Smithfield Hall c. 1794. Detail of an engraving by W. C. Wilson after an illustration by E. Dayes. The field in the foreground may be where Theophilus Smith attacked Peter Wainwright. (Author’s collection)
During a visit to Liverpool, a financially insecure pottery manufacturer, Theophilus Smith of Tunstall, asked one of his creditors, a merchant named Peter Wainwright, to return to the Potteries with him for a meeting. Very early in the morning of 21 June 1800, after travelling most of the way back to Tunstall, Smith stopped their carriage near to his home Smithfield Hall and said to Mr Wainwright, that as he wished to avoid being seen that they should proceed the remaining short distance across the fields on foot.
The two men were seemingly on good terms and had enjoyed a pleasant ride despite the distance, but as they crossed the field in the half-light before dawn, suddenly and without warning Smith drew a gun from his pocket. Thinking that the desperate potter was about to shoot himself, Wainwright pounced on the man, wrestled the gun out of his hand and threw it away. The crisis seemed to be over, but moments later as they continued their walk, Smith drew another pistol and fired at Mr Wainwright, but missed. The two men fought and Smith was thrown to the ground and begged forgiveness of his would-be victim. Evidently stunned by events, Wainwright relented and even let Smith get up and go to collect a coat he had left behind after leaving the coach, never thinking that Smith may have another pistol hidden there, which he produced as they neared his home and shot Wainwright through the body just below the stomach. Though badly wounded Peter Wainwright again fought back, but Smith then drew a knife, lashing out, and the merchant received numerous cuts to his hands and jawline before he finally threw his attacker off. Smith then retreated to his house, leaving the badly injured man to stagger several hundred yards to a neighbouring cottage for help. Doctors were called who at first despaired of his wounds, but against the odds Mr Wainwright survived, though he spent several weeks lodged in a gentleman’s house, recovering from his wounds and the shock of his ordeal.
The alarm was immediately raised and constables raced to Smithfield Hall to arrest Theophilus Smith, but he had already fled his home and 50 guineas were offered for his capture. This was achieved a few weeks later in London where Smith was arrested without incident in his lodgings by the Bow Street Runners. Sent for trial at Stafford, Smith was easily found guilty and sentenced to hang, but he cheated the hangman when on New Years Day 1801, whilst in the hospital at Stafford Gaol and having by some means got his hands on a couple of pistols, he shot and wounded his wife who was visiting him, then shot himself through the head, dying instantly. It has been suggested that this final act and Smith’s earlier attack on Mr Wainwright were because he suspected that Wainwright and his wife were lovers, though there seems to be no clear evidence to support this.
So ended the mysterious affair of Theophilus Smith, at least for the protagonist, and it turned out his was the only death to result from his sudden murderous mania, as Mary Smith like Peter Wainwright before her recovered from her wounds. By the end of February 1801, it was reported that she was well enough to leave Stafford and she seems to have returned to her family in Whitchurch, Shropshire. Before the year was out both Smithfield Hall and the Smithfield estate were sold to John Breeze, who renamed both ‘Greenfield’ to disassociate them from the stigma of Smith’s crimes. What happened to Mary Smith after that is unclear. If there ever had been any romantic association between her and Peter Wainwright it was never rekindled.
After recovering from his severe injuries Mr Wainwright had returned to Liverpool, but he did not long remain in Britain. Many years previously, before the War of Independence, he had settled in the American colonies and had stayed on there for some time as a successful tobacco merchant. In 1790, he had married another English emigrant, Elizabeth Mayhew, before returning to Britain in the early 1790s prior to the birth of their first child. Now, perhaps, the shock of the attack and the ill rumours it had promoted had made him reconsider the move and in either late 1801 or 1802, Wainwright returned with his wife and children to the United States of America, settling in near his wife’s family in Boston, where he continued to trade successfully for many years. Their children would stay on and prosper in the New World, but he and his wife eventually moved back to Britain, she dying in 1829 and Peter on 10 January 1841, aged 81.
Reference:Staffordshire Advertiser, 12 July 1800, p.3; 19 July 1800, p.4; 2 August 1800, p.3; 3 January 1801, p.4; The Annual Register 1800, Vol. 42; Bury and Norwich Post, Wednesday, 25 February 1801, p.2.
In early March 1783, the local economy was in decline and people were going hungry. A poor harvest the year before plus the knock-on economic effects of the American War of Independence had caused food to become scarce and prices to rise sharply and a number of food riots broke out in Newcastle and the Potteries as a result. The most serious of these took place around the canal at Etruria and may well have been started by some of Josiah Wedgwood’s workers.
A view of Wedgwood’s Etruria works from across the canal. From The Life of Josiah Wedgwood (1865) by Eliza Meteyard.
There had been some trouble in Newcastle for several days and the rioters there seem to have joined or inspired the riot that broke out at Etruria on Friday 7 March. The trouble started when a barge carrying much-needed supplies of cheese and flour moored up at Etruria where the food was to be off-loaded before being distributed around the Potteries. However, at the last moment the barge’s owners decided to send the boat on to Manchester. Within a short time of this decision shop owners in Hanley and Shelton heard the news and they in turn informed their angry customers. They had probably heard about the barge’s departure from some of Wedgwood’s own workers, certainly that suspicion was voiced in a letter written by Josiah Wedgwood junior, son of the famous potter. Later that same day Josiah junior wrote to his father (who was then in London on business) describing how when the news spread about the departing barge, several hundred men women and children had quickly gathered and chased after it along the canal, finally catching up with it at Longport. Believing that the boat had been sent away to increase the scarcity of provisions and thus up the prices even more, the crowd were in a black mood and not to be trifled with, so when they found that the bargee would not pull the boat over one of the crowd leapt aboard to tackle him. The boatman immediately cut the tow rope and slashed at the man with his knife and voices from the crowd on the towpath called out “Put him in the canal.” A ducking may well have been the man’s fate had not another bargee come to his rescue and he had been able to escape onto another craft, albeit leaving his own barge in the hands of the mob as he did so.
The captured boat was then hauled it back to Etruria in triumph and by late afternoon was tied up alongside Wedgwood’s Etruria works where the crowd unloaded the cargo into the factory’s crate shop. Most of the rioters then went home meaning to return the next day for distribution of the goods. In the meantime a few men were set as guards. At about 7.30 that evening four of these sauntered up to Etruria Hall and asked for something to eat and drink while they were on watch. Another of the Wedgwood children, Josiah’s older brother, 17 year old John went to them and stood talking with them for a time then too did their mother Sarah Wedgwood, who also spoke with them for a while before the men went off. The nervousness of the Wedgwood household at this point is, evident in young Josiah’s hasty missive to his father, but the family were not bothered any further that evening and at breakfast the next day things were still quiet.
On the Saturday morning the crowd gathered back at the canal side and some of the goods seized the day before were sold off at what were considered by the crowd to be more reasonable prices. One of the letters states that this was at two-thirds the normal price, while sometimes the goods were given away. The meagre proceeds were then handed over to the disgruntled owners of the captive barge. The authorities meanwhile had taken steps to deal with the rioters. An express message had been sent to Lichfield asking for some companies of the Staffordshire Militia to come to their aid. Closer at hand, though, were a company of the Carmarthen Militia who that day had arrived in Newcastle on their way back to Wales. Due to the troubles in Newcastle itself and now in Etruria, the commanding officer was asked if he could help in dealing with the rioters. He agreed, and the force put itself at the disposal of the local magistrates who now had the job of quelling the disturbances.
Some justices went to meet with the mob still gathered around the captured boat, but the Militia were kept at a distance while the officials tried to settle matters peacefully. Here the letters are at odds with one another, one stating that all efforts to get the mob to disperse, including getting the master potters (whose workers formed the bulk of the mob) to try and influence them, but to no avail, while the other letter states that the magistrates’ efforts were a success and that the mob agreed to leave, providing the boat was left where it was. Judging by the fact that several days later the mob was demanding the return of the boat the latter seems the most likely state of affairs, but the details still remain confused.
Nothing of great significance seems to have happened on the Sunday, though some of the local manufacturers and officials held a crisis meeting at Newcastle to discuss how best to calm the situation down and deal with the mob. A subscription was entered into perhaps to placate the rioters, Josiah Wedgwood’s son John was present at the meeting and donated £10 to the fund. But after the quiet Sunday, Monday saw a return to the stand-off of previous days as the mob gathered at Etruria once more. This time they were in a far more bullish mood and sent messengers to the magistrates outlining their demands, namely to have the boat delivered back to them and its contents sold there.
After a quiet Sunday, Monday saw a return to the stand-off as the mob gathered once more, this time outside Billington’s (probably the premises of Richard Billington, who carted coals for Wedgwood and rented 38 acres of the Etruria estate), where there was a meeting of the master potters and several officials. These included John Wedgwood in his father’s stead, Dr Falkener of Lichfield, Mr Ing and Mr John Sneyd of Belmont (a neighbour of the Wedgwoods), who harangued the mob on their bad behaviour and the detrimental effect it would have on the price of corn, as too did John Wedgwood and Major Walter Sneyd of the Staffordshire Militia. The latter was there at the head of a detachment of the Staffordshire Militia, who stood by ready if needed. The masters and officials though still hoped that the rioters would listen to reason and a generous subscription was again raised, John Wedgwood giving £20 this time. The mob, though, did not accept this graciously remarking caustically that the money would not have been provided had they not caused trouble and made the manufacturers sit up and pay attention. They continued calling for the boat to be returned to them and the corn to be sold on fairly. Their demands became so loud and threatening that the Riot Act was read out and the mob was told that if they did not disperse to their homes in an hour’s time, that the Militia would be ordered to fire on them. The crowd, though, were defiant, jeering that the militia men dared not fire on them and that if they did then the rioters would attack and destroy Keele Hall, the ancestral home of the Sneyd family of Major Sneyd was the current heir. According to some accounts the rioters also put their women and children at the front confident that the soldiers could not fire on them.
Despite this, after the hour had passed, the chief magistrate Dr Falkener was apparently on the verge of ordering the nervous militiamen to fire, when two of the rioters accidently fell down and made him pause and consider his actions. One of the Sneyds, huzzaring as he did so, got about 30 of the men to follow him, intending perhaps to charge the mob, but his effort was thwarted by women in the crowd who called out, “Nay, nay, that wunna do, that wunna do.” and embarrassed by the mocking cries the militiamen baulked, turned back and left the crowd alone. Unable or unwilling to take firm action, the officials agreed that the corn taken in the boat should be sold on at a fair price. And for now that was that and the crowd had their way. The magistrates, though, were now determined to make the leaders of the riot pay for the trouble they had caused and to bring the disturbances to an end once and for all.
Two of the ringleaders of the mob had been quickly identified as Stephen Barlow and Joseph Boulton. According to report, Barlow was born in Hanley Green, was aged about 38 and seems to have had a chequered history prior to the riots, having apparently served in the Staffordshire Militia, but had been drummed out for bad behaviour. He may also have had previous with the law as records show that four years earlier at the Epiphany Assizes at Stafford of 1779, one Stephen Barlow was in court for some unspecified crime he had committed in Penkridge. At some point he had married and by 1783 was the father of four small children and was living in Etruria. The authorities certainly knew where to look for him and that night after the riot, magistrates and constables converged on his house. On hearing the men at the door, Barlow quit his bed naked and attempted to escape by climbing up the chimney. He probably would have got away except that in his haste he dislodged some bricks and when his pursuers came out to see what was happening they caught sight of him hiding on the roof behind the chimney stack. When he was brought down, Barlow refused to get dressed and though it was a cold night suffered himself to be transported stark naked all the way from Etruria to Newcastle. After subsequently being taken to Stafford Gaol, Stephen Barlow was held there until his trial.
So too was Joseph Boulton, but he remains a shadowy figure in this drama as nothing seems to be known of his background. Beyond noting that two ringleaders had been captured at home that night and sent to Stafford gaol, his name was not mentioned in contemporary newspapers, though John Wedgwood who was at Stafford to witness the trial wrote to his father in London and noted that the man had been acquitted by the court. Stephen Barlow, on the other hand was not so lucky. The judge in summing up at the trial on 15 March, detailed Barlow’s offence and laid out the law regarding riots in the clear and clinical manner of the Riot Act. “That all persons to the number of twelve or more, who remain in any place in a tumultuous manner after proclamation has been made for the space of one hour, subject themselves to an indictment for capital felony.” In other words, the death sentence.
The message this sent out was clear, namely those hundreds who had assembled and been involved in the rioting on 10 March, most of whom had since either fled the area or had thus far escaped detection, were just as guilty as Barlow and could expect the same treatment if caught and convicted. Barlow meanwhile was sentenced to death without a quibble and on Monday 17 March 1783, exactly a week after the riot, at Sandyford near Stafford, he was escorted to the gallows by a body of militia and there he was hung by the neck until he was dead. His body was then returned to the Potteries and buried locally two days later.
It had been a startlingly quick chain of events which did indeed have the desired effect quelling any further disturbances, but it perhaps shocked many law-abiding citizens too, disturbed by such arbitrary use of the law. Looking back from over half a century later even local historian John Ward – who as a solicitor and witness to the Pottery Riots of 1842 had very little sympathy with rioters – seems to have been taken aback by this blatant show trial. Writing about Stephen Barlow, he noted that he ‘became a victim rather to the public safety, than to the heinousness of his crime.’ According to some accounts Barlow was not the only victim, as more than one paper reported briefly that following the execution, Barlow’s wife hung herself in despair.
Reference: John Ward, The Borough of Stoke-Upon-Trent, pp. 445-446; Ann Finer and George Savage (Eds.), The Selected Letters of Josiah Wedgwood p.268: Correspondence of Josiah Wedgwood, Vol. 3, pp. 8-9; Derby Mercury, Thursday 13 March 1783, p.3; Cumberland Pacquet and Ware’s Whitehaven Advertiser, Tuesday 25 March 1783, p.3; Manchester Mercury, Tuesday 25 March 1783, p.1; Kentish Gazette, Saturday 29 March 1783, p.3; Northampton Mercury, Monday 24 March 1783, p.3; Stamford Mercury, Thursday 27 March 1783, p.2; Ipswich Journal, Saturday 22 March 1783, p.1; Hereford Journal, Thursday 3 April 1783, p.3.
The Rough Fleet, an amorphous gang of street thugs under the leadership of John ‘Mad Jack’ Wilson were a terror to the locals, notably in and around Hanley, for many years at the very beginning of the 19th century. Born in 1787, Wilson was the eldest surviving son of David Wilson, a respectable pottery manufacturer who ran the Church Works, Hanley, which stood on ground between St John’s Church and what later became Hanley Deep pit, ground now given over to the swirl of roads and traffic islands where Town Road coming out of Hanley joins the Potteries Way. John Wilson was also the man who accidentally killed his brother and niece when he was firing off cannons to celebrate the Hanley Wakes in 1807 (see ‘An Awful and Melancholy Accident’ above). Maybe this family tragedy had in some way adversely affected him and set him on the criminal path he henceforth followed, but it is easy to look for excuses for bad behaviour and there is too little information on John Wilson’s early days to know for sure what started him on his criminal career; perhaps he had always been a bad lot who just got worse over time.
The approximate site of the Church Works just outside of the centre of Hanley Source: Google Earth
Concrete information on the early origins of the gang is likewise thin on the ground. Writing in the early 1840s and thus well within living memory of events, John Ward in his history The Borough of Stoke-upon-Trent, noted that ‘In the years 1808 and 1809 a gang of reckless young men, some of whom were respectably connected, carried on a system of nocturnal outrage, rather from a wanton and mischievous spirit, than for the sake of plunder, which greatly annoyed and terrified the peaceable community. They obtained the name of The Rough Fleet, from their daring and buccaneering-like exploits’. This may have been when they started their reign of terror, but if so it seems that they continued causing trouble and dodging any real justice for the better part of a decade before the gang’s chief members were finally brought to book.
Between 1816 and 1818, The Staffordshire Advertiser noted that the gang or its individual members were involved in several brushes with the courts for assaults, riotous behaviour and attempted shootings. At the Swan Inn in Hanley’s Market Square in early 1816, John Wilson was confronted in the bar by one outraged local, potter John Sheridan of Cobridge, who accused him of threatening his life and shooting at him, describing Wilson as ‘the terror of the neighbourhood’ and ‘the Captain of the banditti’. Wilson took Sheridan to court for slander when the latter accused Mad Jack of murdering his own brother, but he lost the case perhaps as a result of the growing ill-feeling towards him and his confederates. Incidents continued to be reported through to early 1818, while in the same paper John Wilson’s financial fall was also chronicled. His father David Wilson had died suddenly in 1816 and as John was his heir, the Church Works and family business had passed to him. Little good he did with it, though, being more interested it seems with his incessant drinking, partying with his gang and trouble-making and by July 1817 he was declared bankrupt and as numerous notices in the papers showed, his pot bank and other properties quickly passed out of his hands.
The end for the gang followed shortly after this in early 1818, when as Ward put it, ‘several of them were ultimately prosecuted at the Sessions, and convicted of various misdemeanors, which at length broke up the lawless confederacy.’ It came about as the result of an attack on a local constable Ralph Barton, who was left wounded by the encounter. Eight members of the Rough Fleet including John Wilson, were arraigned on a charge of riot and assault at the March Assizes at Stafford, being committed to Stafford gaol in June with the case being deferred until October; and it was there, doubtless much to the relief of the locals, that they finally got their comeuppance.
‘John Wilson, Samuel Shelley, Thomas Shufflebottom, John Clews, Henry Brereton, John Wallbank, Wallace Lockett, and Samuel Earnest, were convicted of riot, and of assaulting a constable in the execution of his office at Hanley. These prisoners are part of a corps too well known in the Potteries by the name of the Rough Fleet. Wilson (the Captain) was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment; Shelley (Lieutenant) to ten months; and the other six to four months; each of them to find security for a year longer. The three first-named pleaded guilty.’
Following this conviction as Ward noted, the Rough Fleet seems to have been broken and it disappeared from the streets of the Potteries. Certainly that infamous title does not seem to crop up in any further stories in the contemporary press, save as a bad memory and the fates of its former members remain unknown.
Reference: John Ward, The Borough of Stoke-upon-Trent (1843) p. 369; Staffordshire Advertiser 16 March 1816, p.4; 5 July 1817, p.4; 18 October 1817, p.4; 31 January 1818, p.4; 21 March 1818, p.4; 13 June 1818, p.4; 24 October 1818, p.4.
An appalling family tragedy occurred in Hanley on Saturday 1 August 1807, when Robert, John and James Wilson, three sons of David Wilson, a respectable local pottery manufacturer in the town, prepared for the forthcoming Hanley Wakes by setting up three small cannon in Robert’s garden. There was a general gathering of friends and family there for the celebration, one of these was a friend of Robert Wilson named William Jervis, who nine years later described how the incident had unfolded. The whole group it seems were in high spirits, perhaps they had been drinking as they were certainly in a reckless mood. Jervis for instance, at one point went up to John Wilson, who would be setting off the cannons and said that he wanted to place his own child astride one of the barrels when it was fired, but John refused to let him do so and likewise refused to set the cannon off while his brother Robert and infant niece were so near. The first two cannons were loaded with powder and cabbages while the third was loaded with powder and an old sack for wadding which was provided by Robert himself.
Along with Jervis, Robert Wilson with his infant daughter in his arms then retired a safe distance to a nearby arbour to watch the show, but Robert was still feeling full of bravado and now made a terrible decision. Turning to Jervis he asked him whether he dared to pass in front of one of the cannons while it was firing? Jervis understandably refused to do so. Meanwhile, John Wilson, oblivious to this conversation fired off the first cannon, then the second, which with loud bangs sent gouts of smoke and showers of shredded cabbage leaves blasting out across the garden to the delight of those watching. As he was applying the match to the third, though, Robert came out of nowhere and ran in front of it with the child in his arms. The cannon went off as he did so and both were caught in the blast and it killed them. Robert Wilson got the worst of it, the sack wadding took the back part of his head off, and he died instantly. His daughter survived the initial blast but died of her injuries 20 minutes later. Their mangled remains were said to be a horror to behold and if it could be any worse, all of this occurred in front of a large group of family and friends including the little girl’s mother and grandmother; the grief and horror they all experienced can easily be imagined.
The authorities were alerted to the tragedy and a coroner’s inquest was convened on the following Monday. This quickly returned a verdict of accidental death and the two were buried on 5 August in the same coffin in the family tomb, their funeral being watched by many spectators. Newspapers of the time reported that the deaths cast a gloom over the Potteries that the amusements of the following week were unable to fully dispel.
In his book People of the Potteries, local historian Henry Allen Wedgwood attributed this accident to the mischievous folly of John Wilson who fired the cannons. John, despite his respectable background, later became notorious as ‘Mad Jack’ Wilson, the leader of the Rough Fleet, a gang of drunks, gamblers, street thugs and ne’er-do-wells, who for several years terrorised the Potteries. There are some significant differences in the story that Wedgwood relates, he says that the accident occurred after 1817, that there was only one cannon and that only Jack’s brother was killed when the gun went off. His act of folly, Wedgwood claimed, left ‘Mad Jack’ a broken man who then turned to the bottle for solace. However, despite his undoubted criminal career, if we believe William Jervis’ account the accident was actually due to the macho stupidity of Robert Wilson (it seems to have been a family trait) and John was the sensible one that day. John Wilson wasn’t broken by the tragedy, though it could be argued that coupled with subsequent events it perhaps unhinged him and turned him bad. Certainly it remained a very ‘tender point’ with him and nearly a decade later he took a man to court for slander after he had supposedly accused ‘Mad Jack’ of murdering his own brother that day. It seems however, that by 1816, John Wilson received little in the way of sympathy from the townsfolk, his thuggish reputation was against him as he lost the case, the jury easily finding for the defendant.
There may have been more immediate tragic sequels to this sad story when just over a month after the accident, and within only a few days of one another in late September and early October, the following death notifications appeared in the Staffordshire Advertiser. The first on 26 September 1807, seems to record the death of Robert and John’s mother, ‘On Wednesday last, at Hanley, in the Potteries, in her 46th year of her age, after a lingering illness which she bore with exemplary fortitude, Mrs Wilson, wife of Mr. David Wilson, at that place.’ Then, the following week, there was one apparently noting the death of Robert’s wife.
‘DIED… On Sunday evening last at her house in Newcastle-under-Lyme after a few days illness, Mrs. Wilson, relict of Mr. Robert Wilson late an eminent manufacturer at Hanley in the Potteries; – in her life and conduct was exemplified every virtue which dignifies the christian character; a sincere lover of and a liberal benefactor to the cause of truth; an affectionate relative; a true friend to the poor and distressed, and a promoter (so far as Providence had enabled her) of every benevolent institution within her sphere of action.’
As there is a lack of documentation regarding the Wilson family at this period, it is difficult to say conclusively that these were the mother and wife of the dead man, but if so it is not too great a leap to suppose that the two women had been crushed by the loss of their son, husband and daughter through Robert’s signal act of foolishness, that their mental and physical health had suffered and they had wasted away as a result.
Reference:Staffordshire Advertiser 8 August 1807, p.4; 26 September 1807, p.4; 3 October 1807, p.4; 16 March 1816, p.4; Henry Allen Wedgwood, People of the Potteries pp. 65-72. Local press coverage was thin on the ground at this time, only the Staffordshire Advertiser being available. Likewise, church records that might have added more details are lacking, due to the near wholesale destruction of St John’s records during the Pottery Riots of 1842. These (save for a single baptismal register) were lost when Hanley Parsonage was burnt to the ground.
Gertrude Astbury, known as Gertie Gitana, captured in a charming early publicity photograph.
Of all the famous names who have hailed from the Potteries, few in their lifetime gave more honest, unalloyed pleasure than Gertrude Astbury, who as ‘Gertie Gitana’ became a darling of the music halls prior to World War One. Her talent and staying power were considerable. In her prime, her name on the bill was enough to ensure a full house, and even in the twilight years of her career, she was still able to command a large audience.
Gertrude Mary Astbury, the eldest child of pottery turner William Astbury and Lavinia nee Kilkenny, a teacher at St Peter’s R. C. School in Cobridge, was born on 28 December 1887 at 7 Shirley Street, Longport, but the family lived at various addresses after that. When in 1954 the City Council decided to rename Frederick Street, behind the Theatre Royal in Hanley, as Gitana Street in her honour, Gertie wrote a letter to The Sentinel saying that she was very proud of the honour noting that ‘Gitana-street is adjacent to the theatre stage is appropriate.’ She then added, ‘I don’t think anyone knows of it, but it may be of some slight interest to mention that I actually lived in Frederick-street; my mother had a small shop there. I was three years old when we moved there and we were there for two or three years.’ There is no official evidence to support this story, but at the time of the 1891 census, Gertie was certainly living with her grandparents in Bucknall New Road, Hanley, while her parents and brother James lived in Burslem. Perhaps the family moved to Fredrick Street after the census was taken?
From a very early age, Gertie proved to be something of a musical prodigy. Apparently as a toddler she delighted in putting on performances for her dolls and by the age of four she had been enrolled into Thomas Tomkinson’s Gypsy Children as a male impersonator, singer and comedienne and was soon earning star billing as ‘Little Gitana’ (the Spanish word for a female gypsy). The tale told of her discovery is that she was seen dancing in the street (arguably in Frederick Street, Hanley) by two girls attached to the troupe who befriended her. She then went along to one of the rehearsals and began copying the moves. Thomas Tomkinson noticed her and recognising her ability, applied to her parents to let her join the troupe. Once in the line-up and out touring with the show first around the Potteries, then through Wales, Gertie honed her skills and there was no doubting her burgeoning talent and her performances were regularly singled out for praise in press reports. In 1896, her career was given a helping hand by two music hall veterans, James and Mabel Wignall, known professionally as Jim and Belle O’Connor, who took her away from the Gypsy Children and under their wing. Though the O’Connors were apparently somewhat protective of their young charge, it was not in any sinister way and Gertie always referred to them affectionately as ‘Uncle and Auntie.’ It was thanks to them that at only eight years of age, Gertie made her music hall debut at the Tivoli in Barrow-in-Furnace, where she sang the song, ‘Dolly at Home.’ Two years later at the age of ten, she had a major billing at The Argyle in Birkenhead, and her first London appearance came in 1900.
By the age of 15, Gertie was earning over £100 per week, much more than her father earned in a year. At the age of 17, she topped the bill for the first time at The Ardwick Empire at Manchester. From late 1903 onwards, though often still appearing as Little Gitana, she was also being referred to increasingly as Gertie Gitana, the stage name she would adopt for the rest of her career. As she grew into womanhood, though, her skills and repertoire expanded and as well as singing she entertained by tap dancing, yodelling, and playing the saxophone, a relatively new instrument developed in the States and which at that time was something of a novelty in Britain. Her music hall repertoire of songs over her career included ‘All in a Row’, ‘A Schoolgirl’s Holiday’, ‘We’ve been chums for fifty years’, ‘When the Harvest Moon is Shining’, ‘Silver Bell’, ‘Queen of the Cannibal Isles’, ‘You do Look Well in Your Old Dutch Bonnet’, ‘Never Mind’, ‘When I see the Lovelight Gleaming’, and most famously ‘Nellie Dean’ which she first sang in 1907. It was a song her younger brother James had heard in the United States and was an instant success for Gertie, becoming her signature tune. Her first gramophone recordings, dating from 1911–1913 (some of which can be heard online), were made in London on the Jumbo label.
Vintage portrait of Gertie Gitana, the famous music hall performer, holding a saxophone.
During the Great War, like many music hall performers Gertie turned her talents to entertaining the war wounded in hospitals or raising funds for the injured and she gained a following with the men in the trenches as a forces sweetheart. After the war, she appeared in pantomime, most notably as the principal boy in Puss in Boots, or as Little Red Riding Hood, and Cinderella. One amusing incongruous tale from this period is that she was reputed to have said the line in Cinderella, ‘Here I sit, all alone, I think I’ll play my saxophone’, before removing the instrument from the stage chimney and bashing out a tune*. Two musical shows were specially written for her: Nellie Dean and Dear Louise, and in 1928, despite initial opposition from the O’Connors, Gertie married her leading man in the latter, dancer Don Ross. Don was as ambitious and driven as his wife and would later prove to be quite the impresario, bringing over one of the first Vaudeville strip-tease artists after a visit to the States, running a three-ring circus and organising variety shows; he later became King Rat of the Grand Order of Water Rats and founder and first president of the British Music Hall Society.
The autobiography of Gertie’s friend and fellow performer Ted Ray
After the shows had run their course, Gertie returned to the variety scene, working for some time in partnership with blackface performer G. H. Elliott and an up-and-coming comedian Ted Ray, who liked her immensely. In his autobiography, Ray described both Elliott and Gertie as charming and courteous professionals, who never let their acts devolve into smut and no matter what their moods or what else was going on in their lives, never let an audience down or turned in a sub-par performance.
However, determined to retire at 50, by her own design Gertie’s career was now winding down. Made rich by her tireless work over the years (“No gutters for Gertie.” she sometimes commented wryly on her wealth) she was able to retire in 1938, but the old trouper could not be kept down and ten years later she made a short but very successful comeback with other old music hall stars in the show Thanks for the Memory produced by her husband. The show was the centrepiece of the Royal Command Performance in 1948. Her final appearance was on 2 December 1950 at the Empress Theatre, Brixton. She retired completely after that and spent her remaining years quietly, though she increased her fortune by speculating successfully on the stock market. On her death she left just over £23,584 in her will, equivalent to £484,727.62 in 2024.
Gertrude Ross, nee Astbury, alias Gertie Gitana, died of cancer on 5 January 1957 in Hampstead, London, aged 69, and was buried in Wigston Cemetery, Wigston Magna, Leicestershire, where her husband had been born. Some lines from her most famous song, ‘Nellie Dean’ are engraved on the gravestone.
By all reports, Gertie, though no pushover after years toughing it in showbiz, was an incredibly good natured and generous woman, well-liked not only by her legion of fans, but also by her fellow performers who felt her loss. After her death her friend, comedian Ted Ray, wrote ‘She was the most gentle, loveable person I ever met… A perfect artiste in every sense of the word. I place her among the immortals.’ In his book My Old Man, former Prime Minister John Major, recalled how years later his father (who trod the boards as part of the act ‘Drum and Major’) expressed similar sentiments about Gertie. Her death made the TV and radio news of the time, papers including the Sentinel, carried glowing obituaries to the star and memorials were mooted, though the only one of note at the time was a memorial bench that was unveiled in Edinburgh. In the Potteries memorials to Gertie Gitana have for the most part been fleeting. The Gertie Gitana pub (later The Stage Door) has come and gone, likewise Gitana’s pub in Hartshill and today few save die-hard local historians or music hall enthusiasts remember her. But her name lives on in Gitana Street, an honour that never ceased to delight and surprise her. As her husband Don Ross recalled, on the day she died Gertie was fading away, but talking with him about this and that when unbidden she suddenly brightened up and said, ‘Fancy them naming that street in Hanley after me.’
Modern day Gitana Street, Hanley. Source, Google Earth.
*Comedian Roy Hudd in his foreword to Ann Oughton’s biography of Gertie Gitana, recalled asking Don Ross in later years if Gertie really had used the amusing ‘… I think I’ll play my saxophone’ line in Cinderella, but Don neither confirmed nor denied it.
Reference: Ann Oughton, Thanks for the Memory, passim;Ted Ray, Raising the Laughs, pp. 86-87; Evening Sentinel 15 February 1954 .
Being situated in such a hilly region, widespread flooding is a rarity in Stoke-on-Trent, but occasionally chance extremes of weather have briefly put parts of the area under water. One startling weather event occurred on the afternoon of Sunday, 7 July 1872, when what the Staffordshire Advertiser described as ‘a thunderstorm of great severity’, struck the Potteries. Though it only lasted an hour and a half, it was so fierce that it left in its wake many dozens of flooded or damaged properties and a somewhat shell-shocked populace. Considering the violence of the storm and the damage it caused, remarkably few people were injured, though it seems there were many close calls.
It had been cloudy all day, but in the afternoon the sky began to grow much darker presaging a storm, the light becoming so dim that newspapers could only be read near to windows or by candle or gas light. The dark clouds then gave way to ones with a strange yellow tint to them and it was then that it started to rain, not in drops, but as a veritable deluge driven in by a fierce wind and accompanied by loud claps of thunder and multiple bolts of lightning. In Hanley there was one very alarming event when a bolt of lightning passed through the Primitive Methodist school room in Frederick Street (now Gitana Street), entering by one window and out through another. The only damage was a scorched paint board on the front of the building, but the room had been full of children when the lightning shot through and these now fled the room in panic. They had to descend a flight of stairs to get out of the building and while none had been injured by the lightning, several now fell and were trampled underfoot and bruised in the crush, though none of them seriously.
During a service at Shelton Church, it rained so heavily that water forced its way through the roof and poured down into the building in streams. Buckets had to be brought to catch the water and the noise produced during the saying of the litany is said to have made for a very curious sound. Elsewhere in town, the lobbies of Bethesda Chapel in Old Hall Street were flooded, so too were numerous houses in town, notably in Nelson Place where part of the road nearby carrying a tramway was washed away. In Hanover Street, the downpour lifted stones up out of the road and deposited them at the bottom of Hope Street, where a heap big enough to fill two barrows was collected. The bottom end of Hope Street itself flooded, filling the cellars with up to a foot of water, floating heavy beer barrels in a brewery and boxes of live chickens in one house. The damage done to yards and gardens was tremendous. Nor were the local pot banks immune. The Cauldon Place works were flooded, though no serious damage was caused. Hanley’s satellite villages were likewise hard hit. At Basford a lightning bolt shot down a chimney and blew away a portion of a mantle shelf in one of the rooms; Etruria saw dozens of properties flooded, as too did Bucknall, where the water rushing down the roads and through the houses quickly threw the Trent into spate, causing it to overflow. This caused enormous damage on the low-lying ground of the neighbouring Finney Gardens where Bucknall Park now stands, some of the walks, plants and flowers being washed away by the sudden inundation.
Probably in no other part of the Potteries were the effects the storm so severe than in Burslem. Reporters on the scene shortly afterwards noted that even the oldest inhabitants had never before witnessed such a tempest, one stating that the rain ‘came down in bucketfuls’. The rain here was particularly heavy and for more than an hour the thunder and lightning was incessant and at one point the wind rose to a terrible pitch causing major damage in several places. On the Recreation Ground (where the old Queens Theatre now stands), Snape’s Theatre, a temporary structure of wood and canvas which had been constructed for the town’s wakes week, was in a matter of minutes blasted to smithereens. A number of the thickest supports were splintered like matchwood and many of the rafters and seats were destroyed, while the canvas roof was torn to shreds as the wind hit it. Mr Snape was a veteran travelling showman, well liked in the district and there was a great deal of local sympathy for him over his losses. In the aftermath of the storm a fund was set up, subscriptions to which would hopefully help him in repairing the serious losses he had sustained.
The Big House, Burslem
Just down the road from where Snape’s Theatre was taking a battering, part of an eight-foot tall wall between a timber Yard and the Big House was knocked down by the wind and rain, the accumulated flood water then rushed through the ground floor of the Big House with great force, blowing the front door open and then pouring in a stream down the turnpike road.
At the Roebuck Inn in Wedgwood Place, the violence of the rainstorm split some of the roof tiles, causing a mass of water to cascade into the upper rooms, then down the stairs and out through the front doors. The Town Hall too received a soaking, the basement of which was flooded to a depth of three feet, which caused no end of problems for the hall keeper and his wife who had the job of clearing it all out. Likewise the row of houses in Martin’s Hole – literally a hole or hollow near the Newcastle Road, where the roofs of the houses were on a level with the road – ‘presented a truly pitiable appearance’, the buildings being flooded to a depth of four and a half feet, ruining food stores and furniture and forcing the luckless inhabitants to seek shelter on the upper floor.
Almost everywhere else it was the same story with only slight variations. Longport received a severe visitation with most of the houses flooded to several feet. At Middleport the canal overflowed adding to the chaos. At Tunstall, water poured into the police station and several houses doing much damage. In Smallthorne numerous houses were flooded and smaller items of furniture were flushed out of the doors and sent floating down the street. At Dresden as well as the numerous flooded properties, the road at the lower end of the village was split apart by the storm, leaving it looking for all the world as if it had been heavily ploughed, which made it impassable to traffic and men had to be brought in to make repairs. In Stoke, Fenton and Dresden as in Burslem, many householders were forced briefly to live upstairs as their ground floors filled up, sometimes as high as the ceiling. Longton too suffered torrential rain and likewise had some flooding, but saw much less material damage, though at one pot bank the downpour extinguished the fires in their kilns.
Then the storm passed, leaving the Potteries in a battered state that it would take several days to recover from. That evening another storm broke overhead, but this turned out to be a much less severe event and caused no more serious problems.
Reference: Birmingham Daily Post, Tuesday 9 July 1872, p.5; Staffordshire Advertiser, Saturday 13 July 1872, p.5.
In 1975, a small article appeared in the Evening Sentinel noting that at the battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War, 1358 Private George Turner* of the 11th Hussars, born in Burslem, had been mortally wounded during the Charge of the Light Brigade. According to his records, Turner was indeed from Burslem, and had worked locally as a crate maker until at the age of 18 he had enlisted in the 11th Hussars at Coventry on 24th September 1847. As the paper noted, he was probably the only man from the Potteries to have taken part in that famous but suicidal military action, when on 25th October 1854, a force of nearly 670 light cavalrymen were mistakenly launched in a frontal attack on an extended line of Russian cannon, infantry and cavalry at the end of a valley, that were further supported by other batteries on either side. The results of this colossal blunder were predictable, with some 110 British soldiers being killed and 160 wounded in the attack, a 40 percent casualty rate, while over 300 horses were killed.
Richard Caton Woodville’s famous painting of the Charge of the Light Brigade. Lord Cardigan on the far left of picture is dressed as the commander of the 11th Hussars. Source: Wikimedia Commons
The 11th Hussars, resplendent in their black fur shakos, blue and gold braided jackets and crimson trousers, formed half of the second rank of the Light Brigade, though that did not spare them and they took a severe mauling from the Russian cannons as the Brigade closed on the enemy line. Private Turner was one of those struck down well before they got there, hit on the left arm by a cannonball, his injury being witnessed by Sergeant Major George Loy Smith of his company, who was riding nearby. Loy Smith later wrote ‘… before we had gone many hundred yards Private Turner’s arm was struck off close to the shoulder and Private Ward was struck full in the chest.’ Another Private named Young had received a similar injury to Turner and Loy Smith told him to turn his horse around and go back to their own lines, ‘… I had hardly done speaking to him, when Private Turner fell back, calling out to me for help. I told him too, to go back to the rear.’
The rest of the brigade rode on down the valley and through the line of cannons where they briefly caused havoc in the rear of the Russian line before exhaustion, the decimation of their ranks and Russian reinforcements forced them to retreat. Turner meantime, must have ridden, or been carried back down the valley to the British lines, bandaged up and with others was then placed aboard a transport ship bound for the military hospital at Scutari in Turkey. However, he never made it, his wound was too severe; Private George Turner aged 25 years old died aboard ship on 28th October and was probably buried at sea.
There was no mention of the fate of Private Turner in the local papers at the time and it took 120 years for his story to finally make the pages of the Sentinel. It was related by Mr W. R. Baker of Endon, who added, ‘I ask your readers to spare a moment’s thought to his memory now when tradition has little meaning and patriotism is an outmoded word I make no apology for thinking that he should not be entirely forgotten.’
There existed, though, another poignant addendum to Turner’s sad tale. Seven months after the battle of Balaclava, the Light Brigade had passed again over the same ground, now deserted of enemy troops and here the upper part of a sabre scabbard, all twisted and mangled, was picked up by Sergeant Major Loy Smith and it became part of his collection of memorabilia. When the collection was put on display in Sheffield in 1981, a card attached to the scabbard’s remains read, ‘This belonged to Private Turner, K.I.A.’
*Despite my best efforts, I have yet to find a trace of a George Turner in the local civil records who fits the available data, raising the possibility that the name is an alias.
Reference: Evening Sentinel, 25 October 1975, p.4; George Loy Smith, A Victorian RSM: From India to the Crimea, p. 132.
My thanks to Mr Philip Boys for kindly providing me with background information on Private Turner contained in ‘Lives of the Light Brigade: The E. J. Boys Archive’.
The Trenton basketball team 1896-97. Fred Cooper is bottom left with the ball, his friend Al Bratton is bottom right.
In 1896, Frederick Cooper, a distant American cousin of mine, earned himself a place in the history books through the simple act of accepting a fee. Several years earlier, a dynamic new game called basketball had been invented that was gaining a strong following in the various YMCAs on America’s east coast. Fred, already a keen sportsman had like many others quickly warmed to the game, becoming the star player and captain of the highly successful Trenton YMCA team that for the previous three years had dominated the emerging leagues. At first the new game had been played for fun and entertainment, but the groundswell of support soon saw seats being sold for popular teams and inevitably the money trickled back to the players that the crowds wanted to see. The result was that in 1896 Fred was the first to accept payment for a game and in doing so became the world’s first professional basketball player.
Though he would make his name in the United States, Fred Cooper was actually born at 21 Bethesda Street, Shelton on 25 March 1874, the fifth of seven children – six boys and one girl – born to Thomas Cooper and Ann, nee Simpson. Fred’s father, Thomas, had started out as a working potter but over the years had moved into small scale pottery manufacture. However, in the mid-1880s, in the wake of what was later described in Fred’s obituary as ‘some business reverses’, Thomas and Ann decided to emigrate and join their eldest child, William who was already settled in the States, working at the Greenwood Pottery in Trenton, New Jersey. The Coopers left Britain early in 1886, travelling as steerage passengers (i.e. 3rd class) aboard the SS England, arriving at New York on 27 May 1886, from where they made the relatively short journey south west across the state to Trenton. As it turned out, Thomas would only enjoy his new home in America for a few years, dying in 1891 at the age of 56, but his wife and children settled into their new lives and over time became valued members of the local community.
Trenton, New Jersey, USA
On arriving in the States, Fred and his younger brother Albert, or ‘Al’ as he became best known, had been enrolled in the Centennial School where they soon got involved in sports and stood out as skilled footballers, a game their father had taught them. Fred especially proved to be an all-round sportsman, also taking up baseball, competitive running and later becoming a fine billiards player and a good bowler. His successes, though were at first eclipsed by his older brother, Arthur, who back in Britain had been such a skilled footballer that in the early to mid 1880s he played for Stoke F.C.’s junior team, Stoke Swifts. Arthur seems to have stayed behind for a year after the rest of the family emigrated, perhaps to help the Swifts in their attempt to win the junior league cup. Once this was over though, in 1887, he too took a ship to the States, but not before being presented with a handsome medallion by his team mates and the club. Once in the States, Arthur’s success had continued, and it was not long before he was picked as a member of the All-America soccer team.
While his brother’s career blossomed, Fred left school and found work as a sanitary-ware presser at one of Trenton’s pot banks, a job he would do for the better part of three decades. He continued to pursue his love of sport in his spare time through the local YMCA, which acted as a youth club for boys and young men of religious families like the Coopers. Here he found a kindred spirit in another keen footballer named Al Bratton, with whom he seems to have formed a winning partnership, not only on the football pitch, but also when the two of them decided to try their hand at the new game of basketball that was sweeping through the YMCA branches. Only a few years had passed since Canadian-born training instructor James Naismith had dreamt up the indoor game to placate a group of YMCA trainees at the School for Christian Workers, Springfield, Massachusetts, who had been chafing at their inactivity during the long winter months. Though rough-hewn at first, with early games resembling pitched battles between oversized teams, basketball proved an immediate hit and when Naismith published an article on the game it was quickly taken up by YMCA branches along America’s east coast. Soon, matches were drawing sizeable crowds and more and more teams sprang up, one of which was Trenton YMCA.
Fred Cooper and Al Bratton first joined the Trenton YMCA basketball team for the 1893-94 season and had an immediate and lasting impact on how the game was played. In those early days, basketball was a game of individual dribblers working their way through the opposition before attempting a shot at the basket, a method that favoured heavy-set players who could push their way through the field. According to one of basketball’s early chroniclers, Cooper and Bratton changed this, creating a more fluid game by drawing on their footballing skills to develop a system of short, swift passes between them on the run, a style of play that completely unbalanced opposing teams.
‘The Trenton system of passing was definite. It meant to carry the ball to the opponent’s basket in order that a goal might be scored, and time and again I have seen Cooper and Bratton in those early days, pass the ball back and forth between them – no one else touching it – and score against all the efforts of the entire opposing team. I have seen them do this trick away from home and witnessed the spectators rise en masse and cheer the brilliant exhibition in spite of the fact that it was being done by invading players.’
For the next three seasons, the Trenton YMCA dominated the game in New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania by which time Fred was the team captain and unofficial coach. Despite his refinements to the game, rough play characterised basketball in those free-wheeling and largely unregulated years, with physical injuries being an all too common feature of play, both on and off the court. Not only was there brawling between players, but partisan crowds took whatever opportunities came their way to try and injure or discomfort the rival team and as a result fighting between players and spectators was not unusual. Though the YMCA had quickly lauded Naismith’s new game for promoting a useful spirit of ‘muscular Christianity’ – a healthy body breeding a healthy mind – the rough-housing and unsportsmanlike behaviour drew the Association’s displeasure and increasingly basketball teams deserted the YMCA gyms, or were ousted by outraged officials and had to find other venues to play in.
Warren Street, Trenton, with the Masonic Temple nearest the camera.
Such seems to have been the case at the Trenton YMCA. Unspecified ‘trouble in the gymnasium’, followed by a string of disagreements between the branch secretary and the YMCA team saw the basketball players shifting their base to the Masonic Temple, a large building in downtown Trenton. Here the team made use of the large reception room on the top floor, where a 12 feet high mesh fence with gates at either end was built enclosing the court. This ‘cage’ was a new innovation, built to stop the ball going out of play so readily and prevent some of the troubles caused by resultant clashes with spectators. The Trenton team were the first to employ this device and though its use eventually fell out of favour, its early employment coined the term ‘cager’ as a snappy way to refer to a basketball player, a term that is apparently still in use today.
It was in this cage that Fred Cooper and his team mates made history by playing what is presumed to be the first professional basketball game on 7 November 1896, against Brooklyn YMCA. The game had been advertised in a local paper three days earlier (another first) and provisions were made for a sizeable crowd, raised seating being built around the court. Seats were priced at 25c, standing room cost 15c. Nor would the organisers be disappointed by the turn out, ‘a large and fashionable audience’ of 700 turning up to watch.
The Trenton team came out smartly dressed in red sleeveless tops, black knickerbockers and stockings and white ankle shoes. There were seven in each team, two forwards, a centre, two side centres and two defenders. This was before the days of the tall men in basketball, all of them being average sized, Fred himself was only 5 feet, 7 inches tall. In accordance with the practice of the time, the home team supplied the referee and the visitors chose the umpire.
The game started with seven minutes of ‘fierce playing’ before Newt Bugbee, one of Trenton’s side centres scored the first goal. Fred did not disappoint either, leading the scoring by gaining six points for three baskets, while a player named Simonson scored Brooklyn’s only point with a free throw three minutes before the game finished. Trenton’s team played the full 40 minutes, while Brooklyn had one substitution. The final score was a 16-1 victory for Trenton.
Following the game, Trenton’s manager hosted a supper for both teams at the Alhambra Restaurant, where the Trenton players received their historic payment. There has been some disputing the amount actually paid to the players after the various expenses were deducted, but the accepted version of events was that quoted in Fred’s obituary in 1955. ‘All the players collected $15 each, but Fred Cooper was the captain and manager (sic) and was paid off first. Thus he became the first professional basketball player in the world. He was proud of this distinction all his life.’
Many versions of the story add that Fred as the captain was also paid a dollar more than his compatriots, which if true also made him the game’s first highest paid player. Also, the ‘professional’ status is perhaps somewhat fuzzy as he still worked as a potter; semi-professional, might be more accurate. That argument aside, it started a trend that would lead to the fully professional game seen today.
As they had with the new swift style of play and Trenton’s ‘cage’, other teams quickly followed Trenton down the professional route. This in turn led to the formation in 1898 of the first professional league, the National Basketball League, which Trenton under Fred Cooper’s captaincy promptly dominated, winning the first two NBL titles. By this time the team had been joined by Fred’s younger brother, Albert. Tall and handsome and as skilled as his brother, Al Cooper proved to be an accomplished goal scorer and easily the best player in the new league.
Despite their successes, during the first few NBL seasons, Fred was growing disillusioned with the Trenton team. His brother Al and Harry Stout, Trenton’s top scorer did not get along, while the team’s co-owners had also had a falling out. Keen for a fresh start, at the beginning of the 1900-1901 season, he quit the Trenton squad to coach a new team in nearby Burlington. The result, though, was embarrassing. Though Fred was an excellent coach, his new team lacked Trenton’s pool of of talented players, the result being that Burlington lost its first eight games before Fred gave up. He was immediately snapped up to coach the Bristol team, before going on to coach at Princeton University between 1904-1906. It was not until 1910 that Fred returned to coach the struggling Trenton Eastern Basketball League team and did so successfully, winning the EBL title the following year. He was replaced as the coach the next year, but returned to coach Trenton one more time ten years later. His last stint as a team coach was at Rider College in the 1920s.
Fred and Catherine and their eldest children Thomas and Mabel. Photo courtesy of Susan Corrigan.
Alongside his sporting career, Fred enjoyed a happy family and social life. In 1901, he had married Catherine Carr and the couple had three children. Like his siblings he was an active member of the Trenton community, becoming in time a church elder, and a member of various local and national patriotic orders and Masonic lodges. As noted earlier he had worked for many years as a sanitary-ware presser at the Enterprise Pottery, which generously allowed him time off for his coaching duties, but he quit his job in 1922, when on the strength of his sporting career, he was offered a position as a director of local sports grounds, a posting that eventually led to him becoming head of the city recreation department.
Fred Cooper died in January 1955 at the age of 80, being buried in Greenwood Cemetery, Trenton. The local paper gave him a fulsome obituary, while the National Basketball Association, heir to the early leagues that Fred and others had helped to forge, did not forget its pioneering sportsman. In February 1955, the NBA presented the city of Trenton with a bronze plaque in honour of Fred and his ground-breaking professional match, which was placed on the site of Trenton’s old Masonic Temple.
The memorial plaque to the first professional match. Photo courtesy of Grace Cooper
Reference: Robert W. Peterson, Cages to Jump Shots: Pro Basketball’s Early Years (New York, 1990) pp. 32-37. Obituary, Trenton Evening Times, 7 January 1955.
Family information courtesy of Grace Cooper and Susan Corrigan.
Born in Pitts Hill, Tunstall in 1878, Elizabeth Longsdale came from a musical family, her father William was a potter, but served as the choir master at Christ Church, Tunstall, and several other family members such as her brother Wilson, would make their names locally as singers. It was Elizabeth, though, who under the alliterative stage name of Lily Lonsdale, would become the most famous, carving a notable career in the music halls of Britain and abroad.
Elizabeth started her singing career as a soloist at local concerts and enjoyed a spell with the North Stafford Amateur Operatic Society before turning professional when she joined Thomas Tomkinson’s Gypsy Children. This was a local choir turned concert party that was composed of talented children and adolescents that had gained quite a following in the Potteries. The troupe served as a training ground for several local performers who later went onto greater things, most notably Gertrude Mary Astbury who as Gertie Gitana would become one of the best know stars of the music halls. Elizabeth (now billed as ‘Lily Lonsdale’) shone just as brightly, impressing audiences with her beautiful, well-modulated voice and garnering great praise. By 1897, the troupe had moved beyond the Potteries and began touring the Midlands and Wales, performing in various venues like theatres and town halls, supported by parents and helpers who assisted with logistics and costumes.
Ernie Myers
By mid 1899, Lily now in her early 20s was getting too old for child roles, and she was also romantically involved with Ernie Myers, a comedian from the troupe. However, her initial attempts for a career shift suffered a setback. After leaving the Royal Gipsy Children, she joined a rival troupe, Leon Vint’s Globe Choir, but soon had to resign due to vocal strain. This set her at odds with Vint, who after first agreeing to let her go then changed tack and took Lily and her sister Agnes to court for breech of contract. However, once in court, the judge deemed that Vint had acted unfairly and that the contract was far too heavily-weighted in his favour and as a result he ruled in Lily and her sister’s favour and they went on their way unhindered, leaving Vint with the costs for his bully-boy behaviour. Lily made a brief return to the ranks of the Royal Gypsy Children, but following the unexpected death in late January 1900 of Thomas Tomkinson the troupe’s founder, she and Ernie decided to set out on their own, securing an agent and booking early performances on the music hall circuit; they married in Liverpool in April 1901 whilst on tour. Shortly afterwards they were put on the so-called Moss and Thornton tour, taking in a series of theatres and musical halls across Ireland, northern England and Scotland.
In 1901, Lily took a short break to have their son, Jacob William, but hard economics often meant that family life came second to their performing careers. Leaving their son with Lily’s mother, they resumed a busy schedule of public performances across Britain, building their careers. They used their stage names and normally performed separately, with Ernie as a popular ‘patter’ comedian telling amusing stories and Lily as a classical soprano singer, though occasionally she took on comedy roles in sketches opposite her husband. They shared the stage with various entertainers, including conjurors, ventriloquists, impressionists, acrobats, marksmen, puppeteers, clowns, jugglers, dancers and performing animals as well as other comedians and singers. An undoubted highlight of their careers was performing on the same bill as the famous American escapologist Harry Houdini in 1905, when he was on a tour of Britain.
The demands of travel and performing were tough; they worked six nights a week, with Lily often singing multiple songs per show, and she and Ernie were constantly in search of fresh material. During winters, they performed in pantomimes together, with Ernie playing the villain in “Aladdin” and Lily as the princess.
By 1911, their careers were going well and the couple lived comfortably in Derby with their daughter Lillian May and son Jack who were cared for by Lily’s mother. In August of that year, they were invited to perform in South Africa but returned by December. Their routine continued until 1914 when they travelled back to South Africa. Sadly, Ernie fell ill and died on the ship before reaching port, leaving Lily heartbroken and reliant on support from the theatre community in Cape Town. After Ernie’s funeral she stayed on to complete her contract, then she returned to Britain to support her family amid the challenges of the Great War.
Despite wartime difficulties, Lily found work in successful and topical revues like Mind Your Own Business and My Son Sammy, and whilst on tour the theatre company would often lay on special performances for wounded soldiers in hospitals, which proved very popular. Her career flourished through the war and after, but away from the limelight her mother’s declining health was a worry. In May 1920, Lily suffered a nervous breakdown due to exhaustion and stress, and shortly afterwards her mother passed away, leading to another break from performances.
Lily pictured in her obituary
Over the next five years, Lily remained active but by her late 40s, probably as a result of her arduous lifestyle, her health began to suffer. Her career ended suddenly in August 1928 when she collapsed on stage in Wolverhampton. Although she finished her performance, she was taken to the hospital and she never really recovered. Lily died on 2 March 1929, aged 49, at the Derbyshire Royal Infirmary. There were short obituaries to the singer in the Sentinel and in a couple of Derby papers over the next couple of days, but that was the limit of the press coverage. She was buried at Derby’s Nottingham Road Cemetery four days later.
The deck of an 18th century warship. Illustration by W. H. Overend.
Smith Child, later an admiral in the Royal Navy, who also dabbled locally in the pottery industry, was born at the family seat of Boyles Hall, Audley in early 1729, and baptised in the local church on 15 May that year. He was the eldest son of Smith Child of Audley and the wealthy heiress Mary nee Baddeley, whose family had a long Staffordshire pedigree. The Childs by contrast were originally a Worcestershire family, one branch of which had migrated to North Staffordshire, settling in Audley. They had once possessed considerable property, but most of this had been lost by the future admiral’s father, whom local historian John Ward described as ‘a man of polished manners, but wasteful in his habits’. His marriage to Mary Baddeley was therefore quite a coup by which his family inherited several of the Baddeley estates that his eldest boy, Smith, would inherit.
Enjoying the patronage of the politician Earl Gower as well as Vice-Admiral Lord George Anson, young Smith Child was entered the navy in 1747, serving aboard HMS Chester under Captain Sir Richard Spry. He was commissioned lieutenant on 7 November 1755 whilst serving in the Mediterranean aboard the Unicorn under Captain Matthew Buckle, and returned home to become a junior lieutenant aboard the ancient Nore guardship Princess Royal commanded by Captain Richard Collins. He served as a lieutenant on several more ships during the Seven Years War seeing action aboard the 3rd rate HMS Devonshire at the siege of Louisbourg in North America in 1758, then on the much smaller frigate HMS Kennington. Child is said to have also seen service the siege of Pondicherry, India, during 1760-1761.
A distant view of Newfield Hall, left.
After the war ended in 1763, like many officers Lieutenant Child returned home and from this point in his life that he settled down in the Potteries. He erected a large pottery factory in Tunstall, that between 1763-1790 produced a range of earthenware goods. The following year he married Margaret Roylance of Newfield, Staffordshire, acquiring a significant estate from her family. Initially he lived with his wife at Newcastle-Under-Lyme, but the following year he inherited his uncle’s seat, Newfield Hall, Tunstall, a large three-storey house with a five-bay entrance front and seven-bay side elevation, that enjoyed impressive views over much of the Potteries. In 1770, he moved into the hall rebuilding it and in his time on shore cultivated a keen interest in agricultural and other useful pursuits. Here the Childs lived a happy life and raised their five sons: Thomas, who as a midshipman was drowned at sea in 1782; John George whose son later became heir to the family estates; Smith who died without children; and Roylance and Baddeley, whose names recalled their most recent family history. But it was a short interlude in his naval career as at the beginning of what became the American War of Independence in 1775, Smith Child was recalled into service and early in 1777, was sent to take command of the hospital ship Nightingale in the Thames. Later that year he was promoted commander of the store ship HMS Pacific on 30 October 1777, taking the ship out to North America in the summer of 1778.
He was posted captain on 15 May 1780, taking temporary command of the Raisonnable, but in August 1780 in the most important move of his career, Captain Child was given command of the 64-gun HMS Europe and took part in two important sea battles for the control of the strategic Chesapeake Bay. His enemies here would not be American sailors (the American rebels barely possessed a navy), but the French, who had weighed in heavily on side of the Americans, effectively funding and supplying the rebellion in retaliation for the defeat and loss of Canada to Britain in the Seven Years War. As part of Admiral Marriot Arbuthnot’s fleet, Child participated in the Battle of Cape Henry on 16 March in which the British fought off a French fleet attempting to enter the Bay. Positioned in the vanguard of Arbuthnot’s fleet, Europe was one of three ships left exposed by the admiral’s poor tactics, losing eight crewmen killed and 19 wounded to the punishing French bombardment. The British won this round despite their casualties, but the vital waterway would be the scene of one more dramatic fight.
A typical third rate ship of the line like Child’s ship HMS Europe.
This was the Battle of Chesapeake Bay, also known as the Battle of the Virginia Capes, fought against a slightly larger French fleet on 5 September 1781, when HMS Europe along with the 74-gun HMS Montagu, formed the leading part of the centre division of Admiral Sir Thomas Graves’ fleet, and was heavily involved in the fighting that ensued. These two ships suffered considerable damage in the intense two-hour battle. Child’s report after the battle lists numerous masts and spars damaged or shot through, twelve shots struck the hull while there was much damage to the upper works, including splintered decking and fife rails at the base of the masts broken to bits; the rigging and shrouds were also badly cut up and three gun carriages had been damaged, one beyond repair. Europe had taken a pounding, ‘the ship strains and makes water’ Child’s report noted. There was a human cost too, nine members of her crew were killed in the action, and a further 18 wounded.
Outgunned and battered by the encounter, the British fleet eventually withdrew from the action, finally losing control of the bay and the ability to keep their ground troops supplied with food and ammunition. This sorry state of affairs soon after resulted in the Franco-American victory at Yorktown, the knock-on effect of which saw the withdrawal of British forces from the war and Britain’s eventual recognition of the newly-founded United States of America. This outcome was no discredit to Smith Child, though, who had fought well and his standing in the navy enabled him to obtain preferment for most of Europe’s officers when the ship returned home and was paid off in March 1782.
Peace was declared in 1783 and for the next six years Smith Child served at home. However, on the continent, more trouble was brewing when in 1789 the French Revolution broke out across the channel. Though confined to France, the bloody revolution would be the catalyst for a renewed bout of Anglo-French rivalry that started in 1792, when after defeating an invading Prussian led army at Valmy, the new French Republic launched an invasion of the Netherlands. The next year the deposed French King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were executed which caused outrage amongst the royal families and governments of Europe and brought Britain into the coalition that had formed to defeat the Republic. With a new war to fight, the Royal Navy – now a much fitter beast than during the American war – was again expanding and called in many of its old officers to fill in the gaps; this included Smith Child.
After serving for some time in the Impress Service at Liverpool, in November 1795, Smith Child was given command of the HMS Commerce de Marseille, a huge French-built ship that had been surrendered to the Royal Navy in the 1793 Siege of Toulon. The ship, originally a 118-gun three-decker, at first seemed well built like most French vessels and an early report stated that she sailed as well as a frigate, but her construction gave the ship an unacceptably deep draft while her internal framing was found to be inadequate for the high seas and the hull suffered serious strain when sailing. Deemed unworthy of a major overhaul, the vessel had been quickly downgraded and remained languishing at anchor at Spithead until the autumn of 1795. She then underwent a partial repair, and was armed and equipped for sea. Shortly afterwards, however, the guns on her first and second decks were sent on shore again, the redundant gun ports were sealed up and she was converted to a store and transport ship. The ship was then loaded with 1,000 men and stores for transport, drawing a whopping 29 feet when fully laden. The ship was tasked as part of a large convoy of some 200 transports escorted by 8 ships of the line under Rear Admiral Christian, that was supposedly on a secret mission to the West Indies that would soon become much less secret after the disaster awaiting it off shore.
Child’s ship was in poor condition before sailing and she was damaged beyond repair when shortly after the fleet had set out, on 17 and 18 November the English Channel was struck by a violent storm of nigh on hurricane strength. This sent Admiral Christian and his escort squadron running to Spithead for cover while the transport fleet was scattered, some sinking, others being driven ashore and wrecked. Some two hundred bodies were washed ashore after the storm and the fleet was left so disordered that it was not ready to make another attempt until early December, which was again battered by a fearsome storm. The Commerce de Marseille, though, would not be among them, because as a result of the first storm, ‘… this castle of a store-ship was driven back to Portsmouth; and, from the rickety state of her upper-works, and the great weight of her lading, it was considered a miracle that she escaped foundering. The Commerce-de-Marseille re-landed her immense cargo, and never went out of harbour again.’
18th Century naval officers and crewmen.
Child had commanded his last ship and after such a clunker he was perhaps glad of it. He was promoted to Rear Admiral on 14 February 1799, but it was a nominal rank and he apparently saw no further sea service. Subsequently promoted to Vice Admiral on 23 April 1804, and Admiral of the Blue (the junior position in the rank of full admiral) on 31 July 1810.
At home, as well as being a noted pottery manufacturer, Admiral Child served at times as a Justice of the Peace for Staffordshire, a Deputy-Lieutenant of the county, and was a highly respected member of the local landed aristocracy. He died of gout of the stomach on 21 January 1813 at Newfield aged 84, and was buried in St. Margaret’s Church, Wolstanton, under a plain tombstone. His son and heir John had died two years previously, so Smith Child’s estate passed to his five year-old grandson who would later become the Conservative M.P, and noted philanthropist Sir Smith Child.
Reference: The Graves Papers and Other Documents Relating to the Naval Operations of the Yorktown Campaign, July to October 1781, (New York, 1916) p. 67 and p.73. William James, The Naval History of Great Britain, Vol.1 (London, 1837), p.253. John Ward, The Borough of Stoke-Upon-Trent (1843) pp. 85-86.
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