A study of the past teaches us that human nature and behaviour have not fundamentally changed over the centuries, and that history has been shaped by people of many kinds, both good and bad. Noble deeds, generous actions, devoted loyalties and selfless sacrifice are one side of the coin: on the other are evil, cruelty, bloodshed, betrayal and greed. These less attractive aspects, distasteful as they may be, are nonetheless part of our history, and have helped to make us what we are today. We cannot ignore them if we want to get a full and balanced picture.

Like any other county, Somerset has its share of both aspects, with most books about its history preferring to focus on its more agreeable aspects. However, a study of the darker side of the county’s highly varied past can yield some fascinating and sometimes surprising results. In the past, life could often be very precarious, with medical knowledge and expertise being far less developed than those we take for granted today. Apart from some of the larger towns and cities, most counties were largely rural in character, and had to rely on the limited knowledge of a local ‘wise’ man or woman. Quack ‘doctors’ – charlatans with little or no medical knowledge – could set up in practice with no regulation, and were an additional danger to the gullible, unwary or desperate.

The nature and cause of illness were often not understood, or attributed to completely incorrect assumptions, frequently resulting in the administration of treatments which were more dangerous than the diseases themselves. Bizarre concoctions such as ‘Celestial Water’, ‘Dragon’s Water’ and ‘Venice Treacle’ could contain such ingredients as wormwood, opium, gum arabic and viper’s flesh! An ever-present fear was that of plague, which could sometimes wipe out a whole community andresult in a completely deserted village, of which several examples exist in Somerset. A succession of poor harvests could also have devastating results.

Warfare in its various forms could also lead to major loss of life, particularly in earlier times when there was no standing army, and obligations required tenants to fight for their feudal lord. Civil wars tended to range up and down the country, and could affect even some of the remoter areas. Somerset folk saw their share of action during such conflicts as the English Civil War and the Monmouth Rebellion, and even much earlier, when they were obliged to deal with invasions by Viking raiders intent on plunder.

Law and order has often been a difficult concept to enforce, whether in urban or rural surroundings. Severe hardship often led people to commit desperate acts, resulting in horrific punishments which could include hanging, burning, mutilation, transportation or long periods of imprisonment in unspeakable conditions – often for what we would regard today as trivial offences. Documentary evidence from the late 18th and early 19th centuries which gives us details of the names, crimes and sentences of transportees from Somerset makes fascinating reading.

Somerset has seen plenty of wickedness over the centuries, especially in the days when life was cheap and people could sometimes become desperate. How did a curate of the Church of England once end up in a cauldron? And who was the man who murdered his child and threw her body down a mineshaft? Harrowing tales, but all part of the county’s colourful history. Everyone loves a mystery, and Somerset has some intriguing ones, including people like Nancy Camel who disappeared without trace, unexplained phenomena such as the Beast of Exmoor, ghostly encounters with long-dead monks and cases of demonic possession, like that of George Lukins of Yatton.

England’s story has been called ‘an interwoven pattern of history and legend’, and the history of Somerset is a good example of this. Indeed, it is sometimes hard to separate fact from fancy, as is the case with the Doones of Exmoor. When R. D. Blackmore wrote his best-selling novel Lorna Doone, published in 1869, he drew his inspiration from a well-known local tradition of a band of desperate outlaws who terrorised the area in the 17th century. His technique of blending real and imaginary characters in the story convinced many readers that the story was true, and even today,
many visitors come in search oft the locations so vividly described in the book.

No matter where we live, delving into the darker aspects of our history can be intriguing, illuminating and often surprising, but never dull…

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Like its English and Scottish counterparts, every corner of Wales has a magical figure connected to it. Whether hag like beings (the gwrach), fairies, or human practitioners of charming and cursing, every region has its story. Many of these figures are legends, but many others were historical practitioners who plied their cunning trade from the height of the middle ages into the modern period. The dynion hysbys (‘knowing ones’) are the Welsh counterparts to the cunning folk of many other European cultures (bean/fear feasa in Ireland, wisemen/women in England, pellars in Cornwall, curanderas in Spain, hexenmeisters in Germany etc,). This semi-professional position in society existed from the medieval age right through to the beginning of the twentieth century.

In a society where the supernatural forces were understood to play a role, communities often resorted to magical means to solve some of life’s problems. Say you lost something valuable, or one of your cows wandered off, or you became sick with a strange malady you would turn to the dynion hysbys to figure out a solution. While people would go to the clergy for God’s help, sometimes it was faster to approach the local wiseman/woman. Utilizing astrology, old charms, conjuring spirits, summoning the faeries, or even sometimes common psychology the dynion hysbys gave their prescriptions… for a price. These were magicians for hire, wise in the ways of the supernatural, but understood to mostly be working on the side of good.

The enemy of the dynion hysbys were those who practiced malefic magic. These were not necessarily called witches in Wales, however, because more often than not anyone could perform a curse. In North Wales is the famous Ffynnon Elian (St. Elian’s Well), which for centuries was a cursing well, a spot anyone could go to and pay to have someone cursed using the power of the sacred well. Indeed, the very notion of witchcraft in Wales is so different from England and Scotland. In large parts of the folklore, witchcraft was not necessarily different from the practices everyone did, but whether it was intended for good or ill. A witch was not something you were, it was something you did, and anyone was potentially capable of causing harm. Only in later centuries did English concepts of witches and witchcraft enter the culture and we see similar motifs of witches causing trouble, dedicating themselves to the devil, and resembling the English folkloric witch more. 

Even the very word witch was imported into the Welsh language for the sole purpose of describing the crime of witchcraft as it was understood in the English law codes. It often surprises the uninformed to learn that there were only five official witchcraft trials in Wales, as opposed to the hundreds in Scotland and England. The dynion hysbys in many folktales therefore primarily stop theft (a much more serious crime in Welsh legal tradition), unwitch someone who has been cursed, and prescribe healing to the sick.  Many of these characters, grounded in historical practitioners, became central to local legend and many sites connected to them remain to this day.

Despite the cultural difference between Welsh and English cultures around witchcraft, witches do appear in abundance in the folklore, with many of them capable of both harming and healing. One of the legendary witches of North Wales, Bella Fawr of Denbigh, appears in the lore as a monstrous member of the Llanddona witches who arrived one day shipwrecked on an Anglesey Beach and who went on to terrorized the island. Yet, in another folktale, the same Bella appears as a wisewoman assisting her neighbour uncover the identity of a harming neighbour. This legendary Bella is based upon a late 18th century fynion hysbys, Bela of Dinbych, who travelled the markets of the north reading her playing cards to any who wished their fortune told.

Aside from the witches and dynion hysbys, a third branch of magical character appears in the lore. These purely legendary magicians appear connected to every region, and often have the same stock stories connected to them. Among them are clergymen or monks, knights, prophets, and regular trickster figures. Some of these characters were based on historical figures from history, while some are purely legendary. The classic image of the welsh magician is: a character who learns his art from a master after mishaps with a magic book; he (as they are almost always male) compacts with the Devil to protect crops, bring in the harvest, build bridges, and punish thieves. He is able to conjure spirits to ride them around the world, and often visits Kings and Popes. Near the end of his life, the magician tries to save himself by cheating the Devil one last time and usually is buried in the wall of the local church. Some of the most well-known of this peculiarly specific Welsh characters involve John o’ Kent, Huw Llwyd, Robin Ddu Ddewin, and Sion Davies Sirevan. These stock characters, virtually identical in story to each other with onloy the specific information adapted for place, appear to have links with the legendary magicians of England and Scotland, such as Michael Scotus, Friar Bacon, and the archetype Dr Johann Faustus. I theorize that Welsh tradition was introduced to these characters and assimilated them entirely to form a uniquely Welsh set of tales.

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For the main they were a cross-section of ordinary people – our fathers and grand-mothers – who took risks when it mattered. Fortunately, for family and local historians, the records are now largely online. The book will show you where the records are and how to use them. Relatively few civilians received a gallantry medal. When it was decided to recognise their bravery most received an official Letter of Commendation. The paperwork largely survives. As well the men and women directly involved in rescuing the injured, these Letters also recognised the vital work carried out by the gas workers, electricians, train drivers and dockyard workers to keep Britain going during the wider war in general.

One such recipient was 95-year-old Lillian Halles of North Kensington who was commended for extinguishing fires caused by incendiary devices in her house. She carried water and sand from her room on the first floor to put out fires which had started in the attic, before calling for help. She was probably the oldest person on either side to be officially recognised for bravery during the war.

Most men of our civilian heroes just received a letter of commendation, but a few exceptionally brave individuals were awarded a gallantry medal. The George Cross (GC) and George Medal (GM) were established in September 1940 to recognise exception bravery by civilians. The GC is awarded for acts of the greatest heroism or of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger and is the civilian equivalent of the Victoria Cross. The George Medal was awarded for conspicuous gallantry not in the presence of the enemy. Civilians could also receive the Order of the British Empire (OBE), Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) or British Empire Medal (BEM) for heroism. The youngest recipient of the George Medal was 14-year old Charity Blick, from West Bromwich, who received it for carrying messages between ARP stations during a very heavy air raid.

Three members of Twickenham’s Fire Brigade were awarded several gallantry medals for bravery during an air raid on Hampton. Chief Fire Officer William Woods received a George Medal, while Section Officer Ernest Stevens and Fireman Ernest Weller were each awarded a BEM. The citation, which was printed in the London Gazette, read:

‘On the occasion of a serious bombing incident when a number of houses and shops were wrecked [these men] were occupied for nearly three hours in rescue work, obtaining access to trapped inmates through a small hole in the debris. All the time there was the greatest likelihood that tons of masonry would collapse on them. Much of this was only supported by a few bricks.’

We know more about the gallantry performed by William Woods and his colleagues from files now at The National Archives. During the raid Mr and Mrs Tuffin (as well as their dog), became trapped by debris after a high-explosive bomb had dropped nearby, killing four people. Mr Tuffin was found ‘pinned down by a large dining table on its side across his legs and a huge slab of concrete on his back and his chest wedged between the back of the chair’.

His wife, meanwhile, was buried in debris up to the waist under the table, where the couple had been sheltering. Mr Woods and his colleagues, working in the pitch black, ‘had first to cut an aperture in the tabletop to make contact. This was very difficult, owing to the close proximity of Mr Tuffin and the small space to work in, then to relieve the pressure from his legs, the major portion of the debris had to be lifted with a 5-ton jack.’ To release Mrs Tuffin, ‘it was necessary to remove with the hand, and lying on the stomach, about a yard of debris’. Eventually, the Tuffins were pulled free and taken to hospital, where they recovered from their traumatic experience.

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The warlord led his fleet down the estuary, fresh from victory in the north or the island, where he had killed King Alban, sometime around 1,000 BCE. Alban’s elder brother, King Locrine, met and defeated Humber on the south bank of the river, and the proto-British army cheered as Humber drowned in the muddy waters. This is the first historical mention of traffic on the Humber, and it’s a pretty grim origins story. The violent death of Humber the Hun turned the waters choppy for centuries to come; but these are waters we no longer have to traverse by boat. And if you do fancy making that ancient north-to-south-bank journey by water, you’ll struggle. The final ferry chugged its last crossing in 1981.

Humber ferries – the early years

The earliest boat associated with the Humber was discovered during a local gasworks excavation on the east bank of the River Ancholme near Brigg in 1886. It was the best-preserved neolithic boat ever found (carbon-dated to around 900 BC), carved from a single tree trunk. It was due to be sent to the British Museum, but Carey Elwes, the local landowner (from the family long associated with Elsham Hall), claimed the boat, arguing and winning his case in the High Court of Chancery.

The Romans had managed a ferry service called the Transitus Maximus in the first century AD, crossing from Winteringham to Brough. The Roman London-to-York-via-Lincoln road, Ermine Street, terminated on the banks of the Humber at Barton, with a ferry enabling the as-the-crow-flies legions to continue on their way to York. A ferry is also mentioned in local records involving a dispute about tolls in the reign of Edward the Confessor in the mid-eleventh century.

The Danish place names North Ferriby and South Ferriby hint at a ferry crossing between the two villages, but the narrowest crossing point of the Humber is near Barton, and the need for a ferry is the probable reason for that town’s foundation. The value of the crossing and the tolls it brought to Barton was not lost on King John (1166–1216), who raised a £33 11s 9d tax annually from customs duties in the town – that’s equivalent to around £60,000 today.

Humber ferries – danger and politics

Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe’s crossing of the Humber from Barton to Hull in 1748 provided an excuse for complaint, one of Defoe’s favourite modes of written communication:

“There are seven good towns on the sea coast, but I include not Barton, which stands on the Humber, as one of them, being a straggling mean town, noted for nothing but an old fashioned, dangerous passage; a ferry over the Humber to Hull, where, in an open boat, in which we had about fifteen horses and ten or twelve cows mingled with about seventeen or eighteen passengers, we were about four hours tossed about on the Humber before we could get into the harbour at Hull.”

The first steam ferry, the PS Caledonia, braved the choppy waters in 1814. These vessels were not without their hazards, though. In 1826, the PS Graham’s boiler burst midway between Grimsby and Hull, killing several passengers, some of whom were blasted into the water. Regardless of this early setback, steamer ferries remained an iconic feature of the Humber for the next 130 years

New Holland’s transformation from a pub and a few fields to a major ferry terminal began in 1825 with the establishment of the New Holland Proprietors Company. The switch of the main Humber-crossing route from Barton to New Holland was controversial, as the passage from A to B was actually longer via New Holland (one mile more by water and half a mile more by land). The Postmaster General ordered a trial of the two ferries, with light mail carts travelling overland to Barton and New Holland to see which was quicker. New Holland won by three minutes, probably due to poor roads. The pro-Barton camp argued that a fully-laden mail cart would have struggled on the Barton road as much as on the New Holland road. But money had been spent at the new terminal, the New Holland Proprietors company packed a big punch, and the decision was largely political rather than practical.

Bridging the Gap – eventually

Spanning 7,280 feet (2,220 metres), the Humber Bridge was the world’s longest single-span suspension bridge when it opened to traffic on 24 June 1981. Its innovative design employed hollow reinforced concrete towers, 155 metres high, to suspend the bridge spans. It was the first bridge to use this technique, marking a shift from the traditional steel towers used in previous suspension bridges.

In 1974, the ‘Bridging the Gap’ exhibition in Grimsby proved popular with children, many of whom (me included) went home clutching bagfuls of free pencils, stickers and fat brochures from various businesses and sponsors (which our mothers binned a few weeks later). Bridging the Gap promised us a 1976 bridge opening date, and we couldn’t wait. Five years late, the bridge was opened by Queen Elizabeth I on 17 July 1981, with a fly-past by the Red Arrows adding a touch of drama to the ceremony. Unfortunately, the Archbishop of York opted for an overlong dedicatory prayer, and the Arrows shot overhead as he shouted his way to the prayer’s conclusion.

The bridge cost £98 million (equivalent to £345 million today), which was triple the original estimates. The project currently owes taxpayers £150 million, although it contributes significantly to the local economy on both sides of the river. It’s a shame about the ferries, but I think it’s safe to say that everyone loves the bridge.

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Peter Drummond has roamed the coastlines and harbours of Scotland for over thirty years, always with his trusty camera in hand. Although the Scottish weather can make both photography and travelling a challenge, Peter has accepted the challenge enthusiastically, battling mist, downpours and all manner of trials to produce some of the most beautiful photography of vessels that give a small glimpse into a bygone age.

Fishing Boats Around Scotland: The Colour Album is a celebration of the very best days, from ring-netters in Ardrishaig to seiners in Whitehills and many more besides, all in vibrant, beautiful colour.

Highlights include:

• No black and white images in this book – 230 pictures, all colour.

• A variety of locations on the west coast of Scotland are featured, from Kirkcudbright to Kinlochbervie, and on the east coast from Pittenweem to Wick.

• A variety of different types of fishing vessel built between 1948 and 2023 are illustrated – former side trawlers and ring-net boats; stern trawlers; seiners; pelagic trawlers; purse seiners; beam trawlers; crabbers; scallop dredgers etc., sometimes with some of Scotland’s scenery in the background.

• Vessels from over eighty different boatbuilders and shipbuilders are on show.

• Brief histories of all vessels illustrated including name and number changes.

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After the Ice Age the Forest of Arden developed and then, through the Stone and Iron Ages, the Romans, the Saxons and the Normans, a small hamlet began to grow in one of its clearings. The years that followed saw Birmingham develop into a market town and then grow into a large industrial town. Now the time machine has brought you to the year 1854 and you’re standing in what was then described as a slum area. But this is all going to change because in this same year a young, ambitious man arrived in town. He’d come from London to join his uncle’s screw-making business, Nettlefolds, which was one of the largest in Birmingham. Then, when the uncle retired, and his son and nephew became partners, that business became known as Nettlefolds and Chamberlain. But aside from his business ventures, Joseph Chamberlain was to change the face of Birmingham.

Chamberlain was born in 1836 in London but has certainly been adopted as a Brummie. A bright and confident young man he was known to speak his mind and many of his contemporaries were at the receiving end of his sharp wit. By 1869 he knew where his future lay and in that year his career started when he was elected onto the town council and within a short time he began to set things into motion. He was clever and by making sure some of his friends were also elected, therefore ensuring he had no opposition, over the ensuing years Birmingham would see many improvements thanks to him. From improving sanitary to street lighting, building new schools and libraries, installing new pavements with trees being planted along those pavements, Joseph Chamberlain did it all.

In 1873 he became Mayor of Birmingham. Now Joseph saw his chance for real improvement and when the Artisan’s and Labourer’s Dwellings Improvement Act of 1875 was introduced he could turn his dream into reality. Nobody was coming to Birmingham to shop. Birmingham was looked down on by the elite shoppers who chose to go to Leamington Spa or London instead. Joseph wanted to change all that with his dream of a tree-lined street in Birmingham similar to a Parisian boulevard.

Work began in August 1878 and ninety-five acres of land, most of which was considered a slum area, was totally cleared. When it was finished Joseph got his wish, people did flock to Corporation Street and all its shops. Which was a good job because through this scheme Birmingham had been placed in a lot of debt which by the end of the 1870’s amounted to £6,212,000.

However by now Joseph had left local politics and moved into the mainstream. In 1876 he was elected a Member of Parliament with the Liberal party and within a few years had become a Cabinet Minister. He resigned from the cabinet in 1903 but, despite suffering a stroke in 1906, he remained an MP until his retirement in 1914. Sadly his retirement was short lived as he died six months later.

Evidence of Joseph Chamberlain is all around Birmingham but if anyone mentions the name Chamberlain to an outsider, they are probably more likely to think of Neville Chamberlain, rather than his father Joseph. Neville was born in 1869 in Edgbaston, Birmingham and educated at Rugby School. Not having any real ambition he was sent by his father to manage a plantation in the Bahamas, which Joseph had specifically acquired for this purpose. He returned home six years later having made his father a loss of £50,000. But undeterred his family helped him to buy a metal ship berth manufacturing company, which did prove to be a success.

So far he was showing little interest in politics however, in 1911, that was going to change. He became a member of the Birmingham Council and then, like father like son, became mayor in 1915. Following his father into the House of Commons, but not with the same party, he became the Conservative MP for Ladywood in 1918. Within five years he had risen through the ranks. First as Minister of Health and then as Chancellor of the Exchequer. Then in May 1937, on the resignation of Stanley Baldwin, he became Prime Minister. Something his father didn’t achieve, which is why Neville is thought to be the more famous of the two.

By now there was unrest in Europe and, like so many who had witnessed the First World War, Neville was desperate to avoid another war with Germany. So in September 1938 he travelled to Munich to meet Adolf Hitler and returned waving a piece of white paper, with a smile on his face, and saying ‘peace in our time’. But that was not to be. Twelve months later he was forced to declare war with Germany. The next eight months were horrendous and it was feared that Germany would easily win. Everyone lost confidence in Neville Chamberlain and he was forced to resign on the 10th of May 1939. But had an undiagnosed health problem caused his lack of ability to govern. In July, after experiencing chronic stomach pain, he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and died four months later on the 9th of November 1940.

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World War I

The Women’s Land Army was established by the British government to recruit women and girls to work in Britain’s agriculture industry in both twentieth century world wars. The necessity was prompted by large numbers of men leaving their employment to join the armed forces, and the knowledge that 60% of British food was imported with the prospect of supplies being disrupted. Numbers of women working in agricultural settings had been falling for decades. Compared with 43,946 identified in the 1861 population Census, there were just 13,245 females recorded as ‘agricultural labourers’ in the 1911 Census.

The First World War started in July 1914 and by February 1916, 250,000 men had left agricultural occupations with another 100,000 following the passing of the Military Services Act that conscripted, with few exceptions, all single men aged between eighteen and forty-one. A plea was made for 200,000 women and girls to replace them, coupled with a dire warning that labour shortages could lead to the country’s food production falling by between 15% and 25%. The prospect of food stocks reducing to just three weeks led to the urgent need for the cultivation of 2.5 million more acres of land, and for females to help supply the additional food.

In November 1917, the likelihood of food queues prompted Lloyd George, Prime Minister, to admit that ‘German submarines are trying to starve us by sinking the ships which are used to carry to our shores the abundant harvests of other lands.’ Food prices had risen by 42% in 1916, and food rationing was imposed in January 1918.

Claims were made that Hampshire was the most successful English county to recruit, train and place women and girls in local farms. As early as April 1915, two years before the Women’s Land Army was formed, a four-week course, devised by David Cowan, Hampshire’s Director of Education, was being taught at the county’s farm school at Sparsholt. Much was made of the students’ social class; ‘far above…the ordinary labouring class’, was a local newspaper comment.

Many people played a part in the recruitment of women and girls to work on farms. Hampshire’s Women’s Land Army committee had a formidable array of responsibilities to fulfil; the selection of suitable candidates, the organisation of a wide variety of training, the provision of accommodation, the allocation of farms, and pastoral care requirements, among them. Approximately one half of Women’s Land Army workers were employed in dairy associated duties, with the others spread around many farming activities.

By the end of the War, Hampshire accounted for about 3,500 of the country’s 23,000 full-time Women’s Land Army members, 12,000 working in “Agriculture”, with the remainder in the “Foraging” and “Forestry” sections. When the disbandment of the Women’s Land Army occurred in November 1919, many members remained in the agriculture sector, leading to a Hampshire farmer being delighted that he would ‘never again have a man to look after his poultry.’

World War II

If the British government was slow addressing the crucial issues following the departure of large numbers of men to serve in the armed forces in the First World War, that was not the case when the Second World War broke out in September 1939. The Women’s Land Army had been re-formed in February that year, and food rationing was imposed in January 1940, not to be completely lifted until 1954. Despite extensive advertising, numbers of females coming forward rarely matched demand for them, accommodation was in short supply, and another appeal for more land for cultivation was needed as German U boats were severely disrupting food and other supplies.

Once again Hampshire was in the forefront of the recruitment of Women’s Land Army members, known as “land girls”, with the county’s National Farmers’ Union Chairman claiming ‘that there were more land girls in Hampshire than in any other county in England.’ By January 1940, 609 land girls were already employed on Hampshire’s farms, a number that steadily grew to 2,611. The national number of employed land girls peaked at 87,000 in 1943 but had fallen to 43,125 in 1945. Most recruits were single women with an age range of 17 to about 45, and from a wide variety of previous occupations. The first week-long courses at Sparsholt’s farm school taught land girls to drive tractors, reflecting the large increase in numbers on farms compared with the First World War.

When the War in Europe ended in 1945, continued food shortages, the reemployment of fewer male workers than expected, the raising of the school leaving age, and former prisoners of war returning to their home countries, led to the continuing encouragement of females to remain in farming to support a “Food Comes First” campaign. The Women’s Land Army was finally demobilised in November 1950. Accolades were commonplace; one was that land girls ‘had obeyed the call of duty in the nation’s hour of great peril and need, and the nation owed them an everlasting debt.’

That was undoubtedly so, but not without justification was the Women’s Land Army described as a “Cinderella” operation. Land girls were not awarded the same levels of leaving gratuities that other female wartime workers received, they were not invited to march past the Cenotaph on Remembrance Day until 2000, and it was October 2014 before a statue was unveiled at the National Arboretum by the Countess of Essex. Over 240,000 women and girls served on British farms in both world wars, and it must be hoped that the 75th anniversary of the disbandment of the Women’s Land Army in November 2025 will be suitably marked.

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The Gentle County, Waterford, can boast a proud sporting tradition. It is as long as it is varied. It’s largest urban area, Waterford City, has witnessed bull-baiting at Ballybricken to the roller hockey craze at the Olympia Ballroom. Similarly, the towns and villages of the Déise were keen and steadfast in their own sporting endeavours. Boxing, cricket, cycling, horse racing and polo were some of the pastimes enjoyed by communities from Carrick-on-Suir to Cappoquin. Sporting events became – and remain – a huge part of the social calendar of County Waterford’s inhabitants. Such competitions and festivities brought many around Ireland to the South-East. Pursuits such as horse racing saw County Tyrone-native, Johnny Ryan (1826-1907), receive the patronage of the Marquess of Waterford in 1834. Ryan’s impressive record of (at least) 112 victories from 130 races wearing the colours of Lord Waterford stands as one of the greatest win records in the history of the sport. No doubt he was provided with enough insight and advice from Lord Waterford, who in 1840 came 4th in the Grand National, aboard his horse, The Sea. Ryan would better his patron’s effort at the National, however, it was a trio of third place finishes.

Another popular pastime that was becoming increasingly lucrative was pugilism. And a colossus of the sport in the 19th century was a Lismore-native known as the ‘Irish Giant,’ Ned O’Baldwin (1840-75). Standing at 6ft 6 1/2in and weighing 200lbs, O’Baldwin became a well-known fighting figure in England, before making his way to America. However, he never delivered on the promise of his early performances in the sweet science, and would meet a bloody end in September 1875. O’Baldwin was shot by his business partner in a saloon. A piece in the Chicago Citizen concluded that Ned O’Baldwin ‘… gained notoriety, if not fame, as a pugilist.’

Similar infamy followed the life of Waterford-born tennis player, Vere Thomas St. Leger Goold (1853-1909). He holds the rather unique and unusual distinctions of being the first tennis player born on the island of Ireland to contest a Wimbledon final, as well as being the only Wimbledon finalist to be convicted of murder. As people based across the county made their name in a variety of sports abroad, there would be an equally significant contribution made by its inhabitants to the development of the Gaelic Athletic Association. The individual who coined the name of the organisation that governs the native games of hurling and Gaelic football was Knockhouse-born and Mount Sion School educated John Wyse Power (1859-1926). His role as one of the early secretaries of the association set it on firm foundations. Wyse Power’s Waterford connections saw Tramore host the first All-Ireland Athletics Championships under the auspices of the GAA. Subsequently, John became the first Chairman of the Dublin County Board. He even inspired the character of ‘John Wyse Nolan’ in James Joyce’s Ulysses.

And in these native sports, All-Ireland success would be some time in coming for the Déise. Though not for Fourmilewater’s Jack Dwan and Glendaloughin’s (The Nire) Larry Tobin, who played for the Clonmel Shamrocks. The Clonmel club represented County Tipperary, which won the 1900 All-Ireland Gaelic Football Championship. This led Sean O’Donnell to note in a letter to the Irish Press (in 1964) that Dwan and Tobin were ‘the first Waterford men to win All-Ireland medals.’

Undoubtedly one of the most-underrated and neglected sporting figures raised by the River Suir was Dublin-born golfer Patrick Joseph Mahon (1906-45). Paddy attended Mount Sion in the city, and caddied at Tramore and Waterford Golf Clubs. Mahon later became a professional at the Royal Dublin Club around 1934. The next few years were hugely successful, as Mahon regularly competed for the top honour at the Irish Professional Championship, played in the Open Championship, as well as becoming the first Irish golfer to win a tournament in Britain. This latter success came in the 1935 Western Isles (North of Scotland) Championship at Islay. Two years later, Mahon’s form saw him become the most-talked about golfer in the world and touted to become the first Irishman to play in the Ryder Cup. His form saw him top the list for the most in-form golfers in 1937 (essentially World No. 1), but missed out on competing in the Ryder Cup due to an interpretation of the residency rule in that competition’s Deed of Trust.

Moreover, the 20th century increasingly saw women try to develop their own sporting competitions. Some documenters purport that a game between sides from Dungarvan and Waterford city which took place in the Old Boro on 24th August 1913 as ‘the inauguration of ladies’ hurling in Waterford City and County…’ The progress of camogie didn’t run smoothly either. We learn in August 1914 that a game between Kilmacthomas and Kilrossanty at Mahon Bridge ended in much acrimony. The Waterford News from the time reported ‘Early in the match suspicion grew stronger as brilliant feat after feat was performed by the suspect.’ The local periodical continued, ‘At about five minutes to go one of the home side took the hat off the doubtful one and it was at once seen that the latter was wearing a wig.’ The report concluded, ‘A rush was made for the wig, which when procured was held aloft by a Kilrossanty player amidst a scene of great excitement.’

Inevitably, such incidents did not help the staging of camogie across the county. One of the most popular sports played by women in Waterford (in the early 20th century) was hockey. As an Irish Ladies’ hockey team toured the United States in 1925, the squad boasted 3 players residing in the Gentle County. They were Mabel Fudger, Isabel de Bromhead and Irene McCullagh. The team won all 13 of their games, scoring 102 goals while conceding only 8 times. McCullagh was hugely influential as the Irish side’s netminder, while Mabel Fudger starred as her team’s top scorer, finishing with 32 goals.

Their legacy would continue with figures such as Josie McNamara, who was adept at camogie, badminton, tennis, table tennis as well as pitch and putt. McNamara is one of the most talented and successful athletes in the story of Waterford sport. More opportunities and variety for women to pursue sport would come as the 20th century went on. There was the Waterford Fencing Club (lasting from 1948 to 1973), the development of the first local Ladies’ Soccer League (1967 to 1970), squash, and surfing to name a few. These stories that are often neglected are just as important, as they show the spirit and endeavour to have sports survive with the hope that they would one day thrive.
The playing of sports from cricket to cycling have risen and waned like the tides of the Suir, and the same can be said of sporting success across the county. However, as often as night follows day, from witnessing dawn along the Copper Coast to sunset at Clonea, where there are games to be played and community spirit, Waterford’s sporting story will continue to evolve, with the best yet to come. Many of those purveyors of such pastimes would echo the legendary words of John Mullane, ‘I love me county.’

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The single most serious incident during the Blitz occurred on the night of the 16/17th April 1941 when the Hospital’s infirmary received a direct hit. More than 50 bed-bound patients had to be rescued from the blazing building as the raid continued overhead. The BBC later recorded one of its earliest outside broadcasts as reporter Wynford Vaughan-Thomas interviewed survivors, including 27 year-old nurse Hannah Deasy, who displayed supreme courage in saving her patients and was later recognised for her bravery.

Very little has been written about this period in the Hospital’s history despite the existence of a significant amount of remarkable archives from the war years. Until a decade ago however, much of this material was stored in cardboard boxes in an attic at the Royal Hospital and was simply not readily available. In 2013 the Hospital authorities decided to digitise this material in order to preserve the contents for future generations and make these archives more accessible.

The task of organising this project was given to Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant, (RQMS) John Rochester of the Royal Hospital’s Quartermasters Department. A 22-year Army veteran, John had seen service in the Gulf War with the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards (Carabiniers and Greys). Taking technical advice from the likes of The National Archives as to how best to proceed, John also recruited some volunteers to help with the workload. Despite my own military connections being limited to four years with the Army Cadet Force during my school years, cap-badged to my local county regiment The Royal Anglian Regiment, John nevertheless accepted me into the ranks of his Royal Hospital Chelsea heritage volunteer militia!

Over the next five years we opened the boxes in the attic, assessing and digitising their contents. The archives contained some remarkable material, including a War Diary compiled by Officers of the Royal Hospital in near real-time, and containing a minute-by-minute account of the Blitz in Chelsea. Some of the material was however contradictory and difficult to interpret, such as for example, apparent evacuation agreements for some, but not all of the Chelsea Pensioner residents. I therefore took the momentous decision to return to university as a very mature student, and spent the next two years at the University of Oxford where I completed a Master’s degree in Historical Studies for which I researched the Royal Hospital’s wartime story.

On completion of my studies my work was recommended for publication given the depth of research and the weight of original archive material used. I expanded my written work to manuscript length and was delighted when The History Press accepted it for publication. The Royal Hospital is now able to use this research in a readily accessible form to tell the wartime story of this much loved and nationally significant institution. In 2024 the annual Founder’s Day parade, in the presence of the Reviewing Officer HRH The Princess Royal, took place on the 6th June, the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings. The Governor, when addressing the massed ranks of assembled Chelsea Pensioners, including Second World War veterans, was able to describe the Hospital’s contribution to this significant turning point in the war, when the Chaplain and Physician & Surgeon quietly left the Royal Hospital in June 1944 to ‘take up positions with Southern Command’, as the invasion force headed for the Normandy beaches.

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Upon the summit of the motte or mound, within the stockade, usually rose a wooden tower, which was the residence of the lord and the ultimate stronghold and vantage point of the castle by reason of its superior height. The exact time and place or origin of this type of fortification is unknown. A castle of this type was mentioned for the first time in ad 1010 and stood on the banks of the Loire in France. It was built by a man skilled in military affairs whose name was Fulk Nerra. He was also the first man to employ mercenary soldiers. It cannot be denied that a motte is a fortress for a man who wishes to defend his family and close friends from all would-be enemies, whether other lords or his own rebellious retainers. Whatever its origin, the motte was in wide use in Normandy before William conquered England.

The tower on the motte was not always a crude and uncomfortable lodgingon stilts as stood at Durham in the castle of Prior Laurence: ‘Four posts are plain, on which it rests, one post at each strong corner.’ Many were comfortable tower houses, as described by Lambert of Ardres in 1117: Arnold, Lord of Ardres, built on the motte of Ardres a wooden house, excelling all the houses of Flanders of that period both in material and in carpenters’ work. The first storey was on the surface of the ground, where were cellars and granaries, and great boxes, tubs, casks and other domestic utensils. In the storey above were the dwelling and common living rooms of the residents, in which were the larders, the rooms of the bakers and butlers, and the great chamber in which the lord and his wife slept.

Adjoining this was the private room, the dormitory of the waiting maids and children. In the inner part of the great chamber was a certain private room, where at early dawn, or in the evening, or during sickness, or at time of blood letting, or for warming the maids and weaned children, they used to have a fire… In the upper storey of the house were garret rooms, in which on the one side the sons (when they wished it) and on the other side, the daughters (because they were obliged) of the lord of the house used to sleep. In this storey the watchmen and servants appointed to keep the house also took their sleep at some time or other. High up on the east side of the house in a convenient place was the chapel, which was designed to resemble the tabernacle of Solomon in its ceiling and painting. There were stairs and passages from storey to storey, from the house into the kitchen, from room to room and again from the house into the loggia, where they used to sit in conversation for recreation, and again from the loggia into the oratory.

It may be noted that neither the Bayeux Tapestry, nor indeed many of the contemporary accounts, mention or show the bailey. It should not be deduced from these facts that in most castles the bailey did not exist, but it should be taken as an implication of the immense importance of the motte both militarily and socially. The bailey must have been essential for stables, barns, smithies and affording shelter for the garrison and its supplies in most, if not all, of the early Norman strongholds. As mentioned above, the Bayeux Tapestry shows several of these castles withtheir towers on the motte and bridges in position. The pictures of the siege of the castle at Dinan shows just how vulnerable they were when fire was used. There can be little doubt that the walls were hung with wet hides to prevent them catching fire.

One of the many tragedies that must have overtaken these houses and their besieged occupants happened in 1190 when the Jews of York were attacked by a mob and had taken refuge in the motte, and many of them perished when it was fired. Motte-and-bailey castles were cheap and quick to build but a castle of importance required more permanent defences, and as timber in contact with damp soil rots quickly, the second build of such a castle would at least be on stone sleeper walls if not entirely rebuilt in stone when circumstances allowed. It was at this time that many sites were abandoned in favour of stronger and healthier sites. Elsdon Castle, the best motte-and-bailey in Northumberland, never had stonework built on it as the occupants moved out when the timber decayed. The remainingmounds, known as the Moat Hills, are worthy of inspection.

The next step in castle building came about by a change of materials rather than tactics, and the keep-and-bailey castle came into being. The keep, normally, was a large square stone structure taking the place of the motte, or incorporating it in its own defences, as at Warkworth. The plans of these castles were the same as those of timber, though as the first urgency of the conquest declined and the lords began to seek the comfort and safety of stone, quite a number of the original sites were abandoned, as was Elsdon, for safer and more suitable ones. The main gate, the most vulnerable point of the bailey, was the first to bestrengthened by a stone tower. A strong square tower, beneath which ran theentrance passage, would be built. Then came the bailey walls enclosing the site; this enabled the occupants to work in safety on the keep and other offices. Norman ramparts can still be seen under the successive layers of stonework of nearly every period at Alnwick, Warkworth, Morpeth, Mitford and Norham.

As mentioned above, keeps were normally large square structures, as at Newcastle, Norham, Bamburgh and Prudhoe. The normal arrangements in these large towers or keeps can be seen to advantage at Newcastle. It is obvious that much in the way of comfort was sacrificed, but in days of peace there would be other more comfortable lodgings in the bailey. Because of their weight, great towers and keeps were seldom placed on the earlier mounds as at Warkworth. To replace the security offered by the height of the motte, the entrance to the later stone keeps was often on the first-or even the second-floor level and housed by a forebuilding.

Bamburgh, built on its rock, was so inaccessible as to be safe with its entrance on the ground floor, or so the builders thought. No two keeps are exactly the same, but all are similar in many respects, internally and externally. They have shallow but tresses in the centre of each side and at the corners. The corner ones often terminate in small angle turrets, but the bases of all of them are splayed. The walls were of great height so as to protect the high-pitched roof from fire arrows. In some castles, such as Warkworth, the keep was so large and of such excellent design that it may have been in general use and at least would have been much more comfortable than most.

Extracted from Castles and Strongholds of Northumberland by Brian Long

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