When I was researching my book “Sudbury, Long Melford, and Lavenham Through Time” (available from Amazon), this postcard from the early 1900s totally and utterly baffled me.
Bull Inn, Long Melford
I “knew” I was in the right place for the Bull Hotel, but I just couldn’t find the building.
This was bizarre.
I’ve long known Long Melford’s Bull Inn – with its very large and striking Tudor frontage.
I’d first encountered the hotel when I went to a lovely wedding reception there in the late 90s. Additionally, I had stayed in the Bull several times in the years immediately before I wrote my book.
But looking at my postcard showing the hotel from the early 1900s, I had a totally ditzy moment about it. I thought the photographer had incorrectly captioned it. It just didn’t look like the Bull I knew and loved.
So I walked up and down Long Melford’s three mile-long Hall Street looking for this Georgian building…
That was a bad research day – pouring with rain – I was being totally ditzy – walking up and down Hall Street – and I ended up soaked through with sore feet!
I just could not locate the building…
Then I twigged I’d been looking at it all along and it was hiding in plain sight.
Of course, when trying to locate the building, I’d totally forgetton the Georgian’s and Victorian’s love for cladding beautiful Tudor timber-framed buildings with plaster or brick.
The facade shown in my early 1900s postcard was placed onto the building in the 1820s. For over a hundred years, the Bull Hotel had the appearance of a grand square-fronted symmetrical Georgian building – not a sprawling timber framed Tudor structure.
But the cladding was finally taken down in 1935 – revealing its original beautiful timber-framed Tudor building.
Strange to think that our Victorian and Edwardian ancestors – if they’d visited Long Melford – would have seen the Bull Hotel as being a splendidly imposing Georgian building.
During the Georgian period, many gorgeous Tudor timber-framed houses were encased in a red-brick facade. We think them to be an elegant Georgian buildings. Whereas they’re hiding in plain sight a fabulous Tudor structure.
Do you live in a Georgian house? Is it hiding it’s past?
If you are fascinated about the history of your home, then you’ll be interested in my new online course
🏡 If Walls Could Talk…
Uncover the secret history of your home🏡
Make you note in your diary… signup starts from 19 September 2019.
Course commences on Monday 30 September 2019
Keep an eye on my blog throughout rest of September for more news.
I’m also doing regular posts on my Facebook page about how to
🏡🏡 Uncover the secret history of your home🏡🏡
I hope you’ll join me and take part in this fascinating course. Learn how you can trace the history of your home.
As this is the first pilot version of my course, it’ll be offered at a very special low price that will not be repeated.
Resources for tracing the history of your home
I’ve written a short pdf listing some of the resources that you can use for researching the history of your house.
Download 25 online resources for uncovering the secret history of your home…
By giving us your details, you are agreeing to join our email list to receive emails and offers on our services. You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the link in the footer of our emails, or from this website. For information about our privacy practices, click here. We use Mailchimp as our marketing platform. By clicking below to subscribe, you acknowledge that your information will be transferred to Mailchimp for processing. Learn more about Mailchimp’s privacy practices here.
The not so secret past of houses in Hutton Poplars
The other day I told you about the first home I purchased in the 1980s – a converted Victorian school in Wimbledon.
After I left Wimbledon, I moved to Hutton close to Shenfield in Essex. Where I became fascinated by the history of the new houses that were then being built in an area known as Hutton Poplars – in the grounds of a former Edwardian school.
For anyone visiting or passing through Hutton, this building is a familiar sight – Hutton Poplar Lodge. It looks the same today as it did when this photograph was taken one hundred years ago – shortly before the First World War.
Hutton Poplars Lodge
It is one of only three buildings that have survived from a large Edwardian industrial school founded by, among others, George Lansbury in 1906. This building was once the porters’ lodge.
During the final years of the nineteenth century, Poplar Board of Guardians decided to sell their Forest Gate training schools because of the terrible conditions. On New Year’s Day 1890, a devastating fire broke out in the Forest Gate school and 26 small boys died.
Despite this appalling fire and the generally awful conditions, the school continued in Forest Gate until the early 1900s.
Chairman of Poplar Board of Guardians, George Lansbury, a social reformer, paid a visit to rural Hutton (next to Shenfield) and liked what he saw. At Lansbury’s instigation, Hutton Industrial School (also known as Poplar Union Training School) was built in 1906 at the cost of £160,000.
Social Reformer and leader of the Labour Party – George Lansbury (1859-1940)
Originally founded as a residential school for pauper boys from Poplar, the school eventually accommodated both boys and girls based around the concept of a “cottage home”.
Fortunately, this school did not have same appalling reputation that Hackney Industry School had in nearby Brentwood. The school in Hutton was generally so well-run that the Board of Guardians had to appear before a Parliamentary Committee accused of “extravagances” in the new school!
The school closed in the 1980s and the majority of its buildings were demolished – apart from 3 buildings still present today.
Today the area is known as Hutton Poplars and contains extensive new housing.
Is your house in Hutton Poplars? If it is, did you know the story of the area?
Here’s a quiz for you. George Lansbury later became the British Labour Leader in the 1930s. He had a very very famous grandchild – an absolute legend. What’s his grandchild’s name? (No Googling!!)
New Online Course to trace the history of your home…
If you are fascinated about the history of your home, then you’ll be interested in my new online course
🏡 If Walls Could Talk… Uncover the secret history of your home🏡
Make you note in your diary… signup starts from 19 September 2019.
Course commences on Monday 30 September 2019
Keep an eye on my blog throughout rest of September for more news.
I’m also doing regular posts on my Facebook page about how to
🏡🏡 Uncover the secret history of your home🏡🏡
I hope you’ll join me and take part in this fascinating course. Learn how you can trace the history of your home.
As this is the first pilot version of my course, it’ll be offered at a very special low price that will not be repeated.
Resources for tracing the history of your home
I’ve written a short pdf listing some of the resources that you can use for researching the history of your house.
Download 25 online resources for uncovering the secret history of your home…
By giving us your details, you are agreeing to join our email list to receive emails and offers on our services. You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the link in the footer of our emails, or from this website. For information about our privacy practices, click here. We use Mailchimp as our marketing platform. By clicking below to subscribe, you acknowledge that your information will be transferred to Mailchimp for processing. Learn more about Mailchimp’s privacy practices here.
Rayleigh Road, Hutton. The boys are standing in the area which has now become a side-road – Sun Ray Avenue.
This is the first home I purchased. Back in the heady days of the low property prices of the 1980s.
All Saints Court, Wimbledon
It was a converted flat – converted from an old Victorian school built in 1896 (so the date plaque on the right entrance states).
When it was built, Wimbledon was in Surrey – the inscription over the left entrance “S.C.C.” marking that it was a school under the governance of Surrey County Council. But without the building moving an inch, it’s now in the London Borough of Merton.
I was in my very early 20s and fell in love with the flat the minute I set my eyes on it.
I knew I had to have it.
I first saw it literally as it was being converted from a school to a block of one-bedroom flats. I wish I’d had a camera back then to record the renovation’s progress!!
When I bought the flat in 1986, it cost £41,500 – then an arm and a leg. Other nearby one-bedroom flats were all between £35,000 to £38,000. The jump to £41,500 was massive. Well, it was in those days! I had to take on a massive mortgage at stupid interest rates to pay for it.
But I was obsessed with it.
I had started genealogical research when I was just 18. But until this point, I hadn’t dipped my toes into local history. However, when I saw this building, I not only fell in love with the building, but also the local history of the area.
And the idea of living in an old Victorian school.
The converted flats kept the 2 original entrances either end of the block; one for girls and the other for boys. The developers also added a new central entrance for those of us whose front-doors were in the middle. To this day, I can still recall the noise of the buzzer and door-release.
The central large-oval window in the block was the massive window on the landing leading to the front-doors of all the central flats. The small window to its right (top floor) was my bedroom. Immediately above my bedroom’s ceiling was a massive full height loft that I always intended – but never did – investigate.
To its right – and the last huge window on the right of the building – was my living room. Not a massive room – conversions were very lacking in space in the 80s!. But it had a massive 20+ foot high ceiling.
A high living-room ceiling is an obsession that I’ve always had – dating from this wonderful flat. My current living room – many miles (in more ways then one) from my first flat – is also 20+ foot high. That’s despite my home today not being a Victorian converted property, but a house purpose-built in 2000.
My living room in my flat was part of the old school’s hall. Sometimes at night, I used to lie in bed, imagining the noise of the children in their school hall. In fact, on the night of the Great Hurricane of 1987, I thought they’d all come back to pay me a visit. Until I realised that it was Mother Nature conjuring her wrath on my road – not the ghosts of small children.
I spent three very happy years there. I never did research its history as a school. I bought every single local history book that was out at the time. There were a wide range of local history books even then, and those books are today still on my overflowing bookcases. When I’m long gone, my children (all born and bred in Essex) will wonder why I have countless books on Wimbledon and Merton (unless they read this post!).
I moved out reluctantly (but happily) in September 1989 when my eldest was on her way. No room for a baby in a 2nd floor one-bedroom flat – no lift and no storage (even if there was a massive loft!).
When I lived in there in the late 80s, there was no parking restrictions. I can see from Google’s StreetView that there is now.
The fun I had parking on that road! First come, first serve to the few parking spaces back then. But in those days, it was only one car per flat – and 9 flats. With most homes today having at least two cars, it must be mayhem now…
But I moved to Essex, and the rest, as they say is history (at least, for my family). Once I was a Surrey girl, now I’m an honorary Essex girl!
My obsession with local history started in this building and I look at it with fond memories.
I regret that I didn’t take photographs as they changed the building from being Victorian school to a modern luxurious block of flats.
And I will always regret that I never did research its history when I lived there.
Since the 1980s, plenty of Victorian red-brick schools across the country have been renovated into houses and flats.
❓Do you live in a converted school? ❓
❓Or do you live (or once lived) in a home that has been converted from another use – such as a hospital, workhouse, mill or a pub?❓
~~~~~~~~~~~
If you are fascinated about the history of your home, then you’ll be interested in my new online course
🏡 If Walls Could Talk… Uncover the secret history of your home🏡
Make you note in your diary… signup starts from 19 September 2019.
Course commences on Monday 30 September 2019
Keep an eye on my blog throughout rest of September for more news.
I’m also doing regular posts on my Facebook page about how to
🏡🏡 Uncover the secret history of your home🏡🏡
I hope you’ll join me and take part in this fascinating course. Learn how you can trace the history of your home.
As this is the first pilot version of my course, it’ll be offered at a very special low price that will not be repeated.
Resources for tracing the history of your home
I’ve written a short pdf listing some of the resources that you can use for researching the history of your house.
Download 25 online resources for uncovering the secret history of your home…
By giving us your details, you are agreeing to join our email list to receive emails and offers on our services. You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the link in the footer of our emails, or from this website. For information about our privacy practices, click here. We use Mailchimp as our marketing platform. By clicking below to subscribe, you acknowledge that your information will be transferred to Mailchimp for processing. Learn more about Mailchimp’s privacy practices here.
Have you ever wondered who once lived in your house?
Do you wonder….
👉Who built it and why?
👉What were their names?
👉Their occupations?
👉How did they live their lives?
Tracing the history of your home is a fascinating and all absorbing hobby.
But where do you start?…..
Roughly speaking, house-history research can be split into two large (massive!) themes:-
👨👩👧👦👨👩👧👦 The people who lived in your house. 👨👩👧👦👨👩👧👦
🏡The building itself.🏡
So there’s two broad questions to ask about your home…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a) Who lived in your house? 👨👩👧👦👨👧👦👦👧👨👩
A variety of records can be used to discover the stories of your home’s occupants – from Census Returns and 1939 Registers, to tithe apportionment records and parish records.
A busy street scene in Edwardian Heybridge, Essex
~~~~~~~~~~~
b) Your house 🏘️🏚️🏡
You may be able to guess a lot about the physical building. Its building material – such as brick, flint, stone, timber-framed.
However, you will want to research other information such as when, why and who built your home. The date of your house – the era/century/decade.
Finding out information about the house itself is often the more complex of the two broad themes connected with house-histories…
Sometimes records will exist about the construction of your house. But not all the time…
Certainly, for older homes, records will be far more sketchy. You’ll need to use all sorts of detective work to pin down your house’s full story!
Tracing the history of your home is a fascinating and all absorbing hobby.
But where do you start?…..
Roughly speaking, house-history research can be split into two large themes:-
The people who lived in my house.
The building itself.
So there’s two broad questions to ask about your home…
a) Who lived in your house?
Have you ever wondered who lived in your house before you?
What sort of life did they lead?
What jobs/occupations did they have?
How many children?
What was their family life?
What were their tragedies and triumphs?
Children pose for the camera in Lavenham – early 1900s
Sudbury early 1900s
A variety of records can be used to discover the stories of your home’s occupants – from Census Returns and Registers, to tithe apportionment records.
Even eBay and Facebook can be used to discover the stories of people who once lived in your home!
Georgian/Victorian Cottages built for local workers- Lavenham
Formerly workers’ cottages, now pretty homes in Lavenham
b) Your house
You may be able to guess a lot about the physical building that is your home. Its building material – such as brick, flint, stone, timber-framed.
However, you will want to research other information such as when, why and who built your home. The date of your house – the era/century/decade.
Finding out information about the house itself is often the more complex of the two broad themes connected with house-histories…
Sometimes records will exist about the construction of your house. But not all the time…
Certainly for older homes, records will be far more sketchy. You’ll need to use all sorts of detective work to pin down your house’s full story!
That’s all part of the fun!
Step-by-step, peeling back the layers…until you find the true story of the history of your house…
Timber-framed thatched cottage at Kirby Quay, Essex
Resources for tracing the history of your home
I’ve written a short pdf listing some of the resources that you can use for part b) of the conundrum of researching the history of a house – When was my house built
Download your FREE eBook 25 online resources for uncovering the secret history of your home…
By giving us your details, you are agreeing to join our email list to receive emails and offers on our services. You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the link in the footer of our emails, or from this website. For information about our privacy practices, click here. We use Mailchimp as our marketing platform. By clicking below to subscribe, you acknowledge that your information will be transferred to Mailchimp for processing. Learn more about Mailchimp’s privacy practices here.
Just recently, I’ve spent quite a bit of time in 18th century Maldon.
Well, to be more precise, I’ve been delving into the town’s parish registers for the 1700s – hunting down a client’s ancestors.
A fascinating pastime it’s been.
Some of the surnames from the past, I recognise in many of today’s townsfolk.
Maldon is an unusual town as it has 3 Church of England parish churches. Whilst a few Essex and Suffolk towns have a couple of CofE parish churches, it is rare for any town to have 3 parishes. I can only think of Sudbury that has two parish churches. But there’s probably more.
Maldon’s three CofE parish churches were
All Saints
St Peter’s
St Mary’s
The parish of St Mary’s was/is quite distinct from the other two as it’s at the bottom of town.
But with All Saints and St Peter’s, the two parishes were more fluid with our ancestors using either churches for baptisms, marriages and burials.
Today, St Peter’s is a redundant church and only its tower has survived. The site of the ancient St Peter’s church was purchased by Thomas Plume to house his worldwide famous Plume Library at the end of the 17th century.
Today, the building also has an Exhibition Hall that houses the excellent Maeldune Heritage Centre.
The Plume Library’s website (and Pevsner) states that St Peter’s Church was redundant by the time of Thomas Plume’s purchase in the 1690s and his death in 1704. And that the church had become redundant in the 16th century – shortly after the Reformation.
However, the parish registers stored at Essex Record Office tell a different story. The townsfolk of Maldon were using both All Saints and St Peters to baptise their children, marry their partners, and dispatch their dead long into the 18th century.
St Peter’s registers aren’t as comprehensive as All Saints. The townsfolk did use All Saints more then St Peters. Nonetheless, there are separate parish registers covering St Peter’s baptisms, marriages and burials up until the mid 18th century – showing that St Peter’s was still in use.
The last burial in St Peter’s churchyard was William Sweeting on 13 May 1750
The last baptism in St Peter’s was in 1755. Martha, the daughter of James and Margaret Cutler born on 3 March 1754. Although this baptism is an oddity – a final baptism in the (possibly by then) redundant church. The previous baptisms took place several years earlier during the first part of 1749/1750.
The final wedding in St Peter’s took place 15 February 1709/10 between James Faulks and Susanna Brown. There were only 19 wedding at St Peter’s during the 18th century.
So, by the early 18th century, the registers show that St Peter’s was fast in decline. But townsfolk were still using the church for registering their hatching, matching and dispatching.
Whilst I was researching this information, it did occur to me that the parish registers were recording people who lived in St Peter’s parish, but that they were physically using All Saints Church.
But I discounted this when I saw that a few entries specifically stated that such and such person was from St Peter’s parish and baptised in All Saints Church or married in St Mary’s. The implication being that when a church wasn’t explicitly mentioned in St Peter’s registers, it was St Peter’s being used.
Unless you know otherwise?… Was St Peter’s still being used in the early 18th century? Or were these merely people from St Peter’s parish that were using either All Saints or St Mary’s but their details recorded in a register for St Peter’s?
Hmmm…..!
The tower of St Peter’s Maldon raising above a forest of trees around the redundant church’s burial ground. Postcard postally used in 1919
📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚
Not sure how to trace your family tree?… Need help researching the history of your house?..Would a Discovery Research Plan aid you in your own historical research?
The other day, I showed you a zoomable map of Colchester – as it was in 1768 – when Philip Morant published the first county history of Essex.
Today, this map has moved on in time – still in Colchester – but now we’re in 1909.
From the British Library’s website, this is the description of the map:-
“This “key plan” indicates coverage of the Goad 1909 series of fire insurance maps of Colchester that were originally produced to aid insurance companies in assessing fire risks. The building footprints, their use (commercial, residential, educational, etc.), the number of floors and the height of the building, as well as construction materials (and thus risk of burning) and special fire hazards (chemicals, kilns, ovens) were documented in order to estimate premiums. Names of individual businesses, property lines, and addresses were also often recorded. Together these maps provide a rich historical snapshot of the commercial activity and urban landscape of towns and cities at the time. The British Library holds a comprehensive collection of fire insurance plans produced by the London-based firm Charles E. Goad Ltd. dating back to 1885. These plans were made for most important towns and cities of the British Isles at the scales of 1:480 (1 inch to 40 feet), as well as many foreign towns at 1:600 (1 inch to 50 feet).”
Click the image below to see the zoomable map of Colchester as it was in 1909. The link will take you to the British Library’s website.
Colchester in 1909
📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚
Not sure how to trace your family tree?… Need help researching the history of your house?..Would a Discovery Research Plan aid you in your own historical research?
Yesterday, my brothers and I – along with our families – went ancestor hunting in Spitalfields Market in the east end of London.
A lovely family get-together but with an ulterior motive…
To meet our Cole and Parnall ancestors.
It’s always a strange – but very familiar – place for me to visit. I used to work nearby on Bishopsgate – when I was still in the corporate world. I often visited Spitalfields market for my lunch.
But its main pull for me is that Bishopsgate is a place where 7 consecutive generations of my family have worked at one time or another since the 1830s.
From my youngest daughter – all the way back in time to my great-great-great grandfather, William Parnall. At least one member of every single generation – without a break – has worked on Bishopsgate.
Just round the corner from Bishopsgate is Brushfield Street – on the very edge of Spitalfields Market.
This is where my family’s past hurtles its way forward to meet the present.
Or rather where we can race back through time and space to meet our Cole ancestors.
All thanks to a chance discovery I made 30 years ago…. A plaque with my great-great grandfather’s name – R A Cole – sunk into an 18th century building in Spitalfields.
Robert Andrew Cole and his wife Sarah Cole. Churchwarden of Christchurch Spitalfields, and also Victorian grocers and teadealers of Spitalfields market.
Following our beloved Dad’s death 3 years ago, we three, his children, swore we’d get as many of our family as possible together. And celebrate our unity and strength – after some incredibly tough years – together by the Cole plaque.
Not all our family are here. But we still managed to get 3 generations into our photo. All descendants (or married to descendants) of Robert Andrew and Sarah Cole.
Nearly 150 years ago, in exactly the same place where we stood, our ancestors (and their surviving children) watched the unveiling of their plaque.
Yesterday the youngest descendants walked, for the first time, in the steps of their ancestors.
A spine tingling moment.
150 years after the Robert Andrew and Sarah Cole lived here, three of their great-great-great grandchildren (one also called Sarah Cole), posed with the youngest family member – a great-great-great-great grandson.
Try explaining to a 4 year old that this was where his great-great-great-great grandparents once lived and worked!…
If you want to read the whole story about our Cole ancestors and the Victorian grocer of Spitalfields Market then follow the link below – to my story I originally wrote on my blog 7 years ago.
Click the picture below – an 1860s photo of my great-great-grandfather – Robert Andrew Cole – to read more about the Cole family of Spitalfields Market.
There were lots of Victorian Cole and Parnall ghosts tapping our shoulders yesterday. I think our late Dad was watching over us too.
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…
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.
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