Dispatches from the North: A Journey from Hartlepool to America

I was reading the local paper the Hartlepool Mail last week and came across this fascinating story. Anyone who has seen Titanic (which is just about everyone in the world, right?) knows that Liverpool and Southamptom were major shipping and transport hubs in the late 19th and early 20th century. What many people don’t know is that Hartlepool also used to be one of Britain’s biggest shipping ports. This story from the Hartlepool Mail reports the discovery of a century-old diary detailing a journey from Hartlepool to New York in 1881:

The journal was written in 1881 by a William Shirley Day who was setting out on a journey on the Elpis ship from West Hartlepool to New York in the USA.

The iron steam ship was built at the town’s William Gray and Co shipyard in 1878 for Ropner and Company.

It was launched in 1879, but reported missing at sea in 1903. Chris, a 56-year-old teacher and keen historian who lives in Reading, said the diary covers a journey from Hartlepool to New York and then overland to Texas.

To read the full story “From Pools to New York in 1881″ in the Hartlepool Mail, click here

It reminded me of a story I heard from a friend of mine, Fred. Fred is soon approaching his 85th birthday and has lived in Hartlepool his whole life. Before I passed my driving test in October Fred used to give me rides to choir practice and during these rides he would always tell me the most fascinating stories from his life. One that sticks in my mind was a story he told me about when he was working for one of Hartlepool’s shipping companies. As a young man he worked in the records office of the shipping company and his job was to run from ship to ship collecting fees.

He told me an interesting tale about going through some old record books from the late 20s and early 30s while at work one day and he discovered that during prohibition in the United States that this Hartlepool-based shipping company had a fleet of ships in the Great Lakes, all which had been aprehended and seized in the act of bootlegging and bringing alcohol illegally from Canada to locations all over the Great Lakes. It is amazing that he remembered this one detail from perusing record books so long ago and that at the time it was interesting enough for him to remember it, not knowing that one day he would meet a young lady from the very place those ships were operating in. Being from the Great Lakes region I grew up hearing tales of bootlegging all throughout the region and the unique role that Metro Detroit and Chicago played in the prohibition era and Fred’s story really brought those local legends full circle for me.

I would love to do some research and find out more about the transport routes between Hartlepool and America and also about other links between the Hartlepool shipping industry and the US. Sadly, I think much like this story many of the details were probably written down in old ledgers that are long since lost and these stories may only live on in the oral tradition of Fred’s generation.

AngloFiles TGIF: The Queen Mum’s Scottish Wartime Christmas

Given the air of timelessness that surrounded her until her death seven years ago at 102, it’s hard to imagine England’s venerated Queen Mum before she entered the royal family. But, as a lighthearted adolescent, she sang ’round the piano, danced the Cake Walk, and endured her brothers’s teasing about girlish gluttony. (“Excellent lunch — beefsteak — 3 helps — ham and roley poley. I eat a good deal,” they graffiti’ed in her diary.) No episode better illustrates the warmth and noblesse oblige that motivated her family than the memorable Christmas of 1914, spent at Glamis Castle, their turreted country home in Forfardshire, Scotland, detailed in William Shawcross’s recently published The Queen Mother: The Official Biography:

In late summer and fall, writes Shawcross in his biography of the Queen Mother, “shooting was at the heart of life at Glamis,” parts of which date to the 15th century. Festive parties of 20 or more regularly descended, personal maids and valets in tow, to hunt partridge, grouse, woodcocks and other game. Loading into horse-drawn carts in the morning, they would ride up to the moor for the day, often shooting more than a hundred birds in a single outing.

Not yet wired, the castle was lit by gas jets, lamps and candles in the years before World War I. But legions of servants (including six in the laundry alone), ensured a life of ease and comfort for its denizens and guests. “The maid brings in tea — lights my candles & goes off with my sponge and towels” to prepare the bath, wrote one awed arrival, a new governess. “Arrived there, I find a huge hot bath set — the Bath is enormously deep — a large blanket spread on the ground & beside the bath a carpeted step ladder by which one mounts in order to descend into the Bath.”

Evenings during the hunt season “were also lively” at Glamis, Shawcross recounts. “The Castle was lit by hundreds of candles; there were immense fires; there was dinner in the great dining room, which the twelfth Earl [of Strathmore] had renovated in ‘Jacobean’ style and which boasted an enormous carved sideboard, family portraits and wooden armorial shields illustrating family alliances.” In the drawing room afterward, “the focus of the room was often the piano at which Lady Strathmore or one of her daughters would play in the evenings while the rest of the party gathered around to sing traditional Scottish ballads or popular songs of the day.”

Remarked one guest, there was “no stiffness, no aloofness anywhere, no formality except the beautiful old custom of having the two pipers marching around the table at the close of dinner, followed by a momentary silence as the sound of their bagpipes died away gradually in the distance of the castle. It was all so friendly and so kind … No wonder little Elizabeth came up to me once as my visit was nearing its end and demanded, ‘But why don’t you beg to stay?’”

Glamis was usually dark at Christmas. December 1914 was the first year in 20 that the family stayed for the holiday, to the delight of 14-year-old Elizabeth. With the shadow of war cast across her country and her family –  her four elder brothers were off soldiering, two of them at the front — perhaps she relished the manor’s cozy familiarity. And she undoubtedly felt needed there, having helped to tend soldiers at one of the two convalescent hospitals established by her energetic mother.

By summer of 1914, Glamis was devoted to the all-out effort to defeat the Kaiser. “[T]he billiard table was stacked with thick shirts and socks, mufflers, belts and sheepskins to be made into coats and painted with a waterproofing varnish” to plug a shortfall in supplies of greatcoats, Shawcross writes. Lord Strathmore, Elizabeth’s father, turned his attentions to territorial defence, instructing local farmers on preparations for invasion.

Perhaps most important, Glamis, “like many great homes … was at once converted for hospital use,” and commended especially for its care of shellshocked patients, writes Shawcross. Elizabeth’s “task was generally to make the soldiers feel at home. She did rounds of the ward, talked to them all, made friends with many and went to the village shop to arrange large quantities of vital purchases — Woodbines, Gold Flack and Navy Cut tobacco.”

The teen-aged Elizabeth’s ease and curiosity endeared her to soldiers from all classes, homesick for towns in Britain and Commonwealth countries alike. Arriving with horrible stories and frightening wounds — to the stomach, the lungs, the “nerves” — the soldiers were lovingly tended at Glamis, only to be sent back to the front as soon as they recovered. A new lorryful of broken men arrived for every group that left.

It was in this atmosphere that Elizabeth “jumped up in delight & kissed her Mother exuberantly” on learning that Christmas would be celebrated at Glamis, with a diminished family of five, absent its soldier sons. With 20 wounded soldiers in their care, as Shawcross describes it,

family and staff at Glamis did their best to bring good cheer to the soldiers, setting up an immense tree in the crypt and distributing presents. ”The fun was fast and furious,’ according to Elizabeth. Everyone ate too much and she and [younger brother] David danced wildly with the soldiers in the ward. All in all, she said, it was ‘a dandy Xmas, you bet your bottom dollar’.”

Christmas candlelight photo by GearedBull.

Unfinished London – The Tube: What the Northern Line on the London Underground could have been

This video is very interesting. It appears to be a pilot for a show called Unfinished London that will chronicle building works in London that never happened.

The first video is about a branch of the London Underground that was never built and all the interesting things that prevented it from happening.

If you’re into London at all – then check out this video. I hope it gets made into a TV show – I’d certainly watch it!

Dispatches from the North: Lest We Forget

Last year I wrote a post on my blog Anglophile’s Digest about Poppy Day, I had actually forgotten about what I had written, but when I was going back to check out what I had written about last year I decided to repost it here. As I have mentioned before, my husband is in the Royal Navy so Poppy Day is really important to him and both of our families.

Today is Armistice Day. I didn’t realize until now that this is the one non-religious holiday that America and Britain share. In America, Veteran’s Day is also commemorated on the day of the Armistice. Having experienced both holidays in both countries I am sad to say that America’s observation pales in comparison to the honor which the British bestow upon their veterans on this day. If you asked the average American civilian what date Veteran’s Day is, if they aren’t looking at a November calendar chances are they couldn’t tell you. I am sure this morning when everyone turned the page on their day to day desk calendar, more than one office worker turned to a coworker and commented “Hey, did you know today is Veteran’s Day?” I find it sad that Americans need a small italicized reminder on their calendar or date book to remember such an important day in our history. By contrast, if you asked a British citizen what date Armistice or “Poppy Day” falls on they will quickly answer “the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month”.

For about a month leading up to Poppy Day, everyone wears a paper poppy on their lapel. The proceeds go to the British Legion and one of the most amazing things is that every single television personality makes the poppy a permanent part of their wardrobe for the month leading up to Armistice Day. Even the contestants on The X Factor (Britain’s version of American Idol) wear a poppy on their outfits on stage. I guess it could be compared to the American flag lapel pin, no Member of Parliament would be caught dead without one pinned to their suit.

I suppose here both World Wars quite literally hit closer to home. The British isles were heavily bombed by the Germans and there are still reminders everywhere of the death and destruction. Here in the North, one of the biggest reminders is the depressed economy.

Before the World Wars, Hartlepool was a major English port and a hub of industry with several dozen shipping companies calling the port of Hartlepool home, accounting for nearly 250 ships. Hartlepool’s position as a major British port made it a strategic target for the Germans. On the morning of December 16, 1914 Hartlepool became the first town in Britain to be bombed by the Germans. On this day over 1000 shells rained down on Hartlepool from German ships. Guns on the Heugh (pronounced “Yuff”) Gun Battery in Hartlepool fired back around 150 shells with more accuracy than the German ships and initiated the first and only land to sea attack from the British mainland and severely damaged the attacking ships. Despite this contribution, World War I and the following Depression crippled the once robust Hartlepool shipping industry only to be revived again during World War II. Yet again, this prosperity made Hartlepool a prime target for the Nazi forces and Hartlepool was raided from the air 43 times during the course of World War II. This once and for all cut off the Hartlepool shipping industry and it has never recovered since.

Hartlepool’s story is similar to many other British towns, which is maybe the reason that Armistice Day and honoring their veterans is such a hallowed tradition here. Particularly in the working class towns of the North where the economic effects of war are still relevant decades later, these stories still hit close to home and in many cases the people who lived through them are still around to remember.

I am sitting here in my front room, I live in an old Victorian home on the sea front that was converted to flats. I imagine that the residents of this house would have had a front row seat for that first bombing in 1914. As I sit here I can see the peninsula of the Headland much as it would have looked back then. Although it is a misty day I can see a few cargo ships out to sea, but I have seen naval ships out here as well and ships of war look much different from the merchant ships the residents of this house would have been used to seeing from their front windows. I can only imagine what it would have felt like for whoever who sat right here and watched the shells being launched from the German ships onto the Headland from this distance, far enough away that the falling shells probably didn’t make much sound to penetrate the quiet of that early December morning, but close enough to see the flashes and smoke. It must have been horrific to watch.

If you had by chance forgotten that it is Veteran’s Day, please take a moment to reflect and to remember the veterans who fought for their countries and to protect their loved ones and families back home. I will leave you with the poem (written by a Canadian soldier in WWI) that was the inspiration for making the poppy the symbol for remembering those who give their lives for their country.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 – 1918)

AngloFiles TGIF: Mrs. Cornelys Brings Nightclubbing to Georgian London

Helping the High-Born Get Down

It’s February 27, 1770. England is riding high in the reign of George III, and Viennese-born courtesan and entrepreneur Teresa Cornelys is teaching Londoners how to party.

Streaming between heavy drapes on the windows of Cornelys’s rented mansion in Soho Square, the light of nearly 4,000 candles drips like pearls on the streets below. Thousands of commoners have lined the roadway for a glimpse of her socially connected – but still paying – guests. Some 800 of what she airily calls the “principal nobility and gentry of this kingdom” hold tickets for a masquerade ball due to start inside at nine o’clock.

Arriving in carriages or sedan chairs carried by footmen, these bejeweled, bewigged and elaborately costumed “subscribers” jostle their way inside. Space quickly grows scarce in reception rooms clad in mirrors, satin and gilt, filled with tables bearing sweetmeats prepared by the Prince of Wales’s chef and the music of a hundred hired musicians. Dancing, cards and gossip will last well into the night.

The monthly parties held by Cornelys at Carlisle House are hot, crowded and pricey. Given the throngs of gapers, hecklers and pickpockets outside, they’re also hard to reach and even dangerous to depart from. Complaining about them in local gossip sheets — the Gawker.com of their day — has become a new form of chic.

Still, Society can’t stay away, and tonight is no different. [Read more]

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