one seemed to feel the rawness of the early morning far more than at the start. Progress was, of course, very slow indeed, and the general desolation of the scene was increased by a feeling of utter stagnation. However, there were faint sounds in the distance, just as we breasted Osea Island, which were welcome to our ears, and at once preparations were made for a possible expedition. The punt-gun was hoisted out from the little cabin and loaded, and the punt was made ready on deck. Guns, or as they seem to locally term them “hand-guns,” in contradistinction to the big punt-gun, were taken from their cases and cartridges sorted out. Just at that instant, by one of those chances which so add to the charm of wild-fowling, the entirely unexpected occurred. A small flock of five curlew flew by comfortably within range. Handley (the skipper) and I both fired, he once and I twice, missing with my second barrel. The birds fell in shallow water, and it required the services of our little boat astern to get them. Meanwhile a cloud of peewits, curlew, and gulls rose in the distance from the banks of a little creek, and vanished with cries both plaintive and discordant into the mist which hung about the shore. Presently on our port side we sighted in the dim distance a cluster of cottages standing beside a two-sailed windmill. This place is known as Mill-beach, and it furnished me with a sketch on the return journey.
On this side of the estuary, not far inland, stands the village of Goldhanger, and lower down that of Tollesbury. In the former of these there is still a wild-fowl decoy ; how few are now left in Essex ! Tollesbury is celebrated for its oyster-beds, of which more later on. Further inland are the three villages of Tolleshunt, severally designated D’Arcy, Knights, and Major, all of which I should gladly have revisited had it been possible on this occasion, as the churches and the ruins of Beckingham Hall are not a little interesting. Probably the earliest representation of a tulip on glass is, or was, to be found in the church of Tolleshunt D’Arcy.
By this time our thoughts turned towards breakfast, and off Stansgate Priory we “hove to” for that purpose, nothing loth. Our meal was a rough-and-ready one, but none the less acceptable. Breakfast over, I purposed to land at Stansgate to take a look at the remains of the Priory, which could be plainly seen from the water, amid surrounding corn-stacks fringed with trees, about two hundred yards behind the gun-boat hulk, which is now used as a coast-guard station. As a matter of fact, I did not land until my return, for birds were sighted in the far distance, and after scanning them through his glasses the skipper pronounced them to be “good birds.” However, I may as well here say what there is to be said about Stansgate. This was a Clugniac Priory, dedicated to St. Mary Magdalen, and was a cell to the Priory of Lewes. The house was founded about the year 1 1 76, and at the time of the suppression of the lesser monasteries possessed the manor of Stansgate, together with a water-wheel and mill. Its revenues were granted to Wolsey, and applied by him towards the endowment of his two colleges. The remains of the old Priory are by no means extensive; a- building once seemingly the church, or a part of the church, is used as a barn. Possibly the present farm-house hard by was built with materials from the Priory, but externally there are no evidences of antiquity.
Meanwhile, the birds turned out to be a small bunch of teal, so it was decided to launch the punt, and three teal were the results of the shot, a fourth unfortunately managing to get off, though hard hit. The manoeuvres necessary to circumvent the birds took a little time, for a punt, though neither a slow craft nor unhandy, requires a good deal of management.
Rather lower down on the same side of the estuary we passed what is called Ramsey Island, though, as a matter of fact, at low water a road or causeway joins it to the mainland. Here, on the wide stretch of water, we had the luck to get a few black ducks after some little trouble; so that, considering all things, sport being only an adjunct, we were disposed to be satisfied with the morning’s performance. About noon we found ourselves abreast of a small, narrow, island marsh, known as Peewit Island, which immediately fronts the entrance to the creek leading to the village of Bradwell-juxta-Mare. Bradwell lies some little distance inland, and is, except for its associations, a place of little interest. Mentioned in the “Domesday Survey” as Effecestre, it has also been identified as the site of Orthona. Bede and Ralph Niger speak of Ithancester, and their reference is probably to Bradwell. To have landed at Bradwell would have involved a long walk, following on a long row, for by this time the tide was down ; besides, the Capella de la Val, or Chapel of St. Peter’s on the Wall, could be more easily viewed from the sea.
So we sailed round till the little chapel was visible, standing on the top of the sea wall. The parish of Bradwell is a very large one, and this spot would seem to be about the north-east corner of it. Originally St. Peter’s was a chapel-of-ease to the parish church, the rector being compelled to furnish a priest to say mass there on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. In the year 1442 the date of its foundation was already forgotten, nor had the name of the founder been preserved—this is gleaned from the finding of a jury. then impanelled to inquire into its condition. At that time it had a chancel and nave, with a small tower containing two bells. It was ascertained that at some previous date the chapel had been burnt, the chancel and nave being subsequently repaired by the rector and the parish respectively.
On November 4, 1604, the Manor of Bradwell was granted to Sir Walter Mildmay and his heirs, in fee farm—a fact which is only interesting to us from events which we shall have to mention in another chapter. In 1637 the then rector, Giles Bury or Berrey, D.D., managed to get into trouble in connection with a tithe dispute. It appears that two of his parishioners, William Gaywood and William Byatt, professed that as they had paid tithe in “winter cheese” they were exempt from payment in “tithe hay, milk, and herbage of dry cattle.” A lawsuit followed, and here it may be observed that the previous rector. Dr. Tabor, had already fought and lost the case. Dr. Berrey forwarded a petition to the Council, in which it was afterwards alleged that he had ” aspersed a court of justice,” etc., etc., with result that the Warden of the Fleet received warrant to attach his person. Eventually the unfortunate rector was compelled to eat humble pie, and on payment of all costs obtained his release. It is, however, to another cleric that Bradwell owes what little celebrity it has, and the chief incidents in the career of this remarkable man form a not uninteresting history. Henry Bate, afterwards the Rev. Sir H. Bate-Dudley, Baronet, was born in the little desolate fen parish of North Farnbridge (1745), where his father was then rector. Bate seems to have entered at Queen’s College, Oxford, but it appears open to question whether he ever took his degree. He subsequently took holy orders, and in due course succeeded his father at North Farnbridge. But the retirement at a country rectory suited him but little, and the greater portion of his time seems to have been passed in London. In the year 1773 the “Fighting Parson,” as he was already nicknamed, became notorious owing to his participation in a disturbance at Vauxhall. Next he is heard of as curate to James Townley, the vicar of Hendon, a congenial spirit and the author of ” High Life below Stairs.” Bate became one of the earliest editors of “The Morning Post”, then, as now, a Tory Journal, and in this capacity was celebrated for his contributions to its columns. Quarrelling with the proprietors of the Post, however, in 1780, Bate started in the month of November the Liberal “Morning Herald”, and in the same year two other newspapers, one printed in French, styled “Courrier de l’Europe”, the other “The English Chronicle”. The next year Bate became acquainted with the interior of the King’s Bench Prison, being committed for twelve months in consequence of a libel on the Duke of Richmond which had appeared in his paper. It was now that he bought the advowson of Bradwell for the sum of £1,500. In the year 1784 he assumed the name of Dudley. The absentee rector of Bradwell dying in 1797, Bate-Dudley presented himself to the living ; as a fact, he had acted as curate there for five years previously, during which time he had spent some ;£28,000 on rebuilding the church, erecting a house, and reclaiming land. Unfortunately for him, however, the Bishop of London was able to raise objections on the score of ” simony,” during the settlement of which the presentation of the living lapsed to the Crown. Bate-Dudley was thus robbed of the cash expended and the fruits thereof, for the Crown presented the Chaplain-General of the Army to the living. A similar course had been taken in 1640, when the Crown presented Nicholas More to the rectory. It was certainly a very hard case, and public feeling was much in favour of Bate- Dudley. Some amends seem to have been made him by the gift of church preferment in Ireland, and in the year 1813 he was created a baronet. Sir Henry died childless in 1824. His portrait and that of Lady Dudley, by Gainsborough, until a few years ago, used to hang in the drawing-room of Bradwell Lodge, now the rectory. It is not often that a man can be found at once parson, duellist, journalist, dramatist, and wit, church builder and land reclaimer, courtier, political turncoat, and finally a baronet ! At the time of the mutiny at the Nore an observatory built on the rectory roof was, it is said, of much service to the Government. After passing the Capella de la Val, we turned the boat’s nose seawards, in the hope that perhaps if fortune was gracious it might be possible to fall in with Brent geese. Hereabouts is a favourite haunt of these birds, and on this particular day a flock was visible, though in the far distance, and quite out of reach. Owing to shallows and the state of wind and tide we deemed it advisable to make our way towards Mersea Island. This Island is divided into two parishes. East and West. It is separated from the main land by the oyster-bearing Pyefleet Channel. East Mersea Church, of which the tower stands up boldly, is not of much interest. As to history connected with the island, a few curious particulars may be gleaned from various sources, as well as from the State Papers.
From the presence of Roman antiquities, its occupation in those early times is indubitable. Standing as it does at the mouth of two navigable rivers, in the days of Danish invasions Mersea became an important place, and here Alfred is stated to have besieged his natural enemies in 894.
Whether the island was or was not continuously fortified subsequent to that date there are no records to show, but we next read of the place in November, 1558, when the pay of the captain, officers, and men serving in the Blockhouse, East Mersea, Essex, was sadly in arrears. Sixty-seven years later we must suppose that the fortifications, whatever they might have been, were out of repair, for in a document sent by Robert, Earl of Warwick, to the Council, he reports that the county of Essex having paid between four and five thousand pounds towards the maintenance of troops refuses further payment ” of such an excessive and unprecedented charge,” and he advises the “fortification of Mersey.” In the year 1648 the small fort was seized by the Parliamentarians, who placed it under the command of Captain William Burrell, often written Burriall, or Barrell. Burrell was an experienced soldier, and is first heard of twenty-five years before, when he was accused of peculation. The documents referring to Burrell are many and various. Like other military commanders in those times, he found a great difficulty in obtaining money for pay, fortification, and stores. In 1650 he is gladdened by the arrival of two iron guns and one brass one from Colchester.
The next year he receives orders to remove Israel Edwards, Minister, out of the island, and to supply that place with ” another able preacher.” We shall meet with Edwards again. In 1653 the cost of turf for the fort amounted to £17 10s.; but it is recorded by the Governor Burrell, that in addition the inhabitants have, “out of good affection,” supplied much gratis. Under date April 28, 1654, comes a petition from Arthur Ockley, preacher at West Mersea, to the Protector and Council He asks to be confirmed in his place until further orders, as the old incumbent, Mr. Woolace, whose living was sequestrated on account of scandalous conduct, is still alive ; adding, that the parish was six or seven years without a minister, that it is very unhealthy, and only worth £40. Ockley states that he was invited there by Captain Burrell, the governor, two years previously, and that the parishioners desire his confirmation. It would seem that the petition was granted. On the 20th of October, 1655, Captain Burrell, who had been ordered to disband the troops at Mersea and to pay them, informs the Council that he has no money with which to do so, and that the men daily importune him for their arrears. He continues that he has been ordered to demolish Mersey fort and to pay the work men out of the materials ; but that James Shirley, of Clapham, owner of the ground, forbids his taking it down on pain of a common lawsuit. He concludes by asking for orders. How the matter ended we know not, nor what became of the prisoners then there, whose names are given, Henry Lernon of Stanaway Hall, W. Barradill, and Captain Barker, both of Colchester. Documents, however, prove that the island was occasionally garrisoned several years after 1655, viz., by a “company of well-affected volunteers” in 1659, and by a company of foot in 1667. As we have before mentioned, both Mersea Island and Tollesbury are celebrated’ for their oyster-beds—a distinction likewise shared by the estuary of the Colne.
Our skipper held strong opinions on the subject of oysters ; and, in addition, could express them with intelligence, and at times with no little force. Science, we are accustomed to think, has added much to our knowledge on most points, but, as far as we can gather by investigation, the report of Sir Henry Marten to the Council, dated July 6, 1638, gives as true a reason for the cause of the scarcity of oysters as could be furnished in the present day. He condemns ” over-dredging,” and the taking of ” broods and spats of oysters, and the shells on which they grow, from off” the common oyster-grounds, and carrying them into private lannes where they die.” He adds that the Mayor of Colchester and the bailiffs of Maldon claim the waters of the Colne and the Ponte (Panta Stream), ” where are the best brooding-places.” That they fish in close season, ” selling licences therefor.” That dredging is a great evil, and that the engrossing of all the produce of the beds into the hands of a few fishmongers is fatal to prosperity. He also states that large quantities are exported, professedly under licence, to supply the Queen of Bohemia and the Prince of Orange. His suggestions are to limit the output to 1,000 half-barrels per week, and that, in addition, no fishmonger should be allowed to buy oysters till they had been brought to the common quay. It is gratifying to read that on receipt of this report the corporations of Colchester and Maldon were severely snubbed. At this period (1637) the duty on a bushel of oysters exported in their shells was 1 2d., while that on those ” pickled ” was 2d. a quart.
Sir Henry Marten’s report induced the authorities to draw up the following regulations :—No oyster was to be taken henceforth off the common grounds in Essex and Kent (Faversham and Whit stable) ” until they have twice shot, and shall have come to wear and half-wear.” Permission to ” barrel oysters ” was withheld from all places in Essex save Colchester, Brightlingsea, and the places where the “best green oysters are bred.” But the loophole for destructive greed was unfortunately left by the clause allowing export to the Queen of Bohemia and the Prince of Orange. The use of trawls had been previously, but ineffectually, forbidden, and the order to this effect appears to have been only partially obeyed, if we may judge from a petition of 500 fishermen of Barking. In this document the Lords of the Admiralty are informed that the petitioners have obeyed the proclamation prohibiting the use of the trawl, but that the fishermen of East and West Mearsh (Mersea), and Burnham In Essex, together with those of Whitstable and Faversham in Kent, still pursue the old practice. The petitioners beg that either all should obey the proclamation, or that none should be forbidden to employ the “said engine.” In the present day no doubt the native oysters are both scarce and dear, the income derived from the beds far less than it ought to be, or under proper management in the past would have been. Precautions are now taken, and we believe strictly taken, to preserve the beds, but it is an open question whether an almost entire prohibition of oyster-dredging for the space of, say, five years would not in the end be profitable.
The other fisheries in a similar manner are over-worked : fish about one-third the proper size—useless as articles of food — are permitted to be taken, or at any rate are taken. This should certainly be put a stop to, for this absolute eating up of capital caused by wilfully and needlessly squandering our food supply might be easily prevented.
By this time the afternoon had well advanced, and the wind, which had been light since the morning, almost entirely died away, thus rendering our progress very slow. Oft Ramsey Island the dredgers were drifting about. In the distance we could see a couple of wildfowlers in their punts, making their way down to some favourite spot for the chance of a shot. Theirs is a hard life indeed, and is rendered all the harder by the reckless way in which people “on pleasure bent” fire at and into all sorts of birds, whether eatable or useless, within range or half a mile distant. The shameful selfishness of such persons, not to speak of the disgraceful cruelty of their proceedings, cannot be sufficiently reprehended. By the promiscuous fusillade to which waterfowl are subjected few, it is true, are killed outright ; many, however, are crippled, and escape only to die, while more still are driven to seek safer asylums afar. Thus- the wildfowler is deprived of his means of subsistence ; the flocks of geese, ducks, teal, &c., each year on the coasts and tidal waters are less and less in numbers.
We proceeded on our return journey slowly and uneventfully, having ample time to sketch the desolate “Mill Beach” as we sluggishly drifted along, tarrying to land for a few minutes only at Stansgate Priory. Once indeed we took to the small boat and made an excursion up a creek after a large flock of plover, but without succeeding in getting within killing range. Presently we came within view of the port of Maldon, where the little cluster of masts showed signs of mourning, each flag being partly lowered on account, as we afterwards heard, of a death in the little hamlet. And now, when our journey ought to have been speedily finished, alas ! the wind entirely failed, and we were compelled to ” pole up ” the remainder of the way—an operation which was already in progress on board a heavily-laden barge ahead of us. This barge made its way ultimately by the channel along the river, and came to its moorings near the railway station. I took a sketch of it as it was rounding a spit, and on the morrow, finding it moored near to a rather picturesque old lime-kiln, I took the view which forms the etching belonging to this chapter. On the Hythe, from which I started in the morning, I sketched the distant view of the port lying surrounded by creeks, marshes, saltings, and mud. Hereabouts, though the houses are not of the most modern type, yet, as is the case in the whole of Maldon, they lack picturesqueness ; in fact, there is simply nothing to sketch save a peep of the tower of the St. Mary’s Church. Thus, in the gathering twilight, ended my very pleasant day on the Blackwater.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This blog
If you want to read more from my blog, please do subscribe either by using the Subscribe via Email button top right of my blog, or the button at the very bottom. If you’ve enjoyed reading this post, then please do Like it with the Facebook button and/or leave a comment below. Or like my page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/KateJCole/
My talks
To book one of my local history talks, please click the link: Local History Talks
I give talks all over Essex and Suffolk on various aspects of local history (full list as below). A fully illustrated PowerPoint presentation accompanies all my talks and I will bring all the equipment required (including a portable screen). I am on the approved Panel of Speakers for the Federation of Essex Women’s Institutes. I am available to give talks during both the day and evening – all talks last for between 45 minutes and an hour. If you want to arrange me to speak at your group, please contact me via email on kate[at]essexvoicespast.com.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 1: The Witches of Elizabethan Essex
During the sixteenth century, the cry “she’s a witch!” was heard throughout many towns and villages across England; particularly within Essex. Our county indicted and prosecuted more than double the combined totals for those legally accused of witchcraft within Hertfordshire, Kent, Surrey, and Sussex. My talk puts the witchcraft trials of Essex into their legal and historical context and explores local Essex cases to explain why there were so many witchcraft court-cases within Essex.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 2: Great Dunmow and Henry VIII’s English Reformation
The first half of the sixteenth century was a turbulent time to live within any English town or village. The king, Henry VIII, increasingly attacked English parish life in his quest to rid England of the influence of the pope. This talk is about the impact of the English Reformation on the rural town of Great Dunmow and how the town moved from its pre-Reformation Catholic communal life and finally embraced Henry VIII’s Reformation by publicly re-enacting a notorious and bloody murder of a prominent Scottish Catholic. (NB This talk is more suitable for local history groups & societies, rather than general interest.)
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 3: From rural Essex & Suffolk to the Battles of the Somme: the story of a nurse of the Great War
In the months before the First World War, a young woman from Suffolk joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment nursing service and nursed in small military hospitals within Essex and Suffolk. Just weeks before the opening days of the Battles of the Somme, she was sent as a volunteer-nurse to one of the largest military hospitals on the Western Front where she nursed casualties from the battlefields. This talk is the story of Clara Woolnough’s life as a nurse of the Great War in Essex, Suffolk, and France.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 4: Al Capone’s gangster car and the Kursaal in 1930s Southend
Hotly pursued by the FBI through 1930s gangster Chicago, my great-uncle exported Al Capone’s bullet proof car from America to England. My talk is the story of my American great-uncle, who, to use his own words, was a ‘showman from yester-year’. And how Al Capone’s car (along with an enormous embalmed whale called Eric) ended up at the Kursaal amusement park in 1930s Southend. My talk also includes the life of my great-grandmother who literally ran away to the circus to perform as Thauma – theHalf Living Lady for American 19th century shows such as Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 5: Postcards from the front: 1914-1919. The story of how postcards sent home to loved ones became the Facebook and Twitter of the Great War.
Between 1914 and 1918, a special mail-train left Victoria train station in London every single day bound for the Western Front, carrying with it letters and postcards sent from British people to their loved ones serving overseas. With millions of items of correspondence passing over the channel, postcards became the social media phenomenon of the day. My talk charts the First World War and its immediate aftermath through postcards.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 6: Christmas in Medieval Essex
Boy Bishops, the Feast of St Nicholas, the Lord of Misrule, the Christmas Candle, Plough Monday, and the Twelve Days of Christmas. These were once all part and parcel of Christmas celebrations in many parishes within Medieval and early Tudor Essex. This talk looks at some of the Christmas revells our Essex ancestors enjoyed. You may be surprised to discover which ancient customs have evolved into modern day much-loved traditions!
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Talk 7: My ancestor was a witch: The Witches of Elizabethan & Stuart Essex
Please note that this talk is only suitable for local or family history groups. The talk is similar to my witches talk (detailed further up this page). However, this talk is longer at 1½ hours and concentrates on the historical and primary source evidence used when researching Essex Tudor witches. Therefore this talk is only suitable for societies or clubs whose members are very familiar with historical sources and research methods.In 1562 a devastating Act of Parliament against Conjurations Enchantments and Witchcrafts was passed in England. For the first time, the “common sort” could be put on trial for their life, accused of the diabolical act of witchcraft. With most legal proceedings taking place in Essex, the county became infamous for its witches. This lecture traces the progress of the Elizabethan and Stuart witchcraft prosecutions in Essex, detailing cases from across the county. Also considered are the sources available to family historians researching witches, including legal court records, contemporary sensational pamphlets, and sources once kept in the parish chest.
*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*-*_*
Happy talk clients
As featured in…
I look forward to receiving your booking!Kate J Cole, MSt Local History (Cantab)
Do you believe in coincidences and synchronicity? Or do you believe that strange forces are sometimes at work and might bring together events, people and stories in an unbelievable way that can’t only be mere chance? Are some things are just meant to be?…
I’ve written several local history books based around the towns and villages of the East of England. During my research into these books, I’ve often had strange coincidences which have led me to piecing together the jigsaw puzzles of my research. However, none have been more strange then my discovery and research into two incredible women, Clara Emily Mary Woolnough and Gertrude Unwin. These two young women from Suffolk volunteered as nurses with the British Red Cross and were sent to a large British military hospital to nurse the wounded of the Battles of the Somme during the First World War in 1916. (Note the plural “Battles” – there were many many battles and attacks which comprise the British Army’s participation in the fighting in the Somme region exactly one hundred years ago in 1916. Some still say “Battle of the Somme” whereas other call it “Battles of the Somme”).
Clara and Gertrude’s story is two of many such stories I have written about in my new book Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919. My book recounts the stories of men and women from Britain who served in the First World War through their eye-witness accounts detailed in their messages sent home.
Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919
The nurses’ story is so incredible that I was able to devote an entire chapter to them. I was able to use hospital War Diaries, the British Matron-in-Chief’s War Diary, and other contemporary resources, along with Clara’s own postcards she sent back to Britain, to tell the story of these two unsung heroines.
Postcards sent home by Clara during the Battles of the Somme. Her message “All leave stopped. Don’t expect me this year” was sent on a postcard to her mother during the Battles of the Somme
The Nurses’ Story: Part of the story of Clara and Gertrude, told through the eyes of Clara in her postcards home during the Battles of the Somme
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
What became so extraordinary was the strange sequence of events which led me to be able to tell their story. There was not room to detail the discovery of Clara’s postcards in my book, so please indulge me whilst I tell you on my blog about how I came into the possession of Clara’s postcards. And how Clara herself finally stepped out of the shadows.
At the tail-end of 2013, I was commissioned by Amberley Publishing to write a book called “Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919”. I always had the title, and I always had the rough content: the messages written on postcards sent from the battlefields of the First World War. My book idea (and title) was very loosely based on a blog-post I had written in 2012 about the postcards that a soldier from Leyton (East London) had sent home to his mother and father – Postcards from the Front: from your loving son. I thought, and fortunately Amberley Publishing agreed, that I could turn this type of story into a full-scale book which would interest readers.
There I had it. A complete book title. A rough idea based on one blog-post. But nothing else. Certainly not enough to fill a book.
After panicking for a few months, I decided I needed more material for my book. I already had a large postcard collection from the First World War in my own personal collection; but a quick glance through it told me that I really did not have enough to turn it into a coherent book. I started to sift through eBay to see if there was anything of interest on there. There was. But still not enough material to fill a book!
I started to pour over catalogues from various auction-houses who specialise in postcards, stamps, postal history and paper ephemera. I have often bought items from Lockdales in Ipswich and I turned to their catalogue. Just before the tail-end of 2013, I placed a bid on one of their lots which was described as “Small white shoebox housing a small bundle of WW1 Censor Marks on postcards” . That was it! No other description and certainly no pictures. A total shot in the dark on my part. I couldn’t even make it in person to the auction. It was a postal bid. Sold unseen!
Lockdales’ auction catalog entry
To my utter surprise, I won my lot for the princely sum of £20. The auction-house had estimated that it was worth between £20-£25 – I had bid the absolute minimum price. There was no other bidders so my tiny bid of just £20 meant that this unseen shoe-box was now mine…
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Once I received my box of postcards (which by now was about £27 by the time commission plus postage had been added on), I was totally underwhelmed. It was exactly as described. A box of postcards and envelopes which appeared to have been collected together because they had all been posted in France and so all had census marks/postmarks from, mainly, the First World War. It was a box of discarded and unwanted stock from an unknown postcard dealer.
It didn’t look at all interesting. I put the box away and forgot about it. And got on with my life.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Some months later, I knew I had to knuckle down and concentrate on my book and start working on it. By this time, I’d bought quite a few postcards from eBay – but I still didn’t know where my book was going. The endless blank pages and my deadline loomed ever large…
I got out my shoe-box of postcards and started to sort them. Over the span of an entire weekend, I sorted them all on my living-room floor into piles of postcards, with each pile consisting of all the postcards sent to one address. I had about 10 to 15 piles of postcards – some were single-postcard piles; others were 10-20 postcard high. It would appear that within that job-lot were several collections from several different people; all from the Western Front.
Two piles puzzled me considerably. The handwriting appeared to be different and the signature/name was different on each pile of postcards. But on the front of the majority of the postcards were pretty pictures of the same French village, and many postcards in both piles had messages referring to someone called “Unwin”. I then had the first (of many) eureka moments, and I realised that the sender was the same person on each pile of postcards, but with a different signature/name. This person was writing to a woman in Levington (Suffolk) and another woman in Plumstead (London). The language in all the postcards was strange; slightly personal and, as such, implied a close personal relationship to both women. For a few wild moments, I thought I was reading the postcards of a soldier with two sweethearts! But then it dawned on me that I was reading the postcards from a female writer; the personal language I’d detected in the messages was that of a woman.
I also realised that there were many postcards missing from the collection. My unknown writer had obviously been a prolific sender of postcards. But there were large gaps of weeks and months in the collection. I can only assume that when the collection was in the unknown postcard dealer’s hands, s/he had sold some of the postcards which had more interesting pictures.
A couple of the postcards had the text “No 6” and “25th General”. Another postcard had the abbreviation “N.S.” in the text of its message. The penny dropped. I was looking at the postcards from a female nurse.
This is the postcard that made me realise that I was reading the postcards from a female nurse in France
I now knew that I had a collection of 21 postcards sent by a female nurse working in France. A quick google on the “25th General” quickly led me to a British military hospital which was based in Hardelot, Pas des Calais. This was the same town whose pretty street and seaside photographs were on the majority of the postcards. I had found “my” nurse’s hospital. From the dates on the postcards, I also knew that this nurse was probably nursing casualties from the Battles of the Somme.
Afternoon tea at Hardelot. On the back of this postcard, “my” nurse had written on 22 June 1916 that she had afternoon tea here. This was just mere days before the opening infantry attack of the Battles of the Somme
But where to go from here? An unnamed nurse. Qualified nurse? Unqualified nurse? British?
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
I started to go through census returns and other records on Findmypast for the two recipients of the postcards – an Evie Cripps of Plumstead and a Peg Woolnough of Levington. I quickly found both women and as able to establish that Evie had a connection to Levington as it would appear that her mother had been born in this tiny Suffolk village. Better still, Evie herself had very kindly and thoughtfully (for my research purposes) been staying with her Grandmother in Levington’s almshouses for the 1911 census. Also in the almshouses was Peg Woolnough’s grandmother. So there was my connection between the two recipients. But who was the sender?
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Exactly a year ago, I posted a question on the Great War Forum originally requesting information about Number 25 General Hospital. As the thread progressed, I quickly started to exchange messages with First World War nursing expert, Sue Light of Scarlet Finders. To my absolute shock, within minutes she and I had managed to identify the sender of “my” postcards. The sender was Clara Emily Mary Woolnough. A mixture of her unusual combination of Christian names, along with her equally rare surname meant that there was absolutely no doubt what so ever that I had in my hands the postcards from British Red Cross Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD) nurse Clara Emily Mary Woolnough from Levington Suffolk!
It was a total eureka moment. I now had a name. I also had the name of her hospital and also the hunch that she was nursing the injured from the Battles of the Somme. I had gone from a “small white shoebox” with a dozen of so of her anonymous postcards to finally knowing her name.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
My next stop was Kew and The National Archives to consult the War Diaries of Number 25 General Hospital. Last year, these diaries were not online and could only be consulted at Kew; they were only placed online earlier this year. So I had an enjoyable day out at Kew, spent researching hard, but also meeting up with my fellow historians from my Open University days and eating cake with them. Who said research has to be boring and relentless!
I had been warned by Sue Light that I was unlikely to find “my” VAD explicitly named in the War Diaries and that I might find very little detail. However, what I did find thrilled me. Clara was not named anywhere, but the Colonel in charge of the hospital had written extensive entries about the running of his hospital. The entries were incredibly detailed and, as I read them, it became increasingly obvious that the hospital was taking vast numbers of casualties from the Battles of the Somme.
I knew I finally had the start of my book. And Clara and Gertrude’s story could be a chapter in it. I started writing my chapter. Unfortunately at this time, both women’s service records were not online on the website of the British Red Cross. I had to piece together their story from a mixture of Clara’s postcards and the hospital’s War Diaries. I thought I had a reasonable and interesting chapter…
How wrong was I!
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
In June of last year, I was in the area of Levington and was at a loose end. I decided to pay a visit to Clara’s village of Levington. I visited with my husband on a gloriously hot summer’s day and we pottered around her village and, of course, had a lovely lunch in the local pub. The hot summer’s day, set in a beautiful quintessential English village overlooking the River Orwell, was in stark contrast to the horrific war I had been reading about in the war diaries of Number 25 General Hospital. Clara, a country girl, had left this rural beauty of Suffolk, to nurse seriously injured men in a war zone
The River Orwell from the churchyard of Levington’s parish church. The contrast between this beautiful idyllic scene and the horrors of a military hospital in France was staggering.
I took many photographs, and saw the name of Clara’s brother, George, on the village’s War Memorial.
Levington village’s War Memorial
Levington’s War Memorial – George Edward Marwen Woolnough’s name
I also went into the Church to take some more photographs where I found, to my great surprise, a beautiful stained glass window commemorating Clara’s family.
Stained glass window commemorating the Woolnough family
Stained glass window in Levington parish church commemorating the Woolnough family. George was killed in action in April 1917 during the Battle of Arras. Alan died in childhood.
On my way out, almost as a last minute thought, I decided to write in the Church’s Visitors’ Book. I wrote a fairly cryptic and short comment about Clara Woolnough being a VAD and left the church…
Unknown to me, Clara’s great-great nephew also visited the church at roughly the same time as me, in his search for his great-grandfather, George…
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Are you still with me? No-one ever said that historical research is easy or quick! Same for this blog post! But the story of Clara and her postcards just has to be recounted in full.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
About six weeks after I visited the church, I received an email from Levington’s Village Recorder, Louise. She had seen my cryptic comment in the church’s visitor’s book and tracked me down using some remarkable detective work on the internet (which just goes to prove that no-one has anonymity and everyone leaves a foot-print on the internet!)
We arranged to meet-up in Levington, although the meeting didn’t take place until a very wet, wild and windy November morning. We met in the local pub (where else!). And during the course of a very interesting morning, I learnt about the Woolnoughs of Levington.
The family had been the village’s postmaster/postmistresses since the 1840s and Peg Levington (who Clara’s postcards were sent to) carried on the family tradition and was the postmistress throughout the first half of the twentieth century. Louise indicated to me that George’s descendants had been in touch with her (I now know that Clara’s great-great nephew had visited the church just weeks after I did and on seeing my comment in the visitor’s book, decided to write his comment underneath!). Louise passed my details on to them.
All I could do was sit and wait for their email…. Although, at this stage, I still thought I had completed my chapter on Clara, and the rest of my book was slowly rolling into place…
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Still with me?
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
In November, Clara’s great-great niece, contacted me. A flurry of extremely excited emails passed backwards and forwards between us. Her family, the Eversons, also had more postcards from/to Clara including a postcard to Clara from “Dick” and a postcard of a soldier in a uniform. The family and Louise had already worked out that the soldier in the picture was wearing the cap badge of the Machine Gun Corp – which George Woolnough had not served in. But, by this time I had researched Evie Cripps family and discovered that her brother Richard (also known as Dick) had been in the Machine Gun Corp at the time he was killed in action in 1916. Everything fitted that this was a photograph of Richard.
It was incredible to all of us, that this unnamed soldier in the Everson family’s collection had finally been given a name. Between us all, we had brought life back to a young man who had been killed in action a hundred years ago in 1916. He is not forgotten.
Richard Henry Cripps of Plumstead. For nearly a hundred years this photograph was of an unnamed soldier. Now he has a name and is no-longer forgotten. (Photograph courtesy of the Everson family)
The Everson also had in their possession a postcard from Richard “Dick” Cripps to Clara where he had cheekily asked if her fellow nurses looked like the nurse on the postcard.
Postcard sent to Clara Woolnough by Dick Cripps in 1915. He cheekily asked her “Are any of your comrades like this? With black hair?” (Photograph courtesy of the Everson family).
Things were slowly starting to slot into place.
Clara was stepping more and more out of the shadows.
The Everson family also had her war service record from the British Red Cross; which they had requested back in the early 2000s. Up to this stage, I had been unable to gain access to her service record as her surname was at the end of the alphabet and the British Red Cross Society were slowly putting records online in alphabetical order.
Having her service records from the Everson family was another eureka moment because I could now piece together even more of her story and also had some more postcards – including the photograph of Richard Cripps to interweave with my story.
But still no photograph of Clara. The family didn’t have any photographs of her or her brother, George.
I rewrote my chapter and thought that was it.
Wrong!
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Shortly after New Year, I was in the final stages of my book and everything was practically ready to go off to the publisher. I received another email from the Everson family. This email nearly made me fall off my chair in absolute jaw-dropping amazement at the attachments. The Everson family had found a photograph of Clara nursing at her hospital in Ipswich during the Christmas of 1915!!!
The Eversons didn’t realise at first that it was Clara, but her writing on the back – demonstrating that this was a Christmas card sent to her mother back in Levington – absolutely shows beyond reasonable doubt that Clara herself was in the photograph.
Clara Woolnough’s postcard home to her mother. It was sent to her mother on Christmas Eve 1915 and proves that she herself was in the photograph.
Here she is, VAD Clara Emily Mary Woolnough, when she was nursing at a tiny 40 bed hospital in Ipswich just months before she was sent to France and the Battles of the Somme.
Clara, whilst she was nursing at Broadwater Auxiliary Hospital in Ipswich in 1915. She is one of the 3 young nurses standing up towards the left of the postcard. (Photograph courtesy of the Everson family)
I wrote my chapter once again and at last, could tell the full story of one of the many unsung heroines of the Battles of the Somme who had nursed wounded men throughout the battles; Clara Emily Mary Woolnough. Known as “Babs” to her family in Levington, and “Darl” to her best friend in Plumstead; Clara had finally stepped out of the shadows..
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
This time a year ago, I was sat at my desk, staring at “my” postcards saying to them – “Who are you”. This time this year, the story of a brave VAD who looked after men wounded during the Battles of the Somme can finally be told.
Do you believe that strange forces are sometimes at work and might bring together events, people and stories in an unbelievable way that can’t only be mere chance? I do.
Lest we forget
Postscript 1: May 2016
On Saturday 28 May 2016, almost exactly a hundred years since Clara sent her first postcard home to her family in Levington in early June 1916, I will be meeting the Everson family in the village of Levington to give them a copy of my book with the story of their courageous aunt, Clara Emily Mary Woolnough and her nursing friend Gertrude Unwin.
Postscript 2: January 2017. Sadly First World War nursing expert, Sue Light, passed away in July 2016. I will always be grateful to her for helping me to identify my postcards from Clara Woolnough. Thank you, Sue, RIP.
My dad, John Cole, who my book is dedicated to, also died last year – he died on 25 August 2016. He was very ill in the final year of his life and confined to bed in a nursing home. Despite his increasing frailty, he spent a great deal of my visits to him discussing the First World War and the postcards I was using in my books. Without him, my book (and my love for vintage postcards) would never have happened. Rest easy dad.
I am absolutely delighted to say that my new book Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919 has been released today is available from places such as Amazon, Waterstones, WH Smiths etc.
Postcards from the Front – Click the picture to purchase your copy from Amazon
This has been two years of painstaking research and writing so that I could retell the stories of a handful of men and women, in their own words and pictures, through their postcards home to their loved ones.
There are many stories in my book, all derived from the postcard collections sent by men (and women) from all over Britain. My book includes the story of two VADs, Clara Woolnough and Gertrude Unwin, who nursed at Number 25 General Hospital in Hardelot (Pas des Calais), told through the eyes of Clara’s postcards (along with the hospital’s war diaries) during the Battles of the Somme.
Postcards sent home by Clara during the Battles of the Somme
I have also written about two brothers; Reg and Charles Pullen. Reg fought during the Battles of the Somme; and sent home postcards from places such as the Battle of Albert during his rest periods. He was seriously injured during the first day of the Battle of Pilckem Ridge (part of the 3rd Battle of Ypres) and his heroic actions won him a Military Cross. His brother Charles, entered the Royal Flying Corp in 1917 and was shot down by the enemy during the Battle of Amiens in August 1918. Both brothers stories are told through their postcards home, along with accounts from various war diaries.
Entry from 1/5 Battalion, South Lancashire Regiment’s war diaries, sent against a backdrop of the Pullen brothers’ postcards
My book also contains extensive appendices on how to research your own First World War postcards from your family, and how to discover your ancestor’s war through their postcards home. For example, how to identify postmarks, censor marks, censor signatures, and how to use First World War postcards as historical documents to squeeze as much info as possible out of them.
Page from the extensive appendices on how to analyse a postcard from the First World War
Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919
My first review on Amazon has called my book:
“A beautiful book. Evocative and eloquent,
but ultimately still relevant.”
If you are interested in the First World War, then this book will be of interest to you. I hope you enjoy it!
You may also be interested in my three other books:-
Four years ago this week, I started this blog. So it’s my Blogiversary! And time for me to indulge a little by reflecting back on the last few years of this blog.
Way back when, the purpose of my blog was to write about my research into the Essex town of Great Dunmow during the turbulent reigns of Henry VIII and his three children. I had spent the previous two years pouring over documents written five hundred years ago looking at religion and society in this rural parish within Essex in order to achieve my MSt Local History from Cambridge University.
A page from Great Dunmow’s churchwarden accounts. This is the main source used in my dissertation for Cambridge University’s Master of Studies in Local History. The title of my dissertation was the not-so nattily titled “Religion and Society in Great Dunmow, Essex circa 1520 to circa 1560“
I decided on my blog’s name, Essex Voices Past, because I wanted my readers to be able to engage in the past and hear (figuratively speaking!) voices from the towns and villages of Essex. However, since those early days of my blog, I now seem to be writing about towns in other counties within the East of England, such as Hertfordshire and Suffolk. Perhaps I should have called my blog “The East of England Voices Past“!
Since I first started my blog back in 2012, my writings and my research have changed direction. Long before I started to research Tudor history, I had a lifelong passion for genealogy, local history, the First World War and vintage postcards. I am very fortunate that over the last couple of years I have been able to professionally indulge in those passions and combine my obsessions to produce a number of history books for Amberley Publishing. Unfortunately this has meant that my posts on this blog have decreased dramatically. I still spend all my time researching and writing, but now my output is in book format.
To-date, I have three local history books to my name.
Click on the picture to purchase my book
Click on the picture to purchase my book
Click on the picture to purchase my book
This year, I am in the process of writing three further books for Amberley Publishing. One book on the messages written on postcards from the First World War, and two more books on towns and villages in Essex.
– Postcards from the Front: 1914-1919
– Billericay and Around Through Time
– Brentwood and Around Through Time
This website uses cookies so that we can provide you with the best user experience possible. Cookie information is stored in your browser and performs functions such as recognising you when you return to our website and helping our team to understand which sections of the website you find most interesting and useful.
Find out more about how our site works and how we put you in control by navigating the tabs on the this pop-up window.
Strictly Necessary Cookies
Strictly Necessary Cookie should be enabled at all times so that we can save your preferences for cookie settings.
If you disable this cookie, we will not be able to save your preferences. This means that every time you visit this website you will need to enable or disable cookies again.
![Natale d[omi]ni Henrici filij Emundi comitis Richemondie ac d[omi]ne M[ar]rgarete vxoris sui filie Joh[ann]is nup[er] duc[?is] Somersete anno d[omi]ni millio cccc quinquagesimo sexto.</em> Born Henry son of the Earl of Richmond and Margaret his wife daughter of John, Duke of Somerset 1456. (Latin text kindly transcribed by Rob Ellis of <a href="http://www.medievallondon.co.uk/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Medieval London</a>)](https://i0.wp.com/www.essexvoicespast.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/Henry-VIIs-Birth-1457.jpg?resize=677%2C262)
![The xxviijth [28th] daie of January deceassd the noble prynce Henry the eight the yere of owr lorde 1546](https://i1.wp.com/www.essexvoicespast.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/Henry-VIIIs-Death-1547.jpg?resize=711%2C180)
During the sixteenth century, the cry “she’s a witch!” was heard throughout many towns and villages across England; particularly within Essex. Our county indicted and prosecuted more than double the combined totals for those legally accused of witchcraft within Hertfordshire, Kent, Surrey, and Sussex. My talk puts the witchcraft trials of Essex into their legal and historical context and explores local Essex cases to explain why there were so many witchcraft court-cases within Essex.
In the months before the First World War, a young woman from Suffolk joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment nursing service and nursed in small military hospitals within Essex and Suffolk. Just weeks before the opening days of the Battles of the Somme, she was sent as a volunteer-nurse to one of the largest military hospitals on the Western Front where she nursed casualties from the battlefields. This talk is the story of Clara Woolnough’s life as a nurse of the Great War in Essex, Suffolk, and France.
Hotly pursued by the FBI through 1930s gangster Chicago, my great-uncle exported Al Capone’s bullet proof car from America to England. My talk is the story of my American great-uncle, who, to use his own words, was a ‘showman from yester-year’. And how Al Capone’s car (along with an enormous embalmed whale called Eric) ended up at the Kursaal amusement park in 1930s Southend. My talk also includes the life of my great-grandmother who literally ran away to the circus to perform as Thauma – the Half Living Lady for American 19th century shows such as Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West.
Between 1914 and 1918, a special mail-train left Victoria train station in London every single day bound for the Western Front, carrying with it letters and postcards sent from British people to their loved ones serving overseas. With millions of items of correspondence passing over the channel, postcards became the social media phenomenon of the day. My talk charts the First World War and its immediate aftermath through postcards.
Boy Bishops, the Feast of St Nicholas, the Lord of Misrule, the Christmas Candle, Plough Monday, and the Twelve Days of Christmas. These were once all part and parcel of Christmas celebrations in many parishes within Medieval and early Tudor Essex. This talk looks at some of the Christmas revells our Essex ancestors enjoyed. You may be surprised to discover which ancient customs have evolved into modern day much-loved traditions!
In 1562 a devastating Act of Parliament against Conjurations Enchantments and Witchcrafts was passed in England. For the first time, the “common sort” could be put on trial for their life, accused of the diabolical act of witchcraft. With most legal proceedings taking place in Essex, the county became infamous for its witches. This lecture traces the progress of the Elizabethan and Stuart witchcraft prosecutions in Essex, detailing cases from across the county. Also considered are the sources available to family historians researching witches, including legal court records, contemporary sensational pamphlets, and sources once kept in the parish chest.
