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375 Years Ago: ‘Britain in Revolution’ – Politics, Religion & Economics in the Creation of the New Model Army 1644-45.   Leave a comment

The Three Kingdoms and the First Civil War:

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Though they are usually referred to as the English Civil Wars, the wars of the 1640s and early ’50s are more accurately described by the name used by generations of Irish historians – ‘the Wars of the Three Kingdoms’. The economically dominant gentry and merchants of south-east England, East Anglia and East Midlands, including most of the English ports, generally opposed the king, while the royalist support was strongest in the poorer and more peripheral west and north of England, as well as in Wales. After winning the ‘Bishops’ Wars’ of 1639-40 against the King, the Scots then remained neutral before the Presbyterian ‘Covenanters’ took to the field in support of the English Parliament in 1644. Charles I’s strategy of using both royalist Protestants and rebel Catholics, together with Montrose’s royalist Scots, linked the three kingdoms together in their struggles against the Stuarts, which turned against the king in 1644, culminating in his loss of York in July.

The Drudgery of it all – War Weariness:

By the winter of 1644-5, the first ‘English Civil War’ was already more than two years old, and it was clear by the end of the long and hard-fought campaigning season that if the parliament was to win in the field against the forces loyal to Charles I, it must concentrate its resources and reorganise its armies. But though this imperative was obvious, the obstacles to carrying it into effect were formidable. The overall commander of the armies, the Earl of Essex, although recently defeated, still had powerful friends and allies and remained popular with all who hoped, as he did, for a negotiated peace with the King. Sir William Waller, a seasoned campaigner in the Thirty Years’ War on the continent, had once seemed a plausible alternative commander since he had shown a far stronger fighting temperament. But the battle of Cropredy Bridge, fought near Banbury at the end of June 1944 (see the map below), and the second battle of Newbury, at the end of October, had exposed serious limitations in his generalship, and by his own admission, he had become so perfectly tired with the drudgery of the military command that he was ready to lay it down.

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As for the Earl of Manchester, whose Eastern Association had once been the great hope of the war party, he had been so reluctant to engage in sorties against the royalists that a running quarrel had developed between him and Cromwell, his Lieutenant-General. Following the failures of the 1644 Campaign, there had been a concerted effort to remove Manchester from the command of the Eastern Association. The conflict between Cromwell and Manchester had begun in early 1644. Religion, as well as political views, played an important role in the dispute. In a Statement by an Opponent of Cromwell, it was claimed that, like Cromwell, …

… Colonels Montague, Russell, Pickering, and Rainsborough’s regiments (are) all of them professed Independents, entire.

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Both Manchester and Major-General Crawford, his strongest supporter, were ardent Presbyterians, at least in a political sense. Cromwell had had a famous row with Crawford, the Scottish commander of the infantry in Manchester’s army in March 1644, when the latter arrested the lieutenant-colonel of his own regiment and sent him up to headquarters, apparently because he was unwilling, as a Baptist, to sign the ‘Covenant’, the agreement to impose the Scots’ system of church government on England. It was hardly the place of the lieutenant-general of Horse to rebuke the major-general of the infantry for disciplining a subordinate officer who was not complying with the law as laid down by parliament, but that was what Cromwell did, and in writing:

Sir, the state, in choosing men to serve them, takes no notice of their opinions; if they be willing faithfully to serve them, that satisfies … Take heed of being sharp … against those to whom you can object little but that they square not with you in every opinion concerning matters of religion.

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Matters of Religion – High Churchmen, Puritans & ‘tub-thumpers’:

It is difficult to overstate the importance that matters of religion played as a backdrop to both the military campaigns and the debates in parliament. As Supreme Governor of the Church of England, Charles I and his bishops had angered the Puritans, or Calvinists, within it, by giving their support to a group of High Church clergy called Arminians, who supported the Stuart doctrine of the ‘Divine Right of Kings.’ Laud ‘s enforcement of High Church ceremonies and his persecution of Puritans had aroused the passionate anger of the Puritan middle class. Besides, the Stuarts’ pro-Catholic foreign policy aroused suspicions that they were ‘closet’ Catholics at a time when most Englishmen and lowland Scots had a fanatical hatred of ‘Papists’. The Church of England still remained the established national church requiring all the king’s English subjects to attend for communion every week. As the ‘Anglican’ Church, often referred to the ‘Episcopalian’ Church in Presbyterian-controlled Scotland, it retained bishops and archbishops and also continued to derive much of its iconography, liturgy and teaching from the traditional Catholic model. Its greatest defendant in this was Archbishop Laud, who by the beginning of 1645 had lain in the Tower of London for over three years before parliament, at the insistence of the Scots, had proceeded with his impeachment in March 1644.

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As the proceedings dragged on into the autumn, it became doubtful whether the remnant of the House of Lords still in attendance at Westminster would convict Laud of treason, so the Commons switched to an ordinance of attainder, for which they no longer needed the King’s assent. They sent it up to the Lords on 22 November but despite pressure from the London mob the peers held out against passing it until 4 January. The seventy-one-year-old prelate was then beheaded on Tower Hill, although he had long ceased to be a threat to the parliament. The malignity with which it pursued him to death, largely as an act of revenge for the brutal persecution that they had suffered at his hands, in the 1620s and ’30s, is a mark of the power of the adversaries of Episcopalianism, who were often lumped together under the single nomenclature ‘puritan’, but, in reality, they were very diverse in their beliefs.

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The most influential puritans in Parliament were the Presbyterians, who had been predominant in Scotland since the time of the return of the reformer, John Knox, from John Calvin’s Geneva. They also existed both inside and outside the Church of England and their aim was to replace its episcopalian structure with a system of presbyteries, something like local church committees, and regional ‘synods’. Their brand of Protestantism was very strong in the House of Commons and its adherents hoped to use Parliament to enforce its doctrine upon the Chuch of England and upon the whole population of England and Wales. The Independents were opposed to both the Episcopalians and to the Presbyterians. They did not believe that either the King or Parliament should dictate how they should worship. Among their numbers were Baptists, Congregationalists and Quakers, together with a large number of sects. The single point of agreement between them was that there should be a separation between the Church and the State, though many, like Cromwell himself, wanted there to continue to be a national church in both England and Scotland, though with the local congregations able to choose their own ministers.

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But whilst Royalists tended to be Episcopalian, Parliament was solidly Presbyterian and the Army was largely Independent in religion and increasingly radical in its politics, some puritans supported the King and some Episcopalians who opposed him. Also, as the war dragged on, there were Independents, increasingly ‘pacifist’ in perspective, who wanted to reach an ‘agreement’ with the King. Much also depended on the social ‘orders’ to which people belonged. But war-weariness in the country at large and divisions at Westminster were further impediments to the forging of the means of victory. The previously strong ‘middle group’ in Parliament were finding it increasingly difficult to hold together a solid parliamentarian centre together in support of the war effort while fending off the defeatest ‘peace party’ on the one hand and a disruptively radical tendency on the other.

York to Westminster: Presbyterians v Independents:

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011During the winter of 1643-44, as both sides looked for military allies, John Pym, the puritan leader in the House of Commons negotiated the Solemn League and Covenant with the Scots, which was then enacted by parliament. Scotland’s leaders saw that a victory for Charles in England would doom their Presbyterian revolution, so they abandoned their neutrality in favour of an alliance with the English Parliament in January 1644. Meanwhile, Charles sought further reinforcements from Ireland, but their military value was not worth the damage that his willingness to accept Catholic support did to his cause in England and Scotland. This resulted in the military intervention of the Scots on the side of the English Parliament.

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Reinforced by Scottish forces under Alexander Leslie, the Yorkshire Army of Lord Thomas Fairfax and the Eastern Association cavalry commanded by Oliver Cromwell decisively defeated the main royalist army under the King’s nephew Prince Rupert and the earl of Newcastle at Marston Moor on 2 July. Cromwell’s cavalry proved its worth and the ‘cavaliers’ lost the North of England. But in the West Midlands, the Welsh marches and the South-West, Charles was still on the offensive. An attempt by parliamentary forces under the Earl of Essex to capitalise on the success in the north by invading the West Country was heavily defeated at Lostwithiel in Cornwall in August. The picture below shows Restormel Castle, which was captured by Grenville.

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Throughout 1644, parliament increasingly tended to polarise between two parties, which came to be commonly referred to as the ‘Presbyterians’ and the ‘Independents’. As the nomenclature implied, religious differences had much to do with this division, but religion was never the sole cause of it and labels were partly misleading. In Parliament, the old middle group and the original war party coalesced as Independents, covering a broad political spectrum, so that they were not homogeneous. The Presbyterians included the old peace party, though some who were Presbyterian in religion remained strongly committed to the war effort. The political differences between the ‘parties’ at this stage have often been exaggerated, for neither was contemplating a post-war settlement that would exclude the king. Cromwell, Saye and other leading Independents were still seeking for a means to reinstate the king on safe and honourable conditions more than three years later, before the Second Civil War.

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Charles attempted to retrieve his fortunes in Scotland and to relieve the pressure in England, through a series of campaigns led by James Graham, the marquis of Montrose, a resourceful commander, but the royalist position in Scotland was a microcosm of that in England. Royalist support was strongest in the largely Catholic Highlands, but this was also the poorest part of the country; the richer and more populous Presbyterian Lowlands remained committed to the Covenanter alliance with the English parliament. Reinforcements from Ireland never arrived in sufficient numbers, the two thousand sent in June being the only significant contribution. Montrose was eventually crushed by Leslie’s Covenanters in September 1645, but not before he had unnerved them and distracted them from the siege of Chester earlier that year, as detailed below.

In 1644-45, the parties differed on the terms rather than the principle of a future settlement, and religion was a major point of contention in this. It came to the fore because all through 1644 the Westminster Assembly was debating the form of government which it would recommend for the Church of England. The Scottish Commissioners were pressing for a pure Presbyterian model, with a church session exerting its coercive jurisdiction in every parish, with parishes grouped in classical presbyteries, provincial synods elected by and from presbyteries, a national synod at the summit, and with lay participation by ruling elders at every tier of the pyramidal structure. Since episcopalians were unrepresented in the Assembly, most of the English divines were prepared to endorse such a system in its essentials, but they were persistently opposed by a small group of Independents who became known as ‘the Dissenting Brethren’. Unlike the ‘separatists’, however, they fully accepted the authority of the civil power in matters of religion, so long as it did not oppress the churches over essential matters of faith and conscience.

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Doctrinal matters were not at issue, however, as in theology, the moderate Independents professed a common orthodox Calvinism with the Presbyterians. What many of them rejected was the concept, common to Anglicans and Presbyterians, of a church coterminous with the nation-state; they could never accept that church membership was conferred simply by being born and baptised in a particular parish. A true church for them could only consist of a congregation of committed believers, men and women who had given mature covenant to live in accordance with it. Every such ‘gathered church’, they argued, should have the right to choose its own pastor and the power to discipline its members, even in the last resort to cast them out; so the Presbyterians’ entrustment of ordination and ex-communication to presbyteries was unacceptable to them. But they did not claim the right to total autonomy for each congregation that most separatists demanded, but rather proposed a kind of federal association. They didn’t like being called ‘Independents’, because they believed …

… the truth to lie and consist in a middle way betwixt that which is falsely charged on us … and that which is the contention of these times, the authoritative Prebyterial government in all the subordinations and proceedings of it.

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Although they were few in number in the Assembly, the Independents had powerful supporters in parliament, including Cromwell in the Commons and Viscount Saye and Sele in the Lords. These and most of the other lay Independents were strongly committed to a vigorous prosecution of the war, so, understandably, ‘Independent’ became a loose label for all who pursued total victory and ‘Presbyterian’ for those who preferred a negotiated settlement. It was also generally true that most Independents advocated some degree of liberty of conscience in religion, whereas most Presbyterians favoured the continuance of a single national church, conformity to which would be enforced by the state. Yet even here the labels could be misleading, and religious beliefs were not always matched by political practice and priorities regarding church governance. Thus, it is often necessary to distinguish between the political and religious senses of the terms ‘Independent’ and ‘Presbyterian, since the correlation between them was so imperfect. References to political groupings should, therefore, be made without capitalisation, and ‘parties’ suggests a greater degree of identity, coherence and organisation than actually existed in the 1640s. There was also a social dimension to the mutual opposition between Presbyterians and Independents. Politicians like Cromwell would have extended liberty of conscience not only to their fellow Independents but also to the more peaceable separatists – Baptists, Quakers, Seekers – which were proliferating in the unsettled climate of the mid-1640s. Conservative souls, however, distrusted the whole principle of electing ministers of religion and were horrified by the prospect of giving free rein to sectarian ‘tub-thumpers’ without academic training who were elected by their fellow plebeians.

The Westminster Assembly promised the continuance of a single national church in which the majority of the parish clergy would continue to be chosen by wealthy gentry patrons.  Such a church was likely to cement the existing structures of society, whereas sectarian preachers were seen as potential social dynamite. In December 1944, the Earl of Essex, in overall command of the parliamentary forces, was complaining that:

Posterity will say that to deliver them from the yoke of the King we have subjugated them to that of the common people, (whose) audacity (he would henceforth) devote his life to redressing.

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Right: The title page of an anti-radical tract. Moderate ‘independents’, horrified by the growing extremism engendered by the war, struggled to make their voices heard.

How to Win the War? Parliament & The Army:

When Oliver Cromwell emerged as the leader of the ‘war party’, linking up with radicals in many locations, it was natural that there should be social overtones to this shift in national policy. These radicals were described by their enemies as a company of Brownists, Anabaptists, … factious inferior persons. He had built up a virtually impregnable position for himself before he struck at Manchester and all he stood for. Not only was he a person of great favour and interest with the House of Commons as one hostile fellow-MP put it. By sheer hard work and military efficiency, he had become the outstanding figure in the Eastern Association, which after London was the main centre of support for parliament, especially in Essex and Suffolk. In June 1644 his leadership had been decisive at the battle of Marston Moor, the first really crushing victory the Parliamentarians had won. Cromwell’s troopers, originally,  were picked men, well equipped, well horsed, well paid. All these factors enabled him to use the cavalry charge as a battering ram instead of as a mobile infantry lightly armed with pistols. Prince Rupert’s horse charged once, often with devastating effect, but then lost cohesion in destroying enemy stragglers or in the search for plunder; a rabble of gentility, as Monck (below left) called the Cavalier cavalry. As Claredon (below right) put it, …

… though the King’s troops prevailed in the charge and routed those they charged, they never rallied themselves again in order, nor could be brought to make a second charge again the same day … whereas Cromwell’s troops, if they prevailed, or thought they were beaten and presently routed, rallied again and stood in good order till they received new orders.

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This, Clarendon added, was only under him, and had never been notorious under Essex or Waller. At Marston Moor, it had been the repeated charges of Cromwell’s horse that had turned apparent Parliamentary defeat into complete victory. Yet he had remained in the background when the London radicals had tried to build up Sir William Waller as a rival commander to the Earl of Essex, and so had not suffered their discomfiture when ‘William the Conqueror’ was routed by a royalist cavalry charge at Roundway Down in July 1643. On the question of winning the war the issues between Cromwell and Manchester and between the two ‘parties’ were clear-cut. Manchester is often quoted as saying:

If we beat the King ninety-nine times, yet he is King still. … but if the King beat us once, we shall all be hanged.

To which Cromwell is said to have retorted with irrefutable logic:

My Lord, if this be sowhy did we take up arms at first? This is against fighting ever hereafter.

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The dispute between the Independents and Presbyterians within the Army was part of the process that led, despite its military successes, to the eclipse of the Eastern Association army under Manchester’s generalship. The conflict, in political terms, was between those who believed the war could be won and those who did not want to defeat the king. It was the success of the Independents, like Pickering and Montague, which enabled the creation of an army committed to winning the war. Manchester, for his part, alleged that Cromwell had admitted to packing the Eastern Association Army with men of his own principles …

… so that in case there should be propositions for peace, or any conclusion of a peace, such as might not stand with those that honest men should aim at, this Army might prevent such a mischief.

Cromwell did not contest this charge, but soberly told the House of Commons that:

I had a great deal of reason to think that his Lordship’s miscarriage in these particulars was neither through accidents (which could not be helped) nor through his improvidence only, but through his backwardness to all action; and had some reason to conceive that that backwardness was not (merely) from dullness or indisposedness to engagement, but (withal) from some principle of unwillingness in his Lordship to have this war prosecuted unto full victory, (but rather end it) on some such terms to which it might be disadvantageous to bring the King too low.

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Cromwell was not pursuing a personal vendetta against Manchester, nor did he relish the antagonisms within and between the two Houses that their quarrel was generating. He was waiting only for the Committee of the Army to endorse the evidence of Manchester’s persistent unwillingness to fight since the fall of York. It did so when it reported to the House on 9 December, and towards the end of a long debate, Cromwell rose to make the most important speech of his career to date. He was speaking to a report from a committee which had been set up to inquire into the quarrel between himself and Manchester, but he succeeded in elevating the dispute to one of principle. It was this speech, and what immediately followed it, which demonstrated his consummate skill as a Parliamentary tactician:

It is now a time to speak, or forever hold the tongue. The important occasion now is no less to save a nation out of  a bleeding, nay, almost dying condition, which the long continuance of this war hath already brought it into; so that without a more speedy, vigorous and effectual prosecution of the war – casting off all lingering proceedings like … soldiers of fortune beyond sea, to spin out a war – we shall make the kingdom weary of us, and hate the name of a Parliament.

For what do the enemy say? Nay, what do many say that were friends at the beginning of the parliament? Even this, that the members of both Houses have got great places and commands, and the sword, into their hands; and what by interest in the Parliament, what by power in the Army, will perpetually continue themselves in grandeur, and not permit the war speedily to end, lest their own power should determine with it. This I speak here to our own faces is but what others do utter abroad behind our backs.

… I know of the worth of those commanders, members of both Houses, who are yet in power; but if I may speak my conscience without reflection upon any, I do conceive if the army be not put to another method, and the war more vigorously prosecuted, the people can bear the war no longer, and will enforce you to a dishonourable peace.

So then, he concluded, let them cease pursuing particular complaints against any single commander, since none was infallible, but apply themselves instead to the necessary remedy; he hoped that no member of either House would take offence at his speech, or hesitate to sacrifice private interests for the public good. He had clearly prepared his ground well behind the scenes, colluding with the Presbyterian chairman of the Committee for the Army, Zouch Tate, a firm believer in fighting the King to a finish. Tate immediately moved that …

… during the time of this war no member of either House shall have or execute any office or command, military or civil, granted, or conferred by both or either of the Houses. 

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Above: The House of Commons in 1640. It changed little over the following five years.

This was a master-stroke of parliamentary manoeuvring since, as a presbyterian, Tate could be seen as a political opponent of Cromwell. But it was Oliver’s close colleague, Sir Henry Vane, who seconded the motion, who offered to lay down his commission as co-Treasurer of the Navy, and Cromwell himself then offered to resign his own military command. This ‘Self-Denying Ordinance’, as it was more formally adopted by the Commons ten days later, was one half of the remedy; the other would be a thorough recasting of the parliament’s military forces, but that would be a thorough recasting of the parliament’s military forces, but that would be fruitless unless they were put under commanders with a wholehearted will to win. Removing Essex and Manchester was the first problem to be faced, though other peace party peers and MPs were holding less exalted commands, including Thomas Fairfax, Haselrig, Brereton, Cromwell himself, and half-a-dozen others who were equally committed to total victory. For Cromwell to have hung up his sword would have been a serious strategic loss to the army, but he told the House of Commons that the recall of their fellow-members to Westminster

… will not break, or scatter our armies. I can speak this for my own soldiers, that they look not upon me, but upon you, and for you they will fight, and live and die in your cause.

The Radicals of the Eastern Association:

Cromwell’s enemies no doubt saw the Ordinance as a means of getting rid of him; he and his friends saw the broader problem of removing peers and all those who owed their military commands to social rank rather than to ability. It was a logical extension of the policy of promoting ‘russet-coated men’ within his own regiment according to merit.

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The New Model Army, according to one of its chaplains, Richard Baxter, was partly the envy and partly the scorn of the nobility. Baxter was a Presbyterian both in religion and politics. He joined Colonel Whalley’s regiment of horse in the New Model because he thought that the King should often do what Parliament wanted and that people should not be forced to accept bishops or the Prayer Book. However, he was soon shocked to hear how the troopers spoke of the King:

We that lived quietly did keep our old principles and took the true happiness of King and people, Church and State, to be our end. But when I came among Cromwell’s soldiers I found a new face of things which I never dreamed of. I perceived that they took the King for a tyrant and an enemy and really intended to master him or ruin him.

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Although there were not that many radicals in the army, they were already beginning to influence among the ordinary soldiers whose hatred for the King was becoming more extreme as the war continued. Baxter blamed himself and other nonconformist ministers for not persuading Cromwell and other commanders to be more peaceable in outlook earlier in the war. In assessing Cromwell’s statesmanship in parliament and the army, we suffer from hindsight. Baxter had been invited by him to become ‘pastor’ to his troops at the beginning of the war when his officers had purposed to make their troops a gathered church’, but he had believed, like many others, that the war would soon be over and there would soon be a peace settlement with the King. When by the end of 1644, this was obviously not the case, he decided he must support Parliament and go to minister to the ’roundheads’. From the start, Cromwell’s troops had enthusiastically carried out the Commons policy of destroying stained glass and images in the churches, for which he was wrongly blamed. In his home city of Ely (pictured below) in January 1644, he had warned Canon Hitch …

… lest the soldiers should in any tumultuary or disorderly way attempt the reformation of your cathedral church, I require you to forbear altogether your choir service, so unedifying and offensive, and this as you will answer it, if any disorder should arise therefrom. … leave off this fooling and come down.

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When Hitch ignored the warning, Cromwell emphasised that he was a man under authority, … commanded to dismiss this assembly. Whether or not they were ‘under authority’ to carry out their acts of iconoclasm, there can be little doubt that Cromwell and his troopers were willing to do so, though not altogether as wantonly as many others in East Anglia. It was in the Suffolk town of Bury St Edmunds, in January 1645, that Cromwell summoned a conference to plan the formation of the New Model Army. The half-trained county levies had proved more than a match for the royalist forces, but they had been reluctant to fight far from home or to permit their military duties to interfere with the demands of their farms and businesses. This was certainly true of the Suffolk men who frequently had to march to distant parts of the realm. Six months later, Cromwell urgently called upon Suffolk’s cavalry to muster at Newmarket and for the infantry to muster at Bury. Each trooper, he promised, would receive fourteen shillings per week and each dragoon 10s. 6d. per week.

But the growing power of the army and the fanaticism of some of its leaders and troops also alarmed many Suffolk people. The use of churches as stables and their ancient windows and monuments for musket practice made the soldiers increasingly unpopular. Added to this disrespectful treatment, William Dowsing of Laxfield was appointed to the post of ‘Parliamentary Visitor’ by Manchester, as General of the Eastern Association. Between January and October 1644, he toured Suffolk with a troop os soldiers, smashing stained glass, defacing bench ends and carved fonts, breaking down crucifixes, tearing up brasses and obliterating inscriptions. In the course of his disastrous rampage, he visited 150 churches at random and carefully noted down his work of destruction in a journal. The entry for the parish church of Clare reads:

… we broke down one thousand pictures superstitious. I broke down two hundred; three of God the Father and three of Christ and the Holy Lamb, and three of the Holy Ghost like a dove with wings; and the twelve apostles were carved in wood, on the top of the roof, which we gave order to take down; and twenty cherubims to be taken down; and the sun and the moon in the east window, by the King’s arms to be taken down.

Some parishes welcomed Dowsing and co-operated with him, but others, such as Ufford, put up a show of resistance, locked the church and tried to keep the desecrators at bay. Even where there was support for his actions, many churchwardens resented having to pay the standard charge of 6s. 8d. for his visitation. Meanwhile, Cromwell’s protection of religious radicals under his command had won him respect from all those who feared a Scottish-imposed Presbyterian discipline. On one of his rare visits to the Commons during the campaigning season, in September 1644,  Cromwell had suggested to one of his independent allies, Oliver St John the wording of a successful motion that asked, failing substantial agreement in the ‘Assembly of Divines’, that the House should continue:

… to endeavour the finding out of some way, how far tender consciences, who cannot in all things submit to the common rule which shall be established, may be borne with according to the Word as may stand with the public peace.

The ‘Self-denying’ & ‘New Model’ Ordinances enacted:

We also know now that Cromwell and other MPs retained their commands, while the Self-denying Ordinance got rid of Essex, Manchester and other ‘peace party’ peers in the army. But it was by no means clear in advance that this would be the outcome. Tate’s original resolution had proposed that ‘no members of either House’ should hold a military command. Yet Cromwell ended up playing a leading role in the whole course of events which led from the Self-denying Ordinance to the formation of the New Model Army. He also ensured that Sir Thomas Fairfax was to be appointed Commander-in-Chief of the new force in January, although this was not finally confirmed until April.

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Above: Sir Thomas Fairfax. General of the Parliamentary forces.

Both Fairfax and Cromwell were eventually exempted from the ordinance, though they could hardly have expected this when they first offered to resign. Despite reports of a mutiny in his regiment at the prospects of it being put under another colonel, Cromwell was actually at Windsor, paying his respects to Fairfax before laying down his commission, when he was ordered by the Committee of Both Kingdoms to prevent a rendezvous between the King’s forces and those of Prince Rupert before moving northwards. No doubt Cromwell’s supporters hoped from the start that he would survive the Self-Denying Ordinance, the issue remained in doubt for at least six months after it was first proposed. Cromwell’s political tactics at that first point were superb, but they included the risk that he might have to pay the price of political eclipse himself. The fact that he survived and went on to become Lord General and Lord Protector should not blind us to the chances he took, and to his clear belief in personal providence over ‘blind’ individual ambition.

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These twin measures to transform the conduct of the war, the Self-Denying Ordinance and its follow-up the New Model Ordinance, were not solely the product of the war party within the Commons but were devised with the small group of like-minded peers who included Viscount Saye and Sele and the Earl of Northumberland. These formed a coherent group of with their allies in the Commons, a group that some historians have called the ‘royal independents’ because of their subsequent importance in the brief period between the first and second Civil Wars. Saye proposed the Self-Denying Ordinance in principle in the Lords the same day as it was proposed in the Commons, but the peers took ‘great offence’ and rejected it ‘out of hand’. When it came up to them having passed the Commons on 19 December, they laid it aside and resisted all pressure to take it into consideration until 13 January, when they threw it out formally following a ‘vote’ in which only four peers recorded their dissents in favour of it. What finally moved the Lords to action was the reading of the New Model Ordinance later that month, when the Committee of Both Kingdoms recommended the formation of a new army of twenty-two thousand men, to be supported by a levy of six thousand pounds per month on a number of the districts controlled by Parliament.

The establishment of this New Model Army was set at twelve regiments of foot each of twelve thousand men, eleven regiments of Horse of six hundred men each, and one regiment of a thousand dragoons, divided into ten companies, each of a hundred men. The senior officers of the army were selected on 21 January, and Sir Thomas Fairfax was appointed as Commander-in-Chief (on a salary of ten pounds a day) and Philip Skippon as Sergeant-Major General (two pounds per day). Cromwell was only nominated as Lieutenant-General of the Horse (two pounds per day) on the eve of the Battle of Naseby in June and was not appointed as Commander-in-Chief until after Fairfax’s retirement five years later in June 1650. The choice of Fairfax was far from simple because the Self-Denying Ordinance ruled out almost everyone who had commanded anything larger than a regiment. Philip Skippon was an exception and was nominated to the post which best suited him, that of major-general of the infantry. Sir Thomas Fairfax was only thirty-two and had had no pre-war military experience, his highest command having been that of the Horse in his father’s small army, and he had not distinguished himself, unlike Cromwell, at the Battle of Marston Moor. But wherever he had fought he had shown the flair of a born leader of cavalry and he communicated his calm nature in the heat of battle to his officers and men: Cromwell had seen him in action more than once. Although an MP for Yorkshire, he had no known political leanings beyond a steady devotion to the parliamentary cause, and in religion, he was a devout but undogmatic puritan.

The Commons passed the Ordinance without a division. The measure had three main objects, the first of which was to forge a genuinely national army out of the remnants of earlier ones, an army free of the regional ties which had made Waller’s London trained bands and Manchester’s East Anglian foot look over their shoulders when they had been away from home ground for any length of time. Three regiments of horse and foot were to come from Essex’s army and two from Waller’s. The remaining nine regiments of horse and four of infantry were to be from the Eastern Association. This comprised 3,578 men, consisting of four regiments of foot, Crawford’s, Rainsborough’s, Montague’s and Pickering’s. The second aim of the Ordinance was the creation of a fully professional army whose officers were wholly dedicated to the prosecution of the war, without political control. Thirdly, this army was to have an undisputed first call on parliament’s financial resources. The creation of so powerful a force aroused the deepest misgivings of the Lords, especially since peers were to be precluded from holding command in it. Its proposers sought to appease their potential opponents by writing the names of its generals and colonels into the ordinance itself.

The Lords delayed passing the New Model Ordinance until 15 February, despite constant pressure from the Commons, and they disputed the lists of officers submitted by Fairfax for more than a month after that. Although he proposed no-one for the service who did not already hold a commission, they tried to make no fewer than fifty-seven changes in his recommendations, most of them politically motivated; thirty-five of the fifty-two of the officers whom they tried to remove were independents or men of radical views. They tried to make every officer take the Covenant and undertake to conform to the church government to be settled by parliament and to cashier or disqualify any who refused. Under extreme pressure from the Commons and the City, and under the threat of both to withhold essential financial provisions until they gave way, an evenly divided House of Lords finally approved Fairfax’s nominees on 18 March. Even then, at the end of the month Essex, Manchester and Denbigh had still not resigned their commissions and the presbyterian peers were holding up Faifax’s appointment because it did not bind him to preserve the safety of the King’s person. Essex’s infantry was in a state of mutiny and some of his cavalries had refused to serve under Waller. The Lords were jeopardising the whole parliamentarian cause, and they still had not passed the Self-Denying Ordinance. The Commons then threatened to discharge all members of both Houses from their military commands or civil offices. The Lords then approved Fairfax’s commission by one vote, enabling him to gain control of all the troops. Essex, Manchester and Denbigh resigned their commands on 2 April, and the Self-Denying Ordinance was passed by the Lords the following day.

Beyond the obvious sense of injured pride felt by Essex and Manchester in particular, it is difficult to explain why the Lords obstructed the measures which were essential for the prosecution of the war by Parliament. There is some evidence to suggest that Essex’s aim was to revive the medieval office of ‘Lord High Constable’, which had carried supreme military authority, and to occupy this position as a possible step towards even more vice-regal powers. His repeated refusals to obey the Committee of Both Kingdoms’ directions may be attributable to an ambition become not just the master of the war but also the architect of the peace. If this was his plan, the New Model Army and its political sponsors in the Lords soon put paid to it. At the same time as parliament passed the New Model Ordinance, it appointed Northumberland, Saye’s ally and the most senior peer still attending the Lords, as Governor of the King’s children, and it was reported that if the King still refused reasonable terms for a settlement, his youngest son, the Duke of Gloucester, would be made king and Northumberland would become Lord Protector. The rapid elevation of Northumberland by the war party looks very much like an aristocratic move to block Essex’s pretensions and his potential path to power.

The Radical Regiments:

Thus, the New Model Army was finally established in April 1945 under the command of Sir Thomas Fairfax, while Cromwell was only later appointed to the command of the cavalry. But it is surely to Cromwell that we must look to see why Pickering’s and Montague’s regiments were put forward for inclusion in the new army. Both had been regiments in the Eastern Association army, which had proved itself by the end of the 1644 Campaign to be the best organised and most successful parliamentarian forces. Besides, Pickering, Montague (who was distantly related to the Earl of Manchester) and their officers had demonstrated that they had all the right credentials to fulfil Cromwell’s objective of creating an effective national standing army committed to complete military victory. But when the list of officers for the New Model was debated in parliament, their names were struck out by the Lords, along with others. Although his elder brother, Sir Gilbert Pickering, was a well-respected MP, John Pickering was described as a fanatical Independent, and his regiment had earned a reputation as being the most radical of all the parliamentary forces. Therefore, the Lords voted to leave out the entire regiment at first on both political and religious grounds, undoubtedly reinforced by Manchester’s determination to purge his personal enemies from any new army that was created.

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Pickering’s and Montague’s regiments had already been reported to the Committee for the Army for, on Cromwell’s instructions (as claimed), absolutely refusing orders from Major-General Crawford during 1644. Crawford himself refused to serve in the New Model Army after the failure of presbyterian MPs to control its formation and eventually transferred to Leslie’s presbyterian Scottish army. He was sent to command at the siege of Hereford where he was killed in August 1645. The religious controversies he sparked with Cromwell are revealed in the various disparaging remarks made about Pickering’s and Montague’s regiments by Sir Samuel Luke, governor of Newport Pagnell, another presbyterian. John Pickering was one of the officers who were questioned by parliament, in December 1644, about the events surrounding Manchester’s seeming unwillingness to prosecute the war against the King’s forces. He had reported on the Earl’s failure to capitalise on the successes of the early summer, 1944, and his wish to winter in East Anglia rather than advance into the west with Pickering’s infantry. It was in this acrimonious atmosphere that the ‘radical’ regiment was to be excluded by the Lords, but when the pressure from the Commons eventually led to the passing of Fairfax’s original list by just one vote, Pickering’s became the twelfth regiment of the New Model Army.

After the Battle of Marston Moor in the summer of 1644, fighting had tended to be concentrated around the royalist strongholds of Newark, Chester, Exeter and Oxford. Oxford was the king’s headquarters; its garrison dominated the main routes to the West Country. Large parliamentary forces were committed to besieging these centres, while the king prepared a new offensive. Colonel John Pickering’s Regiment of Foot had been quartered at Abingdon throughout the winter, and it was there on 4 January 1645 that the regiment was paid, and it was still there in April. The regiment was therefore probably involved in the defence of the town when Prince Rupert of the Rhine, the King’s nephew and commander of his cavalry, attacked with eighteen hundred troops on 10 January. New works had just been constructed around the garrison and these proved effective, the royalists being driven back with heavy losses. On 5 April, two days after the establishment of the New Model Army in Parliament, Sir Samuel Luke wrote that two of Pickering’s soldiers were among prisoners held by the royalists at Boarstall, one of the cavalier garrisons that ringed the king’s capital at Oxford.

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Although the New Model was being formed from the existing units of the armies of Essex, Manchester and Waller, these had suffered so many losses in the campaign of 1644 that they could supply only seven thousand of the required fourteen thousand plus infantry. It was intended that the balance should be provided by impressment in London and the south-east, but when the New Model began its first campaign it was still short of four thousand men. Nevertheless, it was an instrument of war by which its professionalism, courage and discipline would bring victory for Parliament. Sheer military necessity forced the Committee of Both Kingdoms, with the Commons’ backing, to go ahead with the forming of the Army before it received parliament’s legislative backing. The general aim was to embody in it intact such units in the armies as had proved their military worth. Fairfax was entrusted with the nomination of all officers below the rank of colonel,  and he faithfully observed the principle of keeping together officers and men who had already forged a bond in war. Despite acute Scottish suspicions to the contrary, there was no deliberate design to create an army of a specific political or religious complexion. The overriding criterion for appointment and promotion was military effectiveness. The senior officers named in the ordinance covered a wide ideological spectrum, though the greater commitment of Independents, both religious and political, gave them greater preponderance.

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There was no difficulty in filling the ranks of the cavalry in the New Model Army, with a large number of redundant officers enlisting as troopers. The service carried much more prestige and better pay and conditions than the infantry enjoyed. A trooper’s two shillings a day was about twice what he basically needed to feed man and horse, whereas a foot soldier’s eightpence was the wage of a common labourer, and his rations in the field usually consisted of cheese with bread or biscuit. Proven fighting quality ensured the embodiment of most of Cromwell’s Eastern Association cavalry, furnishing five of the New Model’s original regiments of horse. In his efforts to enlist men who knew what they were fighting for and loved what they knew, Cromwell had found them mainly among those who saw their cause as that of the people of God, and so many of them were puritan enthusiasts. He was accused unjustly of favouring sectaries at the expense of moderate, orthodox men, for he did not probe into their beliefs if he sensed that he had what he called ‘the root of the matter’ in them. For a while after the incident with Crawford related above, he did promote Independents and sectaries in preference to rigid Presbyterians, not because of the latter’s religious convictions but because of their intolerance towards comrades-in-arms who did not share them. But  this phase did not last long, and his true spirit spoke in his dispatch to Speaker Lenthall after the New Model Army’s heroic storming of Bristol in 1645:

Presbyterians, Independents, all had the same spirit of faith and prayer, the same presence and answer; they agree here, know no names of difference; pity it is it should be otherwise anywhere. All that believe have the real unity, which is most glorious because inward and spiritual. … As for being united in forms, commonly called uniformity, every Christian will for peace sake study and do as far as conscience will permit; and from brethren, in things of the mind, we look for no compulsion but that of light and reason. In other things God hath put the sword into the Parliament’s hand, but the terror of evildoers and the praise of them that do well.

Re-organisation, Recruitment & Religion:

Thomas Ayloffe was a presbyterian who had originally been included in the list of colonels for the New Model. During the winter of 1644-45, as the conflict between the independents and Presbyterians was fought out in parliament, Ayloffe’s were in the garrisons at Aylesbury and Newport Pagnell, under the command of Crawford and Luke. Ayloffe was not selected to serve in the New Model because of the failure of the Lords to purge it of radicals like Pickering. It was another ‘independent’ regiment, Rainsborough’s, which accompanied  Pickering’s and Montague’s from the Eastern Association into the New Model Army. However, because of the drastic collapse of the numbers in Pickering’s regiment during 1644-45, it was decided by the Commons, on 16 April, that Colonel Thomas Ayloffe’s regiment should be reduced into Pickering’s to help restore the regiment to strength. Ayloffe’s, which probably drew its men from Essex, had spent most of 1644 in the garrison at Aylesbury and Newport Pagnell and did not see action in any of the major battles of that year, although they were involved in the storming of Hillesden House. This process of consolidation was repeated throughout the parliamentarian army because most regiments were under strength. Ayloffe’s men had been with him throughout 1644, while Pickering’s had supported him throughout the winter of 1644-45. The soldiers from Ayloffe’s were successfully transferred to Pickering’s in early April, as Lieutenant-Colonel Hewson reported to the Army’s Treasurer:

… the officers of Collo. Aliffs Regiment did with all willingness and request deliver unto us ther men according to order… 

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However, more recruits were still required and though recruitment was still carried on in East Anglia, Pickering’s likely acquired some men from other areas. Pickering took with him into the New Model seven of his company commanders, including Hewson. Not one Captain from Ayloffe’s regiment was included, indeed it would appear that no commissioned officers transferred, for Hewson’s letter clearly states that Ayloffe’s officers ‘delivered’ their men. This was not simply a matter of political or religious differences. One objective of combining regiments was to redress the balance of officers to men. Even when the number of common soldiers in Pickering’s reduced to below three hundred they retained a nearly full complement of officers. The infantry of the older armies was so depleted that just over half of the New Model foot had to be raised by conscription, and they were not raised easily. An impressment ordinance was quickly passed at the end of February, with most of the burden falling on London, which had to find 2,500, and on East Anglia and Kent, whose quota was a thousand each. Pressed men were so prone to mutiny or desert that they had to be guarded all the way to their regiments. They were drawn from the lowest orders, for those worth three pounds in property or five pounds in goods were exempt, as were a whole range of occupations. The penalty for desertion was death, but many were homeless men who could easily disappear without a trace. During the New Model’s first year, nearly twice as many men were pressed as actually served. Desertion rendered it chronically short of infantry, who were down to only eight thousand by September 1945. As Ian Gentles has written, conscripting infantry in 1645-6 was like ladling water into a leaky bucket.

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The New Model was better armed and equipped than its predecessors, and it was the first English army to wear a uniform: red, or ‘russet’ coats faced with blue (Fairfax’s colour) with grey breeches. It was even paid fairly regularly, but that did not stop the looting large quantities of livestock, bacon, beer, grain, firewood and household goods wherever they marched. The Eastern Association regiments had always paid their way but in the ‘transition’ period before the Battle of Naseby. The figure below is of a warrant for payment for bullocks delivered for Pickering’s regiment, signed off by Manchester. But in its early months, many of the new infantry recruits behaved as one would expect of unwilling conscripts.  We have seen already how a silk-weaver captain in the garrison at Newport Pagnell incurred the wrath of Sir Samuel Luke by refusing to take the Covenant. But the ordinary soldiers commanded by such men of religious conscience were described by Luke as ‘an ungodly crew’ as they trained for what, for many, was to be their first battle:

 I think these New Modellers knead all their dough with ale, for I never see so many drunk in my life in so short a time.

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As Underdown has pointed out, the effect of the establishment of military committees was to supplant the role of JPs, and as many of their members came from origins less elevated than those of the substantial gentry who made up the Commission of the Peace, they were often unpopular with the leading men of the county, even those of nominally Parliamentarian persuasion. The moderates, peace-party men or political ‘Presbyterians’ thus wished to curb the powers of the County Committees; the radicals, war-party men, pro-Army ‘Independents’, wished just as passionately to maintain them. The issue on which local quarrels often turned was finance. The original committee members were anxious to protect their friends and relations, to keep money and troops inside the county and not to be compelled to pay for military activities which did not directly affect their mainly parochial, interests. The radicals who gradually displaced them were less interested in ‘county’ society and property rights; and were more outward-looking. To begin with, it had been assumed that the war would be financed by voluntary subscriptions and loans: Cromwell himself had contributed a thousand pounds in this way, but as it became clear that these would prove inadequate, an excise was introduced and then a land tax. In addition to the sequestered property of loyalists were used for military purposes. This led to tensions between the local sequestration committees, dominated by men with purely local interests, and ‘London’, to which more and more radicals looked for national leadership as well as for finance.

Thus, winning the war became a matter of financial as well as a military re-organisation. The New Model Army was financed by a policy of ‘compounding’ with delinquents, i.e. allowing them to buy back their sequestered estates for a fine calculated according to the degree of their delinquency. This was a compromise, falling short of the confiscation the radicals wanted, but the military revolution necessitated a financial revolution. As Colonel John Pickering took up his new command at Abingdon, where his regiment had been in winter quarters, the Eastern Association ceased to be responsible for his regiment on 5 April. The total cost of maintaining it had been over four and a half thousand pounds, of which three hundred and fifty was for provisions and fifty was for the payment of staff officers. The administrative system of the Association had been unable to raise adequate resources to cover such large sums of money for so many regiments. This is why the pay to Pickering’s regiment had fallen into arrears and the situation regarding supplies and equipment for it and other Eastern Association regiments may however have been better than for some other Civil War armies due to its efficient organisation before the creation of the New Model Army.

However, the problems over pay did not improve after the transfer into the New Model. For forty-two days in April and May, the regiment went without pay. This may have been a factor leading to the mutiny later in April, but the catalyst was apparently a sermon preached by Colonel Pickering following the confirmation of his command of the regiment. This apparently antagonised the men who had transferred from Ayloffe’s regiment who were strongly influenced by the strong presbyterian views of their former commander. According to a royalist broadsheet, it was Pickering’s condemnation of the proposed imposition of the presbyterian church system to which the men particularly objected. It was not unusual that Pickering should have preached to his troops their commanding officer, in the absence of an ordained chaplain, and his strong Calvinist beliefs would have been appreciated by religious Presbyterians and Independents alike. Lay preaching was, after all, an evolving nonconformist practice at this time, but the Presbyterians were determined to impose new conformity in religion through their ‘Covenant’ with the Scots. Parliament, with its presbyterian majority, issued an order which instructed Fairfax …

… that no person be permitted to preach who is not ordained a minister …

But the bad feeling between the regiments of the New Model Army and the other parliamentarian regiments was only in part due to religious and political views. It reflected more the growing resentment at the apparent rise in the status of the New Model regiments, especially when this was exacerbated by the competition for resources. This can very clearly be seen as a primary ‘feeder’ of the conflict between the garrison of Newport Pagnell and Pickering’s regiment while it continued to be billeted in the south Midlands during May 1645. On the 19th, Sir Samuel Luke wrote:

There is such an antipathy here between my men and the New Model that you will every day hear of new encounters. My party which encountered Col. Pickering is returned with the loss of one man only, whom I intend to relieve so soon as I know where he is.

There is some evidence to suggest that, in keeping with Underdown’s thesis, that the general population in the town did not share the hostility of the county gentry and the garrison towards Pickering and his troops, as Luke himself later wrote:

Col. Pickering exercises … twice at North Crawley last Lord’s Day, as I hear, and our townsmen at Newport admire him beyond Mr. Birdett (the commander of Newport Pagnell garrison).

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Hostile commentators, both royalist propagandists and Presbyterians like Samuel Luke, misrepresented the general character of the new army from the start. They sneered at the base birth of its officers, though of the thirty-seven who fought at the Battle of Naseby a few weeks later, with the rank of colonel or above, nine were nobles and only seven others were not gentry, while a high proportion of the more junior officers were also of gentry stock. On the other hand, the New Model was widely feared as the supposed military wing of the independent party, but in fact, it refrained from engaging in any kind of collective political activity before 1647. In its early years, it was not indifferent to political issues, for most of its officers and any of its ordinary soldiers, especially its troopers, cared passionately about what they were fighting for. But over these two years, under Fairfax’s leadership, it remained wholly and solely dedicated to beating the enemy in the field, as its creators had intended. At the outset, the high proportion of Independents and sectaries in regiments drawn from the Eastern Association retained much of their old character, especially in Cromwell’s cavalry. But in choosing officers for regiments that had to be reorganised or newly raised, the criteria were previous service and military fitness.

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In practice, broad toleration prevailed in most of the army during its fighting years. Something can be gleaned from the names of its chaplains, whose appointment, outside army headquarters, lay with the regimental commanders. Over thirty have been traced who served with various regiments between 1645 and 1651, but few stayed with the colours for more than a few months. Of the nine appointed during 1645, five were Independents and four certainly or probably Presbyterian. Chaplains in the New Model Army preached to civilian congregations as well as to soldiers. Some, like Richard Baxter, were ordained ministers before the war (see above), but these were hard to find and reluctant to leave their ‘flocks’ at home. An increasing number of common soldiers took upon themselves preaching functions, having much in common with itinerant mechanic preachers. Army chaplains also included many radicals, including Henry Pinnell, who became chaplain to Pickering’s regiment, presumably following the complaint from Ayloffe’s men about the Colonel’s preaching and the prohibition on lay-preachers. Later, in 1647, it was Pinnell who defended the ‘Agitators’ to Oliver Cromwell’s face. He was a classical scholar, translator and pamphleteer, and therefore probably an ordained minister, like Baxter. Pinnell was an ‘Antinomian’, contrasting the way a man knows a thing by the reading of it with experimental certainty of it in himself. Although an Independent who championed the rights of ordinary soldiers and was radical in political views, Pinnell also wanted to see an agreement reached with the King. Both were critical of the ‘presbyterian’ parliament, as Baxter often heard men say:

It will never be a good world while knights and gentlemen make us laws, that are chosen for fear and do but oppress us, and do not know the people’s sores. It will never be well with us till we have Parliaments of countrymen like ourselves, that know our wants. 

The Campaign of 1645 – Long Marches & Sieges:

Even at full strength, the New Model accounted for less than half the men in arms in England. Although it absorbed most of what was left of the armies of Essex, Manchester and Waller, Massey’s Western Association Army, the Northern Association Army under Major-General Poyntz, and Brereton’s Cheshire brigade continued in force. There were also numerous local garrisons, as well as the London trained bands. But it was the New Model Army which was to seal Parliament’s victory in the first Civil War. But the delay in getting the New Model ready for action allowed the initiative to pass to the royalists in the early months of 1645. They took Weymouth in February, though it was soon recovered. Colonel Mytton then scored a rare success for parliament by capturing Shrewsbury on 22 February. Plymouth and Abingdon managed to survive determined royalist assaults, but Goring’s cavalry captured Farnham, only thirty-eight miles from London, though he was soon forced to draw them back. More threateningly, the king sent the Prince of Wales with a group of privy councillors to Bristol, to reanimate the war in the West Country and create a new field army there with the specific aim of besieging the much-contested town of Taunton. But the royalists had quarrels of their own in the west country. Charles’ indulgence of Goring led to him becoming commander-in-chief of all the western forces, but neither Grenville, besieging Plymouth, nor Berkeley, governor of Exeter, were willing to take orders from him.

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In March 1645, Prince Rupert was sent to relieve Chester, which was threatened by Brereton. Leven had dispatched five thousand Scots under David Leslie to reinforce Brereton, and it looked as though a major battle was impending. However, Rupert was forced to fall back by a popular uprising in Herefordshire and Worcestershire which threatened his rear. Exasperated countrymen had formed themselves into an association to defend themselves against plundering soldiers from both sides. They were nick-named ‘Clubmen’ because most of them were armed only with cudgels and farm implements, though some of them had firearms. They were crushed by the combined forces of Rupert and Maurice and then punished by having the princes’ troopers quartered in the county. But though the cavaliers’ force of arms stamped out the movement in the Marches, for the time being, Clubmen risings followed in Wiltshire, Dorset and Somerset in the late spring. The Clubmen were not just aggrieved with having the armies in their midst, but also by the New Model Ordinance and the increased power of the county committees which stemmed from it and the way it impinged on the local rights of property.

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Rupert then wanted to march north, first to relieve Chester from Brereton’s besieging forces and then to attack Leven’s now much reduced Scottish army, which was besieging Pontefract Castle. But Cromwell was still in the field with a brigade of horse, making the most of the forty days that the Self-Denying Ordinance allowed him. When Fairfax took to the field at the end of April, his army still at barely half strength, his main impediment was the Committee of Both Kingdoms, which insisted on directing his operations from Westminster. It ordered him, against his own better judgement, to march to the relief of Taunton, so on 1 May, the bulk of Fairfax’s New Model Army marched into the west, leaving Cromwell and his party of horse and dragoons …

… and four regiments of foot besides, who were ordered, when their recruits were come up, to joyn with him to busie the Enemy about Oxford.

009These were likely the four regiments of Foot from the Eastern Association, with which Cromwell had worked so well in 1644. Pickering’s regiment was already with Cromwell in late April. Moreover, the brigade of infantry accompanying him was under the command of Richard Browne, Major General of Oxfords, Berks and Bucks (left), under whose command Pickering’s had remained throughout the winter. Rainsborough’s, another of the former Eastern Association regiments, had also been placed under Browne’s overall command in April and May 1645.

Cromwell was already involved in an attempt to clear several small garrisons around Oxford.  On 25 April, following a cavalry skirmish, he had taken Bletchington House, an important garrison only seven miles from Oxford, and went on to harry the outer defences of the city itself, frustrating the northward movement of the king’s artillery by driving off most of the draught horses. From there he turned his attention to Faringdon Castle, then in Berkshire. This was a more difficult challenge, so he had to wait until 29 April, for a body of infantry to join him before he could attack. Five to six hundred infantry were sent by Browne from Abingdon where Pickering’s were quartered. Sprigge recorded that Captain Jenkins was killed at Faringdon, the first of Pickering’s officers to be lost, along with fourteen ordinary soldiers. The regiment may have numbered between five and six hundred by this time since their ranks had been swelled by the men from Ayloffe’s regiment, so they may have been the only regiment involved in the siege.

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Above: The Campaign of 1645

This caused Charles to change his plans; he recalled Goring from the west and to summon all his army, including Maurice’s forces in the Marches from Worcestershire southward, to a general rendezvous at Stow-on-the-Wold on 8 May. The results of the siege of Faringdon were inconclusive and on 3 May Goring’s cavalry and dragoons, from the south-west, attempted to ‘beat up’ Cromwell’s quarters and to relieve Faringdon. They were engaged at Radcot Bridge by Cromwell’s horse, but although there were some losses, Goring did not press home his advantage. Having survived Cromwell’s attack, the garrison at Faringdon remained in the royalist’s hands for a further year. At Stow, Charles mustered at least five thousand foot and six thousand horse, as much as Fairfax had when he set out for the west, and the arrival of Langdale with his northern horse gave him an appreciable advantage in cavalry. Meanwhile, when the New Model Army reached Blandford on 14 May, Fairfax was recalled to besiege Oxford and directed to detach six regiments to reach Taunton. The Committee of Both Kingdoms was alarmed by the movements of the Charles’ forces and lured by a false report that the faithful governor of Oxford was ready to betray the city. Fairfax must have thought that there were better ways of raising the morale of raw and reluctant infantry than taking them on long marches for no apparent reason. The Committee of Both Kingdoms was determined to take Oxford before engaging the King’s army in the field. With five thousand men detached for the relief of Taunton, Fairfax was temporarily very vulnerable, yet the Committee ordered him to advance against Oxford.

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At Stow, however, the king’s council of war was as usual divided, and it proceeded to throw away its advantage. Rupert and Langdale wanted to stick to their plan for a northern campaign, but most of the rest, including the civilians, pressed for the whole army to move westward and engage Fairfax while the New Model was still raw and under strength. That surely was what the parliament and its general had most to fear, but Rupert opposed it strenuously, and he broke what was becoming an impasse by proposing a division of forces: Goring and his men would be sent westward to check Fairfax, while the rest of the royal army proceeded northward. It was not a good solution, but it pleased Goring, whose authority was enhanced, and it was adopted. It did at least force Brereton to lift the siege of Chester. The strategically-placed city was also the port that Charles hoped to use to land further reinforcements from Ireland. The Committee of Both Kingdoms had tried to keep the siege going by requesting Leven to hasten to Brereton’s assistance and by ordering all available local forces, including Lord Fairfax’s Yorkshiremen, to do likewise. But Leven, though he did not refuse, was deflected by the news of the most brilliant of all Montrose’s victories at Auldearn. He feared that Montrose might advance through the lowlands to join up with the royal army moving northwards, so he made a long detour through Westmorland, so Brereton did not receive the help he needed in time.

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The Committee of Both Kingdoms was still transfixed by the mirage of an easy siege of Oxford, and the independent politicians were looking for an ultimate victory which would owe as little as possible to the Scots, who had become a political liability at the same time as their military value had shrunk. As a result, a proposal to send the New Model north was lost by one vote in the special committee of both houses. As a compromise, Fairfax was ordered to send 2,500 of his cavalry and dragoons to assist Leven and to move his remaining troops against Oxford. His political masters had therefore succeeded in splitting his army into three parts before it was even up to strength. , with nearly half his cavalry moving northwards, four thousand men still in Taunton, where they were trapped by Goring after relieving the town, and maybe ten thousand men preparing to lay siege to Oxford. Cromwell’s and Browne’s forces were also instructed to rejoin the army, which they did at Marston on 22 May. Pickering was with the army at Southam in late May and Lieutenant-Colonel Hewson was active in carrying arms and surgeons’ equipment to the siege.

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By the end of May, Fairfax had received at least four thousand infantry recruits since first taking to the field, but had also lost three thousand through desertion, disease or skirmishing in the course of his gruelling march into Dorset and back. Rupert also had to contend with politically-motivated civilians in the king’s council of war, but now at Market Drayton, he guided it towards wiser decisions than those he had urged at Stow. Though he had been keen on a northern campaign, he was aware that the major part of the divided New Model had returned as far as Newbury, and he was eager to engage it while he could still catch it at a disadvantage. He had already sent orders to Goring, who had become obsessed with retaking Taunton, to return with his whole force and rendezvous with the main army at Market Harborough in Leicestershire. He now successfully urged that by striking eastwards towards the parliamentarian heartland he would be sure to draw off Fairfax from Oxford, and hoped on the way to collect three thousand Welshmen that Charles Gerrard had been raising and the bulk of the cavalry from the Newark garrison. Since the royal army already numbered eleven thousand, he had a good prospect of giving Fairfax battle on equal or better terms. But Goring decided to ignore his orders to return to the Midlands and remained in Bath, besieging Taunton.

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To draw Fairfax off, Charles and Rupert marched upon Leicester, launching what effectively amounted to an invasion of the parliamentary stronghold of the East Midlands, which took its inhabitants by complete surprise. Although it was a wealthy city, it was inadequately garrisoned, and its hastily built fortifications were compromised by suburban buildings which gave cover to an attacking force. Its plunder would fill the soldiers’ stomachs and still leave plenty of loot for the king’s coffers. Rupert invested it methodically and summoned it to surrender on 30 May. Without a response, the royalist guns opened fire in mid-afternoon, and by six they had breached its best-defended quarter, the Newark.  At midnight, they launched a general attack which was resisted by the defenders, a mere 480 foot and 400 horse, assisted by 900 townsmen in arms. They had to be driven back street-by-street until they were finally cornered in the market place and forced to surrender. They did not all receive quarter, and both men and women were killed during the night since Rupert had lost thirty officers and was exasperated by the city’s resistance. The ensuing plunder went on for days, at the end of which 140 cartloads of ‘booty’ were carried off to Newark. It was reported that no royalist taken prisoner between Leicester and Naseby had less than forty shillings on him, two months’ pay for a foot soldier.

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Following the fall of Leicester to the royalist army on 31 May, Cromwell (right) was dispatched to secure Ely while Pickering’s regiment remained with Fairfax. Leicester’s agony had the expected effect of making the Committee of Safety abandon the folly of besieging Oxford. Parliament promptly accepted its recommendation that Fairfax should now take the field against the king forthwith, thus removing the New Model’s shackles, simply instructing its general to follow the royal army’s movements and leaving the rest to his own judgement.

(to be continued…)

Sources:

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Oxford: OUP (2002).

The cover of the book shows a section of ‘England’s Miraculous Preservation’. The ark contains the two Houses of Parliament, and among those struggling in the flood are Archbishop Laud, Prince Rupert and the Earls of Hamilton and Newcastle, as well as Oliver Cromwell (centre).

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Whitstable: Pryor Publications (1994). In the acknowledgements, Glenn refers to the work he and this author did on the history of the regiment:  ‘It had been intended that we write the book together, before his departure to Hungary.’

001 (18)

Harmondsworth: Pelican Books (1972).

Christopher Hill (1975). The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas  During the English Revolution. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

David Smurthwaite (1984), The Ordnance Survey complete guide to the Battlefields of Britain. Exeter: Webb & Bower (Publishers).

John Hayward et.al. (2001), The Penguin Atlas of British & Irish History. London: Penguin Books.

 

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Beyond their Graves – Tracing the Lives and Times of the Gullivers: Part 1 (Chapter 1)   8 comments

Introduction:

Finding the Gullivers

 

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When I was growing up in Nottingham and Birmingham in the sixties and early seventies, we would often spend holidays and Christmases with my maternal grandparents in Walsgrave-on-Sowe, near Coventry. They were always full of tales, especially my Grandpa Gulliver. On one of our visits, I asked him where the name Gulliver came from, since I’d just read the 1912 children’s version of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels into several remote Nations of the World, originally published in 1726 as a satirical, social and political tract, never intended for young minds. He told me that in Banbury churchyard, I would find, railed around, a gravestone with Gullivers on. The legend of that, he went on, is supposed to be that the man that wrote Gulliver’s Travels saw that stone and thought that that’s what he’d call his book. Those are your ancestors. So that’s just something to think on! he added. I thought on, but regarded it as simply a piece of family folklore until in 1986, while attending the Sealed Knot Society’s re-enactment of the Battle of Edghill, near Banbury, I picked up a local history booklet from the stall of the Banburyshire Local History Society. I was surprised to find that it had the very same story printed in it. It was official, then! Lemuel Gulliver (the real one, that is) was indeed my ancestor.

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I joined the Sealed Knot as a roundhead and while researching the history of our newly-formed Midland Association regiment, in the library at the University of Warwick, was intrigued to find a record of a Banbury man named Gulliver from the mid-seventeenth century. He was listed as a Quaker, a term which, then, was often used to denote someone with a craft, possibly somewhat itinerant, as Quakers and other religious dissenters were frequently persecuted. They were also excluded from higher occupations, especially public office, though many fought (and became officers) in Cromwell’s Army following the Battle of Cropredy Bridge in June 1644. This discovery was made even more fascinating when I later discovered that an Edward Gulliver had married Mary Hawes in Cropredy in 1620.

Twenty-five years after these discoveries, I found myself standing in the graveyard where Lemuel Gulliver was supposedly buried, together with my younger son. However, we could find no railed tomb bearing the name of Lemuel Gulliver, and it was only when we’d completed my circumnavigation of the churchyard that my modern-day Oliver found a small inscribed stone, stating:

In his Preface to the First Edition of his famous Gulliver’s Travels, 1726, Swift remarks ‘I have observed in the Church Yard at Banbury several tombs and monuments of the Gullivers  The original tombstones no longer exist, but a later one bearing this old Banbury name lies near to this plaque.

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Jonathan_Swift
Jonathan_Swift (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The tombs that remain, no longer railed, are from the early to mid-nineteenth century and refer to two Samuel Gullivers, father and son, and to Sarah Harriet Gulliver and her daughter, Adelaide. The size of the tombs suggests that this part of the family was relatively wealthy, if afflicted by premature death. Swift was related to the Dryden family of Canon’s Ashby in Northamptonshire. His grandmother was Elizabeth Dryden, aunt of the poet laureate, John Dryden, born near Oundle. She married Thomas Swift and they had two children, Jonathan and Thomas. Jonathan was the father of the author of Gulliver’s Travels. Although Swift didn’t publish his great work until late in life, after he had become Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, he probably conceived of it during his time spent in the service of Sir William Temple of Moor Park near Farnham in Surrey, a diplomat to whom he was secretary in the 1690s and under whom he became involved in London politics. During this time he also gained his M.A. from Oxford, and became part of an inner circle in the Tory government of the Earl of Oxford until the death of Queen Anne in 1714, when he returned to Ireland. However, he continued to visit London, and maintained inflential contacts who helped him to publish his work anonymously, under the pen-name of Lemuel Gulliver, complete with a fictitious frontispiece including a portrait of Lemuel. Whether he actually met any of the real Gullivers on his visits to Banbury is impossible to prove, but the distinctive Gulliver nose he gave to his portrait of Lemuel suggests that he might have done, or else that he had had, at some point in the writing of the books, possession of a similar family portrait! In any event, as a satire parodying the ’traveller’s tales’ literary sub-genre of Defoe, it made its hero apparent author, Lemuel Gulliver, a household name almost overnight, while Swift kept his disguise and his clerical cloth at a time when liberty of speech and publication was far from secure. Much of the book is a reflection of his time in politics, such as the well-known scene in which Gulliver gets into trouble with the Queen of Lilliput by urinating on a fire which threatens to destroy her palace. This was a metaphor for the Tory’s actions in delivering the Treaty of Utrecht: They had achieved a good result, but in an unacceptable manner!

   

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Family tradition suggested that the Gullivers were originally a French Huguenot family, possibly weavers, who, escaping persecution in their native country, may first have settled in Dublin, where there is a Huguenot graveyard dating from this time, from where they moved to Banburyshire. The name may therefore have its origins in a corruption of  French names such as Guillefort or Guillevoir. However, I then  discovered a recent (2011) family history publication by Susan E Clarke (née Gulliver), Gulliver Travels Again.  Her great-grandfather, Charles Gulliver (b Marston St Lawrence, 1834), had been a farm labourer and a Methodist lay preacher, possibly the man I refer to later as the ancestor who helped Joseph Arch form the National Agricultural Labourers’ Union, centred on the nearby Warwickshire villages of Wellesbourne and Barford, where he is still remembered today. Arch was also a Methodist lay-preacher, as well as becoming a Liberal MP. Charles preached at chapels in Eastcote, Litchborogh and Culworth, villages in East Warwickshire/ South Northamptonshire. Charles’ father, John Gulliver (b Overthorpe, 1797), had farmed land in Marston St Lawrence near Banbury, and married Joanna Middleton of Thenford and his ancestors had farmed land in the nearby parishes of Warkworth and Overthorpe for generations before that, going back to another John Gulliver or ’Galover’, who is recorded in the parish registers as having died in 1570.

Local antiquarian studies revealed to Susan E Clarke that  the old spelling of Gulliver had, apparently, been ’Golafre’ or ’Goulafre’. A Guillaume Goulaffre, or William Golafre, is recorded as having come over from Normandy with William the Conqueror, and was given lands in Suffolk. In old French the word ’golafre’ refers to a nickname for a ’glutton’, relating to a word for ’caterpillar’. However, the original family name, ’Goulafre’ relates to the manor that they once owned in Normandy, ’La Goulafriere’, originally known as ’Bernard de Mesnil’.

Andrew J Chandler, Kecskemét, August 2013

Chapter One:

The Gullivers of Banburyshire and the Golafres of Fyfield.

By the fourteenth century, besides continuing to hold the manors granted to them by the Conqueror, the ’Golafre’ family had acquired lands in Northamptonshire, Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire and Worcestershire. They appeared on the Swan Rolls, which was a sign of great wealth and heritage. Sir John Golafre lived on the manor of Fyfield (then in Berkshire). In 1336, Sir John Golafre (senior) had inherited the manor of Fyfield in Berkshire (now Oxon) from his mother-in-law, Juliana, widow of Sir John de Fyfield. His father, Thomas Golafre, of Sarsden, had been MP for Northampton. The manor house on the village green was probably mostly built by this Sir John Golafre (senior), who became an MP for Oxfordshire in 1334, then for Worcestershire in 1337-8, where he seems to have inherited lands at Nafford, and then became the member for Oxon once more in 1340. He died in 1363, leaving the estate to his son, Sir John Golafre (junior). He died in 1378, leaving no legitimate children, so that  Fyfield passed first to his brother, Thomas, and then, when he died the following year, it came eventually to Thomas’ son, John Golafre, who occupied it from 1406.

Sir John Golafre (senior) had a bastard son by his mistress Janet Pulham, born in about 1350. He was also a John Golafre, who rose to become King Richard II’s most trusted courtier and Constable of Wallingford Castle. He was knighted by the King, becoming skilled at jousting and an expert archer. He was sent on a year-long diplomatic mission to Poland to gather support for the Anglo/French Crusade against the Ottomans in 1394 and accompanied the King’s horse in the Richard’s Irish campaigns the following year. He died in 1396 and was buried at Westminster Abbey in 1396. He had asked to be buried in the family mausoleum at Greyfriars’ in Oxford, but Richard persuaded him to accept a plot in the Abbey, close to the one reserved for the king himself. Although he acquired ownership/ custodianship of manors and castles throughout England and Wales, he did not possess an inheritance or any great income, leaving his modest treasures and jewels to the king. He died childless.

John Golafre 1396

(Effigy of Sir John Golafre, (d. 1396), Old Cleeve)

It was no doubt due to the influence of his cousin, who had found him a position as a young squire at court in 1395, that the third Sir John Golafre of Fyfield also become a trusted courtier by this time. Moreover, his cousin’s widow, Philippa, having been disinherited by her mother, remarried the king’s brother, Edmund Duke of York. Sir John was appointed Sheriff of Oxfordshire and Berkshire and was elected ’knight of the shire’ (MP) in 1401, a position which he held twelve times during the next thirty years. In the early fifteenth century, the Golafres found themselves wedged, profitably, if somewhat uncomfortably, between the great Plantagenet houses of York and Lancaster.

Sir John Golafre was briefly imprisoned by Henry Bolingbroke after the capture of Richard II, but when Bolingbroke became Henry IV, Sir John accepted his kingship and was reappointed as sheriff in 1404. He became a close ally of Thomas Chaucer, son of the poet Geoffrey, one of the most powerful men in Oxfordshire, whose daughter Alice married into the de la Pole family. Chaucer appointed Golafre controller of Woodstock Palace and grounds, and by 1416 he had also risen high in the estimations of the local people around Abingdon, who had benefited greatly from the building of the bridge over the Thames in the town, which he had helped to sponsor and finance. He fought in France with Henry V in 1417, staying on to manage the conquered territories for the king until 1419. He married three times altogether, twice into the Yorkist de la Pole family, despite his service to the Lancastrian kings. His first wife, the daughter of Sir Edmund de la Pole, Elizabeth, died in childbirth in 1403, together with his only child. His third wife, Margaret Heveningham, whom he married in 1434, was the widow of Sir Walter de la Pole.

According to Roskell and Woodger’s History of Parliament, 1326-1421, Sir John Golafre died childless in 1442. Inside the church of St Nicholas on the other side of the Green from the manor, there is a Golafre Chapel and a large tomb showing the third and last Sir John Golafre of Fyfield as a skeletal figure. As a courtier of Richard II, it was probably also this man who donated two unusual stained glass pieces to the parish church in Wytham. These are not roundels, but depictions the figures of royal saints, complete with halos, which bear a resemblence to the King and his wife, Anne of Bohemia, the sister of the Hungarian King Sigismund. Foxe (author of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs) later claimed that it was through Anne of Bohemia that John Wycliffe’s works and ideas were taken to Bohemia, influencing Jan Huss and the Reformation in the Hapsburg Empire. Like King Richard, Golafre was a great lover of Gothic art forms from across Europe. Apparently, although he died childless, he was not not heirless. Agnes Wytham, who died in 1444, was his second cousin and was named by Sir John as his heiress. In All Saints, Wytham, there is the remainder of a brass memorial to Robert de Wytham (d. 1406) and his wife Juliana Golafre (d. 1408), showing their likenesses. They had several daughters and one son, Richard, who was Agnes’ father. Since she was referred to as ’the last of the de Wythams’, she would also have been the last of the Golafres of Fyfield. There followed a struggle within the wider family, who traced descent back to the first Sir John Golafre of Fyfield, who had married Elizabeth de Fyfield. The Fyfield Estate was eventually sold to William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, in 1448, by purchase, but he and his wife Alice, granddaughter of the poet Geoffrey Chaucer, continued to live at Ewelme in Oxfordshire.

William was imprisoned in the Tower of London and then exiled by Henry VI. He was murdered on his ship in the Channel and his body was washed ashore near Dover in 1450. Alice brought his body home. No doubt embittered by his treatment, she continued to consolidate the family’s estates, perhaps fatefully, by abandoning their Lancastrian connections and building up their Yorkist ones. She retained direct control of Ewelme until her death in 1475, when the manor passed to her son John (d. 1492), 2nd duke of Suffolk and brother-in-law to both Edward IV and Richard III. He was succeeded by his second son Edmund, who was demoted to the rank of earl by Henry VII and fled abroad in 1501, prompting the seizure of his estates. Formally attainted in 1504, he was imprisoned from 1506 and executed in 1513. Ewelme was one of several manors vested in trustees for the life of Edmund’s widow, but it was controlled by the Crown and granted to the new Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, in 1525. Henry VIII took it back in 1535, and in 1550 it was among the estates settled by Edward VI on the Princess Elizabeth. It remained in royal possession until 1628.

There was also a landed Golafre family in Worcestershire and Herefordshire in the fourteenth century, perhaps connected through John Golafre (senior). A half-hide of the manor of Ryall was given by the crown to Roger Golafre in 1299. In the fifteenth century, William Golafre gave or sold the land to Robert Aderne, possibly a member of the Arden or Ardern family to which the Golafres were related at that time. The last recorded victim of the plague was John Golafre, vicar of Little Marcle, near Ledbury, in 1349. There was also a William Golafre (possibly the same as that of Ryall) who married Margaret de Berrow: Her brother, Thomas, had no issue and therefore wanted his sister to inherit the estates of Berrow in Worcestershire and Coldborough in Herefordshire. However, the Prior of Worcester disputed Margaret’s wardship and marriage to the extent that he kidnapped her and locked her up in the Priory. The Court of Fines in Westminster ruled in Thomas’ favour in 1394 and his sister was allowed to marry William Golafre. However, they had no children before William died, and the estates passed by default to the Ruyhales of Birtsmorton. Margaret appears to have re-married the son of Baldwin Huddington’s, John, giving birth to Walter Huddington in 1415. At this point, she seems to have changed the spelling of her  name to Gollafor (see below).

Some sources also refer to a Golafre ’daughter and  heiress’ of Fyfield who became the second wife of  John de la Pole  (1462-1487). He was grandson of William and Alice, and eldest son the elder John de la Pole (d. 1491), and Elizabeth Plantagenet of York, therefore in direct line to the throne.  Elizabeth’s brother was Edward IV, who made her son John, Earl of Lincoln. Edward had married Elizabeth Woodville, whose two sons, Edward V and Richard Duke of York were imprisoned in the Tower of London when Richard of Gloucester had the Woodville marriage declared illegal, thus enabling him to replace the young king whose ’protector’ he had been. When Richard III lost his only son,  the Earl of Lincoln became ’de facto’ the next Yorkist in line to the throne. Although never clearly declaring him as his successor, Richard gave him the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall, titles reserved for the heir. He also ensured that Lincoln gained possession of Fyfield from his father. Lincoln fought for Richard at Bosworth Field, surviving the battle. Following the ’Tudor Takeover’, both Lincoln and his father, Suffolk, at first made peace with Henry VII, who visited Ewelme to reassure them of his goodwill towards the family.

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However, Lincoln was then introduced to Lambert Simnel, and a plot began to form by which he hoped to secure the throne for the Yorkists, perhaps himself. Simnel bore a striking resemblance to the young Edward, Earl of Warwick. Edward was born (in 1475) as Edward Plantagenet, to George, Duke of Clarence and Lady Isabel Neville, elder daughter of the 16th Earl of Warwick. Richard Neville, ’The Kingmaker’, who had eventually been been killed in battle in 1471, had no sons, so Richard III had Neville’s grandson created Earl of Warwick in 1478 and knighted at York in 1483. On seizing the Crown on the battlefield at Bosworth in 1485, Henry had re-imprisoned the boy in the Tower, where he had already spent much of his young life, hence the possibility of impersonation.

However, early in 1487, when he first heard of the plot, all Henry VII had to do was to produce the real Earl of Warwick. As the Plantagenet heir, Warwick would have possessed a stronger claim to the throne than both Henry and Lincoln, and was only prevented from acceeding to the throne by the act of attainder by which Richard had usurped it. With Richard deposed, Lincoln knew that Parliament could easily be persuaded to change its mind and reinstate the boy’s claim, especially if Henry were also forced to disclose that Edward V and Richard Duke of York were no longer alive. Lincoln may have known this himself, especially if they had died on the orders of Richard III, since he had been Richard’s heir. To scotch the rumours of Warwick’s escape from the Tower, put about by Lincoln’s supporters, Henry had the boy paraded through the streets of London, but Lincoln had already fled before Henry could force him to recognise the real Earl or reveal his treachery.  Some historians have suggested that this shows that Lincoln was intending to take the throne for himself. He raised an army of German mercenaries in Burgundy, with the help of Margaret, the sister of Edward IV, and landed in Ireland. Margaret then declared Simnel to be her nephew and Lincoln told of how he had personally rescued the boy from the Tower. He was proclaimed and crowned in Dublin, by its Archbishop, as Edward VI, at the end of May 1487. Having acquired Irish troops, led by Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, Lincoln  landed in Lancashire on 4th June and marched his troops to York, covering two hundred miles in five days. However, the city, normally a Yorkist stronghold, refused to yield to him, perhaps because they did not wish to be governed by a king, even a Yorkist, who depended on German and Irish mercenaries. Gathering troops on the way from Coventry to Nottingham, the Tudor king met Lincoln’s forces on their way to Newark. Although the Germans under the command of  Martin Schwartz fought with great valour, Fitzgerald, Lincoln and Schwartz were all killed, together with over four thousand of their men, at the Battle of Stoke on 16th June, 1487.

According to the Dictionary of National Biography, had the Simnel Rebellion been successful, the Golafre ’heiress’ would have become Lincoln’s Plantagenet Queen, assuming that he had always wanted the throne for himself (the real Earl of Warwick was still in the Tower, where he remained until executed in 1499 after pleading guilty to plotting his escape with Perkin Warbeck). His first wife, Margaret Fitzalan (d. 1493), was the daughter of Thomas Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel and Margaret Woodville, Elizabeth’s sister. She may have borne Lincoln a son, Edward, but he died young. Although Lincoln was young and healthy, this may not have been the case with Margaret Fitzalan, hence the remarriage to the Golafre heiress. But who was she?  Neither the DNB nor any other source provides us with names or dates. In any case, she would have to have been quite old, in 1487, to have been the daughter of the last Sir John Golafre of Fyfield, who had died forty-five years previously, apparently without issue. The estate had been bought by the de la Pole family in 1448, so if there was a second wife named Golafre, this must have been a relative from another Golafre house, hence the confusion among antiquarians and historians. In addition, we know that Agnes Browning (née Wytham), granddaughter of Juliana Golafre and Robert de Wytham, was the last of the Fyfield Golafres, the disputed heiress in 1442, and that she had also died without issue in 1444.

This Golafre ’heiress’ may therefore have been a family ’daughter’ in a general sense, perhaps descended from one of Juliana’s seven daughters, so that she would have been of sufficiently noble blood and fertility to attract the attentions of the young Earl of Lincoln, who had acquired Fyfield some time after the death of his grandfather, possibly in 1483, and held the manor and lands until they were seized by the Crown in 1487.  This is when there may have been a young Golafre ’daughter’ living in the manor. Henry Tudor had Lincoln posthumously attained, so that the Fyfield estate was confiscated by the crown. If there was a second surviving wife, she would have lost her claim to Fyfield, been forced to leave, and would probably have needed to ’lay low’, like the other Yorkist survivors of the Simnel plot. After all, despite the fact that the last surviving legitimate male Plantagenet claimant to the throne, the Earl of Warwick, had died on the scaffold in 1499, the de la Poles did not give up their claim to the throne until 1525, when the younger of the two surviving brothers was killed at the Battle of Pavia. This shows how fragile the Tudor royal heritage really was, descended through the illegitimate child of John of Gaunt. Henry VIII carried on a vindictive campaign against the Pole family after the son of Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury’s son, Cardinal Reginald Pole, penned a stinging attack against the King’s divorce, from exile in Italy. This resulted in the execution of one of his brothers in 1539 and the suicide of the other. Margaret, the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, was an old woman in 1541, once the governess to Mary Tudor, whose mother’s betrothal to Arthur, Prince of Wales, had caused the execution of her brother, Edward Plantagenet, the rival claimant to the throne. Despite this, she became a loyal Tudor courtier. However, because she was a Neville, she was accused of complicity in the Northern Rebellion, and sent to the Tower without trial. From there she was executed in May, after ten or eleven blows of the axe. When Mary became Queen, her son became the last Roman Catholic Archbishop of Canterbury, and she herself was beatified by Pope Leo XIII in 1886. Her granddaughter became a close friend of Elizabeth I.

If there was a Golafre heiress married to the Earl of Lincoln, John de la Pole, and living at Fyfield until he was killed in battle and posthumously attained of treason, it was a cruel twist of fate that another traitor’s wife, albeit of royal blood, was given Fyfield in 1510. Lady Katherine Gordon was Perkin Warbeck’s impoverished widow and a kinswoman of James IV of Scotland. She was granted permission to live at Fyfield until death, provided that she did not visit Scotland or any other foreign country without licence. After Warbeck, she married three times more, and was living at Fyfield in 1531. She was known as The White Rose of York and Scotland, and was buried in the parish church of St Nicholas in 1537. Her fourth husband, Christopher Ashton, was placed beside her in the handsome Tudor tomb, contrasting with the medieval stone tomb of Sir John Golafre nearby. By 1555, Fyfield Manor had come into the possession of Sir Thomas White, the founder of St John’s College, Oxford. He endowed the college with the manor, ending its connection with the Golafre and  de la Pole families. All that was left to remind local people of its former associations was the tomb of Sir John himself, and this seemed to have the desired effect. In 1870-72, Wilson’s  Imperial Gazetteer of England and Wales  described  Fyfield like this:

Value, £125. Patron, St. John’s College, Oxford. The church is good; and contains the tomb and effigies of Sir John Golafre, popularly called Gulliver. Charities, £23. A grand elm-tree is here, 36 feet in circuit, described by Arnold as ’a resort of Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come, to dance round Fyfield elm in May’.

Fyfield, Berkshire

This connection between the two names was confirmed by The Battle Abbey Roll with some Norman Lineages:

Fyfield in Berkshire was was formerly the property and seat of the family of Golafre. John Golafre was a knight of the shire in 1337. Sir John Golafre was employed in an embassy to France in 1389…a ’son’ of the same name died siesed of the manor in 1442. The same year a licence was granted by the Crown, for the foundation of a chantry, at the altar of Saint John the Baptist, persuant to the will of Sir John Golafre, who is styled in the charter servant to King Henry V, and King Henry VI. Francis Little, in his MS. History of Abingdon, says that the daughter and heir to the last mentioned Sir John married John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, who lost his life at the battle of Stoke, and was attainted of treason. In the N. Aisle of the parish church is the monument of this Sir John, who died in 1442. His effigies in armour lies on an open altar tomb, beneath which is the figure of a skeleton in a shroud. The common people call it Gulliver’s tomb, and say that the figure on the top represents him in the vigour of his youth; the skeleton in his old age; the arms of Golafre are on the tomb, and in the windows of the church…. The name occurs afterwards in Oxfordshire and other parts of England.

 

Therefore, although there may have been an the heiress to Fyfield who married the Earl of Lincoln, she seems untraceable in the Fyfield line, the last surviving female member of whom would appear to be Sir John’s second cousin Agnes Browning (née Wytham), granddaughter of Juliana Golafre, who died childless long before Lincoln was born, and his widow, Margaret Golafre, who survived him by thirty years, but had no children by him. The Margaret Golafre, or Gollafor, who married into the Hodington (Huddington) family was probably from a prominent gentry family herself. There does appear to be a link with the older, aristocratic family, however, in that her descendents, the Huddington heiresses, Joan and Agnes, married Robert Winter and William Strensham. By these marriages, both the Winters of Huddington and the Russells of Strensham were entitled to bear the Golafre arms. The brothers Robert and Thomas Winter (Wintour), were executed (hung, dawn and quartered) in 1606 for their part in the Gunpowder Plot and Midland Rebellion of the previous year. They had both grown up at Huddington Hall.

The association of the Golafre name with the plots and rebellions of the Tudor and Early Stuart period may have been one reason why the other members of the family were glad to adopt more anglicised and ’gentrified’ versions of the name. Significantly, there is evidence that there was a deliberate change made after the Gunpowder Plot, when the sub-manor of Aston Manor in Bampton, Oxon., had its name changed from ‘Golofers’ to ‘Gullivers’ in 1608, when it was let to Sir Laurence Tanfield, chief baron to the Exchequer.  A William Golofre had acquired a life-share of two-thirds of Aston at some time before 1339. He died in 1358, and the land was sold to John Laundels in 1359 . It then comprised a chief house (not the present one, which was built in the late sixteenth century), a dovecote and a fishpond, together with fifteen tenant yardlands and a demesne of two hundred acres. It continued to be known as ‘Golofers’ Farm’, then ‘Gulliver’s Farm’, tenanted land of five yardlands, until the twentieth century, when it was sold as a separate part of the Aston Manor Estate.

Interestingly, the Golafre family were closely related, through the marriage of Beatrix Golafre of Satley, Warwickshire, to the Arden family, through which the writer William Shakespeare was descended. Beatrix’s grandson, Robert Ardern of Park Hall (b. 1413), was the son of a Worcestershire gentleman, who had been one of the claimants to the Fyfield estate, following the death of Sir John Golafre. In 1452, he had been executed for taking part in the uprising of Richard, Duke of York. Not surprisingly, therefore, the Ardens were continually suspected of being first rebels and then recusants throughout the Tudor Period, and one of them, Edward Arden, was executed in 1583 for plotting against Elizabeth I. It has often been strongly suggested that Shakespeare himself was a Catholic, hence his determination to prove his loyalty, first to Elizabeth and then to James, at a time when Midland gentry families fell under suspicion of harbouring Jesuits in priestholes, such as at nearby Baddesley Clinton, and of plotting against the Protestant monarchy and cause. They were seen as ’the enemy within’ and heavily fined for not attending their parish church and for having private masses said in their homes. The Jesuit priests who ministered to them were ’flushed out’ before and after the 1605 Rebellion, but their confessions in the state papers have left historians with detailed descriptions of the Catholic gentry of Northants, Warwicks and Worcestershire, and of their extensive network across the three counties. These secret religious practices continued among the general south Midland population throughout the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, with reports of ’popish dirges’ and baptisms appearing in the Noke parish records. However, on the surface, at least, both Catholic and Protestant dissenters, seemed to be conforming, by sending at least one member of their households to church.

The  Golafres of Gnosall in Staffordshire had also married into the Knightleys of the same county, who by the fifteenth century had moved to Fawsley Hall in Northants, from where they married  into the Spencer family of Althorp. The effects of early enclosures by the gentry were being felt at this time. In 1498 an inquest jury recorded that sixty villagers had been evicted from the Althorp estate, and left ’weeping, to wander in idleness’ had ’perished in hunger’.

Banbury Cross
Banbury Cross (Photo credit: Reading Tom)

In , the Knightleys married into the Fiennes of Broughton Castle near Banbury. Celia Fiennes (b. 1662) was the the granddaughter of the First Viscount Saye and Sale. She was one of the first women to write a book about her travels, called Through England on a Side Saddle in the Time of William and Mary. In it, she described Banbury in favourable terms. and she is reputed to be the source of  the well-known nursery rhyme, ’Banbury Cross’. She was said to have often ridden to London on horseback, passing through Banbury on her way. Not only was she an excellent rider but she also dressed very fashionably, wearing little bells on her shoes. The market-place had an ancient cross, which was destroyed by puritans earlier in the century, but it continued to be called ’The Cross’ because it was in the middle of the wide High Street where the major roads of the time did indeed intersect.

Banbury therefore had an importance both as a market town and strategic centre in times of civil war. The Battle of Edgcote of 1469 had been one of the key turning points in the Wars of the Roses, involving Warwick the kingmaker and possibly Edward IV himself. There is a well-known local rhyme which (probably) refers to this battle, and was passed down in the Gulliver families: If Fenny Compton you can see, the King of England you shall be. It was supposed to have been said by a local wise woman to one of the claimants as they halted near the Rollright Stones. The alternating hills and marshes of Banburyshire created local weather conditions, involving sudden mists, creating eerie conditions for superstitious soldiers and varying visibility for fighting battles. The gradual drainage of the land during the agricultural revolution also lowered the levels, so that local stories of battlefield ghosts refer to soldiers appearing to fight each other in the air!

Celia Fiennes’ grandfather, Lord Saye and Sale, lived at Broughton Castle and was a commander of the troops of the Eastern Association for Parliament in the first years of the Civil War. He was one of the ’leading activists’ against Charles I, raising troops for the first battle at Edgehill, near Kineton. Cavalier troops besieged and occupied the castle for a time, and were fought to a standstill on Cropredy Bridge. They later reaked their revenge on the puritan population of the countryside by burning down the manor house at Wormleighton. The village never recovered its former status. By contrast, Noke was loyal to the King, since it had an association with Oxford going back to the plagues, when the Colleges were allowed to quarter their dons there. Oxford became Charles I’s headquarters in the Civil War, and troops were stationed in some of the villages nearby, including Noke. The village saw action in the form of raids by Parliamentarians. In one of these, horses were taken and two soldiers were killed, being buried in the churchyard. The divisions among south Midland families and villages can be detected by the records that remain of these events, in both Cavalier and Roundhead versions!

Before the Civil War, the ’lesser’ Gullivers had become successful traders and respectable aldermen of Banbury, owning shops and public houses in the town and a brewery as far away as Aylesbury. Others were thriving as yoeman farmers in the outlying Banburyshire parishes, hence Swift’s later reference to the family and their tombs in the graveyard of St Mary’s, Banbury, of which there were many, but only three remain.

Among some of the more distinguished members of the recent Gulliver family are George Gulliver (b. Banbury, 1804), an anatomist, physiologist and surgeon, who corresponded with Charles Darwin. It was his ancestors who were buried in St Mary’s churchyard near Banbury Cross, from whose tombs Dean Swift took the pen-name for his books. Charles Gulliver, the Methodist lay-preacher already mentioned, and Harold Gulliver (b. Helmdon, 1908), a farmer, President of the Northampton Baptist Association and Chairman of the Northants National Farmers’ Union, were among the more recent worthies in Susan E Clarke’s branch of the family. A more notorious member of the family was the Dorset smuggler, Isaac Gulliver (b. 1745 in Semington, Wiltshire). He was pardoned by King George III, apparently for helping to foil an assassination attempt and supplying Nelson with information about the movement of French ships along the coast. He was buried in Wimbourne Minster.

Therefore, the Banburyshire Gullivers, including my ancestors, can be traced back eleven generations to the Edward Gulliver I have already referred to, born in Banbury Town in 1590 (Susan E Clarke has traced hers back to John Galover/ Gulliver who farmed land in Warkworth and died in 1570). The line of descent in my family has then be traced in Noke as follows (the details in brackets are of records which are not in the direct line of descent):

Edward Gulliver m. Mary Hawes, in Cropredy, Oxon, 1620>

(Josyas Gulliver, b. 6th November, 1628 in Noke, Oxon.

Alse Gulliver, b. 9th September, 1628 in Noke, Oxon.

Mary Gullyfer, b. 30th May, 1632 in Noke, Oxon.

Jane Gullifer, b. 27th September 1635 in Noke, Oxon.

Anne Gullever, b. 13th April, 1639 in Noke, Oxon.)

Thomas Gulliver, b. 19th April, 1640 in Noke, Oxon. m. Margaret (surname?)>

(John Gulliver, b. 13th April 1643

John Gulliver, d. 1643

Edward Gulliver, d. 1647

Jane Gulliver, b. 14th March 1664

Alice Gulliver, b. 10th December 1666

Edward Gullifer, b. 8th January 1668

Alice Gulliver, d. 1670

John Gullifer, b. 2nd January 1670).

Thomas Gulliver, b. 16th February, 1671 in Noke, Oxon. m. Elizabeth (surname?)>

(Thomas Gullifer, b. 29th February, 1672

Richard Gullifer, b. 20th April, 1676

Richard Gulliver, d. 1676

Thomas Gulliver m. Elizabeth Allnut, 1696

Thomas Gulliver, b. 12th December, 1697

Margaret Gulliver, d. 1698

Elizabeth Gulliver, b. 29th October, 1699

Thomas Gulliver m. Sarah Newton, 1700

John Gulliver, b. 14th September, 1701

Thomas Gulliver, d. 1703)

William Gulliver, b. 28th November 1703 in Noke, Oxon. m. Ann Elkington, 5th Oct., 1739 in Overthorpe, Northants.>

(Thomas Gulliver, d. 1704

William Gulliver, d. 1704

Thomas Gulliver, d. 1704

Thomas Gulliver, b. 14th September, 1705

Margaret Gulliver, b. 28th November, 1707

Mary Gulliver, d. 1711

Mary Gulliver, b. 15th January, 1713

Edward Gulliver, b. 13th February, 1714

Jane Gulliver, b. 27th January, 1716

Thomas Gulliver, d. 1727

John Gulliver, d. 1730

Elizabeth Gulliver, d. 1731)

Thomas Gulliver, b. 7th March, 1735 in Banbury, Oxon. m. Sarah Hiorns (?), 16th Feb. 1767 in Banbury, Oxon.

(Note: Protestant dissent appeared early, for in 1739 Robert Dorman’s house was registered as a meeting place for Baptists. Records of dissent are scarce: at the beginning of the 19th century there were two Methodists, in 1811 an ‘Anabaptist’, a few dissenters in the following decades; but in 1854 the rector reported that someone attended church from every house.)

 >

John Gulliver, b. 22nd August, 1773 in Banbury, Oxon., m. Mary Taylor, 21st 1796, in Grimsbury, Oxon.

(John Gulliver m. Rachel Bates, 1791 in Noke, Oxon.:

Note: Between 1574 and 1791, there were 23 Gulliver births, 3 marriages and 12 deaths recorded in the parish, making the Gulliver family or families one of the largest over five generations. Although there were no further records of Gulliver baptisms, marriages or burials in the Noke Parish registers, there was a return in the 1841 Census of a Thomas Gulliver, whose occupation was described as an ’agricultural labourer’. In the 19th century population of Noke increased from 150 in 1801 to 187 in 1831. Even before the enclosures of 1815 and 1829 most of the inhabitants must have been labourers on the half-dozen farms of the parish. In 1823, 28 out of 31 families were engaged in agriculture and only two in trade. In 1850 there were only three tradesmen, the innkeeper, a blacksmith, and a carpenter.)

>

William Gulliver, b. 27th April, 1803 in Bicester, Oxon., m. Ann (surname ?), Wormleighton, Oxon.

>

Vinson Gulliver, b. 14th July, 1833, in Hethe, Oxon., m. Hannah Green, 16th October 1855, in Wormleighton, Oxon.

>

(William Gulliver, b. April, 1856, in Hethe

John Gulliver, b. October, 1858, in Hethe

Henry Gulliver, b. June 1865, in Ufton

Sarah Anne, March, b. 1869

Hannah Gulliver (née Green), d. 1879

Vinson Gulliver m. Hannah Ward, 1880

George Gulliver, b. 1881

(Vinson Gulliver, d. 1892, buried in Ufton).

George Gulliver, b. 5th November, 1862, in Ufton, Warwicks. m. Bertha Tidmarsh, 19th Oct 1887, Great Rollright, Oxon.

This is where the oral tradition in our family takes over from genealogy, and adds many colourful details, not just to the history of the family, but also to the folklore of the localities in which the Gullivers lived. This area, including parts of modern-day Oxfordshire, Warwickshire and Northamptonshire, still known, unofficially, as Banburyshire.

Sources:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Golafre

http://www.berkshirehistory.com/bios/jgolafre.html

http://www.1066.co.nz/library/battle_abbey_roll2/subchap68.htm

freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~pillagoda/ch…

medieval-church-art.blogspot.com/2008/09/taste-for-maca…

http://www.wytham-church.org.uk/memorials-all-saints-church-wy…

British History Online: Reports on Fyfield, Noke, etc. (www.british-history.ac.uk/report.)

http://www.thepeerage.com/p10491.htm

The Parliamentary History of the Counties of England:

The parliamentary history of the county of Worcester : including the city of Worcester, and the boroughs of Bewdley, Droitwich, Dudley, Evesham, Kidderminster, Bromsgrove and Pershore, from the earliest times to the present day, 1213-1897, with biographical and genealogical notices of the members” (archive.org/stream/cu31924030495141/cu31924030495141_dj…)

Susan E Clarke (2011), Gulliver Travels Again. Bloomington, USA (AuthorHouse)

(www.blisworth.org.uk/images/Personalities/sclarke.htm)

http://www.findagrave.com/php/famous.

http://www.medievalsoldier.org/March2008.php

http://www.burkespeerage.com/articles/roking05.aspx

http://www.medievalgenealogy.org.uk/fines/abstracts/CP_25_1_19.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noke,_Oxfordshire

http://www.genealogylinks.net/uk/england/oxfordshire/

Photo Credits:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/2988494095/

http://www.themcs.org/costume/14thcentury

The Gullivers: Travels Through Time, 1833-1953   12 comments

First edition of Gulliver's Travels by Jonatha...

First edition of Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift (1726) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Introduction:  Sojourns with Grandpa Seymour

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When I was growing up in Nottingham and Birmingham, we would often spend holidays and Christmases with my maternal grandparents in Walsgrave-on-Sowe. They were always full of tricks and tales, especially my Grandpa Gulliver. On one of our visits, I asked him where the name Gulliver came from, since I’d just read the 1912 children’s version of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels into several remote Nations of the World, originally published in 1726 as a satirical, social and political tract, never intended for young minds. He told me that in Banbury churchyard, I would find, railed around, a gravestone with Gullivers on. The legend of that, he went on, is supposed to be that the man that wrote Gulliver’s Travels saw that stone and thought that that’s what he’d call his book. Those are your ancestors. So that’s just something to think on! he added. I thought on, but regarded it as simply a piece of family folklore until in 1986, while attending the Sealed Knot Society’s re-enactment of the Battle of Edghill, near Banbury, I picked up a local history booklet from the stall of the Banburyshire Local History Society. I was surprised to find that it had the very same story printed in it. It was official, then! Lemuel Gulliver (the real one, that is) was indeed my ancestor.

I joined the Sealed Knot as a roundhead and while researching the history of our newly-formed Midland Association regiment, in the library at the University of Warwick, was intrigued to find a record of a Banbury man named Gulliver from the mid-seventeenth century. He was listed as a Quaker, a term which, then, was often used to denote someone with a craft, possibly somewhat itinerant, as Quakers and other religious dissenters were frequently persecuted. They were also excluded from higher occupations, especially public office, though many fought (and became officers) in Cromwell’s Army following the Battle of Cropredy Bridge in June 1644. This discovery was made even more fascinating when I later discovered that an Edward Gulliver had married Mary Hawes in Cropredy in 1620.

Twenty-five years after these discoveries, having deposited my eldest son in his digs at the University of Warwick, I found myself standing in the graveyard where Lemuel Gulliver was supposedly buried, together with the younger one. However, we could find no railed tomb bearing the name of Lemuel Gulliver, and it was only when we’d completed my circumnavigation of the churchyard that my modern-day Oliver found a small inscribed stone, stating:

In his Preface to the First Edition of his famous Gulliver’s Travels, 1726, Swift remarks ‘I have observed in the Church Yard at Banbury several tombs and monuments of the Gullivers  The original tombstones no longer exist, but a later one bearing this old Banbury name lies near to this plaque.

DSC00018DSC00023

The tombs that remain, no longer railed, are from the early to mid-nineteenth century and refer to two Samuel Gullivers, father and son, and to Sarah Harriet Gulliver and her daughter, Adelaide. The size of the tombs suggests that this part of the family was relatively wealthy.

Family tradition suggests that the Gullivers were originally a French Huguenot family, possibly weavers, who, escaping persecution in their native country, may first have settled in Dublin, where there is a Huguenot graveyard dating from this time, from where they moved to Banburyshire. The name may therefore have its origins in a corruption of  Norman-French names such as Guille or Gullet. I intend to research this further in due course, but before getting entangled in the French Wars of Religion (1562-98), which may require a more extended stay in La Rochelle than the fleeting glimpse I managed three years ago, I thought I should first repay the debt I owe to the current and previous generations of my family, by publishing their memoirs.

The Banburyshire Gullivers, or at least my ancestors, can be traced back eleven generations to the Edward Gulliver I have already referred to, born in the town in 1590. The line of descent can then be traced to Gullivers born in Noke, Oxon, back to Banbury and then to Bicester, Hethe and Ufton, where George Gulliver was born on November 5th 1862, marrying Bertha Tidmarsh, from Great Rollright in 1887. This is where the oral tradition in our family takes over and adds many colourful details, not just to the history of the family, but also that of the localities in which the Gullivers and Tidmarshes lived. This locality, including parts of modern-day Oxfordshire and Warwickshire used to be known as Banburyshire, and still is for local weather forecasts!

For example, another interesting topographical connection with the Early Modern Period and before can be found just outside Great Rollright. It’s a large ring of megalithic standing stones, and in the middle stands one which is supposed to be the King. From there, on clear days, there is supposed to be a view across the countryside as far as Long Compton.  There is a local legend that a would-be King was once told by Mother Shipton, a local witch; if Long Compton you can see, the King of England you will be! The rhyme was recorded by William Camden in 1610, so any grain of truth in it could be connected with the Battle of Edgcote of 1469, fought during The Wars of the Roses, which involved Edward IV and the Earl of Warwick, the King-maker.

001

In 1978, I began researching the Welsh colliers who had come to the Midlands between the two world wars, many to work in the car industry. Some found their way into Coventry’s pits, especially Binley Colliery, and worked alongside my grandfather at the coalface. He remembered one family in particular, arriving in the village with the children and all their worldly possessions on a cart. Before his death from pneumaconiosis, the Dust, in 1982, I got to know Seymour well as an autodidact, who read avidly and rapidly. He gave detailed reviews of the books I brought home from university in Cardiff on the Welsh miners, referencing his own experiences of working in the Warwickshire coalfield. I had frequent, lengthy conversations with him about these experiences.

001

Some of these experiences were re-told by my mother for the Walsgrave Community History Project in 1987. Their publication, Walsgrave Remembered, also contained  extracts from the Walsgrave Baptist Church magazine articles written by my grandmother in the mid-late 1970s, detailing the history of the chapel in the community. However, the majority of the oral evidence comes from my Great Aunt Jessie, Seymour’s younger sister, who recorded it for me on magnetic tapes in 1992 and in a journal she completed in 1996. To these, I have added from my own recollections and research notes, especially for details of the broader backcloth of social and economic history. However, I have tried to keep the style as colloquial as possible. Direct quotations are given in italics.

Chapter One: The Tidmarshes of Great Rollright

Jessie Gulliver was born in 1901, and could remember her grandfather and grandmother on her mother’s side of the family, the Tidmarshes. She also had some recollections of her father’s family, the Gullivers, especially her grandmother, Hannah, and her aunt. Her father was George Gulliver, her mother was Bertha Tidmarsh.  Her grandfather Tidmarsh and grandmother (neé Webb) were born in about 1840. They lived in the village of Great Rollright, in modern-day Oxfordshire, then known as Banburyshire. Grandfather was a fine, big man, and Grandmother was a nice-looking lady with high cheek-bones. They were very well-spoken, as they had been in service for the rich. She could read and write and would write down one side of the paper and then across the other side when she wrote to Bertha.

HenryTidmarsh&FamilyJessie’s grandfather, Henry Tidmarsh, was an agricultural labourer at Great Rollright. When still a young man, he had his arm pulled out just below the shoulder in a threshing machine. As he bent to wipe a nest of mice off, he slipped and fell. He had to start to walk to the two and a half miles to Chipping Norton, where the nearest hospital was. The village doctor went after him and saved his life. Compensation was never heard of in those days. So this is what the family had to live on. Seven loaves a week for seven people. It was called charity bread. So what with the vegetables and fruit out of the garden, they just survived. They had not a thing from the rich people he was working for that lived in the Hall, but Jessie heard her mother say that all that family came to a bad end eventually. They either died on the hunting field or committed suicide.

However, the parson of the village was quite well off. He had twelve sons and one daughter. But she died. He was very kind. He got grandad a little pony and trap, and grandad would fetch parcels for people. He often halted at Great Rollright, as it was on quite a big hill. Then he would go round the village with pins and needles and cottons, and all little odds and ends. So, that’s how they survived. Tea wasn’t even heard of in those days, not for the poor, nor tinned fruit. But people did survive and lived to a good old age. Grandfather lived to be ninety-odd, but grandma died when she was about eighty. The Tidmarshes had five children – Alfred, Arthur, Bertha, Jessie and Molly.

AlfredHenryTidmarshAlfred Tidmarsh went into the Navy; he became a chief p. o. (petty officer), which was good for a village boy who left school at twelve. He got married, but his marriage was dissolved and he got married again to a Russian lady, of above all things! She was a governess to a rich family out there where his ship was anchored. He made quite a bit of money on the ship. He had a sewing machine and he used to make sailors’ suits. He only had to buy the collars and put them on; a very straightforward job. He also ran a bank for them, and had about a penny in the shilling.

Alfred was drowned when HMS Vanguard was blown up at Scapa Flow, during the First World War. On the 9th July 1917 804 sailors lost their lives as a result of an internal explosion which sank the ship almost instantaneously. Jessie claimed that Lord Mountbatten was on that ship, but he was saved (I can find no record of him serving on that as Prince Louis of Battenberg, as he was still known then, nor is he listed as a survivor). Later, Alfred’s Russian  widow and children lived in London, and Bertha Gulliver, Jessie’s sister, used to go and see them when she lived in London. Presumably, as a member of an aristocratic household, Alfred’s widow would have become a refugee from Boshevik Russia after November 1917. However, they moved during the Second World War, and the family never heard of them again. We only know that the children had a college education given to them by the Admiralty, and Grandma Tidmarsh had a small pension, as Alfred used to send her a little money, and the Admiralty never stopped it when he got blown up on the ship.

Arthur Tidmarsh joined the Army, possibly during the Second Boer War, 1899-1902. Jessie remembered him coming on a visit the Gullivers after they had moved to Wroxall in 1904. She was a little girl of about three then, when he was part of the British Army in occupied Egypt. He had a lovely uniform, a red jacket and navy blue trousers with a stripe. He looked very smart.

Molly Tidmarsh went into service, but she fell down the stairs with a cup in her hand. It cut all the guides in the middle of her hand, and they didn’t bother to get the doctor when it happened, or send her to hospital. When they took her to the hospital the next day, it was too late. All the guides had sealed up, congealed, so they could do little for her. So, through the years that arm just withered away. By the time Jessie knew her in the pub in Kidlington, when she was in her sixties, she could never use it. People had no compensation for that sort of thing. It was just one of those things that happened, and that was it, you just had to put up with it. She married a Mr Sanders who kept The Black Horse at Kidlington and they had a daughter, Dolly.

Jessie Tidmarsh married quite well, to a solicitor in Oxford, Frank. He was a lovely man, and they had one girl, Hilda. Jessie  is buried at Great Rollright. She died, aged 102, and was determined to be buried in Rollright, as she loved it. Hilda, her daughter, saw to it that she was buried there, and you will find a lot of Tidmarshes in there if you look around.

Bertha Tidmarsh (b. Great Rollright), Jessie’s mother, married (in October 1887) when she was about eighteen. She was in service from the age of twelve, beginning as a kitchen maid, washing up in a great Hall nearby. She would sit in the great big kitchen with just a candle, all by herself, and they would bring her a glass of beer and a piece of bread and cheese. That was her supper. She was absolutely terrified! But when her mother’s sister came to Great Rollright, she asked where Bertha was, and her mother told her that she was over at the Hall, washing-up. So her aunt went to get her back. There was a flood, and the water was nearly up to Bertha’s knees, but she said she didn’t care, as long as she got home. So, her auntie got her a little job in service at Chipping Norton, from where she could come home on her time off.

Chapter Two: The Gullivers in Synopsis

GeorgeGulliver

Bertha Tidmarsh met her husband when working as a maid at the Chamberlains’ House at Ufton-on-the-Hill near Leamington. The Chamberlains owned the Harbury cement works. George Gulliver, born in Ufton in 1862, was a coachman with the Chamberlains. He used to drive them around in a coach with two horses. So that’s where the Gulliver family come in. His father, Vinson, born in Oxfordshire in 1833, married Hannah Green, George’s mother, from Wormleigton in Warwickshire, in 1855. I believe it was Vinson Gulliver who, in family folklore at least, marched with the Wesleyan preacher, Joseph Arch of Tysoe, through the Warwickshire villages of Wellesbourne and Barford, to form the Warwickshire Union of Agricultural Labourers in the 1860s, which later became a national union (NALU) and eventually part of the Tansport and General Workers’ Union, the first union for unskilled workers.
Besides George, they also had a girl, his sister. She had one daughter, born in 1889, but Amelia only lived to be twenty-one, and by the south door of Ufton Church there is a grave bearing her name.  She was the same age as Jessie’s sister Amelia (Millie). Her mother sent her up to London to learn court dress-making, but she developed  tuberculosis and died. Jessie could remember that in her aunt’s cottage there was a beautiful photograph of Amelia. She had lovely long hair right down to her waist. Jessie also remembered that her father had a step-brother, also named George, in Ufton.  Hannah had been married twice, so he also had at least one other step-brother, but she had only met the other George.

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The Chamberlains gave George and Bertha Gulliver a tied cottage on their estate in Ufton-on-the-Hill, free of rent. There were eight Gulliver children born there. There was Vinson George (November 1887), the eldest, then ’Millie’, Kathleen Amelia (1889), Ethel Mary (1891), Alfred (1893), Olive Margaret (1895), Arnold (1898), Seymour Henry (1900), and Jessie (1901). After that came Bertha (1903), Irene Helen (1904), both born in Bishop’s Itchington, then Arthur Reginald, (1907) Frank Leonard (1910) both born in Wroxall, and finally Janet, born in Walsgrave-on-Sowe (1913).

In this picture, taken circa 1899, Bertha Gulliver (formerly Tidmarsh) is about 33 years old, with Arnold, aged one, on her lap, dressed in plaid skirts, as boys were in those days. Millie, aged nine and Vincent, twelve, are standing behind. Olive, aged four, Alfred, nearly six and Ethel, seven and a half, are at their mother’s feet. They had thirteen children in all. George, their father, is not in the picture, presumably because he is at work as a coachman.

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Vinson Gulliver, the firstborn, outlived all but one of his thirteen siblings to become Britain’s oldest man at 108 in 1995. He left school at twelve and went to work on a Warwickshire farm, looking after cattle, horses and pigs. However, he craved the bright lights of the city and found work in the engine sheds at Trafford Park, Manchester, in 1907. His starting wage was just eleven shillings per week, of which eight went on his rent. His driver felt sorry for him living on only three shillings per week, and invited him to go and live with him and his wife, as they had no children of their own. He stayed at their house until he was forty, by which time he had long since progressed to become an engine driver himself, with the old Cheshire Lines and later British Rail. That was when he married his wife Lucy, and they went to live only two doors away from the couple who had taken him in as a boy. Even at 108 he could talk clearly on most subjects, and wrote regularly to his surviving siblings, including Jessie. He had one daughter, Doreen (Jackson), who had three girls, all of whom married and had children, so he had three great grandchildren by 1992.  That same year, aged 105, he took a ride on Manchester’s Metrolink trams which were put into service on the old Altrincham line, on which he had driven his steam engines.

The centenerian reckoned the metro was all right, because it takes you right into the heart of Manchester, but said it could not replace the excitement of and magic of the old steam driven giants he used to drive. He died aged 109, at a residential home in Altricham.

Millie Gulliver, the second eldest, died aged 102, in 1992. She was very much the mainstay of the family, according to Jessie, who remembered her as a young woman of sixteen, when she herself was only three. Like her mother, she also worked as a housemaid for the Chamberlain family, and would always come home on her day off. Jessie would run down the hill to meet her, and Millie would always have a bag of sweets for her little sister, as well as some tobacco for her dad, the only time he had a smoke. She only had one afternoon/ evening out each week, returning to the Hall at night.

Ethel Gulliver, the third child, was very gifted, somehow different from all the others. When she was thirteen she went to a big house to learn how to look after children, and stayed there for a few years. Then she went to London to look after a doctor’s baby. She took lessons in dress-making and learnt to do lacework, making bed covers and table cloths. She then became a hospital nurse, and moved to Canada, working with Helen Keller in a home for deaf and blind children. From there she got her midwife’s certificate and was sometimes sent out to deliver babies in places where wolves were never far away. She then went to work in the largest hospital in New York, assisting in operations. She came home for a two-week holiday to Coventry, where the family were living in 1926. While there an old gipsy woman came to the house selling pegs and told Ethel that she would return to the house before the year was out. Ethel thought the gipsy was mad, but her younger sister, Irene, was expecting a baby. Irene died a week after the baby was born, and Ethel did indeed return and stayed for the rest of her life, looking after Irene’s husband, Bob, and the daughter, Gillian. She was a beautiful child, the kind of child that people would stop and have a few words for, as well as for the woman they no doubt assumed to be her mother. Ethel kept her looking so beautiful. Bob had worked at Herberts’ factory for five years, and Lord and Lady Herbert felt so sorry for him that they moved him from Coventry to their Long Ashton factory near Bristol. The Second World War was on by then, and they gave him a better job going all over the West Country maintaining their machinery in factories, so that the factories could maintain their levels of production for the war effort. Ethel never married, but Gillian married and had two boys, both very clever in singing and playing music.

Seymour, the seventh child, was just an ordinary boy, two years older than Jessie, who therefore knew him well as they grew up together, playing outside. Their mother would quite often tell him to take her out, so she could get on with the housework. At first, Seymour went to work on the farm in Walsgrave with his father and brothers when he left Binley Park school just before the First World War War. He later told his daughter, my mother, how he rode on top of the hay-loaded waggons into Coventry, coming into the narrow medieval Spon Street on top of the hay, with it touching the overhanging eaves of the half-timbered houses on either side. He then went to work in Binley Pit, first of all in the office. He tried to join the Army in 1917, although he would not be eighteen until the following spring. He was at Catterick Barracks when the influenza epidemic struck, wiping out almost all of the Company he had joined. He wrote to his mother and she arrived at the gates in Yorkshire, produced Seymour’s birth certificate and demanded her son back. She took him back to Coventry on the train, and he survived both the war and the epidemic. Returning to the Colliery, he went underground as a collier, not just because, as a reserved occupation, it kept him from being conscripted in 1918, but also because there was more money to be earned working at the coalface.  He married Vera Brown that year. Their wedding took place in Walsgrave Baptist Church, conducted by Rev. Penry Edwards of Treorchy in the Rhondda, who had recently become the first full-time minister at the chapel and had baptised Vera shortly before. They had moved into their own newly-built house in Walsgrave in 1928, when my mother was born in 1931. They had four children in all, three girls and a boy and they had seven children in all, three girls and three boys.

Bertha, Jessie’s younger sister, was born in Bishop’s Itchington, after the family moved into rented accomodation there when George left his job at Chamberlain’s to go and work at Harbury Cement Works. She was a very small baby, and her mother used to put her down on a shelf, so she would be safe from the feet of all her brothers and sisters. The house was very small, with just two rooms downstairs and three upstairs. They were only there for a short time, however, before moving to Wroxall. Bertha was quite slim as a child and mother would tell the other children to be careful of her little arms if they were playing with her. She grew up into quite a determined young woman, however, and married a man named named Bill Salter from Banbury. They went to live in London. They had one child, Julie, who married a GI in the Second World War. She went to live in America and had one girl and four boys.

The last of Bertha and George’s children was a little girl, Janet Alice. One Sunday morning, in November 1913, the family were getting ready to go to the Church service in Walsgrave, when mother asked one of the girls to stay at home. They said, you know, mother, we like to go to Church on Sundays. So she said we could all go (she usually went on her own to the evening service at Wyken Church). Olive was eighteen at that time, and Jessie thirteen, so they later wondered why their mother didn’t tell them she was having another baby, which wasn’t obvious to them at that time. When they came home, the nurse from Walsgrave Hospital was there and she told them that they had a baby sister. She was beautiful, with black hair and blue eyes. Only she and Alfred had black hair, of all the children. People would stop and say what a beautiful baby she was, but Frank had whooping cough and she caught it from him. She died at eight months in 1914 and was buried at Wyken Church. The white roses in Caludon Lodge garden were just coming into bloom, and Dad lined the coffin of his beautiful, black-haired little girl all around with them.

Chapter Three: Seymour and Vera Gulliver – Memories of Walsgrave-on-Sowe

After their marriage in 1918, Seymour and Vera set up home in one of the gardeners’ cottages belonging to the Wakefield Estate. When Jessie was courting Tommy, who became her husband in 1924, they would go round and play cards with Seymour and Vera, walking home to Foleshill often very late. By this time, the married couple had had their first child, Gwen.

VeraGulliver(Brown)photo2Both Seymour and Vera were strong trades unionists and Labour Party supporters. Seymour had inherited a strong sense of fairness from his father, perhaps because he was old enough to understand why they had had to leave Wroxall for Walsgrave in 1909. Though the Dugdale family had been very kind to them, sending hampers at Christmas and on the births of their two children there, the manager of the farm where George was under-manager had pocketed the money he was supposed to pay on to Alfred and Arnold at harvest time, as a bonus for the long hours they had put in, working alongside their father. George had gone to see Lord Dugdale about this, who confirmed the sums involved, and ordered his manager to pay them in full. The manager did this, but thereafter did his best to make George’s position untenable. Vera’s family, the Browns, were also strong supporters of the Labour Party, from as early as 1924, when it first won a General Election under Ramsay MacDonald. Daphne, their daughter, remembered the following song, to the tune of Men of Harlech, which Vera used to sing long after MacDonald’s expulsion from the Party:

Voters All of Aberavon,

Wisdom show in this election,

Don’t be misled by Protection,

Ramsay is the Man!

 

Ramsay, Ramsay, shout it!

Don’t be shy about it!

On then, comrades, on to glory,

It shall be told in song and story,

How we beat both Lib and Tory,

Ramsay is the Man!

 

On one occasion, Seymour had stuck up for someone who had been done an injustice, and he was dismissed from Binley Colliery on the spot. He had to go to Newdigate Colliery to get work there. The conditions there were far worse than at Binley, and when he undressed to bath in front of the living room fire, his clothes would stand up by themselves, from the combination of mud, coal-dust and sweat which had caked them in the pit and then dried on them during his long walk home at the end of each shift. His body was covered with boils and he had to have special treatment at the Coventry and Warwick Hospital, where they made an experimental serum to cure his condition. Eventually his wife Vera told him, you’ll just have to put your pride in your pocket, you can’t go back down Newdigate, you’d better go back to Binley and ask for your job back. So he went back to Binley Colliery, and got his job back.

In 1926, Seymour was out on strike and was locked out of the Colliery for six months in support of the miners, especially those in South Wales, who worked in difficult places and were having their wages cut. There were many miners in Walsgrave at that time, so the Lock-out hit the village hard. Vera had to go back to work as a skilled weaver at Cash’s, and Seymour took over the housekeeping and looked after the children. He and the other colliers could only earn money from tree-cutting up at the Coombe, a wooded area on Lord Craven’s estate around Coombe Abbey, the Cravens’ House since the late seventeenth century. The miners earned a little money from the timber they cut, and they caught rabbits, pinched the odd pheasant and were given scraps from the Abbey kitchens, bowls of dripping and left-overs from banquets held there, which Seymour would bring home. However, Lord Craven was himself in financial difficulty, and eventually walked off a ship in the middle of the Atlantic.

The miners in the Warwickshire Coalfield were not too badly paid at the start of the Lock-out, but they supported the call from the Miners’ Federation for solidarity with those in other coalfields, and when they went back in the winter of 1926/7, they did so for less pay. However, by 1928 Seymour had earned and saved enough to make a down payment on a new semi-detached house with a bay window, next to Walsgrave School, at 21 School House Lane. Almost as soon as they moved in, their front room became the Headquarters for the Labour Party during the elections, and the bay window was full of posters at these times. Of course, it was in a strategic position, next to the polling station, the Village School, and so no-one could be in any doubt about Vera and Seymour’s allegiances.

Chapter Four: Jessie Gulliver’s Childhood Memories of Ufton, Wroxall and Walsgrave-on-Sowe.

Jessie was the eighth child. She was born the year Queen Victoria died, 1901. Her earliest memory was from when she was about two and a half, and the Gulliver family was living at Ufton. She sat on the school wall and the teachers came out and told her to get off, because the children couldn’t concentrate with her sitting on the wall. She went round to my mother and asked what concentrate meant, and she couldn’t speak it very well. Her mother told her she could sit on the wall at play-time and dinner-time, or in holidays, but she mustn’t sit on the wall when the children were in school, because they couldn’t concentrate when she was playing on the wall. She thought that was a bit hard, really, for one two and a half years old.

She used to go around Ufton with her elder brothers, Seymour and Arnold, and they’d play around Harbury Cement Works. Her brothers once got an old door and put two pieces of wood under it and used two other pieces for oars, taking Jessie out on a small brook at Harbury Cement Works. Their mother and father were very angry with the boys because they could have fallen in the brook and drowned. But, said Jessie, looking back, you know what they say, God looks after children and drunkards!

So her mother and father spent their young days at Ufton. She could remember the primroses, violets and bluebells in Ufton Wood and the part where the Chamberlains, the people who owned the cement works, are buried, railed off right at the end of the wood. She came across that a few years after going visiting to Ufton and taking her mother round to see Dad’s sister.

She could remember leaving Ufton and going to Wroxall. Her father left his job as a coachman at the Chamberlain’s house to work at Harbury Cement Works. So first they went to live in a rented cottage in Bishop’s Itchington, not far from Ufton. They paid half a crown a week for it in rent. However, the cement works didn’t suit her father, because the cement dust got on his chest and he had to go back onto the London work, riding the coaches between Leamington and London.

Jessie could remember how hard up they were at this time. One Sunday, when she was about three or four, she came home from Sunday School, where they’d been reading about Joseph with the coat of many colours. Her mother had bought her brotherArnold a little navy blue coat and he’d left it on Harbury Cement Works, and she was ever so upset and crying when Jessie went in and, of course, all Jessie could say to the rest of the family was he’s lost the coat of many colours! But, it was a job for my mother to get clothes for us in those days, and she liked us to be dressed nicely. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she did.

When they moved to Wroxall in 1904, Jessie discovered her love of poetry, at first by attending The Band of Hope there. This was a temperance society for children which she began attending when she was between four and five. Even at so young an age, the children had to promise never to drink. To help her understand what this was all about, she had to learn to recite by heart the following little piece called,

The Convict’s Little Jim:

 

As I was strolling along Liverpool Pier,

One day I chanced to stand,

To have my shoes blacked by a lad,

One of the shoeblack band.

 

His cap was trimmed with scarlet cloth,

His age was scarce thirteen,

His clothes were old and shabby,

But his hands and face were clean.

 

I said, ‘where is your father, lad?’

He shrinked an ancient while,

Then said, ‘My father is a convict sir,

And I his only child.

 

‘And if you’ll only listen sir,

I don’t mind telling you,

The history of my father’s life,

Which I would tell to few.

 

‘My father once was honest, sir,

And from that he’d not shrink,

But like many other good young men,

He turned and took to drink.

 

‘Fonder and fonder of it he grew,

Where drink was he would lurk,

Until, at last, he did not go

And do his daily work.

 

‘One day, half mad,

He kicked my mother all round door,

And with clenched fist, he then

 Struck her to the floor.

 

‘He robbed her body of her purse,

Then sailed across the sea,

Not caring what might become

Of my dear mother and me.

 

‘But when my father landed,

By detectives he was caught,

And back again to England,

Into Liverpool was brought.

 

‘How hard ‘twas, sir, for me,

To see my father tried,

Upon a charge of manslaughter,

For my mother, she had died.

 

‘And when I’d given evidence,

How my poor eyes filled with tears,

As I heard my father sentenced

To twenty-one long years.

 

‘The rich they frown upon me,

But I think it is a shame,

For, though my father is a convict,

His child is not the same.’

 

I left him then; my next engagement

Came on that same pier,

And I looked again amongst the shoeblacks,

But could not find him there.

 

I asked another shoeblack,

And this is what he said,

‘He took the scarlet fever, sir,

And lies at home now, dead.’

 

 

I asked him if he’d show me,

As he walked along beside,

To the little, humble home,

Where that little shoeblack died.

 

I looked upon his little form,

So tender and so slim,

But I knew that God had took to heaven

The Convict’s little Jim.

 

Jessie could still remember this word-perfect in 1992, though she thought it was a terrible thing to teach a child! She could also recite an equally grim Victorian verse she learnt when she was about six years old in Wroxall School (they used to make you learn poetry by heart in those days). It’s called…

Lucy Grey:

Oft have I heard of Lucy Grey,

And when she crossed the wire,

I chanced to see, at break of day,

That solitary child.

 

Yet you will see the fauns at play,

The hare upon the Green,

But the sweet face of Lucy Grey,

Will never more be seen.

 

‘Tonight will be a stormy night,

You to the Town must go,

And take a lantern, child, to light

Your mother through the snow.’

 

‘That, father, will I gladly do,

‘Tis scarcely afternoon,

The Minster clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon.’

 

But the storm came on before its time,

She wandered up and down,

And many a hill did Lucy climb,

But she never reached the Town.

 

Her wretched parents, all that night,

Went shouting far and wide,

But there was neither sound nor sight,

To serve them for a guide.

 

And when the mist began to clear,

And the stars began to peek,

Her mother saw the print

of Lucy’s little feet.

 

She tracked those footsteps one by one,

The marks were still the same,

Through the broken hawthorn hedge,

Until the bridge they came.

 

But the other half was down,

Poor Lucy had been drowned.

 

And yet, folks say unto this day,

She roams across the moor,

And will do forever more.

 

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When Jessie was about eight, in 1909, the family moved from Wroxall to Walsgrave. The children all went on the van. There must’ve been about eight of them, she thought, but their mother decided to come by train from Berkswell into Coventry, with the youngest, Arthur. When they got to the house where we were going to live, Caludon Lodge, near Walsgrave, the people (who were leaving) hadn’t got out, so there we were, all us kids, stuck with the furniture and my Dad worried to death. He didn’t know what to do. So, they all ended up at Green’s Farm where George and the older boys were going to work. At first, Mrs Green didn’t know what to do with so large a family, but it was a large enough farmhouse for them to have a kitchen and one bedroom and a landing. So the whole family was staying there.

Their mother had to walk all the way from Gosford Green (tram terminus) with Arthur, who was only four years old. In those days, the trams only ran around the city, and Walsgrave was outside the area of the County Borough. So, she was already planning to walk a distance of nearly three miles, which would now be extended by at least another half mile down the farm lane. When the rest of the family had arrived at Caludon Lodge, the lady next door gave Jessie an old pram to go and meet her mother. She met her on Ball Hill, a long and somewhat steep climb out of the city, already tired out, but Jessie had to tell her the bad news, that the people couldn’t get out of the Lodge because the people were still in the house that they were going to, and that her dad had taken all the furniture down to the farm.

They managed very well in the kitchen, and Jessie slept on the landing with two of the others, on the mattresses they’d taken up from the van. They were there six weeks and Mrs Green said she didn’t even know we were there, we were such good children. They had good fun, especially the girls, because the Green’s had a family of boys, so they had a good time with them in the hay!

After that, they went up to Caludon Lodge. It was a very nice house, built in brick; with railings all round it, little holly bushes all around the garden, and a porch in the middle. The kitchen and the front room were at right angles to each other and there were two passages, one from the front room and one from the kitchen. There was a big yard at the back with a long bench where mother could put about four bowls for washing. There was a big ‘copper’ (kettle) and a little one. Mother always had the little one on and the kids used to go and get sticks (for the wood-fired range), so there was always warm water in the big kitchen to wash with. There was a most beautiful garden, with pear trees, plum trees and apple trees with mistletoe growing up one of them. It was ever so long; it went right down past two houses, and Mr Green took a piece off it eventually and built two houses on it for more farm labourers.

So they had quite a happy time at Walsgrave. They could go to Binley, Wyken or Stoke schools. But Caludon was just outside the Parish of Walsgrave (which was still in Warwickshire at that time, outside Corporation area), so they couldn’t go to the Church of England village school. So, they were sent to Binley School, which was run by Whitley Abbey. They therefore had another two-mile walk to school across the fields, starting early with two sandwiches each to eat on the way. Then they had a school dinner and a meal when they got home at about half past four. Soon after they arrived, Binley Pit was sunk and a new school had to be built, so Jessie’s last two years at school were spent there.

Chapter Five: Jessie’s Memories of War, Work and Leisure in Coventry and Oxford

Jessie was working for a butcher’s family at Ball Hill before the First World War broke out, looking after their baby. She remembered that anyone who had spare bedrooms in Coventry had Australian soldiers billeted on them. She didn’t know what port they came in (probably Portsmouth), but they all came through Walsgrave and they all came past Caludon Lodge. They were all dressed in khaki, with their hats turned up at the side, waiting for our government to say where they were to go. So three of them were staying at Brown’s (the butchers). They’d had two fellows living and working there, taking the meat around in those days, but they’d had to go to war themselves. So Mr Brown asked Jessie to take meat down to Stoke Park Hall, and they asked her to take their orders back to him, thinking he was my father. But he never increased her pay and if he didn’t give me my half a crown on Saturdays, I never asked him for it. Kids were funny in those days!

Jessie got another job eventually. A lady was having a baby and she was to take the little boy or girl out. She offered her 10s a week; four times what she was getting at Brown’s. However, the woman’s husband also expected her to perform extra duties. While the lady was in bed, having the baby, her husband was at home having a few days off, and he tried to kiss Jessie, though he must have known she was only fourteen. She described how..

I started to walk round the table, and he followed me. So I kept walking round, and the dog started to howl. Their dog always howled if somebody played the piano in the front room. So his wife shouted down, ‘what’s the dog howling for?’ So I said, ‘oh, Mr Prescott is in the front room playing the piano, and you know the dog doesn’t like piano music.’ As I walked round the table, when I got near the stairs I went up. He never tried it on again; of course, he was at work all the while.

She stayed there a few weeks, and there were then three Jessies in the house, because the mother and the baby were both named Jessie. It was a bad time for the family, though, because mother had to go into hospital with a poisoned knee. In those days you had to pay £5 per week in fees, provide your own food and pay for transport to the hospital if you couldn’t walk. But Mother quickly got over it. Jessie thought she was wonderful, especially after having three little girls in five years: She never shouted at us, or hit us. She was quite a lady, who went to Church on Sunday evenings. All the children had to go on Sunday mornings and afternoons (to Sunday School), dressed in their best clothes. It took her all the next day to wash and clean, starch and press them and put them away.

Now the War was on, and women could get well-paid jobs working on munitions. Jessie got a job working at the Royal Ordinance Works, Red Lane. She got much more money there and soon had enough saved for a bicycle. Instead of having to walk all the way across by Wyken Church, right up the Black Pad to the Works, night and morning, she could cycle:

That’s how my life went on through the war years. We were working from six in the morning till six at night on two pieces of bread and ‘dripping’ (lard) and canteen tea which you could have wrung a dishcloth out in.

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Sometimes they were quite nervous about the war, although it didn’t affect the women directly very much, unless they lost a loved one on the Western Front. They did see, however, a huge airship, a Zeppelin, sailing over Walsgrave, which frightened us all to death, and made them realise some of the reality of modern warfare for the first time: It was terrifying, just like a great big boat. However, the terror soon passed, and Jessie said that:

It was only really the rationing which touched us, because my mother had about ten of us at home, and had to go into Coventry for what she could get… it was a good job we had the garden and all the stuff from it and my Dad could always keep it beautiful and grow plenty of potatoes, cabbages, etc. We survived!

When the war finished, Jessie went to Oxford, to her aunt, Molly Tidmarsh (née Sanders). Things were much better for her there, because it was impossible to get a job in Coventry; nobody could, neither woman nor man. But, when the women went to sign on at the Labour Exchange, the officials often insulted them. They asked, ‘have you been round any factories?’ when they knew very well that there were no jobs in the factories, especially for women. Jessie’s Aunt Molly kept The Black Horse in Kidlington near Oxford. She had one daughter, so she told her sister, ‘send Jess over to the pub; I’ll give her 10s a week, that’ll keep her in clothes. She’ll be a friend for Doll’ (her daughter).

Living in the country and having a can of milk twice a day meant Jessie became much healthier too. With her cousin, she went dancing in Oxford with the undergrads, who would bring them home in a taxi to Kidlington. She began to speak much better and dress better. She had a boyfriend in Coventry whom she used to write letters to, but when she went home to Walsgrave he said there was a vast difference in her, and that he couldn’t believe she’d changed so much. They eventually broke off their relationship when he said he was going out with a girl from the chapel. Jessie stayed at Kidlington for about two years, but as her uncle used to drink the whiskey, didn’t make much profit, so they decided to leave Kidlington and my uncle got a job with a biscuit company as their cricket grounds man in London, with a cottage on the ground, near the Pavilion.

Jessie had also decided to go up to London, because she’d been offered a job there. But she wasn’t able to stay with her aunt and uncle because the cottage wasn’t big enough. So she went into service at Primsbury Park. She came home to Coventry for a holiday and went to a dance. She danced with a young man named Tommy Gardner who was still in the Army, looking very smart in blue uniform with gold braiding all across his chest:

Girls were not supposed to fancy soldiers or sailors in those days, because we always thought they were common. But I liked him, so I danced with him all that evening and he asked to see me home. I had come with a girl from next door, so I found her, and the three of us went home together. As we stood talking by our house, he asked if he could see me again the next day. I agreed, but told him I was returning to London on the Monday. He suggested that I write and ask for another week, so I did. We kept on writing after that, and he asked me to come home again, because he was feeling very lonely.

So, Jessie came home eventually, in 1925, and got work straight away. She went to work in a café, so her mother did not go without money for her, and she had most of her meals there. Tommy would come down to the café every night. They were both twenty-four, not very young in the twenties, so he was very keen to get engaged straight away and wanted to get married quickly. But Jessie said, how can we get married with only twenty pounds between us and my father ill?!’ So they got married at a Registry Office and said nothing to anyone. Jessie wore her wedding ring around her neck on a chain.

Chapter Six: Jessie’s Memories of Married Life and After in Coventry

The couple used to go round and see her brother Alf, who was in the Navy. Lilly, his wife, had one little boy, and she was there on her own with him. They used to go and see her quite a lot, partly because she had a piano and Tommy could play anything on the piano. But they found it increasingly difficult to keep their marriage a secret:

Alf’s wife asked us one night, when we’d been married about three months, ‘when are you two getting married?’ I said, ‘I’m not getting married!’ She said, ‘don’t be so silly! You’re just made for each other! What are you going out with him for? You can’t treat him like that!’ I said, ‘I am married!’ ‘What?’ she said, ‘you are married?!’ I said, ‘yes, I’ve been married three months!’ ‘Oh, my God!’ she said, ‘I can’t go and tell your mother and your dad!’ So Tommy said, ‘well, I’ll go round and tell them!’ So he went round straight away and told my mother that we’d been married in a Registrar’s. I don’t know whether he told her how long, and then he saw Dad, who said, ‘oh, that’s alright, my lad, I always liked you!’ When mother went to Church on Sunday nights, we used to stop in and look after him when he was ill, so he was all right about it, but I don’t think my mother thought much about it. She said, ‘well what are you going to do? Where are you going to live?’ Lilly said, ‘I’ve got an empty room, so why don’t you come and live with me? I’m away half the time down at Portsmouth when the ship comes in! There’s a spare room; you can furnish that.’

So they went there, furnished the spare room, and that’s where they started married life. Jessie kept her job and they were able to save quite a bit of money. In fact, they were only there about six months before they’d got about a hundred pounds, enough to furnish a place in those days. So they started to look for a place of their own. Eventually, they got a bungalow. They only paid 6s 1d a week rent for it. It had two bedrooms, and a long living room, which took a dining table. After George died in 1930, Jessie’s mother had a three-bedroom one. They were built as temporary accommodation for war-workers coming into Coventry, but they were very comfortable inside. There was a communal bathhouse where clothes washing could also be done. There were some built for people with better positions and they had all got baths in and Millie had one of these. After the First World War ended, these managers left these places. They were cottages, prefabricated, but fireproof. Tommy made a fireplace, with a mantelpiece for ornaments, and a wardrobe;

He built a porch and a garden fence all around with a gate, and made a beautiful garden. He built a garage out back made of laths, screwed together. He didn’t use a single nail. There was also a fireplace in the bedroom and whenever anyone brought children to visit they all played in the bedroom on the beds, because we’d built a fire in there and it was warm. The men would go into the spare room and play cards while we cleared the table in the living room, and then they’d come back. Those were the days!  

That was in 1925, when Tommy earned an average wage of about £2. 10s. But he had brains, so he decided to leave his trade, though it was difficult to leave your place of work in those days, and he was out of work for about eight weeks while Jessie kept them from her earnings as a waitress. He went into the motor-trade at the wood place of the Riley Car Works, on Woodrington Road, near Foleshill Station. They used to make the dashboards out of wood. They needed semi-skilled workers and because he had made cabinets he could read a drawing, so they gave him a job. The GEC couldn’t stop him going there, because it wasn’t a federated ‘shop’, as it had only just opened. They were hard up for workers as well, because all the men were in work at that time. There he’d earn about £10 a week, with overtime, £6 on ordinary time. He’d be out of work for about three months (laid-off in the summer), but could always put some money away for those times. It used to be three months out, three months short time and three months mad-time. He soon got enough for a motorbike, and then they had a car.

Jessie lived to be 102. In her recollections, recorded in 1992, she included the following reflections:

Give me these days now. I don’t think much of the old days. They were good for the rich, but not much good for the poor. I don’t know how many more years I shall sit here, looking out of this window, perhaps quite a few. One cannot tell from one day to the next.

So, they (the Gullivers and Tidmarshes) were good people and that’s where it’s coming out in these generations, because we came from good stock; honest, God-fearing workers. We all seem to be doing very well these days, after all these years. So, I can’t say much for the good old times that they talk about. I’m all for these times.  Some things are better, some things are worse, I will admit. But, on the whole, we are looked after much better in our old age now.

In June 2001 her relatives from far and wide gathered together to celebrate her 100th birthday in style, at a hotel in Meriden, an occasion organised by her nephew, Allan Gulliver. She received a personally signed card from HM Queen Elizabeth II, in her fiftieth year as our sovereign majesty. A year later, many of the same people came together to pay their respects at the passing of the last of the thirteen brothers and sisters of a great generation of Gullivers.

Chapter Seven: Daphne Gulliver’s memories of Growing up in Walsgrave before and during the Second World War.

As Daphne grew up in Walsgrave in the thirties, she remembered The Walsgrave Show, a very big agricultural and horticultural event. She could remember her father winning prizes for vegetables and children making bouquets out of wild flowers. It was a show run by local farmers like Harold Green, whom the Gullivers had worked for, but it attracted farmers, showjumpers and other participants from far and wide. It eventually combined with the Kenilworth Show, and became the forerunner of The National Agricultural Show at Stoneleigh.

As prosperity returned with a boom in Coventry, coal-miners’ wages also improved, though many chose to desert the pits for a cleaner, high-wage job in engineering in the City, especially in the car factories. Seymour stuck to his job at the colliery, however, because he liked the economic security that came with it, as well as the sense of comraderie. Although not a hard-drinker, like many colliers, he naturally liked to call into the pub for a much-needed pint on his way home after a hard shift at the coal-face. The Baptists frowned upon and shunned the pubs in the village, because there were many well-known heavy-drinkers, but they understood that it was natural for the miners to enjoy a drink together on the way home. The only problems in some families came on weekly pay days, when they received their wage in cash. On these days all the wives would send their children, and Daphne was one of these, to wait for their fathers and get their pay packets from them in case any of them might be tempted to donate too much of it to the pub’s till! Every mother would send their kids to stand outside The Craven Arms and The Red Horse to collect the wages. This, of course, was more of a show of solidarity by the wives than an act of necessity, especially as the local publicans were strict about not serving those who had, in their opinion, had one too many.

When war broke out in 1939, the good spirit in Walsgrave continued. The most noticeable difference, at first, was in the availability of food, and rationing. There were queues for tomatoes, but the Co-op was fair to everyone, and the vegetable cart continued to do its rounds of the village. One day, Daphne went out with her mother to buy oranges, which were rationed to one per person per week. So, they could have five. A group of internees were going up the Lane to the farm at the top. Vera asked Albert, the vendor, for a knife and cut all five into pieces. She went over to the boys and gave each one a piece of orange. Daphne, being a child, protested, but she said, oh well, these lads are very young and they’ve been living off potatoes up at the farm, so they need that orange much more than you do.

People were encouraged to produce their own food on their allotments. As well as growing vegetables, Seymour also kept pigs and poultry on his allotment along Woodway Lane. You could keep pigs during the war, but you had to have a permit to kill them. You could sell them to the authorities, but they did not pay very much for them. So Seymour decided to take his sow into hiding in their house when her time came. Daphne remembered these war-time pigs and piglets well:

…we had a litter of pigs, we decided we were going to have a litter, and then we had some sleeping quarters for these piglets, and when the time came, the wretched sow had all those little piglets on the hearth, and we were giving them drops of brandy, trying to revive them and keep them going. I think we saved about five.

But they got to be little suckling pigs and one of them wasn’t quite right. So they decided they were going to ‘knock this one off’. So Bill Gately worked up the abattoir and we persuaded Bill to come and knock this little pig off. They’d just gone up the garden, ’cause he was working all day so it was dark now, and the air-raid siren went. So, no-one dared shine a flash-light or anything and well, you can imagine these little pigs running and squealing all over the sty, and them trying to get hold of this particular one; and Bill was muttering and stuttering, you know. Well eventually we caught this pig and killed it quietly at the kitchen sink.

We had no permit, and then someone came around afterwards, knowing that we’d done this, and he asked, ’what did you do with the Tom Hodge?’ So Seymour says, ’what’s that?’, and they said, ’well, you know, its innards!’ Dad says, ’oh! We buried them up  the garden’. ’Oh, oh dear!’ he says, ’the best part of the pig!’ Anyway, he comes back after a few minutes and says, ’well, if I know Seymour it won’t be buried deep!’ So he goes up the garden with his fork and forks all this up. Eventually, he took all these chittilings and well, of course, to anyone who likes chittilings…but it put me off pork for the rest of my life!  

Daphne also remembered the first significant air-raids, and the first use of the communal shelter at the school. The Anderson shelters that people had put up in their gardens by the summer of 1940 had become flooded, so they had to go to the shelter at the school, which had been put there for the school children. However, as there were no day-time raids, it had not been used, and was still locked. The schoolmaster, Gaffa Mann, refused to open it, however. A pick axe had to be sent for to break the lock, and all the residents of School House Lane went in.

Though Walsgrave itself was of no military importance, Capability Brown’s huge landscaped pool at Coombe Abbey was in the German map books and was used as a landmark by the German bomber crews. The Rolls Royce Engine Factory at Ansty was less than a mile from this, manufacturing aircraft engines. There was also an aerodrome there, built before the war, and the then Rootes assembly plant at Ryton-on-Dunsmore was only a few miles away on the same side of the city, with its shadow factory producing aircraft and military vehicles. Planned under Chamberlain’s Government in 1936, these factories did not appear on the Luftwaffe’s maps, hence the importance of incendiary bombs dropped around the outlying areas of the City, as well as on the city itself. The Rootes Shadow Factory had only just begun production in 1940. The Germans were searching for the shadow factories on the ground, using the Coombe Pool as a focal point. Huge craters were left on the landscape around the village for many decades afterwards. I remember Seymour showing me one of these on one of his mooches and describing his arrest, as an ARP Warden, of a German pilot who had bailed out over Coombe Park, landing in the farm lane and breaking both his legs. Seymour had to use his bicycle to get the airman the mile or so to the village police station.

On the night of November 14th, Coventry was subjected to an eleven-hour sustained Blitz, giving both the English and German dictionaries the word Coventration as a synonym for blanket-bombing rather than lightning raids, which had been the previous strategy in attacking London and other regional ports. Daphne recalled the effect of the bombing of the city centre, three miles away, as they ran for the shelter:

We put up the cushions from off the furniture and put them on our heads and went running up the shelter. It was a bright moonlit night and tracer bullets were flying around like tracer bullets everywhere and the whole city was on fire. Everything was lit up like it was daylight; it was a most awesome sight and of course, for days afterwards, the burnt paper was coming down.

The School Log for 15th November echoes this description of destruction:

School reassembled – about only 130 were present – this is due to the results of a terrific 11 hour raid on Coventry and immediate neighbourhood. The Church Hut used for 70 to 80 infants had to be used as a home for the people who were bombed out of the city.

Seymour was on air-raid duty that night and recalled one bomb that fell in what was known as The Hollow, just past The Mount Pleasant. He said that the old, cruck-beamed cottage was quite badly damaged as the patrol went towards it, and he was sure there would be at least one person dead inside. But when they went inside they found that the main beam had fallen across the fireplace and the family were all protected by it, around the fireplace. No-one was hurt.

School records for 1940 show that a total of six hours and ten minutes was spent in the school shelter, with one visit lasting over two hours. Of course, nearly all the raids took place during night-time. Even the raid of the 14th/15th November was not detected until after 3 p.m., the end of the school day, and the bombing had ended in sufficient time for the school to open on time the next morning. Though the sirens went off earlier than usual that evening, most people recall being at home having had tea or supper when the bombing started. The schools nearer the centre were far more badly affected, and many of those rescued in these areas were still under rubble until about 7 a.m., having been trapped for more than twelve hours in some cases. Walsgrave escaped lightly compared with the mass destruction of the city centre and the older factory areas in the suburbs, though it might have been a different story had the Luftwaffe been able to locate the Ansty and Ryton factories. Many in the village realised this vulnerability, and though not forced to, sent their children away to safer rural areas, if they could. Daphne was sent away to relatives near Bridgwater in Somerset for a while. In addition to his ARP duties, being in a reserved occupation as a collier, Seymour took on responsibility for the Bevin Boys, the well-educated young graduates and undergraduates who were sent to work in the pits.

002Chapter Eight: Vera and Daphne Gulliver’s memories of  Chapel, Church and School in Walsgrave

In the early part of the twentieth century, the most significant social division in the village was between Church and Chapel.  This was sharpened by a dispute over a refusal to bury Nonconformists in the parish churchyard, leading to the establishment of a cemetary on Sowe Common. The cemetary was near the canal, and Vera could remember Baptisms taking place there because there was no baptistry at the original Little Chapel  from 1840 to 1902. By the time Vera and Seymour were married at the Chapel in 1918, it was well-established in the village, with a membership of keen spiritually-minded people, a good set of buildings…a minister of our own and a Manse for him to occupy.

A small, relatively poor community had achieved a lot in hard times. A real period of growth was enjoyed until the coming of the Second World War. Daphne remembered Sunday School Anniversary excursions to Hawkesbury, Lenton’s Lane, Potters Green, Shilton and Wolvey. For many children, these were the first occasions they had been outside the village, unless they had been into Coventry. However, the Nonconformist children sometimes found themselves in conflict at school, because, as Daphne explained:

..it was very much a Church of England School. The Conscience Clause used to be up on the wall…We used to be marched down to the Church on ’High Day’ and that was very nice and I never opted out of that but I could have done…You see, I was one of those wretched Non-Conformists. But I used to enjoy that. Well I took it upon myself one day, when Miss Florence Verrall, a school governer was there for assembly, to refuse to say the catechism. I don’t know why, because I knew it all, but my mother had told me I needn’t say this, it didn’t apply to me. I was very much frowned upon after that. I never did quite live it down. I never did like the village school, not many did, and I was glad to leave when I was about eleven. Gaffa Mann was the master. One of his sayings was ’spare the rod and spoil the child’. With Miss Verrall we all had to stand to attention when she came in, as she was a very important person.

Daphne also remembered the famous Rev. Howard Ingli James, the Welsh Minister at Queens’ Road Baptist Church in Coventry in the thirties and forties, preaching at Walsgrave Chapel. She described him as a Welsh ranter, a very famous socialist, and extremely funny. Walsgrave had the kind of pulpit in which you could walk up and down and he used to shake all his black hair into his eyes. There were marvellous harvest festivals after the war and everything was decorated. Then the produce would be sold off to raise money and there would be a concert to follow. The choirmaster was quite strict and if anyone wasn’t behaving themselves, he would throw a hymn book in their direction to bring them to attention. The names on the village war memorial contained the names of many young people who gave their lives, but there were other losses sustained by the chapel.

004005 (2)After the war, the chapel was taken under the wing of  Queens Road and the Rev Gordon Wylie, succeeding Rev Ingli James, brought the thirty-eight year-old Rev Arthur J Chandler to Walsgrave from Wednesbury, Staffordshire, in 1948. In addition to overseeing Ansty and Shilton chapels, he helped to build up the Walsgrave congregation again. Daphne worked as a short-hand typist at the Ansty Factory after the war, using her bicycle to get up the farm lane on the other side of the Sowe and up the hill each day. In July 1952, she celebrated her twenty-first birthday with all the family in the School Hall next to where they lived. Her aunt Jessie asked her, ‘have you got a boyfriend?’ She said she’d had one, but she didn’t have one then, so Jessie asked her, ‘who’ve you got your eyes on?’ Daphne answered that the Baptist minister was often in their house and that her mother, Vera, made him cups of tea. His own mother, Emma, had died the previous year. Daphne married Arthur at Walsgrave Chapel the following summer, in the coronation year of 1953.

This year, 2013, therefore marks the Diamond Anniversary of their wedding. Arthur died in Walsgrave Hospital in 1985 and Daphne died following a tragic road accident, coming down a steep hill on her bike, near her home in Shaldon, Devon, on St Andrew’s Day in 1993. At her funeral at Teignmouth Baptist Church, her love of bicycles was highighted by the following quotation from the stories she contributed to Walsgrave Remembered:

Tommy Hatfield had a sort of workshop and you could go up there and say you wanted a bike, and he’d measure you up for size and look through all these frames, and find one the right size. Then he’d dip it in acid, then he’d dip it in a stone enamelling vat. I suppose they were always black. He’d tell you which day he’d finish it, and then you’d come home riding your bike, pleased as punch. Lovely thing a bike.

Both my parents’ names are entered in the Book of Remembrance displayed in St Mary’s Church, Walsgrave-on-Sowe, where their ashes were interred.

Andrew James Chandler, Hungary 2013: All rights reserved

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