Sunday Spouting

So I stuck a small and not very good Pizza in the oven, carefully fixed the wrong setting, and got on with the job.  The job was family history, and it was tricky.  Either Great, Great, Grandad was born in 1777 or he was born in Fargo during 1781, and I canny fond proof of which was is correct.  So I searched and no proof of birth exists it appears.  No record for 1777 but there is for 1781 but he is incorrect.  The tombstone proves the man was born in 1777 so Fargo is out.  But where is the man? 

Anyway, I got caught up in this and my 12 mins pizza managed 25 mins before I rescued it, and the place it quite warm already today.  I sit here pondering surrounded by black crumbs, I know not where they came from, and my few remaining teeth inform me the pizza was overdone, in case I had not known.

Not much was happening in 1777 it seems, just the British army, that is English Redcoats, being defeated several times by those rebellious American rebels.  This for King George III who spent time producing a fifth daughter, Sophia, and little else it seems.  Lord North was Prime Minister and The Lord Advocate was one Henry Dundas, who made money for himself whole also spending much needed cash in Edinburgh, a city that had suffered badly after the need less selling out by the corrupt Lords in 1707.  

His forefathers would be farmers, just imagine the ploughing, sowing, and hoping for good weather these men endured.  Few technical advantages, no NHS, lots of accidents, and working the land from birth.  The boys would grow up strong and they would soon learn how to live off the land.  Long summer nights when harvest came, dreadful cold winter ones picking turnips!  Horses to pull the plough, and much rejoicing when the harvest was in and the cash spread around.  Not that there would be much of that.  A life very different from today, no wonder many joined the army or navy to see the world.  

That nice Yaxley-Lennon chap has got himself arrested under the 'Terrorism Act.'  We will know doubt be soon informed of the actual charge, his fans are already crying about this and I suspect planning to demand money (with menaces) for him.  His large parade yesterday, around 20-3- thousand Brexiteers, Reform members, Nigel fans and shaven headed football yobs, paraded with many flags through London yesterday attempting to make us believe they represent the majority, certainly not the 'silent majority.'  Afterwards a few were arrested and it is possible drink may have been involved.

Tommy, to use his alias, lives well in Spain, uses an Irish passport, through his parents, and masquerades as a Luton boy.  A non racist one at that!  There are many questions to answer regarding his money, where does it come from is one, and does he pass it on to his wife to avoid responsibility?   

Will these questions be answered?  Will he do at least 2 years inside?  The Met Police are not involved here, I am unsure who arrested him but possibly the Terrorist polis.  Have they discovered something else we ought to know?

No, I have not watched it either...

Family History

 

I wonder if this is true?

Do our forefathers live in our heritage?

I suspect there is some truth in this, but I see problems.  For a start, while I know much about my family's history, what if I knew nothing?  Imagine I had been dumped at birth, my dad often mumbled something about this, then I would not have the family influences upon me, how much heritage would I carry with me?  

Knowing my parents does mean I am influenced by what influenced them, both family and the world in which I lived.  My father was born when his father was 62, his mother dumped him within six years because of the drinking and this left a mark on dad.  So, in that sense his history leaves a mark on me, especially as dad was born before the Great War, and I after the second.  By the time I was a teenager the world he expected to find had changed, wealth was growing, housing, NHS, radio and now TVs existed, and in the year he died men landed on the moon.  Such a change in his lifetime, this clashed with my outlook as an adolescent.      

My mothers mother died in childbirth, how did this affect her?  Her father lost three wives this way!  Growing up in a poor mining family, the entire town was poor, they shared the hardships with others around them, did this make them better people?  Six long months of the General Strike pulled people together in mining areas, did this influence her outlook?

Remembering how miners were 'enslaved' from 1609 until 1799, and the situation did not improve much after this for many years, how did that influence me, a lazy, well fed, insolent brat?  Not much it appears.  It was years before I understood what the family's had gone through, years before I realised how much they gave for me and others.  Years before I began to realise just how lucky I was to have this family and not one of the others around me. 

Clearly our immediate family influenced our outlook, but is this because the society around them influenced them more?  Society was different one hundred years ago, not always better.  The society in which one side worked down dangerous mines, merely a big hole in the ground, or farmed large areas of land during economic ups and downs, must have influenced their outlook.  Miners pull together, farmers are on their own.

How much of that gave my fathers side a reputation for decency and constant grumbling?  The mothers side always good honest thoughtful, but no fools, people.  Are the generations far from me better because of their forefathers, and can we see influences in them today I wonder?

Anyway, that is today's homework.  I will mark your answers tomorrow.

Great Bardfield

The sun tempted me out suddenly this morning.  I gathered up the details of the War Memorial, printed them off along with other things and decided to to the church and seek pictures of those with queries.  I have been meaning to do this for a long time.

 
I checked the bus times, go ready hurriedly and sped off down the road.  As I neared the bus I realised I had left all the paperwork on my desk!  Too late to go back now when buses run once an hour.  Still, a day out is a day out.

 
At the very least I knew I would see some of the rolling English countryside as we sped along the rolling English roads.  The harvest is almost gathered in, wheat and barley have been cut down, no green leaf veg to be seen here, although there were quite a few fields resting from their labours.  This area appears to have been made for cereal crops it has always been found here.  There were occasional animals in fields, very few since the great disaster some years ago when 'Foot and Mouth' devastated the herds.  Brexit will no doubt devastate what farms we have left.  This country cannot feed itself, we need imports of foodstuffs, someone tell Dominic Raab that, and where they enter the country.

  
When I was doing the war memorial it was interesting to note how people offered the address.  Today we have streets and numbers, although any postman will tell you how foolproof that is, while a hundred years ago houses in the village were known as on the main street, Church End or 'Bridge End.'  A straight forward idea and with everyone knowing everyone numbers were not required, just ask and all you speak to would know the person you sought.  Today this would not be the case and not just because of increased population!  
I hovered over the bridge attempting to work my way back a century, the traffic did not make this easy.  The gentle trot of a horse and carriage or the hammer from a workshop nearby has been replaced by traffic, traffic that is too close to the expensive houses for my liking.  For those with children a village life is ideal, if you fit in, for the rich driving into the city it is an escape from hassle to clean air, well at the rear of the house anyway.  Those content to hide from city life will enjoy such a place, though everyone looked sideways at me as I passed, village life you see.

I was looking at the houses trying to fit my dead men, almost all farm workers, into them.  This one looks like it has been around for a while, still I think three homes appear though it may only be two.  The small sign saying 'Private' on the hedge indicates the road to the rear where the horse and carriages (made by BMW and Benz) await.

These look very Edwardian to me these buildings, ideal to dump your farm labourers in.  Before the Great War there was a lot of trouble re wages in this area.  Men were paid 7/6d or possibly 10/- depending on their work.  Many strikes and occasional hay stacks burnt in the night.  Wages rose up to 15/- for some and possibly new houses also?  

More typical are these updated houses, this area is covered in such as this.  Timber frame and plaster, some with fancy designs embossed on the walls others plain and simple.  Only cost about £300,000 today....

Nice to see so many working Landrovers about the place, they offer a true 'country feel' to the village.  Of course few appeared to have any mud or dirt marks on them possibly the weather was too wet to go to Waitrose?  

This as you will guess, is the 'Cage.'  The lock up for drunks who did not wish to leave the pub, the woman alone, or did wish to punch the farmer, Lord of the Manor or the policeman.  A night in here to sleep it off and we will see what happens in the morning.
The wheelie bin does not belong to the cage!

Essex is a terribly revolutionary blackspot!  The Lords were in the lead in rebelling against King John, Wycliffe's English translation of the bible was popular here, even though it meant being burnt at the stake, Cromwell's Parliamentarians were popular here, and the reformation left many staunch non-denominational church groups in the county.  
By the 19th century each village had a parish church, at least one, possibly two, non-conformist chapels, and many continued until after the war.  This one continued in use until 1977, seating for well over a hundred and for 50 odd in the school hall at the side.  There is a joke regarding 'Primitive Methodists' but I am too nice to use it here, the response is similar with 'Particular Baptists!'  The 'Primitive' comes from the belief by 1800 that Methodists were moving away from their origins and a break away determined to return to Wesley's original ideal.  Within a hundred years they had reuinited again.  From the front it looks an awkward house but it would be nice to look around inside, many such places have been renovated and will serve as good homes for another century or so.

Also nearby are the Quakers.  One family, The Bucks, allowed the creation of a meeting place in their large garden in 1804.  In time people famous in Quaker circles were buried here.  I was impressed by the fact that all stones looked similar, no pretentious tombs as is found in many Victorian graveyards.  It did look a bit regulated but so do the war graves from both wars.  This way all are equal in death as in life, social position meant little.   The most recent tombstone, the white one in the far corner, featured a lady who died at 101 last year, just consider what a world she lived through.

Great Bardfield War Memorial

    
However I came for a war memorial and here it is in the central position in the village.  All roads pass by, none could be forgotten, all 18 names, plus two from the later war, stand where they can be seen.  I wonder what people thought as time passed by.  One family lost two sons and four went, others went and little information is forthcoming about them.  Imaging the attitudes of those who returned having seen Paris possibly, parts of France and Flanders, been in a war, possibly at the front, now they return to the farm and the old order?   Interesting times in the village, especially as all were privates and no officers from here died, if indeed any went!

  
In the inter-war years the painters moved in.  Bawden and friends spent much time drawing and painting in the area.  The light was good, the pace slow, and many works were created offering a glimpse into village life.  I have no idea what the farmers labourers freezing in the fields thought of the well wrapped up rich bloke with the sketch pad but I might be able to guess.  
One of the labourers was also artistic.  Straw plaiting had grown in the 19th century and Fred Mizen became so good at this, in spite of an eye wound he got in the war, in 1951 he created two enormous Lions and Unicorns for the Exhibition at Battersea.   Many of these creations are found in the museum where kids can try straw plaiting with string, they like it.  

I popped into a somewhat confusing Co-op store to buy a bottle of water (57p), the staff were excellent and the sudden queue disappeared quickly, and I crossed the road heading for the main object of the day the large church and the graveyard to do a search for a dead man.  On the way I passed this ancient fountain donated by Henry Smith in 1860.  This at a time when decent clean water was not always available.  However I wondered if it was drinkable today.  It looked clear enough but was it just coming out of the river to the side?
On my way back home I stood at the nearby bus stop watching two men fill several large plastic water containers, several gallon types, with this water.  It looked like this was their normal work. I wondered where they were taking it, who they were and was it drinkable?  I am now looking for a break out of disease in north Essex to see where they went!

  
By the time I sat down in St Mary the Virgin I was knackered and losing interest.  Insufficient breakfast was showing fast.  I have been here before around 20 years ago and realised this was now a very High Church type of place.  You see prayer kneelers in the pews but no bibles.  No books on sale to indicate what is on offer.  I can see why so many non denominational churches arose here.  
The place is somewhat darker than the pictures reveal, the light at the main end is OK but back here little gets in.

The windows are interesting, mostly memorials to people but not all.  St Cedd was one of the first proper missionaries to Essex, I think he came from Lindisfarne from amongst the Scots monks who came with Columba from Ireland.  Life gets confusing in the centuries after the Romans left!

These churches are full of interesting things, some can be explained having been once important in times past, others appear to be making the most of a gap!  

Sick man that I am I thought this my best picture today.

I shuffled around the churchyard, not an easy thing to do with so many humps and unexpected bumps in such places, I was looking for the men on my list.  I ought to add this was the list stupid lugs had left behind on his desk.  This meant I could not be sure which name I was looking for, I could guess but this was not a good idea.  Also the older stones were often unclear, rotting away from lack of care and I was getting tired now.

 
I was surprised to see this man and his wife here, I thought all the Crittall's were buried closer to Braintree.  John was the last family member to run Crittall's as a going concern, when he retired in 1974 it went to other companies and through many variations continues still.  He like all the family appear to have been popular, his wife was an adventurous woman although I never got to read the book in the museum as people kept coming in to annoy me.  

Though I never found the man I was looking for I did find the parents of two others, the Cornell's had 12 children altogether, one died, yet mum managed to live until 79, just imaging the life she had!  It is women like her that make me angry with feminists.  They demand so much while spending their lives at a laptop while millions of women like this one had such tough lives, in many places they still do and the middle class feminist is not helping them!  
The round metal grave marker is typical of this area.  Only a couple here but many Essex graveyards have them, fashion or cheapness I wonder?
I also found a man called Evans I have not heard off.  I wonder who he is?

The sun was high and it was time to shuffle of down the road for the bus.  The hills rolled along while here and there workmen brought in the harvest and large bales of hay looked set to roll of down the rolling hills.  Farm work remains one of the most dangerous employments in the country.  Sadly I cared as much as the Alpacas we passed appeared to care as I was tired and they were well fed and sheared I believe.   The bus rolled into town and I hobbled home desperate for food,  then spent the rest of the day doing this!  

Morning Bike

The old railway line was becoming busy as I made my way back from my exercise run this morning.  The delight in watching men struggle up the slope knowing that they have a days work ahead of them and are rushing to be at work by eight o'clock leaves me quite satisfied.  Very satisfied that I no longer require to do this.  Better to travel to work this way mind rather than on a commuter bus or train where you have no control whatsoever over the running of the transport.  Nothing but punctures and women with dogs can annoy you as you race to work.  For me of course the women and dogs often mean a few words exchanged, Fifi keen to rub her head into my knee although the dog was less keen for some reason, and then a few words with a retired man and his close to retirement dog, 'seen it done it, just lets walk and feed me' type dog, and all this while trundling slowly down the slope and not struggling upwards.

Six thirty and I was heading into the old railway line.  The mist was dissipating quickly from the dip in the land as the sun rose majestically (what does that mean exactly?) and soared into the sky.  I tried to stop it and told it to wait until I was in position but it did not listen to me.  As Jenny noted fields like this, somewhat enlarged in recent times, contain no birds.  Those that exist do so in the areas off the old railway where trees and shrubs have arisen since the trains ceased forty years ago and wildlife has increased.  The Rangers control the area well and yet if we relied on the farmers much would be lost.  It must be said that many farmers do cut corners when harvesting and allow larger areas at the ends of many fields to go wild.  Some have dropped fields altogether, possibly for EU money, and encouraged wildlife in this manner.  The man here just wants to sell this farm and plant 3500 houses but the council said 'NO!'  Good for them, this is the wee towns one real country area, a link between town and village with no reason to bring the two together except money making.  Three area on the other side of town will have housing, more appropriate in my view but not popular with all.

This was supposed to be an interesting image of the sun hitting the mist as it hung over the trees.  No matter what I did, no matter what I fiddled with nothing like the actual picture I saw arrived in my camera.  Still it's OK as an image.  It does however make the pylons look like they are the stars of one of the 'Star Wars' type movies, pylons ready to march across the earth dominating the land, although some would say they already do that.  Mind you if they did not march those who object could not communicate their objections as they would have no electric!

One thing I love about this time of year is the bright early morns when I can get the bike up the old railway and take a picture or two, even if they don't work out right.  The sheer brightness of the sun over the fields brought to mind those who had to work those fields in the days of long ago.  The harvest would be cut by man and scythe, heaped by women into stalks and only late in the 19th century did a man, usually a grumpy self important one from the north, arrive with a machine and thresh the crop for the farms.  I did read an item about this that Thomas Hardy put into one of his books.  I got the impression he had read it also and made use of it but I could be wrong.  Even with the machine to help this was hard work from morning till night and the pay was not good.  After the harvest there comes a time to plough and sow and start again all the time watching the sky as country folks know the weather required watching all the time.  The sky hinted at slight red this morning as I rose and I suspect the old agricultural labourers would tell what the day held even from that, though they would be working by six in the morning to tell the truth.  Hard work all day for what?  Possibly seven shillings a week?  Maybe more for the ploughman or cowman, but nothing at all when the crop fails.  One of the first acts of the Cameron government was to drop the protection given to farm hands, not that many exist today.  Country people vote Conservative and they are important to the Party.   

This old fashioned type of signpost has been removed in some areas but Essex keeps them and I think this right.  There are enough modern tin signs on main roads and these add a wee bit of character to the area.  One, standing in town since long before the war had become a wreck yet the council replaced it with the same type of sign, not a modern one.  Good for them I say!

The 'Crix Green Mission' looks like a hall grafted onto the back of a typical Essex farmhands house.  The hall roof has a Dutch inclination to it but I am afraid as this Hamlet comprises a mere 13 houses it does not have much use.  Services led by St Michael's occur but how often I know not, and the hall is used during elections for voting purposes.  At one time it must have had a full time member who know ll the people round about, and there would be many more farmhands then, but today while the house is occupied the hall clearly does not have a full time staff today.  Imagine living in a  Hamlet of 13 houses, most of whom are now quite pricey.

Nothing for it but to run back down the line and head for breakfast.  My knees have had enough exercise this week but none tomorrow as I am on my last Thursday at the museum, I think.  With local kids back at school on Thursday I suspect we will be quiet for a change with only normal people arriving.  I may have to just sit there quietly all day and read a book....fat chance!

For those who don't understand 'Brexit' and such stuff, here are a couple of Irish Comedians to explain things in a simple and clear manner, sort off. 

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The Man's Story

I decided to take a look at the story of the young man lying in the grave at the wee church I visited the other day.  Like many of such tales it is sad indeed.

Gunner Frank Raven, artillery men are always called 'gunner' not private, was born in Great Tey in 1896 to a ploughman working on the farms round about. By 1901 there were nine in the family and he was the fourth brother out of six. His sister I suspect would still be the house bully, they usually are!  Each one was born in Great or Little Tey indicating how dad moved from farm to farm according to the possibility of work.  Ploughmen however were highly skilled and better paid.  The eldest brother, at twenty years of age, was a pork butcher and by 1911 all the working boys were farm hands.  By then the sister and elder brother had gone, not unlikely married, possibly however sickness was rife before the NHS.
I have no idea what sort of dwelling they rented but I suggest an outside loo, a pump or well for water and crowded rooms, par for the course at the time of course.  Some villages retain their pump making it a visitor attraction. Occasionally I notice them removed into peoples gardens as ornaments.  Life on the land would be run according to the light, and summer would mean long days of hard back breaking work, especially later when harvest had arrived.  No transport bar a horse if you were lucky, or possibly a chance ride on the cart on the way home.  

The census of 1911 shows the family at Broad Green, Great Tey, not far down the road where he worked on the farms.  Five sons lived here with their parents those not at school were on the farm. Not much else available I suspect or was there no desire to move away I wonder? 
War left its mark on every part of the kingdom.  Agricultural workers often saw this as a chance of escape from a hard, dull life, especially if foreign travel was involved.  On November 1915 Frank signed the attestation form pledging to serve for the duration of the war.  He travelled to Colchester, a few miles down the road, possibly walking all the way, and enlisted in the Royal Garrison Artillery Regiment. Did his brothers go with him or had they already enlisted?  I do not have time to look.  He was by then 20 years of age, five foot six in height and I suspect very fit.
Within six days hew as posted to Great Yarmouth for basic training and by the 13th of December with what appears to be the 13th Company.  He remained there, based I guess at Yarmouth defending the coast against enemy shipping and Zeppelins passing over.  That are was on their main route into the hinterland.

I suspect Frank had never travelled far in his life.  Possibly into Colchester, maybe Braintree, however I doubt he would have been to Great Yarmouth before.  Certainly he would never had considered travelling to Cricklewood where he was posted to the 6th AA Company on the 1st of May 1916.  This anti-aircraft company were part of the answer to Zeppelins and Gotha Bombers that upset the people of London so. Faded writing makes things unclear but he appears to be there until September when he possibly developed a sickness. This was indeed serious.  So serious that he was discharged from the army on medical grounds on the 8th of February 1917.  This was a time when men were desperately required and only serious illness or wounds would enable such discharge.  The cause was a form of cancer and on the 28th March he died.  He was 21 years of age.

His address is given as Houchins Farm, next door to the 1911 address. farm workers, especially good ones, did not have to travel far for work even if the wages were poor.  It comes to mind that eight shillings a week might have been the wage while factories nearby paid twelve.  Franks character is described as 'good' by his officer so he no doubt was a reliable worker.  The army rewarded the deceased with a war gratuity (£4 in Franks case) and a medal to remember him by.  
I don't think we should forget him, do you? 

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