Potted Histories

Tag: drama

  • Business in Great Waters

    The Britannic, painted white for her service as a troop ship during the Boer War.
    Source: Bertram Hayes, Hull Down (London, 1925).

    Edward John Smith, the future captain of the Titanic had been at sea for the better part of 15 years when he made the switch from the sailing ships of Andrew Gibson &Co, and joined the White Star Line. He had been seduced following a visit he made to the SS Britannic, but though he was quickly taken onto the new company’s books, he did not get his longed-for berth on that ship for a few years yet. At first he served from March 1880 to March 1882, as fourth and later third officer aboard a much smaller vessel the SS Celtic commanded by Captain Benjamin Gleadell. Though Smith had a master’s certificate, so too did many others in the White Star line and promotion to the coveted captaincy had to be earned. Steamships also demanded a different set of skills in an officer than a sailing ship and these had to be learnt. The steamers were passenger liners rather than cargo vessels. They carried mostly emigrants, but also many wealthy passengers, whose continued goodwill had to be cultivated, so good social skills needed to be honed. The first few years with White Star were in effect a second apprenticeship for Smith.

    He did advance pretty quickly as it turned out. After the Celtic, from March 1882 to March 1884, he served in the Pacific on the San Francisco-Yokohama-Hong Kong run, aboard the SS Coptic as its second officer under Captain William Kidley. Then from March 1884 to July 1885, he was second officer aboard his favourite ship the Britannic under the command of Captain Hamilton Perry, before becoming first officer from July 1885 to April 1887, aboard the SS Republic under Captain Peter Irving. These were all ships he would later command.

    He was by this time living permanently in Liverpool and apart from some cousins and nephews, most of his immediate family had also left the Potteries. His mother, half-sister, and brother-in-law now lived in Runcorn and Joseph Hancock would leave the sea in a few years and going into partnership he would set up as a ship’s stores dealer in Birkenhead.

    Eleanor Smith and their daughter Helen Melville Smith.

    Ted was also on the verge of his own settled family life for in January 1887 at Winwick parish Church near Warrington, Edward John Smith married a farmer’s daughter, Sarah Eleanor Pennington. They initially set up home nearby in Tuebrook, but soon moved to one of the wealthier parts of Liverpool to be nearer the docks. The couple seem to have maintained a good, loving relationship thereafter, despite Ted’s long periods at sea. Eleanor, as she preferred to be called, referred to her husband as ‘Ted’ or ‘Teddy’ and Smith spoke of his wife as ‘my only dear one.’

    Almost as a wedding present, from April to August 1887, Smith was given temporary command of the SS Republic before being transferred back as first officer on the Britannic, staying with the ship until February 1888. That month he applied for and gained his Extra Master Mariners certificate of competency, albeit on the second attempt, having failed the navigation section on his first try, while in August he added to his qualifications by joining the Royal Naval Reserve, undergoing the required training early the next year. As a lieutenant in the Reserve he and any ship under his command could be called upon to serve in times of war and provided that enough members of the crew were also in the Reserve his ships could fly the Blue Ensign of the RNR. As a result of these feathers in his cap, from April to May 1888, Smith took on his first permanent command, the now ageing SS Baltic and so became a fully-fledged White Star line captain.

    Smith went on to captain many more White Star ships over the next few years: the Adriatic; the Britannic; the Cufic; the Celtic, followed by Coptic in the Australian service; the Runic; and Germanic, the identical sister of the Britannic.

    Lieutenant E.J. Smith c.1895

    The 1890’s were a time of both sad and happier events in Ted Smith’s life. In 1893, his mother Catherine died in Runcorn whilst Smith was at sea, while in 1895 first his brother-in-law, William Harrington, died in the Potteries on 1 March, and on 1 May his half-brother and former captain, Joseph Hancock, collapsed and died of a heart attack in the street in Liverpool. On a happier note, it seems to have been in 1895, that Smith made a visit back to the Potteries for a school reunion in honour of his old schoolmaster Alfred Smith. Then in 1898, he and Eleanor had a baby girl, their only child, whom they named Helen Melville Smith. She like her mother later preferred to use her second name Melville, or ‘Mel’ for short. Though he was often away, Smith doted on his daughter, whom he called his ‘Gillie’ (‘girly’) or ‘Babs’ (‘baby’) sending her little notes from abroad when he was away and buying presents and organising parties for her on his brief periods ashore.

    The longest single command of Captain Smith’s career was that of the SS Majestic, from July 1895 to November 1902. He would take a break to command the Germanic from December 1902 to May 1903, whilst the Majestic underwent a refit, but then returned to his former command from May 1903 to June 1904. His time aboard the Majestic coincided with the outbreak of the Second Boer War in South Africa. Because of his rank in the Royal Naval Reserve, he could be called upon to serve in times of war and he now did so. Captain Smith twice took the Majestic to South Africa, transporting troops to the seat of war and bringing wounded men home. For his work during the war, Smith like all transport captains later received the Transport Medal, which he henceforth wore proudly on his uniform.

    During the years of his captaincy of the Majestic, Smith earned a fine reputation amongst both his crews and the passengers who regularly sailed the Atlantic. Despite the beard he now sported and grizzled looks, he was softly-spoken and easy going, though he was a noted stickler when it came to ship’s discipline and had been known to bark out an order that brought many an errant seaman back to his duty with a bump. Increasingly, more and more passengers chose to sail with Captain Smith rather than any other because of his affability and because he was an excellent host. Also, though he was known for pushing his ships hard through all weathers, thereby earning the nickname ‘the Storm King’, by the standards of the time he was considered to be an excellent sailor and a ‘safe captain’.

    Amongst his regular passengers, he now numbered British aristocrats such as the Duke of Sutherland and the Earl and Countess of Rothes and American millionaires such as John D. Rockefeller, George Widener, John Jacob Astor and J. Pierpont Morgan, the latter becoming a good personal friend, whom he visited with during his stopovers in the States. Such stellar passenger lists became so regular a feature on his ships that by 1900 Smith had become popularly known as ‘the millionaire’s captain’. Indeed, many of the first class passengers who later sailed aboard the Titanic had travelled with Captain Smith on more than one occasion.

    Smith with one of his dogs.

    Smith also met or knew many other famous people of the day as they crossed the Atlantic. Rudyard Kipling and his family travelled on the Majestic, as too did Henry Morton Stanley, the man who had ‘presumed’ so famously when he found Dr Livingstone in Africa. Other notable figures who sailed with Smith included the Joseph Chamberlain, the Secretary of State for the Colonies; the Fleet Street journalist W. T. Stead, who is said to have included Smith in several of his short stories. Another notable passenger, the American writer Kate Douglas-Wiggin, the author of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, described in her autobiography how during his earlier captaincy of the Britannic, Captain Smith had played the matchmaker and introduced her to her future husband.

    Because of such a wide acquaintance, Smith enjoyed a lively social life ashore, especially in New York visiting his friends such as Pierpont Morgan, Kate Douglas-Wiggin and her husband, attending fetes and parties and according to one newspaper report, he was also a regular at many of New York’s clubs and societies.

    On a personal level, Smith was noted as being well-read and extremely well informed on current events, which was hardly surprising given his wide and influential acquaintance. He was a smoker, preferring cigars, which he smoked through a holder and his daughter later recalled that she would only be let into the room if she promised to be good and not disturb the cloud of blue smoke that hung around her father’s head. Smith enjoyed a drink too, though never on duty. At home, he was extremely fond of his pet dogs and enjoyed many hours ashore out walking with them, though they seem to have been something of a nuisance to his wife whilst he was away at sea.

    Reference: G. J. Cooper, Titanic Captain. The Life of Edward John Smith (2011) pp. 56-108.

    Images: Author’s collection.

  • The Ballad of Stevo and One-Armed Jack

    George Stevenson is shot in the backroom of the Red Lion beer house.
    An AI image after a drawing by the author.


    On 26 January 1895, 27 year old George Stevenson, a habitual petty criminal and deserter from the British army was shot and mortally wounded in a backroom to a bar in Johannesburg, in Southern Africa, for informing on his fellow criminals after a robbery. The story made news locally as Stevenson, though born in Hixon near Stafford, had grown up in Hanley, where he had turned to a life of crime at a very early age. In December 1877, aged only nine, he was caught trying to rob a till in a second-hand clothes shop in Hope Street, Hanley, for which he received ten strokes of a birch rod and a stint at a reformatory. Little good it did him as in June 1878, he and five other boys were before the bench charged with stealing checks for Battys’ circus that was then in town, though there is no indication as to what punishment they received if any. Yet even if he got off that charge, his short inglorious career as a local ne’er-do-well was quickly brought to an end in October that year when the manager of the Stoke Conservative Club caught the scruffy kid with only one shoe, lurking behind the club bar looking for something to steal . Despite being aged only 10 years old, as he had already been imprisoned once for theft, George Stevenson was now sentenced to a four year stretch at Werrington Industrial School. This did seem to turn his life around and in 1882 he was released back to his parents and for several years Stevo, as he was known to his friends, worked in his father’s clay pits. Then in 1886 aged 18, he joined the army and the next year was posted to Pietermaritzburg in South Africa. Though he stayed in touch with his mother, Stevenson never saw his family or the Potteries again.

    At first Stevo enjoyed army life, but garrison duty bored him and at the end of 1889, he deserted and fled to Johannesburg in the then independant Boer republic of the Transvaal, arriving there early in 1890. There he led a brief inglorious life as a thief being quickly caught and sentenced to a year on a chain gang and though he escaped and went on the run he was eventually recaptured and sent to finish his sentence. Shortly after his release in 1893, he fell in with a villain and fellow deserter (from both the army and the Royal Navy) named Jack McLoughlin, who went by the nickname of ‘One-armed Jack’, from having lost his lower left arm during a jailbreak. Despite their difference in appearance – Stevenson was tall, athletic and good-looking, while McLoughlin was short, disabled and plain – they were kindred spirits from similar backgrounds and at first the two men were inseperable. But only a few months passed before tattled tales between their respective lovers caused them to have a falling out and they shunned each other for a time. It was only when McLoughlin needed some more able-bodied men to help him with a robbery a few months later that they patched up their differences enough that Stevo could join the gang. 

    The gang robbed a safe at a railway station in Pretoria, it was a pitiful haul and their troubles started immediately after the robbery when they tried to take the train back to Johannesburg and realised the authorities were onto them. One of the gang stayed in Pretoria, while early in the journey Stevenson got cold feet and quit the train and doubled back. McLoughlin jumped through a window to escape while the train was in motion, leaving one man on the train who was arrested in Johannesburg. Stevenson and the gang member in Pretoria were also quickly caught. In custody and fearful of returning to prison, when he heard that another of the men was about to inform on them, Stevo got in first and told all to the authorities, naming McLoughlin as the ringleader. Stevenson avoided imprisonment as a result, but he knew that his life was now in danger as McLoughlin, who remained at large, was a vindictive man who hated informers. 

    Stevenson and his lover Sarah Fredericks fled Johannesburg for a time, but foolishly drifted back into town a few weeks later and by January 1895, they were living out of a room at the back of the Red Lion bar close to their old haunts. With no sign of McLoughlin, Stevo thought he was safe, but on the 26 January he learnt that One-armed Jack was in town looking for him. Stevo and Fredericks retreated to their room hoping he would not find them. A few hours later, though, there was a knock at the door. Expecting a visitor Fredericks opened the door, only to find that it was McLoughlin, who had tracked them down. Brushing Fredericks aside, One-armed Jack then pulled a gun and shot Stevenson who was sitting on the bed, mortally wounding him before making his escape. Pursued by an angry mob, McLoughlin then shot and killed another young man who he thought was trying to stop him and fled into the night going on the run once more. Back at the Red Lion meanwhile, Stevenson lingered for a time, but died from his wound a few days later. His last request to Fredericks was that she send his ring back to his mother in the Potteries.

    Many years passed, and in 1910 Stevenson’s mother told a Sentinel reporter that ‘The only intimation of the death of her son that [she had] received was a letter written by Stevenson’s supposed wife, to Mrs. Nixon, daughter of Mrs. Stevenson, in New Hall Street, Hanley.’ Sarah Fredericks, however, told a court that Stevenson had asked her to write to his folks at 10 York Street, Hanley. There is no indication in the newspaper accounts that Stevo’s ring ever found its way back to his mother. Some official communication from the South African police to North Staffordshire is suggested by Hanley’s former Chief Constable Charles Higgins, who, fourteen years later, still recalled that the Johannesburg police had contacted him shortly after the shooting, asking if he could obtain a photograph of George Stevenson. If one was supplied it seems never to have been published, and the only surviving image of Stevenson is a simple line drawing of a young man, smart and rather dapper in a checked suit. Even his parents were perhaps unsure of their prodigal son’s appearance, for in 1910 the Sentinel told a curious tale of how Stevo’s mother had for eighteen years kept a portrait of McLoughlin hanging in their house ‘and they never knew that it was the photograph of the man who was supposed to have shot George Stevenson.’

    The case was hot news again in 1910, for the year before, in far‑off Australia, One‑armed Jack McLoughlin, long a fugitive, had been arrested and transported back to South Africa—now a united territory under British rule after the Boer War—to face justice for his crimes. In court, the whole cast from the drama of fourteen years earlier reappeared to tell their sordid tales of how and why Jack and Stevo’s relationship had come to its disastrous end, while McLoughlin himself cheerfully explained how he had escaped. To the embarrassment of the local police, he had actually remained in town for some time, even strolling past the police station to show his contempt for the law. Brassiness aside, he knew he had to get away, and after pulling off another robbery with a new crew, he sailed for India hoping to forge a fresh criminal career.

    Things did not go to plan. He reached India, but with no contacts and his meagre funds gone, he became a vagrant and was saved from starvation only by being picked up by the authorities, who were keen to remove the negative image such European flotsam gave to the Raj and were happy to ship him to wherever he claimed was his birthplace. Drawing on his knowledge of the colony from his time in the navy, McLoughlin convinced them he was Australian and so was sent there. Many years later, after his usual round of misadventures, he was caught there, his old crimes became known, and he was shipped back to South Africa to face justice.

    Justice was now served. Though many years had passed since he had burst with murderous intent into the back room of the Red Lion beer house and later fired that second fatal shot in the street, the witnesses’ evidence and George Stevenson’s deathbed deposition put the noose firmly around McLoughlin’s neck. On 10 January 1910, that noose tightened hard at last as the scaffold trap opened and One‑armed Jack plunged to his well‑deserved death.

    Reference: Charles Van Onselen, Showdown at the Red Lion: The Life and Times of Jack McLoughlin, pp. 288-342. Staffordshire Sentinel, 22 December 1877; 19 June 1878, p. 3; 28 October 1878, p. 3. 

  • Down to the Sea in Ships

    Commander Edward John Smith in his summer uniform in later life. The grand old skipper of the White Star line had come up the hard way from ship’s boy to senior captain.

    Edward John Smith, the future captain of the ill-fated White Star liner RMS Titanic, was born at 86 Well Street, Hanley on 27 January 1850. He was the only child of pottery presser Edward Smith and Catherine, formerly Hancock nee Marsh, who had two surviving children from her previous marriage. The Smiths started out as an ordinary working-class family like most of their neighbours, but their fortunes improved somewhat when Catherine Smith opened up the family home as a small grocer’s store. As a result, young Ted Smith as he was known to family and friends, enjoyed a relatively good education at the Etruria British School. Shortly after his father’s death in 1864, he finished his schooling and for a few years worked as a steam hammer operator at the Etruria Forge. He thus seemed set for an ordinary working life in the area like his ancestors before him, but he was already feeling the pull of the sea thanks to his half-brother Joseph Hancock.

    Joseph was Catherine Smith’s eldest child, seventeen years older than Ted, who in the same year that his younger half-brother was born had gone to sea and gradually worked his way up through the merchant ranks. There had been long voyages and adventures galore, but dangers too such as in 1856, when whilst he was serving as a mate on the barque Hymen, the ship had been captured by pirates off the coast of Morocco. Joseph and his crew mates had been taken ashore and held as prisoners for nearly three weeks until the Royal Navy launched a raid on the pirate camp and freed the men. This hair-raising experience did not dent Joseph’s love of his career, though, nor hinder his rise to command his own vessel and by the time young Smith was 17 years old, Joseph was the captain of the trading ship Senator Weber. Ted was keen to follow Joseph into the service, so to prevent him from running away and serving with strangers, Joseph agreed to take Smith aboard his own vessel as ship’s boy. Ted quit his job at the forge and in February 1867 with a group of friends he travelled to Liverpool, where he was signed on as an apprentice to the shipping company of Andrew Gibson and Co.

    Joseph’s vessel, the Senator Weber was a 1,297 ton sailing ship then being loaded across the Mersey at Birkenhead’s West Float Dock and Ted was to be one of the crew of 26 men and boys. There were three ships boys, another of them, Thomas Foster, also came from Hanley, so perhaps Ted was not the only boy that Joseph had inspired.

    This first voyage was a long one to Hong Kong, a round-the-world voyage via the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn. The Suez Canal would not be open for two years, so there was a long haul around Africa, past India and up through the South China Sea, braving all that nature would send their way. It, therefore, took five months to reach Hong Kong. There was a ship’s log for the voyage but there are no entries in it until the Senator Weber reached Hong Kong. Then, there are numerous entries noting desertions and bad behaviour amongst the crew. Amongst the small knot of persistent troublemakers was one named Edward Smith. This was not our Ted Smith, but an able seaman with the same name, a 20 year old man from Scarborough who annoyed Joseph so much that he eventually flogged him and then had him jailed for six weeks, by the end of which time the Senator Weber had sailed on leaving him behind.

    The ship stayed in the general region for some time, possibly transporting goods short distances to earn extra revenue prior to their departure. This final leave-taking, though, suffered a delay as on the evening of 8 September 1867, a typhoon of several hours duration struck Hong Kong and did some serious damage to many of the ships moored in the harbour. The Senator Weber was one of these, being thrown together in a jumble with several other ships and suffering considerable damage as a result. The repairs required some time to carry out. Once she was back in a reasonable state, though, the Senator Weber set off on its long journey back home.

    They did not retrace their journey out and instead followed the trades, sailing east to San Francisco, pausing only when a sickly passenger Henry K. Jones died mid-Pacific and was buried at sea. At San Francisco 14 men including Thomas Foster from Hanley deserted and had to be replaced. At this point, Ted was unofficially promoted to 3rd mate, probably to help existing 3rd mate to get the new crew in line. From San Francisco, the ship sailed south to Callao, the principal port of Peru. Then on to the nearby Chincha Isles, to fill its hold with guano which was its final cargo. The ship then made its way around Cape Horn and a couple of months later returned to Europe, docking in Antwerp where the crew went their separate ways. Joseph and Ted then returned to the Potteries for a few months. According to one childhood friend, ‘After that first voyage Ted returned home to thrill the youth of the town with his stories of having sailed to America, of his experience in California, where the ship on which he made his first voyage touched. And with his mind firmly made up to spend the rest of his days on the ocean.’

    After Christmas and New Year at home, Ted went to Cardiff in February 1869 to join the Senator Weber for a second voyage to the far side of the world, but this time to Japan, which had only opened its ports to foreigners in 1854. Ted served as 3rd mate for this voyage which was even longer, the ship being away for 19 months, which is surprising as the Suez Canal was now open and there is little indication of where the ship went. Its final destination, though, were the Lobos de Afuera islands, another group of guano islands off the coast of Peru. Guano seems to have been a real money spinner for Andrew Gibson and Co. and it is also interesting to note that the future ‘Millionaire’s Captain’ of the glamorous White Star Line began his career aboard ships transporting ossified bird dung.

    The Sailor’s Home, Liverpool.

    After this voyage, Ted Smith set out on his own as an able seaman aboard a couple of other ships, the Amoy and the Madge Wildfire, sailing to North America. By now he had started lodging at the Sailors Home in Liverpool with occasional trips home to the Potteries. He and Joseph were in Well Street for the 1871 census, but this is the last time either were listed on a local census return.

    In 1871, Ted Smith applied for his 2nd mate’s certificate of competency which he gained after sitting and passing the required exams and over the next two years he served in that capacity aboard the ships Record, Agra and N. Mosher. As a 2nd mate he still served as a seaman, but as a sort of qualified foreman he had his own cabin at the rear of the ship and was in charge of the starboard watch looking after the ropes on the starboard and rear of the ship. In 1873, he passed his exams for 1st mate giving him charge of the port watch in charge of the port ropes and the bow of the ship. As mate, he no longer worked in the rigging, he was instead the captain’s executive officer – he saw that the skipper’s orders were carried out. In this capacity he served for three voyages on the ship Arzilla, under Captain C. E. Durkee. Then in 1875, at the age of 25, Smith sat and passed his master’s certificate of competency. This enabled him to command his own ship. To commemorate his success, he was presented with a loving cup dedicated to ‘Captain E. J. Smith’, the first time he had ever been called by this title. He had to wait for a year though, before he got a ship of his own.

    A ship of his own. Smith appears in the papers as the captain of the Lizzie Fennell.

    Smith’s first command was the 1040 ton sailing ship Lizzie Fennell, which he took on a ten month trip to Callao in Peru, again returning with a cargo of guano. The voyage does not seem to have been troubled by the mass desertions suffered by the Senator Weber, though there were some deaths. An Italian crewman died off the coast of Chile and three Scandinavians all drowned off Peru in October 1876, but details of how and why they died are lacking as no ship’s log has survived.

    For the next three years, Captain Smith and the crew of the Lizzie Fennell led a seemingly blameless existence transporting cotton and other assorted goods between Britain, Canada and the United States. In later life Smith seems to have had fond memories of his time aboard the Lizzie Fennell, during which time he made a number of valued acquaintances whom he still remembered many years later. But he was not blind to the fact that there were great changes happening in the shipping world where steamers were becoming more popular and profitable, and that a whole new (and much more comfortable) career could be carved out on the big passenger liners. The transatlantic passenger steamers run out of Liverpool by the prestigious White Star line had caught his attention. On seeing the White Star ship SS Britannic in dock, Smith commented to his nephew J. W. S. Harrington, who was serving in his crew, that he would happily accept a junior position to serve on such a fine vessel. A few days later Smith managed to get a tour of the Britannic, which made his mind up for him. Quitting his job as the captain of the Lizzie Fennell, he left the employ of Andrew Gibson and Co. and applied to and joined the White Star line as a junior officer determined once more to make his way to the top.

    It would take years to achieve of course, but Smith was agreeable, highly intelligent, hard-working and blessed with the ability to succeed, and he would indeed rise to the peak of his career and make his fortune with White Star. However, it was also a fateful move that led ultimately to a cold, tragic night in April 1912 off the Grand Banks of Nova Scotia, when at the helm of the company’s new big ship he ventured into an ice field and sailed into history.

    G. J. Cooper, Titanic Captain, the Life of Edward John Smith (Stroud, 2011), pp.9-55; Allen’s Indian Mail, 4 November 1867, p.890.

    All images, author’s collection

  • Birth of a Fictional Landscape

    The statue of Arnold Bennett. Stoke-on-Trent’s most famous literary figure, situated outside the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery, Hanley.

    In 1898, A Man from the North, the first novel by a then unknown author named E. A. Bennett was published. It was the story of a young man who had arrived in London keen to set himself up as a writer and though readers at the time would not know it, the novel was largely autobiographical, Arnold Bennett himself had arrived in London from the Potteries and found work editing a women’s magazine and he penned the novel in hopes of breaking into the serious literary market.

    In truth the book was something of a failure, but it laid the groundwork for the stories that Bennett is still best remembered for. A Man from the North is largely set in the capital, but when the protagonist takes a journey back home for a funeral, the reader is given a brief glimpse of the curious parochial industrial landscape in ‘the north’ that the hero had escaped from. The towns he mentions are Bursley (Burslem) ‘the mother town’, Turnhill (Tunstall) ‘the northern outpost’ or ‘The bailiwick of Turnhill’ and Knype (Stoke-upon-Trent) that housed the train station and boasted the paramount local football team. Though not named as such until his next novel came out four years later, this is the first glimpse we get of ‘The Five Towns’, Bennett’s fictional version of the Potteries he had grown up in.

    That next novel was Anna of the Five Towns, published in 1902, in which the list of Bennett’s fictional pottery towns was expanded upon with the inclusion of Hanbridge (Hanley) ‘the Chicago of the Five Towns’ as Bennett described the commercial centre in one of his short stories, and Longshaw (Longton) the grittiest and most industrialised of the towns. Missing from this list, of course is Fenton ‘the town Arnold Bennett forgot’. In fact he did not forget Fenton, he simply felt that euphonically ‘The Five Towns’ sounded better than ‘The Six Towns’ and he adapted his topography accordingly.

    As the list of novels and short stories Bennett had published grew, so too did the make-believe landscape they were set in. There were some smaller Five Towns settlements like Bleakridge (Cobridge), Shawport (Longport), Hillport (Porthill) or Sneyd (Trentham), while beyond the borders lay Oldcastle (Newcastle) and Axe (Leek). Looking inward, Burslem saw many of its streets and buildings renamed or repurposed in Bennett’s fictional Bursley. Here Swan Bank became Duck Bank, Waterloo Road became Trafalgar Road, Nile Street was changed to Aboukir Street, The Leopard Inn became The Tiger and the George Hotel was renamed The Dragon. These were just some some of the numerous thoroughfares and locations frequented by the likes of Edwin Clayhanger and Hilda Lessways, Anna Tellwright and Willie Price, Simon Fuge, Denry Machin, the Countess of Chell, Constance and Sophia Baines and a host of other local fictional characters.

    Three of the plaques on The Bursley Trail

    In honour of the fictional landscape Bennett created, a number of buildings and sites around Burslem and elsewhere now form part of ‘The Bursley Trail’ and carry blue plaques presented by the Arnold Bennett Society, which identify their literary counterparts.

    Reference: See the novels of Arnold Bennett, notably A Man from the North, Anna of the Five Towns, The Old Wives Tale, the Clayhanger Trilogy, The Card, and the short story collections Tales of the Five Towns, Grim Smile of the Five Towns, The Matador of the Five Towns.

  • For Better… and Much Worse

    Bethesda Chapel, Hanley, scene of the riotous wedding.
    Source: Google Earth

    On the morning of Tuesday 7 May 1878, a wedding took place at Bethesda Chapel in Hanley, that excited a great deal of interest due to the disturbance it caused in the town, when a large jeering mob followed the couple to the service and invaded the chapel. The uproar was apparently caused by the disparity in ages between the bridegroom and bride and perhaps concerns over the character of the groom. William Lomas, was a widower aged 68, a grocer carrying on his business in Lower Russell Street, Hanley, while his intended was 18 year old spinster, Ellen Milne, who lived with her parents at 21 Norfolk Street, Shelton. The bridegroom already had a large family of grown-up sons and daughters, and had grandchildren older than the bride he was now taking to the altar and the indications are that some of them were none too pleased with their father marrying a teenager and they probably orchestrated what followed. As the wedding date and venue had been changed several times, perhaps the groom had an inkling of what was about to happen, though the sheer scale of the protest seems to have caught everyone off guard.

    The events of the nuptial day started off on a comical note with the arrival in Shelton of a donkey cart, the donkey specially dressed in branches and black and white papers and the driver wearing a long hatband as if attending a funeral. The cart proceeded to drive around that part of Shelton surrounding Norfolk Street and soon collected together a huge crowd comprising thousands of people who kept shouting as they paraded, until the bride and groom left her father’s house at 10a.m. Climbing into a four-wheel carriage the wedding party arrived at Bethesda Chapel at about 10.30, where a noisy, rowdy crowd were waiting, while more followed on behind the donkey cart.

    The arrival of the couple was the signal for a general uproar to start, with jeering, hissing, coarse shouts and vulgar jokes at the couple’s expense and a number of missiles were thrown that struck both bride and groom as they exited the carriage, smashing some of its windows and damaging their wedding clothes. Two police inspectors then arrived on the scene with a force of constables who tried to keep the mob out of the chapel, but to no avail and the chapel and it’s galleries were soon full to bursting with a large, disorderly crowd. When the bride and groom with her father emerged from the vestry they were greeted with a deafening chorus of cat-calls and shouting, so loud that while the service went on not a single word said by the minister nor the bridge and groom could be heard even by those standing nearby. When Mr Lomas went to place the wedding ring on his bride’s finger he was so confused by the chaos that he placed it on the third finger of her right hand, which resulted in uproar, laughter, jeers, waiving of handkerchiefs and caps. When the mistake was pointed out to him and the groom put the ring on the correct finger, he was heard to say, “I thought this would be a quiet place to get married at, but if I had to do it a thousand times again I’d -” the last words being lost in the hubbub.

    The service over, the couple left the communion rail and were quickly separated, the bride retreating to the vestry while the elderly groom was so crushed and jostled about by the mob that he could barely stand up. He reached the vestry with difficulty, the bride’s father throwing a few punches at the crowd to get him through the door. When Lomas finally made it, he collapsed exhausted on a chair while the crowd launched an attack on the vestry, smashing a window. Once the register had been signed, the couple were hurried out of the building by the police and back into their carriage, some of the ladies’ dresses being torn in the process, but no other harm was done. Eight police officers then escorted the carriage back to Norfolk Street, with the singular donkey cart still in its funeral attire following behind at a distance.

    Unsurprisingly, the marriage was not to last. The next year the couple were in the paper again where it was revealed that Lomas’s relatives had begun to interfere with the marriage so much that they could not live together as a married couple. Ellen grew so upset that for a time she moved to stay with a friend in London. Eventually returning to the Potteries, she was barred from entering her husband’s shop at 60 Lower Russell Street by William’s daughter Martha and Thomas Roden, against whom she subsequently brought a charge of assault. If Ellen failed to get back with her husband then maybe she was lucky, as the next year a bad situation seems to have got far worse when one William Lomas ‘a retired grocer living in Shelton’, was accused and subsequently convicted of molesting a six year old girl in a nearby churchyard. It is unclear if he was heavily fined or imprisoned for this, but it seems to have put paid to their comedy of a marriage. The next year, the 1881 census listed William as lodging with his daughter and her new husband and though he listed himself as ‘married’, of Ellen there was no sign. Four years later she was rid of him and his family when Lomas died aged 75.

    Reference: Staffordshire Sentinel, 7 May 1878, p.3; 24 May 1879, p.6; 14 May 1880, p.3.

  • Thunderstruck

    In the late 19th century, Nelson Place, a small undistinguished back street in the Wellington estate to the east of Hanley town centre, was home to a flint mill owned by a Mr George Edwards. It was a small establishment that ground flint for the pottery industry and was just one of many similar works that were dotted around the Potteries, all part of a larger infrastructure that fed into the manufacture of ceramics. There was the mill itself and its out-buildings, plus some stables where several horses belonging to a carter named George Flower were housed at the time, Mr Flower himself living further down the street at number 40 Nelson Place. The mill’s main feature, though, was a fine chimney that had been erected half a century earlier, which in size and dimensions was said to be a copy of Pompey’s Pillar, a Roman triumphal column in Alexandria, Egypt. Whether it was a true copy of the famous column – complete with square base and Corinthian capital – or was simply an 88 feet tall tubular shaft is not made clear, but it was a notable landmark in the surrounding streets, at least that is, until the night of Wednesday 8 November 1882.

    It had rained heavily in Hanley all afternoon and into the evening, the rain driven in hard by a heavy gale that had caused serious damage elsewhere in the Potteries. In Stoke, the roof of the parish church had been partially torn up by the wind and dashed down onto the north side of the church. This in turn had knocked down some of the decorative masonry on the roof, which was smashed to pieces when it hit the floor, destroying a gravestone as it did so. In Burslem, it was the culmination of a couple of days of variable weather, a frost on Tuesday had given way to a fall of snow on Wednesday morning, then a hail storm in the early afternoon which transformed into a full-blown thunderstorm in the evening, with an incredible play of lightning in the sky.

    This seems to have been the same storm that rolled in over Hanley late on Wednesday evening. The Staffordshire Sentinel reported, ‘Such a disturbance of the elements has not been known in the town for very many years, the nearest approach to it, perhaps, being during a heavy storm which took place about forty years ago, when the Old Wind-mill was struck.’

    The lightning was unusually vivid throughout the storm, particularly one flash which occurred shortly after 10 p.m., the thunderclap that came with it being likened to a short, sharp volley of artillery. People who were out of doors, were staggered by the flash, the noise and the rush of displaced air that hit them. Sergeant Jones of the Hanley Borough police, on duty at the lower end of Charles Street, was bowled over by the shock, but not physically hurt.

    The cause was a massive lightning strike that hit the chimney of the flint mill and blew it apart. A mass of bricks fell straight down onto the nearby stables, crushing them and killing and burying two of the three unlucky horses housed there while seriously injuring the third. Debris was scattered over a wide area, the houses nearest to the mill taking the brunt of the damage with nearly every window broken, while a finger of the lightning had entered a house at the top of the street, struck a cupboard and destroyed its contents, consisting of crockery, which was scattered around the room. On other homes, chimney pots were gone, rain spouts and gutters were missing, and tiles were blown off the roofs. Indeed, scarcely a house in Nelson Place escaped damage. Telephone lines were brought down in the street and pieces of brick from the collapsed chimney were hurled great distances. Some smashed back windows in Hassall Street, while the cross was knocked off the west end of St Luke’s Church and holes were made in the roof. The lightning blast also seems to have done some damage to J. and R. Hammersley’s pot bank at the bottom of Hassall Road, but to what extent is unknown.

    Today, such an event would garner serious press attention, but for papers in the late 19th century where news tended to be presented in a digest form, the reportage was restrained to a relatively small account the day after and a repeat of the story at the weekend. As a result it is impossible to go into any more detail on what the overall effect was on the area. The destruction to the Nelson Place mill was considerable, the once admired chimney was now just a mass of broken rubble. Estimates placed the damage at about £300 (nearly £32,000 in 2026), a hefty sum for a small business to shoulder. Thankfully, no one was killed or injured save for the horses and only on that subject was there anything further in the paper. The death of the two horses and the injuries to the third had robbed George Flower of his only source of income and a couple of days after the storm, a letter written by one Edwin J. Hammersley appeared in the Sentinel, making an appeal on Mr Flower’s behalf. Describing the carter as ‘one of the most industrious and persevering working-men in the borough’ he proposed a subscription fund to help Mr Flower in his distress. Headed by the Mayor Mr John Emery, who acted as treasurer, this soon gained legs and numerous manufacturers, neighbours and most of the workforce of Hammersley’s factory chipped in. So successful was the appeal, that by 20 November an additional letter to the paper announced that so much had been collected that George Flower was now nearly fully compensated for his losses. Certainly, nine years later in the 1891 census, he was still listed as a carter at 40 Nelson Place.

    That was all that was written about the lightning strike that demolished Nelson Place’s most distinctive landmark, but what of the flint mill itself? Well, that too seems to have literally ridden out the storm, trade directories indicating that George Edwards continued to do business as a flint grinder in Nelson Place, certainly up until 1912. At some point between then and the 1940s, though, the mill ceased working and was finally demolished and the land cleared, much to the delight of the local kids, who adopted it as a playground, known simply as ‘The Mill’. One of those children was my own father, who told me many tales of life in the street, of it’s people and it’s buildings, but he seems to have been completely unaware of that dramatic night, six decades before he was born, when the sky fell in on Nelson Place.

    Reference: The Staffordshire Sentinel, Thursday, 9 November 1882, p.3; Friday, 10 November 1882, p.3; Monday, 20 November 1882, p.3.

  • In Grateful Memory of Timothy Trow

    The Timothy Trow Memorial, London Road, Stoke.
    Image: Google Earth

    At about a quarter past four on the afternoon of 13 April 1894, a three year old girl named Jane Ridgway who lived with her parents at Steele’s Cottages alongside the Newcastle canal* in Boothen, Stoke, tumbled into the water. Nearby 21 year old Timothy Trow, a tram conductor who was in charge of the car working London Road that afternoon, was just about to signal to the driver to pull away from the West End terminus, when he heard a loud splash from the adjacent canal and saw the little girl in trouble. Without a thought for his own safety, Trow – a non-swimmer – got down from the tram, ran to the canal and jumped in. He managed to wade most of the way across the cut, the water only coming up to his waist, but then it fell away much deeper and Trow called out to his colleague the tram driver that he had cramp. The young man was in trouble and seemed to become helpless in the water. A passer by, Mr Henry Lloyd of Beresford Street, Shelton was one of several other men who rushed to the canal and he now jumped in to help Trow while another man, John Forrester of Wellesley Street, Shelton also plunged in and fished little Jane Ridgway out of the water. Timothy Trow desperately grabbed hold of Mr Lloyd who tried to pull him to the bank, but Lloyd too was struck by cramp and unable to hold onto the floundering man who threatened to pull him under had no option but to let go. Lloyd managed to scramble back to the bank where others hauled him out while John Forrester having handed Jane Ridgway to others, also tried to grab onto Trow, but to no avail. Every effort was made to catch the drowning man, but it was futile and in the struggle Timothy Trow disappeared from view and it was not until half an hour later that his body was found.

    This dramatic rescue that ended in tragedy made quite an impact in the Potteries and all involved were praised for their bravery, especially Timothy Trow whose selfless act in going into the canal despite not being able to swim won him a massive amount of sympathy. As a result, his funeral three days later was a grand affair attended by dozens of mourners, his parents, family and friends as well as 30 fellow tram conductors and drivers who had been let off work for the day to attend the service as well as several company officials. Numerous wreaths decorated the hearse and hundreds of people watched from the pavements while blinds were drawn in many houses along the route  that the funeral cortege took on its way from Timothy’s family home in William Street, Hanley to Hanley Borough Churchyard. 

    All this and the church ceremony were reported in the Sentinel which several days later announced that a memorial committee was being formed to raise funds for a permanent memorial to the young tram conductor and during the summer news came that Timothy Trow, Henry Lloyd and John Forrester were to be recognised by the Royal Humane Society. By early October a sum of £47,11s had been raised, enough to fund an 8 feet tall obelisk made of grey granite to be sited in London Road near to the scene of Trow’s deed and a marker was placed on his grave in the cemetery. The inscription picked out in gold near the base of the obelisk reads: ‘Erected by Public Subscription in Grateful Memory of TIMOTHY TROW, tram conductor aged 21 years who lost his life by drowning near this spot, in an heroic effort attempt to save that of a child April 13th 1894.’

    The remaining money from the collection was divided between Messrs Lloyd and Forrester. On 22 October 1894, a large party of council officials and a crowd of onlookers were in attendance when the obelisk was unveiled, after which Henry Lloyd and John Forrester were presented with their certificates from the Royal Humane Society while the Society’s ‘In Memorium’ certificate for Timothy Trow was later presented to his parents. Despite the depredations of years in the open and the unwanted attentions of an occasional vandal, the obelisk still stands today and forms to focus of ‘Timothy Trow Day’ on 13 April each year that still draws a crowd to remember one young man’s brave deed.  

    * The Newcastle branch of the Trent and Mersey was a four mile long canal connecting Newcastle to Stoke. It no longer exists, having long since been filled in.

    References: Staffordshire Sentinel, 21 April 1894, p.2 and 11 October 1894, p.3; Birmingham Daily Post 16 April 1894 p.8 and 23 October 1894.

  • His Superb Fighting Spirit

    Lance-Sergeant J. D. Baskeyfield VC.

    Operation Market Garden, launched on 17 September 1944, was an Allied attempt to seize a series of strategic bridges through the Netherlands to break into Nazi Germany and end the war sooner. The plan was for three giant airborne raids, consisting of thousands of paratroopers and glider borne troops, to seize and hold the bridges, while an armoured column would punch its way north through the intervening German troops and link up with the lightly armed airborne forces before they were overrun. American paratroops dropped at Eindhoven and Nijmegen succeeded in capturing and holding their positions until the armoured column arrived. However, the British 1st Airborne Division, assigned to capture the furthest target, the road bridge at Arnhem, faced difficulties from the start, with many paratroopers and gliders landing far from their target. Only one battalion, under Major John Frost, reached Arnhem, but they could not secure the bridge. The rest of the Division, including several battalions of the Paras and the 2nd Battalion South Staffordshire Regiment, all under the command of General Roy Urquhart, were stuck outside the town, facing transport and communication issues and fierce enemy resistance.

    On 19 September, General Urquhart attempted to reach Frost and his men in Arnhem, but the British suffered heavy losses against German armour. Urquhart therefore pulled his men back to Oosterbeek, a suburb of Arnhem, hoping to establish a bridgehead against the river until ground forces arrived. The Paras and South Staffords created a perimeter at the edge of Oosterbeek, bringing in artillery to cover the main roads and snipe German tanks when they came. At 11:15 a.m., eight anti-tank guns from the South Staffords were moved forward, with two of their 6-pounder guns positioned at the T-junction of Benedendorpsweg and Acacialaan to take on any German armour moving in from the north-east, while other guns covered their flank and troops in trenches and nearby buildings prepared to support the gunners and confront any enemy infantry.

    In charge of the two guns facing up Acacialaan was 21-year-old Lance-Sergeant John Daniel Baskeyfield of the South Staffords’ Anti-Tank Platoon. Born on 18 November 1922, ‘Jack’ Baskeyfield was the eldest of five children born to Daniel and Minnie Baskeyfield of Burslem. Educated at Burslem St John’s School and Christ Church, Cobridge, for several years he was a choirboy at Cobridge Church. Starting work as an errand boy, he later trained as a butcher and briefly managed a co-op butchers in Pittshill. He was called up for the army in February 1942 and served with the 2nd South Staffords in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy before participating in Operation Market Garden. No stranger to peril, during the North Africa campaign, a glider that Jack was aboard crashed into the sea and he spent 8 hours in the water before being picked up by a launch. Evidently a good soldier, he had achieved the rank of lance-sergeant through merit and during the ferocious battle that would take place around his guns the next day, his ability to lead and inspire those around him would prove him worthy of the rank.

    The statue depicting Jack Baskeyfield at Festival Park, Etruria.

    By nightfall on the 19th, British forces in Oosterbeek had been heavily pounded by artillery and mortar fire, resulting in significant losses. On the 20th, German forces attacked the eastern side of the perimeter with infantry, tanks, and self-propelled guns, aiming to overrun the weakened British position. Despite the heavy fire, the British airborne soldiers fought back fiercely, particularly Baskeyfield and his crew, who are said to have destroyed two Tiger tanks and a self-propelled gun. Their success, though, came at a heavy cost, the gun crew being either killed or badly injured in the fighting, Jack being seriously wounded in the leg. In the lull that followed the initial German attack, Jack refused to be carried off to the Regimental First Aid post and instead manned his gun alone, shouting encouragement to the men in nearby buildings and trenches. When the Germans returned with even greater ferocity, Baskeyfield fired round after round until his gun was finally put out of action.

    Pulling himself away from the wreckage and under intense enemy fire, Jack crawled across the road to the other gun, Corporal Hutton’s 6-pounder, the crew of which now lay dead around it. Again, he manned the gun alone, though another soldier tried to crawl across the road to help him, but he was killed almost immediately. Undaunted, Jack carried on, engaging another enemy self-propelled gun that was moving in to attack. He managed to get off two rounds, one of which scored a direct hit on the vehicle, rendering it ineffective, but, sadly, whilst loading for a third shot, he was killed by a shell from a supporting enemy tank.

    There is some question over the number or type of ‘kills’ that Jack and his men gained, but there is no disputing that the terrific stand he made inspired nearby troops and bolstered that part of the perimeter. This undoubtedly helped in preventing the Germans from cutting the 1st Airborne Division from the Rhine, across which the survivors of Urquhart’s forces escaped several days later. For by 25 September, the desperate struggle for Arnhem was over, and Major Frost’s men had been forced to surrender. Hundreds of soldiers and over 400 Dutch civilians had been killed, thousands more wounded and Arnhem and its suburbs were wrecked and littered with bodies, many mangled beyond recognition. Corporal Raymond Corneby and other captured troops were working to gather up bodies where Baskeyfield and his men had fallen, when he found just such a corpse, a battered, headless body by the wreckage of a gun, which he buried in a nearby garden. From the evidence Corneby found on the body it seems very likely that this was Jack Baskeyfield, whose remains now lie in an unknown grave. His name appears on panel 5 of the CWGC Groesbeek Memorial to the Missing. 

    The modern day juction of Benedendorpsweg looking up Acacialaan – which was then much more open – from where the German tanks were approaching. Baskeyfield’s final position was on the left where the ‘Jack Baskeyfield Tree’ now stands.

    Source: Google Earth

    Despite his body being lost, Jack’s deeds were not forgotten, and word of his bravery spread quickly. A week after the battle, war artist Bryan de Grineau drew a sketch of the action for the Illustrated London News and official reports were made on Baskeyfield’s behalf, with the recommendation that he be posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. This was granted, and the London Gazette carried the official citation for his award five days after what would have been his 22nd birthday. This outlined the action and Jack Baskeyfield’s doggedness in carrying out his duty in defending the road junction, his determination to carry on even though badly wounded and it praised ‘his superb fighting spirit’ which inspired all who witnessed his stand. Back home, though his parents and siblings were devastated by the news of his death, they were immensely proud at the news that Jack had been awarded the Victoria Cross. At an investiture at Buckingham Palace on 17 July 1945, Daniel and Minnie Baskeyfield received their son’s medal from King George VI and soon after the war they took a trip to the Netherlands to see where their son had died. Jack Baskeyfield’s VC is today in the keeping of the Staffordshire Regiment Museum at Whittington near Lichfield.

    Pride was felt across the Potteries at Jack’s incredible bravery. A memorial fund was set up, a mural was raised in his honour at one of his old schools and his name continues to be used proudly around the city in streets, buildings, an Army Reserve Centre and for a while a local school. In 1966, a local amateur film maker Bill Townley began filming a well-produced cinematic depiction of Jack’s deeds entitled ‘Baskeyfield VC’, which received it’s first public airing in 1969 and is still available to buy on DVD. Official memorials also appeared. A plaque dedicated to the town’s medal winner sits near to Burslem’s war memorial on Swan Bank, but surprisingly the most notable memorial was erected not in Burslem, but at Festival Heights in Etruria. Unveiled in 1990, the twice-life size statue of Jack Baskeyfield sculpted by Steven Whyte and Michael Talbot, has him in action, shell in hand in the act of loading his gun; a brave man, defiant to the end. 

    Reference: Andy Saunders (Ed.),Victoria Cross (magazine), pp.96-99; Evening Sentinel, 24 November 1944 p.1 and p.4; Evening Sentinel, 18 July 1945.

  • Old News from the Potteries

    Regular newspaper coverage of events in the Potteries only really started at the end of the 18th century with the advent in 1795 of the Staffordshire Advertiser paper, though as this was published in Stafford, it’s coverage of the goings on in the north of the county was limited to the most noteworthy events. Another half century would pass before more local newspapers were being produced in Hanley, Stoke and Burslem. However, histories, travellers’ journals and some other national or regional papers occasionally carried tales from the Potteries from this early period, giving us fleeting glimpses into life in the area. These range from descriptions of the growing pottery industry and the construction of the canals, to bizarre deaths, odd weather and local curios.

    See a Fine Lady Upon a White Horse

    Between 1697 and 1702, partly from a wish to improve her health and from an equally strong desire to see more of her native land, Lady Celia Fiennes (whom some claim was the fine lady at Banbury Cross from the children’s nursery rhyme) undertook a series of journeys around England. In the summer of 1698, her peregrinations brought her into North Staffordshire. Here, after admiring the as yet unsullied landscape, she was keen to visit the Elers Brothers’ factory at Bradwell, but as she notes in her diary she was unsuccessful; the potters had temporarily run out of clay and were not working.

    ‘..and then to Trentum, and passed by a great house of Mr Leveson Gore, and went on the side of a high hill below which the River Trent ran and turn’d its silver stream forward and backward into s’s which Looked very pleasant Circling about ye fine meadows in their flourishing tyme bedecked with hay almost Ripe and flowers. 6 mile more to NewCastle under Line.’

    After ruminating briefly on the ‘coals to Newcastle’ adage, she continued. 

    ‘… I went to this NewCastle in Staffordshire to see the makeing of ye fine tea potts. Cups and saucers of ye fine red Earth in imitation and as Curious as yt wch Comes from China, but was defeated in my design, they. Comeing to an End of their Clay they made use of for yt sort of ware, and therefore was remov’d to some other place where they were not settled at their work so Could not see it;’

    (Reference: Celia Fiennes, Through England On a Side Saddle in the Time of William and Mary, pp.146-147.)

    A Swedish Spy in the Valley of Crockery

    A visitor to the mid-18th century Potteries was Reinhold Rücker Angerstein, an industrial spy in the employ of the Swedish government, who was tasked with gathering information on new or emerging technology. Between 1753 and 1755, he journeyed through England and Wales and produced a wide-ranging and comprehensive survey of the various industries and their practices. He appears to have visited the Staffordshire Potteries, which he labels rather colourfully as a ‘Valley of Crockery’, in about 1755. Here, after examining the manufacture of salt-glazed wares, describing the kilns in Hanley (including illustrations), the raw materials used, the prices of ware and various mechanisms employed in producing pottery (with still more pictures), he went on to add a few descriptions of the area that make for interesting reading.

    He notes that in Hanley there were 430 makers of white ware and other types of pottery, adding ‘The kilns are everywhere in this district.’ and to prove his point he includes an illustration of the skyline of the town. There were also large numbers of potteries in Stoke and other places, ‘where mostly the same kind of ware as that enumerated is made and also some simpler crockery.’ He then adds a picturesque and slightly comical tale. ‘When as it sometimes happens, many kilns are glazing with salt at the same time, there is such a thick smoke of salt in these towns, that people in the streets cannot see 6 feet ahead, which, however does not cause any difficulties. On the contrary, the smoke is considered so healthy that people who are ill come here from far away to breathe it.’

    Of the pottery itself, he writes, ‘The crockery produced is mainly sent to London or other sea ports, from which much of it is exported to America and many other foreign countries.’

    (Reference: R. R. Angerstein’s Illustrated Travel Diary 1753-1755, pp. 340-342)

    John Wesley preaching to a crowd

    Pelted in the Potteries 

    On 8 March 1760, the Reverend John Wesley, the founding father of Methodism, visited Burslem for the first of many visits to the region. He described Burslem as ‘a scattered town, on the top of a hill, inhabited almost entirely by potters’, a large crowd of whom had gathered to hear him at five in the evening. He noted that great attention sat on every face, but also great ignorance which he hoped he could banish. 

    The next day Wesley preached a second sermon in Burslem to twice the number of the day before. ‘Some of these seemed quite innocent of thought. Five or six were laughing and talking till I had near done; and one of them threw a clod of earth, which struck me on the side of the head. But it neither disturbed me nor the congregation.’  –

    (Reference: John Wesley, Journal, 8-9 March 1760)

    The First Cut

    After receiving the royal assent two months earlier for construction of a canal connecting the rivers Trent and Mersey, on the morning of 26 July 1766, at a site just below Brownhills, pottery manufacturer Josiah Wedgwood cut the first sod of what would in time become the Trent and Mersey canal. James Brindley, the engineer who would oversee the canal’s construction, and numerous other dignitaries were present, many of whom would also cut a piece of turf, or wheel away a barrow of earth to mark the occasion. In the afternoon a sheep was roasted in Burslem market place for the benefit of the poorer potters in the town. A bonfire was also lit in front of Wedgwood’s house and many other events took place around the Potteries by way of celebration. 

    (Reference: Jean Lindsay, The Trent and Mersey Canal, pp.31-32)

    News from the North

    Extract of a Letter from Burslem, 14  August 1766,

    ‘As you often give me London News, I will give you some from this Country, which has of late made a Figure. This Neighbourhood has for many Years made Pots for Europe, and will still do so, though the King of Prussia has lately clapt 28 per Cent, upon them. Our Roads were so bad that nobody came to view the Place where the Flint Ware is made, but now we have Turnpikes upon Turnpikes, and our Potteries are as well worth seeing as the Stockport Silk-Mills, or the Bridgewater Navigation, which we intend to beat hollow by Lord Gower’s, now begun in our Meadows, and advancing apace towards Harecastle, on the other Side of which Multitudes of Men are at work, and before Christmas we shall have cut through the Hill, and made another Wonder of the World. There are already 100 Men employed on our Side, and 100 more will be added as soon as Wheelbarrows can be procured for them. Saturday last we had brave Sport at Earl Gower’s, where 100,000 Spectators were present at the Prison-Bars played in Trentham Park. Among them were the Dukes of Bedford and Bridgewater. The Prizes were Ten Carline Hats, with gold Loops and Buttons, given by the Earl. The Cheshire Men were active Fellows, but unluckily their Lot was to wear Plod Drawers, to distinguish them from their Antagonists, which made the Crowd oppose their getting the Honour of the Day. During this Game, my Friend Bucknall loft his Boy, about Eight Years of Age, who was suffocated by going aslant down a Sort of a Cave into an old Coalpit, the top of which was fallen in. The Man that ventured to fetch him out, found a Number of Birds, supposed to have dropped down there by the sulphurous Stench issuing from the Pit. We have much Hay, and Cheese is plenty, and Corn without Barn-room, nor do we want Money. 

    P. S. I have just seen a Hen, which laid Twelve Eggs only, from which she has brought up Twelve Cock Chickens, which is looked upon as somewhat remarkable.’  –

    (Reference: Derby Mercury, Friday 29 August 1766, p.2)

    In Praise of Mr Brindley

    Extract of a Letter from Burslem in Staffordshire. dated September 5.

    “Though our Stone Ware has been universally used, yet till our Turnpikes were made few People ever saw our Manufactories. But now they are gazed at as a Novelty. The Ladies go to Warburton’s to buy the Queen’s Sets of Cream-coloured Ware; and the Gentle-men come to view our Eighth Wonder of the World, the subterraneous Navigation, which is cutting by the great Mr. Brindley, who handles Rocks as easily as you would Plumb-Pyes, and makes the four Elements subservient to his Will. He is as plain a looking Man as one of the Boors of the Peak, or one of his own Carters; but when he speaks all Ears listen, and every Mind is filled with Wonder at the Things he pronounces to be practicable. He has cut a Mile through Bogs, which he binds up, embanking them with the Stones which he gets out of the other Parts of the Navigation, besides about a Quarter of a Mile into the Hill Yeldon; on the Side of which he has a Pump, which is worked by Water, and a Stove, the Fire of which sucks through a Pipe the Damps that would annoy the Men, who are cutting towards the Centre of the Hill. The Clay he cuts out, serves for Brick to arch the subterraneous Part, which we heartily wish to see finished to Wilden Ferry, when we shall be able to send Coals and Pots to London, and to different Parts of the Globe.— Another Mile is cut on the Cheshire Side of the Hill, and the Men intend to meet in the Middle by Christmas, when they are to have an Ox roasted whole, and an Hogshead of Ale.”

    (Reference: Derby Mercury – Friday 18 September 1767, p.2)

    Tunnel Vision

    On 1 July 1772, an anonymous correspondent writing from Burslem related what he had seen the day before when he and some companions paid a visit to the first incarnation of the Harecastle Tunnel, situated between Tunstall and Kidsgrove and then under construction as part of James Brindley’s Trent and Mersey Canal. 

    ‘Yesterday we took a walk to the famous subterraneous canal at Harecastle, which is now opened for a mile on one side of the hill, and more than half a mile on the other, of course the whole must be compleated in a short time. As it is not yet filled with water, we entered into it, one of the party repeating the beautiful lines in Virgil, which describe the descent of Æneas into the Elysian fields. On a sudden our ears were struck with the most melodious sounds. – Lest you should imagine us to have heard the genius or goddess of the mountain singing the praises of engineer Brindly, it may be necessary to inform you, that one of the company had advanced some hundred paces before, and there favoured us with some excellent airs on the German flute. You can scarcely conceive the charming effect of this music echoed and re-echoed along a cavern near two thousand yards in length.’ 

    (Reference: Leeds Intelligencer, Tuesday 14 July 1772, p.3)

    A Fungi to Be With

    No age is free of stories of novelty fruit, veg or mushrooms:

    ‘A few days ago, a mushroom was got at Stoke-upon-Trent, in the county of Stafford, whose diameter was 5 inches, and 30 inches in circumference, it weighed 16 ounces. The above is very authentic.’ 

    (Reference: Leeds Intelligencer, 5 September 1775, p.3)

    All in a Spin

    In 1781, there was the story of a curious weather phenomenon, a whirlwind or perhaps a mini tornado:

    ‘The following extraordinary phenomenon was lately observed here; at the latter end of last month, a field of hay belonging to Mr. J. Clark, near Burslem, was carried off by a whirlwind; the day when it happened was exceedingly calm, scarce a breath of air to be perceived. The people who were at work in the field observed, that in one part the hay began to be agitated in a small circle, at every wheel it increased in size and velocity, continually sucking more hay into its vortex; after a considerable time it began to ascend, taking along with it a silk handkerchief which hung rather loosely about the neck of one of the men who was at work; it continued ascending till entirely out sight, and in about an hour it began to descend, and continued to so for an hour’s space, alighting at, or within a few hundred yards of the place from whence it had been carried up, so that the owner lost but a very trifling quantity of his hay.’ 

    (Reference: Hereford Journal, 23 August 1781, p.2)

    A Tragic Accident

    The following melancholy tale from the Potteries is related in a letter dated August 14 1785. 

    ‘As Ellen Hulme, a poor woman of Lane End, was returning to her habitation late last night, with her infant, six weeks old, in her arm, she unfortunately stepped into a coal-pit, which shamefully lay open close to the road, and even with the track which led to the poor creature’s house. Her husband, whom she had been to fetch from an alehouse, immediately alarmed the neighbourhood, when her distressing cries were very distinctly heard from the bottom of the dreary pit every effort was attempted by the hardy colliers to fetch her up, but the damp prevailing very much, obliged them to use means to extract it, after which was found the mother with her infant upon her arms, both dead.’ 

    (Reference: Sussex Advertiser, 22 August 1785, p.3) 

    A Hard Winter

    During the harsh winter of 1794-1795, the better off inhabitants of Hanley and Shelton formed a committee which started a subscription list for the temporary relief the poor who were suffering great hardship during the cold weather. By February 1795 the committee had collected an impressive £150, enough to enable them  to supply nearly 500 local families with meat, potatoes, and cheese. The Wedgwood family gave a liberal amount and through them a Mrs Crewe kindly added a welcome donation of a quantity of flannel clothing. The Marquis of Stafford aided the relief fund by ordering 100 tons of coal to be at the distribution of the committee. 

    A month later, in an issue of the Staffordshire Advertiser that noted that thermometers in Macclesfield had measured temperatures as low as -21° F (-29.4° C), the fearsome nature of the winter was highlighted dramatically by one small but rather macabre snippet of news: ‘Through the inclemency of the night of Saturday last [i.e.,14 March] a poor man perished betwixt Hanley and Bucknall. He unfortunately lost himself in attempting to cross the fields, and was found on Sunday standing upright in a snow drift, with his hand only above the surface.’ 

    (Reference: Staffordshire Advertiser, 7 February 1795, p.3; 21 March 1795, p.3.)

    Dashed to Pieces

    ‘A melancholy accident happened on Wednesday last at a coal-pit near Lane Delph, in the Pottery. A poor woman employed in drawing up the coal, was by some accident unfortunately thrown into the pit, and was literally dashed to pieces.’

    (Reference: Derby Mercury, 30 June 1796, p.4).

    Wild Fire

    In late March or early April 1799, a dreadful accident happened in a pit at Lane End, the property of John Smith, Esq. Four men were blown up, and two them terribly burnt by what the colliers of the time described as ‘the wild fire’. The explosion was loud, and the concussion so great that nearby houses shook violently. Two of the men were not expected to recover, while the other two were thrown to a considerable distance, and left badly bruised. The reporter noted that their hats were blown to the distance of 70 yards from the mouth of the pit. 

    (Reference: Staffordshire Advertiser, Saturday, 6 April 1799, p.4)

  • The Battle of Burslem

    The 2nd Dragoon Guards open fire on the crowd in front of the Big House, Burslem.
    An AI recreation of the scene after a drawing by the author.

    In 1842, a prolonged miner’s strike had crippled the Staffordshire Potteries. Hundreds of men were on the streets begging and intimidating passers by, while surly mobs raided police stations to free those who had been arrested. The situation in the Potteries was likened to that of a powder keg ready to explode and all that was needed was a spark to kindle all into combustion. Enter Thomas Cooper lay preacher and Chartist firebrand, whose powerful speeches finally struck that spark and plunged the Potteries into two days of rioting and mob rule. During this period dozens of buildings were looted and destroyed and order was only restored after a clash between rioters and the army, an incident popularly known as the Battle of Burslem.

    Thomas Cooper

    The confrontation took place on 16th August 1842. After a day and night of rioting and looting, early in the morning of the 16th crowds began to gather once more on streets of the Potteries. Of the five towns which had suffered in the previous day’s rioting, Hanley had been hit the worst. Plumes of heavy fire smoke curled up from either end of the town and the streets were filled with debris. The parsonage was a smouldering ruin and at the top of Pall Mall, Albion House home of local magistrate William Parker had been reduced to a charred and broken shell. On the streets of the town by 7 o’clock a crowd of 400 to 500 people had gathered and were being addressed by two of the local Chartist leaders, young William Ellis and John Richards, the elder statesman of Potteries Chartism. Ellis was urging the crowd not to give up the struggle until the People’s Charter became the law of the land. According to witnesses, though, it was the normally mild-mannered Richards who was more to the point. “Now my lads,” he said, “we have got the parson’s house down, we must have the churches down, for if we lose this day, we lose the day forever.” Ellis then spoke again and urged the crowd to go to Burslem to join the crowd there. They were expecting to meet up with a large crowd who were coming to the Potteries from Leek and extend the rioting even further. By 9 o’clock, with shouts of “Now lads for Burslem” and “Now to business”, the Hanley mob began marching north.

    From Hanley to Burslem is a steady half hour walk for a healthy man and as they entered the town at about 9.30am, the crowd were singing a song that Thomas Cooper had taught them, “… the lion of freedom’s let loose from his den, and we’ll rally round him again and again.” On their arrival in the town a part of the mob barged into George Inn which had only ten days earlier been attacked by outraged strikers and suffered substantial damage. To try and avoid further trouble, the owner of the Inn, Mr Barlow tried to buy the rioters off by giving them a shilling each; some of this was in half crowns and a dispute arose at the door as to the division of it. By this time the greater part of the mob had arrived and they immediately rushed in and filled the house. Mr Barlow had taken the precaution to remove the bulk of his cash; there was however £14 in coppers wrapped up in parcels of five shillings, which were all taken. Numerous bottles of wine, whisky and rum was also stolen, and the taps attached to the beer kegs were left running. Prominent amongst those who conducted this raid was George ‘Cogsey Nelly’ Colclough, a local lout who had flitted from one town to another the previous day, joining in with the burning and looting wherever he went. Like a moth to the flame he had followed the trouble back to his native Hanley and now thought to export his brand of local thuggery to the Mother Town. But the invasion of the inn did not go unopposed, for while the mob had previously only faced outnumbered police constables, they now found that they were in a town containing a small but formidable force of regular soldiers. They were surprised by a sergeant of dragoons and one or two other soldiers who were billeted at the inn, who hearing the noise, rushed into the bar and lobby to confront the troublemakers. Being in their undress uniforms they only had their swords to hand, but undaunted, the sergeant immediately drew his sword and began to cutting and swatting at the looters and in a few minutes the house was cleared. On being forced back into the street, the mob vented their anger by throwing stones at the windows, and in a very short time all the newly fitted glass was smashed and the house soon presented the same dilapidated appearance as it did after the attack in the night of the 6th.

    At the Leopard Inn, meantime, local magistrate Captain Thomas Powys was with Brevet-Major Power Le Poer Trench the commander of the 50 or so 2nd Dragoon Guards, who had been stationed in Burslem the week before. The two men had met shortly after the news had come in of a large crowd coming from Leek and Powys was doubtless consulting with the military as to what should be done if they tried to join the rioters. It was at this point that Thomas Lees the landlord of the inn came over with news that trouble that had broken out in Chapel Square. Captain Powys immediately asked for the Major’s assistance and Trench quickly ordered his available men to horse. Most of the men were billeted at the inn, their horses being stabled outside and the troopers now came out into the cobbled courtyard and hurriedly got themselves and their animals ready for action. A flurry of stones came flying over the gate striking at least one soldier on the helmet, but unfazed they were soon clattering out of the courtyard and through the streets. Mounted on their big bay horses, the soldiers dressed in scarlet tunics, dark blue trousers with a yellow stripe down the side and tall, crested brass helmets on their heads, they were a sight to see and doubtless provided the townsfolk with a gallant if alarming show as they rode towards the Market Place.

    The Leopard Inn, Burslem.

    The mood in the town had grown increasingly ugly with the arrival of the soldiers and Captain Powys knew that the crowd of people from Leek were even now on the outskirts of the town. If the two mobs joined up and went unopposed Burslem might well be utterly wrecked, so Powys decided that it was now time to restore law and order before things got completely out of hand.

    Riding up to the top of St John’s Square with Trench’s dragoons posted on either side and 200 special constables behind them, Captain Powys faced the mob and began to read out the Riot Act in a loud voice. He then gave several other warnings and then read the Riot Act again, urging the crowd to disperse and go home peacefully. The crowd, however, were unmoved and milled about between the market or the Shambles, as it was called, and the Big House, Thomas Wedgwood’s former home that still stands at the junction of Moorland Road and Waterloo Road, though at that time there was a walled garden before it. Powys then called out, “Clear the streets!” Then shouted, “Charge!” and led the dragoons towards the crowd. He had hoped to scare them off and the horse soldiers beat with the flats of their swords any who were slow in getting out of their way. The ruse did not work, though, for as one portion of the crowd fell back others spilled out of the side streets and alleys, back into the main crowd. Seeing the opportunity to cause more trouble, George Colclough set about the nearest soldiers with his stick, beating at their sword arms as they attempted to swat him. After a time several of the cavalrymen were so bruised by Colclough’s attacks that they left him alone, which is said to have raised a cheer from some in the crowd.

    By now it was getting towards noon and despite the best efforts of Captain Powys and the soldiers, the streets were still full of people. Some had climbed onto the roof of the Town Hall and the covered market, from where they threw stones at the troops and special constables. Powys, increasingly alarmed that the situation might escalate to the point where he might have to use the soldiers more forcefully, was repeatedly seen riding up to the crowds and calling out that the Riot Act had been read and urging people to return to their homes. He was joined in his efforts by others including an Irish naval officer, 41 year old Captain William Bunbury McClintock, who had come to town to meet his friend Major Trench, only to find himself in the eye of a storm. McClintock now rode back and forth from where the bulk of the troops were gathered by the Leopard Inn to check on what the crowds were doing. He saw ‘a vast concourse of people in the Hanley Road, and a dense mob on the Smallthorne Road – the latter were accompanied by a band of music. I returned again to the troop, and told Captain Powys there would soon be bloody work.’

    Word quickly spread, to the delight of the rioters in the town that the Leek mob of between 4,000 to 5,000 people was advancing down Smallthorne Road and they began moving up Chapel Square to meet them. As McClintock had noted, at the head of the crowd marched a band playing ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’ preceded by a large number of men and boys shouting and waving makeshift weapons overhead, all of which could be clearly seen from Market Square. Captain Powys described it as ‘the most tumultuous and violent mob which I have ever seen assembled, having seen many riots in the country and in London.’ He guessed that a clash was now inevitable and barely three minutes after McClintock had ridden back to the troop, Powys ordered Major Trench to move the troop forward to meet the crowd and he formed his dragoons up in sections diagonally across the road from the Big House to the Post office, so cutting the newcomers off from the bulk of the Potteries’ mob in the Market Square. The special constables, meantime, closed up nervously behind the cavalry, among them local manufacturer Joseph Edge and his friend Samuel Cork. They looked so alarmed at this point that a kindly lady watching the action from a nearby house sent her servant over with a glass of wine for them both, hoping that the drinks would revive their spirits.

    An officer of the 2nd Dragoon Guards. The black crest was only worn on parade or for ceremonies

    They needed it, for by now the fresh crowd was closing on the thin line of soldiers. Captain Powys on horseback was on the left of Major Trench, who with the other officers were in advance of the dragoons. A large crowd was assembled in the area above the Wesleyan chapel, to witness the arrival of the Leek mob. When about eighty or a hundred yards from the spot where the dragoons were stationed, the Leek party began to cheer and those in front waved their bludgeons. As the head of the procession entered the open space, the front ranks turned to the left, with the apparent intention of making their way by the Wesleyan chapel. About twenty or thirty deep of them had got so far when as Captain Powys later recalled, ‘Immediately large volleys of stones, and brick ends were thrown by this mob at myself, and also at the military, I being then in the advance. Similar stones were thrown at the same time by the mob coming in the direction from Hanley at the military, myself and also at the special constables.’

    By now the situation was intolerable. Stones were being hurled from both sides of the Market Square, striking horses and men alike and rattling over the cobbles. Captain Powys had thus far been the model of restraint, giving the crowd ample opportunities for a peaceful withdrawal, but it was now obvious that they were bent on trouble. Fearing for the safety of the soldiers, special constables and himself, by his own account he felt he had no choice but to use the soldiers to full effect and turning to Major Trench, Powys asked him to get his men ready to open fire. Trench agreed that the situation was getting out of control and gave the appropriate orders. As the soldiers sheathed their swords and primed their carbines, the large crowd moved forward as far as the Big House. The dragoons advanced slightly to counter them and only at the last moment when the front of the crowd was only six or seven yards away from the soldiers did it seem that the rioters saw the line of guns being raised and levelled at them. ‘This movement on the part of the soldiers caused a strange movement amongst those in the front of the mob, and a look of terror came over their faces. Another moment and the order “fire” was given’ and the rattle of musketry echoed out loud over the town.’

    The soldiers fired directly into the crowd, not over their heads as some reported, and many bullets found a mark. Standing in front of the large brick wall that then stood in front of the Big House, was a 19 year old shoemaker from Leek named Josiah Heapy. Despite glowing reports from his employer, who later extolled his gentle character and claimed he had been forced to join the crowd, Heapy appears to have been actively engaged in throwing stones at the soldiers, at least, that is, until a musket ball struck him in the temple and blew his brains out against the gate post.

    As Heapy’s lifeless form slumped to the pavement, in another section of the crowd, a bricklayer named William Garrett got a ball through his back that exited through his neck and he too fell to the ground gravely wounded but he was eventually whisked off to the infirmary. According to reports others were hit, but in the confusion no one stopped to count the casualties, though it has been supposed that some of the wounded were carried off by their friends and died later. A report in the Bolton Chronicle later claimed that the true tally had been three people killed and six wounded, while reports from Leek spoke of numerous wounded being brought back into the town after the riots.

    The Big House in Burslem, where the fateful clash occurred

    Some in the crowd seem to have been expecting this development, for shortly after the soldiers had fired their volley someone released a number of carrier pigeons which set off in the direction of Manchester. One of these birds was later captured and found to be carrying a note reporting that the mob had been fired on by dragoons and calling for 50,000 workers to join them in the Potteries. Some witnesses also recalled seeing plumes of gun smoke coming from the crowd just before the soldiers fired, though if this was the case, none of the soldiers or special constables were injured.

    Most of the mob, though, was just shocked by the gunfire. From his position behind the dragoons, special constable Joseph Edge had watched all this in fascinated horror, as his son later noted: ‘such a scene presented itself which we may pray may never be repeated in this good old town. So panic stricken was the mob that the men simply lay down in heaps in their efforts to get away from the cavalry… ‘

    Having stunned the rioters, the soldiers kept moving forwards and slinging their carbines, they drew their swords and followed by the special constables they charged their horses into the head of the crowd which scattered in panic before them. Immediately, thousands of people began rushing in all directions, many falling over each other in tangled heaps, others leaping through open windows, or into any available hiding place. Apocryphal tales abound. One Joseph Pickford of Leek is said to have taken shelter in a pig sty, much to the annoyance of its porcine occupants, whose squeals threatened to reveal his hiding place. Hundreds more escaped into the adjoining fields. Another story recalled how Thomas Goldstraw, a powerfully built man from Leek and a noted drummer, dropped his drum when the soldiers charged and quickly fled from Burslem back the way he had come, unaware at first that his son who had been nearby at the time had been shot through the thigh and was lying wounded in a field just outside the town. According to the storyteller, Goldstraw junior was later placed on a cart and transported to the surgery of an obliging physician, Dr Wright at Norton-in-the-Moors, who soon had him back on his feet again.

    As the military swept past into the Moorland Road, a portion of the mob from the direction of Hanley, rallied and began throwing stones at the body of special constables, who advanced to the conflict in a dense mass, playing away with their truncheons, and completely routed the mob in that quarter. After the soldiers had charged a short distance up the Smallthorne Road, they were halted and recalled: their job was done as the mob, which just before had consisted of five or six thousand people was completely dispersed and the danger to Burslem had passed.

    Reference: Staffordshire Mercury, 20 August 1842; Staffordshire Advertiser, 20 August 1842, p.3;  John Wilcox Edge ‘Burslem fifty years ago’, quoted in Carmel Dennison’s Burslem:People and Buildings, Buildings and People, (Stoke-on-Trent, 1996), pp. 36-37; Leek: Fifty Years Ago, (Leek, 1887), p.107 and 121.