This is not a Richard Armitage blog…

When I decided to write a blog, I made a conscious decision not to blog about Richard Armitage. It’s no secret that I’m a great admirer of his, some might go so far as to say I’m a wee bit obsessed; however, in the ever-expanding Armitage blogosphere I decided that I had nothing meaningful to add. Selfishly I wanted to write about myself and the things that are important to me. I may have mentioned him once or twice along the way but essentially my blog is “Something about Kathryn”.

 

So … I’m not about to turn this into an Armitage blog but if I’m going to write about what’s important to me then he does have to be up there. He’s not on the same level as my family history, but, given a recent interest I’ve developed in another fine British actor, I find myself questioning why I’m so fascinated with Armitage and some others. Ultimately I’m questioning why they’re so important to me.

 

So who are these men? Yes, unsurprisingly they’re all men … and actors too. If you follow me on Twitter or Tumblr there will probably be no surprises here – well maybe one:

Richard Armitage - no surprises. Known for The Hobbit, Spooks, Robin Hood, North & South.

David Tennant – an old favourite. Known for Doctor Who, Hamlet, Broadchurch, Casanova.

Benedict Cumberbatch - a growing attraction. Known for Star Trek Into Darkness, Sherlock, The Hobbit, Parade’s End, War Horse.

Tom Hiddleston - a new fascination. Known for Thor, The Avengers, The Hollow Crown, Midnight in Paris, War Horse, Return to Cranford.

 

Richard Armitage by Robert Ascroft. Source.

 

I was first drawn to Richard Armitage whilst watching Spooks. An avid Spooks fan from the very beginning it was only at the end of series 9 that I realised quite how involved I’d become in the story of Lucas North / John Bateman. To cut a long story short, I think it’s fair to say that it was the Spooks fandom that drew me in but ultimately the Richard Armitage fandom that claimed me. I found myself hopelessly drawn to his other work, but it wasn’t just the characters that I was interested in. I found, as have so many others, that his charm, compassion, humour, talent, and unbridled enthusiasm for his work had me hooked. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that his good looks helped but, if I’m honest, he only became so attractive to me when I knew more about him as a person, or at least what he wants us to know. His use of language in interviews was probably my undoing – I’m such a sucker for a man who uses words and phrases that are missing from my own vocabulary – and he’s a self-confessed geek which is always a winner for me.

 

David Tennant as Doctor Who. Source.

 

Now, I’d been interested in David Tennant’s work since I first saw him in Doctor Who. Geek personified! Looks wise, he’s not the type of man I would normally find attractive, but there’s something about a man with a sonic-screwdriver I find hard to resist (Matt Smith is not on my list but he’s a definite contender). Looking at the man behind the Doctor I found that his attractiveness, for me, lay in his wit, charm, talent, eloquence and compassion. I saw him on stage in Much Ado About Nothing and if I wasn’t bowled over before, I definitely was afterwards. Goodness only knows what will happen after I see him in Richard II. Finally, he inspired me to make a promise.

 

Benedict Cumberbatch for Screen Magazine. Source.

 

Benedict Cumberbatch is a strange one for me. For a long time, I kept seeing his face on Tumblr and was completely unable to understand the attraction that others felt for him. Then Sherlock happened. Geek personified – again – and a huge intellect too which I can’t resist. But then I realised that the man behind the detective had a great intellect too, was naturally witty, charming and wonderfully talented. Because of him, I intend to go and see Star Trek (something I never thought I’d do), and have found that his unusual looks are becoming more attractive to me every day. Then I read things like this and fall a little bit further under his spell.

 

Tom Hiddleston at the Olivier Awards. Source.

 

If any of these are going to surprise you then I guess it would be Tom Hiddleston. He’s not someone I’ve ever really mentioned on Twitter and, until a few days ago, I’d never posted any pictures of him on Tumblr either. For some time I was uncomfortable with the crush I was quickly developing because apart from Return to Cranford I hadn’t seen any of his work. For the first time, it was the man not the characters that first drew me in. It was his Unicef blogs from Guinea that got me: long words, beautiful phrasing, wonderful compassion. And I found that was just the tip of the iceberg. He has all those things I’ve admired in others and he has them in spades. I discovered that he doesn’t actually look like Loki in real life, a look that does nothing for me at all, and has an infectious joy that creeps out of the screen and into your heart without you even noticing. I’ve decided to be honest about this new fascination because I think I now understand it better.

 

All these men show qualities that I hugely admire and find endlessly attractive. Yes they’re good-looking, but they’re all men whose looks did absolutely nothing for me when I first saw them, even Richard Armitage.

 

My first Armitage experience was actually Robin Hood. I watched all three series when it was first on the television and never once noticed Guy of Gisborne except as a character to be disliked. With both television and films I’m a very shallow viewer and will often miss the nuances of character that others thrive on. I didn’t like the character and his long hair (each to their own but that wasn’t for me) meant I didn’t notice if he was good-looking.

 

So why are these men so important to me? I can confidently say these are not simply lustful obsessions. I’m drawn to certain characteristics especially intellect when matched with fun, kindness and decency. I seem to be attracted to men who I see as being intellectually superior to me. I look for the things that were missing in the past when my own intellect was a source of humour and derision. It’s only now that I realise that the behaviour of certain people in my past says more about their own insecurities than it does about mine.

 

If anyone was to ask me what I look for in a man, I could do a lot worse than point out the characteristics of these men who I so admire. I’m not looking for a man exactly like any of them, they just happen to epitomise the things I find most attractive. They’re important to me because they have qualities to admire, are inspiring in ways I cannot fully fathom, and because they bring me great joy.

 

Uncle Will

William Richard Curtis, 1899-1980. Family archive.

 

Most people my age don’t have clear memories of relatives who fought in the First World War … some have no memories at all. The Second World War is still within living memory: my parents were born in it, my grandmother lived through it; however, it’s the First World War that draws me in time and time again as I scour records for information about my ancestors and relatives.

 

The Great War – “the war to end all wars”. It draws me in because I can’t, not even for a moment, imagine the horrors that the young men in my family faced. Too many never came home, their stories, like them, buried forever in a field in France, a desert in Gaza or some other battle-scarred place.

 

Uncle Will came home and I have clear memories of him – my one living memory of someone who served his country in the horror of the trenches.

 

Will with his parents and sister, my grandma. c. 1906.
Family archive.

 

Will was born a Victorian in 1899. My grandma, his sister, was born in 1904 and, as a result of being born so long before the war, seemed to me to be a whole generation older than my other three grandparents (she was 12 years older than my granddad).

 

Will was born in a beautiful village called Snitterfield, just outside Stratford-upon-Avon, where his family had lived for generations. He was born 9 months and 9 days after his parents’ wedding day – a honeymoon baby, if they had a honeymoon. His father’s occupation is listed on the 1901 census as “carrier / dealer” and maybe this profession is what took the family to Wales where my Grandma was born. In Wales he found work as a “domestic gardener”. They then moved to London for a short time and then to Bosbury in Herefordshire where they ran The New Inn. They finally settled in Bromsgrove in Worcestershire where Will’s father became an Insurance agent and later ran a grocer’s shop.

 

Will’s father died of cancer in 1916 and was buried in Snitterfield, a place that was close to his heart. It must have been an extremely difficult time for the family. Will’s mother had to take in washing to put food on the table and in January 1917 Will enlisted in the army two days before his eighteenth birthday.

 

Will with his mother (in mourning) and his sister. c. 1917. Family archive.

 

He joined the Royal Warwickshire Regiment and then, after a few months, was transferred to the Royal Berkshire Regiment. Sadly, his service records were destroyed during the Second World War and because he never spoke of his experiences I have no way of knowing the details of the time he served. What I do know, from doing a little bit of research into regimental service numbers, is that he transferred into the 8th Battalion of the Royal Berkshire Regiment and is unlikely to have served at Passchendaele.

 

Thanks to my grandma carefully hoarding some old family postcards, and to her memory of times past, I know that both she and her mother travelled to Newcastle upon Tyne and visited Will in hospital on 1st June 1918. It was exactly two years, to the day, since they buried his father. Will had been wounded in France.

 

Will wearing “hospital blues” while recovering from his injury.
c. 1918. Family archive.

 

Will was one of the lucky ones. He came home with little more than a badly injured foot. Lucky because he survived the injury, lucky because it rendered him unfit for war service and lucky because he never had to go back. Of course, there are many reasons why he may not have felt lucky.

 

As I mentioned, he never spoke of his war service but there’s no doubt that it affected him very much. He refused to have anything but condensed milk in his tea, a common trait of men who’d spent time in the trenches, and, after he retired, he gradually left his bungalow less and less often. Eventually, he could barely make it to the garden gate, not because he was debilitated in any way but, we assume, because of some unknown fear, most likely related to the experiences in his past.

 

Uncle Will, as I knew him. Family archive.

 

To me, he was always an old man. He was 73 when I was born. He smoked roll-ups (with a herbal mixture rather than traditional tobacco) and I was endlessly fascinated by the little machine he had for rolling them. Even though I was only 8 when he died in 1980 I have clear pictures in my mind: Uncle Will sat in his front room rolling a cigarette and licking the paper to seal it; his wife, Auntie Lil, whisking me and my brother into the walk-in larder to find something we might like to eat, me playing in his garden as the trains roared past up the Lickey Incline (I mentioned this here).

 

Uncle Will was, of course, actually my great-Uncle but he was always just Uncle Will to me. Very close to his sister and happily married to Lil, he was also a craftsman. Aged just 12 years old he went to work for the Bromsgrove Guild of Applied Arts, a very important name in the Arts and Crafts Movement. They are perhaps best known for the work they did on the gates to Buckingham Palace although this was before Will joined them. He specialised in all aspects of ecclesiastical work e.g. altar & processional crosses, but the work of which he was most proud was bronze work done for the Queen Mary liner and the entrance gates to ICI house on Millbank, London.

 

Unable to find any information online, a couple of years ago I went to London and wandered down Millbank to see if I could find the gates. The building is now Nobel House and is occupied by Ofgem but the gates are still there and are very fine indeed. I can understand why he was so proud.

 

The gates to 9 Millbank, formerly ICI HQ. Panels designed and created by the Bromsgrove Guild. My photos (click to enlarge).

 

He worked with the Bromsgrove Guild until 1956 when they sadly ceased production. He went on to work for a company called Garringtons which made automotive parts and where, although he was much respected as a craftsman and very popular, he was never happy. He retired in 1964.

 

Uncle Will died in 1980 and was cremated. He would very much like to have been buried in Snitterfield, a place filled with happy childhood memories of holidays and kindly relatives, but it was never meant to be.

 

My reason for wanting to remember my Uncle Will was because I watched a drama series on BBC1 called The Village. I won’t go into detail about the programme except to say that it portrayed a young man who went off to fight in the First World War. He came home on leave and developed symptoms of shell shock caused by being left out in the open at night as punishment for things written in a letter home. A doctor blamed it on ingested toxins, another less reputable person blamed it on him being feeble-minded. When he failed to return to his regiment because he was too ill, he was taken by force and shot for desertion. I cried.

 

We all know that this really happened. Men, although relatively few, really were shot for cowardice, desertion and other offences. I don’t believe it’s the fault of the people who made those decisions, it was simply of the time. It’s just sad that it took until 2006 for those men to be posthumously pardoned.

 

The programme made me think of all those men in my family who had to fight for their country. Uncle Will was the only one I ever knew personally. As I said, I can’t begin to imagine the horrors of war and what living through those things must do to a person. Uncle Will was one of the lucky ones and I am proud to have known him.

 

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An interesting article on The Bromsgrove Guild can be found here.

 

Getting away with marriage and other crimes: The Smiths of Tollesbury

Fishing smacks off the coast of Mersea, Essex in 2004 (edited by me). Source.

 

For other craft our prouder river shows,
Hoys, pinks, and sloops; brigs, brigantines and snows:
Nor angler we on our wide stream descry,
But one poor dredger where his oysters lie;
He, cold and wet, and driving with the tide,
Beats his weak arms against his tarry side,
Then drains the remnant of diluted gin,
To aid the warmth that languishes within,
Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat
His tingling fingers into gathering heat.”

Extract from The Borough by George Crabbe (1754 – 1832)

 

If you read my previous post about The Smiths of Tollesbury you will be aware that they didn’t exactly live within the law. Of course, they were by no means the only people to live a less than, shall we say, blameless life. The times in which they lived and the lives to which they were born were hard and unforgiving so it’s no surprise that they looked to make money any way they could, and sought solace in the bottom of a tankard of beer.

 

After writing about them previously I did some further research. At the last count, Thomas and Mary Ann Smith (it seems she had a middle name) had 11 children. Of those children I’m aware of three that died before they were 5 years old. For some unknown reason only the first four births and then the last were registered. The other six were unregistered as far as I can tell. Additionally, the three youngest appear not to have been christened. The registering of births was the responsibility of the local registrar who in these cases seems to have been a little inept. It wasn’t until 1875 that the law was changed making registration of children’s births compulsory and the responsibility of the parents.

 

I’ve also found a couple of new and interesting stories regarding the family. For this I owe the local Essex press a debt of gratitude as they seem to have recorded every single case that took place in the local courts, thus providing me with a rather colourful history of a family that otherwise may well have been overlooked as simply poor and uninteresting.

 

In 1853, a possibly pregnant Mary Ann, who I’d previously thought of as down-trodden and put upon, made a court appearance of her own. She accused her next door neighbour of assault. As the case proceeded it became apparent that Mary Ann had not been assaulted at all. She had, in fact, been the one doing the assaulting and the case was therefore dismissed. What she did and why she did it will forever remain a mystery as the details were not reported. I wonder what sort of woman she was…

 

In 1861, Mary Ann had to go through something that no mother should ever have to face. Her nine year old daughter, Selina Alice, was assaulted by a 42 year old man called Isaac Rootkin. The paper reported that he was accused of and pleaded guilty to “assault with intent to abuse” and that he had “a previous conviction for a similar offence”. He was sentenced to two years’ hard labour which seems a lenient punishment for what he did. Ever curious to know the whole story, I looked up the details of his previous conviction. Four years before assaulting Selina, Isaac Rootkin, a builder’s labourer, had been sentenced to just 18 months’ hard labour for “carnally abusing” a little girl of 11 years old. Reading between the lines I’m assuming that Selina’s assault was less horrific than that of the first unfortunate child but, of course, I don’t know that for sure.

 

Both these assaults took place in a time when the words we now use to describe crimes such as these and the people who commit them were unknown. People were punished more severely for crimes such as larceny and robbery than they were for what we would now refer to as child sex abuse and paedophilia. Having spent so long in the company of the Smiths and having fallen in love with their wayward exploits, reading about Selina saddened me very much. I know she lived to be at least twenty but after that I’ve so far been unable to trace a marriage or a death. I shall continue to search.

 

In 1870, Mary Ann did something that must have shocked the people that knew her. She remarried following the death of her first husband Thomas. Now of course remarriage is nothing unusual even if it is to a man who encourages your sons to steal oysters and who will, in the future, be accused of piracy (more on that later). William Crabb was considerably younger than Mary Ann, but even that is not that shocking until you realise that he’d also been widowed … his deceased first wife being none other than Thomas and Mary Ann Smith’s eldest daughter, also Mary Ann Smith.

 

William Crabb married the daughter in 1866 in the parish church in Tollesbury. She died approximately nine months later. I don’t have the death certificate but it does seem likely that she died in childbirth or from complications with a pregnancy. Anyway, as you may have already realised William Crabb marrying his mother-in-law was illegal. In fact, a marriage of this kind only became legal in the UK in 1986 so they were over 100 years too early. Unsurprisingly the wedding took place in the local registry office in nearby Maldon where they were probably unknown. It could never have taken place in the local church where plenty of people would have known of a few “lawful impediments”! Mary Ann’s brother, Henry Biggs, was a witness at the registry office implying that at least her family were happy with the arrangement, or at least happy to let it go ahead. The marriage was, of course, void so legally they were never married.

 

And so to the piracy. Unfortunately we’re not talking eye-patches, skull and cross-bones, buried treasure and Jack Sparrow here. No, nothing so glamorous! In 1894, William Crabb and several other men were charged that “on the high seas, [they] did piratically and feloniously assault William John Barker, master mariner, of Burnham” on board his ship, the Emmeline, putting him “in fear of his life”. Apparently they “piratically, feloniously, and violently did steal from [him] a cargo of oyster shells”, and other items that were “the goods and chattels of certain subjects of our Lady the Queen.” There were other men charged as well in regards to offences on another boat.

 

It seems the case was very high-profile in the local area and at least 200 people came to see the proceedings. The court was crowded as were its precincts. The majority of the people attending were fishermen from Tollesbury. The alleged offences took place near Brightlingsea, another town further along the coast also known for its oyster fishing.

 

1904 map showing Tollesbury, Brightlingsea and Burnham (all circled in red).
Click for larger version.

 

In the springtime fishermen from Burnham-on-Crouch were “in the habit of taking culch¹ and shell from the grounds … off Brightlingsea, said to be common property, to sell for the purpose of oyster culture”. This habit caused great upset amongst the fishermen of Tollesbury and the surrounding area because “the taking of the shell destroys the spat which in the season affords a living to them”. They had allegedly threatened the Burnham men on several occasions and although no threats had actually been carried out, things had been “a bit lively”.

 

Allegedly four Burnham boats were on the point of returning home when three Tollesbury vessels, each with two or three hands, were seen to be bearing down on them. One of the boats drew up alongside the Emmeline and upon touching it “some twenty or thirty men jumped up from the deck, and armed with sticks and shovels proceeded to board the Burnham boat”. The other two Tollesbury vessels likewise attached themselves to other Burnham boats. The fourth Burnham boat approached the others to see what was amiss and found herself similarly threatened. On pulling up alongside this fourth vessel, the Tollesbury men found themselves faced with a gun and an angry Burnham man threatening to “blow out the brains of any man who attempted to board”. The gun was allegedly unloaded but the boat was allowed to leave with its hoard. The three “captured” boats were driven onto the sand about three miles away from where the culch was gathered and their hoard thrown overboard. The Burnham men were threatened with a similar fate should they say anything about the affair. The paper reports that “various other picturesque incidents were narrated by the learned Counsel, one being to the effect that the Tollesbury men insisted on their captives supplying them with cocoa, tobacco, and various articles”. The Burnham men were set free a few hours later. It was made clear that “no blood was spilt, neither were any lives lost”.

 

To be found guilty of piracy could have resulted in the men being sentenced to penal servitude for life. There was some debate as to whether this was an act of piracy at all or simply a farce. Reading it all now, it does seem a little farcical but then put yourself in the shoes of the men finding themselves outnumbered and no longer in control of their boats.

 

The issue the Tollesbury fishermen had was that they believed removing the culch inflicted great damage to the fishery which was said to be worth a quarter of a million pounds. The Burnham men admitted to taking oyster brood for which the Tollesbury and Mersea Company alone had paid £14,578 in six years. Of course, the ground from which the Burnham men had been taking culch was a public one so they had committed no offence; however, several witnesses attested to it being the “best breeding ground in the Kingdom”. Any sums paid for oyster brood would have been paid to whoever caught the brood and it was said that two or three hundred boats worked the grounds, so removing culch permanently was “ruinous to the fishery”.

 

It’s not hard to understand why the Tollesbury men felt so strongly about this situation. Judging by the report in the paper it appears that the case descended into a bit of a farce, but, to cut a long story short, parts of which I’m a little unsure about, William Crabb and the other men on his boat were found not guilty.

 

So, I can only conclude that the people of Tollesbury were passionate and fiercely protective of their livelihoods. Mary Ann may have had a lot of worry and strife caused by her children and her wayward husband, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she supported them wholeheartedly in maybe not all but at least some of their many misdemeanours. Putting food on the table and a roof over their heads was no doubt the most important thing. I’d like to think that the one thing she objected to was their money being wasted on beer.

 

I do still intend to somehow fictionalise the story of the Smiths and give it some colour and depth. There’s so much raw material that is amusing, heartbreaking and even bewildering that I may struggle to know where to start!

 

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¹Culch – the rocks, crushed shells, and other sea detritus that create an oyster bed, where oyster spawn can attach themselves.

 

The poet quoted at the beginning of this post is not, as far as I know, any relation to William Crabb; however, George Crabbe was from Suffolk which neighbours Essex, so anything is possible!

 

I found this blog by Michael Halminski which describes how oysters spawn and goes a long way to explaining the fury of the Tollesbury men in finding the Burnham men removing the culch.

 

 

Another year older … another year wiser?

As another birthday draws to a close and I reflect on the year that’s just passed I have to conclude that while I may be older, it is highly likely that I am not any wiser.




The past year has been a challenge and not one that I have fully embraced despite my determination 12 months ago. I made no promises, but looking back I can’t say that much has changed.




I still pore over the latest pictures of Richard Armitage – no hope of that little obsession diminishing any time soon especially as I now have my hot little hands on series 7 of Spooks!




I’ve failed to pick up an actual physical book and read it from cover to cover for over 12 months. As an avid reader this is something that really annoys me. I love books! My lack of page turning is not for want of a good book, I have a pile of unread ones at home. I can’t even blame it on having an electronic alternative since the app on my “fruity” tablet computer is massively underused. No … I blame it on fan fiction. It seems to be all I read although I am branching out into books about boats thanks to The Smiths. I can’t even blame the fan fiction on Richard Armitage as most of it, at the moment, is from a different fandom and one I’m not yet ready to admit to enjoying!




Thanks to a course I’ve been studying I’m now much better versed in the mysteries of proofreading, although whether or not it goes the way I would like it to remains to be seen. I lost my job in August and have much to do to rectify that situation regardless of the result of my endeavours to retrain.




Most of all, I am yet to find the thing I know to be missing from my life. I can’t honestly say that I’ve done anything to find it. I’ve always taken the view that you only find things when you stop looking but truthfully that’s just an excuse.




If nothing else, I’ve honed my procrastinating prowess. If I could sit an exam in procrastination I’ve no doubt I’d pass with distinction. In fact, a job as a procrastinator would be ideal! Sometimes I even surprise myself at my ability to procrastinate – it seems to reach new heights as each week passes.




Don’t get me wrong, life hasn’t completely passed me by. As well as a little studying I’ve been to air shows, the theatre, and the cinema. I’ve met up with friends for fun adventures, and I’ve even started writing more, particularly here. But in a lot of ways, most of these things are me procrastinating: putting off until tomorrow that which should be done today – or in my case that which should’ve been done ages ago!




I’m not going to make any birthday resolutions because I’ve little confidence in my ability to stick to them i.e. I know myself too well! I just need to acknowledge my lack of motivation, my apparent complacency and my downright laziness in black and white. I’m not exaggerating. I willingly hold my hands up. The thing I’m probably less comfortable admitting is that many of my “traits” stem from fear: fear of failure, fear of the unknown, no doubt fear of fear knowing me.




If I put as much energy into overcoming my fear as I do into procrastinating about overcoming my fear I’d be home and dry by now.




So, this last year, my forty-first (groaning in horror here), has not, despite what I’ve just written, been a complete write-off. But, I sincerely hope that somehow I manage to give myself the huge boot up the backside that I obviously need to get me through my forty-second.




Here’s to the next 12 months. May I be not just older, but wiser, especially about the need to procrastinate.




Dredging, Drinking and Doing Time: The Smiths of Tollesbury

Tide coming in at Tollesbury, Essex. My photo.

 

The old luxurious Romans vaunts did make
Of gustful Oysters took in Lucrine Lake:
Your Essex better hath, and such perchance
As tempted Cæser first to pass from France.
How did those ancient Worthies captive all
The humbled world unto their Capitol!
Yet from it’s highest Towers could not survey
So rich a Countrey as (from Holt) you may.
The noble Brutus, vertuous Portia,
Luckless Antonius, chast Octavia,
Soul-fix’d Paulina to her murther’d Lord
(The learned Seneca) such worthes afford
As have astonish’d Ages; yet your best
Of wives may justly with them all contest.
You then enjoying a full Fortune, and
The delicacies may eat of Sea and land;
Your dayes spend at a house of so fair site,
And (with a so deserving wife) each night:
Consider (since that you possess all this)
If y’are not happy, who the Devil is?”

To my Brother in Law Colonel Will. Nevil. – Aston Cockayne (1608 – 1684)

 

Thomas Smith of Tollesbury in Essex first went to sea in 1830 when he was just nine years old. He was born to be an Oyster Dredger. His father before him and his sons after him were men of the sea, of the mudflats and saltings; they were sailors of fishing smacks.

 

Thomas married Mary Biggs in 1841 when he was 20 and she was just 16. They started a family and between 1842 and 1866 had 10 children, at least two dying in infancy and others dying at very young ages. Life must have been hard.

 

Family tree – click for enlarged version (then click again to magnify). My image.

 

Tollesbury lies at the mouth of the River Blackwater on the Essex coast and its main trade was, for generations, oysters. Unfortunately, oysters could not be dredged all year round so money had to be earned elsewhere. Men found work on the land or as regular fishermen. Some crewed boats as part of the Merchant Navy, while others, having gained notoriety for their skill as smacksmen, crewed yachts and even took part in races. Despite the opportunities, finding work would no doubt have been difficult.

 

As well as oyster dredging, Thomas spent time in the Merchant Navy. Sadly he died in the late 1860s and it seems most likely that this happened at sea, although I am yet to confirm this.

 

Mary remarried in 1870, probably in desperate need of support for both her and her family. Her new husband was William Crabb, a man 16 years her junior and I sometimes wonder if she came to regret her second marriage.

 

In November 1883, William, along with Mary’s two youngest sons Uriah and Herbert, was in court. Herbert, aged just 17 was charged with stealing “a quantity of oyster brood”, with a value of sixpence. These oysters were the property of the Tollesbury and Mersea Oyster Fishery Company and Herbert was seen with his brother and stepfather in their smack, The Margaret, a few metres south of the company grounds. Herbert left the boat and made his way onto the company’s ground, which was marked out by beacons. He was witnessed picking up oyster brood. When approached by a watchman he denied being on the company’s ground despite his footprints telling a different story. Herbert returned eight brood to his accuser who maintained in court that there were between 14 and 18 in his bucket.

 

William was called as a witness and stated that the company’s ground was covered with water, the implication being that Herbert couldn’t have stolen the oysters if the tide was in. Uriah, also called to the witness stand, stated that Herbert had “got brood from the swashway about the company’s ground,” but when cross-examined admitted he hadn’t actually seen his brother pick any up. Herbert being found innocent was dependent on the testimony of his brother and stepfather. Unsurprisingly he was found guilty, fined 40 shillings and ordered to pay costs of 11 shillings and sixpence.

 

William and Uriah were also charged, but with damaging oyster beds rather than stealing. They both pleaded guilty and were fined £1 and costs of 8 shillings, the Tollesbury and Mersea Oyster Fishery Company stating that they “did not wish to punish these men.”

 

In May 1885 Uriah was back in court, this time accused of stealing 4,500 oysters from layings belonging to a Mr Adam Elisha Chatterson. The prosecutor stated that he’d found evidence that his oyster pits had been disturbed: 27 places where sheards had been used for getting up oysters, strange footmarks, and signs that a bag had been dragged down to the water. The value of oysters stolen, he said, was about £20. When cross-examined he stated that “the prisoner is a dredgerman, and I have known him since he was a boy. I have never heard he is half-witted; he is too sharp for me.”

 

A witness testified that his boat had been used without his permission. A watchman called to the witness stand stated that he’d seen Uriah with his stepfather, William, and another man, in the boat in question. Another dredgerman testified that some days after the alleged event took place, he had a conversation with Uriah who admitted going down to the prosecutor’s pits, in the said boat, and leaving a pair of sheards in it. Under cross-examination the witness admitted that he himself had been convicted of unlawfully dredging for oysters. He also admitted that before he spoke to Uriah he’d heard there was a reward out for information thus discrediting himself. Yet another witness testified that Uriah had admitted to him that he had stolen oysters from the prosecutor. Finally, William Crabb defended his stepson by testifying that he was with Uriah and the other man at the time in question, but in their own boat and that Uriah had at no time gone to the prosecutor’s pits. He was also discredited due to a previous conviction and the fact that Uriah was his stepson.

 

The case was summed up by the barrister for the defence stating that the robbery was a very extensive one and it could not be found that Uriah had had any dealings in oysters. He said that Uriah was half-witted and that no reliance could be placed on the statements he’d made to two witnesses.

 

Uriah was found not guilty and was discharged. This case fails to explain who actually stole the oysters and if the old adage “there’s no smoke without fire” is true then it’s likely that Uriah was possibly coerced or the only one naïve enough to boast about what he’d been doing. And half-witted?

 

Woodrolfe Creek, Tollesbury, at low tide. My photo.

 

In November 1888, William Crabb was in court without his stepsons, charged with unlawfully dredging for oysters, which by his own admission in 1885, was not the first time he’d been charged with this offence. The case involved debates about initials marked on an oyster dredge identifying it as belonging to William. He was found guilty, and, together with his accomplice, a Mr Levi King, sentenced to three months’ hard labour. The judge had wanted to send them down for four months, but the law would not allow.

 

In January 1890 Uriah was in court again, this time charged with being drunk and disorderly. It seems he had too much festive spirit as the incident occurred in Tollesbury on Christmas Day 1889. Another court case in the following July sheds a little more light on this incident. It seems Uriah was not alone in his carousing. His eldest brother Thomas was also charged with the same offence, committed on the same day, but, having been away, most likely with the Merchant Navy, could not be served with a summons until July. The report of Thomas’ case provides a little more information. The police constable reporting the incident said that Thomas used “very bad language” and had caused “a great disturbance.” On being asked to go home he behaved very violently towards the constable. Both men were fined, although Thomas was fined considerably more than his younger brother.

 

Just over two years later, in 1893, the brothers were at it again. This time they were drunk and disorderly in a village just down the road from Tollesbury. Neither actually appeared in court but were found guilty in their absence and fined in default of seven days’ hard labour. The police sergeant who reported them had ordered them to go home but Thomas was heard advising Uriah not to go saying, “I don’t care for any ****** policeman.”

 

Three years later, in 1896, the same thing happened again; both brothers were in court charged with being drunk and disorderly. They were again fined, this time in default of 10 days’ hard labour.

 

In February 1898 Thomas was in court again, but this time he was alone. He was charged with stealing a purse containing £2 and 10 shillings which belonged to William Crabb, with whom he was lodging, and who failed to appear in court to give evidence. A police sergeant stated that this was no doubt because Thomas had offered to repay the money, but that if William were to accept this offer he would be compounding an alleged felony. No mention was made of William’s relationship to Thomas and the case was adjourned so William could be subpoenaed.

 

Back in court a few days later William appeared and testified that Thomas was his stepson. Thomas admitted taking the money and hoped that William would forgive him. He said he would “go to sea and bring home money and pay it.” He said he always came home with good character, and whatever made him take the money he didn’t know. Bursting into tears he said, “It’s the drink, sir.”  Thomas went on to say, “Yes sir, I was drunk, and mother asked me to stay at the house rather than sleep in the street.” He was given one month’s imprisonment and told that, had it not been for his good character, it would have been a good deal more.

 

What happened to Thomas once he’d served his time is not known; however, Uriah appeared in court once more in September 1914. The headline in the local paper expressed some surprise: AFTER 18 YEARS. It had indeed been 18 years since Uriah was last in court on charges of drunkenness and this time the story gives a little more insight into Uriah’s character. In actual fact, his case was straightforward. He’d been seen coming out of a pub in a drunken condition. He was found guilty and fined. It was the case that came after his that explained things a little more clearly.

 

This is the news story as reported in The Essex Newsman:

CHARGE AGAINST PUBLICAN DISMISSED

Arising out of the previous case, Henry James Worsby, landlord of the King’s Head, Tollesbury, was summoned for allowing drunkenness, and for selling intoxicating liquor to a drunken person, at Tollesbury.

Mr. S. Wortley prosecuted; Mr. H. W. Jones defended.

Mrs. Barbara Gurton, wife of the landlord of the Hope public-house, Tollesbury, said that about two o’clock on August 17 she refused to serve a man named Uriah Smith, as he was not sober.

Cross-examined: Smith was eccentric, and always walked a bit “tottery”.

John May, bootmaker, Tollesbury, said he saw Smith between two and three o’clock on Aug. 17, and the man was drunk. About an hour and a half afterwards he saw him again. He was then staggering, and pitching on his toes.

Mrs. Blake, wife of Thomas Blake, landlord of the Plough and Sail, Tollesbury, said she refused to serve Smith on the afternoon in question, because of his condition; and James Collins, landlord of the Victoria, Tollesbury, said Smith was a bit “rolly.”

Wm. Crabb, West Street, Tollesbury, said Smith, who lodged with him, went home the worse for drink on August 17.

For the defence the defendant and his wife, George William Osborne, and Alfred J. Gurton, of Tollesbury, gave evidence to the effect that defendant and his wife refused to serve Smith, as it was a practice among publicans of Tollesbury not to serve him when there were any young men present, as they frequently treated him to drink, made fun of him, and had occasionally blacked his face. On the day in question defendant was not drunk when he went in the King’s Head, but there was a number of men present. He sat in the house, but was not served.

The case was dismissed.”

From this story it seems likely that Uriah Smith could have been a person that people referred to as “half-witted” as they did in 1885 when considering if he was capable of stealing 4,500 oysters. Maybe he wasn’t as bright or as clever as his brothers; undoubtedly he was gullible and naïve and someone that others took advantage of either to further their own gains or simply for their own entertainment. I rather suspect that he was a useful person to have around if you wanted to break the law or needed an amusing drinking partner.

 

Modern day fishing boats moored at Tollesbury. My photo.

 

So what of the others?

 

Mary, despite her sons and husband probably running her ragged and giving her far too many reasons to worry, lived to the ripe old age of 89, outliving all but two of her children according to the 1911 census. She died in 1914.

 

William Crabb, died in 1925. Curiously on the 1911 census, which he completed himself, he lists himself as a Boot Repairer. Maybe he found it to be a more lucrative profession than dredging for oysters, legally or otherwise.

 

Norris Smith, not mentioned before because it seems he never got into trouble with the law, married and had three children. Sadly he died in 1897 serving on board a steam yacht near Crete in the Mediterranean. The cause of death was recorded as syncope (loss of consciousness) owing to immersion.

 

Norris’ eldest son, also Norris, was involved in a humorous court case in 1899. The Essex Standard certainly found it amusing:

AN AMUSING COUNTY COURT CASE AT MALDON.

At the Maldon County Court the other day, before the REGISTRAR (Mr. J. C. Freeman) Walter Lock, a horseman, of Woodham Mortimer, sued Norris Smith, a lad of 19, a dredgerman, of Tollesbury, for £1., 10s, board and lodgings.

The REGISTRAR asked the defendant Smith if he were any relation to the plaintiff.

Defendant. He married my mother.

An old man then stood up in the Court.

The REGISTRAR. Well, what relation are you? (Laughter.)

The man, William Crabb. I married his father’s mother. I am step-grandfather to the defendant. (Laughter.)

The two parties then agreed to wait till the Judge arrived and have the case tried before him.

The REGISTRAR. I am not sorry. (Laughter.)

The plaintiff, before His Honour Judge Paterson, said defendant came to live with him last December and had stopped till January, offering to pay 6s. a week for board and lodgings. On January 17 he paid 6s. and on the 28th he paid another 7s. He left soon after, when five weeks’ pay was owing. Defendant would not do anything. He did not work “half his time”.

His HONOUR. Who’s he got to support him?

Plaintiff. He’s old enough to support himself.

The defendant said that when he left the plaintiff forgave him the money that was owing and in addition presented him with 5s.

His HONOUR. How do you live?

Defendant. I don’t know what you mean? (Laughter.)

The JUDGE. Who supports you?

Defendant. I support myself.

The JUDGE. What do you earn?

Defendant. Last week I earned 6d., and the week before 7d. (Laughter.) My best week I earned 8s. When I came away plaintiff said he did not want anything.

The JUDGE. This is a strange story altogether. (Laughter.) How is the lad to live?

William Crabb. He will have to go on credit. (Laughter.)

His HONOUR. No, no.

Judgment was given against the defendant for 15s., to be paid at the rate of  2s. a month.”

This case makes a little more sense when you realise that the reason Norris stopped lodging with his stepfather was because his mother died. Walter Lock was his stepfather. Why William Crabb found it necessary to be in court is anyone’s guess. Maybe he’d been there so often for one reason or another, he grew to like it. Maybe I’m being unfair and he was there simply to support his step-grandson.

 

Herbert Smith, the youngest son of Mary and Thomas Smith, never got into trouble again after falling foul of his stepfather’s influence in 1883. He died when he was just 43 in 1910, leaving behind a wife and four children: Herbert, who was lost at sea when he was a young man; Charles, who went on to become a grocer, owning his own shop; Henry, who grew up sailing the fishing smacks and crewing racing yachts, but who sadly suffered serious shrapnel wounds to his right arm and leg during the Battle of the Somme, lived out his life in Tollesbury, minus his leg; and Ruth, who married a rather dashing young Petty Officer in the Royal Navy and spent World War I living on Ascension Island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, where my grandmother was born.

 

Tollesbury today is a large village with a thriving marina and yacht club. If you take a walk, or drive, down to the marina, take a moment to gaze over the mud flats and think about the men who risked fines, or even prison, to steal a few oysters. It must have been a tough life, probably with little reward if you didn’t have your own oyster pits. The life of any kind of fisherman is a tough one and I know from other research I’ve done that life as a Merchant Seaman could be dangerous and traumatic. I think we can forgive them a little alcoholic relief.

 

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All information on the various court cases was obtained from the British Newspaper Archive.

Comic Relief: “Don’t be that person!”

I’d already donated money to Comic Relief on Friday night when David Tennant made his impassioned plea, but if I hadn’t, that would have been enough to persuade me.

 

I always try to give to charity where I can, but I’m just as guilty as the next person of sitting complacently on my sofa watching Comic Relief or Children in Need while some celebrity cries on my TV screen. I may even have rolled my eyes. I’ve laughed at the entertainment, I’ve cheered as the total rises and then I’ve slept soundly having given nothing, and all simply because I couldn’t be bothered.

 

I am lucky enough to have never been in a position where I can’t afford to give at least a small amount. Even now, with no job, I can easily spare a little. And it doesn’t take much:

• £1 will pay for one child in Uganda to be tested for malaria so they can get quick diagnosis and life-saving treatment. Just £1 to save a life!

• £3 will provide hot meals for 4 children living in extreme poverty in the UK, something most of us take for granted.

• £5 will buy an insecticide treated bed net – it will protect someone in Africa from being bitten by mosquitoes while they sleep. Malaria kills – the net could save their life.

• £5 will pay for a vaccine that will protect a child in Malawi against deadly diseases such as tetanus and hepatitis B – here in the UK childhood vaccinations are freely available to all.

• £10 could provide vital information to 100 armed forces veterans who are experiencing mental health problems, so they know where to turn for help. They risked their lives for us, £10 is a small price to pay in return.

• £20 will buy a Braille kit enabling a blind child in Kenya to have a proper education. Every child in the UK receives a free and full education regardless of what physical challenges they may face.

• £30 will pay for the training of a volunteer to provide support to an isolated elderly man in the UK. No-one should grow old completely alone.

• £50 could keep a homeless child safe, fed and off the streets for a whole month in Uganda. Think about that when you curl up under your duvet at night.

• £100 will provide vital support to a young woman in the UK who is being sexually exploited, helping her stay safe and healthy, and take the first steps towards a new life. She is someone’s daughter, sister, cousin…

 

I don’t mean to preach, I just never fully appreciated that so much good could be done with so little.

 

If you’ve ever researched your family tree then you will no doubt be aware that the further back you delve into your genealogy the more ancestors you have in each generation, the number increasing exponentially. Just 21 generations back you had over 2 million ancestors. Bearing this in mind, it’s not unreasonable to suppose that somehow we are all related to each other, that everyone in the world is just one gigantic family. We are all connected and we all need each other to survive. This was never more apparent to me than when watching Comic Relief.

 

The stories I saw on the television on Friday night moved me immeasurably: children dying from preventable diseases, mothers dying so their children can live, young people suffering abuse, people living with HIV and AIDS. I am so lucky and so privileged to live the way I do. Watching made me feel ashamed for being dissatisfied with my lot.

 

I can’t promise to never wish for something more from life; that is human nature. But, I do promise that I will never be “that person” again – the one that sits there and watches but does nothing. If all I can afford to give is £1 then I will remember that even an amount as small as that can help to save a life.

 

Give what you can, because every little helps. Don’t do nothing. Don’t be that person.

 

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To find out more about Comic Relief and the work they do, or to donate, please visit their website by clicking here.

There is also information on the Red Nose Day website which you can visit by clicking here.

I obtained the information above about what your money can do from TK Maxx and the Red Nose Day fund-raising kit which can be downloaded from this page.

Lincoln – Steep and Stunning

Lincoln Cathedral & Steep Hill. My photo.

 

Apparently the last time I visited Lincoln I was only 8 years old. I have no recollection of it and I’m actually glad of that. All I knew about Lincoln before last weekend was that it had a huge cathedral sitting on top of a big hill. I wasn’t prepared for any of it and it simply blew my mind.

 

Before you reach the cathedral you have to negotiate the hill. It is possible to get to the top without walking but if you do that you miss the fascinating and charming Steep Hill: a hill so steep that’s what they named it. This is not some gentle meandering slope but a hill I can only describe as vertiginous. I imagine that in the depths of an icy winter it would be advisable to wear crampons on the way up and skis on the way down.

 

I would be lying if I said I didn’t struggle with the hill. My friends and I tackled it twice. The first time was in the dark when I was unsuspecting and unaware that there were places to sit strategically placed along the route. I arrived at the pub we were eating in unable to breathe with sweat pouring down my face. Not an especially attractive look but then I am incredibly unfit. My friends put me to shame! The second time was in the daylight when the shops were open and the places to sit easy to spot. I took it slower and found it a little less exhausting.

 

You would think walking back down the hill would be easier and it is as long as you’re not as unfit as I am. I found that, after the climb up the hill, walking down it rendered my legs and knees somewhat wobbly. I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re a sufferer of vertigo!

 

In the daylight there is much to see on Steep Hill. From certain places the glimpses of the Lincolnshire countryside, famously flat, are breathtaking. There are many interesting buildings of varying age but there are two that stick out as especially remarkable: Jew’s House and Norman House.

 

Jew’s House, Steep Hill. Source.

 

Jew’s House is one of the earliest surviving town houses in England. Built around 1170-80 it is a fine example of Norman architecture complete with original doorway with chimney buttress above and two windows of the first floor hall. There was a thriving Jewish community in Lincoln during medieval times until all Jews were expelled from England in 1290. Tradition says that this house was seized from a Jewish owner at that time, possibly a Rabbi.

 

Norman House, Steep Hill. Source: Dave Hitchborne.

 

Norman House was probably built around a similar time to Jew’s House. For many years it was known as “Aaron the Jew’s House” and it is believed to have been the residence of Aaron of Lincoln (d. 1186) who was the greatest Jewish financier in England.

 

Next to Jew’s House is Jews’ Court. This building is thought by architects to have been built in the 17^th century (there has been no archaeological survey to ascertain its actual age which could be as early as 14^th century). Tradition says it’s built on the site of a medieval synagogue (Wikipedia states that the current building is actually the Norman-built synagogue but this is not thought to be the case).

 

Once at the top of the hill, if you look to your right you’ll see the Exchequergate and the imposing cathedral beyond. The castle is to the left but we didn’t venture that way.

 

Lincoln Cathedral & Exchequergate from Castle Hill. Source.

 

First impressions of Lincoln Cathedral when approaching it, I imagine from any angle, are that it is simply enormous. The sheer scale of it leaves you a little speechless. By floor space it sits 3^rd in Britain only after St Paul’s Cathedral and York Minster. For over two hundred years it was reputedly the tallest building in the world (1311-1549), but then its spire blew down!

 

As you draw closer and can make out the detail of the stonework it defies imagination, or at least it did for me. The whole time I spent in and outside Lincoln Cathedral my jaw was firmly lodged on the floor. I’ve been to some beautiful churches, York Minster being a fine example, but Lincoln is something else entirely. If its size wasn’t enough, the intricacies of its stonework will leave you wide-eyed.

 

On 9^th May 1092 the first cathedral, built by Bishop Remigius, who died two days earlier, was consecrated. Remigius, a Benedictine monk, was the first Norman Bishop of the largest diocese in medieval England, stretching from the Humber to the Thames. The remains of this Norman church are still visible today in the west façade. Many of the rounded arches of the doors and niches survive. In 1125 or 1141 (chronicles disagree) a fire destroyed the timber roof over the nave, which is thought to have been replaced with a stone vault. A frieze was carved and painted in a horizontal band over the main doors, showing Bible stories of God’s salvation for the faithful and fearful punishments for sinners – these still exist today and are undergoing some restoration, the restored friezes causing quite a stir with their depictions of fornication, sodomy and avarice. An earthquake in 1185 meant that major reconstruction of the cathedral was required.

 

Romanesque Frieze depicting Torments of the Damned in Hell & the Harrowing of Hell. My photo.

 

St Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln from 1186 to 1200 and canonised in 1220, began rebuilding the east end of the cathedral in the Early English Gothic style. The nave was completed in the middle of the 13^th century and was joined with the remains of the Norman west end. The west end was then widened and heightened in the Gothic style. I could go on about the history but you should really see it for yourselves if at all possible.

 

Norman Arch, West Façade. My photo.

 

The thing to remember when visiting the cathedral is that it is really old; in many places, older than my brain can really compute. It may help if you consider that some of what you see when you stand in front of the west façade was there 921 years ago, and that when construction of some of what you can still see was started, William the Conqueror had only been dead for 2 years.

 

The Nave. My photo.

 

Stepping inside the cathedral you are faced with the nave. This is an incredible sight. It is vast and cavernous and stunning. When we visited there were no chairs (I don’t know if this is usually the case) and this made the space seem even larger. The thing that particularly struck me though was the colour of the stained glass. The over-riding colour is blue. It is a rich, deep, royal or cobalt blue that makes me think of blue velvet and sapphires. In actual fact, there are many colours and many shades of blue but the memory of this jewel-like blue is what will stay with me forever.
 

Stained Glass (these photos do not do the windows justice). My photos.

 

Around every corner you turn there is something new to discover. Everywhere you look there is intricate and ancient stonework. Each window I gazed at seemed to be bluer than the last. I ran out of superlatives to describe what I discovered but one that is oft misused and definitely overused is “amazing”. Lincoln Cathedral is truly amazing.

 

“Amazing – Causing great surprise or wonder; astonishing”

Oxford English Dictionary

 

The Lincoln Imp. My photo.

 

We found the famous Lincoln Imp atop a pillar looking down upon the Angel Choir (behind the high altar – most easterly part of the cathedral) and popped 20 pence in an unobtrusive box to make him light up. We sat in the choir and listened to a choir practice, the choristers’ angelic voices floating around the vaulted roof as if heaven-sent. We spent a long time sitting on some radiators in the Chapter House which was the warmest place to be on what was a very cold day. This simple space is round with a central column from which the ceiling vaults fan out overhead like a gigantic umbrella. It’s calm and peaceful and somewhere I could happily have sat for some considerable time, especially as my legs were rather achy! As with the rest of the cathedral, it has beautiful stained glass.

 

The Chapter House. Source.

 

As we slowly made our way back down the nave, I was still wandering about with my jaw on the floor. I tried to assemble my thoughts into something coherent to sum up what I thought of the cathedral. I don’t think there is a superlative that really adequately describes what I saw or how I felt. Although it was a Saturday, the cathedral was surprisingly empty; a cold February climb up Steep Hill accompanied by flurries of snow perhaps not the most tempting of prospects. The emptiness of the vast and impressive building made me feel as if I had uncovered some precious gem, a forgotten jewel in our architectural heritage. It felt like a secret place and I felt privileged to walk there.

 

Lincoln Cathedral is unspoilt and unassuming but is majestic and awe-inspiring. It is magical and exquisite and extraordinary. Its unanticipated splendour is enhanced by the quaint and unusual Steep Hill. Despite the view of the towers as you ascend, once you reach the top, all breathless and aching, the very last thing you expect to find built above such a precipitous slope is a building such as this.

 

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I plan to return to Lincoln before too long to search out all the things we missed. I’ve never been one for guidebooks but here you really need one if you want to avoid doing what we did and overlooking the tombs of Katherine Swynford (3^rd wife of John of Gaunt) and her daughter Joan Beaufort (grandmother of Richard III).  We also overlooked the tomb containing the viscera of Eleanor of Castile (wife of Edward I – Edward Longshanks and Hammer of the Scots). There are many other things we missed including a cadaver tomb of Bishop Fleming. Annoyingly I photographed the top but not the bottom (depicting the cadaver) – gruesome but fascinating!

 

You can view more of my photos here on Flickr. My friend also took lots of lovely photos.

 

The Lincoln Cathedral website has lots more information about its history, architecture and restoration.