Pooley Hall Colliery

The Pooley Hall Estate surrounded the hall built by Sir Thomas Cockayne in 1509. Later the hall became the property of Charles Jennens and subsequently the Hon. Charles Finch MP. When the Coventry Canal opened in 1789 – it runs within twenty metres of the hall – it was probably inevitable that coal would be extracted from the extensive coalfields.

The first shaft was sunk in 1849 and completed in 1849, with the first coal extracted the following year. By 1897 the colliery had been formed and a branch line built to connect to the Trent Valley Line – remains of the bridge across the canal can still be seen.

In 1921 the Pooley Hall miners did not join the miners’ strike and in June the striking miners at Baddesley and Birch Coppice marched on Polesworth to persuade them to join the strike – but 200 policemen had been drafted in and a baton charge left several striking miners unconscious. Eventually the strikers accepted the reduction in salary and extension of the working week, as the Pooley Hall miners already had.

In 1924 the colliery was visited by the Duke of York – the miners selected to meet the future King George VI were instructed to wear their Sunday best suit and a flat cap (if you didn’t own a flat cap, go out and buy one!) Further evidence of the conditions they worked in was hidden by whitewashing the pit bottom, while an underground toilet was installed (the first in the country) complete with rosewood seat. Nobody could use this toilet until the Duke’s visit was over, and within the week the bucket toilet was removed as the stench was overpowering.

The miners did join the strike of 1936, but as the family also owned Tamworth Electricity Company, they used the suddenly available labour to dig trenches for the electricity cables to bring electricity to surrounding villages.

The colliery closed in 1965 – much of the buildings had to be demolished due to subsidence. Today 154 acres of the estate is Pooley Hall Country Park.

Pound Idioms

Several words have become part of the language in being used in phrases. Last time we looked at ‘line’ and now look at ‘pound’.

Pound cake is first recorded in 1747 and is said to have a pound of each of the ingredients.

Pound of flesh is first seen in The Merchant of Venice, which Shakespeare is thought to have written between 1596 and 1598.

Poundage is a tax, or a subsidy, based on weight and first seen in 1903.

Impound is not seen until the early 15th century.

Tower pound was a weight in the Middle Ages equal to 12 ounces.

Merchant’s pound was the equivalent to 15 ounces.

Avoirdupois pound equal to 16 ounces.

Troy pound equal to 12 ounces.

Pounding the pavements is a 19th century expression used primarily when speaking of prostitutes – shortly after used to refer to anyone looking for work.

Pounding the beat, used for policemen, appears around 1900.

Pound yarn is first described in 1749.

Pounded rice is a culinary term first seen in 1943.

Pounded as in ‘beaten’ or ‘assaulted’, is first seen in the early 12th century.

Blue Idioms

Several words have become part of the language in being used in phrases. Last time we looked at ‘green’ and now look at ‘blue’.

Blue blood is first seen to describe those of noble birth in 1809. It is not an English reference but one describing the old aristocrats of Castile in Spain.

Out of the blue, or a bolt from the blue, is first used in Thomas Carlyle’s writing entitled The French Revolution.

Blue, when referring to something risqué, is not recorded until 1840 and there is little evidence to explain why the colour was chosen. Several theories have been put forward, most often the colour of choice worn by ladies of the night.

Blue in the face, used to describe someone who is frustrated, is first recorded in 1864. Yet earlier it was said to be black and blue in the face, the earlier form seen from 1829.

Once in a blue moon is first used in the modern sense to describe a very long time in an anti-cleric flyer in 1528. But a blue moon is a real astronomical event and occurs, on average, every 33 months. As the lunar month is slightly shorter than a calendar month, the blue moon is simply a second full moon in a calendar month.

Monday blues originated in the US press in the 1830s, used to describe the hung over workforce returning to work after the weekend. More recently Blue Monday is the third Monday in January, said to be the most depressing day of the year.

Blue collar is first used in 1924, another of US origins, describing manual workers as opposed to white collar office workers.

Blue-eyed boy is first used in print in the novels of P.G. Wodehouse in 1919.

Blue ribbon is a misnomer used solely in the USA for many years. It was a mis-hearing of ‘blue riband’ and resulted in blue ribbons being awarded as prizes. Blue Riband had been awarded to the vessel making the fastest trans-Atlantic crossing when it was the only way to travel between the two continents. Blue Riband was borrowed in the early 20th century from the prize awarded in horse racing.

True blue has been used for centuries, certainly appearing in Chaucer, and likely only through the obvious rhyme. Yet it has not always had the same meaning. In the 15th century it was used to mean ‘sorrowful’; by 1788 it described women as either ‘pedantic’ or ‘learned’ depending upon context; while latterly it is a song by Madonna.

Feeling blue is simply the modern version of the earliest use of ‘true blue’, although there are records of ‘the blues’ from as early as the 16th century.

Blues and twos is a police reference to the blue flashing lights and the two tone siren used when attending an emergency.

Blue sky thinking seems to date from the 1940s and is based on the idea that the best work is done when the weather is fine or, possibly, the weather is perceived as better when working well.

Blue sky research is exactly the same as ‘blue sky thinking’ and seems to have developed at the same time.

Blue chip stocks are those which are a fairly safe bet and usually a buy-in to major companies.

Nobody had baby blues before 1892, when it first appeared in the Magazine of Poetry

Scream blue murder first appears around the late 19th and early 20th centuries. My research has often seen me reading old newspaper reports and I have often read of someone giving evidence at a trial or inquest and relating how they were first aware of the victim’s distress when they called out ‘you have murdered me’. I always wonder whether that was accepted as evidence as for surely you can’t be guilty of murder, while the victim is still breathing and screaming blue murder.

Bloodbath

September 26th 1817 was a Friday. A Mr Owen went to visit his sister at her home in Gibraltar Row, Prospect Place, St George’s Fields, where she lived with her husband, Mr Jones. Here the maidservant Mary Berry let him in, whereupon Owen burst into the kitchen where the couple were eating and proceeded to attack Mr Jones with a large knife, resulting in large wounds to the head and neck. Mrs Jones and the maid attempted to pull Owen off, resulting in wounds to their hands and arms. With blood still dripping from her wounds, the maid ran into the street screaming for help.

A former sailor by the name of Hopkins heard her cries and rushed to her aid together they ran back into the building. Here they found Owen kneeling on his brother-in-law, the later now bleeding from several wounds including a deep cut to the abdomen. Hopkins managed to dislodge and disarm Hopkins and dragged the injured Jones into the street. Owen then produced a second knife and leapt upon his own sister, first plunging the blade between two ribs, then slashing open her forehead, and then shoving the knife into her mouth ripped the side of her face open to the ear and also split her tongue wide open. The maid rushed to the aid of her mistress but was also set upon and with cuts to Mary Berry’s arms.

Although both women were quite faint through loss of blood they somehow managed to drag themselves into the street and the protection of their neighbours, who took them into their own homes to await medical attention, albeit the likelihood of their successful recovery was, at best, slight. By now the large and powerfully-built Owen had barricaded himself inside the house loudly threatening anyone in earshot the, too, would be butchered should they attempt to gain access. This violent individual was now defending himself against at least two hundred individuals in the street.

When the police arrived they planned to storm the building. With volunteers aplenty armed with pokers, clothes-props and bludgeons, a vast number entered through the windows and doors both front and rear, even bringing ladders to crash through upstairs windows. Appearing at one of the upstairs windows, Owen was seen whetting one knife on the other until felled by (of all things) a clothes-prop and subsequently pounded by a multitude of fists and weaponry – although he continued to fight back ‘mightily’ until disarmed. With cuts to both hands, the now overpowered Owen was tethered at hands and feet with strong rope and carried bodily from the place, albeit still ranting and raging like a madman.

The injured were taken to St Thomas’s Hospital while, with his now wounds bandaged, Owen imprisoned. Later it was revealed this horrendous attack was started by Mr Jones when he sued Mr Owen for custody of Owen’s two young sons, believing they would be better off living with the Jones family. Owen had won the case and retained custody of his children, but the stress and worry had resulted in the death of his wife (just how this came about is not recorded). It had been earlier of the day of the attack that her funeral had taken place and, having been taken to the house of a friend where they had given him food and drink, the now drink-enraged Owen had gone into a frenzy as none had ever seen in the city of Lichfield.

Herbert and Maud Freeman

4th September 1911 and at Hanch, north of Lichfield near the present golf club, Herbert Freeman, aged 46, attempted to kill his wife Maud aged 33. Had been living at Craddock’s Yard, Wilcox’s Entry, Tamworth Street, Lichfield. They only married on August 8th, 27 days earlier, and it had already proved to be a terrible marriage.

Their wedding reception was held at the Windsor Castle Inn, Lichfield. Here they fought and were asked to quit but refused and so found themselves in front of magistrates charged with disturbing the peace – at their own wedding reception! Over the next four weeks matters did not improve. On the 4th September they were out on Cannock Chase together and called at the Roe Buck Inn, Wolseley Bridge - now known as the Wolseley Arms. Here they found Alfred Black, a dreyman of the Lichfield Brewery. and obtained a lift back on his float.

All went well until they reached Handsacre, as they left she put her hand in her husband’s pocket. He accused her of trying to rob him, although later claimed it was a joke. Words ensued, then he pulled out a long-bladed knife and threatened to kill both his wife and the driver, Alfred Black. The driver was alarmed but offered to help when Maud said she was hurt, he offered to take her to the nursing home in Lichfield. On reaching Hanch Hall the passengers alighted, husband saying he would take care of her. It seems he took care of both of them – first cutting his wife’s neck before turning to his own and severed the windpipe. When police and doctors arrived at 9pm, two bodies were found lying in a pool of blood. He was dead, she found unconscious but when taken to Rugeley District Hospital she gave an incoherent account of events.

Maud Shipley, as she had been known, was previously married to a workman for the local council, until he met with an accident at Lichfield Isolation Hospital the previous year and had died at Birmingham Accident Hospital from his injuries. Herbert’s daughter Alice Freeman said her mother died in December 1903 and her father had had no regular employment for the last 12 months but was a good father and fed and clothed his children well. Since the fight on their wedding night there had been many quarrels. On the day in question both were taking the train from Lichfield Trent Valley to Hagley, he to seek employment in the railway track widening work, she to look for a home at Hagley as they had been given notice at Wilcox’s Entry. Inquest was adjourned until October 3rd to trace further witnesses.

When reconvening, Alfred Black said Herbert had knocked her to the floor and thrown her from the float, she appeared to be hurt. Another witness driving a car picked up the story. He saw two people near Hanch Hall apparently fighting. He raised the alarm when he discovered the woman on the ground and apparently dead, while the man was still alive. He went to Hanch Hall to summon assistance, it was they who discovered Maud had two deep cuts to her neck although Herbert had but one cut but was dead. Another witness, a labourer at the hall, described how Herbert had hit his wife twice across the face with his umbrella, words were exchanged and there was much pushing. Policeman described the spring knife as that which poachers knew as a rabbit-legger or a buck-sticker. By the time the doctor arrived the man had been dead for 1.1/2 hours. Wife had two deep wounds about 3 inches long, one from the middle of the neck to the left side of the jaw and 3/4 inch deep and opened up a similar gash in the gullet, the right side was but a scratch. She also had a blackened left eye, finger-shaped bruises on her arms and other bruises about the body and legs. The man had fingernail scratches on his arms and face. He had a 4 inch wound to the throat, deep enough to expose the back of the palate, jugular was severed and death would have come in a matter of seconds. The man was also missing a finger and thumb on the left hand but this was from an old injury. His body also showed signs of alcoholism.

Then the wife gave evidence, having recovered from her injuries. She said on the afternoon of their marriage he had tried to strangle her. Soon after had got her on the sofa and held a knife to her throat, but released her when someone tapped on the window. She maintained he was a good man with no drink in him. On August 27th he had forced her upstairs and threatened to kill her, even sleeping with the open knife in his hand should she attempt to move. When drunk he was a jealous monster, sober he complained of pains in his arms and head. The tussle was exactly as others had described, adding he grabbed her around the neck with his left arm, she could not get away, he was too strong. He pushed the knife into her throat. She collapsed and laid her down and he kissed her forehead. She awoke to see him lying three feet away to her right, the poachers knife on her left but she did not know this until later. He was clutching his throat, his face down. With some deliberation as to the location of the knife the jury delivered the verdict of suicide after attempting to murder his wife.

Jesse Joseph Quartermaine of Upper Gungate in Tamworth

It is 1901. To be precise, Saturday 26th October 1901, and for Jesse Joseph Quartermaine of Upper Gungate in Tamworth a fateful day.

A procession of wagons pulled by traction engines was passing through heading for the city of Lichfield. These owned by Danks and Co, they were transporting three large colliery wheels from Tamworth to Hanley. The convoy called at the Constitution Inn shortly after 10am, where food and three quarts of ale were consumed by the six men. Shortly after they stopped at the top of the hill to take on water from a pool. As they set off, Jesse walked up one side of the wagons and his brother Harry up the other side. After a few yards a shout was heard and the engines stopped.

It was then Jesse was found under the last wagon, both legs virtually severed. For some three or four yards a great deal of blood showed the extent of the incident, the progress marked by a trail of blood, bits of flesh, trouser and bone. It was generally thought, though none had observed such, he had fallen while riding the draw-bar. Perhaps he was attempting to climb into that third wagon. Police and doctors were called and he was taken to the Lichfield Victoria Nursing Home. In shock and bleeding greatly they attempted to save his life by amputating both legs at the thigh. To no avail. He died at 1:40pm that day and left a widow and three children.

Train Accident near Tamworth

1907 – Monday 1st July and the communication cord is pulled on the LNW express from Liverpool at 2pm and stopped at Tamworth. Guard discovered it had been pulled by Mrs Higham, wife of the MP for Sowerby in Yorkshire said her 3.1/2 year-old child had fallen from the train. All trains alerted as far back as Stafford and all stations began a search.

At 4:30pm news came through that the child had been found at Hademore and, badly hurt but alive, was at the cottage of Mrs Smith near Whittington Bridge. Stationmaster Mr Mathews of Tamworth had a down train stopped and accompanied the mother back to Hademore and Whittington, first aid being administered by the district nurse and Dr Homan of Lichfield soon after arriving. A platelayer ganger had been working when he noticed something moving, it proved to be the child. He carried the child to the cottage after sending a lad to find the nurse whom he had noticed cycling by a few moments earlier. A policeman sent to summon a cab from Lichfield but met the ambulance on the way. How the door came open on a train travelling at 60mph was never discovered, he was a large boy for 3.1/2 years and it was suspected he had managed to open it himself.

His escape was deemed a miracle, his fall smashing several large stones. He bounced for some 40 yards, coming to rest on the outer edge of the opposite line. He was inches from the line when found and, although conscious, had not attempted to move which was fortunate as the down express had passed not two minutes after he fell here. The driver of the down train had seen the body of the child and felt certain he had hit the mother, as he assumed she would be carrying the infant. He reached Lichfield and alerted the stationmaster who had summoned the ambulance. Father arrived from London Euston later that evening, returning the next day where he made a statement thanking all for their assistance and stating his son was ‘progressing nicely’.

The Lichfield Mercury thought the headline “Excitement on the Train Line near Lichfield” appropriate.

New Words

I recently came across E. E. Cummings and a poem where he coined the word manunkind. Not normally overly delighted with modern created words, but this example, published in 1944, intrigued me. Used in the poem to describe a potential environmental problem, it started me looking at other recently created words. Note I've tried to avoid technological and scientific words.

Bling has been used since at least 1997, although initially often given as bling-blingm and started by American rappers. Despite the recent creation the origin is by no means certain but may well have been based on the German blinken 'to gleam, sparkle'.

Crunk is a style of music, the word becoming popular in the 1990s. It is thought to be a contraction of 'crazy drunk', the same word also used to mean 'good'.

Grrrl is a contraction of 'grrr' and 'girl', describing a young woman who sees herself as independent, strong, and possibly aggressive.

Jeggings are tight-fitting trousers, similar to leggings but made from denim - hence a combination of 'jeans' and 'leggings'.

Listicle is a piece of writing presented in list form, thus part 'list' and part 'article'.

Locavore is another portmanteau, is puts together two elements which describe someone who eats local produce. (I would have preferred to learn it was one who ate the locals.)

Noob is an abbreviation of 'newbie' but used in a derogatory sense by those playing computer games. Note 'newbie' has only been used since 1969, this first used by US military. In 1946 we find newie, in 1909 we first see newing or 'new thing' and referring to a naval cadet on their first training session, and in the 15th century newing which is a contraction of 'new thing'.

Po-Po, recently starting to be used in Britain and appearing in the OED since 2015, has been imported from the USA where it began in the 1980s as an abbreviation for Portland Police and what was shouted by lookouts used by gangs to warn of the imminent arrival of the constabulary.

Purple State is another US import, one which describes an electorate which is neither traditionally right (blue) or left (red) and thus a mix or purple. In the United Kingdom we would normally refer to such seats as marginals.

Screenager is a teenager who spends a lot of time in front of a screen, such as a computer or a phone.

Totes is an abbreviation for 'totally', where the word is used rather ungrammatically such as in the phrase 'it was like totally amazing'. For those of an earlier time, 'totes' would have been a method of gambling similar to a lottery where numbers are predicted or a form of horseracing betting.

Truthiness is a weird word for it doesn't quite mean what seems evident. Here the use is to describe something which appears or is felt as true, but isn't - rather like the word then.

Whovian is someone who is a fan of the television series Doctor Who. This is, of course, the modern era of the series. When it first aired on BBC in black and white and ran with actors William Hartnell to Sylvester McCoy, these would have been science-fiction enthusiasts.

Yarn-Bombing is that weird idea of decorating a tree, bench, metal pole or barrier with a knitted something. I'm told it's a fund-raiser, but then I'm told many things are fund-raisers and I don't see the point of those either.

Many new words are portmanteaus, itself a word coined by Lewis Carroll, describing words made by combining two or more other words. In Old English, Anglo-Saxon if you prefer, the same was true although those were referred to as kennings. Words such as ban-haus or 'bone house' which is a reasonable enough description of the body. Other portmanteau words created in the 21st century include badassy, droolworthy, buzzworthy, fatberg, frankenfood, guyliner, microaggression.

Bad Career Move

December 1864 and at the Glascote coalmine in Tamworth tragedy strikes. A former policeman, now working in the mine, is killed when a single lump of coal fell 450 feet and hit the poor man so hard it resulted in his death.

Burglary

November 1867 and in Stafford the delightfully named Constable Feavearyear is out on his nightly patrol when, in the distance, he hears the sound of a police whistle and rushes to the scene. He is somewhat perturbed to discover a reported burglary, an incident reported by none other than Mrs Feavearyear. While friends attempt to calm the distraught woman, a thorough search is made but the thieves were not apprehended, nothing could be found missing, and no damage nor sign of entry.

Eventually Mrs Feavearyear had recovered sufficiently to be questioned as to why the alarm had been raised. It transpired she had spotted thieves in the neighbouring property - the police station.

Herbert and Maud Freeman

We have all known couples who should never have been together. A marriage doomed from the onset or two people who should never be seen in the same room together. This is such a story. It culminates in the extraordinary events of September 4th 1911 at Hanch north of Lichfield and near the present-day golf club but had been causing much more than ripples in southern Staffordshire before then.

Herbert Freeman, aged 46, was charged with attempting to kill his wife Maud, aged 33,. They had been living at Craddock's Yard, Wilcox's Entry, Tamworth Street, Lichfield and married on August 8th 1911. To show just how big a mistake this marriage was we need look no further than the wedding reception at the Windsor Castle Inn, Lichfield. The 'happy couple' had fought and fought so bitterly and loudly the landlord had been forced to send for the police who, having failed to quieten them, arrested and charged the couple to appear before the magistrates next day.

Next month things had not improved. They were out on Cannock Chase and called at the Roe Buck Inn, Wolseley Bridge. Here they met none other than Alfred Black, a dreyman from the Lichfield Brewery Ltd, who managed to be convinced how it would be a very good idea to give them a lift back to Lichfield on the back of his float. All seemd to be proceeding surprisingly well until they reached Handsacre when Maud reached out and felt inside Herbert's pocket. He claimed she was trying to rob him, although she claimed it had been a joke. Words were exchanged and then he pulled out a long-bladed knife, threatening to kill both his wife and the driver. Alfred was understandably alarmed but offered to take them to the nearby nursing home at Lichfield when she said she was hurt. They never got further than Hanch Hall, where both passengers alighted and Albert drove away.

Later the police and a doctor travelled to Hanch Hall. Here they found the Freemans lying in a pool of blood. Both had had their throats cut, he quiet dead but she unconscious. She was taken to Rugeley District Hospital where she regained consciousness and babbled incoherently for a while. Maud Shipley, as she had previously been known, was previously married to a workman for the local council until he met with an accident at Lichfield Isloation Hospital in 1910 and died at Birmingham Accident Hospital from the resulting injuries.

Herbert's daughter Alice said at the inquest her mother had died in December 1903. Her father had had no regular employment for the last twelve months but she thought him a good father who had fed and clothed his children well. Since the fight on their wedding night she had witnessed many quarrels. On the day in question the couple had taken the train from Lichfield Trent Valley to Hagley, he seeking employment in the track widening while she looking for a home at Hagley as they had been given notice to quit Wilcox's Entry. The inquest was adjourned at this point while further witnesses were summoned.

Reconvening on October 3rd, the court heard from dreyman Alfred Black. He spoke of how Herbert had knocked his wife to the floor of the float before throwing her from it. Maud had appeared hurt but Herbert said he would take of her and he left them. Soon after a car driver stopped when he saw two people fighting near Hanch Hall. Picking up the story he spoke of how he raised the alarm when he discovered the woman on the ground, he thinking her dead, with the man still alive and he went to Hanch Hall to call for help. When the police and doctor arrived they found Maud with two deep cuts to her neck and Herbert with one deep cut severing the windpipe and he clearly dead. Another witness, an employee at the hall, described how he saw the man strike the woman twice with an umbrella, words were exchanged and both were pushing the other in an aggressive manner.

When the police officer gave evidence he identified the knife found at the scene as that know to poachers as a rabbit-legger or a buck sticker. The doctor estimated the man had been dead for around 90 minutes, the woman found to have two deep cuts about three inches in length to the side of her neck. She also sported a black eye, finger-shaped bruises to her arms, and other bruising about her arms and legs. Examining the man he found fingernail scratches to his arms and face, a four-inch wound to the throat and deep enough to expose the back of the palate, his jugular was severed and eath would have occurred in a matter of seconds. Earlier signs of alcohol abuse was found at the post mortem along with an old injury which meant he was missing a finger and thumb from one hand.

Having recovered sufficiently to give evidence, Maud Freeman took to the witness stand. She told of how, on the afternoon of their marriage, he had tried to strangle her. Later he had pinned her to the sofa with a knife at her throat, not releasing her until someone tapped on the window pane. Sober he was a good man but with drink in him a changed person. On August 27th he had forced her upstairs and threatened to kill her, even sleeping with the open knife in his hand should she attempt to move. When drunk he was a jealous and violent individual, but when sober constantly complained of pain in his arms and head.

She confirmed how that last afternoon had seen them fight as others had described. Maud added how he had grabbed her around the neck with his left arm, he was too strong for her and she could not get away. Twice he pushed the knife to her throat before laying her down and kissing her forehead whereupon she passed out. When she came around she saw him lying three feet away from her on his right side and unaware of the knife on the ground beyond him. He was clutching his throat.

The jury retired and returned to deliver their verdict. They were in no doubt the location of the knife on the far side of Herbert's body from Maud, showed beyond reasonable doubt that he had committed suicide after attempting to murder his wife.

Widowed in the Orchard (Twice!)

Thomas Frederick Young died on December 27th 1906 aged 44 years. A native of Lichfield, where his mother and siblings still lived, he had lived for a number of years at the Eagle Inn, Pitchcombe, near Stroud. On his marriage to the daughter of the former owner in 1895 he had taken over as landlord. moving to Gloucestershire.

With snow still lying on the Cotswold Hills, Thomas Young collected his double-barrelled shotgun and, as the clock struck one, told his wife not to hold dinner for him should he return home late. Next time she saw him was three hours later when she went out to feed the pigs. A glance in the direction of the adjacent orchard and she spotted her husband lying by the hedge. Returning to the pub she asked a Mr White, a military man with medical training, to investigate. He discovered the landlord lying face down in the orchard, on top of the shotgun which had been discharged at point-blank range into the owner's bowels. Clearly he had been dead for some time.

When the police arrived he traced the footsteps in the still-lying snow. These showed he had walked to a neighbour's property and back to the orchard, presumably looking for game, and something he would often do and share any rabbits with the neighbour for Thomas Young was known as the very best of marksmen. The inquest heard the evidence and came to the conclusion the man had placed the gun on the orchard side of the fence before climbing over. A wise precaution but a fatal one for as he grabbed the barrel of the gun and lifted it, twigs of the hedge caught on the trigger and fired the gun.

Back in Lichfield the news was met with dismay for Thomas Young and his family were well liked in the city. Many will have remembered the man who had worked as butler and gamekeeper for Mr. J. C. Little when in Lichfield a decade earlier. With his body interred in Gloucestershire, a memorial service was held in the place of his birth.

It was here that rumours began to circulate and questions asked. It seems the widow Young had been married before. Her first husband, also landlord of the Eagle Inn, had also meant an untimely end. Furthermore this had also been the result of a gunshot wound and also in the orchard adjacent to the inn. Any suggestion of foul play was dismissed as mere coincidence, but still many questioned how the wife had failed to hear the gun going off when his body was discovered just 75 yards from their home.

A Bloody Tale

February 1902 and PC Williams is following his regular route around the streets of Lichfield, coming along Lombard Street at 10:40pm. It was here he saw a woman running towards him and crying out "Oh my lad, what have I done?" Being a good officer he took hold of her and took her back to investigate further. On entering the house, he discovered her husband, Frank, on the sofa in the kitchen. Blood was everywhere. Maud Shipley was arrested.

The first inquest had to be adjourned as the main witness, the victim, had been too ill to come to court. Indeed, the following week he appeared heavily swathed in bandages and looking most frail. It was then the story began to unfold. Frank Shipley had been employed by Mr Summerfield, a coal deal, as a waggoner. Leaving work he had called in to the Mitre Inn for a well-earned pint on his way home.

Arriving at his home in Lombard Street he discovered his wife to be most agitated, in an aggressive and excitable state, clearly the worse for drink and demanding money. Frank refused and turned on his heel, going out to get a shave. When he emerged from the barber's shop he was met by his wife who, once again, was demanding money and this continued as she followed him home. No sooner had he reached home than Frank went back out, this time to the Mitre Inn to fill a bottle with beer so he could drink it with his supper.

At this point the inquest heard from her sister who had spent some of the earlier part of that day with her. Indeed had seen her on a number of occassions, each time she had been complaining of a lack of money. Both she and two other women had shared their beer with Maud, eventually brining her home from the Grapes Inn where she was described as being "Half and half with the drink".

Another witness came to the stand and spoke of Maud banging on the door screaming "I will finish the bastard before the night's out". He followed her into her house to witness her picking up a knife and stabbing Frank three or four times in quick succession. She passed him by as she ran into the street, while he went to see how he could help the man who was bleeding profusely. He described Maud as being "Three sheets".

A second passer-by then entered and went back out to summon medical assistance. When the doctor gave evidence he described the scene as looking like a slaughterhouse. Mr Shipley having several wounds about the head, including a severed ear lobe, a two-inch gash across his face, and a wound to the neck.

When the case came to court the accused claimed she had acted in self-defence, that the very knife brought as evidence had been thrown at her by Frank at least twice. There was no evidence to support this claim and Maud Shipley, aged 28, was found to be guilty of the assault on her husband and sentenced to three months hard labour. This left Frank, himself still far from well, to look after their three children - the eldest five years and the youngest just two.

Happy New Year?

At the time of writing the year of 2017 has but a few hours left to go. As with 2016 the news has been pretty dire, social media is positively overflowing with doom and gloom, and yet I remain the eternal optimist. Always cheerful I always manage to find the happier side of life.

But at this time of year we have had a real change in the media, be it national or social. Everyone has been happy, wearing jumpers, drinking, eating and singing songs. Christmas specials of all our (supposedly) favourite programmes, and the obligatory gush of puerile festive cinema, including the dreaded Disney.

Hence if the world can be miserable all year round whilst I couldn't give a rodent's posterior, as humanity grins inanely at itself I'll drop into full Victor Meldrew Mode and offer this news item from my home town of Tamworth from 153 years ago today.

It is December 1864 and a normal working day for the coal miners of Tamworth. At the Glascote Colliery a former police officer had been working hard when a piece of coal fell 450 feet and landed on top of him. He died later that day from the resulting injuries.

Odd Parental Concern

February 1864. Man walks into Stafford police station, his attire showing him to work in engineering. Most worried as he found a letter with a summons addressed to his son. He simply did not understand what was being demanded. The clerk found it highly amusing as it read “Orders the person to appear on the 14th to answer the charge of stealing the heart of Amelia Smart. It was addressed to one J. Lovewell, who was to appear at the Court of Hymen, of which the father had never heard. “Of course not!” replied the clerk, “It’s a valentine!”.

The Police, Peel, Murder and Drayton Bassett

What is now home to the theme park of Drayton Manor was, as the name implies, a large estate. It lies largely within the boundaries of Drayton Bassett. This village uses the name of the family who held this manor for centuries until, through marriage, it passed to the Peels who built the estate. The most famous member of the Peel family is Sir Robert. As MP for Tamworth he delivered what amounted to the first pre-election manifesto. He spoke from the window of the town hall, addressing the crowd gathered below who probably never realised just what they were witnessing.

Even today the name of Sir Robert Peel is more likely to be associated with two other landmark events. Scholars of political history will undoubtedly point to the long-running debate over the Corn Laws which dominated his political career, although most will remember him as the founder of the modern police force. The latter is only partially true. While he did establish the Metropolitan Police Force in London in 1829, the thousand-strong force known as ‘Bobbies’ because of the association with Sir Robert, there had been a professional body to police the capital for some eighty years.

This earlier force were the Bow Street Runners, formed by author Henry Fielding in 1749, they originally numbered just six officers. Yet the name is something of a misnomer as they never ran and considered the term ‘Runners’ derogatory, nor indeed did they patrol a beat. These men were an arm of the courts, hence Bow Street, and arrests were solely as officers acting on behalf of the judiciary. They were disbanded in 1839, ten years after the formation of Peel’s force and eighteen years before legislation meant cities throughout the land had to introduce their own professional police force.

Parliament would have done well to ensure the significant drop in crime in London was mirrored across the land much earlier. Especially considering events of August 15th 1844 in Drayton Bassett. At the time the villagers were dependent upon the Peel estate for a living, be it directly in the service of the family or as tenant farmers. Fifteen years after the first ‘Bobbies’ were seen in London, the term ‘Peelers’ was more likely to be used by the criminal fraternity, the villagers were horrified when they learned of the murder of William Sudbury by William Walker. Perhaps the village ‘Bobbie’ will have been sufficient deterrent to prevent a quarrel escalating to such a degree.

Years later and our story returns to Market Street, Tamworth. The image below shows the town hall where that first manifesto was delivered, the event marked by placing the statue of Sir Robert Peel below the window. The unknown photographer’s position is some twenty yards or so in front of two buildings facing one another on the end of this ancient street. That to the left is now home to a Wilkinson’s store, yet previously had been a Berni Inn named the Peel Arms, named after Tamworth’s most famous son. Opposite we still find the Castle Hotel. One public bar here was renamed after the Peel Arms had closed and chose to adopt another supposed reference to the father of modern policing. However, as we have seen, the name of the Bow Street Runner is incorrect as it had no connection with Peel.

Whilst they should be congratulated in at least attempting to find an original name, and producing an attractive and relevant sign to accompany same, sadly my research when producing books on place names has shown such errors are commonplace and avoidable.

I would welcome any suggestions for themes or subjects, or even specific words to examine the origins, meanings and etymologies. I’d be delighted to hear from you.