The temptation to grasp the Free Bus Pass for Old people and head out took hold of me on Thursday and saw me carried up to Halstead to search the Six charity shops that lie on the main street. About 12,000 quite wealthy people and six charity shops? Sadly the High Street is high featuring a hill that rises steeply up into the sky above where the town first appeared. Prehistoric man had an small input here, the river at the bottom of the hill helps, who however would wish to walk up and down carrying water I ask? On the hilltop, the Romans had a villa or two and Saxons settled in well until the Normans took over. Maybe knowing this causes the people to withhold their smiles while running charity shops? Maybe it is the rumoured inbreeding on the Suffolk border, I cannot say.
During the year 1818 Samuel Courtauld built himself a Mill at Bocking, he also added this one at top at Halstead. Worked mostly by women, the men did the engineering bit, the women worked the looms, the mill lasted for years. Courtauld's went into decline after the war some two hundred years later so the town got quite a bit out of the Mill. Courtauld's were good employers. Many women, young ladies, with little hope of a life in London were brought, often from orphanages, into Essex and found themselves a better life. At least this kept them off the streets! Over the years Doctors, hospitals, schools and housing were among the benefits this employer gave his workers, these houses here were built for them by Courtauld and other aid when required.
If only more businesses did likewise today?
Abraham Rayne must have been someone important to have such a monument erected above his head. I failed to find him on Ancestry though I only searched quickly. I wonder how he made his money, what his work was, where he lived and what people thought of him at the time? I may never know.
My knees were feeling the strain as I sat on a bus full of 'Downs' kids heading home after a day out.
I was disappointed with the shopping, there was little on offer, and with nothing else to be seen all I got from the day was aches and vies of crops beginning to edge nearer to ripeness. That was good.
This morning I stupidly wended my slow way into Camulodunum in spite of the need for sleep and pretty nurses to massage my knees. I found neither there and a search of the charity shops, some of which have closed down or been turned into profit making enterprises, disappointed also. However a delightful lady at 'Waterstones' was very helpful as I used up my last book voucher there. Three more books I do not need, have not got time to read and could live without happened to fall into my hand as I wandered about so I had no choice but to bring them home. It would be terrible if any more such vouchers turned up would it not? I would have to go back again!
One good aspect about the town is the narrow side streets, one of which is full of small shops, a wide variety of items on sale, and some wonder why this town can do this while we back home cannot! The council backs the small trader here, ours does not, that gives us eight charity shops! Lower the rates and we will find more small shops arising I say.
Empty handed back on the bus now rather than later to avoid the students from the college.
It was full of students from the college.
Nothing more interesting than the conversation of 16 year olds!
Knackered and bereft I will spend tomorrow asleep!
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The park opposite was once the grounds of the man who owned this 'Big Hoose.' He was one Sydney Courtauld, descended from George Courtauld who opened a Silk Mill in 1809. Weaving, of one sort or another has continued in this part of Britain for around a thousand years, give or take a few. The lowlands of Europe, the Netherlands, Belgium, Flanders and Northern France, abounded with weavers of high quality and the wool trade at first, and silk later, became major industries. Many small towns, large villages to us today, have huge churches built around 900 years ago, less to worship God than to show the world just how rich the town had become! Various wars and persecutions arose from time to time, almost weekly as far as I can see, and many weavers arrived in the British mainland. This town has much evidence of this, one small item being naming the many narrow passageways 'Gants' after the Flanders style. House roofs also show indication of Dutch design, and the establishment of the weaving trade is evidence itself.
George Courtauld had emigrated to America where he gathered to himself a wife and produced eight children, seven of whom survived. I suppose there was little else to do in the colonies with no football to watch. However he returned to his homeland in the late 18th century and began to work at his trade of weaving. In 1809 he opened a silk mill creating 'crape' a hard stiff material that was very popular in the 19th century. A Unitarian and a believer in social reform, as long as he made vast profits, his mills were worked mostly by women as they were cheaper to run. Many were children, aged around 10-13, and a great many of these came from 'well run' workhouses. Not quite slavery, although they worked long hours for one shilling and five pence a week, women got five shillings, the workhouse however got £5, and another £5 after a year. Where was Dickens at this time I ask?
George returned to America in 1818 and remained there until his death allowing Samuel his son to run the business. By the 19th century Samuel Courtaulds had three huge mills, powered by steam, spread around the area, employing many workers, although not on the most generous wage, and naturally sacking those who went on strike. Like his father he was a Unitarian, a supporter of reform and yet failed to develop the workers wages according to his profits. As wages rose fifty percent, from 5 shillings to10 shillings for women, his profits rose by 1400 percent. Men by they way got 7 shillings and twopence, and this also rose in time. However fewer men were employed. Today I suspect he would be a Liberal-Democrat, or rich communist if you prefer. He lived in a stately manor called Gosfield Hall to the north of the town and the family graves can be seen in the small Gosfied churchyard, for those who delight in that sort of thing. Death makes all equal, although the poor have no stone slabs to mark where they lie.
The Unitarian heresy was taken up by all the family and a great many 'good works' proceeded from this. Various members of the family built hospitals, public gardens, houses, schools, town halls and the like. Some also went on to encourage the arts, got involved in public service, such as becoming members of parliament and participated in a variety of benefits to the districts in which they lived. However these benefits, positive as they indeed were, came from the low wages paid to the workers. Would higher wages meant less benefits, I wonder?
Bocking Place gardens were indeed laid out by someone with a very good eye. A walk across the park in summer shows a remarkable variety of excellent trees, thoughtfully planted, and it is sad to think that the designer would not see his design at its best. The huge house was sold around 1920 and and later became a girls school. This closed in 1993, and occasionally an ex-pupil will be seen skipping over parts of the grounds once strictly forbidden. The glee these, not so young girls have in this is astounding! The house has now been developed into flats for those who wish to emulate the rich.
While it would be nice to say this building is home, it represents a somewhat pretentious approach to life, now long gone. Essex has many large houses, once owned by the rich and important, all surrounded by large well laid out grounds, now rarely used as homes, although my landlord lives in one! His staff are underpaid and overworked also! Today's rich still like the pretentious big house, but while some may be businessmen others may well be footballers, actors or musicians. The days of the landowning powerful have not gone, but they have certainly shifted. Personally a small house would suit my little life, I have no desire to be that important. There again, I have no chance anyway, ho hum.....
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