Category Archives: Social and political history

Time travelling in Spitalfields: the Huguenots

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Spitalfields lies just to the north-east of the the financial centre of the City of London. In the map below, it’s the area outlined with the dotted red line: east of Liverpool Street Station, south of Shoreditch and north of Aldgate East tube stations. It forms part of the western border of the London Borough of Tower Hamlets, and it was while working in that area many years ago that I first heard of Spitalfields. I didn’t know back then, but Spitalfields has an absolutely fascinating history. It is only in the intervening years that this has gradually revealed itself to me. This post is the result of some research into the area over the last few weeks as I tried, finally, to make sense of the snippets of information I had gleaned over the years.

It’s a long read. You might want to get coffee!

Google: Map of Spitalfields, London, UK and surrounding area. Retrieved July 27, 2026, from https://maps.app.goo.gl/…

What I wanted to know and understand
Spitalfields is the place where many Huguenots settled when they fled persecution in France, most intensively following the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. When I first heard about them I assumed that migrants fleeing persecution would be in poverty. That was not necessarily the case. The Huguenots were French Protestants who, amongst other skills, excelled as silk weavers. I knew they were connected to streets of fine Georgian houses, but I didn’t know where those Georgian houses were.

This also connected to some of my own ancestors who were silk weavers in Norwich, where an earlier wave of Flemish Dissenters had settled in the sixteenth century, followed by Huguenots in the seventeenth. It seems unlikely that my ancestors were Huguenot or Flemish Dissenters. They were more likely journeymen, providing finished cloth to the merchants.

After the Huguenots, Spitalfields became home to more waves of migrants: Irish, Jewish and then, from the mid twentieth century, the British Bangladeshi community. I’ve researched a number of Jewish families in and around Brick Lane at the turn of the twentieth century, and had been a fairly regular visitor to the curry houses in Brick Lane when I worked in the area, but couldn’t make sense of the geography of the place, and where the Georgian houses were in relation to the parts I knew.

Then a few years ago, when researching an ancestral line for a client, I found a successful broker living in Spitalfields from 1729-1760. It didn’t fit with my understanding of the East End of London as a place to get a foothold in society, and I was intrigued.

I love the history of the old City of London: the hidden places, the old buildings and little alleyways, the ancient parishes and Liberties. And so, a few weeks ago, having a whole day to spare during a trip to London, we decided to spend it exploring Spitalfields. Before setting off, I researched online what there was to see. Some of the websites I used are linked at the end of this post.

I also found Dan Cruickshank’s fantastic book: Spitalfields: The history of a nation in a handful of streets (2016). It is aptly named, drawing in so much more than simply the area known as Spitalfields. Indeed, as Cruickshank writes, ‘Virtually everything of significance that happened in London in the centuries after 1530 had a profound influence upon life and architecture in Spitalfields – in some cases, indeed, these epoch-making events had their origin in the area.’ Although I bought the book specifically to learn more about Spitalfields, it has also helped me to join some dots regarding one of my own ancestral families who lived in the area to the south of Spitalfields: Whitechapel and St Katherine’s Docks. If this part of London interests you and you enjoy a long, in-depth read, I heartily recommend this book.

*****

The history of Spitalfields before the arrival of the Huguenots
Being outside the walls of the City of London was, for centuries, emblematic of not being fully accepted within. The name ‘Spitalfields’ refers to the Hospital (‘Spital’) of the Augustinian Priory of St Mary that had stood on the spot since 1197, providing care for the sick, the dying, and for women in childbirth and their babies. Clearly, it would be considered safer to keep sick people outside the crowded area within the walls. The Spital Fields were literally the fields around and belonging to the Priory. You can see them on the map reproduced from an original by Ralph Agas, c.1560. The cluster of buildings immediately to the left (west) of the Spitel Fyeld on the map, and the laid-out gardens, are the remaining Priory buildings, by this time destroyed or used as dwelling houses. The long road running north-south to the west of the map is Bishopsgate, and the lower part of the map is the north-eastern edge of the City of London.

‘The Spitel Fyeld on the ‘Agas’ map of London, c.1560. Public domain. Source: Wikipedia Commons. See upper right of full map at that link.

Cruickshank writes of Spitalfields as historically a sort of ‘border territory – a place on the fringes of society’; and this ties to my own original puzzlement surrounding the location here of the finer folk alongside, eventually, the incoming Dissenting Huguenot migrants and the poorer people. As a Priory, St Mary’s Spital had been a place of refuge, yet the area continued long after the Reformation as a place welcoming of those living in ways that did not conform to religious or social norms. Geographically it straddled several parish and other administrative borders: Bishopsgate-without-the-wall, which was part of the City of London; the parishes of St Dunstan Stepney, St Mary Whitechapel, St Leonard Shoreditch, and St Botolph Bishopsgate; plus two Liberties: Norton Folgate and the Liberty of the Old Artillery Ground. All of this meant that, despite being a stone’s throw from the City of London, it was largely outside its control. It does also extend the concept of ‘Spitalfields’ beyond the land within the dotted red line on the map at the top of this post, which does in fact correspond more closely with the boundary of the parish of Christ Church Spitalfields, which was extracted from the larger parish of St Dunstan Stepney in 1729.

After the Dissolution of the monasteries in the 1530s and 1540s, Catholics might find a reasonably safe home here, provided they were not too open about clinging to the old religion. Often, these people were wealthy – some of them were foreign Ambassadors; and indeed the area just outside the City walls and along Bishopsgate included fine houses. However, not all the dwellings were for the well-to-do. Spitalfields was refuge for others who preferred that their lives were not under the scrutiny of the authorities. At various times this included those Catholics but also Protestant Dissenters, those who lived ‘outside’ the law, and creative, free thinkers including herbalist and astrologer Nicholas Culpeper, astrologer, seer, alchemist and occultist John Heydon and astrologer, mathematician and visionary John Holwell. It also attracted William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, possibly Ben Johnson (who certainly spent a lot of time there even if his residence was not in Spitalfields) and their acting troupes. The first two purpose-built playhouses – The Theatre (built 1576) and The Curtain (built 1577) – were in the north of Spitalfields. Indeed such is the history of creative energy and the impact of the place on important events, that one might be forgiven for thinking that ‘Spitalfields’ is more a state of mind than a place confined by fixed borders!

Yet by the end of the seventeenth century Spitalfields would have been unrecognisable to Shakespeare and his contemporaries. Overcrowding within the City walls, and concerns about the spread of fire had previously resulted in restrictions on new building and on building materials – preferring brick to timber. These restrictions applied to the areas immediately outside the walls too. However, the Great Fire of London of 1666 brought about new attitudes on expanding outside the walls. The result was that, in a very short space of time, Spitalfields was transformed from being ‘essentially rural’ to ‘essentially urban’. This was achieved largely through agreements between landowners and speculative builders, the resulting houses then being let on leases of between sixty-one and ninety-one years. However, as was often the case, such arrangements resulted in corner-cutting, poor materials and cramming extra houses into the available space. In consequence, although the layout of streets within which these apparently elegant houses were erected has largely survived (even if, confusingly, quite a few of the street names have changed) the houses themselves have mostly not.

It’s clear that, despite their shortcomings, these houses were intended for the more prosperous folk of Spitalfields. What isn’t clear from earlier maps is – where did the poorer people live? We know they were were there. The Great Plague of 1665 had hit poorer areas particularly hard, where housing was overcrowded and sanitation at its worst. Daniel Defoe noted in his Journal of the Plague Year (published 1722) that mortality figures were high in the north of Spitalfields, where it borders Shoreditch. We also know that there was a long tradition of humble weavers and silk ribbon makers in and around this area. In fact the large ‘Tenter Fields’, seen on the map below, evidence the presence of the weavers.

The map is a snapshot of what part of Spitalfields looked like just ten years after the Great Fire of London. This is the southern part, bordering Whitechapel. Spitalfields is now an extension of the City, no longer separated from it other than by the presence of the wall. We see what seem to be more substantial houses on George Street and Winsford Street (along the bottom of the map) and also on the south side of Throll Street (recorded as Thrawl Street on most maps) but it’s difficult to be sure since, amongst other features, we can’t see how many storeys the various houses have. Regardless of the intended residents, most houses have a private garden, and there is also plenty of open space for communal growing.

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“A large and accurate map of the city of London: ichnographically describing all the streets, lanes, alleys, courts, yards, churches, halls and houses, &c. / actually surveyed and delineated by John Ogilby, esq., His Majesties Cosmographer” dated 1676. Source: Trove. Accessed 27 Aug 2026

The arrival of the Huguenots
By the end of 1687 more than 13,000 Huguenots had settled in London, most of them in Spitalfields. There was much to attract them to this area: the already established French Protestant church in Threadneedle Street; the building development that was already under way; the history of a certain tolerance there of thought and belief; and the fact that there were many weavers and silk ribbon makers already in the area. The Huguenots were welcomed and encouraged to settle by the king James II & VII; and after initial concerns from local weavers that they would take their jobs and work for lower rates, it became clear that the newcomers had much to offer in terms of skill, technique, entrepreneurship and financial resources. Ultimately, the Huguenots brought great advantages to the nation, creating a new silk industry, and with it new markets, employment, skills and wealth.

Homes for the prosperous Huguenots
Not all Huguenots were wealthy. Many were journeyman silk weavers, producing cloth for the master weavers and merchants. However, it is the fine homes of the wealthy families that have survived, and which today we think of as Huguenot Spitalfields. Although, as we have seen, development of Spitalfields had been under way since the 1660s, the building of these early Georgian domestic terraces for which Spitalfields is known began around 1711.

Rather horrifyingly, in the 1970s all of these streets were in danger of being lost to the bulldozer. Proximity to the City of London financial district (as evidenced in the above image) meant this land was on the radar of property developers. In 1977 The Spitalfields Trust was formed to rescue these Georgian streets. Their activities included campaigning, squatting, buying up properties and active restoration. One of their members was TV presenter and author of Spitalfields Dan Cruickshank, who lives there still.

Spitalfields now has four overlapping conservation areas. The photo above was taken in the Elder Street Conservation area, and those below are from the Brick Lane and Fournier Street Conservation Area. The other two areas are Artillery Passage and Wentworth Street. Conservation Area status provides legal protections for the streets, houses and communities. In addition, many of the individual houses have ‘Listed’ status, ensuring that any demolition, alteration, or extension is strictly controlled through a special planning system.

Perhaps the best place to imagine what Spitalfields was like for the master silk weavers and merchants of this time (and my favourite part of Spitalfields) is the houses in Wilkes Street, Princelet Street and Fournier Street. These were constructed between 1717 and 1730 – when the streets were called, respectively, Wood, Princes and Church Street, as per the map. The map is an updated edition of Richard Horwood’s PLAN of the Cities of LONDON and WESTMINSTER the Borough of SOUTHWARK, and PARTS adjoining Shewing every HOUSE. It shows the area as it was in 1819, but has the advantage of being very large scale, and there are no significant changes to this part of Spitalfields during the intervening years.

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William Faden’s Fourth Edition of Horwood’s Plan (1819) (Part) Original located at: British Library Cartographic Items Maps 33.e.24 Source: Romantic London

The houses have typical early Georgian features, including beautifully carved door casings, but many also have shutters. Each was built with a wide window on the upper floor of the rear elevation. These long ‘weaver’s windows’ were intended to maximise natural daylight, because this is where the loom would have been located. The additional windows now seen at roof level at the front of many of the houses were late eighteenth century additions, enabling greater workspace, and thereby the ability to generate more rental income, as the area declined in status and wealth.

At the same time as the houses in these streets were being built, a new parish church was under construction. Until this time, Spitalfields had been part of the large ancient parish of St Dunstan’s, Stepney. The increased population of Spitalfields had highlighted the need for the creation of a separate parish. Constructed between 1714 and 1729, Christ Church, seen below, would not have most of its prosperous neighbours among its congregation.

The Huguenots retained a certain distance. Wishing to preserve their cultural and religious heritage, they worshipped initially at the French Church in Threadneedle Street but would go on to build several churches within Spitalfields. One of these is marked on the map above: the ‘French Church’ or ‘Église Neuve’ at the corner of Church Street (now Fournier Street) and Brick Lane, which was constructed in 1743-4. In these churches the prosperous would worship alongside their less wealthy fellow Huguenots, and it was perfectly normal to hear various dialects of French spoken throughout the area, on the streets and in the local markets.

Despite this, according to Sir John Vanbrugh, one of the Commissioners for the ‘Fifty New Churches’ of which Christ Church was one, the church was to be ‘a monument to posterity’, proclaiming the power and presence of the Church of England even though Huguenot Dissenters held sway in the area.

One of the regular worshippers at Christ Church was my client’s ancestor – the abovementioned successful broker whose residence here had intrigued me since he was not a pauper, a Catholic, a Dissenter, an immigrant, a weaver; nor, seemingly, has any of the other characteristics that seemed to attract people to live in Spitalfields in these times. His youngest child was baptised at the church in 1729. Initially, since his older children were baptised at St Dunstan’s in Stepney, I assumed he had just moved to the area, perhaps to occupy one of the adjacent newly-built fine houses; but this was not the case. It was the church that was new, not his place of residence. He was, in fact, living in Thrawl Street, and we know from John Ogilby’s map of 1676, above, that the houses in Thrawl Street (Throll Street on the earlier map) had been there at least since then. The reason for the first baptism at Christ Church in 1729, then, was simply that Thrawl Street now came within the parish of Spitalfields Christ Church rather than Stepney St Dunstan.

The map below shows the proximity of Thrawl Street to the church. The houses occupied by the prosperous merchants and master weavers are on Church Street and the streets immediately north of that.

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William Faden’s Fourth Edition of Horwood’s Plan (1819) (Part) Original Located at: British Library Cartographic Items Maps 33.e.24 Source: Romantic London

Were those streets to the north of the church effectively an ‘enclave’ for the Huguenots? It seems not – it was just that they seem to have been the people with the financial resources to live in them.

Anna Maria Garthwaite, below, was also not a Huguenot but she had a skill that enhanced those of the master weavers. Moving from Lincolnshire to Spitalfields in 1728, she lived at 2 Princes Street, now Princelet Street where, despite having no formal training, she set herself up as a silk designer, working in watercolour to create floral designs for master weavers to create in hand woven silk. So successful did she become – and so unusual for a single woman who was already almost forty years old when she relocated to Spitalfields – that her former house now bears a blue plaque.

The silk weaving industry required more than wealthy master weavers, designers and merchants. There were also journeymen. Together with the pre-existing workforce, there were thousands of the humbler journeymen weavers throughout the City of London, Spitalfields and Bethnal Green; and they were accommodated in weaver’s cottages. Very few of these have survived. The poor building standards and materials meant they were less likely to do so, while the sheer number of them meant that they were not valued. More humble jobbing weavers were accommodated in two-room weavers’ cottages in Whitechapel or Bethnal Green. Others lived where they worked in garrets at the upper floors of buildings with the essential weaver’s windows. (See some sketches here.) Over the following decades they were the first to deteriorate and become slums. Of course, no physical traces of their former existence remain.

The image below shows a terrace of three more modest but better quality homes on Brick Lane. The weaver’s windows on the top floor are the give-away feature.

By 1800 a further wave of Huguenot refugees settled further east in a part of Bethnal Green known as Globe Town. There, weavers operated around 20,000 home based looms. It was also in Globe Town that mulberry tree orchards were planted for breeding silkworms.

Find out more about Spitalfields and its Huguenot history
My research has focused purely on answering some questions I had about the origin of Spitalfields and the coexistence of such different groups of people on the same small area of land: on the place rather than the people, even though some specific people have been in mind. Whether your interest is local history, present-day Spitalfields or family history, there are lots of online resources with information about Spitalfields and the Huguenots. To access specific records about ancestors you would have to visit the appropriate archives as signposted in some of these links.

First, Dan Cruickshank’s excellent book:
Spitalfields: The history of a nation in a handful of streets (2016) London, Penguin Books

The Spitalfields Trust, initially set up as a charity in 1977 as part of the above-mentioned campaign by a group of architects, architectural historians and journalists to save the early Georgian buildings of Spitalfields, is still going and they are now the guardians of two important buildings in the area: 19 Princelet Street, which is not yet open to the public; and Denis Severs’ House, which is open at pre-advertised times for tours and other events.

The Huguenots of Spitalfields website has a huge amount of introductory-level information covering the history of the Huguenots in Spitalfields and other parts of this country – just enough to get you started and to point you in the direction of where you might look for more.

Spitalfields Life is a daily blog written since 2009 by David Hoffman, about ‘the exuberant richness and multiplicity of culture’ of life in Spitalfields. He also offers tours. There are thousands of blog posts. A search bar towards the top of the page should guide you to what you’re looking for. This was the result of my search for “huguenot”.

The Huguenot Society of Great Britain & Ireland has, as its principal object, ‘the interchange and publication of knowledge relating to the history of the Huguenots in France and adjoining countries’. For people researching Huguenot family history, they have a page signposting sources of information, and can provide further support and information if you become a member. There is a page with advice for Tracing your poor Huguenot ancestors in London Huguenot records that would be very useful for many researchers.

The Huguenot Library is, at the time of writing, temporarily located at The National Archives. Its usual location is at University College London in Gower Street.
Amongst other treasures, they have a List of family names for which research files are available. It’s a huge list of surnames that, if you find them in your own family research, could suggest Huguenot ancestry. It’s not exhaustive, of course: other typical Huguenot surnames may simply not have been researched, or the research not lodged with the Huguenot Library; and in any case the origin of the version of the surname in your family may be elsewhere/ not Huguenot.

The Huguenot Map of Spitalfields, the brainchild of Fiona Atkins, proprietor of Townhouse, and hand drawn by Adam Dant. The map includes names of 300 historic Huguenot residents of Spitalfields, each appended to their former house, as submitted by their descendants. The above link is to a review of the unveiling of the map, with an enlargeable version of the map itself lower down the page. You might still need a magnifying glass!

If you’d like to see inside two of the fine Huguenot houses, I found these two videos, made by an estate agent specialising in ‘unique properties’. (Who knew they had coal bunkers under the street?!)

This next one has been styled as it might have been back in 1730. Look out in both these houses for the weaver’s lofts.

*****

I hope you’ve enjoyed this quick tour of Georgian Spitalfields, as it was when the Huguenots lived there. My next post will fast-forward to the late nineteenth century, and the massive Jewish migration into the area.

Shackleton’s Fold: Exploring the area

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This is the second video post in my Shackleton’s Fold One Place Study series.

A One Place Study brings together aspects of family history, local history and even house history. They are often carried out by family historians looking to learn more about their ancestors. A One Place Study might add new records, broaden out the focus or just bring a new perspective to our research.

Shackleton’s Fold was a small ‘street’ of just nineteen houses that stood in the New Wortley area of Leeds for more than ninety years. It was demolished by the end of the 1930s. In the video linked below I use maps and old photos to try to explore the area where it once stood.

I found this process so useful in helping me to imagine what Shackleton’s Fold was like. Poring over old maps and finding photographs of buildings all around the Fold – alas none of Shackleton’s Fold itself – really helped me to focus.

I hope this video will be of interest to family historians, local historians and people doing or thinking of doing a One Place Study. In addition, people with a general interest in Leeds history, specifically the history of New Wortley may find it interesting.

I’m particularly keen to attract other family historians whose research has taken them back to Shackleton’s Fold between the mid 1840s and 1938. Alongside this visual exploration, I’m in the process of creating a database of every person on the censuses and every voter listed on the electoral registers. I’m looking for stories and photographs and would be very grateful if anyone could help out in that regard. I’ve already found some interesting stories.

If you fall into any of these categories, or know someone who does, please do share a link to this post and/or the YouTube link – and please ‘Like’ the video if you have a YouTube account. I hope you’ll find it useful.

Information and Links for photos and maps used

All photographs from Leodis:  https://Leodis.net
Go to Advanced search and key in the ID given.

  • JR Holmes and Star Maltings on Wortley Road, 1965.  ID: 2003729_72382754
  • Star Maltings and Shackleton’s Fold on Wortley Road, 1965.  ID: 2003729_99482364
  • View from St John’s Street to side view of Star Maltings and former Shackleton’s Fold, 1965. ID: 2003729_88186282
  • 107-109 Whitehall Road, with view of St John’s Street, 1965.  ID: 2003729_31147402
  • Whitehall Road School and Kildare Terrace, 1948.  ID: 5624
  • Whitehall Road School, 1948.  ID: 2818
  • Whitehall Road at the junction with Gelderd Road, Trolley and Tram Junction, undated but possibly 1911.  ID: 2011127_173010
  • St John’s Sunday School (bombed 24th/25th August 1940).  ID: 200828_166072
  • St John’s Street, from L to R: 11 to 15, 1965.  ID: 2003729_52465457

Tithe apportionment of Wortley (township in the parish of Leeds)
1846.  The National Archives, Kew.  Reference: IR 29/43/444

Ordnance Survey Maps located at National Library of Scotland Maps: https://maps.nls.uk
Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland

OS: Leeds Sheet 13: Surveyed: 1847, Published: 1850. (Railway revision to c. 1862)
https://maps.nls.uk/view/229947003

OS: Leeds Sheet 17: Surveyed: 1847,  Published: 1850. (Railway revision to c. 1854)
https://maps.nls.uk/view/229947015

OS 25-inch England and Wales: Leeds – Yorkshire CCXVIII.5.13: Surveyed: 1888,  Revised: 1910,  Published: 1911
https://maps.nls.uk/view/229947306

OS 25-inch England and Wales: Yorkshire CCXVIII.5: Revised: 1906, Published: 1908
https://maps.nls.uk/view/125642449

O.S: Yorkshire CCXVIII.5: Revised: 1932 to 1933, Published: 1934
https://maps.nls.uk/view/125642455

In search of Shackleton’s Fold (and other lost places)

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Ordnance Survey: Leeds Sheet 13: Surveyed: 1847. Published: 1850.
Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland
https://maps.nls.uk/view/229947003 

The last post I published in my ‘Ancestral Tourism’ series focused on preparing for visiting former ancestral homes and business premises that are still standing. I said I would cover trying to locate buildings no longer in existence in a future post.

This is that future post. It finishes my Ancestral Tourism theme, and also forms part of my One Place Study on Shackleton’s Fold.

In this video linked below I provide two examples from my own family history of using maps, censuses, technology and sheer determination to work out where a property used to be. The first example is in Birmingham’s Deritend and Bordesley; the second is Shackleton’s Fold. If you have ‘disappeared’ houses in your ancestry, I hope you’ll find it helpful.

Please do ‘like’ it if you have a YouTube account. You could even ‘Subscribe’ to the channel if you want. It’s free. 🙂

As far as the Shackleton’s Fold theme is concerned, there will be at least two follow-on videos (currently in preparation). The first of these will use maps and old photos to focus on the area where it stood. In the second I turn detective and try to gather as many clues as possible about what Shackleton’s Fold looked like.

If you have ancestry in Shackleton’s Fold, New Wortley, Leeds (1840s-c.1938) and have an interesting family story about it, or a photograph of the street, I would love to hear from you. If you don’t have ancestry there but have access to a photograph of the street, again, please do contact me.

*****

The maps used in this video came from the National Libraries of Scotland Maps website, and as part of their permission to use I’m required to provide a link to each of the maps. Although I did put this information at the end of the video, these were not usable as hyperlinks to the original map online. I therefore provide all map information and links below.

Borough of Birmingham by J. Pigott-Smith: Sheet 190, Published: 1855
Public Domain (Wikimedia Commons)
This map is also available at the National Library of Scotland:
https://maps.nls.uk/view/260803014

Side by Side Map:  Google Maps, 2025:
Part of New Wortley, Leeds

The following maps are reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland:

OS: Leeds Sheet 13
Surveyed: 1847,  Published: 1850. (Railway revision to c.1862)
https://maps.nls.uk/view/229947003

OS: OS 25-inch England and Wales: Yorkshire CCXVIII.5
Surveyed: 1888 to 1890, Published: 1893
https://maps.nls.uk/view/125642446

Family photos as a focus for mini histories

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The military band (marching band) of the 1st Battalion of the Green Howards. Location and precise year not known. ‘X’ marks my Granddad.

About three years ago I set myself the challenge of creating a digital library of every old family photo my brother and I inherited. The plan was to photograph the originals, using a good digital SLR camera. This is done with the soft natural light from a typically British all-over white sky, the sort of sky that manages to be bright whilst casting no shadow. The photos are then cleaned up digitally to remove scratches, perhaps enhance colour, and so on, and saved with an appropriate title. Sometimes an image takes five minutes to process, sometimes much, much longer. I still have a long way to go.

It’s a sad reality we family historians often have to come to terms with, that not everyone in our family is as interested in our ancestors as we are… My plan is to share these digital images with every family member, but I realise that no matter how much work I put into them, they’re unlikely to ignite the interest of the rest of the family, much less transport them back to the time the photo was taken and make them wonder what was going on in the subject’s world, as I would, and I suspect everyone reading this would too. Because of this, my grand plan has always been to present them in chronological order and meaningful ‘categories’, like photos of my parents before they knew each other, photos of my brother and me as children, and so on.

As I work with these photos I spend so much time looking at them that I spot details others would likely miss. I work out which photos were taken on the same day, spot the ‘stories’ in them, and assign dates – some deduced with forensic certainty, while others are estimates based on the clues. I then give each image a title with dates, names, and location or event.

I know that this is probably not enough to keep the attention of someone who hasn’t been bitten with the genealogy bug, so the plan is to provide each family member with not only the individual images, but also the same images in a digital booklet, creating the focus for a short history about that person or those people. I hope that in the context of their wider story the photos will make more sense.

My plan was disrupted when I borrowed all my brother’s photos and had to prioritise photographing them so I could get them back to him. In consequence, although I have around 400 processed old family images in my digital photo library (and about the same number photographed and awaiting processing), I haven’t produced even one ‘complete’ batch/story of photos for family members. I feel the need to achieve some sort of milestone.

Just before Christmas I went to the Christmas concert of our town’s brass band. As I listened to the beautiful arrangements of many of my favourite carols, my mind turned to my Granddad who, from 1906 until 1920, was a musician in the Green Howards, or Yorkshire Regiment.

He seems to have had that role from the outset. Certainly by the time he sent a Christmas card from South Africa to his parents in 1907, his title was ‘Drummer’. How he came to be so is a mystery to me. I’m sure he couldn’t have had previous experience, and can only assume he had a very good natural sense of rhythm, expressed an interest in specialising in the military band, and somehow was given a drum, some drumsticks and a mentor, and left to practise. He did it for fourteen years, and we still have his beautifully carved drumsticks and pacing stick.

After the brass band concert I got out all my Granddad’s photos and memorabilia from his time in the Green Howards, I realised there were not that many – no more than forty or fifty – and even though I haven’t yet photographed or processed a single one of them, I decided to make this the first of my little histories. After all, I already know a fair bit about his military movements.

As is evident from the image at the top of this post, not all the photos are great. That image is just a quick photo taken on my phone to illustrate the blogpost; the one I’ll take later on my camera will be better quality. However, the original is very small (2″ x 3 1/4″ / 5cm x 9cm), and with this slight enlargement, the image of the men is blurred. I can improve on this but not much. However, it has value as the only photo I have of the band in ‘marching’ mode and will sit alongside better images of them in seated format.

So this is part of my ToDo List for the next couple of months: to photograph, digitise and, as far as possible, arrange all my Granddad’s army images in date order with locations, and to share this with family. A second stage will be to find out as much as I can about the Battalion’s reason for being in the various locations, but that will be on a future ToDo List.

Season’s Greetings

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Getting to Christmas always feels like a marathon. So much to do to get everything ready before the arrival of family to spend a few days with us. I put a lot of time into baking Christmas cakes, cleaning and decorating the house. This takes a lot longer than most people would consider acceptable, because over the years my Christmas decorations have become my ‘thing’: my collection. It’s fair to describe this collection as sizeable. (Some might say excessive, but what do they know?!)

Unwrapping my ornaments each December is like being reunited with old friends. I read an article just before Christmas, about different approaches to tree decorating. I recognised myself as ‘the archivist’. Every piece has a story, or invokes a memory. Some were made by my children when they were little; quite a lot have been (and continue to be) made by me. Others were gifts, or bought by us on our travels. A few belonged to my parents; and even the ones that fall into none of those categories often have meaning.

I follow my mother’s tradition of leaving the decorations up until 6th January (Epithany), and my favourite time is the days between Christmas day and then, when everything looks beautiful and we can enjoy the results of all that preparation.

These ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ would have been enjoyed long ago by our ancestors who, taking advantage of the dormant winter season, followed the proclamation of the 567 Council of Tours, that the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany were to be kept as a sacred and festive season. This short video focuses on some of the traditions that may be new to overseas readers, but many of them are still present in some way in UK festivities.

For me, these are mostly quiet days, but we do like to have a gathering on Twelfth Night (5th January).

Although I consider the end of the Twelve Days as the day to take down the Christmas decorations, the tradition used to be to leave them up until the Eve of Candlemas on 2nd February. I inadvertently fell into this tradition when, in 2021, after the 2020 Christmas Covid lockdown, I needed to keep the joy going a bit longer. That year, on January 6th, I re-dressed one of my trees as a ‘January Tree’, removing all the Christmassy ornaments, but keeping bright reds and wintery decorations. Two years later I had my first little Christmas ‘Family Tree’ and ever since, I keep both of these trees throughout January every year.

If you celebrate Christmas, I hope you’ve had a happy one. If you needed quiet and tranquility, I hope you had that. If parties and community are your thing, I hope you enjoyed as many as you wanted. To all of you, I wish you a happy, healthy and successful New Year in 2026. I’ll be back in January with a new post.

Ancestral Tourism 2: Public & Municipal Cemeteries

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Ryde Cemetery, Isle of Wight. © Janice Heppenstall

This follows on from my last post: Ancestral Tourism 1: Churches and Churchyards. It focuses on locating and visiting graves of our ancestors whose final resting place is in one of the large municipal or other public cemeteries in our towns and cities rather than in a church graveyard.

First, a bit of history

The emergence of large public cemeteries is an interesting part of our social history, connecting with several other developments of the nineteenth century that will be familiar to local and family historians. The migrations and population booms of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries created not only a lack of housing for the living but also of burial grounds for the dead – and all the more so in the growing industrial towns and cities. The historic churchyard burial grounds posed problems on several fronts: they were generally small, overcrowded, often laid out in a haphazard manner; and as knowledge of hygiene and sanitation developed, there were concerns about the spread of disease, particularly since in towns and cities these small burial grounds were generally alongside the church and surrounded by closely packed housing.

The initial response to this problem was to turn to the private sector. Throughout the 1820s and 1830s a number of ‘garden cemeteries’ were established to serve big industrial towns, including Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield, Newcastle and later, London. These cemeteries were private commercial ventures set up under individual Acts of Parliament. They were large, well-planned spaces, often designed by the same architects and landscape designers who created public parks. Some of these garden cemeteries may be well-known to us. They include Highgate in London, Undercliffe in Bradford and Arnos Vale in Bristol.

Some of the early cemeteries were developed by and for Nonconformists. As outlined in my last post, the general practice was for Nonconformists to be buried in the parish churchyard and the service officiated by the Anglican vicar. Many prominent philanthropic capitalists were Nonconformists, and by this time were able to use their wealth and influence to bring about changes including, here, the freedom to bury their dead and conduct services according to their own beliefs and traditions. Well-known Nonconformist cemeteries include Chorlton Row Cemetery in Manchester, which opened in 1821, Low Hill Cemetery in Liverpool, opened 1825, and Woodhouse Cemetery in Leeds, 1835. It is interesting to note that it was around the same time that the State removed control of recording births (or rather baptisms), marriages and deaths (or rather burials) from the Church of England and placed that responsibility with a new General Register Office: the introduction of Civil BMDs in 1837.

Generally speaking, though, these cemeteries were money-making enterprises, serving the upper and middle classes. There was no increase in provision for the labouring classes. The response from some local authorities was to develop more cemeteries but funded by public money. Early examples are St Bartholomew’s Cemetery in Exeter, which opened in 1837, Beckett Street and Hunslet Cemeteries in Leeds, both opened 1845, and Southampton Old Cemetery, 1846. This was the beginning of the Municipal Cemeteries – publicly funded, and owned/ managed by the local corporation.

The Metropolitan Burial Act of 1852, and other Acts of Parliament that followed, empowered local authorities to establish public cemeteries and close previous overcrowded burial grounds. The new cemeteries would have uniform hygiene standards and procedures for burial, would cater for all social levels, including some lower cost options for decent burials, and would offer burial options with dedicated areas for people of all religious affiliations. Half of any new cemetery was to remain unconsecrated, allowing for burials without the Church of England service. Later, in 1879, the The Public Health (Interments) Act made it a duty of local health authorities to provide cemeteries if local conditions required it.

Historic England have produced a List of Registered Cemeteries, arranged in date order. Information is provided for each, including design, designer, whether private or municipal, and important or interesting features.

There is also a nationwide map published by the Institute of Cemetery and Crematorium Management which includes every cemetery and crematorium in the land. I’ve checked out all the ones I know and they are all present and correct.

Since there is a similarity in records of these different types of public cemetery, the following notes about how to plan for your visit is intended to cover all of them. There are in any case differences from one cemetery to another, regardless of how they came into being.

Planning your visit

Allow plenty of time for this – there is a lot of research and planning to do!

Locating the records

  • Needless to say, the first thing you need is to know the cemetery in which your ancestor is buried. We’ll start by looking at who holds the records, moving on to which of them might be online.
  • Since Municipal Cemeteries are managed by the local authority, it is they who hold the records for these cemeteries. Often, this team is known as ‘Cemeteries and Crematoria’, or ‘Cems and Crems’ for short. You can find them online by using either of these phrases as search terms and adding the name of your town or city of interest.
  • Some local authorities offer a look-up service. For example, Leeds Cems and Crems provide a list of all cemeteries, together with opening date. They require the name of the deceased, the date of burial and the cemetery, and will ‘check the records and if the information is correct […] let you know the grave number and section or where in the grounds the cremated remains were strewn.’ Some Cems and Crems teams charge for this service; others do not.
  • Some local authorities have databases available online so you can check for yourself. For example, Birmingham Cems and Crems have separate online searchable databases for each of their twelve cemeteries.
  • Privately owned cemeteries keep their own records. Information can be accessed via their websites. For example, at the time of writing, Highgate Cemetery charges £40 for a search. However, they also state that copies of all their records are free to consult at Camden Local Studies and Archives Centre.
  • That said, digital images of the records of some cemeteries are available online. You might find records from your cemetery of interest on your genealogy subscription website; or try looking on FamilySearch. From the home page navigate to Search > Images > insert the name of your place of interest and then select the appropriate era from the drop-down list. From here, you will have to scroll through to see if the records you need are included, and if they are, you will need to browse through the images of the records. Knowing the death date or at least month of death will speed things up. I found all the records from York’s Fulford Cemetery on here – and they are excellent!
  • Transcripts of the records of your cemetery of interest may have been included on FindAGrave (free to use). I have found on there most of my ancestors and their families who were buried in a municipal cemetery, but it is primarily run by volunteers so is inevitably a work in progress.
  • There is also DeceasedOnline, which helps burial authorities and crematoria to convert their register records, maps and photographs into digital form and bring them together into a central searchable collection. There is a fee to see the individual records, and I have not used this website, but it is there as an option should you wish to use it.

    • Locating a Map of the Cemetery

    The cemetery records will hold certain essential information about your ancestor: name, address, date of burial, occupation. There may be more information, but this little lot will enable you to identify the person and be sure it’s your ancestor. There will be one other very important piece of information: the number of the grave or plot where your ancestor is buried.

    Armed with this, what you need now is a map. And on this point it’s a question of digging about online. Here are some places to look:

    • The cemetery’s own website, if they have one. Example: York’s Fulford Cemetery provide section maps on their website.
    • Local authority Cems & Crems may have pages for each of their cemeteries, possibly including maps. Example: Isle of Wight have plot maps of all their cemeteries available for download, for a fee.
    • A lot of the cemeteries have ‘Friends’, and these often have a website with maps. Examples: Friends of Beckett Street Cemetery have an astonishingly good series of online tools to help you locate and navigate your way to your ancestor’s plot. These include locations of plots, numbers and names of occupants in each, whether there is a monument or gravestone, and whether this has been photographed. A different approach is taken at Friends of Southampton Old Cemetery. They provide assistance in locating graves and request a small donation towards their conservation work. Some ‘Friends’ groups have even carried out research into the lives of those buried in the cemetery.
    • Local history or heritage groups may have websites with maps. One the best set of static maps I have found to date is for Ryde Cemetery by Ryde Social Heritage Group. Every plot is shown with the names of the occupants.
    • The local Family History Society may have mapped the cemetery. Example: Isle of Wight.
    • There may be a site map at the cemetery itself, but you will need to know this in advance to avoid disappointment.

Going alone or with a companion
In the course of researching this post I have located every one of my ancestors and all of their children buried in Municipal and Public Cemeteries. Armed with this information, including details of family plots, plus a better understanding of the significance of each of the cemeteries, I feel sufficiently well-informed to be able to make a decision as to whether to inflict a visit to any of them on my nearest, dearest, yet genealogically disinterested. Based on this, I consider one cemetery in Leeds with a single family plot of interest to be acceptable, and another in York with just three relevant family plots. The rest have far too many plots that I would need to visit; and although one – Beckett Street Cemetery in Leeds – may be acceptable on grounds of social history, I simply couldn’t put anyone else through the monotony of locating and visiting the number of graves. Definitely, these will have to be solitary trips for me.

Part of the problem leading to this decision is that although the nineteenth century cemeteries were intended as public landscapes, and are of great historic and heritage value, lack of funding means that many of them have now become neglected. It is here that ‘Friends of’ the individual cemeteries provide a valuable service, carrying out conservation and environmental work and delivering ecological benefits – but not every cemetery has a Friends group, and some are less active than others.

You might find that the ‘Friends of’ your cemetery of interest provide tours from time to time. It might be possible to arrange your visit to coincide with that, then stay on afterwards to visit your family’s graves. Interesting for you and they will appreciate the income.

If you can’t go

There is so much information to be found online. By doing the research outlined above, making full use of online material and even, where possible, via the ‘Friends of’ website, FindAGrave or a Facebook page, requesting a photo. You can also search online for images of the cemetery. Adding “wikimedia commons” to your search term will return a selection of images that are free to use provided you credit the photographer.

Be forewarned though that the inscription on images is not always legible. This could be because of sunlight conditions on the day, severe weathering over time, or possibly just because of the quality of the image when reduced for web use. The following wonderfully clear image is from FindAGrave, but some of the images of my family’s gravestones cannot be read at all.

Image © Rachel79; source: FindAGrave

*****

I hope this has given you some ideas for how to plan for a visit to a Municipal or Public Cemetery. Researching it has certainly focused my mind and I’ve found it fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, that I will be slotting in an extra couple of posts about cemeteries before progressing to finding about former homes and business premises of our ancestors in the post after that. 🙂

Meeting the people of Shackleton’s Fold

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In Leeds last month, I spent two days in the Local History department of the wonderful Leeds Central Library. I had a big task to complete, started last year, that will help me progress my Shackleton’s Fold One-Place-Study.

Comprising only nineteen properties, Shackleton’s Fold existed for less than a hundred years. It was built around the mid-1840s, precise year not yet known; and from 1895 until demolition circa 1938, was populated by quite a lot of my family members.

There are various strands to this One-Place-Study. First, the properties themselves – poor quality Back-to-Backs, or rather ‘Blind Backs’, since Shackleton’s Fold comprised just two rows of houses, each with the door and windows only on the front. The back of the house, instead of joining onto another identical property with the windows and doors on the other side, was simply a solid wall. No windows, no doors, and no other house. My study will include contextual information about Back-to-Backs, the industrial era working class housing for which Leeds is famous. Next, there are of course the people who lived there: the family members who lived in each of the houses during the time they stood. I’m interested in their stories, as well as what their lives reveal more generally about the lot of the labouring classes in this part of Leeds, during the second half of the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries.

Before I can delve into their stories I need to find out who they are, and that’s what I was doing in the library: compiling a list of everyone on the Electoral Registers and Ward Lists. The objective was to use these to fill the gaps between the decennial censuses. This would enable a fine-tuning of the periods of residence for each household. If a named head of household was present for the 1861 and 1871 censuses but not the 1881, the registers could allow me to pinpoint the exact year they moved out.

Cataloguing the voters of just nineteen houses for around ninety-five years didn’t seem like such a big task, particularly since at the beginning of the period none of the residents had the vote. However, it has taken three full library days for me to do it – and even now I’ll need to return to check a few omissions and discrepancies.

A scene from a library. A red book with the title 'Leeds Register of Electors, West Division, 1896' and showing the catalogue number, is being held upright. On the desk is a handwritten notebook with lists of dates, and a laptop. Other desks and library users are visible beyond

Throughout the nineteenth century the population of the Borough of Leeds grew rapidly. In 1861 it was 311,197, rising to 503,493 in 1891 and by 1931 – the last Census for which Shackleton’s Fold was inhabited – the population stood at 646,119. This meant that the arrangement of the registers had to change. The sheer numbers of voters in these various registers meant they had to be divided into manageable chunks. Navigating these was a huge task. For example, a volume might bear the title ‘Borough of Leeds Ward Lists 1881 Part 2’, but with no indication as to which parts of Leeds were in Part 1, Part 2, etc; and this meant each ‘Part’ had to be browsed until the area needed was located. There was no guarantee that the following year would be similarly arranged, so the whole process had to be repeated.

Header page for electoral register, bearing the title 'Borough of Leeds Polling District Number 31, Township of Wortley, Number 3 Division'. A note below indicates that the list that follows is of people entitled to vote in any Parliamentary election throughout 1870

If you’ve worked with Electoral Registers you’ll know that they are further divided into specific polling districts. The only way to work out which one you need is to look at the most likely ones until you find streets with names you recognise as local to your place of interest. Once you’ve done that you might think you’ve cracked it, and you’ll be able to whizz through the rest in no time. However, these polling districts also change. For example, in 1870, Shackleton’s Fold was in Polling District No. 31. In 1894 it was in West Division Polling District No. 28; changed to District No. 32 by 1899; then District 33, later to 39 and so on.

Front page of The Ward List for the Holbeck Ward, Township of Wortley, Number 1 Division, for the year 1876-77. The beginning of a list of people is visible below the header

It gets worse! Electoral Registers list only those people entitled to vote in Parliamentary elections; and part of the appeal of a One-Place-Study for Shackleton’s Fold is that it existed throughout a period of great social change, including the move towards universal adult suffrage. During this time, some people were entitled to vote in Municipal but not Parliamentary Elections, and it’s interesting to chart the changes and know that behind each gain there was an important piece of legislation granting the vote to another group of people. This will definitely be covered in my One-Place-Study. However, since those entitled to vote only in Municipal elections could not be included in the Electoral Registers, there had to be another series of registers to list them. Therefore, alongside the Electoral Registers, there are also Ward Rolls, sometimes called Burgage Lists. Here, alongside the men included on the Electoral Registers, we find women and other men whose situation entitled them only to this local level of voting. Consequently there are (at least) two volumes of voters for every year. And guess what… the Polling Districts in the Ward Rolls have different names to those in the Electoral Registers! Shackleton’s Fold starts out in 1860 in ‘Holbeck Ward, Township of Wortley’. By 1874 it is the ‘Holbeck Ward Township of Wortley No. 3 Division’, and a couple of years later it’s No. 1 Division. By 1881 we have ‘Polling District No. 23 New Wortley Ward, Township of Wortley’, then ‘New Wortley Ward Polling District No 28’, and so on. By the 1920s even the township changes, to ‘Armley & Bramley’ and briefly to ‘Polling District MM Township of Leeds’.

As if that wasn’t difficult enough, it wasn’t until 1880 that voters were arranged by address. From this point forward, voters in Shackleton’s Fold are listed together, from number 1 to number 19. Before that year, locating each person involved line by line examination of every entry in the appropriate Polling District – once that had been found – and looking for the magic words ‘Shackleton’s Fold’, then making a note of the name of the person shown. Numbers of individual properties are not given, and since people often tended to move from house to house as their needs changed, there is no way of knowing for sure where each person resided other than at the decennial Census check-ins. Certainly from 1880 onwards the process was quicker, allowing for the speedy capturing of names and addresses with photographs of the relevant pages… at least, provided the Polling District hadn’t been renamed.

Top of page in Burgess List indicating that the named people who would follow were entitled to be enrolled as Burgesses, but not to be Registered as Parliamentary Electors

That said, for quite a few of the years, even after 1880, the women are listed in a separate part of the book, at the end of the entries for that polling district. Special mention must be made of the ‘Borough of Leeds Ward Lists 1872 Part 4’ in which, possibly because of a misunderstanding on the part of whoever compiled it into the one bound volume, locating the information involved examining every line on all 190 pages.

Extract from Burgess List showing the women who were entitled to vote in local elections. These women were separated out from the male householders who, since 1867, had the right to vote also in Parliamentary elections
Women voters only. The men, who were now entitled to vote in Parliamentary as well as Municipal elections, were listed in the main part of the Ward Roll.

If you’ve ever worked with Electoral Registers, I’m sure some of the above will be familiar; but I suspect not so many of you will have been tracing the families of an entire street throughout a ninety-five year period! My advice to anyone planning on using Electoral Registers and Ward Rolls is: to allow far more time than you expect you’ll need; to understand the difference between the two, and their layout; and to make notes of the different Polling District names for each as you progress. This was a lesson hard learned for me, and explains why I now have a list of queries, and even a few volumes I now realise I missed.

That said, doing this is an essential foundation for everything that will follow. In addition to the decennial censuses from 1851 to 1921, the Electoral Registers and the Ward Rolls, I have information from The Borough of Leeds Poll Book. This was the first general election to be held after the passage of the Reform Act 1867, which enfranchised many male householders. Poll Books differed from Electoral Registers in that whereas the latter list who is entitled to vote, the former list not only who did actually vote, but also for whom they voted. It would not be until 1872 that the Secret Ballot was introduced, and so for many of our ancestors this is a once-only insight into their political affiliations. Other useful name-rich listings may include Directories and even addresses included on baptism and marriage registers. Luckily for me, for much of this period, all Church of England registers for Leeds are available on Ancestry.co.uk. – but not Roman Catholic or most Nonconformist registers.

These lists of people will form the basis of a database of every household, arranged alphabetically by surname. What I had really intended was simply to use these voter lists for fine-tuning periods of residence. I had anticipated that the real sources of information about the families would be the censuses. However, some residents lived in Shackleton’s Fold for only a very short period of time; and since all I have is the name of the head of household, there is no way of finding out more about them. The identity of a Thomas Brown, for example, who is listed on the Electoral Roll of 1871 and nowhere else – not even on the Census of that same year – will forever be unknown. However, Isaac Lord, also resident just briefly in 1870, turns out to have a sufficiently uncommon name for me to be able to track him down. Similarly, the juxtaposition of the head of household with his wife’s name on the Ward Lists may be sufficient to track a couple down via a marriage record.

My brain hadn’t flagged up that the lists themselves would also, with very little additional research required, witness the expansion of suffrage. It will be interesting to compare each increase of names with the relevant legislation. The lists even chart the final years of Shackleton’s Fold, helping me to narrow down the likely year of demolition. In 1938 only one resident remained, and by the following year he, too, was gone. Soon, Shackleton’s Fold would be no more.

If you want to follow progress on this One-Place-Study, you’ll find all blog posts and other information [here].

Monarchs and Jacobites Part 2

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In my last post I explained how a desire to understand more about the Jacobites led to the compilation of an overview of all English/ British monarchs from Henry VII to George I. I wanted to understand:

  • The descent of the throne: how each monarch relates to his or her predecessors and where unclear, why they were installed.
  • The role of religion in decisions about the Crown, as well as attitudes towards Roman Catholics, Puritans and Nonconformists during the reign of each monarch.
  • What connection this had with the Jacobites.
  • And finally – although to be honest this was something that piqued my interest during the research rather than something I set out to do – how this connects with certain documentation we might come across as family historians.

This is the second part of my exploration. The first post covered Henry VII to Charles I. This post starts with the Interregnum followed by the Restoration of Charles II, and ends with George I. It is of course a quick overview focusing just on the above, not a learned analysis!

Interregnum, or Commonwealth Period
Part 1 of this overview ended with Charles I, who was beheaded in 1649, the act which started the Interregnum. Reading about Charles, we understand there were a number of tensions leading to the civil war and ultimately the Interregnum. One of these was Charles’s religious position. The Church of England was sandwiched between the high ceremony of the Roman Catholic church and the Puritans, who wanted a simpler form of worship. Charles, however, favoured a ‘high church’ within the Church of England. His marriage, too, to the Catholic Henrietta Maria, raised concerns among Protestants. On top of this, Charles’s belief in the Divine Right of Kings exaccerbated both religious and political tensions. Parliamentarians, many of whom were also religious reformers, were angered by Charles’s favoritism towards Catholics. They sought to limit his power and influence, not only on religious matters but also more broadly, since Charles often clashed with, overruled and even dissolved his Parliament for an eleven-year period.

In light of all this, following the execution of Charles I, England was declared a Republic. Initially Member of Parliament for Huntingdon, Oliver Cromwell rose to prominence as leader of the Parliamentarians and ultimately ruled as Lord Protector. The Commonwealth period was a time of great religious and social change. Cromwell wanted to establish a more just and equitable society. Yet he was a devout Puritan who believed this would be achieved through spiritual and moral reform. During this period the Church of England was disestablished,the House of Lords abolished, and Puritanism gained prominence. Many restrictive laws were passed to regulate moral behaviour. Theatres were closed down, strict observance of the Sabbath was required, and celebrations of Easter and Christmas were banned.

Charles II, reigned 1660-1685
After the execution of Charles I in 1649, the Scots viewed his son, also Charles, as his rightful heir. Wishing to maintain a monarchy in Scotland and England, they invited him to Scotland. The young Charles had been sent to safety in France – not only the homeland of his mother, but also the realm of his uncle, Louis XIII. In 1643 the Scottish Covenanters had entered into an alliance with the English Parliamentarians, including a pledge to work towards the establishment of Presbyterianism in England. Now the Scots, particularly the Covenanters, viewed Charles II as a potential leader who could uphold Presbyterianism in the three kingdoms (Scotland, Ireland, England). In accordance with their wishes he signed the National Covenant, affirming Presbyterianism as the official religion in Scotland. On 1 January 1651 Charles II was crowned by the Scots at Scone – the last coronation to take place in this historic Scottish coronation site. However, a few months later, the decisive defeat of the Scottish army broke the power of the Presbyterians in England and Scotland, ending the relevance of the Solemn League and Covenant. Once more, Charles was granted sanctuary in France, and the English government announced that henceforth, England and Scotland were to be one Commonwealth.

After Oliver Cromwell’s death in 1658, there was a desire to restore the monarchy. The first election returned a government that was fairly evenly divided on political grounds between Royalists and Parliamentarians, and on religious grounds between Anglicans and Presbyterians. In 1660, after signing the Declaration of Breda, Charles was invited to London and restored to the throne as Charles II. Through the Declaration, Charles promised those who recognised himself as monarch a general pardon for crimes committed during the Civil War and the Interregnum. Most of Cromwell’s supporters were granted amnesty, but fifty were not. Nine were executed, the others given life imprisonment or excluded from office for life. Cromwell’s body was posthumously decapitated. Charles also promised religious toleration, with liberty of conscience. Finally, he promised to rule in cooperation with Parliament.

Image: King Charles II

by John Michael Wright, c. 1660–1665 National Portrait Gallery, London

Source: Wikipedia, Public Domain

Portrait of King Charles II by John Michael Wright. The King is seated and holds the Sovereign's Orb. He is dressed in fine robes of red, white and blue with jewels.

However, after elections the following year, a new overwhelmingly Royalist and Anglican Parliament was sworn in, bringing with it a series of limits to the religious toleration with which more advanced genealogists will be familiar. These included a requirement for municipal officeholders to swear allegiance, the introduction of the Book of Common Prayer, the Conventicle Act of 1664, which forbade religious gatherings of more than five people outside the Church of England, and a prohibition for clergymen who had been expelled from their parishes for church services not conforming to the newly enforced Anglican requirements from coming within five miles of that parish. As Puritanism lost its momentum, theatres reopened and as a release from the restrictions of the Commonwealth period, bawdy ‘Restoration comedy’ became a recognisable genre. For the first time, female actors were required to play female roles. The Restoration was therefore a time of great social change.

Charles II, however, had family arrangements that placed him very much at conflict with limits on religious tolerance. On 21st May 1662 he married Catherine of Braganza, the Roman Catholic daughter of King John IV of Portugal. The marriage was celebrated in two ceremonies at Portsmouth – a Catholic one, conducted in secret, followed by a public Church of England service. It’s worth remembering here that Charles II’s mother, Henrietta Maria, was also Roman Catholic, that Charles had spent most of his life in exile in France, and that Louis XIV of France was his first cousin. In 1670, by treaty agreed between the two cousins (The Treaty of Dover/ Secret Treaty of Dover), Charles committed, amongst other things, to convert to Catholicism at some point in the future. In return, he would receive a secret pension from Louis that he hoped would give him some freedom from Parliamentary scrutiny of his finances. He would also receive a financial bonus from Louis plus the loan of French troops to suppress any opposition when his conversion was made public. The Treaty remained a secret, and Charles never did convert. However, against the wishes of Parliament, he did issue the Royal Declaration of Indulgence of 1672, by which he attempted to suspend laws that punished recusants from the Church of England, thereby extending religious liberty both to Protestant nonconformists and to Roman Catholics. The following year he was compelled by Parliament to withdraw the Declaration.

Charles died in 1685. Having no legitimate children, he was succeeded by his brother.

James II of England/ VII of Scotland, reigned 1685-1688
Like his older brother Charles II, James had lived in exile in France during the Commonweath period, and served in the armies of Louis XIV until the Restoration in 1660. However, in 1669 James had converted to Roman Catholicism. There had therefore been concern at the prospect of his acceeding to the throne, but on the whole a hereditary succession was viewed as preferable to the possibility of a further republican commonwealth. It was, in any case, considered that the reign of James II / VII would be merely a temporary Catholic interlude. By his first marriage to Anne Hyde, James had one son who died, and two daughters. At the insistence of their uncle Charles II the daughters, Mary and Ann, were raised in the Church of England.

In 1687 James II/ VII issued the Declaration of Indulgence. As with the 1672 Declaration issued by his brother, this was an attempt to promote religious tolerance by suspending penal laws enforcing conformity to the Church of England, allowing people to worship freely in their homes or chapels, and ending the requirement for oaths of allegiance for government office. However, in a period when fear of Catholicism was widespread, he had already made enemies of Anglican bishops as well as Lords and Members of Parliament, on one occasion in 1685 proroguing Parliament and ruling without it. He then continued to promote the Roman Catholic cause, dismissing judges and others who refused to support the withdrawal of laws penalising religious dissidents and preventing the appointment of Catholics to important posts in academic, military and political positions. By 1688 most of James’s subjects had been alienated.

Portrait of King James II of England and VII of Scotland. The King is standing and wearing armour on his upper body, along with a gold sash. His left arm rests on a scarlet-feather trimmed helmet. He is wearing the long curled wig of the period.

Image: King James II and VII

Artist unknown.

Source: National Portrait Gallery, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

In April 1688 James II/ VII reissued the Declaration of Indulgence. Two months later his second wife, Mary of Modena, gave birth to a son and heir: James Francis Edward. The baby was baptised according to the rites of the Roman Catholic church. It was a final straw: fearful of a Roman Catholic dynasty in the making, on 30 June 1688 a group of Protestant nobles invited William of Orange to come to England with an army. When William arrived on 5th November 1688, many army officers defected, joining him against the king. The following month James II/ VII fled with his wife and baby son to France, where he was received by his cousin Louis XIV. This overthrowing of James II/ VII is what is referred to as The Glorious Revolution, 1688-89.

The descent of the throne is about to get very complicated!

William III (reigned 1689-1702) and Mary II (reigned 1689-1694)
We have already met William and Mary. Mary is the oldest daughter of James II and VII, by his first wife Anne Hyde. It was mentioned above that at the insistence of their uncle, Charles II, Mary and her younger sister Ann were raised in the Church of England. Charles also arranged for Mary to marry the Protestant Prince William of Orange – that same William who arrived in 1688 by invitation of the Protestant nobles to overthrow the King – that King being his father-in-law.

In fact not only Mary but also William of Orange had a claim to the British throne. Both were grandchildren of Charles I. William was descended from Charles I through his mother, Princess Mary, who was the eldest daughter of King Charles. The soon-to-be queen Mary, as we have seen, was descended from Charles I via his second son James II and VII.

Image: William III and Mary II

Painting: Sir James Thornhill; Photo: James Brittain derivative work: Surtsicna (cropped)

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Portrait of William III and Mary II. The couple are seated. Both wear a crown and both have a Royal Sceptre. The Sovereign's Orb is set between them. William is wearing armour on his upper body and the long vurled wig of the period. Both wear fur-trimmed robes.

In 1689, it was declared by Parliament that James had abdicated by deserting his kingdom. William and Mary were offered the throne as joint monarchs but were required to accept a Declaration of Rights, later enshrined in the Bill of Rights of 1689. The Statute remains a cornerstone of English constitutional law, setting out basic civil rights, resetting the relationship between monarch and Parliament, providing guarantees against the abuses of power that had become commonplace, and changing the succession to the English Crown. James II / VII and his heirs being now excluded from the throne, this exclusion was extended to apply to all Roman Catholics. The Toleration Act of the same year allowed for freedom of worship for dissenting Protestants, but not to Roman Catholics or Jews. ‘Tolerance’ only went so far. Nonconformists were required to swear oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy, they continued to be excluded from holding political offices and positions at universities, but they could meet to worship as they wished, provided they did so in registered meeting houses and with licensed dissenting preachers. However, it was better than the previous position and was considered a reward for Protestant dissenters who did not support James II / VII.

Mary reigned until her death in 1694; William continued until his death in 1702.

Anne, reigned 1702-1714
Leaving no children, William and Mary were succeeded by Mary’s sister Anne, who reigned until her death in 1714. When she, too, died childless (her only surviving son having predeceased her), the line passed to Sophia, Electress of Hanover, who was the granddaughter of James I/ VI via her mother Elizabeth, and was the nearest Protestant relative.

Portrait of Queen Anne by unknown artist of the seventeenth century. The Queen is seated and is wearing a fine robe of gold and cobalt blue with fur trimming. She is holding the Sovereign's Orb.

Image: Queen Anne

Artist unknown, 17th century

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

George I, reigned 1714-1727
In fact Sophia had died two months before Queen Anne, meaning the line passed to her son, George Ludwig. Although there were around fifty Roman Catholics who would have had a stronger claim were it not for the exclusion, George I acceeded to the throne in 1714. The reign of the House of Hanover, which would continue in the United Kingdom until Queen Victoria’s death in 1901, had commenced.

Image: George I

Artist: Godfrey Kneller

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Image of King George I by artist Godfrey Kneller. The king is wearing fine clothing with a cloak and the usual long wig of the period. He is holding the Sovereign's orb and his Crown is by his side.

Pedigree Chart
In the following chart you can see all the monarchs mentioned in the above account, together with the others mentioned as essential to the line of descent. There are also two more people, descended from James II and VII and his second wife Mary of Modena. We will now turn to look at them.

Click for BIG!

The Jacobites
Were it not for the exclusion of Roman Catholics from the succession to the English Crown, one of the people who would have had a stronger right to the throne than George I was of course the son of the exiled James II / VII. The old king had died in France in 1701; and his son, James Francis Edward Stuart, who had been created Prince of Wales in July 1688, considered himself James III and VIII.

Following the coronation of George I – who spoke very little English and whose loyalties and thoughts were primarily with Hanover – riots and uprisings broke out in various parts of the United Kingdom.

‘Jacobites’ had been active since The Glorious Revolution. They sought to restore the Stuart line to the thrones of England, Scotland, and Ireland, but the reasons for their support were complex and varied. A central tenet of Jacobitism – the political ideology behind the movement – was that kings were appointed by God, and therefore the post-1688 regime was illegitimate. This view was particularly strong amongst the Episcopalians in the Lowlands. There was also opposition to the Act of Union of 1707. Many Jacobites believed the Stuarts would reverse the Union and restore Scottish independence. Akin to this were clan loyalties and traditions, and the enduring sense of marginalisation by the English and British government. Consequently, in Scotland, Jacobitism was strongest in the Western Highlands and in Perthshire and Aberdeenshire. However, given the origins and connections between the Scottish clans and Ireland, there was a Roman Catholic element to the support too, and indeed Jacobitism was also strongly supported in Ireland. There were also pockets of support in Wales and parts of England; and the Stuarts received some backing from France and other countries.

After an unsuccessful invasion in 1715 James – the would-be King James III/ VIII, nick-named ‘The Old Pretender’ – lived in papal territory, and from 1718 until his death in 1766, resided in Rome. Here, he established a court-in-exile, creating Jacobite Peerages and operating an unofficial consulate. In 1719 James married Maria Clementina Sobieska, with whom he had two sons. The second son, Henry Benedict Stuart would become a Cardinal of the Catholic Church. The first, born 31st December 1720, was Charles Edward Stuart. We know him as ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’. He was also nicknamed ‘The Young Pretender’. It was Bonnie Prince Charlie who led the Jacobite Rising of 1745, culminating in the Battle of Culloden.

Armed with all of the above information, the Scottish history outlined in Reunion will make more sense. You will also be well-prepared should you wish to tackle Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander! However, I hope it will also be of use in understanding the odd document you’ve found in your own family research. For example, I now understand what was behind a document countersigned by my 7x great grandfather at York Castle in 1745 pledging allegiance to the king (George II) against the ‘Rebellion in Favour of a Popish Pretender’.

It has been quite time-consuming to put this together. I had never had a great deal of interest in the Kings and Queens of England/ United Kingdom; my personal interests lie with the ordinary people. However, working on this has given me a great context within which to place all of the changes in attitudes and leniency towards Nonconformists in the 1660s, 1670s and 1680s – and this is a period when a number of my own ancestors were converting to Nonconformist practices. I even looked at a chart of Kings and Queens of England last week and was able to spot immediately that Lady Jane Grey was missing! I hope you will find it interesting and useful too.

Monarchs and Jacobites Part 1

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In my last post, about Ryan Littrell’s book ‘Reunion’, I pointed out that while reading it, I was aware of the limits of my own knowledge of Scottish history. A few years back I read Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander novel, and now realised these two books cover some important common ground. I knew I would understand both stories better if I learned more about this history.

Key to both was Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobites. While appreciating that Bonnie Prince Charlie was the son of James, and the term “Jacobite” comes from the Latin ‘Jacobus’, meaning James, I didn’t know which particular James this was, nor how he fitted in with the monarchs of Scotland or England. Upon exploring all this I soon found myself back with the English and Scottish monarchs with whom I was familiar, and quickly understood not only who the Jacobites were, but also the importance of religion in this story.

It became clear that to understand the Jacobite cause we need to go back to Henry VIII; and to understand the claim to the English throne of two of the monarchs after Henry VIII, we need to go back to his father, Henry VII.

Although most Brits will have at least a sketchy overview of the monarchs of this period, I suspect many overseas researchers with Scottish, English or Northern Irish ancestry may not. It occurred to me that not only was this essential background to the origins of the Jacobite movement, but also to much legislation and associated documentary requirements that we draw upon in our family history research right up to 1837. Significantly, it is in the early years after Henry VIII’s break with Rome that we have the commencement of our system of parish registers.

For all these reasons, I offer you my summary. In it, you’ll find all English monarchs from Henry VII to George I. Two themes are highlighted:

  • The descent of the throne. I explain how each monarch relates to his or her predecessors and where unclear, why they were installed. Some of the choices were a bit of a stretch.
  • The ever-present theme for this entire period of the Church of England versus Roman Catholicism, with a bit of Puritanism and Nonconformity thrown in for good measure.

Although only an overview, this quickly became too long for one blogpost, so I’ve divided it into two. Today’s post covers Henry VII to Charles I, ending with the onset of the Commonwealth Period (1649-1660), the period also known as the Interregnum because for eleven years there was no monarch – they were literally ‘between reigns’. In terms of understanding the Jacobites, which is where this all started, this post serves as essential background to that. The period after the Interregnum, including the Jacobites, will be covered in my next post.

Henry VII, reigned 1485-1509
Henry VII’s claim to the throne was linked, via his mother, to the House of Lancaster. His father, Edmund Tudor, was 1st Earl of Richmond. Henry, then, was the first Tudor monarch: meaning that was the ‘House’, or surname of this particular royal dynasty.

Uniting the rival houses of Lancaster and York through his marriage to Elizabeth of York, it was he who adopted the Tudor Rose as the national flower of England and a symbol of peace following the Wars of The Roses. It combines the white rose for Yorkshire and red rose for Lancashire.

IMAGE: Portrait of Henry VII, painted on 29 October 1505 by order of Herman Rinck, an agent for the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian I, Public Domain.

Henry VIII, reigned 1509-1547
The son of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, every English schoolchild will tell you that it was Henry VIII who brought about the break of England from the Church of Rome.

We even have a mnemonic for remembering the fate of his six wives who, in order, faced the following: ‘Divorced, Beheaded, Died; Divorced, Beheaded, Survived’. In fact, as we shall see, Henry did not actually ‘divorce’ wives 1 and 4; rather the marriages were ‘annulled’; and these annulments changed the course of history.

IMAGE: Portrait of Henry VIII, date unknown. Painted by a Follower of Hans Holbein the Younger. Public Domain.

In 1509, just two months after his father’s death, Henry VIII married Catherine of Aragon, the widow of his older brother who had died shortly after their wedding. Henry and Catherine were crowned the following day. After several still-born and short-lived babies, Catherine gave birth to a daughter, Mary, in 1516.

Although Mary survived, Henry was desperate to have a son. He came to believe that his marriage was blighted on account of him having married his brother’s widow, this being contrary to Leviticus 20:21. (‘If a man marries his brother’s wife, it is an act of impurity; he has dishonored his brother. They will be childless.’) In 1625 he began an affair with Anne Boleyn. He hoped to have his marriage to Catherine annulled on the grounds that the Pope had lacked the authority to give dispensation to it in the first place, but a papal annulment was not to be. Instead, a special court at Dunstable Priory in England in May 1533 would declare the marriage null and void. By this time, Catherine had been banished from court, Henry and Anne Boleyn had married, and their daughter Elizabeth was born later in 1533. However, it was not all sunshine and roses in the royal marriage. By 1536, having failed to give Henry a son, Anne fell out of favour. She was charged with treasonous adultery and incest, and executed. Ten days later, Henry married Jane Seymour. By the Succession to the Crown Act of 1536, Henry’s daughters Mary and Elizabeth were both declared illegitimate. Any children to be born to Jane were to be next in the line of succession.

By this time, relations with Rome had worsened. The 1532 Act in Restraint of Appeals had abolished any right of appeal to Rome. Instead, the King was to be the supreme authority. By the Act of Supremacy of 1534, Henry had been recognised by Parliament as Head of the Church in England. In consequence, Pope Clement VII excommunicated Henry, although this was not formalised until 1538.

In October 1537, Jane Seymour provided Henry with a son and heir: Edward. Jane died twelve days later but Edward survived. Henry would marry three times more. His marriage to Anne of Cleves in January 1540 was annulled shortly afterwards on grounds of non-consummation. His fifth marriage to Catherine Howard ended with a further beheading two years later. Finally, in 1543, Henry married wealthy widow Catherine Parr. None of these marriages produced further children, but Catherine Parr brought about a reconciliation between Henry and his daughters Mary and Catherine. By the Act of Succession of 1543, both were restored to the line of throne after Edward. Henry died four years later, and as the mnemonic reminds us, was survived by Catherine Parr.

Although a contemporary of Martin Luther and certainly aware of his criticisms of the Catholic church, Henry VIII did not support him. Indeed, he had been a devout Catholic and had written a treatise in which he defended the seven sacraments against Luther’s criticisms. In recognition, in 1521 he was given the title ‘Defender of the Faith‘ by Pope Leo X – a title still held by British monarchs. After the break from Rome, there would initially have been little difference in church services and theology, although Henry did later adopt some Protestant reforms. Undoubtedly, though, these were motivated more by political expediency and a desire to increase his personal power than by theological concerns. To this end, Henry is remembered for the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the period between 1536-1540 when he closed and seized the assets of monasteries, priories, convents and friaries. Those who resisted were executed, as were other Catholics and indeed some Protestants who challenged his religious policies.

Edward VI, reigned 1547-1553
Henry VIII was succeeded by Edward, the son born to his third wife, Jane Seymour. Although his older half-sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, had been restored to the succession, Edward took precedence. He was fiercely Protestant, and during his short reign the Church of England moved further away from the practices of the Church of Rome. Edward was particularly anxious that Mary who, as daughter of the Roman Catholic Catherine of Aragon, remained true to her faith, would undo his Protestant reforms. In his hand-written Devise for the Succession, he sought to exclude Mary from the line of succession. Persuaded that he must disinherit both his half-sisters, he named his cousin, Lady Jane Grey, as his heir. Edward VI died from tuberculosis in 1553.

IMAGE: Portrait of Edward VI by William Scrots, circa 1550. Public Domain

Lady Jane Grey, reigned 10-19 July 1553
Although, as great niece of Henry VIII, Lady Jane Grey was a genuine (if unexpected) claimant to the throne, her right to it was disputed. After only nine days she was deposed, to be replaced by Mary, who had her executed in 1554.

IMAGE: Portrait of Lady Jane Grey. Artist Unknown, but it is known as the Duckett Portrait, and is believed to date from 1552. The portrait was owned by Sir Lionel Duckett in 1580. He was married to the first cousin of the wife of the first cousin of Lady Jane Grey. Public Domain.

Mary I, reigned 1553-1558
The firstborn of Henry VIII, by his first wife Catherine of Aragon, Mary was the first Queen of England to reign as monarch in her own right. She was also, from 1556 until her death, Queen Consort of Spain. Mary’s marriage to King Philip of Spain was a very unpopular move; and as Edward VI had feared, she did indeed attempt to restore papal supremacy in England. Abandoning the title for herself of Supreme Head of the Church, she reintroduced Roman Catholic bishops and set about bringing back monastic orders.

As a result of her revival of former heresy laws, around three hundred Protestants were put to the stake in just three years. Such was Mary’s fervour that her opponents labelled her ‘Bloody Mary’. Upon marriage, Mary wished to have children and leave a Roman Catholic heir who would continue her reforms, but she died childless in 1558, leaving the way clear for her half-sister to inherit the throne.

IMAGE: Portrait of Mary I. Artist and date Unknown. Public Domain.

Elizabeth I, reigned 1558-1603
Daughter of Henry VIII by his second wife, Ann Boleyn, Elizabeth, was the last of Henry’s three legitimate children to take the throne. During her forty-five year reign, a secure Church of England was established. Highly educated, intelligent and deeply devoted to the country, she held that ‘there is only one Jesus Christ and all the rest is a dispute over trifles’. She asked for outward uniformity. The Thirty-nine Articles of 1563 established the faith and practice of the Church of England, but were carefully crafted as a compromise between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism.

IMAGE: Portrait of Elizabeth I, known as the Rainbow Portrait. It has been attributed to Marcus Gheeraerts The Younger and to Isaac Oliver. It is believed to date from 1600-1601. Public Domain.

The religious question, however, did not go away. In 1570 Elizabeth was excommunicated. by Pope Pius V. In his papal bull Regnans in Excelsis, he referred to ‘the pretended Queen of England and the servant of crime’, declaring her a heretic. On pain of excommunication, Elizabeth’s subjects were released by Pius V from allegiance to her.

Following the discovery of assassination plots, harsh laws were passed against Roman Catholics. For her involvement in such plots, Mary Queen of Scots, first cousin once removed of Elizabeth, and a likely successor to her, was ultimately executed in 1587. Elsewhere in Europe there were threats of invasions. Philip of Spain (by now titled Philip II) believed he had a claim to the English throne through his marriage to the late Queen Mary I. Indeed, the purpose of the Spanish Armada was to overthrow Elizabeth and re-establish Roman Catholicism by conquest.

Choosing never to marry, and dying without issue in 1603, Elizabeth was the last of the Tudor monarchs.

James I, reigned 1603-1625
Elizabeth was succeeded by James I. James was great great grandson to Elizabeth’s grandfather, Henry VII, via his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots; Mary’s father, King James V of Scotland; and his mother Margaret who was Henry VII’s daughter. Already king of Scotland for 36 years by the time of his accession to the throne of England, he is known as James VI of Scotland and I of England, or James VI and I. The first English King of the House of Stuart, his twenty-two year reign over Scotland, England and Ireland is known as the Jacobean era.

Although baptised as a Roman Catholic, James was brought up as a Protestant. While personally reasonably tolerant on the matter of religion, he faced challenges from various religious viewpoints, including Presbyterianism, Roman Catholicism, and different branches of English Separatists. The aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot in 1605 led to strict penalties for Roman Catholics.

IMAGE: Portrait of James VI and I, 1614. Artist Unknown. Public Domain.

A prolific writer himself, it was James VI and I who sponsored the translation of the Bible into English, now known as the Authorised King James Bible. James also endorsed the practice of witch hunting, as set down in his 1597 publication Daemonologie. Unlike Elizabeth, whose approach to monarchy tended towards cooperation, James’s held an absolutist view of the Divine Right of Kings.

Charles I, reigned 1625-1649
James VI/ I was succeeded in 1625 by his second son Charles I. Charles was Protestant, and deeply religious. However, at a time when plainer forms of worship with greater personal piety were gaining ground, Charles favoured the high Anglican form of worship. In terms of ritual, this was the closest to Catholicism. Charles’s marriage in 1625 to Henrietta Maria, daughter of Henry IV of France added to the concerns. Having promised Parliament that his union with a Roman Catholic would not bring about advantages for those wishing to recuse themselves from church attendance on alternative religious grounds, Charles nevertheless signed a commitment promising exactly that as part of his marriage treaty.

Charles’s personal spending on the arts greatly increased the crown’s debts, bringing him into conflict with Parliament. Like his father, Charles believed in the Divine Right of Kings: his authority came from God; that of Parliament came only from Magna Carta. Therefore in 1629 he dismissed Parliament, commencing a period of Personal Rule, alternatively known as the ‘Eleven Years’ Tyranny’ which lasted until 1640.

IMAGE: Portrait of Charles I. Artist and date Unknown. Public Domain.

All this, and more, made Charles a deeply unpopular king. Riots and unrest started to spread. In 1637 he attempted to impose a High Church liturgy and prayer book in Scotland. This led to riots in Edinburgh. October 1641 saw an Irish uprising, leading to further tensions between Charles and his Parliament over the command of the Army. In August 1642, against the wishes of Parliament, Charles raised his standard at Nottingham. This symbolic act signaled the start of a Civil War, with Charles I defending his divine right to rule, and Parliament advocating for a greater say in government. By the end of the year, each side had amassed an army of 60,000 to 70,000 men, the Royalists known as Cavaliers and the Parliamentarians as Roundheads. In general, Charles enjoyed support in the north and west of England, while Parliament controlled the South and East, together with London and, significantly, most of the key ports. In 1643 Scottish Covenanters entered into an alliance with the English Parliamentarians. Key to their Solemn League and Covenant of 1643 was a pledge to work towards the establishment of Presbyterianism in England. The intervention of the Scottish was almost certainly key to the eventual success of the Parliamentarians, and the Battle of Naseby, 1645, proved to be the turning point.

In 1646 Charles was captured and imprisoned. On 30th January 1649 he was beheaded. The eleven-year Interregnum had begun.

Pedigree Chart – the story so far: Henry VII to Charles I

Click for Big

This is, necessarily, a whirlwind tour. If you’d like to read a little more about each of these monarchs (and the ones who came before and after), you’ll find a good introduction at the Royal UK website. For more detail, go to the Wikipedia page for each. For more than that, you’ll need to explore more scholarly texts.

My next post will move on from here, and we’ll see where the Jacobites fit in.

Remembering the Battle of Holbeck Moor

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One of my motivations as a genealogist and family historian is to uncover – and pass on – stories from the past. A recent unexpected turn of events brought about a merging of a story from 1936 with my own life in 2024. In this post I’m going to tell you about both of these stories.

On 27th September 1936, Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists, organised a rally in Leeds. Accompanied by 1000 Blackshirts, his twin aims were to intimidate the Jewish communities based in Leylands, an area just to the north-east of Leeds city centre; and to drum up support for fascism amongst the working classes. The first of these aims was thwarted when the Leeds Watch Committee forbade any march through the Leylands area. However, the wider demonstration was allowed to go ahead. The Blackshirts’ march commenced right in the heart of Leeds. They then crossed the river into Hunslet, through to Beeston Hill – where they were joined by Mosley – and on to Holbeck Moor. Here, the plan was, Mosley would deliver a rousing speech.

The choice of Holbeck Moor was no accident. Holbeck and the adjacent areas of Hunslet and New Wortley were industrial areas with smoke-belching factories and railways lines interspersed with row upon row of poor quality back-to-back housing. This was the tail end of the Depression, and Mosley believed he would be able to drum up support for fascist politics. However, upon learning of the intended march, anti-fascist political activists spread the word. The Jews in Leylands were warned, and the presence of whoever was able, was requested at Holbeck Moor. When Mosley and his Blackshirts arrived, 30,000 Leeds residents were waiting for them.

Newspaper cutting with heading 'Injuries & Arrests at Fascist Meeting'. There is a photo of Oswald Mosley in uniform surrounded by men, and a police officer behind him. Beneath the image are the words 'Sir Oswald Mosley at the demonstration on Holbeck Moor yesterday - Sir Oswald Mosley Among the Hurt in Leeds'.
From the article in The Leeds Mercury on Monday 28 September 1936. Source: FindMyPast.co.uk

When my Mum was in her eighties she told me about the day she saw Oswald Mosley march onto Holbeck Moor.  She lived half a mile from there, and in fact hers was just the kind of family Mosley was targetting, since her father had been unable to find regular work for several years. However, he understood very well that his lack of employment had nothing to do with Jewish people living in other parts of Leeds. Remembering clearly the events of that day, my Mum described the hate written all over the faces of the young Blackshirts. Mosley, she said, hadn’t reckoned on ‘the men of Leeds’, who were waiting on Holbeck Moor, armed with stones and determined to prevent him from speaking.  

It was some years after my Mum’s death that I came across an online article entitled ‘The Battle of Holbeck Moor’. At the time I was researching the events of the Civil War in Leeds, and thought this might have been one of the local battles associated with that; but as I read, I realised it was the event my mother had attended. This, in fact, gave me a date, and I was able to work out that she had been just twelve years old at the time… I wondered if her parents had known she was there! 

The article gave me more details about the event. Perhaps my Mum had told me about some of them, and perhaps I had forgotten. I learned that Mosley used a van as a makeshift stage, but that every time he tried to speak, 30,000 voices roared out ‘The Red Flag’ to drown him out. Clearly, as a young girl standing at the back of the crowd my Mum wasn’t an active participant in the event. For her, its importance was the impact it had on her developing understanding of the reality of fascism – something with which, unfortunately, everyone in attendance would have nine more years to become better acquainted. Certainly, it was clear that, nearly 70 years later, she remained proud of the fact that Leeds had defeated Oswald Mosley.  I left a comment at the end of the article, saying my mother had been there, and that her recollection of the event many years later tallied with the account. Then I added the info to my timeline about my Mum’s life and thought no more about it.

In August this year I received an email inviting me to be part of a special reception at the unveiling of a Leeds Civic Trust Blue Plaque commemorating the Battle of Holbeck Moor. I had been traced from that comment written some years earlier, and would be representing my mother. I was so happy to be invited to do this, and made preparations for the trip. I would be accompanied by my nephew and my second cousin and his wife. I was asked to write something about my mother for the display, to be kept permanently at the West Yorkshire Archives, and to provide some photos. Having done all that, I was then asked if I would be prepared to make a short speech on the day.

The rather surreal nature of this turn of events was not lost on me: the idea that one day in September 1936 my mother, then aged twelve, witnessed ‘the men of Leeds’ turning back the leader of the British Union of Fascists, and that 88 years later, her own daughter would be standing on the same spot talking about her was quite overwhelming. My Mum was never a political person but she always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and she knew that hatred and scapegoating had no place in politics. In life she had rarely done anything to attract attention, but now I wanted her story to be known.

I was due to travel up to Leeds on Saturday 28th September, ready for the ceremony the following day. Instead, on Friday evening, while putting the finishing touches to my preparations, I fell and broke my wrist.

Four people holding a Blue Plaque commemorating the Battle of Holbeck Moor.
Leeds MPs Fabian Hamilton, Richard Burgon and Hilary Benn, with Sam Kirk from Stand Up To Racism. Photo: P Heppenstall

The event on Sunday 29th September was well-attended. The unveiling was done by three Leeds Members of Parliament. It all went well, but I was not there. I was mostly lying on the sofa, asleep. Even now, I’m typing this with one hand.

Group of people. One of the people is holding a Blue Plaque commemorating The Battle of Holbeck Moor. Others are holding photographs of family members.
Representatives of families of some of those who were present at the Battle of Holbeck Moor on 27th September 1936. Photo: C & J Battensby

Several descendants of those present on the day had been traced, and were photographed together with photos of their family members. One of those represented had not attended the demonstration at Holbeck Moor, but was a Jewish pharmacist who gave First Aid to Blackshirts who had been injured by the stones. My nephew represented my Mum, his Grandma; and my speech was wonderfully delivered with his own twist by my second cousin. The two of them, plus my cousin’s wife, sent lots of photos and videos, and it almost felt like I was there. I was gutted to miss out on a Battle of Holbeck Moor cupcake!

A cupcake featuring a 'blue plaque' decoration, including the words: 'The Battle of Holbeck Moor - 27 September 1936 - They Shall Not Pass'
Blue Plaque cupcakes were given out after the ceremony! Photo: C & J Battensby

Of course I was very disappointed to miss the event, but the important thing is that on that day my Mum’s voice, representing 30,000 others, was heard. She would be very surprised to know she also got a mention in the local press, on the BBC and in a number of national papers, including The Guardian.

The Battle of Holbeck Moor was not the only clash between Mosley and anti-fascist demonstrators. Exactly one week later, the far better known Battle of Cable Street in London’s East End took place. By coincidence, one of those anti-fascist demonstrators was a young man who, several decades later, would become my father-in-law.

All of this came about because several people, including myself, left comments online in response to articles about the events at Holbeck Moor of 27th September 1936. As a result, this story is now owned by more family members who previously were not aware of their own family connection. More than that, the inclusion of the stories of those who attended brings a personal dimension to the history. And surely, breathing life into those memories of ordinary people is what researching family history is all about.

Leave comments! Tell the stories! You never know where it might lead.