Who do You Think You Are - on the wrong side of the street By L.J. Trafford

Last Christmas I brought my Mum one of those ancestry DNA kits with the hope that it would reveal hitherto unknown mysteries about her/my lineage and thus provide me with a ready-made topic for a History Girls post.
Two months later when the results pinged into her inbox it is fair to say my Mum was a tad disappointed with her report.


Her DNA report revealed that her ancestors came from Cambridgeshire, a county in the East Anglian region of England. Cambridgeshire, East Anglia is also where my Mum currently resides and has done her whole life. Perhaps this adherence to staying put is an inherited trait because according to her DNA report her family had spent the last 350 years in Cambridgeshire, East Anglia. Britain once had an empire that covered an area of 13.7 million square miles and the UK itself is 94,000 square miles, my Mum’s ancestors hadn’t dangled so much as an ankle outside of Cambridgeshire since Charles II was King.


But never mind, I can work with the material given.

Kettle’s Yard

In squeezing a History Girls article out of my Cambridgeshire DNA I decided to take a closer look at the background of my maternal Nanna, I knew that she had grown up in a rough area of Cambridge and I figured that gave me an increased chance of pulling a sexy story out of the bag. Perhaps.


My Nanna was born in 1911 in Kettle’s Yard, Cambridge. Her family, the Lowes had moved into number 2 Kettle’s Yard sometime between the census of 1871 and the census of 1881. In 1881 John Lowe, my great-great grandfather is listed as working a coal porter, my great-great grandmother Emma Lowe is apparently working as a washerwoman whilst somehow looking after her six children; Kate 13, Alice 9, Amelia 7, Emily 5, Ernest 2 and my great-grandmother Harriet Lowe, who was only 2 months old.

When the Lowes lived in Kettle’s Yard it ‘was dank place where twenty-six tiny cottages squeezed into a place suitable for none’.1’

Kettle’s Yard did not have the greatest of reputations, as my Nanna had told me herself when she was alive. She didn’t tell her school friends where she lived, she didn’t want them to know she came from Kettle’s Yard.

But how rough was Kettle’s Yard really during the years that the Lowe family lived there? Armed with an online subscription to the archives of the Cambridge Evening and The Cambridge Weekly newspapers I set off to find out.

Foul of mouth

Typing Kettle’s Yard into the search bar of the local newspaper archives retrieved a number of stories about obscene language. In November 1855 James Rutter was sentenced to seven days in prison for using ‘obscene and profane language’ in Kettle’s Yard. The newspaper report makes mention that it was a Sunday, this may or may not be relevant to the rather harsh punishment dished out to Rutter


In 1899, Frederick Clarke, a labourer and resident of Kettle’s Yard who pleaded not guilty to using obscene language fared better than James Rutter had 45 years before. Clarke was only fined half a crown after being found guilty, perhaps people's sensibilities had changed toward foul language. Or perhaps, not because there are enough newspaper reports of people up before the Magistrate for using obscene language. Between the years 1890-99 there are 677 newspaper reports that mention the phrase ‘obscene language’ versus only 150 between 1850-59.


In 1893 Mr EH Douty a reputable surgeon was strolling down Kings Parade in Cambridge at half past eleven at night when he passed two men using ‘bad language in a very loud voice”. Douty listened for a further two minutes to this awful language before whistling for a constable. As the two men were lead away they‘used language worse than ever.’ I bet they did, straight at Mr EH Douty the reputable surgeon and sneak. Douty was praised by the bench for his actions. One of the men, Walter Pilsworth of Kettle’s Yard pleaded guilty and was fined.


Then there is this glorious story. Annie Woodrough a resident of Kettle’s Yard in 1889 is facing charges after she bumped into an acquaintance at ‘about a quarter past seven near the old post office. Defendant made use of a very abusive expression and offered to fight her on the Piece for 10s. Witness was also insulted by her about ten o’clock” Whilst some have got away with mere fines for using obscene language, Annie gets 14 days imprisonment. Chiefly because she is a repeat offender, it is revealed that this is the 3rd time Annie has been up before the magistrate for using obscene language and the 7th time in total she has been before the magistrate that year. Which is all the more impressive when you note the date of the article, 11th February 1889. In less than two months Annie has managed to get herself arrested, charged and brought before a magistrate 7 times. That’s more than once a week


This reads as extremely tough justice for what are essentially only words but there is a sense of fairness in the system in that both the defendant and the claimant are allowed to bring forward witnesses to back up their version of events. In the case of Annie Woodrough her witness caves in under pressure and the sheer number of other people who had all seen Annie effing and blinding her way through the streets of Cambridge’ Woodrough denied the charge saying that she had not been out of her house until some time after the time when she was accused of having misconducted herself, and she called a witness, Annie Hammond, to prove that she had been in her house until after that time. Annie Hammond however when on her oath said that she had seen defendant in St Andrew’s Street at about seven o’clock.’


Two ladies from Kettle’s Yard, Ellen Blackwell and Hannah Haylock had their cases dismissed for using obscene language due to ‘the evidence being of a contradictory character.’


My great-great grandmother Emma Lowe, even appears as a witness in one such case in 1902. She is acting as a witness for the defendant, Mary Ann Wolfe who has been accused by Eliza Hall of having come to her house ‘about one o clock on the day in question. [] Witness had shut the door and the defendant tried to open it. She commenced swearing at witness and it was kept up until 10 o clock at night’

You have to admire Mary Ann Wolfes fortitude for keeping up the torrent of obscene language for nine whole hours. This was the sort of behaviour that attracts attention and Eliza Hall had no difficulty finding witnesses to back up her story.

Enter my great-great grandmother Emma. ‘Emma Lowe, wife of John Lowe [] gave evidence for the defendant. The complainant, she said, abused the defendant, who did no use bad language.’ Which is not much of a defence because it confirms Eliza Hall’s story that there was an altercation between the two, there are very few altercations that don’t involve some bad language. Otherwise, it’s not an altercation, it’s two people having a chat.

Mary Anne Wolfe then piped up that Eliza Hall had only brought the case through spite because she, Mary would not deal with her. The response to this new claim in the case was this. ‘The Chairman said the defendant had been before the court something like 10 times. She appeared to be a very violent woman having no control over herself. She would be bound over in two sums of £5 each to keep the peace for 6 months.’

‘This is cruel treatment,’ said Mary.

It’s not terribly cruel treatment, being bound over meant that Mary merely had to stick to some conditions, presumably not swearing at people for 9 hours, else she be charged £10. £10 was a lot of money in 1902, it was not far short of the annual wage of a scully maid or hall boy, admittedly the lowest rung of domestic servant.


Let’s take a moment to contemplate that my great-great grandmother is hanging around with someone described by an official as ‘a very violent woman’ and a habitual criminal.

Drunk as a Insert animal of choice.

What I didn’t mention about Mary Anne Wolfe’s case was the location of Eliza Hall’s house, the house that she tried to shut Mary out of and which Mary subsequently stood outside and yelled obscenities for 9 whole hours. Eliza Hall was the wife of James Hall, publican of the Beehive Pub. The story makes a whole lot more sense once you realise alcohol was involved.

Alcohol was also a factor in the case of Annie Woodrough. ‘Supt. Turrall complained to the magistrate of the Rose and Tulip public-house. It had been a great nuisance for a long time[] People round the neighbourhood complained of obscene language being used about there and girls of bad character resorted to it to get out the way of proctors.’

Alcohol is a factor in many of the newspaper reports connected to Kettle’s Yard.
In 1891 Thomas Brown admitted he had ‘had a drop of beer and it had made him as giddy as a goose.’ Thomas’ giddiness manifested itself as gazing about in a vacant manner and making peculiar signs with his hands. He’d also assaulted a small boy and was charged by PC Gates with being of unsound mind and wandering at large, as well as being drunk and disorderly.


In 1892 Groom, Daniel Davey was blaming drink for his actions on one December night ‘the prisoner in his defence said he was very sorry for what he had done. He had had too much to drink and did not know what he was doing.’ What he was doing was assaulting Jane Riley who had fled from Kettle’s Yard pursued by Davey who ‘struck the woman in the face, pulled her hair and threatened to kill her.’ Thankfully some passerby's intervened, and Davey was taken away. His stated remorse held no sway given that he’d been arrested for disorderly conduct many times previously. Davey was sentenced to two months hard labour.

Drink was surely behind this incident too, the ‘defendant came to him and snatched half a roll and some butter from him, and then picked up an old herring and threw it at his hat.’


It’s not surprising that there are so many reports of drunkenness around the Kettle’s Yard area for in the streets that surrounded Kettles Yard; Castle Street, Northampton Street, Bridge Street, Pound Hill and St Peter’s Street the 1911 census records there were 40 public houses. In the city of Cambridge in total there were 384 pubs for a population of 40,000 which is a pub for every 102 people and that’s before we factor out the under 10’s of that total population.

To put this in context in 2021 there were 84 pubs for a total population of around 145,000. Which is a pub for every 1726 members of the public, and a much longer queue for last order.

Kettle’s Yard – Asbo central?

It is clear from my brief study of local newspapers that Kettle’s Yard and people who lived in Kettle’s Yard were involved in a fair amount of what we would call anti-social behaviour. Altercations fuelled by easy access to alcohol from the trillion pubs of Cambridge which led to some pretty fruity language.

However, what I didn’t find was much in the way of what we might call serious crimes being committed. Horace Gidney aged 9 of Kettle’s Yard was one of a gang of boys accused of stealing pears, grapes and plums from the garden of Henry John Gray. Richard Todd of Kettle’s Yard was charged with keeping two dogs without a license but didn’t turn up for court to face the charges and thus earned himself an extra charge. Charles Hammond aged 14 of Kettle’s Yard was caught red handed stealing 21lbs of lead piping from a house, however nobody could ascertain who owned the house and thus the lead piping. Therefore, Charles Hammond and his gang were released from remand, although reminded by a court official ‘that they would be liable to be brought up and charged again if the difficulty was cleared up.’

There was one serious crime I could find, it was committed by 17 year old George John Wolfe of Kettle’s Yard, a sexual assault on a 9 year old girl. Wolfe firmly denied the charges claiming that the girl had made a mistake and called on two witness who attested he was elsewhere at the time. When Wolfe was put before a Grand Jury they threw out the bill.

Finally, I stumbled across one further crime committed by a resident of Kettle’s Yard. In 1883 ‘John Lowe, Kettle’s Yard [was] also summoned for disobeying orders to send their children to school.’


Yep, that’s my great grandfather.





Notes


1 The Spinning House’ p125 Caroline Biggs.

The 'Auld Alliance' by Margaret Skea

Some years ago the BBC ran an advert for the 6 Nations Rugby tournament which was pulled following some complaints, and then proceeded to go viral! The punchline was - 

 

‘It’s not who you want to win, but who you want to lose.’

 

No prizes for guessing the answers the Scots, Irish and Welsh fans gave. 

Clever – yes. Amusing – yes. And like all the best humour, based on a grain of truth. But from the Scots perspective at least, it has its roots in ancient history.

The United Kingdom has a common flag - the Union Jack, which symbolizes both the union of the crowns of 1603 and the union of parliaments in 1707. A union that, despite having been challenged in recent years, has nevertheless survived relatively unscathed for over 400 years. 

But Scotland had a prior alliance, with France, which has come to be known as the ‘Auld Alliance.’ It is one of the longest standing treaties in the world (more on that later). Renewed by successive monarchs it was based on a sense of a common enemy, and that enemy was England.

 

In 1579 David Chamber, one of the Lords of Council and Session at Edinburgh claimed that the Auld Alliance dated back to Philip I of France and Malcolm III of Scotland. If it did, no documentary evidence remains. 

 

The earliest extant record of the treaty is dated 23^rd October 1295 which John Balliol concluded with Philip the Fair. Balliol was technically only the Scottish King under the over-lordship of Edward I of England, so the terms of the treaty with France are somewhat surprising. It bound Scotland and France to provide mutual support in the event of war with England. 

                                                                         John Balliol 

An excerpt from the 1326 version of the treaty, between Charles IV of France and Robert I of Scotland, illustrates both the main terms and the tone of the treaty.

 

‘…a meet and necessary thing it is that princes should ally themselves together by bond of friendship and goodwill in order the grievances of those who desire to grieve them more forcibly to refrain; and the tranquility of them and of their subjects more peaceably to secure…with the noble prince Robert, by the grace of God King of Scotland our special friend, against the King of England, whose predecessors have often labored to aggrieve the said kingdoms of France and Scotland in many and sundry ways…’ 

 

Even more strikingly there was provision for what should happen in the event of either country making peace with England –

 

‘…if our kingdom shall make peace or truce with the king of England…the King of Scotland, his heirs shall be excepted; so that such peace shall be null whenever war is waged between the aforesaid kings of Scotland and England  …France shall be bound to make war upon the kingdom of England with all their force…firmly to observe, faithfully to perform and fully to accomplish.’  (Ditto in reverse.)

 

No wriggle room there then! The treaty was renewed at least 12 times between 1295 and 1543 and many of the original documents survive among the charters of France. They can be accessed via an inventory, catalogued by a M. du Tillet and printed in folio in 1588. One significant effect of this on-going treaty was a succession of contracts of marriage, beginning in 1235 with Edward Balliol (son of King John) to Joan, niece of the French King; with the most famous being the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots to the Dauphin Francis in 1558.

Mary Queen of Scots and Dauphin Francois

While the treaty was mutually beneficial, it does seem that the balance fell in favour of the French, with Scotland regularly providing troops, sometimes in very significant numbers, to aid the French in their wars with England, both on French and on English soil. 

There were notable wins for the Scots – in 1420 they defeated the English at Beange; but notable losses also – in 1326, following the French defeat at the Battle of Crecy, David II attacked the north of England but was routed at what has become known as the Battle of Neville’s Cross.  

Battle of Neville's Cross

The story goes that David, heavily wounded, fled the battlefield and took refuge under the arch of Aldin Grange Bridge on the river Browney. There he was said to have been betrayed by his own reflection in the river and was thus captured by John Coupland. Legend or truth, what is clear is that when Coupland delivered David to the English king, Edward, he was rewarded with  a substantial fee and a knighthood. David was imprisoned in the Tower of London for ten years and finally handed back to the Scots apparently for a ransom that would equate to c £15 million in today’s money.  Whether the ransom was actually paid is however a debatable point.  

Saddest of all the efforts of the Scots was the enormous loss of Scottish lives at the Battle of Flodden in 1513, when James IV attacked England in support of France despite the English King, Henry, being James’ brother-in-law. It was said that ‘the flower of Scottish nobility perished on that day’ and the lament ‘Flowers of the Forest’ commemorates the deaths of James and around 10,000 of his men. There were few of the leading families in Scotland untouched by that tragedy. The site of the battle and the fallen on both sides is commemorated in a memorial cross. It is near where I currently live and walking around the battlefield is incredibly atmospheric. 

                                                                 Site of the Battle of Flooden

 So what did the Scots get in return for centuries of service to France? Quite a bit actually. Many individuals received military, civil and ecclesiastical honours and offices, but most importantly, every Scot was entitled to letters of naturalization – in effect giving them the right to dual nationality. (Handy if you’re in trouble in your home country!)  That right was confirmed by Henry IV as late as 1599, with letters signed by him at the palace of Fontainbleau, and I love the detail - ‘sealed with the great seal in green wax, in a lace of red and green silk.’  This ensured that Scots could be testate in France and could both inherit and dispose of any assets they possessed there.  This is of relevance to my fictional family, the Munros, who are central figures in my Scottish trilogy, set in the real-life feud between the Cunninghame and Montgomerie families, called the 'Ayrshire Vendetta'.  

 

Another important result of the alliance was the establishment of the Gardes Ecossaise in 1418 – an elite troop that was supposed to be comprised entirely of Scots (that was the theory, however there is evidence that others were admitted and both Mary Queen of Scots and James VI are recorded as having made protests on that score.) The Gardes formed the royal bodyguard of successive French kings and their duties ranged from keeping the keys of the King’s bedchamber and assisting at the reception of ambassadors and waiting at coronations, baptisms and marriages of royal children, to carrying the body and guarding the effigy of a (dead) King. One captain of the Gardes was Robert Stewart of Aubigny and both he and the Auld Alliance are commemorated at a ceremony in Aubigny-sur-Neve to this day. 

My own interest in the Auld Alliance stems from researching the Gardes Ecossaise, because the real-life Patrick Montgomerie, one of my favourite historical characters in my trilogy, was a captain in this elite troop. His involvement in the Gardes allowed me to take my fictional family to France.

A  rather elegantly dressed Garde Ecossaise

But perhaps the most important advantage that the Auld Alliance gave to Scots were trading privileges for Scots merchants. They were required to pay only ¼ of the normal duty on all the goods that they imported from France to Scotland and were similarly acquitted from new duties imposed on merchandise they brought to France.  Interestingly these privileges didn’t stop even after the Act of Union in 1707 which formally linked England and Scotland under a single parliamentary system. English merchants continued to be penalized, while Scots merchants were not.

 

Historian Dr Siobhan Talbott has spent some years researching the treaty signed in 1295 and suggests that there is no evidence that it was ever formally rescinded. Others have suggested that it was dissolved by the Treaty of Edinburgh in 1560, as a by-product of the reformation in Scotland, but she is convinced that there isn’t anything in the treaty to support that view. Three facts also support her view – that Henry IV again ratified the naturalization of all Scots in 1599, that trading privileges continued even after 1707, and that in 1942 Charles de Gaulle made a speech describing the Auld Alliance as an active agreement; claiming it was the ‘oldest in the world’. If this is indeed true it is now 730 years old, and as such trounces the other contender for ‘oldest treaty’ – that between England and Portugal signed in 1373.  

 

Postscript: In 1906, under the Entente Cordiale, the part of the agreement that meant that Scots had the same rights in France as the native French was rescinded, but not made retrospective. Which means theoretically anyone born before 1906 could still claim dual nationality, even today.  Though, as I’m not aware of any Scots older than 120, it probably doesn’t matter too much now! 

 

Margaret Skea is the author of the prize-winning Munro Scottish Saga, as well as a fictionalised biography of Katharina von Bora, the wife of the reformer, Martin Luther, a contemporary missionary biography, and a collection of short stories.   These are available in selected UK bookshops or direct from Margaret's website at https://www.margaretskea.com and in print and kindle via Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Margaret-Skea/author/B009B9HCUC?ref

  

 

 

 

 

 

The Tower Suffragette by Penny Dolan

Inside Harrogate Library, at the start  of March,a new display was put up, decorated with small flags and  badges, and arranged by the Local Studies group. As I studied the labels, printed images and photocopied extracts,  the story seemed like a glimpse an exciting Edwardian detective adventure. Secret meetings? Foreign infiltrators? Concealed figures hurrying across the dark and lonely moor? Undercover surveillance? What made the incident interesting was that, I learned, it involved a famous local Suffragette.

I had learned about the Votes For Women movement many decades ago, after seeing the horrifying posters about force-feeding and the ‘Cat and Mouse’ Act inside  Bruce Castle Museum in Tottenham, London. Whenever my grandmother took there - one of her favourite outings, I stared at the images again, had nightmares again, and was felt revolted by the thought of food. Those images still have that awful power. And, in addition, searching for this image today, I noticed that many of the poster images seemed to be without their original wording.

                                                 

 Recently, I spent time with the Suffragettes again, reading ‘Old Baggage’, author Lissa Evans' enjoyable historical novel, set in the twenties and thirties. Though the book looks back at the bravery of the women, the plot also speaks about the mix of ideology, ‘sisterhood’, money and class within the organisation, and at the lives of all those unmarried women once the 'European War' was over. Evans' novel also warned me of the biased descriptions and attitudes I read in a local newspaper article (June 1914) quoted below.

                                                      
The main subject of the display was Leonora Cohen, who was known as 'The Tower Suffragette', born in Leeds in 1873. Canova Throp, her father, who was a sculptor and stone carver, died when Leonora was five. His wife, Jane Lamie, worked  long hours as a seamstress to support Leonora and her two younger brothers. As a child, Leonora worked alongside her mother, and at sixteen, trained as a milliner. She went on to become a milliner’s buyer, travelling from Yorkshire to London.                                                        

                                                         

 These experience taught Leonora about the working conditions of women, and the inequalities of men and women's wages. Her mother, who had suffered from poverty and injustice, was the one who inspired her radicalism, saying “if only we had a say in things”. Leonora’s telling statement was that “a drunken lout of a man had the vote simply because he was a male. I vowed to change things.”

In 1900, aged twenty-seven, she married Henry Cohen, a jeweller’s assistant, and childhood friend. He was Jewish and Leonora was not, so his parents disapproved of the marriage. Leonora’s mother disapproved too, fearing that marriage would distance her daughter from the Suffragette cause, in which the women were both now involved. However, Henry knew and supported Leonora's beliefs and married her, despite being warned by a friend that “if I had a wife like yours, I should tie her to the table leg.” In 1902, she gave birth to their son, who died at a year old and then a surviving daughter. For a few years, the family lived quietly. 

Then, in 1908, Leonora joined the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU), popularly know as the Suffragettes, and at one point became one of Emmeline Pankhurst’s bodyguards.Three years later, In 1911, Leonora was arrested after throwing a rock against the window of a government building. She was pummelled on the jaw by a police officer, knocked down by a police horse and sentenced to seven days in Holloway prison.

In 1913, Leonora made headlines again when she staged an angry public protest after Asquith’s capitulation and dropping of the Reform Bill. Taking the tube, she went to the Tower of London where because of her quiet elegance, she was assumed to be a lady teacher escorting a group of visiting school boys into the Jewel Tower. On reaching the display of jewels, she drew out the iron bar concealed under her coat and smashed the glass case containing the Insignia of the Order of Merit and other treasures. Sent to Leeds Assizes and again imprisoned, the press named her "The Tower Suffragette.'

After this incident, the Cohen family moved from Leeds to Harrogate, a thriving spa town whose health facilities, churches, concerts and entertainments brought many visitors - and an ideal place to conceal a few extra visitors. They set up The Reform Food Boarding House, a vegetarian establishment, at Harlow Moor Drive, as a refuge for fellow suffragettes and sympathisers. 

Number 31 is one among a long row of impressive four and five storey boarding houses, situated just by the Valley Gardens where visitors promenaded after taking the waters, and close by the Royal Baths and the busy main centre of town. However, across the road, in the other direction, was a wild uphill expanse of open moor, pasture and woodland. In fact, the boarding house was an ideal situation in more ways than one.

In 1914, notoriety arrived: Leonora Cohen gave shelter to the “tiny, wily, elusive Pimpernel” known as Lilian Lenton. A famous firebrand, Lilian had already been imprisoned for window smashing, and in 1913, was involved in several arson attacks, the most famous being on the Tea House in Kew Gardens.

                                               

Imprisoned in Holloway, Lilian had gone on hunger strike, refusing food and liquid, and was force-fed until she became seriously ill. Though Lilian was then released, under the notorious ‘Cat and Mouse Act’, she was to be re-arrested after seven days, when her health would be said to have 'improved'. 

Instead, Lilian left London, travelled to Harrogate avoiding any re-arrest, and took refuge with Leonora at the Reform Food Boarding House, among friends and sympathisers. However, wisely or unwisely, while speaking at a meeting on The Stray, a large grassy area in the town, Mrs Cohen, told listeners “We have Lilian Lenton in Harrogate.” As soon as word got out, the authorities made plans to swoop on the boarding house and, attracted by “the hysterical wantonness of the militant’s misdemeanors”, the raid made news.

The account quoted below, appearing in the loyal, local newspaper ‘The Harrogate Advertiser’, and is very much written in the populist and racist language of the time. Ot also reflects that the piece was written at a troubled time, at home and on the continent, and as what was then known as the European War began.  

Reporting on the Harlow Moor Drive incident, The Harrogate Advertiser described how: “The front door opened and two men took up positions at the gate, holding it ajar. Another went across the road to a gate a few yards down the Drive which opens on to Harlow Moor. He pushed the gate back, and wedged it. That was the setting of the scene.

A small group of spectators, including two plain clothes officers, had not long to wait for the actors, for in a few moments there emerged from the house a most laughable and grotesque company. Like as the animals are recorded to have entered the Ark, so these latter day fanatics came down the steps two by two.

There was a man for every woman and several of those doughty cavaliers, it was noted, were of a marked semitic cast of countenance. The women without exception advertised a quite new and unexpected suffragette trait - modesty. They had shrouded their their faces with wraps, with antimacassars, with tablecloths and impenetrable veils. No Moslem woman was ever more chary of exposing her features to the gaze of men than these bashful suffragettes! Quite 40 people engaged in this masque, Then over the Moor in divers directions, they scuttled like so many rabbits and were quickly swallowed up in the gathering gloom. Then follows a typical press law-and-order press complaint: Might not they have been arrested for obstructing the police in their duty of watching a criminal? It has been said that a coach and four can be driven through every Act of Parliament. To the police who perforce stood by impotent at the time the extraordinary procession passed, we can only say - ” (Extract from The Harrogate Advertiser, June 1914)

One can almost imagine what was said, when it was revealed that the police, arriving to capture that wily female Pimpernel, were outwitted. Lilian, dressed in a boy's suit given to her by Leonora, had slipped out of the boarding house and escaped, racing over Harlow Moor to freedom. Lilian was not re-arrested  and survived in liberty for that day, at least.

                                       

In 1916, Leonora Cohen and her family returned to Leeds, where she remained active in both the Suffragette and the Trade Union movements, and by 1924, was appointed the first woman Magistrate in Yorkshire. Many years later, Leonora appeared with two other still-living Suffragettes on the cover of the Radio Times, to publicise the BBC's ‘Shoulder to Shoulder’ series about Votes for Women story.  Her scrapbooks and memorabilia are now kept in The Abbey House Museum in Leeds. 

                                        

Leonora Cohen, the Tower Suffragette: a most amazing woman! 

 

However, I want to end this post by mentioning the 'Tower Suffragette' display that so caught my attention, and thank the Local Studies team for the work that created those three boards at Harrogate Library, building shown below.

                                

 The display is part of a year-long local project, celebrating the anniversary of Women’s Suffrage through the lives of Leonora Cohen and two other local women: Dr. Laura Soby Veale, a pioneer lady doctor, and Lady Frainy Bomanji, wife of a shipping magnate and local philanthropist. 

This August, their stories, and others, will inform 'Winning Women', a specially-designed walking tour led by enthusiastic local expert Harry Satloka and friends, probably starting opposite Betty’s Cafe and close by the War Memorial. Visitors can enjoy a slice of the town’s history as well as a slice (or two) of delicious local cake. Though please note that many other establishments are available.                            


Penny Dolan

Hannah More, by Sue Purkiss

 Twelve or so years ago, I started a creative writing class in Cheddar, where I live. I tried out several venues, one of which was a house owned by the Parish Council, named Hannah More Cottage. It's a pleasant looking old cottage with whitewashed walls, small windows and a pretty garden: the roof used to be thatched, but now it's tiled. Inside, there's a large room where meetings take place, and where, at the beginning of May, local artists exhibit as part of an annual - and very successful - arts trail. There's also a much smaller room, with book shelves and wooden settles on either side of a fireplace.

It's called after Hannah More because this is where, in 1789, she started a village school. Miss More (after reading about the sort of person she was, I think she would find it overly familiar of me to call her 'Hannah') was born in Bristol, but now lived in nearby Wrington. She was an experienced school teacher, having taught at a school her father had founded in Bristol, and also at schools in Somerset which she ran with her sisters. She was also a philanthropist and a poet, and wrote moral and religious tracts - which sold in large numbers: a series of tracts written in 1796 exhorted the poor  'to rely on virtues of contentment, sobriety, humility, industry, reverence for the British Constitution, hatred of the French, and trust in God and the kindness of the gentry' (Wikipedia) - but still managed to sell over two million copies.

She must have visited Cheddar and been horrified by the poverty she saw there, because she suggested to her friend William Willberforce MP (famous for championing the abolition of slavery) that he should go there and see the benighted state of the poor. Equally appalled, he agreed that something must be done, and offered to finance a school if Miss More would organise it. So, in 1789, the cottage was given a new thatched roof and presumably a lick of whitewash, and 140 children gathered to inaugurate her Sunday school. The part nearest the camera had formerly been an ox shed, but now became the classroom: the front section was a cottage, for the use of the headmistress, a Mrs Baker from Bristol. People complained about this radical idea of educating the poor, but she declared to the Bishop of Bath and Wells: her schools 'taught only 'such coarse works as may fit them [their charges] for servants. I allow no writing for the poor. My object is... to train up the lower classes in habits of industry and piety.' (Also Wikipedia.) School must have been a lot of fun.

Hannah More Cottage

Whatever it was like, the school was soon well established. When she died in 1833, she left £50 towards the cost of a new school in Cheddar, next to the cottage. The Marquis of Bath (whose family still own Cheddar Caves and part of Cheddar Gorge, as well as Longleat) contributed £100 and the rest of the cost was raised by public subscription. This became the National School, only finally closing in 1964, when the Kings of Wessex School opened.

The National School, which followed on from Hannah More's Cottage. It's now been converted into flats.

There is a reproduction of her portrait hanging in the cottage, and I used to look at it and think that she looked like a rather sweet, kindly old lady. Having read more about her, I'm not so sure about that. She was certainly extremely capable, but she was also quite formidable. 

In her youth, she was engaged for six years to one William Turner. He finally broke the engagement, but agreed to compensate her by paying her an annuity of £200 a year for the rest of her life - and it was this that gave her the freedom to pursue her literary interests. She spent a good deal of time in London, meeting Samuel Johnson, Joshua Reynolds, Edmund Burke, David Garrick (who penned the forward to a play she wrote), and many others. She was anti-slavery, and she became a member of a group of literary women caleed the Bluestockings. But she wasn't a feminist. She refused to read Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792), and turned down an offer of honorary membership of the Royal Society of Literature, seeing her 'sex alone as a disqualification.'

Hannah More was buried in this grave, with her four sisters, none of whom seem to have married. The churchyard is in Wrington, where Miss More lived for many years. It's a lovely village, which probably hasn't changed that much since her time there.

This is a very brief look at the life of someone who contributed enormously to the lives of many children, in Cheddar and in the other schools she founded with her sisters. Who knows how many lives were influenced by her? - and hopefully not only to become sevants. 

She isn't the figure that, based on very little evidence, I had imagined. And this makes me think about the process of creating characters based on real historical figures. Suppose I had been thinking or writing a novel based on her life. (Full disclosure: I'm not.) I could write a book based on the things she did, the people she met and so on: I could make suppositions about how her broken engagement affected her and changed the course of her life.

But there would really be no way of knowing how close I had got to the truth, to the person she really was. And so would it be fair, to take what I know of her, and weave a story round that, knowing that, in all probability, she was a far less sympathetic character than the one I had created?

It's a tricky one.

(Apologies for the erratic font sizing. This seems to happen when you copy and paste quotes, and I've tried but failed to sort it out.)

The Golden Hour by Kate Lord Brown

Reviewed by Stephanie Williams

I must have been about thirteen when my imagination was first captured by Akhenaten, the legendary pharaoh who brought the revolutionary idea of one god to Egypt in the fourteenth century BCE.   His wife, rumoured to be his sister, was even more romantic:  the beautiful, powerful and mysterious Nefertiti.  

 

Bust of Nefertiti, Nofretete Neues Museum

My source was a wonderful historical novel by someone like Mary Renault, who I was devouring at the time — but it wasn’t … whatever the book was, it is long gone, leaving me with an enduring fascination with Egypt.  Last year, I was lucky enough to float down the Nile to see the Valley of the Kings and the temple of Karnak at Luxor — where, in the days when it was ancient Thebes, Nefertiti may once have walked.

‘Fair of face, great of charm,’ Nefertiti represented the female element of creation, while her husband was a living god — their source, the sun, worshipped by holding up a disc to the sun.  Through your prayers to them, you would have access to the true god. Together Akhenaten and Nefertiti overhauled the state’s religion, based on a pantheon of gods and their henchmen.  The king’s feet never touched the earth, their whole life, from daily worship, to the marital bed was a religious act. 

A house altar showing Akhenaten, Nefertiti and three of their daughters. 18th dynasty, reign of Akhenaten

After 17 years, Akhenaten died. What happened to Nefertiti afterwards is a matter of dispute.  Did Nefertiti rule briefly as a female pharaoh? Oversee the kingdom as regent? Akenhaten’s son – DNA testing suggest Nefertiti was not his mother -- was the legendary child pharaoh, Tutankhamun, whose golden sarcophagus has entranced millions around the globe.  He repudiated his father’s sun worship, and reinstated the old gods.  

 

When did she die?  One thing is certain, despite generations of strenuous efforts, her tomb has never been found.  

 

The quest to find Nefertiti’s tomb is the inspiration behind Kate Lord Brown’s new novel, The Golden Hour. 

Archaeologist Dr Lucie Fitzgerald has travelled to the Lebanon in March 1975, to visit her dying mother, Polly.  Beirut is emptying; it is the eve of the civil war. Polly, whose life has been consumed breeding Arabian horses on a farm west of Cairo, and after the war, outside Beirut, knows that it is time to tell her daughter the truth about her close friendship with Lucie’s godmother, Juno Munro.

 

The narrative weaves back and forth between 1975 Beirut and 1939 Cairo and the Valley of the Kings where Juno, an archaeologist, is part of a team searching for the tomb of Nefertiti.  Juno has a particular gift for recording hieroglyphs and scenes from the walls of the tombs they uncover. Disaster intervenes, war descends on Egypt, the dig is closed.  Thirty-five years later, Lucie too is on the track of Nefertiti’s tomb. Professor Brandt, who oversaw Juno’s dig, turns up at Lucie’s lecture on the myth of Osiris in London on the eve of her departure for Cairo.  And we wonder...

 

But the centre of the action is Egypt, and the louche life of the European communities in Cairo at the outbreak of the Second World War.  It is a period which Olivia Manning brought so vividly to life in The Levant Trilogy, later turned into The Fortunes of War, a BBC series from 1987, starring Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson – still out there on DVD.

 

Manning, of course, had lived what she wrote.  Kate Lord Brown has absorbed Egypt. The details of how you run a dig.  That as a pre-war archaeologist you draw, not trace hieroglyphs.  The scent of rosewater, sandalwood, men smoking shisha, coloured glass, carab rings, the golden light at sunset.  Dust. She’s good on horses, the backstreets of Cairo, the old clubs and the Mena House and the vanished quarter of Ezbekiyya.  But I wished for more of a sense of war-time tension. 

 

This is a quick fun read, full of romance, the friendship of women, mysteries and tragedies.  Love and desire:  Polly and Fitz, Juno and Max, Lucie and her handsome Australian, David.  At its heart is the secret on which Lucie’s life turns.    

 

Take it on holiday and enjoy.

 

Stephanie Williams is the author of Olga’s Story,  and Running the Show, The extraordinary stories of the men who governed the British Empire.  Her latest book, The Education of Girls, will be published in the US on 23 May and in the UK later this year.  For more see www.stephanie-williams.com and https://stephaniewilliamswrites.substack.com/

 

Japan’s Jazz Age: Flappers and Feminists ~ by Lesley Downer

‘In the beginning, woman was the sun.’

Hiratsuka Raichō

Moga, pictured in 
Mainichi shimbun 

‘Modern gals’

If you had visited Tokyo in the 1910s and 1920s, you would have met Japanese women stepping out confidently with short flapper skirts and scandalously short hair, a million miles from the stereotypical ‘submissive Japanese woman.’ They were moga - ‘modern gals’ - a term coined by the great Tanizaki Jun’ichirō in his novel A Fool’s Love. Not all women were moga, but there were enough to flavour the era.

While Europe was engulfed in World War I, Japan, which was allied to Britain, was enjoying an economic boom. In the Meiji period, Japan’s Victorian era, the country had burst spectacularly into the modern age and onto the world stage. And by now westernisation, prosperity and mass culture had spread to nearly everyone in Japan. Now everyone was enjoying the benefits.

1929 ad for Shirokiya department store

Speed, sport and sex
After the hard work and discipline of the Victorian era, when the government was determined to build up the nation to protect it against colonisation, the new era (named Taishō, after a new emperor came to the throne) was like a fresh breeze blowing through.

The Meiji constitution had been all about keeping women in their place, slotting them into the template of ‘good wives, wise mothers’. But by the 1910s and 1920s the rebuilding was done. Suddenly people were free to let their hair down and be themselves. 

At last the younger generation had a voice. They didn’t have to follow in the drab footsteps of their elders. Those of us who remember the Sixties - Flower Power, Women’s Lib - will recognise the thrill, the exhilaration. 

Moga 1928 in 'beach pyjama' style

Youth power
This was Japan’s Jazz Age - the age of speed, sport and sex, of anything goes. There was universal education. With one of the world’s largest student populations, Tokyo was enjoying a boom in the publishing of books, journals and newspapers. People were free to think and talk and argue and throw around words and ideas like socialism, Marxism, anarchism, democracy and freedom. They also had money which they could spend any way they liked.

Forget ‘good wife, wise mother’. These women had jobs. They could be typists, elevator girls, shop clerks, nurses, writers, journalists or beauticians, and be financially independent. Some moga worked as waitresses in cafes, dispensing sexual favours where they saw fit, like Naomi in Tanizaki’s ground-breaking A Fool’s Love, a sort of Japanese Lolita, the story of a man hopelessly besotted with one of these cool aloof creatures.

Tipsy by Kobayakawa Kiyoshi

The moga were the trendsetters along with mobo - ‘modern boys’. Moga cut their hair short, like boys, and flaunted short flapper skirts, while dapper mobo wore their hair long and swept back in the all-back style and sported bell bottoms, bowler hats and horn-rimmed Harold Lloyd glasses.

They hung out in cafes and bars, they smoked, talked and argued, they practised free love and they strolled along the Ginza, Tokyo’s most fashionable street. They listened to jazz, danced the Charleston, watched American movies and ate ice cream. Until the authorities clamped down, Marxism was all the rage and everyone read the latest revolutionary Russian novels, such as Aleksandra Kollontai’s A Great Love.

Militant feminists
Out of this fizzing free love milieu sprang pioneering feminists.

Hiratsuka Raichō (1886 - 1971),
 from her autobiography

Hiratsuka Raichō lived the life. She famously said that marriage was ‘slavery during the daytime and prostitution at night.’ In 1908 at the age of 22 she eloped with an older married man, Morita Sohei, and the two tried - and failed - to commit suicide together in time-honoured Japanese fashion. She then had two children by a much younger lover whom she only married when her children were adults, taking her husband’s surname so that her son would not be negatively impacted when he was drafted.

She was also more than prepared to speak up for women’s rights. In 1911 she founded Seitō - Bluestocking - Japan’s first all-women literary magazine. The first words were ‘In the beginning woman was the sun’ - a reminder that in Japanese mythology the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, is the creator of all life.

The first issue of Seitō, 

September 1911,

cover illustration by 

Naganuma Chieko

Seitō was packed with stories and articles expressing women’s sexuality with no holds barred. One story detailed the break up of an arranged marriage, another was a graphic description of casual sex with a man the author picked up in a bar. The upholders of traditional values, particularly in the government, were outraged and both issues were banned.

Then Hiratsuka started publishing articles daring to attack the capitalist system and the established order and demanding women’s rights. For the powers that be this was the last straw. In 1916 the Home Ministry forbade distributors to supply the magazine. Sales instantaneously dried up and the magazine had to close down.

But that didn’t stop Hiratsuka. At the time women were banned from attending political meetings on the basis that they should be at home looking after their families. In 1922 Hiratsuka and her fellow activists managed to get this law overturned though female suffrage was still a long way off. Women were not included when universal male suffrage was introduced in 1925. She and her fellow activists were condemned as ‘New Women’, a term which they enthusiastically embraced.

Yosano Akiko (1878 - 1942)

Seitō’s most famous contributor was the poet Yosano Akiko. She too had an affair with a married man whom she later married; the couple had eleven children. Her first volume of poems, Midaregami - Tangled Hair - was a passionate expression of her love for him. Critics attacked the book as immoral and obscene but it was loved and widely read and became a beacon for supporters of women’s rights. At the height of the Russo-Japanese War she published a poem entitled ‘Thou shalt not die’, exhorting her younger brother who was a soldier not to sacrifice himself for this senseless war. It became the anthem of the anti-war movement and was picked up again after World War II.

Midaregami (Tangled Hair)
by Yosano Akiko

These were women who took their lives in their own hands. Their power was their independence. Perhaps some of them even thought that the times they were a-changing, that a new age was dawning, as we did in the Sixties as we looked forward to the coming of the Age of Aquarius. But those that did discovered all too soon - as we did - that they were wrong. The era of speed, sport and sex turned out to be just a flash of brightness before the darkness of World War II closed in.

For more on Japan’s pioneering feminists, you could read

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: The Autobiography of a Japanese Feminist by Hiratsuka Raichō, translated with an introduction and notes by Teruko Craig (Columbia University Press 2006)
and
A Girl with Tangled Hair: the 399 poems in the Midaregami by Akiko Yosano, translated by Jane Reichhold and Machiko Kobayashi

All images are courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Lesley Downer is a lover of all things Asian and in particular all things Japanese. For more about these amazing women and much else, please see my new book, The Shortest History of Japan (Old Street Publications). My travel book, On the Narrow Road to the Deep North, was also reissued last year, by Eland. For more see www.lesleydowner.com