The Commonplace Daughter of a Wiltshire Shepherd

MARY DAVIS

My great grandmother Mary Davis was a stunningly attractive woman from the photograph that we have of her as a young mother – and I still carry a few snippets of her West Country or Wessex family culture (or memes) that were handed down through my mother.

For example, as a visitor to the houses or flats that I occupied as a young man, my mother was a compulsive and rather unwelcome seeker and interpreter of the personal letters, trinkets and photographs scattered throughout the furniture drawers.

This intrusive searching she excused lightly as simply being ‘a Poll Pry’, after the manner of her grandmother.

Mary was also the origin of the female-line mitochondrial DNA that has came down to me – with the link to ‘Katrine’ (one of Syke’s Seven Daughters of Eve) whose family would apparently have been found in Lombardy, Northern Italy some 10,000 years ago waiting out the last Ice Age.

And through whom I am related to Oetzi the Ice Man who perished hunting in the Alps some 4,000 years ago, and whose deep frozen corpse has been the subject of much study (and squabbles between the Italians and Austrians) in recent years.

Well what can we say about the Davis family?

Mary’s father Henry was a shepherd who was born in Huish, Wiltshire in 1841, as the son of an agricultural labourer. Mary’s mother Martha was born Martha Whatley in Chitterne, Wiltshire, the daughter again of an agricultural labourer. In the 1861 Census she is recorded as a 17 year old domestic servant working (with her 14 year old sister Mary) in the household of a prosperous farmer Henry Allard in the hamlet of Corton, near Chitterne.

The previous generations in both the Davis and Whatley families all seem to have been agricultural labourers / shepherds in the villages of Huish and Chitterne, though one (possibly Henry’s grandfather) Stephen Davis became the baker at Huish (a bakery that was apparently famous for its ‘lardy cakes’).

My family members appear to have lived mostly in severe poverty in a somewhat desolate landscape, though they carried a great inheritance as the community associated with Stonehenge, Old Sarum and the most wonderful of English cathedrals at Salisbury.

W.H. Hudson writing in 1910 has this to say about rural Wiltshire (and he had spent his boyhood on the Pampas in Argentina):

“There is nothing striking in Wiltshire, at all events to those who love nature first; nor mountains, nor sea, nor anything to compare with the places they are hastening to, west or north.

The Downs! Yes, the Downs are there, full in sight of your window, in their flowing forms resembling vast, pale green waves, wave beyond wave, "in fluctuation fixed"; a fine country to walk on in fine weather for all those who regard the mere exercise of walking as sufficient pleasure.

But, as to walking on the Downs, one remembers that the fine days are not so many, even in the season when they are looked for--they have certainly been few during this wet and discomfortable one of 1909. It is indeed only on the chalk hills that I ever feel disposed to quarrel with this English climate, for all weathers are good to those who love the open air, and have their special attractions.

What a pleasure (normally) it is to be out in rough weather in October when the equinoctial gales are on, "the wind Euroclydon," to listen to its roaring in the bending trees, to watch the dead leaves flying, the pestilence-stricken multitudes, yellow and black and red, whirled away in flight on flight before the volleying blast, and to hear and see and feel the tempests of rain, the big silver-grey drops that smite you like hail!

And what pleasure too, in the still grey November weather, the time of suspense and melancholy before winter, a strange quietude, like a sense of apprehension in nature!

And so on through the revolving year, in all places in all weathers, there is pleasure in the open air, except on these chalk hills because of their bleak nakedness. There the wind and driving rain are not for but against you, and may overcome you with misery’.

So a shepherd’s life must often have been a kind of hell – bleak and lonely work, trudging vast distances haunted by cold and the stupidities of sheep – constantly having to move cottages in search of work.

Though I am sure that when the larks were singing and the dogs were tail-wagging on a bright spring morning, a smile would alight and thanks would be given to the high heavens.

So let’s explore this world in its impoverishment and curiosities.

THE FAMILY JOURNEY FOLLOWING SHEPHERDING WORK

First, the catalogue of villages that were visited and within which Martha had to start over and bring to life a deserted cottage to create a home for her family:

1866 Son William born St Mary Bourne, Hampshire

1868 Mary born Shrewton (near Stonehenge), Wiltshire

1870 Son George born West Lavington, Wiltshire

1872 Son Frank born West Lavington

1874 Daughter Fanny born Shrewton, Wiltshire

1876 Son Charles born Wimborne, St Giles, Dorset
(A small village, ‘scattered about in the lush, well-wooded landscape on the edge of Cranborne Chase at the centre of the estate of the Earls of Shaftesbury’, who are remembered for the 7th Earl, 1801 – 1885, who successfully campaigned to end brutal sweated labour from children as young as 5 years old in coal mines and as chimney sweeps. He was largely responsible for the labour regulation provided by the Factory Acts of 1847 and 1853).

1879 Son Alfred born Ropley, Hampshire

1881 Frederick born Chilton Candover, Hampshire

A PROFILE OF THE VILLAGE OF HUISH

‘Huish is the smallest parish in Pewsey Vale, in terms of both area and population, The parish, like its western neighbours, sits on the south-facing edge of the Marlborough Downs, here called Huish Hill.

Nowadays Huish is served now by a minor road running west from Oare, which replaced an earlier, more southerly approach between 1773 and 1817. The road meanders on past the village, following ‘too faithfully the angles of old fields,’ until at Draycot Fitzpayne it leaves the parish and returns to Wilcot.

The root meaning of the name Huish, which is common in Somerset (where there are 21 examples) but rare outside south-west England, seems to be ‘household’ or ‘family farm’. It has been suggested that Huishes are survivals of an older, perhaps pre-Saxon, farmstead-based settlement pattern, which was largely replaced in the English lowlands by planned open-field villages in the later Saxon period.

Between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries, the village land was under the ownership of the Doygnel family and their successors. The church, probably built originally in the late-thirteenth century, lay within the village, which seems to have been defined by a rectangular ditch embracing the area of the church and the present Huish Farm and farm buildings.

The village around the church had been deserted by 1500, perhaps because of its vulnerability to flooding, and the present site was in use (possibly after an interval of neglect and depopulation) by the seventeenth century, since several of the cottages contain work of this period.

At about the same time parts of the downland in the north of the parish were enclosed, and eventually cultivated.

This expansion of the arable into an area not easily accessible from the village was probably the reason for the emergence of a secondary settlement, known as Huish Hill or Upper Huish. Today the area of this upland hamlet, which straddles the Huish – Wilcot boundary, is marked by a double-bend in the track, a stagnant pond close to overgrown building rubble, and one smart modern house masked by trees.

Upper Huish existed in 1773 and only fell into decline after 1920, as motor transport and agricultural changes rendered it unnecessary. The last house to survive was the bakery, which had enjoyed a reputation for lardy cake and fine bread baked partly from potato flour. It has been demolished since 1962.

An earlier casualty was the Methodist chapel, erected in 1863 at a cost, it was said, to each inhabitant of ten shillings. One impecunious shepherd raised his contribution by selling his smock’.

THE SWING RIOTS IN NEARBY OARE

Friday, 19th November 1830

"During the night all the wheat, barley, beans and oats belonging to Mr. Fowler of Oare, near Pewsey, was destroyed by fire. Had it not been for the exertions of several respectable people of Pewsey, Mr. Pontin's house and farm buildings would have shared a similar fate. One of them placed the engine between Mr. Pontin's property and the fire. It has to be said that the labourers of Oare, instead of assisting to put out the fire appeared to take pleasure from the situation, and with the exception of a very few, were laying about enjoying the scene.

It was found necessary to place 12 Pewsey men to guard the water pipes after it was found that one of them had been cut. One of those fighting the fire has stated the belief that if it had not been for the Pewsey men there would not have been a house left standing in Oare and it is believed that the fire was the work of the labourers of the village.

As soon as the fire was put out those watching were heard to mutter threats against other farmers and one of them, Charles Kimber, told Mr. Edmonds to his face, that his property would be the next to go. This fellow was instantly taken into custody and is now in prison. He was apparently very active in endeavouring to intimidate the Pewsey men and in throwing, and encouraging his companions to throw, brickbats at the heads of those putting out the fire. He is also accused of knocking James Self off a rick into the fire. Damage to the property is put at around £400 and was partly insured.

"The distress at Oare and Wilcot is certainly very great, much more so than at Pewsey."

BACKGROUND TO THE SWING RIOTS

In 1813, Thomas Davis prepared a report on the state of agriculture in Wiltshire by revising a previous work of his father's published in 1794. He was the steward to the Marquis of Bath of Longleat, and of the labourers he states:

"It is a melancholy fact that ..... the labourers of many parts of this county ..... may be truly said to be at this time in a wretched condition. The dearness of provisions, the scarcity of fuel, and above all the failure of spinning work for the women and children have put it almost out of the power of the village poor to live by their industry.

The farmers complain, and with reason, that the labourers do less work than formerly, when in fact the labourers are not able to work as they did at the time when they lived better".

Things got worse during the years that followed. When the great radical William Cobbett visited the Pewsey Vale and the Avon Valley in August 1826, he was appalled at what he found. He prophetically recorded:

"In taking my leave of this beautiful vale I have to express my deep shame, as an Englishman, at beholding the general extreme poverty of those who cause this vale to produce such quantities of food and raiment.

This is, I verily believe it, the worst used labouring people upon the face of the earth. Dogs and hogs and horses are treated with more civility; and as to food and lodging, how gladly would the labourers change with them! This state of things never can continue many years! By some means or other there must be an end to it; and my firm belief is, that the end will be dreadful."

Four years later the working man had had enough of poverty and hunger. By this time his conditions were worse than before or during the Napoleonic Wars and they were suffering from "appallingly low wages, bad conditions and incredibly long hours of work".

The recently introduced thrashing machine would deprive him of one of his main sources of winter work and so, faced with a generally uncaring ruling class, he took matters into his own hands. The normally passive and quietly suffering labourers of Wessex had, for once, had enough. Yet despite those in Wiltshire and Dorset being the lowest paid in England (some receiving only 8/- per week compared with 10/- to 12/- elsewhere) the pressure for a living wage, which ultimately resulted in England's greatest proletarian uprisings, started elsewhere.

The first attributed outbreak in Wiltshire was on November 8th, 1830 and they continued throughout the following year although the worst was over by the end of November 1830. The government, believing that the magistrates of Kent had been too lenient towards their rioters, set up a Special Commission to deal with the worst effected counties: Hampshire, Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, Dorset and Wiltshire.

As a result of these trials at least 9 men or boys were hanged, 450 were transported (about 200 for life), and over 400 imprisoned. Subsequent trials in the Assize and County Courts raised these figures to 19 executed, 600 imprisoned and 500 transported to Australia for terms of either 7 years, 14 years or life.

Despite the severity of the sentences there was only one fatality recorded during the entire Swing Riots when, on Thursday, November 25th 1830 at Pythouse, the luckless rioter, John Harding, was shot dead by the Hinton Troop of the Wiltshire Yeomanry.

During their transportation to Australia, many of those convicted were given privileges not normally bestowed upon the normal "cargo". We learn from Robert Mason that when those aboard the Eleanor arrived in Sydney they "were permitted to come on shore in our own clothes, a great indulgence and considered an extraordinary thing by the people".

By 1834 public pressure in England had forced the government to consider granting pardons to the rioters and indeed, some were issued that year. In 1835 a further 264 were pardoned and by the mid 1840s most of them were free with the only exceptions being those who had committed further offences while in Australia. Despite gaining their freedom, few seemed to have returned to England.

William Cobbett was also a target but was acquitted through the skill by which he conducted his own defence. For the labourers, many saw their wages increased to 10/- per week (although in some cases it was later reduced) but the effect of their actions on society was more far reaching.

After procrastinating about the reform of the Poor Laws since 1817, the political establishment in England was finally forced to accept the important role that poverty played in civil unrest and a genuine commission of inquiry was established in 1832. It announced (for that period) far reaching (and far from popular) recommendations in March 1834.

Similarly, the Swing Riots helped ensure that Parliament finally got around to reforming the electoral system that saw, amongst other things, the demise of the "Rotten Boroughs", such as Great Bedwyn and Old Sarum (where a few hereditary voters had been easily bribed to return wealthy political hacks to sinecure constituencies).

SOME EXCERPTS FROM ‘A SHEPHERD’S LIFE’ BY W.H. HUDSON (1910)

1. SHAPED TO THE LAND

‘It is now several years since I first met Caleb Bawcombe, a shepherd of the South Wiltshire Downs, but already old and infirm and past work. I met him at a distance from his native village, and it was only after I had known him a long time and had spent many afternoons and evenings in his company, listening to his anecdotes of his shepherding days, that I went to see his own old home for myself--the village of Winterbourne Bishop already described, to find it a place after my own heart.

One of his memories was of an old shepherd named John, whose acquaintance he made when a very young man - John being at that time seventy-eight years old - on the Winterbourne Bishop farm, where he had served for an unbroken period of close on sixty years. Though so aged he was still head shepherd, and he continued to hold that place seven years longer - until his master, who had taken over old John with the place, finally gave up the farm and farming at the same time.

He, too, was getting past work and wished to spend his declining years in his native village in an adjoining parish, where he owned some house and cottage property. And now what was to become of the old shepherd, since the new tenant had brought his own men with him?--and he, moreover, considered that John, at eighty-five, was too old to tend a flock on the hills, even of tegs.

His old master, anxious to help him, tried to get him some employment in the village where he wished to stay; and failing in this, he at last offered him a cottage rent free in the village where he was going to live himself, and, in addition, twelve shillings a week for the rest of his life.

It was in those days an exceedingly generous offer, but John refused it. "Master," he said, "I be going to stay in my own native village, and if I can't make a living the parish'll have to keep I; but keep or not keep, here I be and here I be going to stay, where I were borned."

From this position the stubborn old man refused to be moved, and there at Winterbourne Bishop his master had to leave him, although not without having first made him a sufficient provision.

The way in which my old friend, Caleb Bawcombe, told the story plainly revealed his own feeling in the matter. He understood and had the keenest sympathy with old John, dead now over half a century; or rather, let us say, resting very peacefully in that green spot under the old grey tower of Winterbourne Bishop church where as a small boy he had played among the old gravestones as far back in time as the middle of the eighteenth century.

[Caleb would have be born around 1815 and John around 1760]

2. DRIVEN BY HUNGER IN THE 1830s

Of sheep-stealing stories I will relate one more--a case which never came into court and was never discovered. It was related to me by a middle-aged man, a shepherd of Warminster, who had it from his father, a shepherd of Chitterne, one of the lonely, isolated villages on Salisbury Plain, between the Avon and the Wylye.

His father had it from the person who committed the crime and was anxious to tell it to someone, and knew that the shepherd was his true friend, a silent, safe man. He was a farm-labourer, named Shergold - one of the South Wiltshire surnames very common in the early part of last century, which now appear to be dying out - described as a very big, powerful man, full of life and energy.

He had a wife and several young children to keep, and the time was near mid-winter; Shergold was out of work, having been discharged from the farm at the end of the harvest; it was an exceptionally cold season and there was no food and no firing in the house.

One evening in late December a drover arrived at Chitterne with a flock of sheep which he was driving to Tilshead, another downland village several miles away. He was anxious to get to Tilshead that night and wanted a man to help him. Shergold was on the spot and undertook to go with him for the sum of fourpence.

They set out when it was getting dark; the sheep were put on the road, the drover going before the flock and Shergold following at the tail. It was a cold, cloudy night, threatening snow, and so dark that he could hardly distinguish the dim forms of even the hindmost sheep, and by and by the temptation to steal one assailed him.

For how easy it would be for him to do it! With his tremendous strength he could kill and hide a sheep very quickly without making any sound whatever to alarm the drover. He was very far ahead. Shergold could judge the distance by the sound of his voice when he uttered a call or shout from time to time, and by the barking of the dog, as he flew up and down, first on one side of the road, then on the other, to keep the flock well on it.

And he thought of what a sheep would be to him and to his hungry ones at home until the temptation was too strong, and suddenly lifting his big, heavy stick he brought it down with such force on the head of a sheep as to drop it with its skull crushed, dead as a stone. Hastily picking it up he ran a few yards away, and placed it among the furze-bushes, intending to take it home on his way back, and then returned to the flock.

They arrived at Tilshead in the small hours, and after receiving his fourpence he started for home, walking rapidly and then running to be in time, but when he got back to where the sheep was lying the dawn was coming, and he knew that before he could get to Chitterne with that heavy burden on his back people would be getting up in the village and he would perhaps be seen.

The only thing to do was to hide the sheep and return for it on the following night. Accordingly he carried it away a couple of hundred yards to a pit or small hollow in the down full of bramble and furze-bushes, and here he concealed it, covering it with a mass of dead bracken and herbage, and left it. That afternoon the long-threatening snow began to fall, and with snow on the ground he dared not go to recover his sheep, since his footprints would betray him; he must wait once more for the snow to melt.

But the snow fell all night, and what must his feelings have been when he looked at it still falling in the morning and knew that he could have gone for the sheep with safety, since all traces would have been quickly obliterated!

Once more there was nothing to do but wait patiently for the snow to cease falling and for the thaw. But how intolerable it was; for the weather continued bitterly cold for many days, and the whole country was white.

During those hungry days even that poor comfort of sleeping or dozing away the time was denied him, for the danger of discovery was ever present to his mind, and Shergold was not one of the callous men who had become indifferent to their fate; it was his first crime, and he loved his own life and his wife and children, crying to him for food.

And the food for them was lying there on the down, close by, and he could not get it! Roast mutton, boiled mutton--mutton in a dozen delicious forms--the thought of it was as distressing, as maddening, as that of the peril he was in.

It was a full fortnight before the wished thaw came; then with fear and trembling he went for his sheep, only to find that it had been pulled to pieces and the flesh devoured by dogs and foxes!

3. THE BIRD-SCARER BOY ON THE DOWNS - c1900

It was in March, bitterly cold, with an east wind which had been blowing many days, and overhead the sky was of a hard, steely grey. I was cycling along the valley of the Ebble, and finally leaving it pushed up a long steep slope and set off over the high plain by a dusty road with the wind hard against me.

A more desolate scene than the one before me it would be hard to imagine, for the land was all ploughed and stretched away before me, an endless succession of vast grey fields, divided by wire fences. On all that space there was but one living thing in sight, a human form, a boy, far away on the left side, standing in the middle of a big field with something which looked like a gun in his hand.

Immediately after I saw him he, too, appeared to have caught sight of me, for turning he set off running as fast as he could over the ploughed ground towards the road, as if intending to speak to me. The distance he would have to run was about a quarter of a mile and I doubted that he would be there in time to catch me, but he ran fast and the wind was against me, and he arrived at the road just as I got to that point.

There by the side of the fence he stood, panting from his race, his handsome face glowing with colour, a boy about twelve or thirteen, with a fine strong figure, remarkably well dressed for a bird-scarer. For that was what he was - and he carried a queer, heavy-looking old gun.

I got off my wheel and waited for him to speak, but he was silent, and continued regarding me with the smiling countenance of one well pleased with himself.

"Well?" I said, but there was no answer; he only kept on smiling.

"What did you want?" I demanded impatiently.

"I didn't want anything."

"But you started running here as fast as you could the moment you caught
sight of me."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, what did you do it for--what was your object in running here?"

"Just to see you pass," he answered.

It was a little ridiculous and vexed me at first, but by and by when I left him, after some more conversation, I felt rather pleased; for it was a new and somewhat flattering experience to have any person run a long distance over a ploughed field, burdened with a heavy gun, "just to see me pass."

But it was not strange in the circumstances; his hours in that grey, windy desolation must have seemed like days, and it was a break in the monotony, a little joyful excitement in getting to the road in time to see a passer-by more closely, and for a few moments gave him a sense of human companionship.

4. A VISIT TO SALISBURY

Before a stall in the market-place a child is standing with her mother--a commonplace-looking, little girl of about twelve, blue-eyed, light-haired, with thin arms and legs, dressed, poorly enough, for her holiday.

The mother, stoutish, in her best but much-worn black gown and a brown straw, out-of-shape hat, decorated with bits of ribbon and a few soiled and frayed artificial flowers.

Probably she is the wife of a labourer who works hard to keep himself and family on fourteen shillings a week; and she, too, shows, in her hard hands and sunburnt face, with little wrinkles appearing, that she is a hard worker; but she is very jolly, for she is in Salisbury on market-day, in fine weather, with several shillings in her purse - a shilling for the fares, and perhaps eight pence for refreshments, and the rest to be expended in necessaries for the house.

And now to increase the pleasure of the day she has unexpectedly run against a friend! There they stand, the two friends, basket on arm, right in the midst of the jostling crowd, talking in their loud, tinny voices at a tremendous rate; while the girl, with a half-eager, half-listless expression, stands by with her hand on her mother's dress, and every time there is a second's pause in the eager talk she gives a little tug at the gown and ejaculates "Mother!"

The woman impatiently shakes off the hand and says sharply, "What now, Marty! Can't 'ee let me say just a word without bothering!" and on the talk runs again; then another tug and "Mother!" and then, "You promised, mother," and by and by, "Mother, you said you'd take me to the cathedral next time."

Having heard so much I wanted to hear more, and addressing the woman I asked her why her child wanted to go.

She answered me with a good-humoured laugh, "'Tis all because she heard 'em talking about it last winter, and she'd never been, and I says to her, 'Never you mind, Marty, I'll take you there the next time I go to Salisbury.'"

"And she's never forgot it," said the other woman.

"Not she--Marty ain't one to forget."

"And you been four times, mother," put in the girl.

"Have I now! Well, 'tis too late now--half-past two, and we must be't'
Goat' at four."

"Oh, mother, you promised!"

"Well, then, come along, you worriting child, and let's have it over or
you'll give me no peace"; and away they went.’

[From ‘A Shepherd’s Life – Impressions of the South Wiltshire Downs’, by W.H. Hudson (1910)]

Chain Migration from Rural Cheshire to Chester County, Pennsylvania in the 1700s

A EUREKA MOMENT IN FAMILY HISTORY RESEARCH – IN 1894

Letter to: The descendants of Dr William Darlington, West Chester, Chester County, Pennsylvania, USA

From: Thomas Darlington, ‘Glynderwyn’, Alleyn Road, West Dulwich, SE London, England

11th February 1894

‘Dear Sir

The occasion of my venturing to trouble you with this letter is briefly as follows: Whilst engaged on some researches at the British Museum a few days ago, I came across a little book entitled ‘The Sesqui-Centennial Gathering of the Clan Darlington”, which upon examination, I found to contain an account of the American branch of my own family – a connection which seems to have been broken for about 150 years.

I was a little surprised to find from the pamphlet that Dr Darlington had failed to discover Cheshire kinsmen during his visit to this country in 1851. I think that there would be very little difficulty in establishing the fact that Job Darlington of Darnhall, your ancestor, was a cousin of Richard Darlington of Aston.

I have not the exact particulars at hand but trusting to my memory for details, I believe that the Darlington of Aston of that date was named Richard, and that he was the “Cousin Richard” so frequently referred to in the letters of Job Darlington in the pamphlet.

The elder branch of the Darlingtons of Aston terminated in a female – Anne, daughter of John Darlington of Aston – who married in 1770 Henry Tomlinson of Dorfold Hall [near Nantwich, Cheshire]. The Dorfold estate then passed by another marriage into the family of Tollemache, the head of which is Lord Tollemache of Helmingham [in Norfolk].

This John Darlington had a brother, Abraham [from whom I am descended].

Both Job and Abraham are good old family names, still kept up on this side of the water – as are Richard and John. My father’s name was Richard – he had a brother John and three cousins, Abraham, Job and Richard. My grandfather was Richard – and he had an only brother, Abraham.

I should be extremely glad if this letter should lead to a renewal of relations between the two branches of the family on either side of the Atlantic. I should be only too happy to supply you with any particulars regarding your Cheshire ancestry which may be within my knowledge.

I shall look anxiously for a reply tho this letter, which is “a bow drawn at a venture”, inasmuch as I have no information as to the present whereabouts of any of my American relations.

Meantime, believe me, dear Sir,

Yours faithfully

Thomas Darlington'

In the event, it is reported that Thomas happily re-established contact between the American and English branches of the family. And Edwin L. Heydecker in his chapter ‘Our English Kith and Kin’ (in Gibert Cope’s extensive monograph “Genealogy of the Darlington Family: A record of the Descendants of Abraham Darlington of Birmingham, Chester County, Pennsylvania") writes that:

“Mr Thomas Darlington of London, England and Hafudomos, Aberystwyth, Wales attended the Bi-Centennial Gathering of the American Darlingtons in (late) 1894, bringing details of the English family gathered as a labour of love and out of respect for his Darlington lineage”.

As I have indicated previously, all of the Cheshire Darlington families appear to share a common origin, with most being descended from the Darlingtons of ‘Brookhouses’ (nowadays Brook House Farm) in the parish of Whitegate, Cheshire, traceable as far back as the baptism of Alice Darlington at Whitegate Church in 1567.

THE AMERICAN DARLINGTONS

So I will now provide a little background on the uprooting of some of the Cheshire Darlingtons and the settlement of this family in Pennsylvania.

In 1680, William Penn, a prominent and wealthy Quaker obtained a charter from King Charles II for the territory forming the present state of Pennsylvania. It was granted largely in consideration of a debt of 16,000 pounds due from the British Government to Admiral Sir William Penn [in relation to naval warfare against the Dutch]. Clearly, King Charles II also thought it would be an excellent means of ridding himself of powerful and potentially troublesome religious dissenters.

Prior to his departure for America, William Penn began to sell land to prospective English settlers, and by August 30th 1682, he had disposed of more than 500,000 acres. Among the purchasers was Thomas Rowland of Acton, Cheshire, who obtained 1,000 acres.

Thomas Rowland was also joined by John Dutton of Overton, Cheshire – and it seems that John’s wife Mary was a Darlington before marriage. Other early Cheshire settlers were John Nield and Robert Taylor (Mary Dutton married John Nield after John Dutton died around 1694).

A few years later, around 1711, two young Cheshire Lads, Abraham and John Darlington from Darnhall, Cheshire also settled in Chester County. They were nephews of John and Mary Nield and their migration was ‘influenced by inducements held out by their uncle that were not realized upon their arrival’.

On the 28th March, 1713, Job and Mary wrote a letter to their Dear Sons. In this they thanked ‘Allmighty God for preserveing you’ and prayed that ‘you will be Carefull of both soul and body for you are in a strang Country’. They were also asked to ‘presen both our Dear loves to our Dear brother John Neild and his wife our Dear Sister – and their sons unknown to us’.

Typical of the sort of admonishing that I used to receive from England as a student in Australia, the letter ends with a note that a reply should be sent either care of the Cock Inn in Nantwich, or through John Walker, merchant of Liverpool to Darnhall - and not addressed to Over near Middlewich, as in this case ‘it is sent by three posts to us and Costs Duble Price’.

Well, the Darlingtons did very well for themselves in their new country. As the family saga records:

‘As years went by and numbers grew, the fertile dales of Chester County, Pennsylvania still proved sufficiently attractive to Abraham Darlington’s children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren to induce them to remain near their ancestral homes. A few of them went into the adjoining counties or the neighbouring city of Philadelphia, but the greater part continued to cultivate their farms in the old county.

Through the 18th Century, as the frontier of settlement slowly pushed west of the Alleghanies (sic), they remained near the eastern tide-water, and not even the mighty stream of westward travel and settlement in the first half of the 19th Century caught many of them in its rush. Most of them continued to live in Chester County – substantial, thrifty, law-abiding citizens – Friends (i.e. Quakers) by persuasion, farmers by occupation, happy and contented’.

NEW FROM HOME

Before leaving my American kin, I want to quote from what I personally feel is the most fascinating letter among those transcribed by Gilbert Cope. It is a letter from Joseph Darlington, of Darnhall, Cheshire to John and Abraham in Pennsylvania dated 3rd April 1746. It is unusual in that it makes direct reference to contemporary English politics and the effects of the Jacobite Rebellion under the Young Pretender ‘Bonny Prince Charlie’:

‘About the last of November last, we were under the most dreadful apprehensions of receiving a visit from the French and Highlanders of Scotland, to the number of nine to ten thousand, who advanced through Macclesfield and so on to Derby – raising the most exorbitant contributions, and almost ruining the country as they passed – but thanks to God, they missed us. But now they are retired to Scotland, where his Majesty’s forces are in pursuit of them’.

A reference then to the last land war in the UK in 1745-46 – wow!

And so I’m now very glad that I took time out to visit the Old Stone House in Georgetown that predates the Revolution, during interludes in visiting the World Bank in the 1980s. I also have very happy memories of hiring a car and driving down the old turnpikes in Virginia to visit Williamsburg. I didn’t know it then but I do have a real connection with the East Coast of the USA!

RURAL CHAIN MIGRATION

In reading Cope’s monograph, I was constantly amazed at the number of Cheshire farming surnames that kept popping up in the descriptions of the Chester County population. Names like Vernon, Dutton, Davenport, Dodd, Dilworth, Gleave and Minshull. This clearly illustrates the process of Chain Migration, in which founders provide platforms and springboards for continued immigration from the same location. However, I had not thought that it would have been so obvious in the case of the early English settlement of America.

I have added some information about two additional families – the Hollinsheads and the Sherwins below.

OTHER CHESHIRE FAMILIES IN NEARBY NEW JERSEY – HOLLINSHEAD & SHERWIN

John and Grace Hollinshead were early settlers in Burlington County, New Jersey and it appears that they too have a considerable number of descendants in the United States. Like the Darlingtons, John and Grace Hollinshead were also ‘Friends’ or Quakers.

According to ‘Some Genealogical Notes on the Hollinshead Family’ by A. M. Stackhouse, 1911 (available online):

“The Hollinshead family originated from Hollins in the township of Sutton, Chester. The heiress of Sir Hugh Hollinshead the last of the elder branch at an early period married into the family of Ravenscroft. The next line was the Hollinsheads of Cophurst whose representative was Ralph (Raphael) Holinshed, the Tudor-era historian.

The only notice of the name traceable in the Friends' Record of Cheshire is that of a Thomas Hollinshead of Overwhitley who died in 1704”.

It appears that some time in the middle of the 17th Century, one family from the Cheshire Hollinsheads moved to London, partly to be closer to other Quaker families. But they suffered further persecution there after the Restoration of the Monarchy at the end of the English Civil War.

As Stackhouse relates of one such occasion:

"Scarcely had they (the Friends) taken possession of their rooms in Devonshire House, in 1666, when the authorities seized it in the King's name, padlocked the door, and affixed the mark of the broad arrow as a sign of its being Government property.

No guard, however, was set to maintain the seizure and accordingly the Friends quietly removed the padlock and continued their meeting. But these meetings, especially after the Meeting House was built in 1678 were frequently interrupted by violence and Friends turned out of doors”. Even then, “their open air worship was disturbed by the drum-beat of soldiery as they rushed up with swords and staves and cruelly maltreated the unoffending Quakers."

John Hollinshead was a silk stocking weaver or a "silk stocking frame work knitter”. At this time, Spitalfield, London, was the centre of this industry and when the Edict of Nantes was revoked in 1685 the Protestant Huguenot silk weavers flocked there from France, making the place famous for the manufacture of silk goods. John and Grace would have found natural allies in the Huguenot refugees.

In 1673, John and Grace Hollinshead had a son John - and at sometime around 1680 they left England to find a new home in the West Jersey Colony that was then being promoted.

Having survived the English Civil War (1641–1651), the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660, the Great Plague of London in 1665, the Great Fire of London in 1666, and intermittent severe religious persecution, John and Grace were probably ready for a change!

There is a record of a town lot being purchased by the elder John Hollinshead at "Delaware over against the tower end of Burlington Island along the creek arount it" on November 14th, 1682 - and on the same date there was a purchase of another wharf lot on Rancocas Creek. This was followed on February 6, 1682, by the purchase of a wharf lot at Burlington.

It is reported that:

"Incidents of their (the early colonists of West Jersey) wants are many, and the supplies sometimes unexpected. The family of John Hollinshead, who lived near Rankokas, being unprovided with powder and shot, were in distress, when John Hollinshead the younger, then (about 1682) a lad of 13, going through a corn field, saw a turkey, and throwing a stick to kill it, a second came in sight. He killed both and carried them home.

Soon after, at the house of Thomas Eves, he saw a buck; and telling Eves, he set his dogs, who followed it to Rankokas river, then frozen. The buck running on the ice, slid upon his side - the dogs seized it - and Hollinshead coming up with a knife, eagerly jumped upon it.

The buck rose with young John on his back, and sprung forward, his feet spreading asunder, slip'd gently down on his belly and gave Hollinshead a respite from danger and opportunity of killing him.

By these means two families were supplied with food to their great joy. These and such like instances, in a new settled country, show with the along with the distress the relief that sometimes unexpectedly attends it."

There is also an account of the accidental death of James Sherwyn who married John’s sister Rebecca Hollinshead. James was Over-seer of the Poor in Chester Township in 1718, Surveyor of Roads in 1723, and Overseer of Highways in 1729.

According to The Pennsylvania Gazette (Dr Franklin's newspaper) of July and August, 1738:

"On the 26th of July past John Ward near Anchocus going out to hunt Deer perceived something to stir in the Bushes and seeing the Bosom Part of a Man's white Shirt he thought it to be the white of a Deer's Tail, fired his Gun off and Killed one James Sherwin, his Neighbor (who was out on the same Account) on the Spot."

Some of the neighbours seem to have believed that the shooting was not accidental and their tongues wagged accordingly.

The younger John Hollinshead settled on that part of his father's plantation adjacent to the Rancocas Creek, at "Hollinshead's Dock" a short distance below the place where the public highway from Burlington to Salem crosses the creek.

He appears to have been a man of sturdy independence of character who would not submit to what he considered an injustice and who was free and outspoken in his opinions. He successfully fought a case that was brought against him at the instigation of Lord Cornbery, the Governor of New Jersey from 1703, who took it upon himself to impugn the local Quakers.

A writer in 'The Friend" apparently said of him: —

"He was a diligent attender of Meetings and exemplary therein. He was a true lover of his Friends and being well qualified for usefulness and hospitably disposed, he was very serviceable to his friends and neighbors. He departed this life in 1749 being about 75 years of age."

Although the heir to Rancocas plantation, Hugh Hollinshead appears to have declared for the United States at the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, some of the Hollinsheads joined the Loyalist forces. Anthony Hollinshead was a Lieutenant in the 3rd Battalion ‘Stryker's’ New Jersey Loyalists up to January, 1779, when he left the service.

To the victors the spoils, and on his return home Antony left with many other refugees for Nova Scotia. His name appears on the muster roll of disbanded officers, discharged and disbanded soldiers and loyalists mustered at Digby, in the Province of Nova Scotia in May 29, 1784.

POSTSCRIPT

The process of rural colonisation from Cheshire is still continuing in the 21st Century. For example, the Kinsey family - neighbouring farmers in Wettenhall, where I grew up - have bought and developed a wheat farm in Western Australia.

And the youngest son from the Shore family in Duddon settled in Southland, New Zealand in the 1980s and has become a very succesful farmer there. I visited his farm, along with my brother-in-law John Hollinshead in 1994. I was touched to see that he had inset beams into the ceiling of a corner of his weatherboard NZ farmhouse to create a 'Snug' with an open fire, where his sons could mull and drink their ale.

Genes & Memes - Family Trees & the Undergrowth

I have been thinking for some time of writing about one of the shakier boughs in my Family Tree – the Kenyons.

'Shaky' - not that I have anything specific against them – more that I can’t quite place them in terms of achievements and attitudes.

I think we all have families in our backgrounds like that – we are not quite sure whether the oral history is simply putting a good face on things or possibly masking something.

And this set me thinking about the thoughts, thought processes and drives that cascade down from generation to generation - going ‘Into the Woods’ as it were.

Just as we are a mixture of the genes that we have inherited from our ancestors, our personal attitudes and the family cultures that we build for our children draw upon the ‘memes’ of those who have gone before.

Memes are chunks and strands of thought processes. A couple of definitions:

‘A meme (rhyming with "cream") is a postulated unit of cultural ideas, symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another’ at: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memes

‘meme: a cultural unit (an idea or value or pattern of behavior) that is passed from one person to another by non-genetic means (as by imitation)’ at:
wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn.

I started thinking about this back in 1990 when I happened to be on a business trip in London, on behalf of my employer the Manila-based Asian Development Bank. I met up with my sister and brother in law and we went to see Stephen Sondheim’s Musical ‘Into the Woods’.

In the Sondheim Musical several parts are doubled. Cinderella's Prince and the Wolf, who share the characteristic of being unable to control their appetites, are played by the same actor.

Similarly, the Narrator and the Mysterious Man, who share the characteristic of commenting on the story while avoiding any personal involvement or responsibility, are played by the same actor.

Granny and Cinderella's Mother, whose characters are both matriarchal characters in the story, are also typically played by the same person, who also gives voice to the nurturing but later murderous Giant's Wife.

The show covers multiple themes: growing up, parents and children, accepting responsibility, morality, and finally, wish fulfillment and its consequences.

William A. Henry III wrote that the play's "basic insight... is at heart, most fairy tales are about the loving yet embattled relationship between parents and children. Almost everything that goes wrong — which is to say, almost everything that can — arises from a failure of parental or filial duty, despite the best intentions."

Stephen Holden writes that the themes of the show include parent-child relationships and the individual's responsibility to the community. The witch isn't just a scowling old hag but a key symbol of moral ambivalence.

James Lapine said that the most unpleasant person (the Witch) would have the truest things to say and the "nicer" people would be less honest. In the Witch's words: "I'm not good; I'm not nice; I'm just right'.

And as the stories meld together and cascade through time, characters go from hero to zero - and then on to legend if they are lucky. Just life real life and the subjects of real family histories then.

But Sondheim also made the point in one of his songs that we can actually inherit thought processes and patterns from our forebears. This of course is genetic rather than imitative but then Nature and Nurture are often Siamese Twins.

It is in some senses a comforting thought for posthumous or dislocated children like me who have never known one or both of their parents but in other ways perhaps a disquieting notion.

My sister and I recently had a related conversation when I was back in England on a trip late last year.

We tried to decide the genetic provenance of the abrupt and scathingly direct and often highly inappropriate interjections that sometimes exploded into family conversations. Generally, they were apparently ignored and life went on as before but pock-marked with shell holes.

My mother who suffered with this, referred to it as ‘nast’ using a Cheshire dialect term (i.e. a noun back-formed from nasty). And occasionally people would be admonished with ‘less of the nast’. She also used to talk about women who had ‘It’ – exhibiting a kind of histrionic and aggressive form of nagging.

Well, we couldn’t quite pin down the genetics but we did eliminate some of the possible candidate families.

But there were other subtler forces at work shaping our attitudes.

We definitely have an aristocratic streak. At the farmhouse where I grew up, there was a ceremonial front room that we called the ‘Green Room’ (even after it underwent an otherwise complete transformation into rusts and pinks).

As with many ‘front parlours’ in Northern English houses, it was almost entirely for show. And prominently displayed in a little antique magazine rack, for the occasional posh visitors, were relatively recent copies of upper crust magazines like ‘Cheshire Life’, ‘Vogue’, and ‘The Tatler’.

There is little doubt where the memes behind these aspirations come from. They stem from the Salters.

Asked whether she would like to be among a very select group who would be able to meet Prince Charles when he ‘saddled up’ for the Cheshire Hounds at my brother-in-law’s farm, my mother tutted and then declared that she would have attended for the Queen Mother but was not prepared to stir for the Prince.

And when John originally took the tenancy of the beautiful farm, nestled next to Cholmondely Castle, my grandmother commented, gazing at the elegant three-storey Georgian farmhouse ‘This is more what we are accustomed to!’

Well it was, in a manner of speaking.

But in 1881 the Salters, like 16 percent of the national workforce of England and Wales (including 1.3m women) were in domestic service. My great, great grandfather Joseph Salter was a Liveryman who helped run the Stables at Upham House, the ‘seat’ owned by the Hornsley Family in Hampshire.

[In 1881, according to Mrs Beeton's revised 'Book of Household Management', a man on £1,000 a year could afford five servants. Mind you, it was possible to hire a cook for as little as £15 and a maid for as little as £9 a year – and the 'General Report' of the 1881 Census commented on 'the increasing difficulty of finding suitable servants'].

So, given half a chance, the adopted, cross-spliced Hornsley memes kicked in downstream as the family prospered.

Well what about the Kenyons?

The legend there is that they were rich but that they were cruelly robbed by fate of their birthright.

The story goes something like this. My great grandmother Sarah Clarke (nee Kenyon) was the daughter of a wealthy businessman in Oldham. The family had built a street of tenanted houses there – Kenyon Street. However, there were problems with business partners and inheritances, and an unscrupulous intervention by a man with the name of Ormerod led to the loss of the family fortune.

And possible links were hinted to the family of Lord Lloyd Kenyon of Gredington, Flintshire and Kenyon Peel Hall, Lancashire. [During his long career at the Bar, Lord Chief Justice Kenyon was concerned with many interesting cases: as advocate he led the defence of lord George Gordon in 1780 ; as judge , he presided over the trial of Stockdale for libel, in 1789 , and, for a period, over the trial of Warren Hastings].

Trouble is I can find no inkling of this in the available data.

This is what I wrote in my Family History (blending census data and oral history):

‘My maternal grandfather David Clarke was born around 1888. David Clarke’s father (my great grandfather) was also called David and was born on 26th August 1842. Old David Clarke was a relatively wealthy accountant who made his money providing auditing services to the cotton milling industry.

He married a much younger woman, Sarah Kenyon on the 9th April 1882. Sarah was born in 1862. In the 1881 Census she was recorded as being 19 years old, and was then working as a dressmaker living with her married sister Elizabeth Nicholson at 119 West Street, Oldham).

The Marriage Certificate for great grandfather David Clarke and Sarah Kenyon records David as an Accountant. It confirms Sarah's address as 119 West Street, Oldham and her married sister Betty Nicholson was one of the witnesses. The other witness was George / Georgie Kenyon (presumably her brother).

Sarah's father Oliver Kenyon was already dead by the time she married (which may explain why she was living with her sister). We can't be at all sure of Oliver Kenyon's occupation. It clearly was not a common one that can be easily deciphered from Minister John Barry's quirky handwriting. [I am now pretty positive that it was ‘Provisioner’ (i.e. wholesale trader)].

There is a photograph in Roy Jenkins’ biography of Winston Churchill of Churchill speaking at the Shambles, Manchester before WW1 and the shop in the background has the inscription “Kenyon – Wines and Spirits” (the owners of this establishment may well have been relatives).

The data on my Clarke – Kenyon family that can be gleaned from the 1901 Census is as follows. They were then living at 20 Whitehouse Lane, Wistaston, Nantwich. By that time, my great grandfather David had already died and Sarah was the head of household, aged 39. She had been born in Oldham, Lancashire.

Her children are given as: Florence (Florrie) 17 dressmaker, born Oldham [never married]; Rossela A. (Rosie) 16, Teachers School Assistant, born Wermeth, Oldham; Lillian Annette (Nettie) 14, Teachers School, Assistant, born Wermeth, Oldham; David Kenyon 13, born Nantwich (my grandfather); Francies A. (Frankie) aged 5.

Apparently, the family was very well-respected and Sarah was offered the opportunity to become a Justice of the Peace - very rare for a woman at that time. There are also oral history memories of the family have a carriage / trap pulled by 2 white horses (today's equivalent of a Rolls or Jag).

However, inflation and children gradually ate into Sarah's resources and the family became quite impoverished.

My father ‘Jay’ was appalled in the late 1930s to find the family using old man Clarke's book collection for toilet paper’.

[I used to have a Box Brownie 'snap' of her at this time - sadly lost - that showed her as a rather stout Russian Doll with pinned back braids].

Census Records and BMD searches provide the following additional data:

In 1841, my great, great grandfather Oliver Kenyon was 23 years old and he was running a small farm with his elder brother Robert at New Springs in the Ashton & Oldham district.

Apparently, his father George (60) was still on the home farm at Higher Boarshaw in the Ashton & Oldham district, with his wife Esther (55) and their eldest son Major. There were also two daughters, Esther aged 14 and Mary aged 8.

Oliver Kenyon married Sarah Robishaw and in the records of the marriage (27th May 1844), Oliver is recorded as a Carter and his father George Kenyon as a farmer.

Sarah's father James Robishaw does not give his profession - in fact Robishaw is a very rare and specifically Oldham name and a subsequent Robishaw records himself as 'Squire Robishaw' in the 1881 Census (almost certainly though this is a rogue forename not a 'title').

The marriage of Oliver and Sarah took place at Oldham St Mary's, Oldham and my great grandmother’s sister Betty Kenyon married William H. Nicholson at the same church in 1876.

However, neither Oliver nor his bride Sarah Robishaw could write their names in 1844 - they signed with crosses.

It appears that Sarah senior had died before the 1871 census and as her youngest child in the 1871 census was Sarah junior, aged 9, she probably died in Oldham some-time between 1862 and 1871. A possible is a Sarah Kenyon who died in the June quarter of 1870 aged 42.

The basic family in 1871, as reflected in an earlier censuses comprised parents Oliver and Sarah plus Robert, Esther, Elizabeth, Major [again a repeat of the unusual forename] and Sarah Junior [the ancestor].


So there we have it - tales of fabulous carriages drawn by white horses, lost wealth and the buffets of fate. Or maybe, Sarah after her husband had died and being well distant from Oldham, decided to petit point a little embroidery on the family tapestry?

After all, she had a father who was illiterate and it is very unlikely it seems to me that a woman of her limited education would have been considered as a JP – particularly in an era when women could still not vote.

So what memes have come down to us from the Kenyons?

Maybe we get some story-telling capabilities from them; a preoccupation with inherited wealth; a certain chip on our shoulders; and even the risk of becoming ‘strangers to the truth’ if we don’t keep our feet on the ground.

I obviously get my respect for books and the written word from another source!

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NOTES ON THE NAME

Kenyon is one of those locally common South Lancashire locative surnames. Like as not, a well-populated male-line ydna surname study would show that many of the families are directly related.

My Kenyons come from Middleton in Lancashire near Oldham – not far in fact from the site of Kenyon Peel Hall in Little Hulton.

The small hamlet of Kenyon is south of Wigan in South Lancashire. It is a place-name that apparently was originally Cruc Einion in Welsh, meaning Einion’s Mound.

It is possible that it was the capital and subsequent burial place of Einion Yrth, a Celtic chieftain in post-Roman Britain who may have been the leader who combined his forces with those mobilised by St Germanus to defeat Irish intruders around 470.

Einion Yrth’s son Cadwallon Llawhir is credited with finally dislodging the Irish from North Wales and Anglesey around the year 500.

There have been suggestions that Einion Yrth was one of the Dark Ages heroes whose exploits contributed to the legends of King Arthur. And that the River Douglas near Kenyon is the River Dublas that, according to Nennius, was the site of one of Arthur’s twelve famous battles.

The stories place Kenyon clearly in the Welsh-speaking Old North (Yr hen Ogledd), whose inhabitants were also known as the Race of Cole (Old King Cole no less – who as we all know was ‘A Merry Old Soul’)

Family History: Internet Sleuthing - don't forget Facebook

For those readers who like genealogical / family history detective stories, I will splice in a taster here of a possible unravelling of a knot.








My grandfather Harry Johnson was it seems a breezy, blousy, overweight and heavy drinking Northerner. He settled in South London, working as a Stockbroker’s Clerk in the City of London. In the 1911 UK Census, he admits to having been born in Salford, Lancashire in 1879. In both of his marriage certificates, he cites his father as ‘Robert Edwin Johnson, Brush Manufacturer’.

Male-line YDNA has confirmed the circumstantial evidence available in the birth, marriages and deaths records that Harry was in fact born Harry Shorrocks, son of Robert Edwin Shorrocks, Brush Manufacturer, of Salford, and that he changed his name to Harry Johnson when he ‘did a runner’ around 1903-05 to escape the past or evade the law. None of his descendants had been previously aware of the change of name.

In the light of the discovery, I have been trying for some years to re-establish contacts with Harry’s father’s family and in particular with the descendants of Harry’s younger brother Robert Mallinson Shorrocks (born 1887).

Just yesterday, I became aware that Nigel Giles had posted new information about relatives of his wife on his GenesReunited Family Tree. His wife’s link is to the Tittle family, one of whom married a Robert Shorrocks (who was born in 1926) - he is one of the sons of Robert Mallinson Shorrocks. The Tree also notes the three children of Robert Shorrocks and Marny Tittle, namely Robert (born 1955), Marjorie (born 1954) and Norma (born 1952), and gives as well the names of the seven grandchildren.

I then paid about UK 7 pounds to obtain online access to the UK Edited Voters’ Rolls through LocateGB.com.

A few hours’ work helped me to narrow down the whereabouts of the families of Norma, Marjorie and Robert.

But the Internet - and modern online networking offers more.

The grandchildren then came into play. They are devotees of Facebook - and I was able to identify them there. I have posted their pictures above. So – even if my attempts to link directly to the families (and pursue the issue of Harry’s disappearance) fail - I now have some great photos of my young rellies!!

'Pushing Time Away' & the 'Commemoration of a Name'

I called into our Central Library in Wellington on Tuesday and saw that a stock of old and worn books had been put out for sale. Browsing the material, I spent the sum of $6 on three.

Among them a treasure. A wonderful if thought-provoking read for anyone who is caught up in the fascination of Family History - 'Pushing Time Away: My Grandfather and the Tragedy of Jewish Vienna' by Peter Singer (2003).

Pushing Time Away is partly a family memoire - in search of lost years and broken futures. The book starts by providing a Family Tree for the Oppenheim family which illustrates the links back from Peter himself to Moravian rabbi Simon Wolf Oppenheim (1580 - 1664). The 1931 photograph (above) shows the extended Oppenheim family on summer vacation by the lake at Velden am Worthersee, Austria.

Peter's grandfather David Ernst Oppenheim - a secular Jew - was a World War I war hero from the Austro-Hungarian army (fighting in Galicia and the Isonzo Pass Italian front). Despite his heroism and patriotism, he was denied 'war invalid' status in the sham settlement that the Nazis constructed at Theresenstadt and fell victim to famine and neglect there in 1943.

But it is also about the nature of culture, and the birth and evolution of psychology. Peter carefully reviews David's life, work and philosophy. David was a classical scholar, and sometime friend and collaborator of Sigmund Freud. His knowledge of classical Greek mythology appears to have contributed substantially to the linking of myths and dreams, and the characterisation of conditions like the Oedipus Complex.

However, David left Freud's circle in support of Alfred Adler - partly out of personal affinity but also because he believed that Freud placed too much stress on sexual conditioning, at the expense of assessing other influences on character and neurosis like a perceived / re-inforced sense of inferiority - and external social forces.

Peter also has much of value to say from his own personal viewpoint on the skein of life - and the ways in which it constantly throws up challenges to our understanding, compassion and ethical assumptions.

In a final chapter, he quotes from one of his grandfather's unpublished essays 'Views of Life from Early Greece'. The quotation concerns Solon's clash with Croesus on the definition of a 'good life'. Croesus like so many of our modern economists and fellow citizens viewed a good life as one that had maximised acquistion through competition.

In contrast, Solon quotes the life of Tellus - an obscure Athenian - who enjoyed:

1. a period of peaceful prosperity in his own country
2. a life long enough to see one's children and grandchildren
3. death before one 'loses the complete vigour of a valiant man'
4. a comfortable income
5. well-brought up children
6. assurance of one's line through numerous thriving offspring
7. a quick death
8. victorious confirmation at some points in life of one's own strength
9. the highest funeral honours
10.the preservation of one's name.

Interesting to check these off for our ancestors (and for ourselves, insofar as the scorecard is already available).

Peter also muses on the tenth point that it raises deep philosophical issues about whether a positive review of a person's life, after their death, can make a difference as to how well that life has gone. He states that he felt that, in writing the book, he could do something for his grandfather to mitigate the wrongs that had been done to him by the Nazis.

Peter says that 'I cannot entirely dismiss the feeling that by allowing David's writings to reach across the years to me, I am doing something (personal) for him'.

This is a thought that is fairly widely shared by those involved in Family History, I suggest. We work partly to 'preserve their names', within a celebration of the (non-material) good in their lives.


BACKGROUND TO THE AUTHOR

Australian-born philosopher Peter Singer is frequently acknowledged as a major force in modern bio-ethics. The publication of his book Animal Liberation in 1975 is credited with launching the animal rights movement.

He is currently a professor of bio-ethics at Princeton University and has taught at, among other schools, Oxford University, The University of Colorado, University of California and New York University.

His Practical Ethics is one of the most widely used texts in applied ethics, and Rethinking Life and Death received the 1995 National Book Council's Banjo Award for non-fiction.

Peter Singer is also the co-editor of the journal Bioethics and a founding father of The International Association of Bioethics. His most recent book is Pushing Time Away. He currently lives in New York City and Princeton, New Jersey.