The rains have set in and my focus is with my genealogy. I am mostly in 'old London', feeling at one with my ancestors. I discovered that in London, between 1600 and 1814, there was a mini ice age which would freeze the Thames river for months. Frost fairs would be held on the ice, and the watermen, whose livelihoods would otherwise have been lost, could charge for access to the frozen river.
And there was an American in London, Sam Scott, who drew crowds, for his showmanship, diving from great heights and staging mock hangings, one of which, on January 11th 1841, ultimately killed him as he dangled from a platform on Waterloo Bridge. People had thought it part of the act and so kept watching, but no, he was really dead.
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![]() I looked at the point where friends Jeremy's and Ian's families converged, and that still amazes me, that they are cousins and would never have known but for me, and they wish they so did not know. And it's amazing how intellectual and refined some of Ian's ancestors were, in comparison to his present poverty and own non pursuit of higher education. From Cambridge educated to trouble maker at a comprehensive. This merging of Jeremy and Ian's family histories is all in the area around Pluckley, which I loved to visit not so long back and would like to visit again, as that is where I too have ancestors. So, I'm still in the compulsive world of genealogy research. Jeremy's family have a story about one ancestress having been a gypsy baby who was sold on the door step. She was dark so it made sense. But, I'm not sure. The spacing of the children's births in that family she well fitted into. So I have another possible angle, that really there was already darker ancestry in that family which they wished to distance themselves from, but those darker genes had come back up in her, for which the story had been created. I began looking into this family, the Washford's, from which she came. Humble railway workers, living in a railway cottage... Researching more Jeremy's genealogy, looking at his Washford line and those other families marrying into them, they being a big Wesleyan bunch centered around Shadoxhurst village. A few Jeremiahs were in there, this being what I sometimes like to call Jeremy. One of the Jeremiah's, who was Jeremy's many times great uncles, was victim to a highway hold-up, robbed at gunpoint, for which his assailants were hung. It had been a violent attack, in which he'd been shot many times in the mouth by a group of men known as the Tenterden Gang who had been terrorising the area. As they met their fate, hanging from the gallows, local women who had tumours came to touch their hands, the belief of old being this would cure their ailment. And another find of interest, those Washford's were friends of a clergyman writer, Richard Harris Barham, who published a book of passed down old Kent stories, the Ingoldsby Legends, at one time widely popular in Britain. One of the stories was inspired by an ancestor of the Washford's, Joseph Washford, who was a humble good fellow, a gardener of Appeldore, close to Shadoxhurst, who gardened for a lawyer Jerry Jarvis. To cover Joseph's bald head Jerry gave him a wig which he no longer had use of. But the wig was evil and transformed Joseph into a baddy, first with him lying, then stealing, and ultimately murdering, his victim being none other than Jerry Jarvis, and for this he was hung. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() I have another genealogical breakthrough, hurray, this being finding out why my ancestor, John William Harrison, was put in prison for half a year back in 1871. Oh, how so long to find this. But there it was. Being a waterman/bargeman John had crossed the Thames from Greenwich to the Isle of Dogs, whereon he began loading his barge with iron from the Samuda wharf at Blackwall. Half a ton he got into his barge when he was spotted by a man who he then set to wrestling with. As it is said, he tried to throw the fellow in the water and would have succeeded if not for another person spotting the fracas. He was given six months hard labour in prison, hence his daughter, my great great grandmother Maria, having to go into the workhouse at the age of 11, her mother already having died from tuberculosis. And for Maria's deceased mother, Eleanor Caroline Barton, who'd been raised in an orphanage, I found newspaper clips about the Sailors Female Orphan Home where she grew up, of her singing along with the other girls for the public 'Oh Where is the Guide of my Infant Years'. Even back then, when Eleanor was 7, it was reported that one of the other girls of the orphanage had died of consumption (tuberculosis). I researched more, looking at where in London my people lived and what those areas were like. When my ancestors lived at Cock Lane, beside St Sepulchre church, I do think that unlike now this was a colourful and stimulating place to be. St 'Pulchre, as it was known, was right by a prison, the Old Bailey, and the cells of those condemned to die. It was inseparable from those surrounds, tolling the bells and praying for the souls of all those condemned ones who would stop there on the way to the gallows, having a gift of flowers presented to them. But a walk away from there were other homes for my family, in more notorious areas, Field Lane with its plethora of resold stolen handkerchiefs, Plum Tree Court which was an escape route for thieves, and its neighbouring Shoe Lane, being by St Andrews Church, where priests needed bodyguards for this being such a rough place. My ancestress Sarah Bunney died in the workhouse just by there, though of a good old age. She was a survivor, and her daughter Hannah Bunney had by now long gone to Greenwich. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. |
AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. Categories
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