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Since I’ve been grounded again by the Government, I thought I’d meander around the Rosary Cemetery located near to me in Norwich, in an attempt to see what stories lie there. It might not be the most fascinating blog content, but it’ll keep me quiet for a few weeks….

This grave  rather stood out given the amount of text on it, including the marriage date which is a little unusual. But, Elizabeth and James Arthurton were married for over fifty years, so I imagine that James was very proud of that and wanted it to be remembered. Those last words spoken by Elizabeth were written by Nicolaus Ludwig Graf von Zinzendorf, with his works translated by John Wesley.

The details of Elizabeth’s life are handily put onto the gravestone, so we know that she was born on 27 June 1799, that the couple were married on 11 August 1825 and that she died on 26 December 1876 at the age of 77. This makes it easy to discover that she was born in North Walsham as Elizabeth Woodhouse, with the couple being married at St. Stephen’s Church (the one next to the shopping centre formerly known as Chapelfield which a few years ago had a footpath ploughed through the middle of the churchyard to get to it).

At the 1841 census, the couple were living alone on Black Swan Lane in Costessey (which was listed as Cossey in the census, and is still how the location is pronounced) in the Forehoe Hundred. It was a slight faff to find this, the street was named after the now closed Black Swan pub and it took me a while to locate this, but it’s on the main street in the village, roughly where Folgate Close pokes through.

At the 1851 census, the couple were living alone on Mill Lane in New Catton, near to Norwich, and that James was working as a grocer. They were trickier to find at the 1861 census, as the transcriber has mis-spelt their surname, but they were living in Costessey again and James was working as a school-teacher. The couple were now living with two lodgers, William Fuller (a 69-year old retired grocer) and Edwin Garrington (a 66-year old retired clerk).

Just James is listed as living on Palace Street near to Norwich Cathedral in 1871, which is because by this time Elizabeth (listed now as a seamstress) was living as “an inmate” at the Great Hospital, which is a little way down the road on Bishopgate Street. Following her death at the hospital, a notice in the Norfolk News noted that “she was the zealous assistant to her husband in raising the Church Protestant Sunday and Day Schools at Cossey in 1836”.

And the picture unfolds enough here for this gravestone to make a little more sense (I’m sounding like the archaeologists in Time Team now, desperate to find enough of a story here to conclude with). This couple were married for over 52 years and had clearly gone through a long life together. In the final few years of Elizabeth’s life, they were separated and I can imagine James standing by the grave with perhaps no other family members. I’m guessing his wanting the details of their marriage on the gravestone was because he was very proud of their time together.

It’s a bit hidden behind foliage now on the stone, but James lived until 16 June 1882, when he died at the age of 77 at Bethel Hospital in Norwich. The gravestone also notes his date of birth, which was 21 July 1804, although I wonder who arranged to get his details added to the stone. As an aside, James voted for John Parry at the 1847 General Election, although he wasn’t elected. This was an interesting political movement, as Parry was standing for the Radicals, who were important in establishing the new Liberal Party from the Whigs.

Since I’ve been grounded again by the Government, I thought I’d meander around the Rosary Cemetery located near to me in Norwich, in an attempt to see what stories lie there. It might not be the most fascinating blog content, but it’ll keep me quiet for a few weeks….

I find myself drawn to gravestones such as this, which have been knocked out of position by a large tree growing up amongst them. There’s something quite reassuring about the circle of life that a body can provide nutrients to a tree like this, it’s almost as though the remains here are an integral part of the tree. Anyway, that’s a bit too figurative I think, so back to normality.

This is the grave of Thomas Poole and his wife Mary Poole (nee Daniel). Thomas was born in around 1796 in Witham which was marked in the 1851 census as being in Cambridgeshire (there’s a Witham in Essex and in Lincolnshire, I’m not sure which one it refers to). Mary was born in around 1788 in Rollesby and Thomas and Mary married in Fakenham on 19 April 1813.

At the 1851 census Thomas was living with his wife Mary and their servants Mary Southgate (aged 22, a cook born in Swardeston) and Susan Cullings (aged 15, a housemaid born in Poringland). They were living at 5, The Crescent, which is a grand house which still stands near to the Chapelfield Shopping Centre or whatever it’s called now.

Thomas died in Lakenham on 19 December 1860 at the age of 64. His probate was completed on 24 August 1861 and showed he had assets of up to £4,000 (about £240,000 in today’s money).

So far, this story doesn’t seem to be too out of the ordinary. However, the Norwich Mercury ran a story on 22 December 1860 with the title of “An extraordinary suicide”. This took place at Harford Bridge Meadows, somewhere near I think to where the Marsh Harrier pub is today.

There were a couple of witnesses, with the first being Arthur John Codling. He noted that Thomas was “behaving himself in a very singular manner by the water” and he partly dressed and then undressed, before jumping in the water. Codling said “he fell into the water and when we got to the place, in about three or four minutes, we saw the body sinking in the middle of the stream. We did not go in the water to attempt to get it out, but we gave an alarm. None of us ventured into the stream. I am not a swimmer myself, and should not be able to render assistance in an emergency of this description”.

The coroner, William Wilde, was furious with this witness, saying that “if he had been there, old as he was, he would have rescued the deceased from the water and not left him there to drown”. He added that “this was a most extraordinary and painful case and one that no-one would have supposed would have been permitted to occur anywhere else in England”.

It’s fair to say that Codling and Wilde then had an argument. Wilde asked why Codling hadn’t rescued him, to which he replied that “it was an oversight”. If reported correctly, that’s some bloody oversight. He added in his defence that he had helped to get the body out, to which Wilde replied “if the same amount of exertion had only been made at first, the deceased would in all probability be alive now”. The coroner’s jury agreed that this would be recorded as a suicide by drowning, whilst in an unsound mind.

Mary died on 2 April 1863 in what must have been a difficult few final years for her. In the 1861 census, she remained in the same property on The Crescent, this time living with servants Sarah Harbone (aged 29) and Hannah Daines (aged 17). Her own probate, published on 20 May 1863, listed a wealth now of just £200, considerably lower than when her husband had died.

As an aside, only in the last few years has the Church of England allowed burials in its graveyards for suicides, so locations such as the Rosary Cemetery would have been important in cases such as this. More importantly perhaps, this is an early example of what must have been a mental health problem. I don’t know why Thomas was in this state of mind, as at first sight, he seemed to be financially well-off. But, history hides many things, and this was certainly a tragic case as the coroner noted.

It’s a reminder about the stories there are in cemeteries, I only looked into this as I was intrigued by the tree growing by the grave. A sad story, but one that happened and shouldn’t be forgotten.

Since I’ve been grounded again by the Government, I thought I’d meander around the Rosary Cemetery located near to me in Norwich, in an attempt to see what stories lie there. It might not be the most fascinating blog content, but it’ll keep me quiet for a few weeks….

This is the grave of Robert Calver who was born on 14 January 1796, and he was baptised at Banham Church on 28 January 1796. He was the third son of Samuel Calver and Judith Calver (nee Ludkin) of Banham, who married at the same church on 15 August 1787.

Robert married Ann (although I’m unsure when) and at the 1841 census they were living at Mill Hill in the parish of St. Clement, Norwich. Robert had been running the mill, but had suffered financial issues in 1826 when he was declared bankrupt. He had been working with his younger brother Thomas Calver and had a link with both the Catton and Sprowston mills.

On the 1851 census, Robert and Ann were living at Rosary House on the Thorpe Road, with his occupation being listed as a mill sawyer. They lived alone, other than for their servant Amelia Cooke, who was aged 18. He was still living in Thorpe at the time of his death and he was listed on the electoral roll, so they had at least some property or wealth.

The grave notes that “he bore a long affliction with great fortitude & resignation” and he died on 18 August 1852 at the age of 56. His death notice appeared in the Bury and Norwich Post the week after, but didn’t give any other information about his family, but does mention (as does the grave) that he was the third son of Samuel Calver of Banham. I’m not entirely sure why this is particularly relevant, unless his father had some important role that I haven’t discovered.

Ann died on 27 December 1855, at the age of 60 years old.

Since I’ve been grounded again by the Government, I thought I’d meander around the Rosary Cemetery located near to me in Norwich, in an attempt to see what stories lie there. It might not be the most fascinating blog content, but it’ll keep me quiet for a few weeks….

This grave intrigued me because it’s likely that it’ll be impossible to read in a few years if the damage to the stone continues, with some of the writing already unreadable.

The grave is, I think, that of William Webster who was born in 1779 and died on 19 February 1834 at the age of 55 years, being buried on 26 February 1834. He married Maria Baston in London in April 1826.

He was the master of the Maid’s Head hotel (which is still trading) in Norwich in the parish of St. Simon, although the hotel is located opposite Norwich Cathedral. It seems that William had taken over in the late eighteenth century and he held the role at the Maid’s Head until his death in February 1834. He had been ill in 1812, with his son, also named William, taking over the running of the Maid’s Head. The licensing records show that the hotel was then taken over by Andrew Webster, who was William’s son, and Maria, but they held the license only until October 1834, when it passed to Edward Howell following Maria’s retirement. The younger William Webster took some form of running of the pub later on in the 1850s and 1860s.

Maria, William’s wife, died on 4 February 1851 at the age of 70 years.

I’m sure there’s a lot more to this story, and the references to William Webster at the pub are hard to unpick as father and son shared the same name (and job), with information about Maria being hard to find.