Edith Ball and The Haven

The Haven, Alexandra Road. Author's Photograph

Edith Mary Ball was born in Peterborough in 1872. She was the first child of the Reverend Charles Ball (later a canon) and Mary Eliza Saunders. Her grandfather was Augustus Page Saunders, the Dean of Peterborough Cathedral and one of her aunts was Florence Saunders, the woman who would later bring district nursing to Peterborough. Her family were exceptional people, and as the first-born child of two very loving parents, Edith was given the skills and support to do extraordinary things herself. This blogpost reveals what life was like for a prominent vicar's daughter at the turn of the twentieth century and how much could be achieved by one woman.

Edith was educated at home with her sisters Mildred Mary and Dorothy Mary in her early years, when the family were living in St Mary’s vicarage where her father was the vicar. However, despite having three servants in the 1881 census, they did not have a live-in governess and still had a nurse. This is almost certainly due to the young age of the girls – 8, 6 and 2 – but could also suggest the girls, or at least Edith, had visiting specialist tutors. Edith was 18 by the time of the 1891 census and has so far proved elusive in the records. She was almost certainly at a boarding school and has had one or several of her details mis-transcribed. She may even be known under a nickname (something that was evident in the census records at Laurel Court) and has therefore not been discoverable in any searches.

Picture by Paul Bryan via geograph.org.uk

By the 1901 census Edith was living at home at All Saints' vicarage, Peterborough, with her parents and three younger siblings. They also had three domestic servants and a sick nurse in the house, and unusually we know why. Edith’s father Charles had been taken ill will bronchitis and had spent a few weeks in bed. The sedentary time in bed had caused a blood clot to form in his leg and he was forced to undergo emergency surgery to remove his leg above the knee. He survived, but he had been perilously close to death and was left with quite a severe disability. All of this had taken place in the few weeks prior to the 1901 census, which is why a sick nurse was still in place to provide round the clock care whilst Edith and her family slept. Their nurse, Jessie M Clarabut, was from Sussex and might have been hired through connections at Peterborough Infirmary or more likely through the advice or contacts of Edith’s aunt Florence, who was running her district nursing service by the point. No indication was given in the census of any occupation that Edith or her siblings were undertaking, despite her youngest siblings, Richard and Cisely Mary both being of school age. So what did Edith do? Being the eldest child of a high-profile Canon, Edith had grown up in a world of compassion and duty. Her life was to serve others and make life better for those who could not help herself.

She was also occupied with the duties of a large family, being a witness at her sister Dorothy’s wedding to Rev. George Godfrey at All Saint’s Church in 1899. Her large family included several aunts and cousins too, who lived close to their family home Madeley House on Park Road (now part of King’s School). Her mother’s cousin Wilhelmina Blanche Saunders (more of an aunt figure) lived on Park Road and so did her father’s sisters Hannah and Susan Ball, all of whom had never married. Hannah and Susan lived next door shortly before their deaths in December 1897 and February 1898. So not only was Edith surrounded by a large and loving family, she was also surrounded by wealthy independent women who had never married. It’s therefore not too surprising that Edith didn’t marry either.

Edith’s desire to do good in her life and specifically to help the poor was planted in her at a young age by her parents. Her father was not afraid to preach to his congregation on the subject of helping the poor and was himself inspired by the ‘City Guild of Help’ in Bradford. In a speech in early January 1907 he attempted to inspire his audience to come together to create a ‘City Guild of Help’ for Peterborough, which was an early form of social work to help the most needy and provide targeted support tailored to their needs. His wish for Peterborough was that ‘no one in our city shall starve, or go ragged, or shall look in vain for a friendly helping hand in his time of need.’[1] His words seem as relevant as ever over a hundred years later.

Edith was closely involved in her father’s work and the 1911 census shows Edith visiting a clergyman with her father in Aylestone, Leicester (her father was a curate in the area). She’s 38 and single and her father is 78. We know at this point that she was still living at home with her parents, and she was almost certainly there to provide her father with any care that he needed, given his age and disability. It’s also very likely that they were travelling to visit Edith’s sister Mildred (married to Rev. Cornelius Carleton) in Leicester and meet her four-month-old baby Margaret, the youngest of four.

By this point in her life Edith was at her most productive. Her father’s desire to create a better life for the poor had made a profound impact and she pushed to build the first compassionate social housing in the city – a form of model housing. The Daily News (London) featured an article in May 1912 with the headline ‘Pensioners’ Houses, Lady’s Novel Scheme at Peterborough’ that began:

 

Peterborough is shortly to be the centre of a novel housing scheme for Old Age Pensioners, originated by Miss Edith M Ball, granddaughter of the late Dean Saunders, of Peterborough, and eldest daughter of Canon Ball, until recently Vicar of All Saints’, Peterborough. At present, however, there is a delay in the construction of the tenements, due to the fact that the Town Council at their last meeting referred the plans back, to enable the architect to make the rooms “a little more airy and healthy.”[2]

 

Edith’s plans were rather grand, and she explained in an interview that she hoped to build ‘five houses, all opening on to a central lawn, with trees, comfortable seats, and flower borders.’ The houses were small tenements containing a total of eight rooms, four smaller rooms for single people and four larger for couples. She planned to build one house initially ‘as an experiment’ and if it was successful the others would be built. She also had a little name drop and mentioned that Octavia Hill herself had endorsed the idea! Praise indeed.

The article had followed one in the Peterborough Standard which stated Edith’s ‘philanthropic works are well known in the city.’[3] It also explained that the five houses or blocks, would be built on Alexandra Road and that the rent would be ‘as low as possible.’ She was also hoping for the scheme to be ‘self-supporting and NOT a charity.’ The furnishings for the room do sound rather old fashioned, so it is worth remembering that this was 1912:

 

Each room is to have a large window, a ventilated food cupboard, a china [sic] cupboard, kitchen range with boiler, seat combined with coal box, and dress cupboard. The four rooms on each floor are to share a lavatory, and a scullery, the latter containing a sink and wash tub. Each tenant is to have the use of the wash tub one day in the week.

 

The trail goes cold in the newspapers and you’re probably trying to recall the street, wondering where these tenements are on Alexandra Road, or if they were ever built. Indeed they were, but only the first block.

  

Map: OS six-inch England and Wales, 1842-1952 from maps.nls.uk

 

Edith’s model house, known as ‘The Haven’ sits above the D at the end of ‘Alexandra Road’ and has a long narrow garden. There is space in the plot to the west of the house to build more tenements, but they were never built. I have yet to discover why the remaining tenements weren’t built, but it was likely deemed unsuccessful – too expensive to run for the peppercorn rents that were going to be charged.

But Edith wasn’t happy with only one Haven in Peterborough and pushed for more. In 1920 she spoke passionately on the creation of a Public Utility Society which would oversee the building of three more Havens to provide a total of 24 new homes. She had had two meetings with the Housing Commissioner and correspondence by letter. Her hard work had secured the support of the government and the promise of financial subsidies towards the cost of the new houses. They created a deputation consisting of Edith, Mrs Clayton, and Sir Richard Winfrey, M.P. who were going to approach the Ministry and ask what money was available. However, there is no evidence for any further model houses built in the city. It is possibly because in the same year in October the council were building their own social houses in St Paul’s Road and at Westwood Grange, so the impetus for the creation of her houses was unnecessary.

The 1921 census should have been an excellent indicator of where she was living, but she appeared to have gone on holiday with her family. Her father had passed away in 1918, so it was an all-female holiday. Edith and her mother Mary were staying in a house named ‘Kilbreen’ on Austin Street, Hunstanton (which is a most beautiful street) and they had been joined by Edith’s married sister Mildred, and Mary’s cousin W Blanche Saunders.

Austin Street, Hunstanton by Rob Johnson via georgaph.org.uk

Edith was one of the founder members of the Peterborough Association for the Blind in 1911, signing her name on the first minutes as their chairman. By 1914 we know that Edith was the ‘secretary of the Peterborough Committee of the Midland Counties Blind Association’ and was in communication with the Free Library Committee.[4] She requested that the ‘volumes of braille type’ in the library were ‘increased from five to eight per month’ suggesting there was a real need and desire for such literature. She was still working as the secretary in 1922, her name appearing in the paper as she organised a January party for blind Peterborians at the Bedford Coffee Tavern on January 17^th. She remained on the committee, although no longer the secretary, from 1924 to 1927 where a notable fellow committee member was Miss (Enid) Hartley of Fletton Towers. Edith had connections to all of the great and the good in the city.

In her later years Edith moved to Oxford, close to family members, which is where she was captured in the 1939 census. She had made a special trip back to Peterborough in 1932 to celebrate the 21^st birthday of the Peterborough Association for the Blind. Edith not only continued her tireless work for the blind in Oxford, but she frequently corresponded with the Midland area organiser on matters of the blind, such was her commitment to the cause. I can’t help but wonder if she was also involved in the provision of a wireless radio for Miss Gibson in 1925 as she became increasingly blind in her latter years.

Edith died on 17^th November 1951 in Oxford around the time of her 79^th birthday. Recollections of her life in the ‘Old Scarlett’ section of the Peterborough Standard claim she was born at St Paul’s vicarage (not the current building at the Triangle) where her father was the first vicar, before they moved to All Saints, where he was again the first vicar. It’s a reminder that Edith was born at a time of great change, as Peterborough grew from a small population to a vast one, and she was perfectly placed to make her mark on the city through her philanthropic deeds, providing homes for the elderly poor and comfort to the blind of the city through decades of work.

Her legacy lies in The Haven on Alexandra Road (owned by the council by the time of her death) and in the many lives she improved in the city. Her aspirations were big, and I’d like to think that if she had built the additional houses on Alexandra Road that there might already be a plaque up remembering her good deeds, but you don’t win accolades for not finishing a job! I suspect there are some more buildings in the city that owe their creation to the work or inspiration of Edith Ball, but for now, building the city's first model housing is enough. My next blogpost will be on the building I suspect she helped to create, but that is for another day...

 

---

[1] ‘Canon Ball’s Crusade’, Peterborough Express, 9 January 1907, p.4.

[2] ‘Pensioners’ Houses’ Daily News (London), 4 May 1912, p.3.

[3] ‘Miss Ball’s Scheme’, Peterborough Standard, 27 April 1912, p.6.

[4] ‘For the Blind’, Peterborough Express, 30 September 1914, p.3.

Franziska Schmidt: Forgotten Laurel Court Teacher

 

I’ve spent the last few weeks exploring the women associated with Laurel Court School in the Cathedral Precincts and it has been a far more fruitful and interesting challenge than I first thought (more on that another day). The first names that pop into people’s heads when you mention the school there are Miss Margaret Gibson and Edith Cavell, but I wanted to get a fuller understanding of the school – surely they weren’t the only names worth recording?

What I have discovered is a loving family of pupils and teachers that existed there over 50 years. Miss Gibson led the school, but she did so with her partner Annette Van Dissel at her side and other teachers too.[i] Laurel Court was a sanctuary and a home to girls from right around the world during their education. I have set out to discover the lives of the girls and teachers who attended the school, which has not been easy, but thanks to census records, newspaper records and a few family trees, I’ve discovered a number of interesting women.

For this blogpost I am looking at the life of teacher Franziska Schmidt. Franziska was born in Potsdam, Germany in 1849 but spent most of her life in Peterborough. Franziska taught at Laurel Court School with Margaret and Annette; she arrived at the school around 1875, four years after the school had been taken over by them and she worked initially as a governess. She was only 26 when she arrived, but she must have loved it there because she remained for the next 40 years!

Whereas Margaret and Annette shared financial and practical responsibilities for running the school (they were joint ‘Head’ in the censuses), Franziska remained a loyal teacher, a third in command, should the need arise. Her native German tongue helped many girls to excel in the language exams and saw many of her pupils travel over to Europe to work, to make the most of their skills.

Margaret, Annette and Franziska lived and taught together happily for the next 35 years. By the 1910s the three women were reaching the age that many women would be retiring but they continued happily with the school. That was until April 1914 when Annette died at the age of 73. Her death was a deep blow to the happy school, but her death was only the start of issues for the school. The Great War began only a few months after Annette’s death and anti-German rhetoric was understandably rife in the city. For a small girls’ school that specialised in teaching French and German, the residents of Laurel Court must have been feeling on edge. Anti-German sentiment was particularly strong at the start of the war and local papers recorded the bubbling up of rumours that the well-known German butchers the Franks had expressed anti-British sentiments. Matters grew over a few days, resulting in the Westgate riots in August 1914, when locals attacked the businesses owned and run by the Franks and other Germans. We refer to them as the Westgate riots because that was the location of the Franks’ butchers, but the mob caused damage to other premises on Long Causeway, just outside the Cathedral Precincts, and set off past the Cathedral gates to Fletton Avenue where the Franks lived.

Franziska would not have been safe from the taunts of angry Peterborians if she stepped outside the precincts and we cannot rule out the possibility that the school was also a target of hatred. Despite this, she remained at the school, continuing as best she could whilst reading stories of how her fellow naturalised countrymen were being rounded up and detained or deported, fearing every day that she would be next. Businesses were removed from their German owners, and we must consider that that Laurel Court was not immune to an official knock at the door to identify German citizens and ascertain they did have any saleable or removable assets.

By August 1915 Franziska Schmidt felt she had no choice but to leave Peterborough and return to Germany. We know she left then because it was announced in the paper, recording her 40 years of teaching, and stating clearly that she was returning to Germany to live with her sister for the length of the war. It stressed: ‘This was not a deportation but a voluntary act on the part of Miss Schmidt.’[ii] The statement and language used strongly suggests that she had been the victim of harassment and xenophobia despite her dedicated work educating girls in the city, and that her departure was a sacrifice for the good of the school.

Prior to the war her name had appeared in the papers a few times in 1914 as she attended several weddings and the New Year party at the Angel Hotel, showing that she was very much part of the city. One unusual piece of information we have is that a Miss Armstrong from Boston, Lincolnshire, had been staying with Franziska’s sister in Hanover before getting help to escape back to England by December 1914, so there would at least have been a room for Franziska there on her return. It also suggests that even though Franziska had taught at Laurel Court for 40 years, she was still in regular contact with her home, and her sister potentially helped girls to find work in Germany.

At the time of her departure Franziska had lost her two closest friends and confidantes and was herself nearly 66 years old. To add to her distress only one month after she left the school one of her pupils, Edith Cavell, was executed by German firing squad. She had returned to her home country to discover that her fellow men had killed a pupil she had both educated and taught alongside.

It isn’t known what happened to Franziska after she left Peterborough, but she never returned to teach with Miss Gibson after the war. We can only hope that she lived the war out quietly with her sister, but it seems rather unlikely. She had dedicated the greatest part of her life to education in Peterborough, yet due to the war she was all but written out of the history of the school. Hopefully, this blogpost will start the conversation again.

---

[i] Were they more than business partners? It’s a very interesting question. They crossed Europe to move to a country where no one knew them. They were joint ‘Head’ of the household in Census records. They raised children together (the Kirkby children for example) as a family unit and stayed together until death parted them. At the very least they were utterly devoted friends. Most people can only dream of living their life with their best friend, so either way, they win. I hope they did love each other – they certainly inspired it in others.

[ii] Peterborough Express, 4 August 1915, p.2.

Image of Laurel Court by Mat Fascione via Geograph

Image of an angel sculpture in Potsdam by Birgit P via Pixabay

Rear Admiral George Morris

Rear Admiral George Morris

Whilst writing about the Dower House in Priestgate I was reminded of its 1851 occupant, a man named George Morris. He was in his 70s, had been in the navy and lived with his sister and a small retinue of staff, but is name was unfamiliar, and I had had no reason to research his life before. Now that I've taken the time to research him, I’m very glad that I have, because he adds another dimension to the gentry in Thorney and Peterborough.

The Dower House in Priestgate was the perfect location for George Morris to live in his final years. Sat between the beautiful centuries-old Hake House, home to a family of solicitors, and the imposing Georgian mansion of Justice of the Peace Thomas Alderson Cooke, the neat, modern house was perfect for the aging hero. But who was George Morris and why was he living in Peterborough?

George had been born in Rotherhithe, Surrey, in 1778 to William Morris, a Master Superintendent in the Royal Navy. At only eleven years old George began his naval career with his father, following in the footsteps of his brother John.[1] At the age of only 15, George lost a leg whilst serving on the Audacious, but rather than leave the navy he continued for many years, advancing through the ranks.[2] He was a Second Lieutenant by the time he was involved in the Battle of Camperdown off the coast of the Netherlands (when his captain was said to have been cut in two by a cannon!) and he was engaged in a significant number of French and Dutch ship captures in his career during the French Revolutionary Wars and Napoleonic Wars. In January 1809 his ship was wrecked near Malmo forcing him to walk with his crew through snow and ice to Gothenburg (over 170 miles away) to where they knew another British naval ship was. The tenacity required to have made that journey with a leg missing is incredible and highlights the physical and mental strength he had. George and his crew remained on the ship whilst they waited for the ice to melt to enable them to return home to England.

The Battle of Camperdown by Thomas Whitcombe (via wikipedia)

Home for George at that time was in the arms of his bride Sarah. He had married her in 1807 in Minster, Kent, where Sarah had been born, and also close to the naval dock at Sheerness. But Kent was not to be home to their own family, for Sarah joined George when he was posted to (King’s) Lynn shortly after returning from his Swedish ordeal. George was involved with the Sea Fencibles, controlling a group of local men to defend the coast around The Wash at a time of heightened fear that the country was going to be invaded. George and Sarah very likely lived in Lynn initially, but by 1811 when Sarah gave birth to their first child Ann, they were living in Wisbech. George was there to greet his daughter, but he left shortly afterwards to join the Vulture, which was sailing about the Channel Islands. He returned home at the beginning of 1812 and, keen for a much-needed heir to the Morris naval dynasty, he swiftly got Sarah pregnant. George Sculthorpe was born in 1812 in Elm, a small village just south of Wisbech, which was to be their family home for several years. In 1816 George received a pension of £300 per year as compensation for the loss of his leg, which provided him with a very handsome income, having left the navy at this point.

George was active in social circles in Wisbech and stewarded balls and assemblies including the Wisbech Ball in 1813 and the Wisbech Assembly in 1816 and 1820 held at the Rose and Crown. All the events provide us with clues to George’s friendship circle: at the 1813 ball he stewarded with Lieut-Col Watson, Hugh Jackson, Goddard Marshall, Major Smith, and John Sculthorpe; in 1816 he stewarded with Captain Swaine, also of the Royal Navy; in 1820 he stewarded with John Wing. We can make a good guess that John Sculthorpe was a close friend of George’s after giving his son George the middle name Sculthorpe, and a Jackson appears as an executor in his will. Captain Spelman Swaine had an even more impressive naval career, having travelled with, and saved the life of, Captain George Vancouver (look him up – he’s a big deal!). Likewise, the name Wing will become important shortly. George was also a member of the Wisbech Bible Society, which included a member of the Peckover family.

In 1821 Sarah died in childbirth aged 38. George and his four small children remained in Elm for a few more years, but Captain George, as he was then known, needed help running the household, not least because of his disability. He also needed help caring for his children – the youngest Bryan was only two years old – so his widowed mother Ann Minter Morris moved in to help.

 Church of All Saints, Elm, by Tim Heaton via Geograph.

In 1828 George discovered one of his sheep had gone missing. He went out to look for it and came across a sack that contained the skin and shortly after the still warm carcass of the sheep in the hands of Isaac Quince. The case went to trial and Isaac was found guilty of stealing the sheep: he was sentenced to death (later commuted to transportation). What’s interesting is that another gentleman with a case at the Ely Assizes that day was Tycho Wing, of Thorney Abbey (the Duke of Bedford’s steward) who had also had sheep stolen. It seems likely that the two men had made friends over their situation and at some point Tycho had mentioned a property that was going to become available on the Duke’s estate. It’s also likely that George became very unpopular with some of the locals after (temporarily) having a member of his small village community sentenced to death and this could have been the catalyst that made the Morrises decide to leave Elm.

The family had moved to Thorney by 1829 along with George’s mother. She sadly passed away in the July of that year, but her death does give us the earliest date that the family were living there and suggests that she had been living with the family for a while in Elm. This is because despite dying in Thorney she was buried in Elm, so she must have bought/been provided with a plot there – probably next to or with her daughter-in-law and grandchildren – and returned there on her death.

With a friend in Tycho Wing, George didn’t waste any time ingratiating himself with the rest of the local gentry in Thorney and was soon sitting on a board as a Commissioner of the North Level. He was also sufficiently established enough to be on the committee to attempt to establish a central assizes court in Wisbech in 1836.

Thorney Churchyard. Snowdrops and headstones at Thorney Abbey by Richard Humphrey via Geograph.

The family lived at The Gores, a farmhouse southwest of the main village of Thorney and they were joined by George’s sister Mary, who was no doubt attempting to mitigate the loss of his wife. She would have been a mother figure to George’s daughter Sarah Dorothea and son Bryan who were still living at home, the older siblings Ann and George having left home to marry and enter the church respectively. Sarah Dorothea married George Frederic Brittin in 1843 at Thorney Abbey, her brother George conducting the ceremony! She moved to Thornhaugh to live as a farmer’s wife and had several children, one of whom became a surgeon and moved to Australia. Dorothea (as she was usually named on census records) died in 1864 aged 46.

The Gores was home to the Morris family for decades, and indeed generations, because Bryan became a farmer and his own son George Lever Morris followed in his wake. Bryan married Mary Whitting Lever, the niece of his father’s good friend (and executor) William Whitting in 1848 in Islington by licence (very common for local families). This seems to be the point at which George and Mary decided to leave Thorney and find a comfortable property for them to live their diminishing years in.

It is impossible to know exactly what prompted George and Mary to move to Peterborough, but it is likely to be because of a friendship between George Morris and Thomas Alderson Cooke, for it was his house that they lived in. They were very similar in age, both well-respected gentlemen, and had both sat on many boards over the years. They were also very sociable men, and it is easy to believe that their close proximity in their final years would have comforted and entertained them both.                                   

The side of the Dower House by Geographer via Geograph

The little property that George lived in had been built as a Dower House for Thomas’ wife Mary on the event of his death, but by the late 1840s Thomas was still active – he was still working as a magistrate – and showed no sign of imminent demise, so it was the perfect property to rent out to his friend. We know that George was living there by the 1851 census, but it’s likely that he moved in at around the time Bryan married in 1848. He stayed there until at least 1855, following the death of Thomas in December 1854. Thomas’ will stated that Mary could remain in the larger mansion house for one year after his death and was then granted the smaller property ‘lately crafted and built’ for her use for the rest of her life. It’s likely that he remained in the property until his death given the particular information in his will (see below) particularly given that Mary Cooke lived with her daughter Helen in later censuses.

George died on 29^th September 1857 aged 79. His body was returned to Thorney where he was buried with his family. His will reveals the treasures that were most important to him: to George Sculthorpe he gave his ‘Gold Chronometer with gold chain seals… my painting of the Battle of Camperdown, my naval medal and such of my own books as he shall make choice of’; to Bryan ‘my portrait and other paintings… and my gold pocket watch and gold chain’; and he was quite particular about the ornaments that lived on his mantlepiece, ensuring they were equally divided between his daughters Ann and Sarah Dorothea. Amazingly, we know that at least one of these items survives, because George’s portrait can be viewed. It was donated to the National Museum of the Royal Navy in Portsmouth back in 1990 and has been made available to share under Creative Commons Licence. The artist is unknown, but George’s personality shines through. Can you imagine him sitting in the Duke’s Head in Thorney discussing the North Level, or sharing a whiskey with Thomas Alderson Cooke in his final years, sharing the success of their children and grandchildren? His was a long life, and a life well lived. The loss of his leg at so young an age didn’t appear to hinder him as he carved out his naval career, family, and his friendships and is yet another example of successfully overcoming disability (albeit with a handsome pension).

References

I am indebted to the relatives of Rear Admiral George Morris for pulling together some incredibly useful information about his life on their Ancestry family trees, including information from the British Naval Biographical Dictionary, 1849. I have also used the British Newspaper Archive to search for information about George and his family, and the National Archives for supplying George and Thomas’ wills. I must mention Dorothy Halfhide who pointed me towards the Thorney Society website for information about George and as a resource for the wider history of Thorney. I have used the downloaded portrait of George from Art UK from the National Museum of the Royal Navy, Portsmouth and Geograph images whilst I look for the cable to my camera where my own images are.

Useful Websites

www.Ancestry.co.uk

https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/rear-admiral-george-morris-116566

www.Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk

www.Nationalarchives.co.uk

www.Thorney-museum.org.uk

www.Wisbechmuseum.org.uk

[1] He joined his father in October 1789 which made him 11. His brother, father and other family members began their career at the age of 10, so he was a little later than them.

[2] Some records say he was 16, but his birthday was in October 1789 and his injury was in May 1794.

Was Peterborough Museum Building Built in 1816?

 

The building that Peterborough Museum building sits in is one of the most impressive buildings in Peterborough. Tucked away on Priestgate it might not have the setting that other mansions like Thorpe Hall or Ufford Manor do, but when it was built it was one of the most desirable street to live on in Peterborough.

If you read any information about the history of the building you will know that it was built in 1816. This is never disputed because there is seemingly insurmountable proof in a datestone on the building. You will also know that the building was built by Thomas Alderson Cooke (for it his initials are on the datestone) and completed only months before the tragic death of his beloved wife Judith. I believe most of this is wrong and aim to explain why in this blogpost.

Let’s start with the datestone. Imagine for a moment that you are Thomas Alderson Cooke and have spent a ridiculous amount of money on building a huge mansion – a building that would be a legacy of your brilliance and wealth. Where would you put your datestone? How are people from generations in the future going to know that you were entirely responsible for this expansive mansion? You’d put it where people can see it on the front of the building. Think back to every single datestone you’ve seen on a domestic building, and you will realise that every single one is on the front (or in a very prominent position), where it can be seen and where visitors and passers-by can marvel at your brilliance. So where would you expect to see Thomas’ date stone? Probably not at ground level on the side of the building near the entrance to a cellar, but that’s exactly where it is. In that position the only people who would ever have seen it would be tradesmen calling at the servants’ door or his own staff. Hardly the trumpet call people might think it is.

A clue to the purpose of the datestone, I believe, is evident in the two extensions to the building in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Both extensions have large explanations about when they were erected and who erected them. You can see another example of this at Miss Pear’s Almshouses (see my other blogpost on that). She donated money in her will to pay for an extension to existing almshouses in her will of 1901, with the extension built in 1903. Most people (including the official Historic England listing) have apparently ignored the 1835 datestone above the original door and the (now horribly disfigured) plaque. Additionally, on the western side of the cathedral gatehouse at the top is the date 1952 but thankfully nobody has attempted to suggest it was built then!

The datestone sits close to the entrance to the cellars and I believe was created to commemorate Thomas Cooke’s renovation of them. We know he was a keen drinker and liked to entertain, so having a large wine cellar, meat store and coal cellar would have been essential. The cellar was once the ground level of an earlier house of possibly medieval origins (based on some architectural features recently identified) and the present vaulted ceilings cut in to those walls and windows. Evidence of a blocked-up entrance to the cellars from inside the house (in an area not open to the public) suggests that this was the original entrance before they were renovated (retrofitted?!), giving further strength to the argument that the new outside entrance was significant enough to warrant dating. The very specific dating of the work (20th July) also suggests it was a smaller job that was completed rather than the building of a house.

The date stone is located behind the tree at the very bottom of the wall and is impossible to see without standing over it.

Next, there was a belief that the building there before Thomas Alderson Cooke supposedly built his one in 1816 was the ancient and decaying Orme house. The Ormes definitely lived in a large house on Priestgate from the early 17th century (not the 16^th) and still owned the house and land at the start of the 19^th century, but the house was far from decaying.

I believe they had rebuilt their house in the 18th century and it had the distinctive T-shape floor plan that largely remains today. Speede’s Map of 1611 shows the older, Orme house on the site, but by 1721 the T-shape of the present building is present on a map (below). The image of the house captured on the Prospect of Peterborough from 1731 appears to agree with the same shape, although the features of the house (roofline and windows) do not match up with the current building. The present building does sit on the footprint of the earlier building, at least at the front, because the cellars roughly match up with the outer walls above. Its distinctive T-shape is without the curved south aspect in the 1721 map (and the Prospect shows no rear end to the building at all!), but it’s very likely that this was a later addition. The thickness of the walls, which can be seen at the  doors to the curved southern rooms, strongly suggests it was originally an external wall. You can also see that the image in the Prospect shows a house made of five bays, which is still what it is now. Following the fire that destroyed the upper floors of the house there is no evidence to show if the five gable-end windows at the top of the building were adapted for a more fashionable style, or if they were from an earlier building. The architectural style of the house does appear to be Palladian and avoids the use of some of the typical Regency features such as stucco that you might expect from a house built in 1816.

                                                   

                                                                The house in 1721

If my suspicions are correct about the building, then it could push back the date of the present museum building by around 100 years and make it even more significant than it already is. What I am still looking for is other evidence to back up my theories; a reference to a newly built house in an Orme will, for example, or an itemisation of building works carried out for Thomas Cooke.

My third point relates to recently discovered documents. I was delighted to meet some of Thomas Alderson Cooke’s descendants a few years ago. They had inherited a raft of items from their family and wanted to share them to gain more understanding of their family history, which luckily, I’d been researching for some time. What I saw provided the best evidence that the Cookes had lived in the present building long before 1816. One document proved a vital link between the Cookes and the Ormes and showed that the Cookes occupied the house in 1811. Why would a very wealthy man live in the decaying ruins of the Orme house? Put simply: he wouldn’t. Cooke was trying to make a name for himself in the city and put himself on an equal footing to the likes of the Squires family, so it was important for him to live in the best house in the city, even if he had to rent it.

Walden Orme had been the Orme heir but he sadly died intestate after falling out of a small boat that he was sailing on a pond in Edith Weston in 1809. There were, of course, some legal wranglings around the Orme estate after his death which continued for several years, resulting, I believe, in the eventual selling of the Priestgate house by the Orme family. Thomas bought it and started to put his own stamp on the property, including renovating the cellars.

Another delight I was able to view was a sketch of the back of the house and part of the garden. It had been drawn in pencil and was signed J Cooke. The signature meant it could only have been drawn by Judith or eldest daughter Julia. Judith died in 1817 and Julia married William Walcot Squire (see other blogpost) in 1818, so if the house was built in 1816, as stated, there’s no more than a two year period in which the picture could have been drawn. What is interesting to note then, is that the curved southern end of the building had a scattering of tall trees close to it, items so close that they would certainly have been felled in order to build a new house.

            A modern view of the curved southern end of the museum building

What is missing here are documents showing exactly when the house was built, or when the cellars were remodelled. There is a document hiding in the museum archives detailing work that was carried out by Johnsons builders for Thomas in 1816. I believe they will show that he carried out work on the cellars, but the documents are hidden in a sea of other documents and are currently unavailable to view.

There is a lot more information I could add about changes to the building over time, a likely re-fronting of the house, the use of different stones to build the house (there’s some beautiful rubble walling at the eastern back of the house that is completely different to the ashlar at the front and may be from an earlier building) and changes to the front of the house using the same stone that was used to build the house next door in 1844 (a story for another day).

I am aware that these points raise as many questions as they solve, but history and historical interpretation changes as new evidence is found. I hope one day to have enough information to tie down exactly when the house was first built and what was altered when. For now, I am suggesting that the 1816 date relates entirely to the remodelling of the cellars and that the house is around 100 years older than has been stated. As and when new information comes to light, I will be happy to add to it, and I'm still open to the idea that I might yet be wrong! My concluding note is to always question date stones; ask what they’re commemorating and why they were placed where they were. Sometimes they’re just for the benefit of the butler!

Image of Peterborough Museum by David P Howard via Geograph and the southern and eastern views by Geographer via Geograph. Image of gatehouse datestone authors own.

Mary Elizabeth Drake: Yodelling Peterborian Star

You’ve probably heard of all of the great musicians from Peterborough, right? Who’s not heard of Andy Bell, Gizz Butt and Aston Merrygold? But what about the women? There may not be any pop stars yet, but there was once a very famous international singer and musician who was from Peterborough, and her story is both incredible and inspirational.

Mary Elizabeth Drake was born in 1846 and baptised in the beautiful St Kyneburgha’s Church in Castor. She was the daughter of George and Susannah Drake (née Eagle) and was one of at least nine children born to her parents. She grew up in Peterborough, living in Westwood Road (it ran parallel to Gladstone Street), Albert Square and Johnson’s Yard, so the city was most definitely her home.

Elizabeth, as she was known, did not grow up in a rich family, but her father had some respect as a policeman. He was working as a railway policeman as early as 1848 when Elizabeth was only two (and the local railway was only three!). By the 1851 census the family were living together on Westwood Road and by 1855 at the Christening of Elizabeth’s little sister Julia Lavinia, they were living at Albert Place. But something went wrong for George and he appears to have lost his job. 

On Monday 28^th December 1857 Elizabeth was admitted to the workhouse along with her siblings Mary, Thomas, and Arthur on the grounds of destitution. This is a little confusing because Elizabeth was christened as Mary Elizabeth, but usually known as Elizabeth, and it’s not clear on first glance who the extra sibling is. It's very likely it is Henrietta Louisa who was nine and they've accidentally given one of Elizabeth's names to her. To be clear, neither of her parents enter the workhouse at this point and there is no sign of older sister Georgina Selina or little sister Julia Lavinia. It’s likely that Julia (2 years old) was with her mother and Selina (as she was known) was working. It is quite unusual for children to be accepted without their parents but there is never any sign of Susannah Drake entering the workhouse.

The workhouse guardians were not impressed with George’s abandonment of his wife and children and leaving them chargeable to the parish. He was taken in front of the magistrates at the Petty Sessions on 16^th January and sentenced to a month in prison for neglecting to pay for their upkeep. A look at the workhouse records reveals that George did remove the children from the workhouse a few months later once he had found work. On Saturday 3^rd April George removed the four children – Mary, Henrietta, Thomas, and Arthur – to spend Easter with them. But he was not able to provide for them for long and all of them entered the workhouse on Wednesday 14^th April, including a Vincent Drake. There’s absolutely no sign of a Vincent in the records, so it’s possible that this is Julia Lavinia. The whole family left again on 30^th April, presumably because George found some work and was able to provide for them at last.

It's very likely that some or all of the family continued the cycle of temporary workhouse admission for the next few years because the 1861 census reveals that the youngest four children – Henrietta, Thomas, Arthur, and Julia – were in the workhouse again. Elizabeth was 15, however, and was living with Susannah in Johnson’s Yard, both of them working as dressmakers.

It is extremely curious that both parents were alive and the children are placed into the workhouse without them. There may be records showing that Susannah was provided with out-relief from the guardians to support her and Julia initially, but she was not capable of supporting the older children. Was George absent whilst looking for work? Or had their relationship broken down and he'd scarpered? The question might seem a strange one, but George and Susannah were never captured together as a couple again. As we know, by the 1861 census Susannah was living with Elizabeth, but there were no other family members with them. Living next door was Robert Jones and his son; she later moved to London with him and either married him or pretended to be married to him. By the 1871 census she was using the surname Jones and was living as a widow with Julia and several lodgers at 15 Berwick Street. George appears to have been lodging with a family in Cumbergate in the 1861 census, but had kept himself to himself; his birthplace was recorded as N K - not known. He died a few years later.

I know what you’re thinking – there’s not even a whiff of brilliance here. This is just an average poor girl from Peterborough (and you’re probably going to tell us she was a prostitute). Fear not, there’s no sign she worked as a prostitute (although there’s a reasonable chance), but the old adage that you have to leave the city to become anything, certainly applies to Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth appears in the 1871 census in very different circumstances. This time she was captured in Kidderminster with her niece Lizzie Dent, daughter of her sister Selina. Both of them were working as singers, which is incredible given that Little Lizzie Dent (her stage name) was only seven years old! Elizabeth was using the name Lizzie Herbert as her official stage name, which was also what appeared in the census (and made her incredibly difficult to find!). Why she was using the surname Herbert has not been discovered yet, but there's the potential that she had been taken under the wing of the Herbert family who were all Music Hall performers, so she used their name too.

Lizzie Herbert first appeared in the newspapers in 1866 in Scotland. She was 20 at the time and was appearing at the Alhambra Music Hall in Arbroath, Dundee, as a serio-comic singer, which means she would have sung both serious and comedic songs. Music Halls were hugely popular across the UK and were best known for the variety of performers (the essence of these still exist in the Royal Variety Performance and shows like Britain’s Got Talent). Elizabeth’s ability to sing a range of songs meant that she could have slotted into any variety of acts and found something to entertain the audience no matter what the mood of the night. This would not have been her first evening on stage, but how she got from dressmaker in Peterborough to serio-comic singer in Scotland five years later is a bit of a mystery. There wasn’t even a theatre in Peterborough at the time, although The Era showed that performances were taking place at the New Drill Hall.

One of Lizzie Herbert's first performances

One interesting sidenote here is that Susan Tingey, who had grown up in Peterborough workhouse and met Elizabeth there in 1858, headed down to London at a similar time and had married the music hall star The Great Vance by the end of the 60s. Susan also performed on stage and it does make me wonder if they headed down to London together in search of a brighter future. Perhaps they both headed down to London with Elizabeth’s mum Susannah, and used her house as a base for performing, just as Julia was doing in the 1871 census.

Once Elizabeth started on the Music Hall circuit, she found herself travelling all over the UK to perform with other variety acts, usually to great success. However, this wasn’t the case in Llandudno where she had joined Wallace’s Band. The band had abruptly left the town over an issue regarding money, taking Elizabeth with them, to which the North Wales Chronicle stated ‘we cannot much regret her departure’ after her style of singing and dancing had failed to impress the residents of Llandudno. We know from another report in Birmingham a few months before that they had described her as being ‘funny without being vulgar’ so at least we know she wasn’t offending Welsh ears with vulgarity!

Over the next few years she appeared more and more and at venues she had never been to before, such was her popularity. Thanks to the Birmingham Daily Gazette we know that two songs she sang were ‘Rolling Home in the Morning’ (a drinking song) and ‘Belle of the Ball’. By 1870 she was increasingly celebrated and when appearing in Oxford her ‘fascinating appearance on stage [had] been nightly greeted by long and loud applause.’ She wasn’t just a performer, she was a popular performer.

Early the following year Elizabeth started to appear with Little Lizzie Dent where the younger was described as ‘one of the most favourable specimens of juvenile talent ever heard.’ By March they were performing at the Oxford Amphitheatre in Kidderminster (where they were identified in the census). Little Lizzie was known as a comedienne and as a serio-comic singer like her aunt. It appears at this stage that Elizabeth has taken Little Lizzie under her wing, educated her in the ways of the Music Hall performance and they’ve set off to tour the UK and Ireland, something they continue to do for many years. Their relationship does appear to be incredibly close, perhaps not mother and daughter, but that of close relatives or intimate friends. 

A performance in Dublin in 1872

In June 1883 the UK papers were abuzz at the arrival of the Seebold family. They were an exceptionally gifted family of musicians from Zurich, Switzerland. Led by the father Jacob, the seven sons performed around the UK and were an instant success, despite none of them speaking a word of English. They had already performed in front of European royalty and almost immediately appeared in front of the Prince of Wales. As well as being great singers they played over 40 instruments including zithers, xylophones, and a boot jack that eldest son Joseph had invented himself. Their performances were a mixture of serious, sentimental, and comedic musical pieces, similar in style to Elizabeth and Lizzie.

In January 1884 Elizabeth appeared on the same bill as the Seebolds at the Star Music Hall in Bradford. A spark was obviously lit and she made a guest appearance with them in September in Sunderland. She also appeared with them in January 1885 in Tunbridge Wells, being billed as 'Madame Herberto, a soprano vocalist'. In the spring of 1885 Elizabeth married Joseph (who was much younger than her), the second eldest Seebold son and Lizzie Dent married Jackob, also known as Jackey or Jack. They married at St George’s, Hanover Square, which was the church to marry at and very important to their family. It was close to 15 Berwick Street where Elizabeth’s mum and sister Julia (another singer!) had been living in the 1871 census and the address Lizzie was living at at the time of the wedding. It was also the address that the Dents said they were living when they (belatedly) baptised Lizzie in 1872 and the location where their sister Henrietta's death was registered in 1868 after two years of marriage and at only 20 years old.

Elizabeth and Lizzie joined the Seebolds under their professional names and the audiences loved them. There had been complaints when the Seebold family first arrived that they needed some female singers to improve the sound of their songs and what could be better than two celebrated Music Hall singers?! Gretchen and Lena, the younger Seebold sisters joined the family group too, and together, as one big family, they toured the country, Europe, and the world! Initially the two women still used their stage names, but over time Lizzie Herbert became Mrs Joseph Seebold and was one of The Two Musical Seebolds. Lizzie Dent travelled extensively with her husband Jack, appearing as a double act, but also appearing beside The Two Musical Seebolds.

Elizabeth's incredible talents and Joseph's Musical Book-Jack

In 1887 the Seebold family performed at the Pleasure Gardens in Preston. Mrs Joseph Seebold was described as a ‘Tyrolean Vocalist and Instrumentalist’ who ‘created a perfect furore at Scarborough Concerts’ which is quite the compliment! We know that she was a singer with a broad range of skills, but it appears that she has learnt to yodel and play instruments too. If you’ve ever marvelled at the longevity of a performer, it’s usually because they were capable of reinventing themselves and learning something new – Elizabeth was certainly very good at that. Lizzie was not named on the same listing but it’s possible that she was absorbed into the ‘Sisters Seebold’ and had become proficient on the ‘Xilophone’ (sic).Elizabeth was also referred to as ‘Madame Seebold’ and was noted for singing Il Baccio (The Kiss) quite beautifully. It is an operatic piece, which again, would have pushed her singing skills to their limit and showed what range she had.

A highlight for the family, who performed as the Jungfrau Kappella and the Swiss Orchestra and Mountain Singers, and later as the Chamounix Orchestra, was appearing before Queen Victoria at Balmoral in 1889, not long after they had returned from a tour of ‘the colonies’ that included Australia.

By the 1890s Joseph and Elizabeth were still continuing to travel, but they had put down roots. The 1891 census showed them living in a fantastic location in London within a short walking distance of the Royal Academy of Music and Madame Tussauds (where the family performed in 1894). Joseph had been known as a professor for many years and it is likely that he was teaching at the Royal Academy, extoling the wonders of the many instruments that he played. By 1895 the couple had moved to leafy Willesden where he continued to work as a professor of music. They remained there until at least 1905 in between touring with the other Seebolds and Joseph’s Elite Ladies’ Orchestra (which I would love to think Elizabeth was part of). Sadly, they had no children of their own, but Joseph had a son, Richard, from a previous relationship and Elizabeth had a very close relationship with Lizzie and was caring for her niece Elizabeth Drake in the 1901 census.

 

The family performing in Hull where Elizabeth's sister Selina (and Lizzie's mum) lived

Lizzie and Jack had a little girl named Alice in 1887 who was born in Eastbourne and who lived with Lizzie’s mum Selina whilst they toured. They continued to appear as a couple through the 1890s, with Miss Lizzie Dent also performing on her own. In 1897 Lizzie was still performing alongside the Three Seebolds, but it was revealed for the first time that they were Lizzie, Jack and his sister Gretchen. Lizzie sadly passed away on 13^th December 1897. She was at Scarborough and died from heart disease. She was only 35. 

By the 1911 census Elizabeth was living with her brother Thomas Drake and his extended family in Essex. Joseph has not been discovered yet, but it’s possible that he was touring or had popped back over to Switzerland. Elizabeth died in 1915 at the age of 71, which is double the life that Lizzie lived.

Joseph died in 1921 at his home in Zurich after having returned there a few years earlier, possibly after the death of Elizabeth. He was only 65 at the time. His passing was recorded in the papers thanks to his brother informing them of his demise, not wanting his death to go unmarked.

Mary Elizabeth Drake was an incredibly talented woman. Her skills as a singer, instrumentalist and dancer were seen by thousands of Victorians in hundreds of performances over a career that lasted several decades. Her marriage to Joseph Seebold gave her the opportunity to travel the world and to meet heads of state, and also to live in comfort in the leafy suburbs of London. At the point her father left, and her family found themselves at the mercy of the parish, she might have thought that her dreams were over, and poverty was her only option. But her skills and hard work gave her another life, one that she shared with her beloved niece and the wider Seebold family. It’s a story of hope, of talent, and (trying not to be too soppy) one of love. Sadly, her story has been entirely unknown in Peterborough, but this is hopefully the start of the city reclaiming this exceptional performer as its own.

Update: after a bit of a wait the marriage certificate finally arrived for Elizabeth and Joseph and there are so many fascinating details to reveal. Firstly, Elizabeth claimed she was 35 instead of 39 (bit naughty but she probably wanted him to think she could have children). Secondly, neither had been married before, despite Joseph having a son from Germany. They married at a registry office, which is very likely because of their differing religious backgrounds and because they didn't need to appear for banns over several weeks. Joseph had been staying at 'The Feathers' on Broadway, Westminster (the pub is still there) and Elizabeth at 15 Berwick Street. (attempts to find her mother there in the 1881 census are ongoing). Their witnesses were Jack Seebold and Mary Elizabeth Dent, who I also believe married that day (and can presume that the newly married Seebolds were their witnesses). Both Joseph and Elizabeth claimed to be 'artists', which could be a very misleading term and certainly wasn't one they used elsewhere, but it did acknowledge they were both working in the same industry and put her on a level status with her new husband. I'm sure it was a wonderful day and only have questions about their dress, the bouquet, the music, the party afterwards...

Another Update: after receiving the answers to some research questions from Northamptonshire Archives, I've been able to add in information about Lizzie's time in Peterborough Workhouse, proving that she knew Susan Tingey. Finding two women from Peterborough Workhouse who married famous entertainers is less surprising when you know they were friends. But it does make you wonder what fun they had when they were together!