This Christmas, the senseless killing of student, Anuj Bidve, shocked the nation. The fatal attack took place on Ordsall Lane in Salford, an ordinary street with a particular significance for my family history. In the late nineteenth century, my ancestors lived on that very same street and in fact, it was the final home of my 3 x great-grandfather, John Dawson, the infamous brothel keeper. (See posts from Jun/Jul ’11)

Ordsall was a predominantly working class area that developed as local factories and mills expanded. Rows of two-up, two-down terraced houses were built in the 1860s and 1870s to house the influx of workers. Considered to be more salubrious than some of the neighbouring slums, it was nevertheless, an area known for its street violence. Rival gangs of ‘scuttlers’ (street fighters) would slug out their differences on the cobbled streets. Home to the notorious Ordsall Lane Gang, there were street fights involving up to 300 youths, all armed with belts, broken bottles and knives. At the height of the violence, in 1873, a policeman was killed during a scuttle.

My family moved from Deansgate to Ordsall Lane at the beginning of 1871. My 2x great-grandfather, Edward Dawson lived at no 90 with his wife, baby daughter, his two teenage brothers and a lodger. Edward was a railway porter and one of his brothers worked as a cloth hooker in a warehouse. Edward’s father, John Dawson lived in the house in May 1871 after serving a prison sentence for ‘keeping a disorderly house.’ The Ordsall Lane address on his burial records provided the proof that he was definitely my relative. In the summer of that year, Edward’s baby daughter died, aged 1 and in December, his son, also named Edward, was born in the house on Ordsall Lane. By 1874, the Dawsons had moved further into Salford, where they remained for the following century.

The recent tragedy on Boxing Day cast a shadow over the community in Ordsall and was a chilling reminder of its violent past.

The full story of John Dawson, my brothel-keeping ancestor is revealed in the Feb issue of Your Family History magazine.

(Photo courtesy of A Rea – it isn’t Ordsall but is typical of the area)

I’ve researched the history of many of my ancestors and enjoyed delving into their past even if some of the stories are tragic. Although I find the tales of poverty and bereavement sad, they don’t affect me profoundly – they’re almost like characters in a novel. However, this all changed when I decided to find out more about the early life of my paternal grandmother.

We had always known that my Gran, Hettie Woodward, had spent some of her childhood in an orphanage and the only clue I had was the name of a place: Turton, near Bolton. Recently I discovered that the neighbouring village of Edgworth was the location of Edgworth National Children’s Home – was this a coincidence or had I stumbled upon my grandmother’s hidden past?

Edgworth Children’s Home was founded in 1872 for orphaned and abandoned children by Rev Thomas Stephenson, a Methodist minister. Although I felt it was unlikely that this is where she lived, I applied to Action for Children for her records and when a letter arrived confirming that Hettie Woodward is on their database, I was quite shocked. The fact that my grandmother was an orphan became alarmingly real.

Hettie was born in 1905 in Kirkby-in-Ashfield, Notts. Her father was a coal miner and she had six siblings, two of whom died in infancy. In 1916, when she was eleven years old, a double tragedy struck the family. In February, Hettie’s mother died in childbirth and then in November, her father succumbed to the ‘flu. If that were not tragic enough, Hettie’s sister and three brothers were cared for by the extended family and she was the only child sent away to an orphanage.

I knew my Gran well; she lived with us for most of my childhood. She died when I was 13 so I never asked her about her past. Discovering the orphanage where she was sent all alone has upset me and for once, I’m not looking forward to reading the records. This time, the family story is a little too close to home…

Despite having been ‘born and bred’ in Manchester, I’d never visited the Town Hall but this Christmas I ventured inside for the very first time.

Designed by Alfred Waterhouse and completed in 1877, this magnificent neo-Gothic building is still as imposing today with its 280 ft clock tower and beautiful Spinkwell stone exterior. Inside, the entrance hall is resplendent with statues of Mancunian dignitaries and stunning mosaics created by Venetian craftsman.

After visiting the impressive suite of civic rooms, the tour guide led us down a twisting granite staircase into the dark corners of this opulent building. Tucked away behind the carved arches and chandeliers of the ground floor is a hidden courtyard that has hardly changed since the 19^th century.

The brickwork was black and stained after more than a century of rain and smoke. The grimy cobblestones shone in the grey drizzle of a typical December day lit by the dim, yellow light of a large lantern. This dank enclave used to be the site of the City of Manchester Police Force Headquarters. There is even a sloped driveway with a high wrought-iron gate where the black Marias would disgorge their prisoners. A window with ‘POLICE’ engraved on the dirty glass also remains.

In the 1870s, Manchester was rife with crime. Contemporary police reports estimated that, in the city centre alone, there were more than 200 disreputable lodging houses and 325 brothels as well as 74 pubs and 121 beerhouses frequented by ‘persons of bad character.’ The criminal underworld was populated by thieves, prostitutes, con artists, street fighters and notorious gangs. Victorian Manchester was a dangerous place to live.

Whilst the Chief Constable was languishing in his spacious office just inside the entrance hall of the town hall, the real work of the police was conducted in this dark courtyard, concealed from view. The charge offices and cells would have been in constant use as the police of A Division struggled to tackle the crime endemic in the surrounding streets and alleys.

My new character, PC Salvatore Scott is going to be working in this exact location in his first assignment attached to the Detective Team. I wish him luck; he’ll need it…

‘Paris is absolutely spectacular even in the rain!’

This was my impression of Paris, on my very first visit. On 16^th April 1986, I sent this postcard to my parents and it marks the beginning of my lifelong passion for this wonderful city. Now, after countless visits including a year living there, Paris feels like home.

The postcard opens with a reference to pre-Channel tunnel travel: ‘Finally made it to France after 15 hours’ travel and no sleep.’ I had only journeyed from London! According to the message, on my first day in Paris, I visited Notre Dame and the river Seine before travelling on to Spain.

During the summer of 1986, I travelled through France and Spain as part of my studies. While our fellow students at Queen Mary College, London were sitting in stuffy lecture halls, my two friends and I set off on a three month visit to Spain that included studies at the University of Córdoba and then a long trip round the peninsula, stopping off en route. Such was the life of the foreign language student!

As we didn’t have mobile phones or even the Internet, communication with home relied on the occasional call from a public phone box and the humble postcard. Twenty-five years later, my mother returned the postcards to me and my ‘mega-trip’ was brought back to life. The postcards chart my journey from Andalucia back through Spain, stopping at Seville, Granada, Valencia and Barcelona and include visits to other places such as Tarragona, Alicante and Castellón, all described in brief on the back of pictures of Gothic cathedrals, majestic palaces and sandy beaches.

I refer regularly to the hot weather, especially as I’m writing to my family in rain-soaked Manchester. I mention the historic places I visit: the ‘spectacular’ Alhambra palace, the remote monastery of Montserrat, the art galleries of Monet, Picasso and Miró. Sometimes, there is a ‘slight change of plan’ and I end up somewhere else but it doesn’t matter, we just hop back on the train and carry on. In Barcelona, I describe how the first people we met on the campsite were two fellow-Mancunians. There are constant references to ‘beach, sea and sun’ and no mention whatsoever of studying.

Occasionally there is a more personal message. The postcard from Paris ends, ‘I’m really sorry about yesterday, I wish I’d left on a happier note.’ The argument with my parents is long forgotten but the message remains as a glimpse into my life at that particular moment.

It must have been strange for my parents to hear very little from me for weeks at a time with the exception of the occasional postcard and I’m so glad now that they kept them safe for me. They also kept postcards from other members of the family during a period of forty years and you can read more about the collection in ‘Send Me A Postcard…’ published in this month’s issue of Family Tree magazine.

Under the brooding, grey skies of a blustery November morning, I visited the graveyard of St Mary Magdalene, Barkway.  Tucked away behind the main street of this sleepy Hertfordshire village, there were seven Nottage memorial inscriptions. I set out to discover the stories behind these weather-worn stones.

The oldest members of the Nottage family with gravestones were William and Jane Nottage, my 3 x great-uncle and aunt. They died in 1874 and 1876 respectively. Their memorial stone was completely obliterated with just the footstone bearing their initials and dates. They were married in the church where they are buried. William was a ploughman and Jane a housekeeper. There are no records of any children from their long marriage.

According to the FHS records, William’s niece lies nearby. Elizabeth Nottage, born in 1833, was also a housekeeper during her later years when she lived on the High St, just near the graveyard. She never married and died at the age of 73. Sadly, her headstone is no longer there.

Members of the family of Stephen Nottage, one of Elizabeth’s many cousins, are buried in the churchyard. His wife, Martha’s grave is marked with a dilapidated stone cross. She married Stephen in 1858 and they had ten children, two of whom died in infancy. Later that day as I trawled through the church records at the Hertfordshire archives, I found the baptismal entries for Stephen and Martha’s children. It was strange reading about their lives from 150 years ago after having stood before Martha’s gravestone.

Two of Martha’s sons are buried close by her: Henry George and William, along with William’s wife, Julia and their son, Frederick. The latter died in 1983, aged 76, bringing the generations almost into the present time. The older graves were completely consumed by moss and the inscriptions illegible.

The most poignant memorial inscription wasn’t in the church graveyard but at the edge of the village. On a war memorial to those lost in the First World War, Private George Nottage is remembered alongside his comrades. The son of  Stephen Nottage’s brother, George was 29 when he died in combat on 12^th Mar 1915. He is buried in an unknown grave with more than 13,000 brothers-in-arms in Pas-de-Calais. Visiting just a week after Armistice Day, I was saddened and proud to discover his sacrifice.

In undying memory of those who

Going out from this parish laid

Down their lives for the sake

Of their King and Country

In my last post, I revealed my discovery of Nottage family burials at St Mary Magdalene’s church in the Hertfordshire village of Barkway. I visited the graveyard and the Hertfordshire Archives in an attempt to identify these members of the family and fit them into my family tree.

There were seven burial records in the local family history society publication: 4 infants and 3 adults.  I discovered that the infants were all closely related to one another.

Joseph Nottage was the first child of Joseph and Mary Ann. He died in 1841 aged three weeks. Another of the burials was his sister, Anne. She was their second child and died in 1846, just before her second birthday.

Another of the deceased infants was their first cousin: William, son of William and Emma Nottage, died in 1849 at just five days old.

The final infant was the child of the grandparents of the other three, making him their ‘uncle’. Henry, son of John and Ann Nottage, died in 1842 aged three. This couple had nine children so it is no surprise that some of the younger ones were contemporaries of their grandchildren.

All these infants have a place in my family tree along with other children who died later. Despite the tragedies, all three couples had more children, most of whom survived to adulthood.

As I mentioned in my previous post, two of the burial records related to my 4 x great-grandparents, Henry and Sarah Nottage. I found Sarah’s baptism record in the archives. Sarah, née Martin, was baptised in 1780 in the same church where she was buried.

The final record was a mystery: William Nottage died in 1848 aged 64. There are at least three candidates for this person but none of them match his details exactly. Further concrete evidence is needed to tie him in more closely to the village of Barkway. I think that he may have been the nephew of my 5 x great-grandfather but in the absence of proof, he will have to remain a mystery for the time being.

So I now have six more members of the Nottage family in my tree and in the next post, I will reveal the stories about the graves that I found.

There’s nothing quite like hunting round a graveyard for ancestral headstones and it’s even more exciting if you know what you’re looking for.

My paternal great-grandmother’s family came from the village of Barkway in Hertfordshire so I ordered the transcribed burial records from the local family history society. Pieces of the family jigsaw puzzle were all there so I just had to fit them together and work out who was who…

The burial records, all from 1800-1852, listed seven Nottages. There were four infants and three adults. Straightaway I identified Henry Nottage, aged 72, as my 4x great-grandfather. He was a farm labourer who died of asthma. Another record could be that of his wife, Sarah. The final record in this selection is a mystery figure. Born around 1784, William Nottage doesn’t yet have a place in my family tree.

The second set of records was even more tantalising: monumental inscriptions. Apart from greater detail, these gravestones still exist so I’m keen to visit them and find out who they all were. Again there were seven Nottages on the list.

Four of the inscriptions are for older couples who have children and grandchildren and who may be connected to each other. Two more are for older adults who appear not to have married. The final one for George Nottage is particularly poignant as his name is inscribed on a war memorial for ‘those who laid down their lives for the sake of King and Country’ in the First World War.

Armed with the lists and a camera, I’m heading off to visit the graveyard and Hertfordshire Archives to see what I can find out about these resting members of the Nottage family. I will report back…

My mother’s maiden name is Dawson and there was a large concentration of Dawsons in the city centre during the Victorian period. I found some poignant entries in the newly released Manchester archives; two young girls admitted in the Manchester Industrial School, Sale.

Jane Dawson, aged 7 was admitted in July 1892 with a detention period of 7 years and 4 months, which would take her to the age of 16 on her release. Her condition on admittance was stated as ‘destitute’. This poor child, whose character was ‘said to be good’, was in dire straits: her father had died and her mother was serving a prison sentence for prostitution. On the notes at the bottom of her file it is written: This girl has been under the care of a woman named Caroline Benson for seven years. She lived with her father as his wife. I needed no encouragement to find out more…

Using the 1891 census, I discovered more detail about Jane’s pitiful circumstances. The year before her admittance to the industrial school, she had indeed been living with her father and Caroline Benson. Caroline, aged 28 kept a boarding house in Salford, with her illegitimate son, Leonard, aged 8. Jane’s father  was listed as ‘lodger’. He was Thomas Dawson, aged 64 and worked as a ‘brawn maker’, which he would have made out of pigs’ heads and trotters. Next to his occupation, the enumerator had penciled ‘Poor’.

Thomas died the following spring and Jane was left alone to fend for herself. I couldn’t find out what happened to Caroline Benson but clearly she did not continue to care for the child of her deceased lover.

Another Dawson child appeared in the records of the Manchester Industrial School. Annie Dawson was 13 when she was detained. Her father was John Henry Dawson, a labourer of ‘questionable’ character. Her parents were married. Once again through the censuses, I found out that Annie had five siblings who seem to have all remained with the family even after the death of their father in 1907. One of her brothers worked as a grocer’s assistant and another two in a local colliery. Although poor, this family seemed intact and it is therefore surprising that Annie was the only child placed in care.

Sadly, there are no records of what happened to Jane and Annie after their detention in the industrial school. One can only hope that they fared well although the odds were stacked against them.

You can read more about the Manchester Collection in my article, Crime City Uncovered in November’s issue of Your Family History magazine.

A while ago I decided to change the title of my novel and I had many helpful suggestions and advice from lovely writers. Most suggested that I keep the title simple to avoid any clichés or ambiguities. Once I had started brainstorming ideas, I realised that an obvious new title was staring straight at me.

Beech House is the home of northern mill owner John Tranter. He marries Ellen Foster May in America at the beginning of the Civil War and when the couple return to his home in the suburbs of Manchester, little does Ellen know that she has to share her new family home with her mother-in-law. Mrs Tranter will protect her place in the household at all costs and Ellen soon realises that she will have to fight her own battle for survival.

The main action of the story takes place in Beech House, including a tragic turn of events that seals the fates of Ellen and the other characters and leads to the destruction of this self-protective family.

The real Beech House was in the village of Chorlton-cum-Hardy in south Manchester, a few miles from where I grew up. It was located on Beech Road that still exists. At the time of my story in 1861, Beech House was the home of widower John Holt, a retired engraver to calico printers. He lived there with his four unmarried adult children and the family servants. The staff included a cook, a housemaid, a groom and a coachman.

Not too far from the centre of Manchester, the local community consisted of farmers, merchants, manufacturers and tradespeople. Many were successful Victorians who had moved out of the smog-filled city to the leafy suburbs.

The house I used as the setting was actually called Laburnum Cottage and it was just down the road from Beech House, near Chorlton Green. Neither of the houses is still there.

So ‘Beech House’ is my new title and thank you to all those who helped with its inception.

Following on from my last post, it’s time to reveal the extraordinary story of David Nottage, fifth child of Ann, the first pioneer of Laramie, Wyoming and my 3x great-grandmother. David was born in Hertfordshire in 1842 and was only ten when his father died. In 1863, two years after his older brother Daniel (see previous post) left the UK, David followed him across the pond with another brother, Henry. David was the only member of the Nottage family who didn’t cross the States but that certainly doesn’t make his story less interesting.

A labourer with no discernible trade, David, aged 24, bought himself some tools and set up a company, D Nottage & Co. This marked the beginning of a remarkable career in business that would lead to a successful company that is still trading today. After spending some time in Indiana, where he married Anna Willot and lived for a time next door to his mother, Ann and youngest brother, William, David moved to Manitowoc where he would spend the rest of his life building his business empire.

Working as a machinist in a textiles manufacturing company in Two Rivers, he soon established a reputation as a skilled worker. In 1900, David and his associates founded the Fox River Valley Knitting Company in Appleton, which manufactured socks and mittens for outdoor workers such as lumberjacks. This initiative would change David’s life forever.

During the following two decades, the Fox River Valley Knitting Co expanded beyond all expectations and David, with his son William, developed many diverse business interests, including cotton farms in Oklahoma that provided cotton for his manufacturing plant and mill in Wisconsin. He was also on the board of the Wisconsin Wire works and  had his own gas and oil company.  A true entrepreneur, he even led a gold expedition to the Yukon.

David Nottage died in 1920 and his obituary revealed some more fascinating details about his life, including a lifelong membership of the Freemasons. Like his brother Daniel, he had founded a Masonic lodge in Two Rivers in the early 1880s and by the time of his death, he was a member of the Scottish Rite of Indiana Consistory and a shriner of the Bedouin Temple. All very intriguing…

The Fox River Valley Knitting Co diversified into high quality hosiery goods and changed many times during the last century. Today it still trades as Fox River and is best known for its red-heeled socks with the knitted monkey trademark. David would have been proud to see that how well his business has flourished.

This amazing story has one final twist. After the death of his first wife in 1904, David married a second time and searching through local newspaper archives, I came across an article that left me stunned. David’s second wife, Englishwoman Ada B Simpson, had been lady-in-waiting to Queen Mary and had lived for several years in the royal palaces, especially in St James’ Palace. She made the local press in Wisconsin when she was invited to George V’s coronation in 1911. She didn’t attend the coronation but the fact that she was even invited shows how far David Nottage had progressed from his humble roots.