It`s a moment I shall never forget

IT'S A MOMENT I SHALL NEVER FORGET

By Ann Smith

 I was six and a half years old, and a pupil in Class Two at Dundee High School, when the Second World War came to an end. Being a competitive child, I was pleased to hear that we'd won, but on a personal level my initial feelings were rather mixed. On the one hand, it meant that I would never again have to endure the claustrophobic horror of gas mask practice, and there was the possibility that I would no longer be forced to eat spinach. But on the other hand, headlong dashes to the Anderson shelter wouldn't happen anymore, and this I much regretted, especially those that happened in the middle of the night. Oh, the thrill of waking to the wail of the siren, of being bundled into my red siren suit and hurried across the garden and down into that secret hiding place which wasn't nearly big enough for the six people it had to accommodate. Squashed in beside me and my mother and father - who was a banker and therefore exempt from active service - were our elderly neighbours, the Revd. Isaac Clyde and his wife, and our living-in maid, Sadie, clutching the sock which contained her life savings and usually lived under her bed.

 

I was never told to stop talking and go to sleep. Instead I was allowed to join in the telling of jokes and eating of biscuits and singing of songs as enemy bombers droned overhead on their way to try to bomb the Tay Bridge. I knew, of course, that bombs were dangerous, but I wasn't afraid, even when I heard the whine and boom of an explosion.  On the contrary, I sensed that the bombs were part of some sort of challenge to which we were all rising, and the togetherness of it bred a wonderful sense of security which was doubly enhanced by the presence of the minister. God would never let anything happen to him - even when he wasn't wearing his dog collar.

 Now all that was over. But I soon found that there were compensations of various kinds. I was allowed to play in the Anderson shelter which became in turns a dungeon, a castle, or whatever else my lively imagination allowed it to be. We got a dog, a shining black Labrador bitch called Judy, to whom I was instantly and passionately devoted. I tasted my first banana. I helped my father to sow a lawn in what had always been a potato bed, and my mother gave me yards of redundant blackout material for my dressing-up box. But exciting as all these things were, they paled into insignificance beside the dazzling prospect of the school concert.

Our teacher, Mrs Marshall, told us about it one afternoon when we should have been doing Geography. It was going to be a Victory Concert to celebrate the end of the war, and everyone was going to take part, from the big boys and girls in the senior school right down to the lowly members of Class 2. Although we had won the war, apparently, we hadn't done it all by ourselves. People from other countries had helped us, and all those countries were going to be represented in the concert. Mrs Marshall pinned a big map up on the blackboard to show us where the countries were, and told us that some of the girls in our class were going to perform an action poem from Norway, and others were going to do a Polish dance. I was thrilled. For as long as I could remember, I'd been making up stories and acting them out, or learning poems which I recited with dramatic zest at family gatherings, but I'd never been in a proper concert, on a stage. I couldn't wait.

For the next two weeks, we all practised the action poem with Mrs Marshall, and the Gym teacher, whose name was Miss Whittock, taught us the dance. The poem was all about a cuckoo shut up inside a clock by the fairies as a punishment for throwing other birds out of their nests. There were several verses, and between each one was a refrain:

"Inside a wooden clock, he cowers and has to tell the proper hours "Cuckoo!" he cries "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! It's true, it's true!"

Five children were involved, four standing shoulder to shoulder in a line representing the closed doors of the clock, with the cuckoo standing behind them. Everyone recited the verses and the first two lines of the chorus, at which point the "doors" opened and the cuckoo shot for his moment of glory. It was great fun, and when my turn came to practise being the cuckoo, I gave it all I'd got. But for me, the highlight of every day was dancing practice in the big school hall. I had never had dancing lessons before, because my sternly Presbyterian mother disapproved, but I found that learning the steps and formations of the little couple dance was no problem at all, and my response to the rhythms of a Chopin Mazurka came as easily and as naturally as breathing. I just loved every minute of it, and when I thought about the concert - which was most the time - it was in terms of the dance that I did so.

Then came the day when Mrs Marshall told us who had been chosen to do what. Five of us, she said, would recite the poem, and the other twelve would dance. The buzz of excited speculation which followed quickly gave way to profound silence as the names of the twelve dancers were readout - and mine was not one of them. I couldn't believe it. There must be some mistake. I had to be one of the dancers. But I was not. Mrs Marshall, moving briskly on to the action poem, smiled upon me and in tones which suggested that she had kept the best news till last, said "And well done, Anne! You are to be the cuckoo!"

Words cannot describe the depths of my disappointment. By the time I got home I was crying so bitterly that it took my mother some time to discover what it was all about, and in the end she was only mildly sympathetic. As far as she was concerned, a solo part in a recitation was far more important than any dance could possibly be, and I couldn't make her understand. I wept on and off until bedtime, when, for the first time ever, I didn't say my prayers because my faith in God had been profoundly shaken. I'd been praying for ages for a rabbit, which so far hadn't materialised, and now He hadn't let me be in the dancing either.

Since anything which could be construed as sulking was not permitted at home or at school, I did my cuckoo bit at rehearsals with the best grace I could muster, but I was severely tested when I had to watch the dancers, especially on the day when they appeared in white dresses and black velvet boleros and pretty headdresses of flowers and rainbow coloured ribbons. That same afternoon, we tried on our cuckoo poem costumes. The other girls had black skirts with coloured braid round the hem, bright red aprons, and little white lace-trimmed caps. I had brown woollen stockings, brown knee-length knickers, a brown tunic with wide, flapping sleeves and a brown felt hat with a feather stuck in the front of it. When I was sent along to the cloakroom to look at myself in the mirror, I was mortified to the depths of my soul.

Sixty years on, I can see that angry, miserable reflexion as clearly as if it were yesterday, and understand why I was cast as the cuckoo. With my tanned, scowling face, and brown curls exploding like ruffled feathers from beneath the pointed hat, I looked every inch a nasty, bad-tempered little bird. But that didn't occur to me at the time. All I could think about was appearing on stage in those awful knickers.

I had long since stopped looking forward to the concert, I was simply longing for it to be over. And then, with four days to go, a miracle happened. Helen Fraser was absent from school - and Helen was one of the dancers. She was still absent the next day, and while her friends asked Mrs Marshall anxiously if she would be better in time for the concert, I silently nursed the small flame of hope which had begun to burn within me. That afternoon Miss Whittock came into our classroom in the middle of an arithmetic lesson, and we were told to get on with our sums while she and Mrs Marshall had a whispered conversation. Seventeen slate pencils squeaked away industriously, and I prayed more fervently than I had ever prayed before.

At the end of afternoon school, Mrs Marshall called me up to her desk. "Helen Fraser may be back in time for the concert" she said "but she may not be well enough to dance, so Miss Whittock has chosen you to be the reserve, just in case."

"But what about the cuckoo?" I asked - as if I cared.  "Oh, you'll still be the cuckoo" she replied " but you might have to dance as well. Do you think you could manage that?"  The twinkle in her eye told me that she understood it all. That night I apologised to God for ever having doubted him - and added that while I hoped He would make Helen better, if  He could just put off doing so until after the concert I would be very grateful.

God compromised. Helen did come back on the day, but she wasn't well enough to dance, so after the cuckoo poem - which received tremendous applause - I rushed off stage and, while another class sang a song, Mrs Marshall helped me into my lovely white dress and crowned me with flowers and ribbons. Years later my mother told me that if ever she saw pure happiness on a child's face, she saw it when I danced the Mazurka.

But the best was yet to come. At the end of the concert, the school orchestra played a march while all the other performers processed through the audience and up onto the stage. Some of the senior boys went first, carrying the flags of the allied nations, and formed a semi-circle at the back, and we all stood or knelt in groups in front of them. In the middle of the stage was a dais with steps on one side, and the Head Boy with the Union Jack on the other. When we were all in place, we sang "I Vow to Thee My Country" and during the second verse the Head Girl, dressed all in white, and carrying a dove, stepped up onto the dais. On the final words "and all her paths are Peace", we all turned towards her and she lifted the dove up high.

I suddenly knew, deep down inside, that this was a very important moment. I was excited and happy and wanting to cry, all at the same time. For some reason, I thought of the Anderson shelter, and when the thunderous applause had died down and everyone stood for the National Anthem, I could hardly sing because of a huge lump in my throat. The hope and disappointment and challenge and effort of the last few weeks, and then being part of a glorious, shared achievement was all mixed up in my mind with winning the war, and the Union Jack, and everyone looking at the dove.

Of course I didn't understand what it was all about at the time. I was only six and a half. But it's a moment I'll never forget.

Ann Smith

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6. JAMES COOPER/COWPER - Local Historian

James Cowper, the village Schoolmaster, was also a keen seeker after the local history of the village where he had been born and brought up.  With this interest, he became a good friend and colleague of Robert Lloyd Kenyon of Pradoe.   While Kenyon poured over ancient documents recording the history of our village and the XI Towns, Cooper recorded the memories and stories he heard from his mother and other older people in the village.  Many of James` stories appear verbatim in Kenyon`s treaties in the articles published by the  Shropshire Archaeological and Historical Society  or slipped in as “James Cooper says ….”.  In 1895, when Mr. Cowper was 77 and living in Chesterfield, he wrote more of his reminiscences in a letter to the Kenyon family.

James` tale of the Coton Ghost comes straight from a winter`s night round the fireside – strange noises could be heard, a headless man known as Old Corbet walking round the house and even the inevitable white lady.  There is much more to this story, which will perhaps, make a future article for the History Blog 

Ruyton has a Borough Mace which is rarely allowed out of its prison in the bank but James tells of Charlie Belyle who got very drunk on a pub crawl through the village, as we did in times past.  On a wet and stormy night he kicked down the pub doors until the Sergeant at Mace, a sort of village policeman, brought Charlie to order with the Borough Mace across his neck, when the silver top of the instrument fell off into the water running down the street,, never to be seen again.  Charlie spent a wet night in the stocks outside the lock-up where the village cross now stands.  He was summarily dealt with by Mr. Kenyon, in his capacity as Magistrate, in the morning.

Less dramatic were memories of hemp and flax which was grown, and then spun by women in the village  until the middle of the 19^th century.  The last weavers were John Williams and William Prince.

The old Court House stood where our village shop now is, it was pulled down when James` mother was a girl and the furniture and old chests were moved to the lock-up and court house where the cross now stands.  The contents of these chests have recently been examined and indexed and a CD can be obtained from the History Society.

James remembered a pool and cunnery in the little field between the old school and the Oaklands.  Both the pool and the medieval rabbit reserve, which was kept for winter food, had gone in the later 19^th century.

There was an ancient Borough Cross where the finger post now stands opposite the 19^th century cross.  Waggons loaded with lime or limestone from Porthywaen quarries, would race from Knockin  to this cross, the winner earning a gallon of beer from the Cock Inn where Hall Farm now stands.

Stories of the gibbet which once stood on the mound opposite the Burgage Field, and next to the house called Bawtry, inspired James to investigate, and the bones he found there were confirmed as human by Dr. Broughton.  Stories of a glassworks up Chapel Lane led to James discovering wasters from glass making, More such remains found when Packwood created a sports field have since found their way to the Pilkington`s Glass Museum in St. Helens.

In front of Pam`s flower shop, until a year or so ago, you could see red floor tiles, this is where there was a row of very poor cottages which were pulled down in the first half of the 20<sup>th</sup> century.  James was told that there were tan pits at the back of these cottages and yes, he found evidence of Ruyton`s past leather industry.

James was not impressed by the “silly people of Ruyton” who referred to Blackbow Hill instead of Blackberry Hill.  He remembers an incident when a whole cart and horse disappeared into a hole below the road when two shafts were discovered in the rock.  As this is in line with the copper mine near Pradoe, it was very likely the workings of an even earlier search for the precious metal.

James tells of the old wooden Platt Bridge, which was probably just for pedestrians, as the ford was below the present bridge.  I remember the old chaps in the pub saying a house could not be built there as that was a public right of way for access to the ford, but of course, it was built!  The cottage on the opposite side of the road was once the kennels for the Shropshire Hunt and who knows, perhaps Rowland Hunt`s much prized Otter Hounds.  After the hounds had vacated the premises, the Ruyton Fire Engine was stored in the building but was moved when it was found the damp was rotting the fabric hoses.

When the church was enlarged in 1845, amongst the rubble James found fragments of painted plaster on the old wall. What might have been an ancient mural was lost, but without James, we would never know it could have existed.

There was already a legend of a tunnel between the castle and Coton (perhaps part of the Coton Ghost story) but I am afraid James` `proof` of a piece of lead pipe he found could have carried water from one building to the other has even less credibility. 

Much more interesting was James` discovery of the causeway from the castle to Hockley Hole crossing.   When you walk down the lane next to The Grove to get to the playing field, you will see evidence of cobbles which James followed and found it crossed the meadow (playing field) to the far corner, site of a very early river crossing.  Before the Baggy Moor drainage acts,  James remembered all the meadows along the Perry were flooded and a resort for wild geese, ducks and herons and he had seen the floods in winter all across the School Road and up to the houses.

James was a bell ringer and tells a great story of the wedding between one of the Hills of Hawkestone Park and Miss Mytton of Halston Hall, why were they getting married in Ruyton?!  At this time, there were only 3 bells but they were to be rung for three days - in relays I hope. During the second day one of the bells refused to sing, the ringers rushed upstairs and found the clapper had completely disappeared – no clapper no ring.  However, instead of falling straight down, “when it would probably killed poor Doveston”, it was no-where to be seen.  After a search, James noticed a few grains of sand on a wooden beam, it seems the clapper had flown through unglazed window aperture, flown across the chancel roof and embedded itself in the churchyard!  The carpenter was called for and he was able to reattach the tongue to the bell with eel skins and ringing resumed to celebrate the young people`s nuptials.

                     …………………………..............................................................

The moral of this story is write down your memories!.  “When an old person dies – a whole library is burned to the ground”. 

Kenyon always referred to James as `Cooper` but all other documents refer to him as `Cowper`.

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5. JAMES COWPER - THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER

5. JAMES COWPER – THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER

By Irena White

James Cowper`s father, Benjamin Cowper, was born in Hereford in 1796, but moved to Ruyton in 1810 where he married Mary Lloyd of Great Ness, in Ruyton Parish Church.

They were to have six children, three boys and three girls, all the male members of the family worked as agricultural labourers  and later, bricklayers .

There was one exception, James their second son, who seems to have been a remarkably gifted child. Born in 1818 he was to come under the patronage of the Kenyon family of Pradoe, and continued with their friendship until old age.

Thomas Kenyon sent him away to be educated and when he came back in 1838, aged 19, he took over the position of School Master, following the retirement of Mr. Davies.

His salary was £10 per quarter, plus a new watch, at a cost of £5.5s and the use of the School House in School Road.  James married Lydia Edwards the same year and they moved to the School House, where they lived until 1872.                                                                                            

During their time there, Lydia served as school mistress as well as raising her own six children. Emma1840 ~Rose1843~Julia1848~Clara1850~ Lucretia1852~Alfred.1858. 

Before 1871 the system of teaching was, largely, one developed by Dr Andrew Bell (1753-1832) which was the Monitorial System. The brighter children were taught by the Master and Mistress in a module style. These Monitors then taught other groups of children.                                                                                                     

In 1871 a new Act of Parliament was issued, which required all school teachers to have a formal qualification, if not, they could not continue to teach. This meant that at 53 James and his wife would have been too old to return to college to qualify.                                                              

In the minutes of a meeting of the Trustees which took place on 23^rd March 1871, it was noted that ”The Chairman is requested to send a notice to Mr. and Mrs. Cowper , the present Master and Mistress of the School, that in consequence of the changes now rendered necessary by recent legislation and the requirements of the Privy Council  their engagement as schoolmaster and schoolmistress must terminate at the commencement of the next summer holidays”.  signed J.R.Kenyon.  The school board had no option but to dismiss them.

As James and Robert Lloyd Kenyon were also friends, this caused a great deal of unrest in the village, but it was not something that anyone could do anything about.  The people in the Parish raised a petition, asking the Trustees to provide the Cowper’s with some sort of pension from the school endowments.  Mr. Richard Brown of Ruyton Hall Farm, presented the petition, being supported by Messrs Humphreys, Basnet, Oswell, Williams and Rogers, all prominent employers and Parishioners.  The petitioners testifying their due respect for the faithful and trustworthy servants. Others signatures were Richard Philips of Ruyton Hall, eight farmers, a surgeon, two millers, a brewer and a shopkeeper.

In August of 1871 Mr. and Mrs. Cowper were presented with £52.10s (50 guineas), in consideration of their past service.

James was also found a new position, as Librarian and Caretaker of the Oswestry ‘Town Library’, which was a ‘Subscription Library’ housed in The Public Hall, which stood at the corner of Oswald Road and King Street.

The first ‘’Free Library’ meeting was held on7th June 1890 when arrangements were made with the owners of The Public Hall for its future management and for the purchase of books for the ‘Free Library’. By the 23^rd June it had been agreed to pay £24 as a yearly rent which included £4 for rates, but excluding cleaning and lighting. Mr. Cowper was to be paid £30 a year (to include cleaning) to act as Librarian and Caretaker for one year, providing that he was appointed caretaker to the remainder of the building by the Directors.                                                                                                             

On 1^st August the first stage of the new ‘Free Library` ‘arrived with the opening of the Reading Room.  By the end of 1890 plans were well in hand for the building of the new Guildhall in which the ‘Free Library’ was to occupy the top floor.  The new premises were not to become available until 1894 and between 1892 and 1894 there were various changes of Librarian.

In 1892 James Cowper resigned on the grounds of ill health but was permitted to withdraw his resignation, and a boy was employed at 2s per week to assist him, but in December of the same year he was forced to resubmit his resignation, possibly due to the death of his wife Lydia, in the last quarter of the year.   In January 1893,Mr. Charles Burroughs was appointed to take his place.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

After his resignation, James Cowper moved to live at Clay Cross in Derbyshire, the home of his eldest daughter Emma and her husband John Smith, who was a prosperous chemist in the town.

He spent his last days writing to the Kenyon family about his boyhood memories of Ruyton and telling stories of his own adventures or those related to him by others in the village.

He died on October 12^th 1904 aged 87 and is buried in Clay Cross cemetery with his daughter Emma and her husband.

Irena White, 14^th March 2017

RUYTON XI TOWNS SCHOOL & SCHOOL HOUSE

RUYTON XI TOWNS SCHOOL & SCHOOL HOUSE

By Irena White

The ground for the garden, playground and erection of the School was the gift of Miss Margaret Kinaston and Miss Anne Kinaston of Ruyton Hall, then living in Shrewsbury, Daughters and co-heiresses of Edward Kinaston Esq.

On January 16^th 1818 a Trust was formed to build and run a School in the village .   Land known as’ Mill Green Scarow ‘ owned by Miss Margaret and Miss Anne Kinaston  was sold for 10/- ??.    For the sole purpose of being used as a School for the Education and instruction of young persons of both sexes to be always united to the National Society for the promoting the education of the poor in the principles of the established Church of England.

Trustees appointed to oversee the development being:-

Hon Thomas Kenyon of Pradoe,  Rowland Hunt of Boreatton,  Rev. David Evans, Vicar of Ruyton.  The  foundation Deed of Ruyton XI Towns School was then set up.

A total of £274 15shillings was raised from subscriptions 

In 1820 the Annual subscriptions were   £ 56 14 shillings

Between June 4th 1819 and 1821 the School and Teachers house was built.

Over the years other legacies were left to the trust, the interest from them, invested at 4% was to be used by the School alone.   These were Miss Susanna Hunt who left £100,- Mrs Phyllis Lane £100- The Misses Kinastons £ 300 Miss Maria Myddleton £30- The House of Industry Oswestry (The Workhouse) £200.

These accounts were kept in a leather bound book with the following inscription:-

Treasurers Accounts of the Ruyton XI Tows Charity School, Dr.Bell System

Other prominent members of local society were also involved in the running of the School, these being  Charles Spencer Lloyd  of Leaton Knolls  Thomas Mainwaring of Otley,  The Hon. Bulkley Owen of Tedsmore.. and John Henshaw Nickson Walford of Ruyton Towers .

In 1871 by Act of Parliament, £90 was given to the School for educating children in accordance with the foundation deed of 1818.

The Trustees then being appointed were named as John Kenyon of Pradoe, Charles Spencer Lloyd Q.C of Leaton Knolls, Rev. Thomas Mainwaring Bulkley Owen of Tedsmore, Rev. Frances Pagel Wilkinson Vicar of Ruyton XI Towns.            

 At the meeting of the Trustees in 1871 Mr Walford of Ruyton Towers offered to sell further land to the School being a cottage and land then adjoining, for £90. School fees were to be 1d per week per pupil which in 1870 amounted to £35, rising to £40 by the 1900’s.  In addition there were the local subscriptions of around £50 P.A. and the Government grant of £90.

After 1891 Schooling became free for the majority of Schools.  School age was from 5 years until 10 years old.  1902 brought all Schools under the responsibility of County or Borough Councils which also brought in a standardisation of Teachers` salaries, although School boards could, and did, still choose their own teachers.    In Ruyton all education took place in the same building for all age groups. This continued until  the mid 20th century.   In 1918 the leaving age was raised to 14.

In 1837 the School Masters salary was £10 per quarter. In 1838 it was still £10 per quarter plus a new timepiece valued at £5.05.00.  1872 sees a salary of £40  for the School Master  £22 for the School Mistress £16 for the Assistant Teacher In 1881 the Trustees were discussing  the master`s salary  and the fact that there was insufficient room in the School House  as well as alterations that were needed to alter the approach to the School . 

In 1882 a considerable amount of money having been spent on the School, the trustees decided to arrange two evenings of entertainments in order to raise  money to reduce the liabilities  The School rooms were very large and led into each other so in 1894 it was decided to partition  part of the ceiling and roof so that it could then be divided , Staffing records show that it was thought that staffing  costs were too expensive  and that the Assistant Master should be replaced with a Pupil Teacher, this  also happened in 1900,  John Haywood and Ernest Parry were selected to be Pupil Teachers.    

 In 1895 an gallery was constructed for the infants.   In 1897 the Hunt Charity gave three fireguards at a cost of £2 13shillings and 3 pence for the three School rooms plus extra money for gravel for the playground.

Information extracted from `The Social Life of Ruyton XI Towns School ‘ by J.E.Hanson

and History of Ruyton by R.L.Kenyon

If you would like the full list of the 1818 subscriptions for building the school, please contact Yoland or Irena. Brownhill@eleventowns.co.uk     bersedrelincourt@aol.com

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The beginnings of RUYTON XI TOWNS SCHOOL

Education in our area has a very early beginning.  Oswestry Free School, independent of the church of England, was founded in 1407.   This gives it the distinction of being the second-oldest 'free' school in the country, between Winchester College, founded in 1382,  and Eton College, in 1440.   Shrewsbury School was founded in 1552 and the late comer, Ellesmere College, was opened in 1879.

In 1643, when Cromwell`s army captured Shrewsbury, the Rev Thomas Challoner, headmaster of Shrewsbury School, was expelled from the town but took up residence, in Ruyton XI Towns, unfortunately we do not know where exactly but it was only for 7 months.  After the Restoration Rev. Challoner was re-instated as headmaster of Shrewsbury School.

In 1851 there is a brief mention in Kelly`s Directory of the Rev David Harris, pastor of the Independent Chapel, who ran a boarding school.

On 16^th January 1818, the two maiden ladies of Ruyton Hall, Miss Margaret and Miss Anne Kinaston, sold land for a token sum, at Park Gates  called Mill Green Scarow for the sole purpose of the education of boys and girls under the umbrella of the “National Society for the Promotion of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church of England”.  As well as Miss Margaret and Miss Anne, the other trustees, who were to oversee the building of the school, were Hon. Thomas Kenyon of Pradoe, Rowland Hunt of Boreatton Hall and the Rev. David Evans, vicar of Ruyton.

The list of subscribers to raise the funds to build the school and the Master`s house reads like a Who`s Who of Ruyton and district landowners and people of influence.  The name which intrigued me was the Earl of Bridgewater, why should such a grand person put £100 into our little school?   It seems that as a young man, Francis Egerton, had been Rector of Myddle so would probably be known to the Hunts, Kenyons, Walfords and Kinastons.

Another major donor was the late Andrew Newton of Lichfield (home of our Bishop) who left a trust which subsidised  many worthy projects in the diocese.

The Master`s house was completed in 1819-21 which is when the school actually opened for business.

The Kinaston sisters both wrote their wills on 22^nd June 1827, each leaving £100 to the trustees for the school.  However, it was not until 1845, when Miss Margaret Kinaston`s will was proved, that the legacies became available when their cousin and executrix, Anna Maria Middleton, passed the money to the trustees, plus another £100 because of the delay.

One of the earliest teachers was James Cooper, or Cowper, who had more interest in local history than teaching the children in the school.  While Robert Lloyd Kenyon poured over dusty court rolls and ancient documents, James Cooper (as Kenyon always wrote his name) recorded stories told by his mother and other villagers, so bringing academic and social history together.

The 1870 Education Act stands as the first legislation to deal with the provision of universal education in Britain.  Most importantly, it demonstrated a commitment to provision on a national scale.  The children had to pay 1p a week until 1991 when education became free.

The Act was reflected two years later with the appointment of Walter Burr, a 22 year old bachelor, fresh out of college, who arrived like a `new broom,` full of zeal and new learning.  The children were no longer to be taught in a haphazard way by anyone who could read and write and needed a job.  Walter made so many changes and improvements, the villagers and their children must not have known what hit them!

 

Feb 28 2017

 

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COTTAGE NEAR BASCHURCH AND WESTON

SHROPSHIRE ARCHIVES PHOTOGRAPH PH/B/3/117

This tiny cottage and the lady standing in the doorway fascinate me.  The description on the photograph says that it is between Baschurch and Weston and that it was demolished in the 1930s.  It belonged to the Noneley family.

When we were photographing these photographs in Shropshire Archives, my colleague, John Ravenscroft noticed that the lady standing at her front door seems to be wearing a gas mask.  The building was demolished in the 1930s so presumably it came from WWI.  Perhaps it is one she had from a relative?

Anyway, I went into FindMyPast to try to find out who she is.  Here are the details of the local Noneleys in the last available census – 1911.

Address:  Weston Lullingfields, nr Baschurch

Annie Noneley	Granddaughter	Single	19	Housekeeper	Born Loppington
Edward Noneley	Head	Widower	81	Carter on Estate	Born Baschurch

Address:  Penny Rush, Weston Lullingfields

Thomas Edwards	Head	Married	32	Cowman on farm	Born Baschurch
Charlotte Edwards	Wife	Married	31		Born Cockshutt
Elizabeth Edwards	Daughter		8	School	Born Baschurch
William T Edwards	Son		5	School	Born Baschurch
Louisa J Paddock	Nursechild		2		Born Baschurch
Elizabeth Noneley	Visitor	Widow	47		Born Cockshutt

Address:  13 Baschurch, Baschurch

Elizabeth Noneley

Head

Single

43

At home

Born Baschurch

Address:  Weston Lullingfields

Job Noneley	Head	Single	44	Waggoner Farm	Born Baschurch
John Noneley	Brother	Single	48	Labourer Builders	Born Ruyton-11-Towns

Address:  Warren’s Yard, 44 Shropshire Street, Drayton-in-Hales, Market Drayton

Sarah Noneley

Head

Single

73

None

Born Yeaton

It is difficult to decide who the lady in the photograph is from the census as the date of the photograph is unknown.  The only clues are the gas mask (issued from 1916 onwards) and the note that the cottage was demolished in the 1930s.  Maybe the 1921 census will reveal more when it is published.

If anyone knows anything more – such as the whereabouts of the cottage or more about the family – I would be interested to know.

Sue Pugh

14.8.14

Churchyard Conundrum part 2

`Second thoughts on churchyards`

by Alan Smith

A solitary country walk is not only a good way of keeping fit and healthy but provides the opportunity to think. That is what I was doing the day after I submitted my, 'Is Anybody There?', contribution about the two puzzling churchyards on the parish boundary

Looking across to that location and the Cliffe above provided me with the clues to what I believe to be the answer.

Whereas we spell 'churchyard' as one word, and link it to burials, in the Craven Estate record of 1771 it is spelt as Church Yard. As the meaning of 'Yard' is simply 'a plot of land' Church Yard is just a plot of land that belongs to the church'. No burials.

The two 'Church Yard' plots of land on the parish boundary, at the end of Startlewood Lane, make sense when one views the extensive quarrying that took place on the Cliffe.

Those plots, I suggest, could have been stone mason's yards where sandstone would have been fashioned into blocks.

As Elizabeth I had appropriated Ruyton's church lands in 1559 and sold them to Sir Thomas Hanmer, the plots in question, and glebe lands must have been acquired by the Church at a later date. While it is therefore not possible to link the plots to the building of the church tower in the early1400s or the construction of the original north aisle in the mid14c, stone masons yards within the parish would have been very useful when the north aisle had to be rebuilt in 1845.

If stone masons yards three quarters of a mile from the church seem impractical consider this: Because of weight, it would have been impractical to convey raw sandstone from the Cliffe to a stone mason's yard near the church. Blocks cut to size and dressed at the 'Church Yard' locations, ready for building, would have require far fewer journeys, and the journeys wouldn't have been that difficult.

Until it reaches Ivy Cottage, the lane that runs below the Cliffe is reasonably flat. While there is a fair drop down from the lane to the location in question I understand that, within living memory, a spur with a gentle gradient ran down to the fields at Ivy Cottage. It would not therefore have been that difficult to get a wagon of sandstone up to the level lane.

From there, down to the Little Ness road it's a gentle slope and, once that road is reached, it’s pretty well down hill all the way until the road ends, just by the church's lych gate – where the sandstone blocks would have been required.

Alternatively, the 'Yards' might simply have been set aside for communal use by the parishioners who farmed the fields.