Having spent the first part of this year concentrating on my maternal grandfather Frederick England’s family, including the Englands, Lings, Halls and Buxtons, in the next few posts I’ll be be turning my attention to his wife, my maternal grandmother Julia Mary Mills, and her ancestors. Like her husband, my grandmother was born in Derbyshire, but her family came mostly from Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire and Lincolnshire, and whereas Fred’s ancestors were largely miners, travelling hawkers or small business owners, hers were mainly argricultural labourers, framework knitters and rural craftsmen. I will be returning to Grandpa Fred at some point to write about, among other things, his experiences during the Second World War, but as I’ve now looked at all the major branches of his family tree it felt like the right time to move on.
Thank you for all the kind comments and messages I’ve received so far. More stories to follow.
Two months ago I wrote a post on the use of online image, sound and film archives for family history research (see The gifts of sound and vision, published 6 May 2016). In it I described how I’d found a number of photographs of my great-great-grandmother Emma Sillers’s pram and mail carts shops using websites like Leodis and The Card Index, and how these in turn led to the discovery of a piece of film footage showing one of them in 1898.
Vicar Lane, Leeds, 1937, showing the sign for Emma Sillers’s pram shop (via Leodis).
Vicar Lane, Leeds, c. 1910, showing my great-great-grandmother Emma Sillers’s mail carts shop on the left (via The Card Index).
The junction of Duncan Street and Briggate, Leeds, 1902. The sign for my great-great-grandmother Emma Sillers’s mailcarts shop can be seen beneath the larger sign for ‘Yorkshire Relish’ (via Leodis).
Screenshot from ‘Leeds Street Scenes’ (1898) showing a mail carts shop sign near the top left (via Yorkshire Film Archive).
In response to this, a few weeks later I received a message from someone who’d come across my blog while researching an Edwardian wheelchair he’d rescued from a care home two years ago. The chair, he claimed, appeared to bear the name ‘Sillers’ on the side, and although my blog hadn’t mentioned anything about my ancestor’s firm manufacturing wheelchairs he’d wondered whether whether this could have been a sideline of theirs. After exchanging a few more messages he sent me the two photographs below, which left little doubt as to its maker.
The second photograph quite clearly shows the Sillers name, as well as (rather less clearly) their trading address at Vicar Lane in Leeds. I’d previously had no idea Sillers made wheelchairs in addition to mail carts and prams, which was an interesting enough revelation in itself, but it was also a treat to be able to examine my ancestors’ handiwork so close up. In addition, I know another of my great-great-grandparents, Hollan Horsfall, had used an ‘invalid chair’ since he was about forty, and I’m now wondering whether this could explain how his family came into contact with the Sillers clan (his daughter Dorothy had married Emma’s son Clarence in 1919). Hopefully I’ll know more by the time I get around to telling their story.
This is the much-delayed, third and last installment in my series of posts on the Halls, the maternal ancestors of my grandfather Frederick England’s mother Maud Ling. In it I will be focusing on the children of Charles Buxton (1826-1903) and Miriam Hall (1833-1910) of Alfreton, including William, John Samuel, Emma Elizabeth, Rose Ellen, Frederick Charles, George Henry and Alfred Buxton, as well as Maud Ling’s mother Mary Ann Hall. For the history of the Hall and Buxton families up to this point see Halls that echo still parts one and two.
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By the time Charles and Miriam Buxton died in 1903 and 1910 respectively, their surviving children had all established careers and families of their own. Although the Devonshire Arms inn passed out of the family’s hands shortly after Charles’s death (by 1911 it was under the management of Joseph Shearman), a number of his children appear to have followed him into the fish, fruit and grocery trade. The first to do so was his eldest son William Buxton (b. 24 September 1856, Alfreton, Derbyshire), who by 1881 had opened a fruiterer’s shop at 27 King Street, a few minutes up the road from the Devonshire Arms. That year’s census records him living with his wife Eliza (née Bent), with whom he went on to have seven children before her death in 1899. On later censuses William was shown working as a ‘fruit hawker’ in Brampton in 1891, and then at Chesterfield ten years later, where he was living with five of his children at 117 Chatsworth Road.
The dates and locations may be significant here, for as we saw in Travelling with the Lings (part 3), several members of the Ling family were also working as hawkers in Brampton and Chesterfield in those same census years. William would undoubtedly have known the Lings through his older sister Mary Ann, who had married John Ling in 1871, but his proximity to them over such a long period suggests there may have been a history of personal and business connections between the two families which the census only hints at. It is possible this Buxton-Ling relationship predated even John and Mary Ann’s marriage, as John’s father George Ling was an innkeeper and publican based on King Street (see Travelling with the Lings (part 2)), just like Charles Buxton. George and Charles could have been old friends or business contacts who wanted to cement a profitable partnership through the marriage, or perhaps they had been rivals who saw it as a means of ending a feud.
Whatever its origin, it is clear this relationship between the Lings and the Buxtons remained strong over at least two generations. For example, Charles and Miriam’s second son John Samuel Buxton (b. 8 July 1859, Alfreton, Derbyshire) was for a time guardian to one of John and Mary Ann Ling’s daughters (a point I will return to shortly). In addition, Samuel, as he was commonly known, appears to have been cut from similar cloth to his brothers and sisters-in-law on the Ling side, as like them he was no stranger to physical altercations and occasionally found himself in trouble with the authorities.
Aged twenty one he had married a woman from Somercotes named Mary Stanton, and shortly afterwards moved with her to Skegby in north Nottinghamshire where he worked as a coal miner. By the time his first son was born in 1884 however they had moved back to Alfreton and Samuel and was employed as a county court bailiff. That same year he was named in the local press in connection with an illegal raffle which took place at the Queen’s Head inn without the landlord’s knowledge (The Derbyshire Times, 15 October 1884, p. 3, col. 5). A clock belonging to Samuel had been the main prize. A somewhat more serious allegation came the following year when he was charged with making an affray alongside Samuel College of Wessington at Oakerthorpe. Both men were bound over in the sum of £5 to keep the peace for three months (Derbyshire Advertiser and Journal, 26 June 1885, p. 6, col. 6).
As a county court bailiff, charged with recovering debts by forcibly entering people’s homes and seizing their property, Samuel would undoubtedly have had made a few enemies over the years, so violent exchanges like the one described above are hardly surprising. Bailiffs were widely resented by the working classes for whom they represented an iniquitous system which favoured the rich, as Kruse describes in The Victorian Bailiff: Conflict and Change (2012, Preface):
Distress [debt collection through property siezure] was compared to the bastinado used to oppress farmers in the East, an “injurious grievance” which resulted in the cottages of the poor being ransacked. These attacks developed into a full blown campaign for abolition of distress late in the [Nineteenth] century, but the bailiff in all these instances suffered for no fault of his own and was condemned however blameless his actions.
From the story below, taken from the Heanor petty sessions, it is clear Samuel occasionally found himself on the receiving end of this widespread popular anger:
Another story published nine years later reveals Samuel was also accused of “wilful and corrupt perjury” by a local farmer, who alleged that £1 in rent arrears had been wrongfully seized before it was due (The Derbyshire Times, 23 January 1897, p. 3, cols. 3-4). The charges were dropped after five hours’ deliberation, but together with his earlier assault the story clearly illustrates the thankless nature of his work and the hostility he would have faced on an almost daily basis. The engravings below from The Illustrated Police News depict similarly fraught encounters between bailiffs and tenants which would have proved popular with contemporary readers.
Samuel appears to have left his regular employer Messrs W. Watson & Son shortly after this incident, and sued them for £10 2s. 9d. in overdue wages (The Derbyshire Times, 30 April 1898, p. 6, col. 6). The firm issued a counter-claim of £5 18s. 5d., alleging he had been drunk on duty and had left a repossessed house unguarded. A lively scene ensued at Alfreton County Court when upon hearing these allegations Samuel called his accuser a rogue, and said he would rather leave the court than stay and listen to their falsehoods. According to the report, “Buxton was then removed from the Court room to an ante-room, where he was kept until the business had been transacted”. Despite his protestations, a string of witnesses came forward to corroborate the firm’s claims, saying “he was drunk all the time”. The judge let him off with a warning but said he should not have been so foolish as to act in the manner he did, especially as he had been serving as a representative of the court.
It is possible Samuel’s drinking and erratic behaviour had been triggered by his wife Mary’s death two years earlier. There is a record of him auctioning off his household furniture and general effects on 19 September 1896, shortly after relinquishing his property at 27 King Street (The Derbyshire Times, 16 September 1896, p. 2, col. 6), and by the following census in 1901 he had moved back in with his mother and father at the Devonshire Arms. His occupation was recorded as ‘labourer’. Over the following decade however his fortunes appear to have steadily improved, as by 1911 he had married again to a woman named Elizabeth. That year’s census shows them living together with their children at 151 King Street, and records his new occupation as a furniture dealer.
Before moving on to Charles and Miriam Buxton’s other sons and daughters, a few words on Samuel’s children. Although it’s not entirely clear from the censuses, from looking at the local parish registers he appears to have had a total of nine children, four with his first wife Mary and five with Elizabeth. A tenth child, ‘Maud Buxton’ is shown living with him and his family at 27 King Street in 1891, however after a thorough search I have been unable to find any other mention of this child, and it is my belief that this is actually Maud Ling, my great-grandmother and Samuel’s niece by his sister Mary Ann. Why Maud would be living with her aunt and uncle at this time instead of with her brothers and sisters in Doncaster is unclear, as is the reason why she was incorrectly recorded as Samuel’s daughter. Whatever the reason it is notable that while her siblings all went on to embrace travelling lifestyles under the influence of their itinerant pot dealer father John Ling, Maud, under Samuel’s guardianship, remained in Alfreton and married local miner Tom England. We will return to Maud and her family at the end of this post.
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Charles and Miriam’s next child after Samuel was Emma Elizabeth Buxton, who was born in Alfreton on 15 February 1863. The censuses of 1881 and 1891 show her assisting her parents at the Devonshire Arms inn (perhaps as a cook or bairmaid), but sadly she died prematurely at the age of thirty two. Her younger sister Rose Ellen was born four years later on 18 March 1867, and married a greengrocer from Coventry named William Henry Beresford. She had one daughter with the unusual Old Testament name Mahalah. Like many of her siblings Rose spent most of her life on King Street, first at the Devonshire Arms and then at number 122 in 1891, when she was recorded as a dressmaker, and at number 46 in 1911. Her last known address was the Midland Hotel in Ripley where she died on 28 August 1925.
According to her probate record, in the year Rose died her effects were valued at £295. There is a stark contrast here with her younger brother Frederick Charles Buxton (b. 11 Mar 1870), Charles and Miriam’s third son, whose estate was worth £8,337 2s. 7d. by the time he died. Like his older brother William, Frederick was a fruiterer and greengrocer but also sold fish and game from his shop at the junction of Alfreton High Street and Bonsall Lane. The photograph below from Around Alfreton shows Frederick’s shop at around the turn of the century. The figures in the foreground are almost certainly Frederick himself and his daughter Lucy Buxton (b. 8 February 1899, Alfreton, Derbyshire).
Lucy was one of two children by Frederick’s first wife Lucy Matilda Thomas, who he had married at the age of twenty one in her home parish of St. Cuthbert’s in Wells, Somerset. Lucy Matilda died in early 1899, possibly while giving birth to her daughter, but within a year Frederick had already remarried. His second wedding to Scottish-born Mary Ann Taylor took place on 31 January 1900 and they went on to have three sons together. Further details from Frederick’s life can be found in his obituary in the The Derbyshire Times, which described him as one of Alfreton’s best-known residents.
Given the respect and status Frederick seems to have enjoyed in the local community it is highly likely his nephew Charles Frederick Ling was named after him. My grandfather Frederick England was in turn probably named after one or both of these men (his great-uncle and maternal uncle respectively) and I got my middle name from him. Therefore, through the transmission of this one name it is possible to trace the legacy of an individual born in 1870 across four generations, four families, and four individuals separated by more than a century.
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Charles and Miriam’s fourth son George Henry Buxton was born three years after Frederick on 14 April 1873. Like his older sister Emma, George started out assisting his parents at the Devonshire Arms before working as bricklayer’s labourer and coal hewer. In 1899 he had married a Nottinghamshire woman named Alice Morton with whom he had four children. The 1901 census records him living next to his brother Frederick’s shop on Bonsall Lane, but by 1911 he was living just off King Street at 5 Independent Hill. His probate record from 1953 shows he was still living there when he died at the age of eighty, and his effects were valued at £593 5s. 11d.
Unlike some of his siblings, George’s name does not appear much in local newspapers, and therefore we know little of his personal life beyond what was included in the census and other official records. The only significant story to mention George (reproduced below) recounts an incident at the King’s Head inn when he and his younger brother Alfred were fined for refusing to leave the premises after mocking a female singer (The Derbyshire Times, 7 June 1899, p. 3, col. 4):
Although this seems to have been George’s first and only brush with the law, this was not the case for Charles and Miriam’s youngest son Alfred. Born on 2 March 1877, at the age of fifteen he had already been fined £1 4s. 2d. for “using obscene language to the annoyance of passengers on the street” alongside two other boys. All three had received cautions before (The Derbyshire Courier, 27 December 1892, p. 3, col. 4). Shortly after his assault charge at the King’s Head in 1899 however he appears to have put such youthful misdemeanors behind him, and following his marriage to Harriet Jackson on 21 December that year there were no further stories like this in the press. The couple lived at West Street in South Normanton for a time, where the 1901 census recorded Alfred as a sawyer, before moving to 14 Amber Row in Wessington. Here Alfred worked as a labourer at the local coal mine before being promoted to colliery banksman.
Unusually for a thirty seven year old man in a reserved occupation, on 21 January 1915 Alfred enlisted for military service in the Great War and was appointed to the Royal Field Artillery. According to his service record he was posted to the No. 6 Depot at Glasgow on 23 April as part of the 31st Reserve Battery, where he would have served in a remount training unit preparing horses for the frontline. On 13 March the following year he was transferred to the 5th Battalion of the Royal Fusiliers for two months before being discharged with pay on 2 May. There is a brief note in his service record where his commanding officer described his character as “Very Good, Sober, Thoroughly Trustworthy”.
In light of these commendations the events of four years later come as an even greater shock. On 25 June 1920 Alfred and his wife Harriet were questioned by a coroner following the ‘discovery’ of a stillborn infant’s body buried in their garden (The Belper News, 2 July 1920, p. 8, col. 4). The couple were accused of concealing the birth, a crime which carried a maximum sentence of two years’ imprisonment, and a trial was held to determine their fates. A witness statement recorded in the local press gives a detailed and moving account of the incident and how the police came to learn of it (The Belper News, 6 August 1920, p. 8, col. 3):
Following a special magisterial sitting the couple were acquitted, as there was no evidence they had ever attempted to conceal the birth (The Nottingham Evening Post, 8 November 1920, p. 2, col. 1), but having a private tragedy like this play out on such a public stage for several months must have made their victory a bittersweet one at best.
The unnamed stillborn infant at the centre of this case would have been Alfred and Harriet’s seventeenth child since their marriage. By the time of their trial the family had moved back to Alfreton and were living at Outseats Terrace, and this was still Alfred’s address when he died at the age of sixty nine on 12 June 1946. His probate record from the following year gave the value of his personal effects as £619 4s. 7d. Although no photographs of Alfred have surfaced yet, the picture below shows his eldest daughter, Ada Spencer (née Buxton), with two of his grandchildren.
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Having looked at Charles Buxton and Miriam Hall’s seven legitimate children, let us return now to Miriam’s first child, Mary Ann Hall. Born in Alfreton on 29 November 1851, Mary Ann’s first five years were spent living with her mother’s family in Carlton, Nottinghamshire. Following her mother’s marriage to Charles in 1856 however it appears she quietly dropped the Hall name and was thereafter known as Mary Ann Buxton. The question of her paternity was discussed at length in the previous post, and the reasons for my conclusions will not be repeated here, but it seems quite possible that Charles himself had been her biological father all along. This would certainly explain why he appears to have been so ready to bestow his family name on her, and why he is explicitly recorded as her father in both the 1861 census and in Mary Ann’s marriage certificate from 21 March 1871.
Mary Ann’s marriage to the general dealer John Ling and her children by that union were described in Travelling with the Lings (part 3), but here follows a summarised account of their years together. After their marriage they lived at 135 King Street in Alfreton for around six years, during which time Mary Ann gave birth to three children, before moving to Ripley High Street in about 1877. Here Mary Ann had two more children, including my great-grandmother Maud Ling (b. 17 April 1881), and from the 1881 census we can see that both she and her husband John had begun specialising as earthenware dealers by then.
At some point before the birth of her sixth child in 1888 the family (minus Maud) relocated to Doncaster, possibly via Brampton, where they continued to trade as glass and china dealers at number 34 Silver Street. Interestingly, in the 1893 West Riding edition of Kelly’s Directory only Mary Ann’s name is recorded, suggesting she had taken over the day-to-day running of the business. One possible explanation for this could be that her husband’s health had already begun to fail by this point, as on 13 December the following year he died of lung congestion at the family home at 12 Silver Street, just three months after the birth of their last child, Olive Emma Ling.
By 1901 Mary Ann had moved the family’s china business back to Alfreton and was living with her daughters Maud and Olive above their shop at 16 King Street. That year’s census shows them sharing their home with a thirty eight year old lodger from Poland named Louis Goodman, a travelling draper and hawker. The pictures below show their former home on King Street as it appears today.
The site of Mary Ann Ling’s china shop at 16 King Street, Alfreton (now Broadbent’s Solicitors), 2011.
16 King Street from the back, 2016.
For an idea of what Mary Ann’s shop might have looked like at the time, this photograph of Arthur Smith’s china and general goods shop at 134 King Street circa 1911 may provide some insight.
It is even possible Smith’s business was a continuation of Mary Ann’s, given its location and the goods they sold. In late 1910 Mary Ann had married her second husband Thomas Bestwick, the recently widowed publican at Alfreton’s Railway Hotel, so it would have made sense to sell her business at around this time. The 1911 census shows her and Thomas running the pub together at 105 King Street alongside her youngest daughter Olive and step-son Melville Bestwick. Her age is recorded as fifty eight, however we know from her birth certificate she was actually fifty nine at the time, a rather scandalous eleven years older than her new husband.
As this is the last census currently open to the public, Mary Ann’s movements after this date become harder to trace. We know her husband Thomas died on 1 February 1929, and that according to his probate record his last address had been ‘Holly House’ on South Moor Lane in Birmington, near Chesterfield. Presumably Mary Ann had been living with him at the time. Ten years later the sale of this house was recorded in a local newspaper:
The property was still said to be in the possession of a trust Thomas had set up, suggesting Mary Ann had continued living there for a time after her husband’s death. Sadly we know from her death certificate that her final days were spent at Storthes Hall Mental Hospital near Huddersfield, where she was admitted on 19 April 1938, three months before she passed away on 30 July. The cause of death was identified as lobar pneumonia, and she was said to be eighty eight years old, although she was in fact only eighty six. Perhaps the most intriguing detail on her death certificate however is the entry in the ‘Rank or Profession’ column, which reads “of Caravan, Toll Gate Hotel Yard, Old Mill, Barnsley U.D”. This was both her last known address and that of her travelling showman son, Charles Frederick Ling, her next of kin in the hospital’s admittance records. Despite having also been a Hall, a Buxton and a Bestwick in her time, perhaps Mary Ann had always felt most at home travelling with the Lings?
L-R: Miriam Buxton (née Hall), her great granddaughter Isabella Cicely Hobson, granddaughter Annie Elizabeth Hobson (née Ling), and daughter Mary Ann Ling (formerly Buxton, née Hall) c. 1907. Source: Courtesy of the National Fairground Archive.
William Henry Hall and Olive Emma Ling’s wedding, c. February 1921, Chesterfield, Derbyshire. Olive’s mother Mary Ann Bestwick (formerly Ling, formerly Buxton, née Hall) is on the second row, fourth from the right. Courtesy of the National Fairground Archives.
L-R: My great-aunt and Harry England’s wife Ethel May England (née Buxton, no relation), my great-great-grandmother Mary Ann Bestwick (formerly Ling, formerly Buxton, née Hall), my great-grandmother Maud England (née Ling), and my great-grandfather Tom England, c. 1935.
The influence of the Hall and Buxton families on the Lings and Englands can be seen in their shared network of personal and business connections, as well as the names they passed on to their children, but perhaps most of all in the long shadow cast by a persistent rumour concerning Mary Ann’s missing fortune. Growing up my mother remembers her father Frederick England claiming there was “money in probate” on numerous occasions, and a series of letters from the Belper Register Office seems show how this elusive wealth was connected in his family’s mind with Mary Ann. Two of these from September 1949 refer to searches for her death certificate, as well as those of her parents Charles and Miriam, which they presumably needed in order to find the corresponding entries in the National Probate Index. It is not clear how far they got but the value of Mary Ann’s effects at the time of her death was just £280 12s. 2d. Even when one adds the £123 left by her father and her mother’s £985 17s. 1d. the sum total hardly justifies the legendary status it acquired. It is possible the rumour’s origins lay with Mary Ann’s second husband Thomas Bestwick, who left behind a personal fortune worth £3,833 3s. (approximately £128,100 in today’s money), but then again it could also just have been wishful thinking on my family’s part. The search continues.
This is the second in a series of posts on the Hall family, the maternal ancestors of my great-grandmother Maud Ling (my maternal grandfather Frederick England’s mother), the first of which can be found here. This part will focus primarily on Maud’s grandparents Miriam Hall and Charles Buxton.
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Miriam Hall was born in Lambley, Nottinghamshire in 1833. Her baptism record from 30 June that year gives her parents’ names as John and Ann Hall, however as was mentioned in the previous post, unlike her brothers, John Jr., Thomas and William, she was not present at their house on the night of the 1841 census. It’s possible her name was simply missed off the schedule, or she may have been staying with relatives, but whatever the reason her whereabouts that year remain unknown. Her earliest confirmed appearance in the census would not come till 1851, by which time she was eighteen and living with her parents in Alfreton, Derbyshire.
One fact which the census did not record however, and which was perhaps unknown even to Miriam at this point, was that by then she would have been about four weeks pregnant. On 29 November 1851, almost eight months to the day after census night, Miriam gave birth to a little girl named Mary Ann. Unsurprisingly for a child born outside marriage in the 1850s, no father was mentioned by name on either her birth certificate or her baptism record from 4 January the following year.
As has been shown in earlier posts regarding George and Susannah Ling, Nineteenth Century attitudes towards illegitimate children and their mothers were often unswervingly condemnatory. We of course don’t know how sympathetic Miriam’s family were to her situation, but we do know that five years after her daughter’s birth she was living in Carlton, Nottinghamshire, only three miles from where she had been born in Lambley. Perhaps once the signs of her pregnancy began to show it was decided, mutually or otherwise, that it would be better for Miriam to stay with relatives for a few years to avoid a scandal?
Ironically, the only reason we know about Miriam’s move to Carlton is because by 1856 she had become pregnant once again. We know this because on 24 September that year she gave birth to a son, William, exactly six months after her marriage to a man named Charles Buxton at All Hallows church in nearby Gedling. From their marriage certificate we can see that Miriam had been working as a dressmaker, and that, interestingly, her two witnesses were James and Harriet Burton, both first cousins by her maternal uncle Benjamin Burton. According to the 1861 census, Benjamin and his family were living in Carlton at around this time, so it seems likely he was the relative who took Miriam in following her first pregnancy five years earlier.
So what of Charles, the man she married? Their certificate states that he was a twenty nine year old tailor, the son of a ‘messenger’ (postman) named William Buxton, and that like Miriam he had been living in Carlton before the wedding. Further research into his past reveals that he had been born in Alfreton on 26 September 1826, and that by 1841 he was working as a servant in a house on Leeming Street in Mansfield. Shortly afterwards he must have secured an apprenticeship as by 1851 he was already working as a tailor back in Alfreton, just a few doors away from Miriam and her family. Given their proximity it’s not impossible that Charles was the father of Miriam’s first child, Mary Ann, who was born later that year. While only a DNA test could prove this definitively, a pre-existing relationship with Miriam would certainly explain Charles’s presence in Carlton in 1856.
Once they were married Charles and Miriam moved back to Alfreton, perhaps because their new status as husband and wife enabled them to pass off Mary Ann as legitimate. Here they went on to have seven children together over the next eleven years, whose names were:
William (b. 24 September 1856, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
John Samuel (b. 8 July 1859, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
Emma Elizabeth (b. 15 February 1863, Alfreton, Derbyshire – d. c. May 1895, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
Rose Ellen (b. 19 March 1867, Alfreton, Derbyshire – d. 28 August 1925, Ripley, Derbyshire)
Frederick Charles (b. 11 March 1870, Alfreton, Derbyshire – d. 3 August 1937, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
George Henry (b. 14 April 1873, Alfreton, Derbyshire – 5 September 1953, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
Alfred (b. 2 March 1877, Alfreton, Derbyshire – d. 12 Jul 1946, Alfreton, Derbyshire)
As late as 1857 Charles was still working as a tailor (according to that year’s edition of White’s Directory), but was recorded as a postman in the 1861 census. Unlike his father William, who had started working for the Post Office on 9 1848, Charles’s name does not appear in the British Postal Service appointment books. This suggests he may have been employed on a fairly casual basis, perhaps helping out his sixty seven year old father with his daily rounds. William’s route according to the appointment books was between Alfreton and the nearby village of Pinxton so it seems likely Charles would have travelled this same way. Each day he would have set off from his home on Derby Road, picking up the mail from postmaster Thomas Tomlinson Cutler’s house on New Street before making his deliveries on foot or by horse and cart.
By 1870, according to his son Frederick’s baptism record, Charles had changed careers again and was working as an innkeeper at the Devonshire Arms on King Street. It’s not exactly clear how this came about, however his father’s will written the following year mentions a piece of land on Lincoln Street “now used as a garden and in the occupation of son Charles Buxton”, which is presumably a reference to the Devonshire Arms’s beer garden. Although Charles is the only member of the family explicitly mentioned as running the Devonshire Arms in the census returns, it is likely the whole family including Miriam would have helped out in one way or another, serving drinks, cooking meals or preparing guests’ rooms.
The need to provide meals for his guests in addition to drinks, accommodation and stabling may explain why from at least 1873 Charles also appears to have worked as a greengrocer, fruiterer and fishmonger. Inevitably ordering large quantities of food for the Devonshire Arms would have left him with a certain amount of surplus stock, and therefore a stall at Alfreton market place would have seemed like a profitable way of selling on some of it. Although clearly an enterprising man, a newspaper report from 1878 suggests he may not always have been overly fastidious in his work, as that year he was fined £1 and costs for having several incorrect weights on his stall on 25 January, despite his protestations that he had had them adjusted four times in the past year (The Derbyshire Times, 27 February 1878, p. 3, col. 4).
Charles also appears to have branched out into farming, as around this time he had been renting “a large field which runs parallel to the railway at [South] Wingfield” (The Derbyshire Times, 26 January 1876, p. 3, cols. 4-5). Charles was mentioned in the local newspaper when two of his horses from this field wandered onto the railway lines on 24 January 1876 and caused an enormous collision. They had apparently been able to reach the tracks due to two unlocked gates which separated Charles’s field from some waste ground used by the Midland Railway Company and the railway itself. Fortunately the horses were the only casualties, however there was a great deal of property damage, including to South Wingfield Station itself. According to The Derbyshire Times:
The shock of the concussion was such that many of the trucks were thrown into the six-foot, and one of them was lifted right onto the platform, where both it and its contents were so thickly strewn as to impede the free passage of the platform. This train was wholly loaded with beer and grains, and for some distance the line was covered with splintered waggons, ironwork twisted into the most fantastic shapes, and bulged-in beer casks.
Before the track could be cleared a “heavily-laden mineral train dashed up at a high rate of speed”:
The result can only be imagined. The engine dashed into those portions of the trucks which were fouling the down-line, and so violent was the impact that the engine was greatly damaged, and a large number of trucks were thrown off the line, which was strewn with coals. With the exception of twelve yards the whole of the platform at Wingfield station was torn up, the large coping being smashed like cardboard. The rails were torn up, and the sleepers wrenched from their positions, the line being completely wrecked.
Later that year Charles attempted to claim £45 in damages from the Company for the loss of the two animals (The Derbyshire Times, 24 June 1876, p. 3, col. 4). Several years later another news story described a strikingly similar incident, when Charles was charged with “allowing three cows and a calf to stray on the highway at South Wingfield, on August 31st” (The Derbyshire Times, 4 October 1893, p. 3, col. 7) after the villagers at Highfield “had complained about the cattle getting into their gardens and eating their vegetables.” Charles’s defence was that his field was overrun with people and he could not keep the gate shut, but in the end he was fined 12s. and costs.
By 1903 Charles, now seventy six, had been largely confined to his bed for several months due to general ill-health. After leaving his bed at around 4.30 pm on Thursday 19 March his shirt accidentally caught flame from the bedroom fireplace. Miriam, who had been preparing his tea, rushed upstairs after hearing his screams, but was too late to prevent his burns to the head, neck, arm and sides. He died the following evening on 20 March, and later a jury gave the cause of death as shock from the burns (The Derbyshire Times, 28 March 1903, p. 5, col. 4). In his will he left Miriam £123. Miriam herself died seven years later on 30 March 1910, also aged seventy six, and in her will she is said to have left behind the not inconsiderable sum of £985 17s. 1d., presumably the full value of The Devonshire Arms, which still stands on King Street today.
In the next and final installment of this series I will be be looking at the children of Miriam Hall and Charles Buxton, including my great-great-grandmother, Miriam’s illegitimate daughter Mary Ann Hall. In it we will see how her marriage to John Ling brought together two of the most prominent families in Alfreton, and how her influence profoundly shaped the lives of her descendants.
Before moving on to my maternal grandmother Julia Mary Mills, there is one more family among her husband Frederick England’s ancestors whose story I’d like to tell. In previous posts I have looked at the direct male-line ancestors of both his father Thomas England and his mother Maud Ling, but so far have not considered either of his parents’ female lines. In this series I will be talking about the ancestors of Maud Ling’s mother Mary Ann.
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Over the course of her life, Frederick England’s maternal grandmother went by a confusingly large number of names. Her death certificate from 1938 records her as ‘Mary Ann Bestwick’ (see First steps in family history (part 2)), the name she adopted following her second marriage in 1910, but prior to that she had been ‘Mary Ann Ling’ since marrying Maud Ling’s father John in 1871. Her maiden name according to her marriage certificate from that year was ‘Buxton’, but both her birth and baptism records confirm she had actually been christened ‘Mary Ann Hall’. How and why this name change came about will be explored later, but let us look first at the origins of the Hall family whose name she inherited.
Mary Ann’s earliest known ancestor on the Hall side was her grandfather, John Hall, who was born in about 1794 in Long Eaton in south east Derbyshire. At around twenty three years of age he married Ann Burton (bp. 3 January 1797, Lambley, Nottinghamshire) on 25 September 1817 in Ann’s home parish of Lambley, a remote, sleepy village in rural Nottinghamshire whose most notable geographical features include ‘The Dumbles’ and ‘The Pingle’. Ann’s parents, John Burton and Amy Charlesworth, had roots in both Lambley and the slightly larger market town of Arnold further west, and including Ann they appear to have had at least thirteen children.
John and Ann Hall’s whereabouts in the years immediately following their marriage are unclear. The 1841 census shows them living with three boys born between 1826 and 1836 who were almost certainly their sons, but as that year’s census did not state the relationships between members of the same household it’s impossible to say for sure. Their names were:
John Hall (b. c. 1826, England)
Thomas Hall (b. c. 1831, England)
William Hall (b. c. 1836, England)
We have no way of knowing where the family were living when they were born as unfortunately the census only records that they were born outside their current county of residence (Derbyshire). This together with their suspiciously ’rounded-down’ ages (15, 10 and 5) has made locating their baptism records extremely difficult. To date the only child of John and Ann Hall’s whose baptism record I have found is that of their daughter, Miriam, who was christened in Lambley on 30 June 1833. The date and place suggest the Halls may have stayed in Ann’s home village after they were married until at least the early 1830s, but without further evidence it’s difficult to get an accurate timeline.
What is certain is that by 1841 the family had moved to Queen’s Head Yard in Alfreton, Derbyshire, and the reason for their move may have had something to do with John’s occupation as a cotton framework knitter. At this time hosiery was still an important part of Alfreton’s economy, and the town would have been an attractive destination for unemployed framework knitters seeking work. While less hazardous than coal mining, which gradually supplanted framework knitting as the area’s main industry later in the Nineteenth Century, the life of a ‘stockinger’ was far from easy, as Denise Amos writes:
Framework knitting was a domestic industry. William Gibson, a manufacturer, gave evidence that many of his workers worked together and that it was an entirely domestic manufacture. The whole family worked in the industry. The men normally did the knitting, the women spun the yarn and finished the hose, which required needlework skills for seaming and embroidery. The work was given out through a middle person and the knitters had to accept the wage or go without work. For many they lived in abject poverty and wretchedness. The children would begin to help as soon as they were able. Ben Glover, a knitter said that the reason the children stayed in the industry was because their families were poverty-stricken; they were born to it, they remained in it and they died there! There was also the problem of unionisation which did not exist in the knitting industry. The knitters could not stop other redundant hands coming into the trade and therefore the price of labour was kept low.
Although only John and his oldest son John Jr. were recorded as framework knitters in the 1841 census, it is likely the whole family would have been involved in some capacity. Indeed by 1861 John’s wife Ann was also listed as a framework knitter at their new Derby Road address, even though as Amos notes above, this was traditionally a male occupation. This may have been because, for reasons unknown, her husband was absent on census night that year and she was simply filling in for him while he was away, but the fact that she was even capable of doing so suggests a more flexible division of labour than the one Amos suggests.
In addition to to their work as stockingers, John and Ann were by this time supplementing their modest income by renting out their children’s empty rooms to a series of lodgers. In 1861 these included two Leicestershire coal miners, Thomas Adkin and William Linsley, and in 1871, following their move to 15 Malthouse Row on King Street, two fellow stockingers named Thomas Beresford and Samuel Fletcher. Astonishingly, John was still listed as a framework knitter in 1871 despite the fact that he was by then seventy seven years old, but within four years both he an Ann would be dead. Ann was the first to go aged seventy six. She was buried in the grounds of St. Martin’s Church in Alfreton on 25 August 1873. John followed soon after in around May 1874 at the grand age of eighty one.
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The fates of John and Ann’s three sons, John Jr., Thomas and William after 1841 are unknown, as that is the last census on which any of them can be found. We know rather more about their daughter Miriam however, who was not living with her parents in 1841 and did not show up in Alfreton until the following decade. Miriam was Mary Ann Hall’s mother and Maud Ling’s maternal grandmother. In the next post I will be focusing on her story as well as that of her husband, the tailor, postman, greengrocer and publican of the Devonshire Arms, Charles Buxton.
I made a small but enjoyable discovery last night upon taking out my copy of the Beatles’ Revolver. Tucked inside the sleeve for safe keeping were four record tokens which my uncle Ron, the original owner, had been diligently stockpiling, but which he’d evidently forgotten about before spending. The tokens were for ‘Keith Freer’ of 259 Cotmanhay Road in Ilkeston, Derbyshire, and each was worth just one twelfth of a 45 rpm single.
My uncle’s copy of Revolver by the Beatles with the four record tokens found inside the sleeve.
Record tokens on Revolver’s back cover.
As far as I can make out, Keith Freer was an electrical shop which opened in Ilkeston close to when Revolver was released in the late-1960s. From looking at my uncle’s copy it appears to have been from the original 5 August 1966 pressing, as among other distinguishing features it contains a mispelling of the track ‘Doctor Robert’ on the label (it’s abbreviated here to ‘Dr. Robert’). Unsurprisingly, Revolver was a big seller and a second pressing went into production later that year. This makes me think Ron probably bought his copy shortly after it first went on sale, and that the tokens inside were therefore likely acquired at around the same time.
My uncle died in 2013, which is why it was nice to find this remnant of a forgotten moment from his life fifty years ago, undisturbed and previously undiscovered. It also served as a reminder of the enormous technological and cultural changes which have taken place since Revolver was released in 1966, as today when virtually any piece of recorded music can be accessed freely and instantaneously, the idea of someone saving up tokens to hear just two sides of music feels curiously quaint. Similarly, when I play the record itself I am conscious of the passage of decades through the intermittent pops and crackles caused by repeated plays.
At the same time however the music it contains, like many albums produced in that transformative year, defies and transcends its aging physical medium through its deathless, shattering modernity. Perhaps uniquely among ‘family history sources’ therefore, a piece of vinyl passed from one generation to another is valuable as both a record of that relative’s time with the object, but also a means of inducing some of the same feelings they must have felt when they first encountered it.
One of the frustrating things about family history is that no matter how much you find out about your ancestors, you never really feel acquainted with them unless you know what they looked and sounded like. The further back in time we go, the more difficult it becomes to find photographs, films or voice recordings of family members, so researching them can sometimes feel a little like conversing with a taciturn pen friend who one never meets up with in person. Sounds and images can make us care about our subjects, and even if we are unable to find illustrative media which relates directly to our ancestors we can still often find materials which capture something of the world in which they lived. Below I have highlighted a few of my favourite image, sound and film archives which are available on the web, and how they have helped me in my research.
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Wherever possible, I try to illustrate my blog posts which contemporary pictures showing places my ancestors would have known, events they lived through or occupations they held. As someone with roots in the East Midlands and West Yorkshire I am lucky to be served by two excellent online photographic archives, Picture The Past and Leodis, covering these two areas. On many occasions they have provided me with useful images like the ones below of my great-great-grandfather Thomas England and a pram shop owned by my great-great-grandmother Emma Sillers (née Brook):
Similar local collections are available for many other regions, but national and specialist subject archives may also be of use. In previous posts I have used images from both the Imperial War Museums and the National Fairground Archive when discussing my First World War and travelling showman ancestors. Other more general collections I have found helpful include:
Archive Images – Describes itself as “a web based picture library for authors, publishers, local history buffs, genealogists, picture framers and print sellers”. Its collections are free to search but high-resolution non-watermarked images are only available upon payment.
The Card Index – An online archive of historic UK postcards which can be searched or browsed by location, subject or publisher.
Getty Images – One of the web’s largest online image collections containing a huge number of excellent high-resolution archive photographs.
Old Photos UK – An index of old photographs organised by location which allows users to submit their own images.
All of the above have been helped me get a better idea of what my ancestors’ lives would have looked like, and on occasion they have even turned up surprises like the photograph below from The Card Index, which very clearly features the sign for my great-great-grandmother Emma Sillers’s mail carts shop in Leeds.
Taken from virtually the same angle as the photo from the Leodis website above, it shows that between around 1910 and 1937 her business had begun specialising in prams in place of of mail carts.
Lastly, although not designed with genealogists in mind, it should be remembered that commercial websites dealing in old prints and postcards like ebay can be a good source of photographs unavailable elsewhere. In some cases, postcard sellers even include the sender’s name in the item’s description and a scan of the message on the back, making it possible to search by names as well as locations.
Often overlooked as a resource for local and family historians, sound archives can provide us with a way of finding out what our ancestors voices may have sounded like, the songs they would have known and the everyday noises which populated their auditory environment. By far the most important of these for UK researchers is the British Library’s Sounds archive, which holds thousands of recordings that can be listened to for free via their website. Some categories which may be of interest to family historians include:
Accents and dialects – Includes recordings of British PoWs from the First World War, a survey of English dialects taken between 1951 and 1974, and a selection of early spoken spoken word recordings taken from commercial 78 records.
Environment and nature – Mainly of interest for its period sound effects, featuring Victorian street scenes, leisure activities like football matches and funfairs, battles of the First and Second World Wars and a variety of historic workplaces.
Oral history – A diverse collection of voices of people from a variety of backgrounds and occupations, including Holocaust survivors, craftspeople and agricultural workers.
While researching my England ancestors, most of whom were involved in Derbyshire’s mining industry from the early Nineteenth to the mid-Twentieth Centuries, I was able to use the collections above to gain an understanding of their environment which I never could have done with words and pictures alone. For example, this recording of retired collier Horace Brian, who was born in north Derbyshire two years before my great-grandfather Tom England in 1876, provides me with an idea of what Tom’s accent may have sounded like, as well as some of the experiences he would have had at work. The British Library’s sound effects collection was also of help here due to it’s large number of mining-related recordings. One entitled At the coal face was of particular interest to me because, as a coal hewer, it would have been the daily soundtrack to Tom’s working life for close to half a century.
Old film footage is perhaps the most evocative media through which we can learn about past societies. Although I have not yet been lucky enough to find any of my ancestors on film, my research has certainly benefited from the growing number of online film archives which are now available. Two of the most important are the news archive British Pathe, and the collections of British Film Institute, both of which contain early footage of many UK towns and cities. Although their URL unfortunately no longer appears to be active, there was also a BFI-led initiative called Your Film Archives which aimed to provide a single-search interface allowing users to across seven regional film collections. These were:
It was while searching the Yorkshire Film Archive’s collections when a run of lucky strikes led me to discover of a piece of early film footage relating directly to my family. I had been searching for ‘Leeds’ just in case there were any contemporary films of Vicar Lane where my great-great-grandmother’s shop Sillers Prams was located (see photograph above). Among my results was a street scene from 1898 which, although not featuring Vicar Lane itself, was still interesting for its depiction of late-Victorian city life.
The film ends with ‘phantom ride’ through the busy streets shot from the top of an electric tram. On about the third watch, two minutes and ten seconds in I spotted the words ‘Mail carts’ on the side of a building, which immediately raised alarm bells as I knew my great-great-grandmother had run a mail carts shop in Leeds city centre prior to establishing her pram business. The word above it looked like it could possibly be ‘Sillers’ but I needed to work out the location of the film to be certain.
I found the locations of my great-great-grandmother’s shops at 49 and 51 Vicar Lane via Google Maps, then attempted to follow the tram’s route on the map with my finger in time with the footage to see if they lined up correctly. Unfortunately they didn’t. As a last resort I checked the film’s comments for clues as to the location shown in the its closing seconds, when I noticed someone had mentioned it ‘obviously’ showed the route along Boar Lane from the Queen’s Hotel to the junction with Briggate. This was slightly disappointing at first but then I remembered that Emma Sillers’s first shop had been on Briggate in about 1900, roughly when the film was shot. I looked up the shop’s exact address which was 150 Briggate, then checked Google Maps for its present day location and there it was on the junction with Boar Lane, leaving me in no doubt that the mail carts shop in the film must have belonged to my ancestor. Later I was able to track down the photograph below via the Leodis website showing the same shop in the film four years on.
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The websites mentioned above are just a few of my personal favourite image, sound and film archives and is by no means intended to be an exhaustive list. If you work in this area or know of any interesting local or national collections please feel free to mention them in the comments section.