2008 - Friday Fun - College Pudding

In these cash-strapped times here's a traditional recipe you might like to try and a Black Country favourite. We haven't had a recipe for a while.
College Pudding

4oz stale bread

4oz flour

1 tsp baking powder

half oz candied peel

2tbsp golden syrup

2oz chopped suet

2oz currants

1oz sultanas

3oz sugar

pinch of salt



Method:



Soak the bread in some cold water, then squeeze the liquid out, flattening out any lumps.

Add the syrup to the bread, then mix the dry ingredients together and add them to the bread and syrup. Stir the whole mix well, adding a little milk if the mix is too stiff. Spoon the mix into individual, greased cups, or into a large pudding basin if a larger pudding is preferred, and steam for 90 minutes. Otherwise, steam in the microwave, following microwave instructions. Serve with custard or cream.

2008 Friday Fun - Back to the 1500's

Usually I take you back to the time of the Industrial Revolution - the era that gave the Black Country it's name but this week my friends at the Bugle had this interesting archive article about a much earlier period in the history of my region.
It's difficult to imagine the heart of the industrial Black Country being as green as the outlying countryside is today. Bricks and mortar and acres of tarmac have successfully squeezed all but a few areas of park out of the region, but how different the world was in the 1500s.

Pensnett Chase dominated whole swathes of the district, where there lived people of an insular and very protective nature who were very wary of any kind of visitor, and travellers journeying along the dirt tracks and lanes did so at their peril. In 1577, the year this map was drawn up, Good Queen Bess was in the 19th year of her reign, and it would be a further nine years before the humble potato would make its first appearance on an English dinner plate. What would the Englishman's favourite take-away meal have been had they not been brought here?
The name Francis Drake meant absolutely nothing to our distant ancestors of those times, forebears who didn't even understand what the seaside was let alone where the oceans were. But it was in December 1577 that Drake set sail from Plymouth aboard the Pelican (later re-named Golden Hind) on his famous voyage of discovery and plunder around the world. Places that were mentioned in William the Conqueror's Domesday survey of England in 1086 still survived on Saxton's map of Staffordshire, such as Amblecote, Swinford Regis (Kingswinford), Oldbury, Smethik (Smethwick), Bilston, Weddesbury (Wednesbury), Cradley, Tipton and Dudley. Whereas places such as Sturbridge (Stourbridge) were relatively new and yet had become important market towns.
Health and sanitation - or a distinct lack of either - were key issues in Mediaeval times, with the Plague and Black Death causing mayhem to communities throughout the land. Very few places, if any, escaped a terrible death toll, and the Black Country was as susceptible as anywhere else. Other diseases were also prevalent; for example at the so-called Black Assize of 1577 in Oxford, all those in court, including the judge and jury, died of typhus which had evidently been carried by prisoners who were up before the beak. In the end everyone received a death sentence.
Our green and pleasant Black Country was fraught with dangers, a far cry from the romantic view which story books would have us believe. The name of the game was to survive the winter and make it through to the next harvest, the land providing what minimal income there was and hopefully enough food to feed the family, and enough animal woollens and hides to use as clothing. Travelling would have been restricted by the seasons, the rough roads becoming impassable in the winter due to thick mud, and equally difficult to travel along in dryer times because of the ruts that formed. Villages were generally self sufficient and many of our ancestors would have remained in the same community all their lives, the church perhaps their only outlet from the hard graft of living.
However, in 1577 the Church in England was still in turmoil after the trials and tribulations of the Tudor dynasty. A peaceful Black Countryman trying to keep the same faith that his father and countless generations of his family had followed, must have been scared out of his wits by the changes that were taking place. Objecting in any way to the new order of Protestant England had a habit of delivering dire consequences to a villager's door. Even - or perhaps especially - those at the top of the religious tree were not immune from Elizabeth I's anger. In 1577 the Archbishop of Canterbury, Edmund Grindal, refused to comply with the queen's order to suppress all prophesying, and within 15 months of his election he was suspended from his duties.

2008 - Friday Fun - Sports of times past.

With the imminent arrival of the football season and the Olympics now underway here's a reminder from the Black Country Bugle of 'so-called' sports of yesteryear.

Football, rugby, cricket, athletics, speedway, horse racing and greyhound racing - most people in the Black Country can identify with at least one of the above; sports which have always managed to fill stadiums with vociferous and passionate supporters who want their team or their favourite runner to win at all costs.

But before football became an official, organised sport during the latter stages of the 19th century, and the sport of kings was made more accessible to the ordinary punter, what did our ancestors get up to on a Saturday afternoon? The answer can be found in an article written over one hundred years ago in 1903, about the sports of a bygone age, when our forefathers were followers of the Black Country's more horrible sports:
"Some seventy years ago (in the 1830s) the Midlands, especially that portion known as the Black Country, won an unenviable reputation for base cruelties and fabulous prosperity. The "sport" of thousands consisted in watching with almost breathless interest the vagaries of infuriated bulls, chained to huge stakes, and baited to death by vicious dogs on public holidays; whilst occasional half days were spent in the cock-pits, where high-bred gamesters, trimmed and spurred, ferociously battled until death or blindness ended the fray; or in the broad fields or large rooms of public houses rings were formed, and local champions fought with their bare fists for a purse of a few pounds. The credit of being victorious was of greater value both to the contestants and the owners of the birds than treble the amount of the stakes.
"These were not all the degrading exhibitions of brutality of the simple days of long ago. Occasionally there were struggles between a dog and one who stood very little higher in the intellectual scale, though he was called a man. Such were the sports of men whose muscles were their glory, whose delight was the torture of dumb animals, the cruel sports of men who, all but naked, worked like horses in the cavernous mines or at the glaring furnace fires, and spent their money like "asses" in fostering cruelties they termed pastimes, and pursuing pleasures rightly described as vicious, inhuman, and dishonourable. Happily such sports are now abolished, and we cheerfully content ourselves with amusements shorn of disgusting details, and leading to a more elevated conception of things in general.
"Wakes, fairs and carnivals are the festivals of such horrible scenes as were witnessed by immense crowds at the bull-baits in the Bull-Ring, Birmingham, the High Bullen and Market Place in Wednesbury, the Bull Stake, Darlaston, and at Tipton, Walsall and West Bromwich. Crowds of persons travelled to a town which promised an exciting bull-bait, and numerous anecdotes could be related of one of the most popular pastimes of the simple days of long ago. The pursuit of the sport was not confined to any particular class of persons. Young and old, rich and poor, were numbered among those whose special delight was to watch the infuriated bull's vagaries as he gored and tossed the dogs with all the ferocity of a member of the bovine tribe when driven to desperation by a howling crowd, and oppressive and persistent attacks. Sometimes he would break away from his stake and charge through the people, causing a general stampede and no small amount of injury to the onlookers, until pursued and killed. Bull-baiting, though not invariably carried on at any fixed period, was known to be a concomitant of the wakes, which in those times was the signal for three days of riotous and immoral conduct on the part of the majority of those who welcomed their arrival. That age has gone, and we refuse to recognise as in the category of true English pastimes the old sports with which our forefathers amused themselves."

2008 - Friday Fun - 18th Century life at Dudley Castle.

This is courtesy of Ian Bott of Wednesbury and my friends at The Black Country Bugle. This is a fascinating story of handed down family history.
It comes from a book entitled Dudley Castle and published in 1834, its author a Mrs Sherwood. She describes herself as the wife of a worthy tradesman and the mother of several children, and grew up in what must have been the Dudley Port or Great Bridge area. And even in the pre-Victorian period, the locals could look back on what seemed a lost golden age, as Mrs Sherwood explains ...
“My native place lies in the road between West Bromwich and Dudley, a part of England which was once very beautiful, exhibiting such a rich diversity of hill and dale as only to require to be left to the hand of nature to render it delightful to the eye; and, in times past, as ancient records tell us, these hills and dales were planted with fir forests, extending for many miles, and interspersed at intervals with a few thatched cottages, a convent, or an embattled tower.
“But more recently, it was discovered that there were mines of coal, and iron, and limestone of considerable value, under the surface of this fair country; and, in consequence of this discovery, there is now little to be seen in the neighbourhood of my native place, but the mouths of pits, engines pouring out smoke, ground blackened with soot, and innumerable habitations of human beings, scattered in wild disorder as far as the eye can reach.”
Mrs Sherwood, if that was her real name, had grown up living with her father, a head clerk in the house of one of the first iron masters, her mother and her maternal grandmother, the latter of whom had waited on a well-to-do lady in her youth; a fact which becomes key to the unfolding story.
Mrs Sherwood begins the tale with a recollection of a family trip to Dudley to fetch new dresses for herself and her sisters when she was aged ten, presumably sometime around the year 1800. It left quite an impression, and the author recalls vividly her new frock; featuring a rose leaf on a white background, with a very small rose bud peeping from behind each leaf. Each of the three sisters was given a new summer bonnet of plaited straw, tied on with a green ribbon, and a pair of mittens made by their grandmother from silk stockings. But the new outfits were to be untouched until a particular day, when the girls’ father was to take a rare day’s holiday and escort the family by cart to Dudley Castle, which, though they could see it from just outside their house, the girls had never visited ...
“We jostled merrily away, till the towers of the castle burst upon our view, lifting themselves above the woods with which the hill is decorated. After we had seen the castle, we presently arrived at the foot of the hill, having the town of Dudley on our left, and then getting out of our cart, which my father led away to the nearest place of entertainment for horses, we passed through a gate in the wall into the woods, where a winding path led up the steep. At length, coming out upon a lawn of considerable extent just upon the brow of the hill, we had a full view of the keep of the castle standing upon the highest point of the rock, and immediately on the right, but somewhat lower, the old gateway.”
Once the family are settled in the wide expanse of the castle’s courtyard, the girls’ grandmother sits them down and begins to tell them a true story. During her younger days in service to a wealthy lady, which must have been around the 1730s or 40s, she had accompanied her mistress and her daughter, as the latter’s maid, to an evening of feasting and dancing at Dudley Castle, which, although beginning to deteriorate even that far back, was still owned and sometimes used by the Ward family, whose main residence now was at Himley:
“It was quite dark by the time we arrived at the foot of the hill,” she recalls, as the young girl who will eventually become Mrs Sherwood begins committing the tale to memory, “and the snow was on the ground; however, there were lamps fixed among the trees all along the private road up to the castle, and there were lights upon the towers, which shone as beacons far and near, for it was a great day at the castle. The horses, though we had four, had hard work to drag us up the snowy path. However, we got up in time, and passing under the gateway, we found ourselves in this court.
The court was, she continues, brought buzzing to life by the many guests and their attendants that night:
“But, Oh! my children, how different did it then show to what it does now, being littered with splendid equipages, and sounding with the rattling of wheels and the voices of coachmen and grooms calling to each other, and blazing with lights from almost every window. There was such a bustle among the carriages, that we could not drive up to the principal door for some time, and during that delay I had abundance of leisure to look about me. The keep stood much as it does now, a huge and gloomy monument of past days; but all that portion of the castle which extends before you, my dear children, was alive with the bustle and stir of persons bent on pleasure and little thinking of the various changes and chances to which human nature is liable ... the oriel windows, the stone frames of which are still so nearly entire, were at that time filled in part with painted glass, through which the lights which were within emitted rays of various tincture. And the sounds of merry voices and of harps and viols, issued from every door way.”
The room which the ladies were given for the night is described in some detail, and it’s fascinating to think that the empty grey skeleton of a building we all know today was once full of cosy, well-equipped rooms. Mrs Sherwood’s grandmother describes the ladies’ chamber as follows:
“It was a wide low room, and there was a light closet in it, and it was hung with a tarnished paper, which looked like cut velvet. And there were huge stout-backed chairs, and a large toilet, set with Indian dressing boxes.
“There was a bright fire in the grate, and whilst the housemaid assisted me to set everything in order for my ladies, she informed me that she had lived for forty years in the castle, and hoped to finish her days in it. She spoke of her lord and his family, as if there were none in the land that could compare with them.”
The old woman then goes on to describe some of the remainder of the castle’s interior as it had been during her one visit as a youth. Even in the early seventeen-hundreds, comfortable as it could be made when the occasion demanded, the castle had an air of forlornness, of past glories:
“I wish I could bring before you, as it were in pictures, the curious old-fashioned ornaments and pieces of furniture which I saw in the castle,” she recalled to her granddaughters. “There was not a window which was sashed, but all were casement, in stone frames, many of the panes being of coloured glass. And there was scarce one chamber on the same parallel with another, but there was a step to go up or a step to go down to each of these; then the chimney pieces, being mostly of carved wood or stone, were so high that I could hardly reach to the mantle shelves, when standing on tiptoe ... then the chairs were of such a size, that two of the present sort would stand in the room of one, and doors, though very thick and substantial, were each an inch or two from the floor, so that the wind whistled all along the passages, rattling and shaking the casements, and often making (as my conductor informed me) a sort of wild and mournful melody when not mingled with the sounds of voices and musical instruments; for, as she told me, the castle was even then but seldom visited by the family, and occupied only, excepting on extraordinary occasion, by a few servants.”
The grandmother was told by her guide, one of the resident staff, that during the summer there were usually just three or four servants in the castle, who took delight in breathing the clean air up on the hill above the smoke of the works below. And even though the lord of the castle had by that point removed the bulk of his treasures to one of his more comfortable residences, the few paintings that remained were enough to lighten the lives of the domestics. One in particular, which hung in the state bedroom above the dining room, was described as follows:
“It was a hard, rude painting, the colours being much faded, but it represented a lady and a knight with a numerous assemblage of sons and daughters of all ages, from the babe on the mother’s lap to the son just stepping forth upon the stage of busy life, and assuming all the airs of manhood; the towers of Dudley Castle arose in the distance, although their outlines could hardly be traced, for the painting was on boards, and empaneelled in the wainscot; the lady was rested on a bank of flowers and her husband was looking upon her with such an expression of love and confidence ...
“The dresses seemed as if they had belonged to ages past, perhaps to the time of Elizabeth; but, be that as it may, the picture representeed a domestic scene, in which the beautiful and the brave, the noble and the delicate, had lived, and moved, and acted, years before even I had entered into existence.”
Spellbound by the picture, the young maid was eager to discover who the family were, but none of the servants of the castle knew, and, as the sounds of merry-making had begun to waft up from below, they were keen to take her down to the great hall, which she then goes on to describe

2008 Friday Fun - The Titanic connection

My thanks again to my good friends at The Black Country Bugle for this piece.
The sinking of the Titanic will go down in history as one of the most unlikely disasters of all time. On the night of 14th April 1912, the unthinkable happened when the magnificent, reputedly unsinkable White Star liner struck an iceberg and within four hours lay 12,000 feet below the surface of the North Atlantic Ocean.

Since the wireless cry for help (an SOS signal picked up by the Cunard liner Caronia) was transmitted for the first time across the length and breadth of the North Atlantic at 10.25 on that fateful night, the Titanic has become as big a leviathan in history and legend as it was on its one and only voyage to America. Here in the Black Country, a region as far away from the ocean as almost anywhere else in the country, the only claim to fame we have regarding the Titanic story has been the legacy left by the makers of the ship's great anchor and chains. It was in the great forges of the Black Country that the Titanic was eqipped with its giant anchor, beaten to precision by gangs of men, toiling blood, sweat and tears to earn a modest crust. But their efforts produced an anchor fit for the finest ship ever built at the time, something that is now legendary in these parts.

Recently we were invited to watch a silent, ten minute film, courtesy of Jack Beard, Chairman of the Sandwell Society of Film Makers. It was shot in 1920, eight years after the fateful sinking of the Titanic, and shows the men at Noah Hingley's in Netherton making an anchor in exactly the same way as they would have produced the one for the great ship. The reel of film was found by pure chance a few years ago by members of the Netherton History Society. It was enclosed in a tin with a brief description of the contents, but was in no state to be viewed. Jack got involved, once again through a chance meeting at the canal festival at Bumble Hole, and from that moment on fate played a winning hand. Over a period of time Jack enlisted the help of Carl Chinn and the might of the BBC technical staff, and they managed to process the ancient 35mm reel of film and adapt it to be shown on modern equipment. The result is a staggering record of the life in a foundry in the early twentieth century of the chain and anchor workers. The accompanying picture, which Jack kindly gave us, shows the final hammering of the mighty anchor by a team of men, not dissimilar in age, forming a circle and bashing the hot metal, one after the other in a synchronised wave of industrial ballet. The picture is the dramatic conclusion to the film that Jack hopes to show to a wider audience in the near future.
As we watched the film in its entirety, Jack suggested that the men doing all the hammering were probably the same chaps who made the anchor for the Titanic eight years before. These gangs of workers had to work as a well oiled machine when in the process of crafting such giant ship accessories, and it was quite possible they had worked by the side of each other for years. The man in the middle of the foreground with his back to the camera was late starting in the final hammering sequence, but almost like a machine himself, he joined the hammering to perfection after two or three rounds, confirming the astonishing ability of these men under the most arduous of circumstances, to work in absolute harmony.
All the national newspapers, and many more besides, were quick to report on the demise of the Titanic. It was a national disaster that drew a huge wave of sympathy from the bottom of society to the very top. The Weekly Dispatch newspaper, printed in London, issued a special edition which was published on Sunday April 21st 1912. For many years a copy was kept in the safe keeping of the late Monica Bennett, a old friend of the Bugle's, and for many years our gardening columnist. Although she was only two years old when the Titanic sank, Monica was always one for keeping important memorabilia, personal or otherwise, and her son Bruce has now inherited this amazing collection. To celebrate the Titanic's 93rd anniversary, he has kindly lent us the copy of The Weekly Dispatch from which we have extracted just a few moving details from the events that eclipsed a nation all those years ago:
"The cable ship Mackay Bennett, chartered by the White Star Co. to go to the scene of the Titanic disaster, has sailed from Halifax. In the hope that some bodies may be picked up, coffins are being taken, and several undertakers and embalmers will be on board the ship. The Mackay Bennett is also taking over 100 tons of ice, and long lines of carts filed down with the ice to the pier, where the coffins were piled 10 foot high."
"A strange feature of the disaster is how the Titanic came to run into an iceberg at all, for she was warned against the ice, not only once, but twice, once by the Hamburg-Amerika liner Amerika and once by the liner Touraine. The Amerika's warning came only a few minutes before the disaster."
"Passing through the stricken streets of Southampton a journalist chanced upon a neat little woman standing at her tiny front garden gate in York-street, and she told him of many neighbours and friends whose men-folk had gone down in the Titanic. York-street is the centre of Northam, which provided nearly all the trimmers and firemen of the lost liner, and as the little woman talked she nodded sympathetically to wives who had suddenly found themselves widows. There was a woman in Bevois-street who had given birth to twins a fortnight before, and she died of shock when she heard of her husband's death. Mrs May lost her husband and eldest son, one of fifteen families in York-street alone who are grieving at the loss of at least one loved one."
"Crossing the road the journalist caught sight of the elder Mrs May. "Yes it is true", she said "husband and son have gone and left eleven of us. It was the first time that Arthur and his father had been at sea together, and it would not have happened if Arthur had not been out of work owing to the coal strike. Hr tried to get a job ashore but failed, and as he had his baby and wife to keep, he signed up on the Titanic as a fireman." There are many babies in Northam who will never remember their fathers, and there will be many who will never have been known by their fathers."
"Another day and another night passed, and another hopeless dawn broke over Southampton to find hundreds of hearts heavier and sadder."
Trawling through the columns of stories, comments, quotes and statistics relating to the great lost ship that appeared in the copy of the Weekly Dispatch on April 21st 1912, there was only one clear reference to anyone from our part of the world.
In amongst lists of passengers, some of whom had perished, and others who were listed as survivors, was the name of a man from West Bromwich.
"Among the survivors are ... Mr Alfred Davis of West Bromwich, married two days before the boat left. He was accompanied by his two brothers and his brother-in-law."

2008 Friday Fun - Black Country authors

In line with celebrating the release of Blue Remembered Heels I thought I would share another superb piece from our friends at the Black Country Bugle. I write contemporary romance but this article shares the writings of a Black Country Vicar writing in Victorian times.

Charles Dickens brought vividly to life the plight of the urban poor of London and the south-east in the nineteenth century, Elizabeth Gaskell did the same for the workers of the northern towns, and Thomas Hardy took the reader right into the world of the agricultural labourer of the south-west.

As far as the working folk of our part of the world are concerned, Arnold Bennett's stories recreated the north Staffordshire Potteries, and Francis Brett Young used the Black Country as a backdrop to his novels, but despite being born in late Victorian times, the latter two were twentieth century writers. But just because few authors, or works, spring readily to mind, we shouldn’t assume that the Black Country was ignored by the writers of the eighteen-hundreds. Walsall historian Ian Bott has put our way a small but vital collection of rare works published during Victoria’s reign, some of which capture those times and some which hark back even further.
Over the coming weeks, we’ll delve beneath the dusty covers of each one; and we’ll begin with a work by an anonymous author: Down in Dingyshire, published in 1873. Subtitled ‘Sketches of life in the Black Country’, this copy of the book bears a plate on its inside front cover, which explains that it was originally presented to a Robert Henderson for attendance at Dunipace Free Church Sabbath School during 1886. Dunipace, it seems, is a Scottish town, so it is possible that the mystery author was a Scot - all that he gives away is that the book was written by a vicar from outside our area, and is based on observations of his Black Country flock, no doubt during the 1860s and early 1870s.
The author pulls no punches in his opening chapter. He freely admits that his first sight of his new parish filled him with dismay, describing the scene which greeted him as ‘the face of Nature, battered like the countenance of a drunkard’s wife’. There are no real clues as the precise location of his parish, and most of the descriptions fit most of the Black Country’s towns. He tells us how canals pierce his parish and honeycomb it with reservoirs; how fog, shot through with vast sheets of flame, blankets the entire area, and how the throb of pumping engines is punctuated by the crash of steam hammers. The parish’s inhabitants mostly live in long lines of brick-built cottages, all identical in size and dinginess. The author explains how he came here, quite literally, as a man on a mission:
“The clergyman on the look-out for a small population, good society, the neighbourhood of a market town, a spacious house on gravelly soil with a south aspect, and access to a little choice fishing, would not regard it with a favourable eye ... in fact, no one should dream of voluntarily coming here, except from a desire to find a harvest of souls, and to take an earnest part of an earnest work for Christ amongst a thoroughly practical and earnest people.”
After a less than promising start, it’s becoming clear that the vicar has genuine respect for his new flock; but he won’t be drawn on where they actually live:
“Now, I am not going to tell its name; but I will tell you that we are ‘all the sons of one man’ in other words, we are all the employees of one great Company, whose mission is to convert the iron and the coal of our district into money.”
There were dozens of large-scale landowner/employers in the Black Country in Victorian times, but the above description would probably sit most comfortably on the shoulders of the Earl of Dudley. Frustratingly for us, that doesn’t narrow it down a great deal, as Lord Ward’s ‘Company’ took in a vast area including several towns and villages.
Within ‘My Parish’, the author continues, half the forge men work by day and half by night. Furnaces and forges are alive with flame the whole night through, having not been extinguished for years, and the noise of the blast engines is constant. Even on a Sunday these hellfires raged, ‘though happily nothing else woks on Sunday, and neither public-house nor shop is open on God’s day from one end of the place to the other.’
There then follows a detailed description of the average family’s home, which, assuming it hasn’t been given too much of a positive spin, sounds pretty comfortable. Every cottage has its own garden plot, and many have a pig. It acts, the vicar asserts, as a great social agent, filling up the summer evenings, and teaching each family the virtues of prudence and patience.
The layout of the houses and gardens also had a particular effect on the social lives of the residents. As each garden lay in front of each of the terraced houses, the only way to the front door would be via a path through whatever grew there, but, making the most of every inch of what little space they had, most gardeners were reluctant to waste any. So every front door remained locked and access was invariably via the back door. As a consequence, everyday life went on in the rear of the house, with the front room becoming a little-used ‘best room’.
In these little museums, the vicar writes, you might come across the relics of a dead pet or two, stuffed and mounted in a home-made case. The furniture would usually include the likes of a two-pound-ten mahogany table, there would often be a cheap piano, and an easy-chair only used on Sundays:
“On the walls of this sacred chamber, among the stuffed dogs, hang various framed documents; the certificate of merit presented to the eldest boy by the Dingyshire Association for the Promotion of Scriptural Education; the last sampler done by the eldest daughter, now in service; the funeral cards of the grandfather and grandmother, and perhaps of a child or two; the card of membership in the Honourable Society of Queer Fellows. Here also may be occasionally encountered pictures in an early and highly florid style of art, and mostly of a Scriptural tendency. Finally, an elaborate fly-trap hangs from the ceiling, and a collection of impossible crockery crowds the mantelpiece. Such is the front room, not for human nature’s daily food, but exhibited only as a luxury to visitors from afar, and to those who are admitted to the intimacy of close friendship, amongst whom, I am glad to say, my parishioners count their parson.”
The exclusive use of the back door also had a bearing on relationships between neighbours. Two back doors would always open into one shared yard, yolking neighbouring families into partnerships. But just as with married couples, to use the author’s analogy, one party will usually emerge the dominant one after a period of settling in and testing of boundaries. The process begins with ‘armed neutrality’, advances to a ‘flying skirmish’ and and finally to ‘open war’, the sticking points being anything from one woman’s use of the rain water to the other’s mistreatment of her neighbour’s children. But things will usually settle down after coming to a head, with the paired-off families often becoming as close as one, and marriage between neighbouring children often the outcome.
With an air of calm now settled on our sample dwelling, the vicar takes us indoors to meet the typical family. It’s a priceless description of how our ancesters would have lived:
“We observe, as we enter one of the yards, that sanitary measures are carefully attended to. Each house has its copper for washing, and some have a tidy scullery in a little out-house. We knock at the door, and a very dirty girl admits us. ‘Is mother in?’ ‘Yes, walk forward;’ which means, ‘Come in’.
“So we walk forward, and find ourselves at once in face of the family at tea. A tremendous fire keeps the room at fever heat, a strong smell of onions enriches the atmosphere, a couple of dogs bark on a ragged hearth-rug, and on a wooden settle lies the outstretched form of a sleeping man, with hands and face all black. This is ‘the master’, whom we have come to seek.”
The master of the house is called Thomas Langley, a miner who, health permitting, gets eighteen shillings a week all year round. In summer, when his working hours are lessened along with the demand for coal, he may supplement his income by gardening for some of the better-offs. He has ducks as well as his pig, which add a little to his income and provide him with a few eggs. He has five childen; the eldest lad works with him down the pit, the eldest girl lives in with another family as a ‘universal drudge’ for eighteen pence a week, and the remainder are at school, which takes 8d a week out of Thomas’s wages. His rent, for which he gets the front and back rooms and two bedrooms (he calls them chambers) costs him just over two shillings a week. He grew up being beaten with his father’s strap, and has been working since the age of nine - his mother would often have to carry him home from work, and he would be so tired that he would go straight to sleep rather than eat.
But this would have been during the late 1840s. Since then he has learned to read a little thanks to his wife, and, to the vicar’s delight, brought himself and his family into the fold of the church. It’s when he manages to convert the likes of Thomas Langley that the vicar remembers why he came here in the first place:
“I often think,” he writes, “as I come from a chat with my collier friend, that he has a direct lesson for some of us. ‘Work in the Dark’, that is his lesson. It is easy to work in the light of a big parish, a flourishing congregation, of a select circle of Christian friends, of a happy and refined home, of a large and well-organised society. But here is a man who earns his living and his children’s in loneliness and darkness, and who spends his little leisure on one of the lower classes in a Black-country school; and who is probably appreciated by no other human being but myself. But here, all unknown to him, I commemorate him in a few unworthy words, which he will never see.”

2008 Friday Fun - Bean Motor Company

The story of the Black Country is littered with famous names. One of the famous names of it's day was that of The Bean Motor Company. I pass the old factory every day, the frontage of which still bears it's legend in the bricks.
A. Harpers Sons & Bean Ltd.
Tipton Dudley
Staffordshire
1919-1929

John Harper (Jack) Bean was managing director of A Harper, Sons and Bean, which had been established in 1826 as an iron foundry in Dudley. It became A Harper and Sons in 1901 and A Harper, Sons and Bean in 1907.

During the Great War the company became a major munitions manufacturer and specialised in shell cases. In 1918 the company decided to enter motor manufacture to make use of their capacity. And in 1919 they purchased the rights and patterns for the Perry, introduced in 1914, and began building it as a Perry Bean.

John Harper Bean, awarded the CBE for services to the war effort, had visited the USA after the war to buy machine tools for his envisaged modern car factory at the Tipton site where he aimed to produce 10,000 cars a year with his new combine. It was launched in November 1919 at the Savoy Hotel in London.

Harper Bean included the Vulcan, Swift and ABC car companies and many component suppliers. The intention was to assemble the cars at Tipton and make the bodies at the Dudley works but that factory could not cope with the quantities required so an order for 2,000 bodies were placed with the Grahame-White Aviation Company of Hendon, Middlesex. When Claude Grahame-White asked for part payment he was refused and Harper Bean took the business to Handley Page at Cricklewood.

In 1921 John Harper Bean resigned and A Harper, Sons and Bean were placed in receivership. That year was a time of recession in Britain and Austin were also in receivership, while Morris had a factory full of unsold cars. By April 1923 the receiver was discharged and money had been raised through the banks and the steel supplier, Hadfields.

Hadfields took over in 1926 and renamed the company Bean Cars. John Harper Bean left in 1927 to join Guy, while car production continued until 1929. Commercial vehicles carried on until 1931.

In 1933 Hadfields set up Beans Industries as a general engineering and foundry business. Beans Industries was sold to Standard Triumph in 1956 from where they became part of British Leyland. By 1975 they were known as Beans Engineering and a management buyout followed in 1988. In 1991 they purchased Reliant, which went into receivership in 1991 and took Beans with them.

John Harper Bean died in March 1963.

2008 - Friday Fun - Crime and punishment

Crime and punishment are not new issues. As this piece from The Black Country Bugle shows.
Unfortunately, crime has always played a part in the society we live in. Ever since our ancestors began to settled down in villages and townships and establish laws, there have been individuals intent on breaking them, either through enforced circumstances, or plain ill-will. But what may have been adjudged as a crime fit for severe punishment by one generation, was perhaps dealt with more leniently by another.

The death penalty for murder and treason was still available for courts to administer just a couple of generations ago, but now such a severe punishment has been abolished in this country, and frowned upon by the majority of other nations in the world. The measure of punishment for each crime is always a hotly contested debate, with so called soft options often endgendering exasperation in many. These days, more than at any time in history, there is a widespread feeling that in too many cases criminals 'get away with murder'.
How then would the criminals of the 21st century have been dealt with during the reign of Victoria, when life was a darned sight harder than it is today? The misty, rather romanticised view of life in the Black Country 150 years ago, is brought into stark reality when you read about misdemeanours that probably wouldn't raise an eyebrow today, but back then were dealt with severely in the local courts; for instance, a month's imprisonment for throwing stones. On the 28th November, 1857, the Brierley Hill Advertiser had its usual gamut of court appearances to report. Weigh up the evidence put forward for each case in the following article, and see if you agree with the punishment dished out on these petty criminals of the 19th century:
"James Beddard and Joseph Shore, two rather rough-looking men, were indicted for damaging a quantity of clover on land owned by Mr John Slater at Kingswinford.
John Handbury, the parish constable, was in court to prove the case. In evidence he stated that he had been appointed to watch a field belonging to Mr Slater which contained some clover. On Tuesday 17th November, whilst there, he observed Beddard and Shore walking through the field with a partridge net which was opened. He did not observe them catch anything with it, but they had nevertheless damaged some of the clover. They had no business in the field, as there was no public road through it. On being further questioned, the constable stated that the damage done to the clover wasn't much more than about 2d.
Both defendants, in an impudent manner, asked the constable several questions, and, to a certain extent, denied his statement. Members at the Bench said they could not tell what the defendants wanted with the net, but it looked rather suspicious. There was, however, no doubt that they had damaged the clover, and had also been in a place where they had no business. They were summarily ordered to pay for the damage to the clover, with costs, or spend 21 days in prison with hard labour if the fine wasn't forthcoming."
Drunkenness was probably an everyday occurrence in the Black Country of the 19th century, when hard graft was forgotten for a few brief hours, anaesthetised by a few jugs of ale. But woe betide the inebriated fellow who was unable to just drink and be merry:
"A slovenly looking young man named Thomas Yardley, and Benjamin Bournes, who appeared under warrant, were fined 5s each for being drunk and disorderly in Rowley Regis, or in default of payment, spend six hours in the stocks. The same applied to Thomas Welch, a wretched looking man without either coat or waistcoat, who was arrested for being drunk and disorderly in Brierley Hill."
Canals during the mid 19th century were still a vital component of the country's transportation system, although the introduction of the railways a few years previously would soon have the inland waterways system on the wane. Roads were virtually useless in transporting the vast quantities of raw materials and finished products from A to B, so any violations of the Canal Act were acted upon immediately with stiff punishments for those miscreants responsible:
"William Bycott, a youth, was charged by Mr James Caddick, with throwing stones into the canal contrary to the Canal Act, which subjects parties committing that offence to a penalty of £10. The boy said in his defence that some people on the opposite side of the canal had been throwing horse manure at him, and, for the purpose of protecting himself, he threw a stone at them which accidentally fell into the canal, having failed to reach the other side. The bench had some sympathy for the youth but still fined him 5s with costs, or on default, a month in prison.
"James Bradley, a boatman, was indicted for an offence of this nature. From the evidence for the prosecution, it appeared that on the morning of Friday 9th November, at Kinver, he brought his boat into one of the canal locks. After the usual arrangements he took his boat out but neglected to close the top gate, thereby causing a considerable waste of water and thus violating the Canal Act. One of the canal company's agents stated that it was a very serious case, and a positive breach of the Act relating to these matters. The defendant, James Bradley, was fined 20s., the lowest fine possible, with costs. Another boatman, James Lock, was indicted for allowing a boat of his to travel on the canal from Kidderminster to Kinver without a rudder, circumstances of which rendered several parts of the canal liable to be damaged. He too was fined 20s. with costs."
Damaging other people's property has always been a criminal act, but not quite so heinous a crime as was apparent 150 years ago:
"A female named Ann Farrell, was indicted for damaging a fence belonging to a Mr Harper, in Kinver on Tuesday 10th November. From the evidence for the plaintiff, it appeared she had broken the fence whilst going to a place for water-cress. She had frequently been found on the land and had been cautioned several times before. The damage she had caused amounted to about 1d, for which she was fined with costs, or told to serve 14 days' imprisonment with hard labour."
"A kind neighbour, Ann Goodwin, wife of William Goodwin of Brierley Hill, was present on a charge of wilfully damaging a quantity of children's clothes belonging to Jonathan Williams of the same place on Wednesday November 10th.
"Harriet Williams, the wife of the plaintiff, stated that on the day in question she had a quantity of clothes out on a line close to her house. Whilst the clothes were in this position, Mrs Goodwin, who was a neighbour, went down with some "wash" for her pigs. She had to pass the clothes to get to the sties. On coming back, and when near the clothes, she put her hand into her pocket, immediately drew it out again, then appeared to throw something at the clothes. She could not then perceive what had either been thrown, or done at the clothes, but upon going to the place a short while afterwards, she found out, to her astonishment, that several of the articles were in holes - that the defendant must have sent vitriol at them. The damage amounted to about 10s.
"Mary Ann Wood, for the plaintiff, said that after the clothes had been damaged, she went to look at them. On her way back from the place, Ann Goodwin called after her and commenced talking about the clothes. She had in her hands at the time an apron, which was all eaten in holes similar to the clothes. The witness told her of this, at which she turned white, denied having committed the offence and went away. In her defence, Mrs Goodwin, in a lingo which proved her connection with "the green isle," said she knew nothing of the matter and was as innocent as anyone in court. The reason why her apron was in holes was because it had caught fire on the day in question whilst she was boiling some parsnips for the pigs, before a great fire.
"If they (the Bench) knew as much about the matter as she did, they would give her (plaintiff's wife) three months instead of taking her part. After a few further remarks by the Bench, Mrs Goodwin was ordered to pay damages of 10s. plus costs, or face imprisonment for 21 days with hard labour."
The worst crimes have always been those involving violence to a fellow human being, and thus was the case in the Black Country during these times. Wife beating was as abhorrent then as it is now, and while many got away with it and some do to this day, the court showed no mercy when sentencing labourer George Haywood:
"The defendant, Haywood, from Spring's Mire, was charged with unlawfully and maliciously wounded his wife Elizabeth Haywood, who it seemed he was living apart from. On the day of the offence, a quarrel took place between the parties, and the husband, taking up a broom stale, struck her a blow on her right arm and broke it. She was attended by Mr A. G. Mainwaring, surgeon, who described her injuries as being of a serious nature. Haywood said his wife took up the broom stale in the first instance and was about to strike him when he took it from her. The Magistrates commented on the defendant's unmanly conduct, and had no hesitation in committing him to three months hard labour. Haywood remonstrated with the Bench for leniency and to pay a fine instead of going to prison, but the Magistrates determined a fine would not meet the case and sent him down."





Story First Published: 02/12/2004

2008 - Friday Fun - Friday Thirteenth - superstitions

I thought this piece on superstitions from The Black Country Bugle might be interesting today

OLDEN DAYS SUPERSTITIONS CUSTOMS & BELIEFS...
Recently browsing through some old copies of ‘The Gentleman’s Magazine’ we came across the following references to Worcestershire Superstitions - some of which still ring distant bells for most of us - even in this ultra-modern age. For instance, if you spill salt do you still throw a little of it over your shoulder to neutralise the bad luck supposedly incurred?

Cutting your nails, or having them cut, on Sunday is still taboo in many Midland households and probably much further afield. In fact the Gentleman’s Magazine contributor who provided the following list of ‘occurrences considered unlucky’ stated that though he had gathered them in Worcestershire, from Dudley to the City of Worcester, itself, many were also just as widely believed in Shropshire. The list reads as follows...
(1)...To meet a cross-eyed woman who is a stranger - unless you speak to her, which breaks the spell.
(2)...To embark on a journey on Friday.
(3)...To spill salt or help another person to it, at the table.
(4)...To have crickets in the house.
(5)...To be one of a party of thirteen at Christmas.
(6)...To have a female come into your house, the first thing on New Year’s morning. So generally does this absurdity prevail that in many towns and villages young lads make a ‘good thing of it’ by selling their services to go round and enter the houses first that morning.
(7)...To have a cut onion lying about in the house - which breeds distempers.
(8)...To cross knives accidentally at mealtimes.
(9)...To walk or stand under a ladder.
(10)...For the first young lamb or colt you see in season to have its tail pointing toward you.
(11)...To kill a lady-cow (sometimes called ‘God Almighty’s cow).
(12)...To see the first of the New Moon through a window, or glass of any sort is unlucky. But if you see it in the open air, turn the money in your pocket, and express a wish for luck during the ensuing month - which is supposed to ensure same...
(13)...To have apples and blossoms on a tree at the same time is a sign of an imminent death in the family.
(14)...To have a long succession of black cards (spades or clubs) dealt to a person whilst in play, is prophetic of death to himself or some member of the family.
(15)...When a corpse is limp it is a sign of another close death in the family.
(16)...As to cutting your nails on Sunday, the following couplet is very expressive...
Better a child was
never born,
than have his nails
on Sunday shorn...
(17)...The itching of the nose is a sign of bad news. If the ear itches, you may expect news from the living. If the face burns, someone is talking about you - and when you shudder, someone is walking over the spot where your grave will be.
(18)...To accidentally leave a teapot lid open is a sign that a stranger is coming and when a cock crows in your doorway or a bit of black stuff hangs on the bars of the grate, it is a sign of a similar event...
(19)...If a bit of coal pops from the fire and in shape resembles a purse or a coffin, it pertains good luck or death.
(20)...Tea-drinking is said to foreshadow a large number of coming events, like the receipt of presents, the coming of strangers, or obtaining sweethearts and the like, merely from the shape of the grounds (tea-leaves)...
(21)...A bright speck in the candle, is a sure indication that a letter is coming to the individual to whom it points.
(22)... ‘A great year for nuts - a great year for children’ is a common saying.
(23)...To present a friend with a knife is supposed to be the instrument of cutting off a friendship...
(24)...A donkey braying is an infallible sign of rain.
(25)...To cut your hair during the increase of the moon is said to promote favourable growth.
(26)...The horse-shoe is still seen over the door in many places and fastened to bedsteads it is supposed to keep witches away.
(27)...A pillow filled with hops and laid under a patient’s bed, is an undoubted cure for rheumatism.

****

Having given his list, the writer continued in more expansive style - as follows...
In rural districts, great faith is put in rings made from shillings and sixpences given at the Sacrement and many clergymen have told us of repeated applications having been made to them for Sacrement shillings, for the purpose of keeping away evil spirits, or as a remedy for fits. Mr Watson in his ‘History of Hartlebury’ says that he believes nearly every person in that district, who was subject to fits, wore such a ring - and there is another parish in the county, where, I am told, even the Protestant poor go to the Romanist priest to have the relics of saints applied to their limbs for the cure of diseases...
A superstition exists in some parts of the county that if pieces of the Alder tree are carried in the pockets, they are a safeguard against rheumatism. In the Wyre Forest, near Bewdley, is a botanical curiosity, namely, the celebrated Pyrus Domestics, said to be the only tree of its kind growing wild in England. It is of the same kind as Rowan or Mountain Ash, which was, and even now, is vulgarly worn as a remedy against witchcraft. It is much thought of by common people and there are various traditions concerning it. The name given to the tree is ‘The Withy Pear’ - the Mountain Ash also being called ‘The Withy Tree’ - and the leaves of this tree are very similar. One of our Naturalist Field Clubs visited it in August 1853. Vegetation was then entirely confined to its top boughs which, however, still held a few pears on them...
Charms are still believed in to a great extent among the poor. Again, in the neighbourhood of Hartlebury, they break the legs of a toad, sew it up in a bag, alive, and tie it round the neck of a patient.
The peasantry around Tenbury and Shrawley, have also great faith in charms and ‘The Toad Remedy’ is there applied as in the former place - the life or death of the patient supposed to be shadowed forth by the survival or death of the toad. At Mathon, old women are entrusted with the curing of burns by charming which they do by repeating the lines of a doggerel rhyme, beginning...

There were two Angels
came from the North
with burning wings
they sallied forth
One was named Jess’ca
the other was Wray.
As their wing-es shrivel
shall thy burns go away.

In the neighbourhood of Stoke Prior, a charm was, some time ago, used by a labouring man for the removal of the thrush (or ‘throcks’ - as it is locally termed). He put his finger into his mouth and then into the mouth of a child, rubbing the gums while he mumbled out something, terminating with... ‘Father, Son and Holy Ghost ‘tiz clear who needs the throcks the most’... Then, putting down the child he would, without speaking another word, leave the house without eating or drinking, confident that he would be cured on the morrow. At least, one third of the population believe entirely in these things and allow their lives to be ruled by them, terrified are they if they hear a howling dog or the flame of a candle in its movements form the shape of a winding sheet - for they surely, as they believe, signal the approach of The Grim Reaper.
The colliers at Dudley, in the event of a fatal accident to one of their number, all of those in the same pit immediately cease work until the corpse is buried. A certain sum must also be spent on drink and this is called ‘Dead Money’. Nor will folk there allow any washing to be done on Good Friday and also firmly believe that hot-cross buns or any other bread made on that same blessed day, will never go mouldy and if kept for twelve months and then grated into some liquor, it will prove a great soother of the belly-ache...
Many superstitions also attach to the keeping of bees. It is firmly believed that when who keeps them dies, and his corpse is being carried from the house, the bee-hives must be turned at that precise moment or they will follow their dead keeper to the grave and never return to the hives. In one instance, I was told, that on one such sad occasion, one of the bearers, as he helped carry the coffin from the house, shouted to a farm servant... ‘Turn the Bees’. The fellow, being much lacking in intelligence, through close breeding, not knowing the custom and being greatly feared when the command ‘Turn the Damn Bees’ was angrily repeated, lifted the hives up and laid them down on their sides. The bees, thus disturbed, swiftly swarmed and fastened onto the attendants and mourners and for a time the corpse was left to his own devices. Hats, wigs and shawls were lost in the confusion and the dolt who had caused the scene of chaos, made haste to clamber over a five-barred gate and make his escape...

2008 - Friday Fun - The Plough Inn Trysull

Here's another spooky tale courtesy of The Black country Bugle
Tucked away down School Road in the lovely village of Trysull, nestling in the verdant marges of the Black Country, stands the historic inn The Plough. The Plough has been a licensed house since 1833, although its origins go back much further than this would suggest. It was built in the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century as a farmhouse, and now this ancient box-framed building is Grade II listed. Some idea of the age of the building can be gauged by a section of original wattle and daub walling, complete with cow-dung and horsehair daub and lime plaster, which has been thoughtfully left exposed and framed behind glass so that visitors can marvel at the age-old building methods used in its construction.

Stourbridge lad Alan Foxall, ably aided by his girlfriend Lou, only took over tenancy of the pub in November 2004. Both immediately liked the atmosphere and period features of the place, although Lou admits that as soon as she went upstairs a strange feeling overwhelmed her. This was not helped when the previous landlord began showing them around the upstairs living quarters. Upon taking them into a lounge, the landlord motioned towards a tiny latched door in the corner. "The landlord said that it was The Devil's Room," said Alan, "but we thought that he was only joking!"
The tenant, however, was not joking, and showed them into the tiny room beyond the latched door. Upon the opposite wall, and covered by a protective glass case, Alan and Lou were astounded to see an ancient wall painting.
Such wall paintings were once a common sight through the country: before the Reformation, most churches would have been richly painted with scenes from the Bible, to instruct a largely illiterate flock. However, many people also employed the painters to work on their own homes. Working in natural earth pigments, these travelling artisan painters decorated the plaster walls of their clients in imitation of the luxurious tapestry hangings of the very rich. However, as the years progressed most of such paintings became covered by layers of paint and plaster, and surviving examples are now very rare. One of the finest examples of medieval wall paintings can be found in the church in Claverley, and Tudor wall paintings can also be seen at Harvington Hall, in Worcestershire, and in the Whittington Inn in Kinver.
What makes the painted frieze in The Plough so unusual is its subject matter. The composition includes two finely executed birds, resembling partridges, clustered near a yew tree, while another below, more indistinct, appears to be a pheasant or a peacock with its tail sweeping downwards. There is also a finely drawn horse, led by a figure, and a figure below which resembles nothing so much as a modern day huntsman.
However, this is no Tudor representation of the chase, but something more sinister. On the left is the prominent figure of a devil, complete with wings, a swishing tail, horns and a trident. Behind him he leads a figure on a rope, either that of an animal or a child on all fours, while another tiny figure dances impishly behind. The origin of the name of the Devil's Room was obvious.
The room's sinister occupant notwithstanding, Alan and Lou decided to take over the pub, and were soon hard at work on a complete refurbishment. However, it seemed that opening the door to the Devil's Room had unleashed some dark force, revealing secrets of lost children, ghoulish monks, concealed tunnels and even, it is rumoured, black magic...
Lou continued to feel that there was something not right about the atmosphere of the pub, but Alan laughed off her concerns. Lou was determined to ask a psychic friend to visit, "to see if it was just me," so in early December the clairvoyant arrived. However, even Lou was shocked by what her friend revealed.
The clairvoyant said that The Plough had once been used to practise black magic, the rituals involving young children, and that there was indeed a connection to the Devil dragging the child portrayed on the old wall painting. She felt drawn to the cellar, and told Lou that the lost souls of several children, who died in some diabolical ritual, were trapped there. Lou and Alan were particularly intrigued at this, as the previous landlord had told them that there were tunnels from the pub leading to the hill opposite, known locally as Witches Hill. A vaulted doorway down the cellar also appears to have been bricked up at some point. In fact, local legend has it that there are several tunnels beneath the village, and Alan has noticed that when horses trot down the lane outside the pub that their hooves ring hollow in certain places.
The painters and decorators, who were still busily working to get the pub into shape, had been sceptical throughout, but now received the shock of their lives. Lou had been previously struggling with an old vacuum cleaner, but had been unable to get it to work. Long-serving staff member Lucy Simpson told her that it would never work, as several parts were missing. As the psychic passed the redundant vacuum cleaner, it suddenly sprang into life, bouncing several times along the floor. Even the painters were gobsmacked!
Ceremonies, involving the lighting of candles and the saying of prayers, were performed in each room, then the clairvoyant said that she felt the need to visit the church, just a stone's throw away. Both Lou and her friend felt drawn to a particular gravestone in the churchyard, which bears no inscription but instead a curious carving. The carving appears to be that of the Green Man, a pagan deity of woods and trees; a strange image for a Christian burial ground. The clairvoyant told Lou that this was the other entrance to the tunnel leading into the cellar of The Plough, and that this is where the poor children would be marched down prior to the evil ceremonies.
Back in the pub, the paranormal events seemed to intensify rather than abate. A month ago, Lou saw the apparition of a cowled monk, wearing a brown habit with a cord tied about his middle. Rather than a transparent spectre, Lou swears that the monk appeared as if flesh and blood.
It is unusual that the spirit of a monk should appear in a building that was erected after the dissolution of the monasteries, but a visitor has informed Alan and Lou that the site may have had some previous connection with a religious order. Moreover, there may be a link with the so-called Monk's Path in the vicinity, which is also rumoured to be riddled with tunnels.
Even the normally-sceptical Alan - a man who can handle himself - has experienced strange phenomena. One night, he was so convinced that a rapidly moving figure that he had glanced, running past the inglenook fireplace, was an intruder that he chased it with an old hatchet! More disturbingly, he was recently frightened when he was pulled back into the kitchen by what he can only describe as the ghost of a tall lady; so violently, in fact, that a livid red mark was left on his arm. Eerie fleeting shadows have also been seen in the kitchen.
Another sceptic was staff member Lucy Simpson, but even she began to be troubled by the strange events beginning to occur in the kitchen. The oven, fryer and glass washer would turn themselves off and on, much to her annoyance, and she also saw plumes of smoke coming from an invisible smoker near the bar. The pragmatic Lucy now admits, "I always used to sit on the fence when it came to ghosts, but since Alan and Lou have been here I have been sliding off the fence very quickly!"
For now, the Devil's Room is consigned to storage space only, and Alan and Lou hope that whatever sinister connections there may be to their peculiar wall painting, that they stay firmly behind the closed door...





Story First Published: 03/02/2005

2008 - Friday Fun - Hello me luvver's - Dolly Allen

This is a tribute to a much loved and missed Black Country Comedienne, a true star of her time and famous throughout the Black Country.


Dolly Allen was born Doris Evelyn Baugh, at Wordsley Workhouse, on 9th April, 1906, and was orphaned just 10 days later. She was adopted by William and Elizabeth Parker, who renamed her Dorothy, and she grew up at 78 Stourbridge Road, Halesowen. Her first taste of the stage came during the First World War when she sang "England's in Need of Soldiers and Sailors" in a talent competition at the Drill Hall cinema in Halesowen. Dolly's first job was, aged 13, at James Grove's button factory, and after a year she went to work at Hackett Brothers' nut and bolt works in Victoria Street.

It was here that Dolly began to hone her natural wit and humour among her work colleagues and there she met her husband Leonard Allen. They were married in 1926 at Stourbridge Register Office.

During the Second World War Dolly started to do "turns" at works parties and in 1946 she appeared at Lye Church Hall as one of Harry Hatton's "Local Discoveries". From that she began to appear at clubs and chapel groups in the Halesowen area, performing her humorous monologues. Dolly first appeared on radio in 1956, on the Manchester-based show "When You're In" with Bill Maynard. Through the 1960s and early '70s she continued to appear at clubs and shows in the Black Country, and in 1968 she won the Black Country Dialect competition at the Dudley Festival of Music and Drama. By that time she had left Hackett's and was working as a cleaner.

Television

It was at the age of 69, in 1975, that Ray Hingley invited Dolly to join the team of the Black Country Night Out. She was an instant hit and from that came records and appearances on television and radio. The Black Country Night Out went on tour to Spain and Canada, entertaining the ex-pat Black Country communities. In the 1980s Dolly appeared as an extra in 'Crossroads' and featured in schools' programmes on English dialects. By now Dolly was firmly established as the queen of Black Country comedy, with her trademark straw hat with its turkey feather and her catchphrase of "Hello, my luvvers!", and she made many appearances in charity fund raising shows across the region. She carried on performing right up to the end of her days and she died, after a short illness, at Sandwell Hospital on 25th June, 1990. Her funeral took place at Dixon's Green Methodist Church, Dudley, followed by a brief service at Gornal Wood Crematorium, where there is a commemorative plaque to her memory.

Here's one of Dolly's jokes.
Dolly - Ah wish I knew where I wuz a gonna die
Stooge - Why's that then, it wo dew yer no gud.
Dolly - It would, I shouldn't goo a nigh it

2008 - Friday Fun - A history of Buttons

Not a subject that you would think would be very interesting but this is the story of a local firm. (courtesy of The Black Country Bugle)
James Grove and Sons Ltd. was founded in 1857 by James Grove, a qualified die-sinker who, after working in the button industry for a few years, decided that he and his wife Ann Elizabeth should set up their own button manufacturing business at the centre of Halesowen. Dress fashions at the time meant there was a great demand for this important clothing accessory, with buttons needed for almost every garment worn by men, women and children. James Grove faced stiff competition from over a hundred other button manufacturers throughout the Midlands, but he stuck to his convictions, and with his ability as a gifted craftsman he was able to produce buttons of the highest quality, made from horn and hoof, many of them compression moulded, with crests of either fancy or military insignia.
From small beginnings the firm began to increase in size and a potentially huge contract to supply both sides in the American Civil War - Union and Confederates - with military buttons for tunics, etc., was realised during the period 1861-5. A move from the Birmingham Street site in the centre of Halesowen, where room for expansion was impossible, was essential, and in 1866 a site called Bloomfield was chosen on the Stourbridge Road, just outside the town, where the company has been making buttons ever since.

The last 150 years or so have not always been plain sailing, for instance the buttons supplied to for the American Civil War were never paid for, and there have been times when the company has been pushed close to the wire for one reason or another. But the fact James Grove and Sons is still a viable and important player in the Black Country's family of manufacturing industries, is testament to an immensely strong loyalty that has existed between both employers and employees over the last century and a half.

2008 - Friday Fun - The Haunting of St James Church

Courtesy of The Black Country Bugle from Feb 10th 2005


It was late on a Saturday evening in 1881 when the Rev. James Yates Rooker, vicar of St James's in Lower Gornal, left the back door of his vicarage. He had heard voices in the back yard, and was understandably concerned. He had been tending his Gornal flock since 1848, and he was well-loved by the villagers; there was scarcely a social improvement made in the village without his instigation, and during the bloody and frequent wage disputes which often hit the local nail and coal industries, he could always be looked upon for support.

However, the Rev. Rooker knew more than anyone how easily some of his flock could be tempted from the path of righteousness. Only two years before, he had been crossing The Green, near the church, when he encountered Charles Hartland, a former member of the church choir. Hartland had been in trouble with the police, and Rev. Rooker, as a local magistrate, had done everything in his power to help the man, yet Hartland had sworn revenge. On that fateful day he intended nothing less than murder, and had shot the cleric in the head. It was only by a miracle that the vicar's life was saved, and it took him a full twelve months to recover from his terrible injuries. However, Rooker had not borne any bitterness towards his would-be assassin and one time friend, and his faith in his Gornal parishioners had been justified when they clubbed together to donate the huge sum of two hundred pounds to send him to Royal Leamington Spa to recuperate.
Although he was now fully recovered, despite the fact that the bullet was to remain lodged in his head for the rest of his life, the shooting incident was still a hot topic of conversation throughout the parish. Several villagers claimed to have seen the shade of Hartland lurking about St. James' graveyard after dark, even though Hartland himself was firmly locked up in prison. Others claimed to have seen a ghostly figure walking the field between the vicarage and the churchyard, performing strange antics, and subsequently more Gornal folk came forward, telling of hearing ghostly voices at night emanating from the God's Acre.
The rumours that the graveyard was haunted spread through the village like wildfire, and such was their effect that people became frightened of walking past the churchyard for fear of being attacked by this nameless horror themselves, and soon even loyal female members of the choir refused to go to the church after nightfall unless protected by male escorts.
The police kept an eerie vigil in the churchyard over several nights, but came no closer to the truth of the matter. A group of stout-hearted village lads banded together and swore to protect the vicar and his family, and also kept watch on the good reverend's house. However, on the very first night this almost ended in violence, when one of the party arrived to take his own turn at sentry duty. Not being recognised, the hue and cry that he was the would-be assailant was raised, and it was only by running into the backyard of a house that he escaped!
The Rev. Rooker was a rational man, his faith unshakeable, yet these rumours still unsettled him; so on this night, and hearing the voices outside, he wasted no time in flinging open the back door by way of a bold challenge.
To his alarm, the poor reverend was immediately seized and blows were rained upon him. As he pummelled his fists into the unfortunate cleric, the attacker shouted, "Yer've come to kill the vicar, 'ave yer? Ah've sworn to kill yer, yer villain, an' Ah'll do it quick!"
The Rev. Rooker's own personal vigilante committee, along with the police, had already been alerted by the same voices in the yard that had disturbed the vicar, and now came rushing to the scene. Holding up their lanterns, there was a sigh of relief when they found that the assailant was no ghost nor, indeed, the doppelganger of the avenging Charles Hartland. He was in fact a neighbour who, having enjoyed more than a drop of the local strong brew, had heard voices and come rushing to the vicar's aid, then mistaking him for an attacker!
Despite the farcical events of the vigilante patrols, the parishioners were still living in mortal fear of attending church, and the now-recovered Rev. Rooker was at his wit's end. In desperation, he consulted one of the villagers, who had the reputation of being a "wise woman". The woman advised Rev. Rooker to cut a four inch square piece of turf from the grave of a young man whom, she said, could not rest in his grave due to a guilty conscience and was caught in limbo, wandering the scene of his burial and moaning his woes in a ghastly voice. The square of turf, in accordance with the custom, was placed under the communion table in St. James's, where it lay for four days. Following this, promised the wise woman, the man's soul, as well as those of any other spirits caught in earthly limbo, would be laid to rest in peace.
This form of exorcism appears to have echoes of an eleventh century Anglo-Saxon ritual known as the "land ceremonies charm". This ritual combined Christian and pagan elements, and aimed to ensure the fertility of farmland. The ceremony involved cutting four pieces of turf from a field, which were then anointed with oils and runes and then taken into church. A Mass was said over the turves, which were then taken back to the field and replaced.
Whatever its origins, the charm appeared to have worked, on the superstitious parishioners at least, as reports of supernatural activity seemed to abate. However, it was only after they had ceased for sometime that the dark churchyard ceased to inspire terror among Gornal folk at night time, and moreover, now and again the churchyard is reported as the scene of more ghostly activity, even after long spells of quietude.

(apologies for lack of a pic but Blogger doesn't want to play today)

2008 - Friday Fun - Vanishing Violet

This story is reproduced from The Black Country Bugle - a local paper which carries many fascinating stories. The tale of Vanishing Violet appeared in March 2004
The Strange Case of Vanishing Violet
We all love a good mystery, whether it’s a gripping detective yarn, or a real event. So when people suddenly go missing, speculation inevitably runs riot. Remember the respective disappearing acts of Lord Lucan, and Midland M.P. John Stonehouse? The media ran wild with weird and wonderful theories.

Back in Edwardian times, such cases attracted the same media interest. So when a former Wolverhampton resident disappeared, in odd circumstances, tongues were set wagging. In January 1909, an incident known as the “Welsh Cliff Mystery”, involving the disappearance of former Wolverhampton socialite, Violet Charlesworth, seized the public’s attention. The whole country wanted to know what had happened to Violet. The real-life Edwardian mystery was enough to baffle even Agatha Christie’s great fictional detective, Hercules Poirot!
At its heart, was pretty, young Violet Charlesworth, reported to have been involved in a tragic car accident in Wales. In the early hours of a moonlit January morning, Violet was said to have been hurled to her death, over the cliffs near Penmaenmawr. But, despite a thorough search of the area, there was no trace of Violet’s body. And the explanations given by the “survivors” of the accident just didn’t add up.
The papers went into feeding frenzy, as the plot thickened. Violet was supposed to have been travelling with her sister and her chauffeur, both of whom suffered only minor injuries in the alleged accident. Suspicions were further aroused since the car had only suffered “trivial damage”. So what had really happened, and where was Violet?
The stories given out by the sister and chauffeur were extremely shaky, fuelling widespread rumours that Violet had faked her own death. Soon, there were countless reported sightings of her across the country as gossip about the vanishing lady reached fever pitch.
Violet was said to have been seen boarding a ship at Holyhead, obviously fleeing abroad. Other reports told of sightings in Ireland and Sussex. Then, a man called Roberts came forward with an alleged eye-witness account. Roberts claimed he’d been in the vicinity of the alleged tragedy when he heard the sound of an approaching car engine. He described seeing the car on the brink of the cliffs. The next minute he heard the sound of breaking glass. He also claimed that Violet’s sister told him there had been an accident, and that a lady had gone over the cliff. Roberts said he searched the area, but no body was found on the rocks below, or in the water.
Violet was something of a shadowy character, so it’s little wonder her disappearance caused such speculation. Originally from Stafford, she was well known in Wolverhampton social circles. Wulfrunians described her as always being smartly dressed, with a pretty figure. But few really knew much more about her. For a while, she lived in Whitmore Reans, Wolverhampton. Apparently, in some style! She was known as “lady of wealth” and had a reputation for speculating, on a large scale, on the Stock Exchange.
Whatever her circumstances, Violet was a familiar figure in the Tettenhall Road and Whitmore Reans areas of Wolverhampton. She was frequently seen out walking with her inseparable companion, a massive St Bernard dog. By all accounts she was friendly, often stopping for a chat with local tramworkers. Sporting the latest fashions, the attractive young woman cut quite a dash, with a faint air of romance and mystery about her. Which, on its own, was enough to get her noticed. And, to the delight of local gossips, it was generally thought she’d inherited a great fortune.
But, as time passed, and Violet was nowhere to be found, uglier rumours surfaced. A Derby woman claimed Violet had borrowed £500 from her, on the strength of a will she was expecting to come into. So was Violet a clever con artist, on the run from her victims, and other creditors?
It seemed Violet may have owed vast sums of money. She certainly had lavish tastes, and maintaining her expensive lifestyle, and cars didn’t come cheap. After her disappearance, a London stockbroker claimed she owed him more than £10,000, which she’d lost on dodgy business deals. Not surprisingly there were many rumours she was on the run, and heading for a new life in Australia!
Vanishing Violet was shrouded in mystery, and public speculation ran wild. There were rumours of a secret and shameful romance. And, in those distinctly “unliberated” times, when women weren’t even allowed to vote, as a wealthy, young, single female on the loose, she was seen as a threat. Was she a calculating con artist, a goldigger on the make? Or did she simply run up too many debts with her taste for the good life? Did she really plunge to her death in Wales? Or did she fake a fatal accident, to start a new life elsewhere? We’ll probably never know.
The only certainty is that Violet’s creditors were asking the same questions. Just weeks after her disappearance, a 25th birthday party for the missing Violet was held at her last known address. Creditors and other interested parties filled the house in St Asaph, in Wales, but they waited in vain. Violet never showed up.
Disgruntled creditors seized her household possessions. But with Violet’s debts amounting to £13,000, money from the sale of her furniture barely covered the rent she owed.
According to one of her friends, Violet had an artistic streak. Apparently, she was a songwriter, with enough confidence in her work to send a song, entitled “Come Back to Scotland”, to the King. Another copy was sent to famous Scottish comedian, Sir Harry Lauder. But this tiny glimpse into her character is just one piece in a puzzling jigsaw of a life. And the vanishing lady remains an enigma.

2008 Friday fun 5

Aynuk and Ayli are standing in Aynuks back garden, Aynuks next door neighbour is running up and down his back garden pretending he's riding a motorbike.
Ayli says, "whats up wi im?"
Aynuk says, "tek no notice he's saft in the yed he thinks he's in the Isle o mon in the TT rerces."
Ayli says, "but he ay got a bike yo orter tell him,"
"Bugger off." says Aynuk, "he pays me a fiver a wik to clean it."

Courtesy of Dave Clark, Shropshire




Aynuk and Ayli had had an argument and hadn't spoken to each other for over a month. One day Aynuk see's Ayli walking towards him on the opposite side of the road and being the more Forgiving calls to him, "is that yo Ayli?"
A voice comes back, "no it ay,"
Aynuk say's "well bugger yer then. This ay me neither."

Courtesy of Dave Clark, Shropshire




Ayli sees Aynuk in a railway cutting sprinting along in front of a train.
Ayli : Hey Aynuk. Why don't yer run up the bonk?
Aynuk : If I cor bayt it on the straight I cor bayt it up the bonk!

courtesy of Hugh Knight

2008 Friday fun 3

Todays post concerns an extraordinary woman and one I have a personal connection to. Her name was Sister Dora. I have always been very proud to say I am a Sister Dora nurse. I trained at the Sister Dora school of nursing and still have my silver graduation pins and my little blue book containing her story that we were all given at our presentation.
I have also 'met' her ghost - but I'll save that story for another time. Here is a potted history of Walsall's own Florence Nightingale courtesy of Walsall History Museum.
Dorothy Wyndlow Pattison (1832-1878) was born at Hauxwell, Yorkshire, youngest daughter of the village rector. Dorothy wanted to join Florence Nightingale in the Crimea, but her strict father refused permission. In 1861, when nearly 30, Dorothy escaped her unhappy home life and began teaching at Little Woolston (near Newport Pagnell), where she took to visiting and nursing the poor and sick of the parish.

In September 1864, she entered the Christ Church Sisterhood, an Anglican convent at Coatham, near Middlesborough, adopting the name Sister Dora. She trained as a nurse at the Order's cottage hospital at North Ormesby.

Having no hospital, Walsall sent its many accident cases nine miles by cart to Birmingham Hospital. In 1859, the town sent the Birmingham Hospital a modest donation, which prompted the Hospital Secretary to reply, "The Hospital authorities would thank the people of Walsall to send more money and fewer patients". The insult was furiously resented. A hospital committee was formed and a small four-bed cottage hospital opened at 4 Bridge Street in 1863, in the charge of Sister Mary Jacques of the Coatham convent. The hospital was primarily an accident centre, and medical wards were not introduced until 1894.

Industrial accidents abounded in the area, which included clay pits, 13 blast furnaces, 39 collieries and 250 saddlery workshops. The hospital grew and by the end of 1864 had 14 beds. In January 1865, Sister Mary fell ill and Sister Dora replaced her on 8 January 1865. She returned north after two months, but was back permanently by November. In her first year, Sister Dora assisted in 1,156 minor operations and helped nurse 147 in-patients. The hospital was badly overcrowded and understaffed, yet the death rate among victims of serious accidents in Walsall Hospital was under 5%, compared with 6% at the big London teaching hospitals.

In 1867, the Hospital Committee converted a large house called 'The Mount', flanking Wednesbury Road, into a hospital, costing £2,000. Typical of Sister Dora's concern for local folk was her work at the Pelsall Colliery disaster in November 1872. Floodwater trapped 22 men for 5 days and eventually they died of exposure and starvation. During the week their women waited at the pit-head, Sister Dora lived among them, organising food, hot drinks, blankets and shelter for them and their children. Sister Dora did for the industrial workers of Walsall what Florence Nightingale had done for the military casualties of the Crimea. Their gratitude was expressed in June 1873, when a group of railway workers, all ex-patients, presented Sister Dora with a pony and carriage, for which the men had saved £50 from their small wages.

Smallpox, a great scourge of industrial areas, reached Walsall in February 1875. An epidemic hospital had been opened by the local Board of Guardians by 1872, but Walsall people were reluctant to go there because of its associations with the Workhouse and poor record for patient care and recovery. Sister Dora took charge so there would be more faith in the hospital. The local Medical Officer of Health later reported that only the work of the epidemic hospital under Sister Dora had kept the epidemic in check. The chaplain of the Sisterhood in Coatham objected to Sister Dora going to the epidemic hospital without informing him and so she resigned from the Order in the summer of 1875, to devote herself to the people of Walsall.

On 15 October 1875 an overloaded blast furnace exploded at the Green Lane furnaces of Jones and Son, ironfounders, and 16 men were terribly burned. As there were no spare beds, Sister Dora sent an entire ward home, scrubbed and disinfected it and prepared for casualties. Local doctors worked until four the following morning treating survivors. Three were killed outright and five were transferred to other wards. Sister Dora nursed the remaining eight hopeless cases for almost two weeks, until the last died. Due to infections from the burns victims, the old hospital had to be closed early in 1876.

Temporary premises were set up in Bridgeman Place while a new hospital was built, incorporating a specially decorated sitting room for Sister Dora. She was destined never to use it. In 1877, she discovered she had cancer and, although the new hospital opened in November 1878, she was then too ill to leave her bed to see it. After visiting Paris in July 1878, Sister Dora had gone to Birmingham, where she had collapsed. The following day she insisted: "Let me go back to Walsall, that I may die among my own people". The Hospital Committee provided a small cottage in Wednesbury Road, where Sister Dora spent her last days. She passed away on 24 December 1878.

The funeral, on 28 December, was attended by the Mayor and Corporation and clergy of every denomination, including two Bishops. The coffin was borne by 18 railwaymen to Queen Street cemetery. In silence the people of Walsall poured from their homes to pay Sister Dora a last tribute. A police cordon at the gates was powerless to stop them swarming into the cemetery to witness the burial.

A stained glass window at St. Matthew's Church in memory of Sister Dora was dedicated in 1882, and her statue on the Bridge was unveiled in October 1886, having cost £1,200, paid for by a fund which ran for seven years. The original white marble, badly affected by pollution, was replaced by the present bronze replica in 1957, and still gazes fondly down on the people of Walsall today.

Sister Dora is still much loved and revered by the Walsall people. She also lent her name to the modern day white cap still worn by some nurses - it is the Sister Dora cap. Her statue was the first in Engand to be erected to a non royal female.

2008 Friday fun 2

I appologise for not posting a Friday fun last week but I had a book release. Dangerous to Know http://www.moonlitromance.com just in case you didn't know lol.
So, this week I am indebted to 'The Village Voice' for some snippets of times past in the Black Country.

Parish records from Sedgley church in the 1600's are full of nicknames for various people and shed a fascinating light on the inhabitants.
Edward Pershouse, a young man called ye goat.
Thomas Thominson known as Dobbin.
Edward Fellows commonly called the Giant.
and Harry Evans of Gornal Wood called Harry the painter.

My favourite story though is about a gravedigger from Oldswinford. He was reputedly asked to prepare a grave for a Mr Button. He duly did so and submitted his bill to the grieving widow.
To providing one Button-hole the sum of 2/-

2008 Friday fun 1

I'll kick off the New Year of the Friday fun posts with a mini biography of one of the Black Countrys more famous daughters and one of my favourite actress/comediennes.

Josie Lawrence was born in Old Hill in the West Midlands and decided at the age of five that she wanted to be an actress.

When she was 16 she joined the Barlow Players in Oldbury and from 1978 to 1981 she studied theatre at Dartington College of Arts.

Josie has appeared in numerous theatre productions including playing Moll Flanders at the Lyric. Hammersmith , Lisa Dolittle in Pygmalion at the Nottingham Playhouse and ate in the Taming of the Shrew for the Royal Shakespeare Company and Mrs Anna in the King and I at the London Palladium and Mrs Overall’s evil daughter in the West End version of Acorn Antiques.

Her TV career started in earnest with Whose Line Is It Anyway - and she is still a regular improviser with the Comedy Store Players – which led to her own series, Josie. She has also starred in three series of the award winning Outside Edge, among many other TV roles. She has appeared in episodes of Miss Marple and will be back on screen in the spring I believe.

Josie, born Wendy, currently lives in London in a house she jokingly calls 'Yoghurt' mansion as she bought it with money from a Tesco yoghurt advert. She has two cats called Aynuk and Ayli after the famous Black Country duo.

Friday Fun 13

The Black Country is famous for it's canals or 'cuts' as they are known. As in'weer ave yow bin?'
'I've bin fishin fer Jack Bannocks in the cut.'
Translated as 'Where have you been?'
'I've been fishing for small fish in the canal.'
Canals were a vital transport system when the Black Country got it's name. They were used for shifting coal, iron, clay, bricks and any other number of goods around the area. Birmingham has more canals than Venice.
The Black Country is very hilly and many great engineering projects were built so that the narrowboats (barges) with their cargoes could move around.
This involved the building of the locks. Locks are used almost like rooms to adjust the levels of the water so the boat can move from one part of the canal to another. The picture is of the Nine locks, which isn't far from me.