The Local Historian Volume 46 Number 1 January 2016

By Gillian Draper

In the summer of 2015 I carried out some work on behalf of Worcestershire Archive and Archaeology Service for Historic England, formerly English Heritage. This is part of a larger assessment of the value of community-generated research, to which numerous BALH members (individuals and societies) contributed by completing a survey which was promoted in our e-newsletter. Historic England will be reporting on the assessment more fully later in 2016, including in this journal. Jane Golding and Daniel Miles of Historic England will also be making a presentation on the assessment and opening up discussion at BALH’s biennial conference ‘Growing Local History: volunteers, innovative projects and an exciting future’, at the university campus, Ipswich, Suffolk 8-10 April 2016 (to book see Local History News or the BALH website).  

My work included a review of where local historians and societies published their research, which forms part of the assessment mentioned above, but I also did a ‘county and city’ analysis of all those local history groups in England which belonged to BALH in February 2015. Here I present the results, which should be of interest to the whole Association. In the future I hope to carry out the same exercise for our extensive society membership in Northern Ireland, Wales, Scotland and ‘overseas’, but inevitably this was not part of the work undertaken for Historic England.

BALH does not disclose the names or contact details of its members to outside bodies, or even to anyone within the organisation unless they are providing the Association’s services, such as the e-newsletter. Nor do we use contact details such as email addresses to send notifications of events: Local History News and the website provide full details, and we know that you do not wish to be bombarded with emails! Therefore the analysis of the geographical locations of local history societies was undertaken simply by place. The address of each society is provided by a member—very often the secretary or treasurer—and is in the form they choose. The Royal Mail has not required county names in addresses since 1996 but they may still be used, and often are, by local history societies outside cities and large towns. Where given, I counted these county names; otherwise, I allocated the society to its historic county, if it still exists, or its modern one (such as West Midlands). The boundaries of historic counties and cities are often controversial, and I followed the summaries of past changes and current definitions on Wikipedia for purposes of analysis.

As regards cities, those analysed separately from counties were Greater London plus the ‘Core Cities Group’, another eight which regard themselves as ‘the largest and most economically important English cities’: Leeds, Sheffield, Bristol, Nottingham, Birmingham, Manchester, Newcastle and Liverpool.  Where a local history society gave its address as a city, borough or large town, with no county name, I allocated it to its historic county but noted that fact (‘Cambridgeshire and Cambridge’). I also noted the names of cities, boroughs or large towns for interest (‘Wiltshire with Salisbury and Swindon’). Among the historic counties of England, only the former county of Huntingdonshire (now in Cambridgeshire) is formally unrepresented in the addresses of BALH societies, despite the existence of both Huntingdonshire Archives and a local history society using the name. Westmorland is now part of Cumbria but the name survives in two local history societies.

The numbers of societies in each county or city reflects county or city size, as well as population and, perhaps more subjectively, wealth distribution across England. Demographics plays its part. There are more BALH societies and members in areas with more settled, generally older, residents rather than those with more mobile, younger, populations. There are other factors at play. For example, there are large numbers of societies in areas where there is, or has until recently been, strong provision of formal local history teaching at university level, such as Kent, Lancashire, Oxfordshire, Suffolk, Surrey and York. Kent has an exceptional number of societies not only for this reason but also because it has a county-wide local history forum with c.120 member societies, many of which joined BALH recently, not least to benefit from its insurance scheme. Where there are such active umbrella groups for local historians at county or sub-county level, BALH membership is also high, for example in Hampshire, Essex and Suffolk.  

Not all local history societies belong to BALH, particularly perhaps the smaller ones: Lancashire Local History Federation (which covers the ancient County Palatine) has over 125 member societies but many are not in BALH. The existence of local history societies is fluid, with new ones forming and older ones folding all the time, so this survey provides just a snapshot. BALH continues to grow but there is much scope to increase its membership. we gain a steady flow of new members from attending and speaking at local and family history fairs, conferences and study days—in autumn 2015, for instance, from the conference jointly organised with the Local Population Studies Society at Leicester; from leaflets put out at a Sevenoaks Library’s open day; from a stand and speaker at a family history fair in West Surrey and a meeting Bristol & Avon; and from a local archaeology and history society representing BALH at the Hampshire Genealogy Society open day. Much can be done in all counties, cities and towns by BALH members (whether individuals or societies) to make the benefits of the Association known to others—not only the insurance scheme but also the opportunities to publish, to find out about the wider world of local history, to use the resources of the members’ area on the website, to nominate individuals or publications for the BALH awards, to contribute to the e-letter or send in books for review. You can help in these ways:

•           Put out some BALH membership or Local History Day leaflets at your record office, local studies library or museum

•           Attend your county local history forum or federation and promote BALH and its events there

•           Insert BALH’s new advert in your society’s newsletter or journal (BALH may even pay a small fee)

•           Let me know of any local or family history event in your area to which BALH could offer a stand with publications or a short talk on a local history theme: contact me on development@balh.btinternet.com

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By D. Huw Owen

This article is primarily a review of the book City Mission: the story of London’s Welsh Chapels by Huw Edwards but it also considers the wider literature on the subject as a guide to future research. City Mission is a handsomely-produced and comprehensive survey of the places of worship which were established in London by Welsh people,  described as ‘one of London’s first ethnic minorities’ who ‘embraced city life while holding on to some cherished traditions’. In his book Huw Edwards, presenter of the flagship BBC news programme and one of Britain’s foremost broadcast journalists, emphasises the central role of chapels and also churches in Welsh communities in London during the nineteenth century and first half of the twentieth century. The distribution of the 22 Welsh Presbyterian Church of Wales, formerly known as Calvinistic Methodist (P), eleven Independent/Congregational (I), three Wesleyan Methodist (WM), and two Baptist (B) chapels, together with six Anglican (A) churches, is shown on a map of the London underground. All conducted their services in the Welsh language, but a single English-language Calvinistic Methodist cause was established at Islington in 1869 although its chapel, built in 1874, was sold to the Union Chapel, Islington, around 1886. Today, the number of Welsh chapels has fallen to eight but despite a general decrease in membership regular services continue to be held at Jewin (Fann Street), Clapham Junction, Ealing, Sutton and Cockfosters (P); Borough and Harrow (both I); and the inter-denominational Welsh Church of Central London, formed by the union of Castle Street (B) and King’s Cross and Radnor Walk (both I) chapels. One Anglican church remains—St Benet, in the city of London.

Economic problems in Wales were largely responsible for the migration of Welsh persons to London and crucial events included the economic depression of the 1930s. The origins of the oldest surviving Welsh chapel, Jewin (P) in the city of London, may be traced to the renting of a room circa 1772 in Cock Lane, near the Smithfield meat market and Haberdashers Hall. Also in the late-eighteenth century many people were drawn to work in the royal dockyards along the river Thames at Woolwich and Deptford, and several attempts made to provide a suitable place of worship south of the Thames at Lambeth.                
A survey of the occupations of chapel members reveals a close connection between the London Welsh chapels and the dairy industry which attracted many Welsh families to the metropolis. The first photograph in the volume depicts Jenkin Edwards, the author’s forefather, who developed a successful dairy business in Bethnal Green and was a faithful member of the Mile End Road (P) chapel. The Welsh-owned dairy shop became a familiar feature of London life with Welsh dairy families closely associated with chapels in all parts of the capital. Notable examples were members of the Alban Davies family who were prominently involved with Welsh chapels at Walthamstow and Leytonstone (both P), and became generous benefactors to numerous Welsh causes. The busy Walthamstow High Street contained several dairies and also drapery shops owned by Welsh persons. D.H. Evans, a prominent member of the Castle Street (B) chapel, ran in Oxford Street a drapery business which developed by 1894 into one of the largest department stores in London. Other prominent businessmen closely associated with Welsh chapels included Sir Howell J. Williams, an elder at Charing Cross (P); and J. R. Thomas, chief silk buyer at Harrods and later a director of the John Lewis Partnership, a deacon and chapel secretary of King’s Cross (I). Over the years the members increasingly included domestic servants, students, nurses and teachers.

The text of the book, based on careful and extensive research, has been presented in a lively style. The reminiscences of numerous longstanding and also former members emphasise the intrinsic friendly character of the chapels. Welcoming newcomers to the metropolis, the chapels were occasionally described as effective match-making and marriage bureaux agencies! Extremely popular activities, including concerts, eisteddfodau, plays, literary meetings, oratorios and hymn singing festivals, which strengthened the distinctive Welsh cultural traditions of their congregations, were often held in the chapels. Other venues included the Queen’s Hall, where D.H. Evans chaired in 1903 the large-scale Falmouth Road (P) chapel eisteddfod. Many chapels were led by long-serving and inspiring ministers, and their changing social status is reflected in the contrast between the early career of James Hughes, who had worked as a blacksmith in the London dockyards before becoming the first minister of Jewin (P) from 1823 until his death in 1844; and the appearance of the Reverend Peter Hughes Griffiths, the minister of Charing Cross (P) from1902 until 1937, who usually wore a morning coat, Gladstone collar and silk hat. The Reverend D. S. Owen, the minister of Jewin for a remarkable 45 years from 1915 until 1959, oversaw the rebuilding of the chapel after its demolition by bombs in January 1940.                    
A notable feature of the volume is the presentation of a wealth of illustrative material culled from various sources. Full-colour photographs are presented of seven of the eight surviving Welsh places of worship: the absence of one for the Harrow (I) chapel represents a surprising omission. These supplement numerous monochrome photographs, and of considerable interest are those recording the close associations of David Lloyd George with the Clapham Junction (P) and Castle Street (B) chapels. Some of the photographs are of locations where there is now no indication of the existence of a religious building, such as the sites of Wood Green (P) chapel, in Bounds Green, north-west London; and the City Road (WM) chapel which, opened in 1883 and described as ‘one of the grandest Welsh chapels ever built’, was destroyed in an air raid in December, 1940.                   
Several photographs record the conversion of religious buildings to other uses. The Shirland Road chapel (P), near  Paddington railway station, which was the first location in the metropolis to make an impression on many Welsh newcomers, has become the Amadeus wedding conference and events centre, whose website significantly refers to its current use as being in keeping with the original purpose of the building. Striking contrasts between previous and present-day uses are also presented in the photographs of the Charing Cross (P) chapel which, following its conversion to the Limelight nightclub, has recently been redeveloped by the arts charity, Stone Nest; and the Hammersmith (P) chapel which has become an Islamic Centre.

A detailed index is provided and also an extensive bibliography and list of references which contain some surprising items but also several omissions. While a 1959 Welsh-language history of Castle Street is cited, D. Hugh Matthews’s 1989 bilingual history of this chapel does not appear. Also omitted are several recent works which reflect an increasing awareness of the significance of chapels within Wales, with some especially relevant in relation to the subject of this volume. These include Anthony Jones’s Welsh Chapels (1992) in which he described chapels as being ‘without question the national architecture of Wales’. The growing emphasis on the architectural importance of Welsh chapels is reflected in the increasing attention paid to them in successive volumes of The Buildings in Wales series, culminating in the volume on Powys, edited by Robert Scourfield and Richard Haslam (2013).  Recent English-language historical studies of the main Nonconformist denominations include Methodism in Wales, edited by Lionel Madden (2003); R. Tudur Jones, Congregationalism in Wales, edited by Robert Pope (2004); Eric Jones, The Good Ground (2009), a historical outline of Unitarian churches in Wales; and The history of Welsh Calvinistic Methodism vol.3, Growth and consolidation (c.1814-1914) edited by J. Gwynfor Jones (2013).

Detailed descriptions of selected chapels, as well as churches, are presented in T.J. Hughes, Wales’s best one hundred churches (2006) and Jonathan Wooding, Churches and chapels of Wales (2011). High-quality illustrations appear in the former volume, and also in Tim Rushton’s Capeli/Chapels (2012). Further relevant information is also available on the websites of  Capel, the Chapels Heritage Society (www.capeli.org.uk) and Addoldai Cymru, the Welsh Religious Buildings Trust (www.welshchapels.org).The present reviewer’s The Chapels of Wales, reviewed in The Local Historian vol.44 no.2 (April 2014) contains three entries on London chapels with the one on Jewin citing a reference to Philip Temple’s Islington Chapels (1992). This again is a surprising omission from the City Mission volume, especially as it provides information on the architects and builders of Jewin, Holloway, Wilton Square (all P), King’s Cross (I) and the City Road (WM) chapels.   Comprehensive local studies concentrating on Nonconformist chapel buildings include Alan Vernon Jones’s Chapels of the Cynon Valley: Capeli Cwm Cynon (2004) and Huw Edwards’s own Capeli Llanelli: our rich heritage (2009), which emphasised the valuable Nonconformist heritage of the industrial town of Llanelli. Huw Edwards has now, in City Mission, considerably enhanced our understanding of the significant contribution of Welsh chapels and churches to their communities in London, and also the social and architectural importance of the various buildings constructed by the various Welsh religious groups active in the capital city.

City Mission: the Story of London’s Welsh Chapels by Huw Edwards (Y Lolfa 2014 368pp ISBN 978 1 84771 905 8) £24.95

D. HUW OWEN, formerly Keeper of Pictures and Maps at the National Library of Wales, Aberystwyth, is the author and editor of several English and Welsh volumes, including Settlement and  Society in Wales (1989); The  Chapels of Wales (2012); and Searching for Family and Community History in Wales (2014 ). His latest book, on the Gwendraeth Valleys and Llanelli, is, by happy coincidence, reviewed in this issue of The Local Historian.

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By Christopher French

Diaries can be a valuable and evocative source for the historian, not only illuminating notable past historical events (one thinks here of such diarists as Samuel Pepys in the seventeenth century or Chips Channon in the twentieth) but also providing insights into the lives and times of the diarists themselves. Diaries kept by the rich and famous are more likely to survive than those kept by ‘ordinary people’. Indeed, historically the latter were far less likely to write a diary in the first place so any that survive detailing ‘history from below’ are particularly valuable. The first two volumes reviewed here are such examples, although their provenance and presentation are rather different. A South Devon carpenter in Victorian London: the diary of Charles Cleverley Paine by Crispin Paine provides details of the diarist’s life in London and in Kingsbridge, South Devon, between September 1862 and June 1863. The diary entries, according to Crispin (Charles’s great grandson) offer ‘an exceptional picture of how some of the great developments of the mid-nineteenth century impacted on an ambitious 21 year old from a small town in the West Country’. Charles Paine trained as a carpenter and, on completion of his apprenticeship he migrated to London—as did so many young men at this time—where he hoped to find better work prospects and greater social opportunities. Incorporating extensive quotations from the diary, successive short chapters consider the author’s working life as a skilled carpenter, his leisure activities, his continuing connections with fellow South Devonians, and his personal characteristics and qualities. Work was plentiful (Charles Paine arrived in London in the middle of a building boom) and we learn, for example, details of his earnings, who he worked for, and the type of work he was engaged in. He also took advantage of the many social opportunities London had to offer and enjoyed walking in the Royal Parks, frequent trips to the music hall, and visiting museums, exhibitions and other major attractions such as the Zoo, Madam Tussaud’s and the Crystal Palace. Crispin Paine feels that it is more difficult to find clues to Charles’ character and attitudes from his diary entries but still concludes that he was ambitious, respectable and keen to further his education—all in all, ‘Charles was a classic working-class conservative’. His time in London was relatively short and in June 1863 he returned to Kingsbridge because his father was seriously ill. The final two months of his diary entries detail how he spent his time helping to look after his father, occasional carpentry jobs and meetings and trips with friends and family.

Overall, this is a well-produced volume which certainly provides an insight into the life and times of an ordinary working man over a relatively short time period. The text is enhanced by a number of relevant contemporary and more recent illustrations (although the very strange illustration of Charles Paine on page 52 is never explained) and a comprehensive listing of sources and references. The final section on ‘What happened later’ is rather brief and it would be instructive to have more details of how Charles Paine, on his subsequent return to London, built such a successful career as a builder and moved up the social ladder to become an alderman of the City of London. He also fathered ten children. What happened to them? Did any continue in the family business? The author of this study might well consider providing a second volume on the history of the enterprise established by his great grandfather.

A rather different ‘diary based’ volume is A free-spirited woman: the London diaries of Gladys Langford, 1936-1940, edited by Patricia and Robert Malcolmson and published by the London Record Society. The bulk of the book consists of substantial diary entries carefully chosen by the editors. These are enhanced by contextual comments and brief summaries of diary entries between the dates chosen (the later text in italics) together with more substantial editorial commentaries at the beginning of each chapter. Extensive footnoting also helps to guide the reader through the material reproduced from the diary. The editors’ approach is clearly set out in their introduction and, as they indicate, their choice of entries enables them to avoid repetitions and to concentrate on the more ‘interesting’ aspects of Gladys Langford’s life. Overall they claim that ‘Our selections, which represent around half of Gladys’ diary-writing from 1936-1940, give prominence to her writing that conveys detailed descriptions and/or thoughtful reflections’. The result is a substantial body of material which covers the thoughts and experiences of a professional woman in her forties, living on her own in London during a period of increasing national and international crisis. Gladys Langford’s biographical background establishes that she was born Gladys Mears in 1890 in Bethnal Green, trained as a teacher, married George William Langford in 1913, divorced in 1918 and remained single for the rest of her life. During the time covered by the diary she lived in three different residences in Highbury while teaching at a junior boys’ school in Hoxton. In addition to her diary entries, Gladys Langford also filled in questionnaires and wrote reports for Mass Observation from February 1939 onwards and this material is also included in part 2 of the book, covering March 1939 to July 1940. Comparisons can be drawn between her private diary entries and what she wrote for Mass Observation. As the editors conclude, in the latter ‘She answered some of these questions in considerable detail and in so doing disclosed a lot about her tastes, her background, her values and her current circumstances, sometimes well beyond the facts recorded in the diary’. During September and October 1939, Gladys also provided Mass Observation with details of her dreams, which are also included here.

It is impossible in a short review to do full justice to the value and diversity of the material covered—from the ordinary (such as books read and films seen) to the truly memorable such as the outbreak of war—but a number of themes can be highlighted including her general dislike of teaching, her dealings with her various friends and relations (there is a useful list of the main people mentioned in the diary), her love of trips to the theatre, the concert hall and the cinema, her growing anxiety over the deteriorating international situation and her rather tolerant attitude towards men. She desires a permanent relationship but has to be content with occasional sexual encounters with a married man (called Leonard in the diary but not his real name), and she seems not to be over concerned by being molested by men sitting next to her in the theatre or cinema. This is rather a strange attitude for such an emancipated woman and brings out the complex nature of her relationship with the world in which she lived. One or two quotations from the diary will illustrate these various themes and provide a flavour of her style of diary entry: ‘Suffered from a bad spell of rage at school today. I think I get over-wrought with playground duty, drill in the afternoon and the continual noise in the street outside ... Teaching is the world’s worst job for me and when continual talk of war and its horrors are in the air, I feel I can endure no more’ (Monday 5 September 1938). ‘Met Lil and Challis [her sister and brother-in-law] at King’s Cross and I felt at first elated. I thought we should recapture some of the days of pleasurable excitement I used to know as a child when Lil took me out. Alas, we have all changed. I demand more real companionship, she no longer takes any interest in anything save acquiring more and more oddments. Challis, whose intellect was never remarkable, is now an arrant fool’ (Thursday 1 April 1937). ‘To Queen’s Hall. Bitterly cold. Malcolm Sargent conducting, Egon Petri at the piano—a Mozart concerto, second Liszt concerto, and finally Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. My first hearing of the last named and I much enjoyed it. Booked 1s seat for next Beecham concert’ (Monday 7 December 1936). ‘Feel slightly better and much improved in spirits after a violent fit of love-making, more befitting Cleopatra than me. Leonard came this afternoon and we made the very most of our hour and half together. He was quite exhausted when he left but I was merely gleeful. I am 472/3 and still able to rouse him to frenzy’ (Sunday 26 December 1937, Boxing Day).

A number of contemporary illustrations (there is only one known photograph of Gladys Langford, taken when she was briefly married) add value to the text while an appendix provides a list of the books read, the plays, films and exhibitions seen, and the concerts attended in 1937 indicating a very full social and cultural life. The overall quality of production is high and the material presented will be of much value to social historians with an interest in the lives of ‘ordinary men and women’ during the mid-twentieth century. As this volume is based on only the first four of 37 handwritten notebooks, held in the Islington Local History Centre at Finsbury Library, there is ample scope to know more about this ‘free spirited woman’. This excellent volume can be highly recommended to readers of The Local Historian.

In the third book reviewed here, London’s Sailortown 1600-1800: a social history of Shadwell and Radcliffe, an early modern London riverside suburb by Derek Morris and Ken Cozens and published by the East London History Society, it is the variety of sources which is impressive. The authors have previously published similar volumes covering Mile End Old Town, Wapping and Whitechapel and they have therefore produced a considerable body of work intended ‘to challenge the many well-established stereotypes to be found in previously well-regarded books purporting to describe the area in the eighteenth century’. Having reviewed the three previous volumes for TLH (and now this fourth volume) I have been well placed to see how the project has developed over time and to see a number of common themes running through the individual studies including the one reviewed here. First and foremost is the prodigious amount of research into a variety of archival evidence which underpins the narrative. Sources such as wills, land tax records, local newspapers, directories, licensed victuallers’ records, insurance records and rate books have been fully utilised to provide a detailed picture of many aspects of life, work, culture and leisure in this area of the East End of London ‘between Aldgate and the River Lea and between the north bank of the Thames and High Street, Whitechapel’. Similar themes are also explored in all four books although there are variations, of course, resulting largely from each area’s geographical position and varying economic activity. Comprehensive appendices and indexes also add value to the text, and the quality of production is uniformly high.

In the present volume covering Shadwell and Radcliffe fully-referenced chapters detail economic growth, relationships and organisation arising from the area’s service and processing industries together with its widespread maritime activity and commercial links with both London as a whole and the wider world; the varieties of social life experienced in ‘Sailortown’ influenced, for example, by religion, education and criminal activity; and the impact of local government and the newly-built London Docks on the area and its inhabitants. The importance and interaction of economic, political, social, family and religious networks in the development of the area is much in evidence. Class differences are also highlighted with the growing influence of ‘the middling sort’ being particularly noticeable, while due attention is given to the many ways in which women (again including ‘the middling sort’)  interacted with the local economy and local society. The methodology is explored in an introductory chapter and in the first of a number of appendices. Especially illuminating is the way in which details from named individuals’ lives and activities are used to illustrate more general points of discussion. Finally, it is good to see that reviewers’ comments are occasionally noted in that this volume (and the previous one) are fully footnoted, whereas this was not the case with the first two books in the series which made it difficult to connect the text with the sources (however the surname of T.S. Willan is still spelt incorrectly in this volume as it was in the first). In addition, engagement with the secondary literature is now much in evidence, while this detailed and interesting discussion of ‘London’s Sailortown’ is supported by a fitting conclusion which does justice to the academic achievement of the project as a whole in recreating the rich diversity of economic, social, cultural and family life in this area of the East End of London.  

A SOUTH DEVON CARPENTER IN VICTORIAN LONDON The diary of Charles Cleverly Paine September 1862-June 1863 Crispin Paine (Meskel Press 2014 91pp ISBN 978-0-9928777-0- 5) £12.50+£2 p&p from Meskel Press, 108 Station Road, Liss GU33 7AQ

A FREE-SPIRITED WOMAN The London diaries of Gladys Langford, 1936-1940 Patricia and Robert Malcolmson (eds) (London Record Society: Boydell 2014 xxv+193pp ISBN 978-0-900952-55-5) £25

LONDON’S SAILORTOWN 1600-1800: a social history of Shadwell and Ratcliff, an early modern London riverside suburb Derek Morris and Ken Cozens (East London History Society 2014 viii+207pp ISBN 978-0-9564779-2-7) £12.60+£3.50 from hhtp://www.eastlondonhistory.org.uk

CHRISTOPHER FRENCH is Emeritus Reader and Honorary Research Fellow attached to Kingston University’s Centre for the Historical Record. His current research is into housing and community in suburban London with particular reference to the towns of Surbiton and Teddington before 1939. His latest publication is A suburb of contrasts: the Udney Park Estate, Teddington, 1870-1939 (Borough of Twickenham Local History Society, 2015).

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By Stephen Roberts

This article considers a new way which local historians might choose in order to get their work into print. I have recently made the transition from writing about a well-known aspect of our national past to writing about relatively obscure figures who lived in Victorian Birmingham. When I was writing about the Chartists I did not, for the most part, find it difficult to find a publisher. There are a fair few scholarly publishers who release books at £70 or more, a few hundred of which they hope to get into university libraries. There are others—and a word of praise here for Verso and Merlin, both of whom I have used—who also produce reasonably-priced paperbacks alongside the library hardbacks. And a plethora of scholarly journals also exist, seemingly devoted to almost every imaginable angle of historical enquiry. So the academic historian will usually, without too much trouble, be able to find ways of getting essays and monographs published. Not only without too much trouble, but also without having to hand over any money. The costs of these publications are borne by the publishers: with one exception, I have not been asked for a financial contribution towards the production costs of a scholarly book I have written or edited.

When I came to write about Victorian Birmingham, I proceeded in the way I always had. I identified publishers who might be interested and sent off a proposal.  What I had not expected was that the publishers of local history  mostly seem to require a subvention—and that financial contribution amounts on average to a few thousand pounds.  Now I fully understood that most local history publishers are not big operations with pots of money, but I was never going to recover the sort of sum I might be asked to contribute and, stubborn as I was, there also seemed to be a principle at stake—I didn’t believe that authors should have to pay to have their books published.  Looking into the matter further, I discovered that many local historians did indeed put up money to get their work out, paying for printers to produce their books and then selling them themselves.  Understandable in many ways—but many people who published this way were sure to find themselves out of pocket.  Of course, there are in some parts of the country local history magazines—I have contributed a couple of times, for example, to Lincolnshire Past and Present –and there is the Local Historian, but these only take short pieces and, in the case of the latter, I imagine the editor is spoilt for choice.

I then mentioned the difficulty I faced in getting my work published to a colleague, and it was from him that I heard about CreateSpace, an Amazon company. Let’s be clear: CreateSpace is not a publisher. When an author brings out a book with them, it remains self-publishing. But what CreateSpace offers is print-on-demand publishing, with a free ISBN and, once the book has been completed, immediate sales on Amazon. The copyright remains with the author and the books, with full colour covers, look exactly like those brought out by a traditional publisher. The author has to upload his or her book as a Word document or PDF file onto CreateSpace, check through the version of the book on screen, and decide on a price. A step-by-step guide on the CreateSpace website explains how to do all of this, though admittedly you must have a certain level of technical know-how to follow the guidance. Of course, the author must then promote the book so that people know of its existence. I do this by sending out emails and flyers through the post to people I know might be interested, and by making use of internet forums. Books published this way sell slowly, but they are never unavailable: if someone wants a copy five or ten years after publication, it is easy to obtain one. Authors earn royalties, and can order as many copies as they wish at cost price. 

Using CreateSpace, I have created a series called ‘Birmingham Biographies’, which now has its own website. The series is made up of short biographies of Victorian Brummies. I have made sure that these are good stories that people might want to read, so the first publication in the series tells the story of Dr J.A. Langford, antiquarian and poet. I had wondered how a self-educated chairmaker from Birmingham had acquired a doctorate from an American college he had never visited and, after a little digging, I discovered that the college, after destruction during the Civil War, sold degrees to men of a scholarly inclination who had been recommended to them by an agent in Britain. A fascinating tale, I thought.

I have deliberately kept the prices of these books at an affordable level. The most expensive sells for £8.99, but it consists of 167 pages featuring 60 full-page cartoons. I am sure that a traditional publisher would have released the book at twice the price. The other books in the series range in length from 40 to 120 pages and in price from £3.99 to £7.99. I have also tried to make them visually attractive.  The cover of Mocking Men of Power: Comic Art in Birmingham 1851-1911, for example, features a fabulous contemporary colour illustration which I turned up a few years ago in a secondhand bookshop. I am also particularly pleased with the cover of Sir Richard Tangye 1833-1906: A Victorian Entrepreneur in Victorian Birmingham. It depicts one of Tangye’s early workshops and I feel chimes in with the contents of the book perfectly. As well as striking covers, a book needs a range of interesting illustrations. I have ensured there are plenty of these in each book, mostly photographs and cartoons.  Some of these I have bought on eBay; this has, of course, cost money, but I am glad to own these items and add them to my collection. Others have been supplied free of charge by institutions: the library of the Birmingham and Midland Institute has been particularly helpful in this respect.

One final point needs to be made. These books are the best I can do. I have put as much work into them as if they had been brought out by a leading publishing house. They are thoroughly researched, with footnotes where they should be, at the bottom of each page, and written and revised with great care. It is unlikely that anyone will write about these men again and I want to ensure that they have received their due. Publishing through CreateSpace has caused much discussion in the magazine of the Society of Authors. For myself I can only say that I have enjoyed publishing my work this way, without all the delays and disappointments that often go with using a conventional publisher.

For more information on the ‘Birmingham Biographies’ series visit the website www.birmingham-biographies.co.uk

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By Elizabeth Round

In this article, which was the winner of the British Association for Local History ‘Medieval and early modern essay’ prize for 2015, Elizabeth Round explores a story which appears—in one version or another—in most of the printed local histories of Leominster, Herefordshire. It concerns a battle which is said to have taken place at Cursneh Hill, outside the town, during the extremely brief reign of Lady Jane Grey. The article traces the origins of the legend in manuscript and published histories back to the early eighteenth century, and then dissects these various accounts to find factual evidence. Elizabeth Round then compares this with other sources, such as State Papers and other published sources for the middle decades of the sixteenth century, and with antiquarian texts which have long been dismissed as a source of reliable local history.

By piecing together these fragments and parallel sources she is able to identify exactly what did happen—namely that there was a meeting of involved parties at this spot, but that it took place not in the summer of 1553 as the legend stated but six months later in January 1554 during Sir Thomas Wyatt’s ill-fated rising against Queen Mary. She also confirms that it was not a battle, but rather a meeting or conference of protagonists, and argues that folk memories of a minor skirmish in the area during the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross in the Wars of the Roses may have become confused with the later meeting at Cursneh Hill. The conclusion is that antiquarian texts may contain valuable genuine information, which may be very helpful in the investigation of aspects of local history which are otherwise not recorded or only recorded as legends.

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By James Mawdesley

This article is focused on an extraordinary allegation that Isaac Antrobus, the rector of Egremont in Cumberland, baptised a cockerel (naming it Peter) in the mid-1640s. James Mawdesley begins by considering the religious and political changes of the middle decades of the seventeenth century, and the ‘scandalous behaviour and royalist allegiances’ of Antrobus himself. He then assesses the sacrament of baptism and the possible reasons for the committing of this mocking and subversive act, in the context of theological arguments about baptism. The evidence for the allegation is analysed, both from contemporary sources and rather later accounts (including the autobiography of the parliamentarian astrologer William Lilly). The paper then considers the parish context, setting out extensive evidence for the adoption or rejection of attempts by Canterbury and York to impose conformity and uniformity from the 1630s onwards, and the statements and orders made during visitations designed to enforce these requirements.  The generally damning opinion of outsiders as to the quality and reliability of Cumbrian clergy is highlighted, as is the division within the parish between evangelically minded Protestants and those who accepted the rector’s lax ways.

James Mawdesley then weighs up the story in two scenarios (that the story was a myth or that it reflected a real event) and concludes by placing the story once more in the context of the unsettled times—the ‘sometimes transitory and fleeting nature of religious experiences during these troubled decades’. 

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By Jeremy Harte

‘Gypsies are largely invisible in local history’, suggests Jeremy Harte in this wide-ranging review of the subject. The paper looks particularly at Surrey and adjacent areas, but its themes have a very much broader relevance and can readily be developed by local historians in other parts of the country.  The paper begins with a section titled ‘The invisible people’, and then considers accounts of Gypsies in, for example, the works of George Borrow. The theme of genealogy and family history as a framework not only for oral history but also for Gypsy life is followed by an assessment of the Gypsy Lore Society (1888) and the ambivalence of its work in   recording the subject. The article considers the formal sources for Gypsies, such as baptism records, census returns and field-names, contrasting them with the mental maps of travelling groups, and also highlights the significance of urban Gypsies in the contemporary media. Sections on tracing Gypsies and family history point to the potential for research projects, and issues such as health, longevity, interaction with other members of the wide community, and names and identities, are discussed. The final section points to the hostility of the world and the absence of local research about the impact of legislation and restrictive laws. There is a very comprehensive set of notes and references to assist and guide other researchers.

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By John S. Hartley

The 1756 War Office Survey was undertaken by the Excise Office and gathered information about accommodation in inns and alehouses, and stable places for horses. It was the last of a series of such exercises, which in various forms dated back to the 1570s and were concerned with the provision of billeting for troops. In this article John Hartley considers the political and military circumstances which prompted the exercise, and the organisation of the information-gathering, with particular emphasis on the geographical structure of the Excise Office, which was divided into 49 areas called ‘Collections’, which did not necessarily conform to county boundaries. These were in turn subdivided into districts, divisions and walks (in towns) or ‘out-rides’ in the countryside. The detailed method of collecting and collating the returns is described, and the paper uses as a case study the Grantham Collection which was based on Stamford in Lincolnshire. This return is enviably detailed, listing 987 licensed establishments including a significant number where no beds or stable places were recorded. There is a substantial analysis of the returns, both in terms of their internal structure and the way they reflect the organisation of the exercise, and as evidential sources for local historians. It is suggested that these, and other Excise Office records, have much potential but are seriously under-exploited in local history research.

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By Peter Steere

This case study of the history of the Baptist Church at Sandy, Bedfordshire, is set against the later nineteenth century experience of the Baptists more generally. Its main theme is the social structure and community context of the church, explaining in detail the sources of evidence for the congregation and its fluctuating numbers between the 1860s and the beginning of the twentieth century, and showing how the overall growth in the size of the congregation was significantly greater than population growth in the town. From this the article moves on to discuss the financial circumstances of the church in Sandy, and its growing prosperity—indeed, a new church building was completed, though that in turn made the overall financial position more vulnerable. The paper then asks whether growing numbers and relative financial success were matched by strengthened spiritual well-being, and uses the evidence of minute books which record instances of discipline for misbehaviour and inappropriate behaviour (notably intemperance). It concludes that at the end of the Victorian period the church was in a strong position, and then notes that today is congregation is only one-tenth that of a century ago and the building is rarely used.

By D. Huw Owen

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By Diana and Michael Honeybone

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By Keith Brooker

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By Jennifer Weale and Allan Wyatt

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By Chris Brader

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By Susanna Wade-Martins

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By Katherine Lack

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By Stephen Roberts and Roger Ward

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By Elizabeth Allan

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