Tag: Norwich

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 gravestone commemorates the life of Robert Foulger who was born in Harleston on 22 March 1807 and his wife, Mary Foulger (nee Wright). I didn’t notice Mary’s name at first as it’s at the base and it appears that this stone has been damaged and put back in the ground and it’s much shorter than those around it.

The couple married on 17 April 1828 at St. John’s Church in Old Lakenham, and although this is no relevance to anyone, this is a church which I’ve been meaning to visit. At the 1841 census, Robert and Mary were living on Ber Street in Norwich, along with a 20-year old male called James Welch.

There’s a strong chance that the Robert Foulger listed as being the landlord of the Jolly Butchers pub briefly in 1836 is the same person, since this pub (which became known much later on for the landlady Antoinette Hannent) was located on Ber Street and only closed a few years ago. What Robert was doing running this pub, I don’t know…

At the 1851 census, Robert and Mary were still living at a yard located off of Ber Street, where Robert is listed as a gig maker, but I have no idea what that is. He did though employ one other person and he’s listed on the electoral register as operating a shop and owning his own residential property. We also know that at the by-election for the Norwich constituency held on 29 December 1854 that Robert voted for Samuel Bignold, who was the winner (and the youngest son of Thomas Bignold, who founded Norwich Union).

Robert died the day before his birthday, on 21 March 1865, at the age of 57. But there are big gaps in all of this, I can’t find either Robert or Mary on the 1861 census, but Mary is listed as living at St. Catherine Plain in Norwich, as a lodger with Thomas and Elizabeth Lamb, along with their daughter who was also called Elizabeth.

Mary died on 23 August 1885 at the age of 78. Her death was reported in Norfolk News on 29 August 1885, noting that she had died suddenly at her home at 193 Queen’s Road, Norwich. This property still stands, it’s rather a decent home.

This is another situation where I’m sure there’s much more of a story, I just can’t quite work out what it is yet.

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 quite a simple gravestone, commemorating the life of William Fitt, who was born in 1822. Unfortunately, I’ve been able to find out very little about William, nor can I understand why his wife wasn’t listed on the gravestone.

He appears in the 1841 census as living with his parents on Ber Street, Robert and Mary, along with his brothers and sisters Bartholomew (that’s a name that should come back into usage), James, Barnard, Mary and Maria.

Soon after this, he was married in Lakenham Church in 1842 to Susan Fitt (nee Barham) with her father being Stephen Barham. At the 1851 census, William was living with his wife on Ber Street, he listed as a pipe maker, whilst Susan was a shopkeeper. They had two children, Eleanor aged 8 and Stephen, aged 7.

And the next I can find of William, other than him being listed in a city directory as a butcher in 1858 was at the 1861 census, when he was living with his wife and two children from before, as well as new arrival, his daughter Emma, aged 3. That’s a very large gap in ages, William and Susan now had an 18 year old, a 16 year old and a 3 year old. I wonder whether some children died there…. He was also listed as a butcher on the census.

At the 1871 census, William was still in the same place and still working as a butcher, living with daughter Eleanor (called Ellen) and Emma, as well as Laura Hindes, who was his 9-year old niece. William died at the age of 58 on 28 August 1876.

I can’t find out anything to tell a better story here and I can’t work out much about William. I’ve tried to work out where he lived on Ber Street to see if the building is still there, but it appears to be near what is now called Submarine Way, where all of the older buildings have been demolished.

Susan died on 11 April 1897. Her assets of £90 were given to her daughter Eleanor, listed as a spinster.

So, I’m disappointed I can’t tell a more interesting tale here, but maybe someone will know something more and let me know in future years.

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.

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….

There are three names on this gravestone, that of Amey Goldsworth at the top (c.1822-1878), her husband Edmund (1819-1890) and their son Edmund (1846-1926). Edmund, son of Edmund and Susan, was baptised on 18 May 1819 in St. Mary in the Marsh church in Norwich, which is interesting as this parish church was pulled down some centuries ago. Instead, baptisms and the like took place in St. Luke’s Chapel within Norwich Cathedral (this is the chapel next to Edith Cavell’s grave site).

This name of Amey is rare, few children are called this, and it has been mis-spelt by numerous organisations during her lifetime and by transcribers since.

At the 1841 census, the family lived at Number 10, Granby Yard located on Bishopgate Street in Norwich. I can’t find this yard on the map, but it’s very likely that it’s the one next to the Marquis of Granby public house. This has long since been demolished and this yard probably lies underneath what is now Cotman Fields. At this time there were four in the family, Edmund Goldsworth and Amey Goldsworth, along with their 2-year old child Susanna and their new-born baby boy, also called Edmund. At this time, Edmund was working as a bricklayer and Amey was the housewife.

At the 1851 census, the family were still living at Granby Yard and Edmund was still a bricklayer. He had been a little busy though during the intervening years, since he now had a 2-year old son Frederic and a new-born baby girl, called Sarah, as well as his older two children who were still at school.

I can’t find the older Edmund or Amey listed in the 1861 or 1871 censuses, which isn’t ideal…. But Edmund, the elder, was certainly doing OK for himself financially, he was listed as being a freeholder from 1863, which entitled him to vote in elections. The younger Edmund married Ann Maria Elliott on 27 December 1869, at St. Peter Parmentergate Church, which is now sadly redundant although work is in hand to get tenants.

In 1864, Edmund was in court (there will be a theme of this) when Frederick Hall, a butcher on King Street, summoned him to court complaining that Edmund had threatened to “smash him up”. It transpired there was a dispute between Hall and Edmund about the bricklaying work which he had done for the shopkeeper. He was found guilty and Edmund had to provides two sureties of £10 and £5 to keep the peace for three months.

There was a strange case in May 1868, when the older Edmund accused William Tooley, a waterman of Bishopgate Street, of stealing his property. The case was dismissed when the magistrates decided that Tooley owned the items in question.

The older Edmund managed to find himself in court again in May 1877, summoned to attend by John Mackley jnr of Barrack Street. Edmund was found guilty of abusing and threatening behaviour, but it seems to have been a family affair, as the younger Edmund was found guilty of the same crime against Mackley. The older Edmund was ordered to find sureties and keep the peace for six months, whilst the younger Edmund was fined £1 with costs of 18s 6d. Amey died the year after, in 1878, I’m not sure what she would have thought about the behaviour of her husband and son, although I get the impression that she was used to it.

Family arguments continued here though, when Edmund the younger was summoned to court by his sister-in-law, Sarah, who was married to Frederic, for physical assault. By all accounts, it looks like the older Edmund pulled his son away from the incident, with the younger Edmund hitting his head when falling. The younger Edmund was fined 1 shilling for his behaviour and promised that he would be well behaved.

Trouble continued though with the younger Edmund, but in 1882, it was him who summoned a Richard Mackley to court for an unlawful assault. Edmund said that he want to Mackley’s garden to retrieve some gardening implements, but the defendant refused to give them to him and instead hit Edmund and knocked him down. After hearing evidence, the case was dismissed as there was some confusion about whether Edmund had any right to take the implements that he wanted.

Not that this debacle finished here, in 1897, the younger Edmund was assaulted again, this time he summoned a special constable to court, a man called John Watson. Frederic, who was Edmund’s brother, and Edmund testified that he had done nothing wrong and that Watson had shown aggression. In this case, Watson was found guilty, but the magistrates said that he had faced a lot of provocation from Edmund. Next to be heard in the court was Edmund, who had been summoned by John Watson for using threatening language. This case was ultimately dismissed, as was a separate case made against Edmund.

I would say, if not being rude, that there’s a pattern of behaviour taking place here that wouldn’t seem out of place on Jeremy Kyle. Bishopgate is today a serene and peaceful street, goodness knows what it was like in the late nineteenth century with all this going on.

The older Edmund is listed in the 1881 census and is listed as living at the Goldsworths Building on Bishopgate. This is rather appropriate in terms of his surname, although I’m unsure of whether there’s any link in terms of the name. He’s listed as still working as a bricklayer, now living alone and it’s mentioned on the census that he’s a widower.

I didn’t expect this gravestone to tell quite the story of crime and drunken behaviour that it has, although I was disappointed not to find out as much about Amey as I would have liked. I wonder whether she was supportive of her husband and his issues, or whether she was annoyed at his drunken behaviour.

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….

John Carsey was born in 1776, marrying Ann who was born in Mulbarton in around 1767. As to where their marriage record has gone, I have no idea. There’s something quite intriguing about looking at graves of people who were born before the United States was independent. Well, there is to me….

John was the sole executor of the will of Jabez Chittock (1805-1831) in 1831 and he also showed potential purchasers around properties in the Lakenham area. I’m assuming from these two facts that John worked as a solicitor or something similar, but he did amass some money.

At the time of the 1841 census, John and Ann were living alone at 3 Grove Road, West End Place in Lakenham. As a freeholder, John was entitled to vote, and at the July 1847 General Election, he voted for the Marquis of Douro (Tory) and Samuel Morton Peto (Liberal). Peto was one of the great railway engineers of his time and this was the first time that he was elected to the House of Commons (he later represented Bristol and Finsbury) and he held this seat until 1852.

John died on 24 August 1849, at the age of 78. Beckwith, Dye and Kitton, the solicitors for John’s estate, advertised in the Norfolk News in December 1849 asking for anyone who had a claim on his estate to contact them. John’s wife, Ann, died on 7 May 1851, at the age of 84. She had remained living at the same property in Lakenham following John’s death, living just with her servant Sarah Parnell.

There’s some link, which I might come to understand later on, between this grave and the neighbouring grave of Alfred Spooner. Spooner’s sister married Timothy Chittock and they had a child in June 1838 which was named John Carsey Chittock.

The Rosary Cemetery was founded in 1819 by Thomas Drummond (1764-1852), a Presbyterian minister who recognised that churchyards had become overcrowded and there was a need for more space. The first section of land was five acres in size and had previously been used as market gardens. The first burial took place in 1824, the reinterring of the remains of Drummond’s wife, moved from the Octagon Chapel in the city.

Initially, the cemetery wasn’t much used and the Church of England were none too keen on it, it was all a bit non-conformist for them. There was also the problem, until the 1832 Anatomy Act, of bodies being stolen by body-snatchers, especially so at this slightly remote location. As the nineteenth century progressed, the cemetery became more popular and there had been 18,000 burials by 1884.

The project was inspirational, as the Rosary was the first non-denominational cemetery in England and many more followed the model which was established here. Drummond was sensible enough to appoint a body (no pun intended) of trustees to look after the affairs of the cemetery and he insisted on the land being freehold, so that it would be much harder to change its usage later on.

The mortuary chapel, redesigned by Edward Boardman in 1879, replacing a previous building which had been erected here in 1830.

This is some of the older part of the cemetery, but an extension was purchased in 1903, although wasn’t brought into use until 1924.

In 1954, the oldest part of the cemetery was taken over by Norwich City Council and they decided to abandon it, or, as they called it, returned it to nature. I’m not sure whether this stone was damaged by their efforts, but there are a few gravestones which have unfortunately been damaged in this manner. Fortunately, there’s an active Friends of Rosary Cemetery which was established in 1998 and they have helped to transform the site and they hold numerous walks, site clearances and events to highlight the history of the cemetery.

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 Alfred Wilmot Spooner, located in one of the oldest parts of the cemetery. He was baptised on 6 January 1813 at St. Andrew’s Church in Norwich and was the son of Edward Spooner and Sophia Spooner (nee Gunton) and they had married at St. Peter Mancroft church in April 1807.

Edward is listed on Alfred’s baptism record as being a straw manufacturer, although I’m not entirely sure what that entailed, with Sophia being a bonnet maker. I can’t be certain, as there are multiple names, but I suspect Edward had been baptised in the same church on 29 August 1784, himself the son of Edward Spooner and Eliza Springale. Edward (Alfred’s father) died at the age of just 49 and was buried at St. Peter Mancroft church on 3 June 1834.

Alfred died on 21 August 1840, at the age of 27 years old. Unfortunately, for the purposes of my writing this post, this means that he didn’t appear on the first national census which took place in 1841. At this point, his mother was still alive though (now aged 60), living on Day’s Yard in St. Peter Mancroft, which was also called Day’s Court. This yard has long since gone, it’s now pretty much under the treasury counters in Norwich City Hall. She lived with Hannah Bensley, aged 65, and Matilda Stratford, aged 14.

And, that’s as much as this story as I can find. I don’t know what happened to Alfred during his life. Sophia, Alfred’s mother, died in 1860, having moved to Lakenham to live with the Chittock family, with Hannah Chittock being Edward and Sophia’s daughter. Hannah (so Alfred’s sister) and Timothy married in St. Peter Mancroft church on 8 March 1837.

So, using my imagination a bit here. The burial of Alfred took place at Rosary Cemetery, at that time still relatively empty, and was likely attended by his mother Sophia, his sister Hannah and his brother-in-law Timothy, amongst others. It might have been a communal effort to pay for the gravestone, as it’s a nice one which has lasted well. The family had gone through the sadness of Alfred’s father dying in 1834, the excitement of Alfred’s sister’s wedding in 1837 and then this sadness in 1840. Quite why Alfred died at such a young age, I sadly don’t know….