I continued my mission, while in London, to visit places specific to my ancestors and that involved a considerable amount of working around, 19 klms in full. My first port of call was the orphanage with my ancestress Eleanor Caroline Barton had grown up in, close to where I was staying in Whitechapel, at 66 Great Prescott Street. Nothing is as it was. Modernity has crushed all that was for my peoples homes. Just a grand building with no antiquity. The man at reception knew nothing of the history of this place. I carried on retracing the steps of my ancestors. I was excited to at last approach the church of St Sepulchre, family church to my Bartons, when they had lived in Cock Lane just beyond. Quite a lovely church, associated with blessing those being taken from the jail to their execution, the bell which rung for them still to be seen in a glass case. A grand organ. The fine baptismal font with its faces of cherubims where our Barton babes were baptised. Cock Lane was again ultra modern and lost to its past, although one building retained the name of an old inn 'The Saracens Head' and at the other end of Cock Lane was reference to another old pub 'The Fortune of War', a golden statue of a naked boy high up there on a plinth, he being a symbol of gluttony (it was gluttony which was thought to be the cause of the Fire of London). This last mentioned pub had been a hang out for former body snatchers. As I had researched, body snatching was quite a thing locally in days gone by. The pub had a special room in which the dead bodies were laid upon benches around the walls, bearing the names of those who had stolen them from whichever graveyard, awaiting surgeons to come and buy whichsoever they wanted. Cock Lane was not only famed for its ghost called 'Scratching Fanny', but was another locale associated with prostitiutes. One prostitute, named Clarice, born in 1732, was early on educated in the finer arts of the profession (a courtesan one may say then) and was the areas most famous 'harlot'. She died of the pox at the age of 43. Just a little further along was the old Smithfield live animal market (now of dead animals only). This used to be the place of execution. Even wives would be sold here till as much as the early 1800's. Further beyond still was Cowcross Street, where also my people had lived. Cocks and cows, all connected since very old times to livestock sales. More of my families lanes I now walked, again all modernised and lost to their past - the former Field Lane where had lived my Bartons and Bunneys. Only their family church of St Andrew had kept its historical roots. I had another church to visit, that one overlooking Trafalgar Square, St Martin in the Fields, which by the time I got there was closed. This was where my Hannah Bunney married her sailor Philip Barton in 1814.
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I looked at the astrology for my ancestress, Eleanor Barton, born 10th October 1833 in Greenwich, raised in an orphanage in Whitechapel, and died as a young mother of tuberculosis. As a Libran, she would have had a love for that which is beautiful and aesthetic. Moon conjunct Mars - she would have been strong willed, not one to give up easily and having abundant energy. Sun conjunct Mercury - a good mind, one to enjoy conversations, talented in handiwork. Sun opposite Pluto - she could get into conflicts and enjoy a good battle. Sun square Neptune - self deprecating and vulnerable health. Sun trine Uranus - fond of the new, for that which is exciting and presents variety, tolerant of those different from herself and even attracted to them as she would have liked exposure to different ways of life. Moon in Virgo - cheerful but serious, when something needs doing she gets it done and takes care it is done properly. She likes neatness and order, is health conscious and is a good worker. She likes to help others, although some shyness if there. Moon conjunct Venus - enjoying of comfort and pleasure, affectionate, liking to acquire beautiful things, such as nice clothes which she will work for to get. She would have been much into her beauty. Moon trine Jupiter - this is one of the pleasantest of aspects, by which she would have had no fear to truly be herself, being outgoing, generous to others, taking care of both people and animals, helping whosoever is in trouble and protecting the weak. She was one to respect honour and honesty and would have been religious, although not in a puritannical way, but in kindness and helpfulness. Mercury in Libra - moderate, not one to go to extremes. Mercury conjunct Mars - thinks for herself and will argue her point, she knows how she feels and cares not if others agree, she is true to herself and stands up for what she believes. Her tongue can be sharp. mercury opposite Pluto - others would disagree with her and would put her ideas down. Mercury square Neptune - pursuit of fantasies which are unreal to others so that they don't understand her. But she is one to have a creative and beautiful mind. Putting all that into words is not easy. She is one who needs peace and serenity around her, to keep away anxiety. Mercury trine Uranus - very creative and a quick mind to understand new ways of thinking. Intuition is good so that understanding comes as if from nowhere, which would confuse others, and yet in time people would observe her insights to be true. Mars Libra - a strong sense of fairness and justice, hating to see anyne treated unjustly. Mars opposite Jupiter - Positive energy and optimism which is attractive to others. A competetiveness which is spirited and not abrasive. A need for freedom and dislike for restrictions. She is one who needs her space. Mars square Neptune - she can get discouraged, when all seemingly defeats her, which she then sees as due to her unworthiness. In such times religion provides for her an escape. Susceptibilty to infections and illness. Mars trine uranus - very independant, she knows that with freedom she has control of her own destiny, she knows she has to be herself and go her own way. Saturn Libra - she takes time to make up her mind. At first she has reserve with someone, but once committed she stays and is loyal. She respects duty and keeps her agreements. Saturn opposite Pluto - life challenges come along, whether by lifes restrictions or others expectations. Saturn trine Neptune - ideals as well as realism, as she is disciplined, hard working, religious, and is prepared to make sacrifices for the greater good. Jupiter Taurus - She aims to find stability and security on her lifes journey. She needs hugs and a show of love, being herself a warm person who gives to others. Jupiter square Neptune - a dreamy sort who prefers to see the best in people and to ignore the bad, even when it hurts. She is non-judgemental and accepts people with their flaws. Her ideals are high and for this the world can be a disappointment. Yes, the astrology of the ancestors is one of my interests. I'm not sure if anyone else has explored into this as yet. For doing this astrology reading I have come to know all the more my ancestress Eleanor Barton. The orphanage she grew up in happens to have been in Whitechapel, where my daughter also named Eleanor now lives, their homes but a short stroll away from one another.
Two Eleanors of Whitehchapel. I see now that Eleanor Barton would have been inspired by Christian principles throughout her life, she having done Bible studies while growing up in the orphanage. Her husband, John Harrison, would so have treasured her, for she was pretty and educated, principaled and tidy, nicely spoken, kind, and able to overlook his foibles. For losing her to tuberculosis, yes, that's maybe how it is that he came to lose his mind. I've seen that just two years after her death there was a John Harrison in the Greenwich workhouse who was attacked by one of the other inmates for being crazy. This could have been our John. Eleanor was his everything and without her he was lost. I have it in mind to write a book, nothing new for me really as ideas have often come and yet don't practically manifest. Bartholome Sugrue's tragic life as an Irish immigrant in Greenwich, with all his dysfunctionalism, is inspiring me now. This would be a historical novel. Although, with their not having been a happy ending I'd need to explore the jollity and love and depth of positive life experience inbetween all the sufferings. And do I tie in the parallel Harrison and Barton families, also of Greenwich, who had their own tragedies. Between these two families have been a bucket load of difficulties. There was Eleanor Caroline Barton growing up in a London orphanage, away from her mother, and dying so young of tuberculosis; her mother Hannah taking care of the old and wounded seamen in the Greenwich hospital where once Eleanors own father had lived; and Eleanors partner John William Harrison's brushes with the law, his imprisonment and then joining his daughter Maria in the workhouse, his temporary insanities and ultimately dying from cancer of the tongue; Bartholomew Sugrue's first wife dying from asiatic cholera, and his second wife Catherine going to prison for trying to conceal her daughters theft of a purse; exposure in all Britains newspapers when he is prosecuted for the manslaughter of his own child, revealing their poor standards of life and his drunknness, the child really having wasted away in a refusal to eat out of upset for losing his mother; later, their squatting with other Irish in tumbledown cottages with the authorities trying to throw them out; their residing at Pesters boarding house for the poor in which Catherine worked as a servant in return for lodgings, where also lived for a while one of the prostitutes murdered by Jack the Ripper; Bartholomew eternally in and out of the workhouse, being sent onwards to Poplar for hard labour and severity, and his demise from tuberculosis, dying while coughing up blood; Catherines stroke which paralysed her down one side; young Maria Harrison in and out of the workhouse and into the arms of their son Thomas, himself all too familiar with the workhouse and for a fresh new start they changing the surname from Sugrue to Seagrove, and then their own exposure in newspapers for their dirty home and scruffy children running wild. So, how does one weave a story through all that? And of happier times, hop picking adventures in the Kent countryside, romantic strolls in Greenwich park, for 'there is always the garden', the gaiety of the Greenwich fair and arrival by boat (sailed by my ancestors) of grand functionaries and aristocrats who would feast in the Greenwich inns on whiting (fished by my ancestors) and champagne, rich benefactors joining the workhouse poor at xmas for seasonal celebrations, the songs my ancestors may have sung and the music they danced to. AuthorAuthor Susie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I have been absorbed in writing info in my genealogy website for my ancestor, George Harrison the original, the miller of Llanthony, which I work at till half past three in the morning. I still feel I need to weave something magical through his story before I can conclude. The only glimpse I get into his personality is him exposing himself in Abergavenny, and I'm not sure what that says! As for his last days, they were in the workhouse. The seeds began in those workhouse days for our present day norm of institutionalising the old, with strangers caring for them rather than ones family. In reading of Wales I wanted to be there, which is the same when I focus on Shetland for those islands, and regarding Kerry in Ireland for my Irish. That night I didn't sleep easily, and when I did I dreamt that my ancient Scottish home was Rio Dolmen. I do look this up the next morning and such a place does not exist. Suspending Welsh genealogy for now, I write up about my ancestress Eleanor Caroline Barton, a line I am far more attuned to, studying her childhood orphanage days. The Queen herself was patroness of Eleanor's orphanage. and gave donations. The orphan girls would sing to audiences to gain more donations. They were lovely, well looked after and easy to adore. Society ladies would choose from among them their future servants. Eleanor learnt to read and write while there. But, also, she encountered for the first time there dreaded tuberculosis, one of the girls having died from it. It could be that in those times the disease seeded in her, latent, waiting to overcome her in young adulthood. I rewrote my Welsh genealogy of George Harrison the miller of Llanthony and this time was happier with the outcome. For the first time I realise that he absolutely must have had more children, their being such gaps, and I look to find out who they may be, but these Welsh records are not easy, almost as hopeless as Irish ones. And I work on Eleanor Caroline Barton's London orphanage days, quite interesting, finding reports of the orphanage fund raising meetings and the songs the girls sang, and a picture of the banqueting hall with raised gallery upon which they sang with all their scrubbed clean and cute appeal. My Eleanor Caroline was there, in that gallery, singing. 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. There was a letter waiting for me in the post office, I discovered. It was my great great great grandmother Eleanor Caroline Harrison nee Barton's death certificate. And so I came to gaze on this death certificate and it was so sad. The cause of death, it said, was phthysis. I googled that and found it was an earlier name for tuberculosis. For nine months Eleanor had suffered it, as she wasted away. This was the Great White Plague. It took peoples lives away when they were in the flower of their youth. Eleanor was 33. There I lay, incidentally ill myself, kind of in shock for what had been her fate. Huge numbers of people died from tuberculosis in those days. There was no cure. So my Eleanor had been but one of those tragic stories. I felt the trauma of this too. I felt such love for Eleanor. I know I don't know her as such, but she is of my family, my matriarchal lineage, and I feel for her. Eleanor has the same name which I have given to one of my children and I feel a connection. She grew up in an orphanage and then had died so young of this terrible ailment. This is so very sad. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I worked on my website, trying to put together a piece on the hardships which my Greenwich ancestors had to experience, which involved having to download supporting papers and documents. There in the workhouse had gone a lineage of my women, Maria Harrison as child and grown-up, Eleanor Barton in an orphanage, Hannah Bunney in the Blackfriars workhouse, giving birth to one of her children there, which I now realise was at the time when her husband had departed central London for the care and comforts of the Greenwich Hospital. So he too had left his family, temporarily, in destitution, after which they came to live by him, living outside the hospital while he was within, as so many ex sailors families apparently did. And I do wonder, was the workhouse always such a rock bottom humiliation of the people anyway. Pregnant girls whose lovers failed to marry them would find a place there to give birth. People were clothed and fed. Sick people were given medical care. The discipline and regimes were hated, but still people in need would go there. When I see Maria's children going in there for but one hour, may she not even have designed it to get a good full meal in them for once. Who is to know what was really in the hearts and minds of all these people. The workhouse was equivalent to the modern old peoples home too, and in that manner it carries on, as too for a free medical facility, like our National Health today. We look back on it all so bleakly and fail to see what an invaluable support it was to those who were passing through hard times. Before the workhouses, the parish's gave handouts to the struggling poor and saw that they were clothed and fed, like the dole now, not even any work being required and no rules to follow. So I understand the workload and regimes were generally an irritating sacrifice one had to comply with, an exchange of sorts. One irritation would be the harsh discipline within the workhouse schools. A poor child would learn to read and write, but would get whacked about in the process. For girls it may have been easier. Eleanor Barton's orphanage taught her to read and write and how to be thoroughly and efficiently domestic, to be a good and valued servant girl, which was the path most women took before they found themselves a husband and became queens of their own household, he working tirelessly long hours, and she creating a brood of children. If he strayed for a while, if he was unable to work, there was the workhouse, the last resort. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. Back to researching, I try to order a death certificate for Eleanor Caroline Harrison nee Barton, with no success, after three wrong attempts to put in the numbers my card being withdrawn. And I so want to know why she died so young. Women tended to die young from childbirth complications, so I have thought this, but this is presumption and the need is really there to research. She left her daughter, Maria, an orphan at the age of 5. So, I had found out that this Maria, was as a grown up, destitute, in the workhouse and even in prison. Well, I now discovered she had also been in the workhouse as a child, her own father, John William Harrison, at that time having a spell in prison too. When he was released he joined her in the workhouse. I start to understand that the contrariness of family experiences has impacted on me. The traumatic lives they led, the weight of the world on them, tough survival, and the unfairness of it all, I feel I have come into this world with these imprints. I have royals in my tree and I have destitutes, a total medley, and maybe I am and have been all that too. I carry it all, somehow. The emotion and sensitivity is in me. This is actually very interesting. To somehow understand it, at last, feels so very therapeutic. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. Back to the old genealogy research, always clues to more information here and there, always embellishments to add. I found another son for Eleanor Caroline and her husband John William Harrison, a baby boy who would quickly lose his mother, for she died while he was still tiny and I need to buy that certificate of hers to find out why. For her husband, who was for long a fishmonger, I at last found him in the 1851 census, with his parents, revealing that the fish trade had already been a family concern, with his father John fishing in Greenwich and the family selling the fish, firstly on the streets and later from a shop. The family was totally Greenwich born and bred, always living in the vicinity of the St Alfege church. And Eleanor Caroline's family, the Barton's, I found out more about them too, her parents being Philip Barton and Hannah Bunney. I had already much researched them, had known he was a London brass founder, much older than Hannah, who ended up in the Greenwich ex seaman's home, and that Hannah remained living outside the hospital with her children, and married at least twice more after his death, abandoning Eleanor who was sent upon her fathers death to an orphanage in London. I now came to understand that in all those years prior to marriage Philip Barton had sailed the stormy seas in quest for adventure. I have found a list of people admitted to the Greenwich Naval Hospital and there he was on it, with his age, and last place of residence being st Luke's in London. There was more information on the register, which I could not access, but in messaging a gentleman, one of those who had compiled the list, without too much delay he replied, sending me a photo of the original paper. How happy I was for this. And so a little more information came to light, which I may otherwise never have known. There it was written, that he served in the Navy for 16 years, in the 'Kings service' as it is noted. The last ship he served on was, attractively I must say, called The Mermaid. In action during his service, as a consequence of performing his duty, he became wounded in both wrists. No further detail about this is given. I found out also that Philip's children, of older age than Eleanor, got an education at the Greenwich Naval School. So this ship, the Mermaid, more than one boat had been given this name. But the one in service prior to Philips marriage, it was engaged in the Napoleonic Wars. It journeyed in the seas around Jamaica, Cuba, and Canada, transported troops to Portugal and to Spain, and in the Mediterranean fought against Italy. More has to be researched here, always more, but anyway this was a pretty good days work. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. |
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