The Local Historian Volume 50 Number 2 April 2020

By Alan G Crosby

This year The Local Historian has reached its fiftieth volume, an achievement worth more than a passing mention. The first issue appeared in the summer of 1952—which of course means that in two years’ time we will be commemorating our seventieth anniversary—and since then (including the journal you’re reading now) the grand total of 370 issues have been published. I was planning to count the number of pages but decided that would be going to excessive lengths, albeit to find what would undoubtedly be an impressive statistic. The first volume, a small booklet on cheap ‘utility’ paper, was produced when rationing was still in force. It was a private venture, the brainchild of its editor, Terrick FitzHugh, who by obsession if not by actual employment was a genealogist far ahead of his time, because he was very interested in emphasising the local and social history context of family history research. He was also the chairman of the Sunbury and Shepperton Local History Society, an early entrant into the field of local societies, and he joined forces with C.E. Fisher & Co (Publishers) Ltd of 20/21 Took’s Court, London EC4 (about whom I can find almost no information) to launch his project. The annual subscription for six issues of what was then called The Amateur Historian was nine shillings, and vol.1 no.1 included material by, among others, the great historian Christopher Hill, the classical scholar R.E. Latham (compiler of the still absolutely invaluable Medieval Latin Word-List), and R.P. Pugh, doyen of the Victoria County History project. The ambition was great, as was the imagination with which the journal was launched (the cover of the first issue is reproduced on the back cover of this present one).

Just as every issue of The Local Historian today includes ‘recent publications in local history’, so the very first had a short list of ‘recent local history books’. An eclectic mix, it mentions inter alia Maurice Schofield’s Outlines of an Economic History of Lancaster, published by the local branch of the Historical Association (7s 6d), N.W. Tildesley’s History of Willenhall, published by Willenhall Public Library (those were the days!) at 10s 6d, and Devonshire Studies, authored by two of the giants of twentieth-century local history (W.G. Hoskins and H.P.R. Finberg) and published by Jonathan Cape at the immense price of 36s ... revealing that the high pricing of academic books is not a recent phenomenon. There were book reviews, of a distinctively quirky nature: the first, on Kathleen Kenyon’s Beginning in Archaeology, suggests that it could be recommended for school libraries and follows that up with the odd and somewhat bizarre observation that ‘The photograph on the dust cover (husky man in wind-cheater and young woman in breeches performing rites of triangulation over two skeletons) will ensure that it does not stay long on the shelves’, conjuring up slightly disturbing images of what went on in school libraries at the beginning of the 1950s!

Brief notes (of the sort which are now a mainstay of our admirable sister journal, Local History News) remind us that some things never seem to change: witness the doleful statement that ‘The listing of buildings “of architectural and historic importance” by the Ministry of Housing and Local Government will be slowed down by the recent Treasury decision to reduce the investigating staff’. But there was also much optimism: at Kingston upon Thames, at a conference attended by over 200 teachers, the Surrey Educational Research Association was launched. The meeting was addressed by James Chuter Ede, who until six months before had been home secretary and was a former teacher, and the county archivist ‘contributed a paper on the records available in the county collection. The teachers then went back to start on the first of their tasks, the histories of their own schools’. In Lincolnshire ‘an organised attempt is being made to enlist the interest of old people in local history’ because ‘much valuable material can be obtained from personal reminiscences’, while it was noted that local history societies had recently been formed in Staines, Wembley, Willesden, Scunthorpe, Selby, Filey and Hunmanby. This was indeed a time for growth, optimism and innovation. What might seem commonplace now—oral history and school histories—were then novel and pioneering.

The relationship with genealogy (not yet family history) produced intriguing material of the sort which does not appear in The Local Historian today—for example, a discussion of extreme incest among the royal lines of Egypt and the Inca Empire, and the fact that his late majesty King George VI was descended from (among countless other forebears) ‘the Prophet Mahomet’. But from the outset the aim was to inform and enlighten, to highlight the archival resources which were available in increasing quantities in the new record offices, and to emphasise the ‘amateur’ in the sense of encouraging non-professionals to undertake historical investigation.

That did not please everybody. Adrian Brunel of Gerrards Cross, a pioneering film director and screenwriter now highly regarded by cinema historians, wrote in vol.1 no.2 that ‘I am not happy about your title. The word ‘amateur’ may put people off. I can’t think of a good word to replace it, I must admit, but if there is anything in my feeling about the word “amateur,” I am sure you could find the right word—along the lines of FIRESIDE—POPULAR—BEDSIDE’. Happily, I think, his suggestion was ignored. The Bedtime Historian? The Fireside Historian? No! I’m glad that Terrick FitzHugh did not succumb, although it was not until vol.8 no.1 (at the beginning of 1968) that the name change to The Local Historian took place.

By that time Terrick FitzHugh had long since given up the editorship. He was by profession a film producer (hence, no doubt, the connection with Adrian Brunel) but his passion was genealogy. He handed the reins to the inspirational Lionel Munby in the spring of 1955, and then devoted himself to genealogical work for the rest of his life—he died in November 1990. Lionel was followed by David Dymond (1976-1982), Kate Tiller (1983-1988), Philip Morgan (1988-1991) and Margaret Bonney (1992-2001). Since then I’ve been the editor, following in those illustrious footsteps. We have seen The Local Historian grow and flourish, into the substantial quarterly journal of today, for many years under the careful and benevolent management of the British Association for Local History. I’ve known all the previous editors except Terrick FitzHugh and have and am honoured to count them among my friends. Each has helped to develop the journal and to expand its scope and quality, and for a quarter of a century we have also benefitted from the skill and professionalism of Salisbury Printing Ltd, who produce each issue to such a high standard. A warm thank you to everybody who has been involved with TLH over the last fifty volumes—and grateful thanks to you, our readers and subscribers, without whom none of this would have been worth doing and who sustain and enrich the world of local history in these islands.

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By Rose Wallis

92-107

This paper is based on the British Association for Local History annual lecture given in June 2019. Dr Wallis discusses the magistracy in the ‘high watermark’ period of its authority, the decades around 1800, beginning with an explanation of the quarter sessions system and the powers that the magistrates were able to exercise through the county sessions and in other ways. She refers to their civil administrative role and to the authority which they enjoyed the field of criminal justice. An important theme is the work of magistrates outside the formal courts, including the powers of summary justice and the developing role of the petty sessions. This section emphasises the central role that magistrates played in county government and the regulation of the community. The paper then considers who the magistrates were, their credentials and their culture and values.

The second part of the paper takes Somerset as a case study, drawing attention to the increasing challenges represented by rapid population growth and urbanisation during the early nineteenth century. The problems in actually finding magistrates are highlighted, in terms of the ‘availability of justice’ and the developing situation whereby a growing proportion of magistrates were inactive and only nominally on the commission of the peace. In Somerset, as in other counties, there were also multiple jurisdictions—particularly the existence of borough sessions—and the geographical organisation of sessions towns.The paper discusses solutions, including expanding the social catchment for recruiting magistrates; reorganising divisions within the county to create more workable units; and the relationship between the magistracy and the new (post-1835) borough corporations and (post-1839) county police forces. The conclusion focuses on the conflict between the magistracy as a traditional focus of authority, and the pressures of a fast-changing world. There is a very comprehensive set of notes and references.

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By Nina Wedell

108-121

This paper focuses on a dispute over tithes in the large rural parish of Clodock, on the border between Herefordshire, Breconshire and Monmouthshire. It sets out the background to the dispute, including the complexities of the several chapelries within the parish, and noting the severe physical challenges of collecting tithes in an area characterised by remoteness, poor roads and a difficult topography. The judgment in the tithe dispute is recorded on two large tablets on the wall of the parish church, and the narrative has been traced from diocesan records.The dispute, between the vicar and leading parishioners, concerned the commutation of payment in kind and its replacement by cash ‘moduses’ with fixed values. The vicar objected to this change, but the church court found in favour of the parishioners. The dispute is explained in the context of the powerful presence of local nonconformity, overlain with a strong Welsh cultural influence even though the parish was in England. The dramatis personae are described, including the shadowy personality of the vicar, Edward Sparkes, an incomer and clearly out of place. The paper analyses vestry meeting papers to look at local issues of concern, and concludes that Sparkes was the victim of an inequitable and increasingly anachronistic system, which local nonconformity made almost unworkable.

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By Tony Fox

122-126This short paper suggests that local historians should be more adventurous in using simple mathematics to reveal ‘unexpected properties of the historical structures that they study’. Tony Fox takes three examples of tabulated data which have been published in The Local Historian during the past fifteen years, and uses simple mathematical techniques to demonstrate conclusions which can be drawn from them (beyond those identified by the authors of the relevant articles). He explains the reasoning behind each exercise, and observes that each of the three cases involves ‘time-series data’ which allows straightforward analysis of trends over time. His argument is that plotting data onto an Excel spreadsheet is the key to analysis of this sort. For the courageous, in an endnote he includes a technical explanation of one of the exercises.

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By A.D. Harvey

127-133In this paper, which is based mainly on field observation in the Stoke Newington area, A.D. Harvey shows how the streets and buildings of the area reveal the destruction which took place during the Second World War, and the ways in which reconstruction took place. He begins with a detailed discussion of the surviving documentary sources, which in London vary very widely in quality between the former metropolitan boroughs. He notes in particular that newspaper sources are generally unhelpful but that logbooks, registers and official diaries may be highly informative. The paper then considers the tell-tale signs of reconstruction, such as differing detail in the facades of terraces; ‘utility’ designs in the middle of more elaborate facades; variations in building materials, window alignments and gaps in cornices; and signs of blast damage on trees. There is a detailed set of notes and references.

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By David T. Taylor

134-151

David Taylor, in an innovative paper, explores the little-known Voluntary Contribution of 1798, a national fundraising effort which was designed to avoid two of the major problems of financing the French wars—the unpopularity of increased taxation, and the need to repay loans. It involved individuals making payments into the Bank of England in advance of being assessed for taxes; any amount paid in excess of the tax assessment would be considered a ‘voluntary contribution’, its donor being thereby signalled as someone who was loyal and patriotic. The paper considers the practicalities of the exercise, including the widespread publicity given in public meetings and dinners, and the remarkable contribution made by the working classes. But Taylor notes widespread and very considerable variations, and that ‘support was more nuanced than is often considered’.

The paper then outlines the sources of data for a Staffordshire case-study, with caveats about the way in which the contemporary administration functioned, the recording of names and the presence of group donors (‘Lord Curzon’s Servants’) and corporate giving. The main element in the paper is a detailed statistical analysis which reveals areas of low support for the government (including high percentages of those assessed for taxation who did not contribute). The analysis is comprehensive and careful, teasing out patterns and correlating contributions to, for example, social structures, the degree of industrialisation, and the presence or absence of a powerful and influential landowner.

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By William Evans

The practice of local history is founded on the proposition that the past of a locality is distinctive in two respects. First, it differs from the pasts of the region, nation, continent or empire of which the locality is part. Local historians recognise that localities exist within, and may depend on, those wider contexts, so that what happened locally and what local people experienced was influenced by what happened elsewhere—thus, invasion, reformation, civil war, enlightenment, industrial revolution, international war, politics, or changes in technology. But local historians also maintain that their narratives are distinctive from the national, and are of interest and of value in themselves, irrespective of wider connections. Second, local history is distinctive in that the past of one place differs from the pasts of other places even though their pasts may have had common features. Histories of Coventry and Warwick differ from each other, as well as from histories of England or Warwickshire.

If local history is distinctive in those two ways, it follows that if at a particular time or during a particular period no such distinctions existed, it is not possible to write local histories about those pasts. If what happened in a locality was so tied up with national events as to be indistinguishable from them, or if what happened in one locality is the same as what happened in any other locality, there is nothing meriting the attention of local historians—local history has met its end, at least until circumstances change and differences emerge again.

Indistinguishability of the local from the national, and of one locality from another, seems to come about from one of two reasons: either the uniformity occurs naturally or it is imposed by superior power. The first can happen where there is no nation state or other centralising force; the latter in a totalitarian state or one with a strong ruler intent upon imposing uniformity throughout the realm.

In Britain’s past there must have been many periods when local communities did not differ much from each other. The further back one looks, the sparser the evidence, but one suspects that stone age, bronze age and iron age communities were much alike, if only because they did not have much to differ with. See one museum’s reconstruction of paleo-squalor and you’ve seen them all. As they recovered after each disruption—by Romans, Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Normans—communities across large areas of Britain appear to have settled into a pattern, whereby the rules and the activities differed little from place to place, so much so that many big names in historiography have generalised over the whole country from what they claim to have discovered (or what record office staff have drawn to their attention) in local archives. Even early modern boroughs had much in common with each other, in terms of constitution, function and role.

Uniformity did not occur all over the world at the same time. Tribes in iron age Britain seem to have co-existed in humdrum homogeneity at the same time as Hellenic city states were developing a variety of constitutions and were innovating and diversifying in architecture, philosophy, visual and plastic arts, literature, and exploration of the natural world. Late medieval and early modern Britain lay under a blanket of manorial feudalism and religious conformity at the same time as independent city states in Italy were undergoing renaissance, their arts and literature flourishing and diversifying along with the technologies of war. In Britain only towns saw initiative and change differentiate so as to make distinctive local history narratives possible or meaningful. In some countries histories (albeit written by outsiders) report periods of uniformity that lasted long, as in pre-revolution Russia, and in parts of Africa and Asia before the disruption of colonialism.

Until there was diversity, local history could have no traction. Only since early modern times in Britain have political and economic influences promoted local differences. Accelerators of diversity included the industrial revolution and the enlightenment. They gave Leland and the early county chorographers a variety of differences to observe and record compared with the repetitive stocktake of Domesday. In the Victorian era population growth accentuated the distinction between urban and rural (recognised and entrenched in the Local Government Acts of 1888 and 1894, which imposed uniformities within those two categories), and since then the pace of change has increased in towns and their village colonies. As a result, local history flourished.

If local history depends on local diversity and on distinctiveness from the nation as a whole, there are signs that it may be under threat. The most obvious is the homogenisation of many local communities. They have always shared common physical features: one pre-reformation church, nonconformist meeting house, farmstead or hamlet looks much the same as another; the architectural design of domestic dwellings has not changed much over the years; factories, office blocks, Victorian churches, schools and so on share many features in common. Institutions have similarly been replicated throughout England: law and order; the constitutions of boroughs; practices of agriculture, transport and trade. Anything mass-produced has uniformity built-in. Of recent years homogenisation has increased, notably in roads, retailing, employment, education, commuting, popular entertainment and communications. The causes of that homogenisation include:

mass production of goods, of which motor vehicles and processed food are examples;

the branding for marketing purposes of goods and services and of the premises from which they are sold;

the takeover of small business by larger ones and the replacement of local individuality with nation-wide uniformity for reasons of management, competition and economies of scale;

mass communications and entertainment, especially via television and the internet;

the increasing size of markets into which goods and services can be sold;

as Adam Smith foresaw, market dominance by a small number of operators, evident now in digital activities;

nationalisation of industries and services, which requires and results in uniformity of organisation, standards and modes of delivery;

central government’s stifling of local government and its reduction of local authorities to mere agents of the state, incentivised by financial inducements to implement projects desired by central government, and deterred by financial sanctions and restrictions from devising and implementing local initiatives;

media criticism (the ‘postcode lottery’) of local variation in public services under the pretext of drawing attention to injustice.

The second threat comes from what the media term ‘globalisation’. ‘Internationalisation’ would be a preferable term, because few activities and their results penetrate every place on earth. As businesses go international, they impose uniformity by their brands, which they apply to their products and their premises. They impose uniformity and conformity on constitutional structures and business routines, extinguishing local individuality and diversity.

It is not inevitable that globalisation, or homogenisation within a nation, will extinguish local distinctiveness. It cannot be assumed that it will continue to its logical conclusion of global uniformity. Globalisation will increase and extend only so long as businesses find that profitable. It has and will come up against limits. A product or service will not sell if or where people are too poor to afford it. There also seem to be more complex causes at work. One example is in languages. In any area, especially a nation state, one language tends to dominate, and to suppress or extinguish some minority languages, as English extinguished Cornish, and French suppressed Breton and Occitan. But not always: in Britain Welsh survives, as does Scots Gaelic; in Ireland, Irish Gaelic; in France and Spain, Basque and Catalan. Even where a language becomes dominant and standard, it often has local dialects and accents, and even forms new ones. Some of these variations are confined to technical practices—medicine, sport, music, science and computing all have their jargons—but others are peculiar to localities: they have shone in the darkness, and radio and television have not put them out. Some reassurance may come from observing that throughout history exponents of the ‘We’re all doomed’ message have often been proved wrong: early (and later) Christians expecting the end of the world at any moment or on a given date; Malthus; and, one hopes, those of us who worry about global overheating or the possibility that local history may be under threat.

WILLIAM EVANS is treasurer of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society and treasurer, membership secretary and newsletter editor of Avon Local History and Archaeology.

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By Heather Falvey

‘Why is XYZ Road so named?’ is a frequently asked question; alternatively, a street-name might be taken for granted, or at face value. Some names are obvious: for example, ‘[Place-name] Road’ leads to or from that place, and ‘New Road’ is probably the second-oldest road in the village or town. Richmond Local History Society has recently produced a third edition of The Streets of Richmond and Kew, which aims to explain the origins of all the local street-names, although some, the authors admit, have proved elusive and unexplainable. A large-scale contemporary map of the area enables reader to locate the roads that have been listed. In general it is an alphabetical list, although in some entries, such as that for The Green, the various groups of houses are listed together rather than alphabetically. References for earliest mentions of each name, and its variants, are given below each entry. The main sources are directories but others, including court rolls and vestry minutes, have also been consulted—the latter because, as the introduction explains (p.8), until the reorganisation of local government in the 1880s, the parish vestry was responsible for among other things the maintenance of the highways and had very basic planning controls, which included approving the names of new streets. Many of the names are fairly recent but were chosen to commemorate earlier inhabitants, such as Dee Road, named in 1941 after John Dee, the leading Elizabethan mathematician and astronomer who lived at Mortlake; and Defoe Avenue after Daniel Defoe, who visited Richmond and Kew in 1714. On the other hand Mount Ararat Road was named for Mount Ararat House, recorded there in a manorial survey of 1771, the name apparently being ‘quite common for a house on rising ground’. There is an appendix of ‘disused street names’ mentioned in the text—those that have fallen out of use, and the name currently in use, under which details of the old name will be found. This new edition adds the many housing developments built since the second edition was published in 1990.

The Tate Library, Brixton, founded by Sir Henry Tate, was opened by the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII) on 4 March 1893. The Prince described it as ‘handsome and commodious’ and thanked Tate for his generosity. Tate, apparently never keen on making a speech, expressed the hope that ‘the new building would be largely used and would prove a benefit to the parish’ (p.19). The purpose of The Tate Library, Brixton is to explain how Brixton came to have this fine amenity. Preceding a brief discussion of the library and its gardens is an account of the life, work and philanthropy of Henry Tate (1819-1899). His father William, a Unitarian minister in Chorley (Lancashire), also ran a school for poor children, paid for by a benefactor, where Henry was educated. At 13 Henry was apprenticed to Caleb, one of his elder brothers, a grocer in Liverpool. On completing his apprenticeship in 1839, he went into business as a grocer on his own account. Sugar was in great demand and sugar loaves needed to be broken up at the grocer’s into the portions required by housewives; it was a messy, laborious task. Tate tried out a few new methods and then in 1859, using the substantial profits from his grocery business, he bought a partnership in John Wright & Co., sugar refiners. In 1861 he sold his shops and became fully committed to sugar-refining; the partnership with Wright was dissolved in June 1869; the firm then became Henry Tate & Sons (until 1921, when it became Tate & Lyle). Despite other refineries failing, Tate’s prospered, not least because he built a second refinery at Silvertown, London, in a derelict shipyard, thus making his product easily available to the valuable London market. In 1881 he moved to Streatham from Liverpool, leaving his Liverpool operation in the charge of two of his sons. The author notes that the extent of his philanthropy, although huge, is difficult to pin down: firstly, he made so many donations (those from newspaper reports and other particular sources are listed in appendix 1); and secondly, the amounts given were sometimes reported differently. Nearly all the institutions that benefitted were in London or Liverpool, favouring education and self-improvement, with an emphasis on libraries. Appendix 3 helpfully disentangles Tate, sugar and slavery, pointing out the timing of abolition and the ending of indentured labour in relation to Tate’s business. More than a century later the library that he founded is still serving the population of Brixton. This well-researched booklet sheds light on why a particular local institution was established.

The first two booklets in the ‘WW1 Internment’ series published by the Anglo-German Family History Society make use of two sets of personal records to relate the experiences of two German internees: Hermann Korf and Wilhelm Reinhold Teuchert. Korf had emigrated to England in 1884, aged about 19, having completed his apprenticeship as a tailor. His story can be reconstructed because his daughter kept over a hundred documents, letters and photographs, many generated by officials in Germany and England. ‘Identity Book’ notes where he was employed, initially just off Oxford Street and then in Chipping Ongar (Essex) in 1885, where he worked for Thomas Rose, a men’s bespoke tailor. In Ongar he met, and in 1890 married, Ellen (Nellie) Lacey, daughter of a master cordwainer. After living in London for a few years, in about 1895 the couple moved back to Ongar, where Korf opened a shop specialising in ladies’ tailoring. Surviving bank books show that his business prospered. Within days of the declaration of war in August 1914 the Korfs had to attend Epping Police Station to receive their Certificates of Registration as Aliens. Korf had a telephone on his premises and, despite having been reassured by the local police that this was not against recent Restriction Orders, he was subsequently arrested for having a telephone installed without a permit. As well as being fined he was to be interned ‘as an alien enemy’, even though several good character references had been provided. He was immediately locked up and then taken to the internment camp at Olympia.

Remarkably he kept a diary of his experiences of arrest and interment beginning on the day of his arrest at Ongar on 19 October 1914. His diary is important because it describes the conditions of internment before mass internment started in May 1915 after the sinking of the Lusitania. He was initially moved to an outdoor camp at Frith Hill (Surrey) and then to the former Cunningham’s Camp on the Isle of Man. He notes a hunger strike on 17 November 1914 and disturbances in the dining hall the next day which resulted in a riot and five internees being shot dead. After that food improved but bad weather meant that the living conditions in tents were appalling. Christmas was celebrated German-style with numerous trees and special food. There were storms on New Year’s Day, followed by considerable unrest in the camp, then on Sunday 10 January 1915 Korf was summoned to the commandant’s office to be told that he was being released. Having crossed the Irish Sea to Liverpool, he went back to London by train. His diary ends here but other documents complete the story. Initially he was not permitted to go back to Ongar but lived with his sister-in-law in Edmonton. After attempts by various local people, including a JP, to have him allowed home, he eventually returned in April.

Wilhelm Reinhold Teuchert’s experiences were somewhat different. Like Korf he had emigrated from Germany for a better life. He arrived in Brighton (Sussex) in 1894 and began working in the town’s hotels; in 1901 he was a ‘hotel chef’ and in 1911 a ‘chef baker’. After a disastrous first marriage, in August 1906 he married Clara Hawkins. Sometime in 1912-1914 the family moved to London. As a result of measures relating to the arrest of all unnaturalised male Germans, Austrians and Hungarians of military age, on 18 September 1915 Teuchert reported voluntarily to Albany Street police station and was sent to the internment camp at Alexandra Palace, where he remained for two and a half years. During his time there he had several roles, one of which was ‘Captain Inspector’ for catering and some of his accounts when in charge of catering for ‘B’ Battalion survive. Indeed there are various records from the Alexandra Palace camp, including programmes for the music concerts given by the camp orchestra (some reproduced in part 3).* Teuchert himself kept a diary in the first months of his captivity, which is published in full here. He chronicled his feelings and experiences, displaying frustration at the restrictions imposed on the internees, especially the limiting of paper for writing home and the time it took for letters from his wife to be delivered. Like Korf he gives a detailed description of how Christmas was marked; his diary ends on 27 January 1916, the Kaiser’s birthday. In some respects his diary entries are somewhat tedious, cataloguing as they do his complaints about the food and his poor digestion; on the other hand they reveal much about the communal living arrangements for up to 3000 men, and the ways in which internees spent their time. The importance of his diary is that, like Korf’s, it was written at the time of his internment rather than retrospectively. It has been suggested that some of these retrospective memoirs provide over-optimistic views of internment, whereas Teuchart’s day-to-day account conveys very clearly the dreariness and monotony of captivity. Korf’s and Teuchert’s experiences were not unique but their own accounts of internment published here provide personal insights into such experiences that can only revealed by the documents that they left behind and have now been made available to the A-GFHS by their descendants.

THE STREETS OF RICHMOND AND KEW compiled by members of the Richmond Local History Society (Richmond LHS 3rd edition 2019 140pp ISBN 978-1-912314-01-0) £10

THE TATE LIBRARY, BRIXTON Bill Linskey (Brixton Society 2018 30pp ISBN 978-873052-19-8) £2.50

HERMANN KORF: The Tailor of Ongar Paul Barnfield (Anglo-German Family History Society 2018 60pp ISBN 978-0-9571763-4-8) £9.50 inc p&p from AGFHS, 4 Channel Heights, Bleadon Hill, Weston super Mare BS24 9LX

INTERNED IN ALEXANDRA PALACE: Wilhelm Reinhold Teuchert Paul Barnfield, Rupert Ridgewell & Jennifer Taylor (Anglo-German Family History Society 2019 104pp ISBN 978-0-9571763-6-2) £9.90 inc p&p as above

* For more on this subject see Patrick Hegarty Morrish, ‘Music in Alexandra Palace internment camp’, The Local Historian vol.48 no.3 (July 2018) 226-231

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This article brings together reviews of four books which have recently been published about aspects of the local and county history of Hertfordshire. The first, Hertfordshire Population Statistics 1563-1801, is a newly-revised and extended edition of a modest classic, originally compiled in the early 1960s by the great Lionel Munby, one of the leading local historians of the twentieth century and one of my predecessors as editor of The Local Historian (from 1955 to 1975). It is the sort of publication which could and should provide a model for other counties, a really practical and useful guide to its subject. The other books covered here deal with Tudor and early Stuart parks, St Albans probate inventories, and the impact of the Grand Junction Canal in the county. Hertfordshire has a notably flourishing local history ‘scene’, and its record society is among the most productive in the country. Our new Reviews Editor, Heather Falvey, considers it to be England’s greatest county, but while I wouldn’t necessarily agree with that judgment (she forgets the County Palatine of Lancashire, for example) I fully concur with her view that it is sadly neglected by people from out of the county. She argues that millions of people travel through Hertfordshire every year but hardly anybody stops and looks around. Other counties might well feel similarly overlooked—Surrey, Staffordshire and Bedfordshire come to mind. So it is good to see that local historians in Hertfordshire are working so assiduously to research and publish on its past.

ALAN CROSBY

HERTFORDSHIRE POPULATION STATISTICS 1563-1801 edited by Heather Falvey (1st edition by Lionel Munby 1964; 2nd edition Hertfordshire Record Society 2019 38pp ISBN 978-0-9501741-1-2) £5

In 1964 the Hertfordshire Local History Council (now Hertfordshire Association for Local History) published Lionel Munby’s Hertfordshire Population Statistics 1563-1801, which was very well received. Half a century later it needed an update. Heather Falvey has achieved this and a new edition consisting of the original text with a few additions, more references to work published since 1964, a wealth of footnotes, and two new appendices has now been published, one of which refers to the 1660s hearth tax although as it is intended that the data for the Lady Day 1663 return will be published by the British Record Society it has not been included.

Lionel, in his introduction, stated that ‘the main purpose of this volume … is to make easily available to the local historian information which will help in the study of population changes in the period before censuses began, and which is to be found in manuscripts in several different places in England’. The figures, which except for the 1801 census are all ecclesiastical, are in need of explanation in order that they can be used with confidence and to show how the sources are comparable. Overall, the sources were trying to find out the number of people, Popish recusants and dissenters in every parish. Each source stresses one or more aspects of these questions: the number of families in 1563; the number of communicants in 1603; the number of adults over 16 and those not Anglicans in 1676; the number of families and non-Anglicans in the first quarter of the eighteenth century; the number of houses and individuals in the third quarter of the eighteenth century; and families and non-Anglicans in the same period and 1790. The origin of each source is described, with comments and the location of the originals. There are also comments on gaps in the data. Dissenters and Roman Catholics play a prominent place in the tables and show areas where there were pockets of both. There are four maps in the volume showing the distribution of families, adults, population changes and dissenters.

A clear table of all 127 Hertfordshire parishes with their totals for each source is given and is easy to use. The section on how the tables can be used includes a discussion on the multipliers to be used to give approximations of population size. Using data from 74 parishes he showed the probable population changes between 1563 and 1801 in Hertfordshire. Lionel justifiably felt this was the best of the many volumes he had written, and we are grateful to Heather for making it available again with this updated version. It is a volume that no Hertfordshire local historian can afford to be without, but for those not in the county it would be a very useful volume to have when working on the population of a parish, a number of parishes, or a county.

DAVID SHORT ran the Ashwell Field Studies Centre in Hertfordshire. He was on the committee of the Hertfordshire Association for Local History, and served as its chairman and president. He also served on the BALH council for twenty years, as honorary secretary and chairman of the education and personal awards committees.

TUDOR AND EARLY STUART PARKS OF HERTFORDSHIRE by Anne Rowe (University of Hertfordshire Press 2019 304pp ISBN 978-1-912260-11-9) £18.99

The diligence and enthusiasm of garden historians knows no bounds. Thirty years ago if a local historian found a deer park on his or her patch he would have consulted L.M. Cantor’s useful county lists (1983) and probably end up trying to find the Victorian classics by E.P. Shirley (1867) and J. Whitaker (1892) in the vaults of the local library. Today deer parks are high on the agenda of local garden trusts and form an important element in the resulting county surveys. For a long time Hertfordshire has been setting the pace and Anne Rowe has already published the Medieval Parks of Hertfordshire (2009) and planned a second volume to take the story up to the Restoration. Such was the plethora of information this was soon reduced in time-scale to the beginning of the Civil War. Presumably in a few years we can expect another volume on the late seventeenth century. As the author remarks, there are few books on the early modern park, in contrast to the early modern garden, which has been explored extensively via contemporary texts.

This is a long large format book with the text printed in double columns. From page 66 onwards it is devoted to a gazetteer where each park, however transitory—some were never stocked with deer—is described, referenced and mapped on the first edition of the 6 inch Ordnance Survey. Shades of green are used to indicate the expansion and contraction of the Tudor and Stuart park. Useful place-names containing park indicators such as ‘lodge’, ‘warren’ and ‘laund’ are superimposed. The text is comprehensive and fully referenced, and accompanied with many period maps, several in colour. All this is an excellent model for other county surveys but it is the extensive introduction which is the tour de force and will be of interest to a much wider audience, beyond garden historians. Indeed, every aspect of park usage in the Tudor and Stuart period is reviewed here and the amount of factual information is unremitting, but accompanied by a full list of sources and a comprehensive index. It is very much a book of reference and valuable for solving landscape mysteries elsewhere.

What sets the parks of Hertfordshire apart from other counties is the presence of the Crown. The shire was the playground for Tudor and Stuart royalty and the author has discovered that the National Archives at Kew are packed with information which charts in great detail the ebb and flow of royal interest in parkland recreation. It is no part of the author’s remit to reflect on the politics of the era but anyone with even a superficial knowledge of the wider picture will find intriguing parallels. Henry VIII, gorged on Lancastrian and Yorkist lands, political sequestration and dissolved monastic property spent a large part of his life taking recreation in the parks of the county. Edward and Mary had other preoccupations and the number of royal parks declined. Elizabeth revived her father’s claims and regularly ‘progressed’ through the shire. With less interest in hunting herself, she made grants of parkland to her courtiers such as the Cecils. The Stuarts were more predatory and began to extend their holdings, which met with resistance. It all ended in tears with the Civil War.

DAVID WHITEHEAD FSA is a garden historian and wrote the Survey of the Historic Parks and Gardens of Herefordshire (2001) but he also has more than a passing interest in the early modern period. He is at the moment helping to write a biography of the Herefordshire poet Thomas Traherne.

WILLS, INVENTORIES AND PROBATE ACCOUNTS FROM ST ALBANS 1600–1615 edited by Pat Howe and Jane Harris (Hertfordshire Record Society vol.32 2019 xlii+436pp ISBN 978-09565-111-71) £22

What was it like to live in a provincial English town as the English throne passed to James VI of Scotland? Who were your friends, acquaintances, debtors, creditors, family and wider relatives (both those acknowledged and those ignored)? What was your occupation? How big was your house? Were you a yeoman farmer, trader or gentleman, or were you a servant, labourer, widow or spinster? Was social status very important to you? Could you read or write? Did the town’s plague of 1604 adversely affect you? The answers to these sorts of questions may be winkled out by those who read the pages of this enjoyable and well researched publication.

There was a recognised procedure at that time for the distribution of personal property after death. The editors’ comprehensive introduction describes this and lays before the reader ‘how, why and when’ the probate documents were written. They also explain where the St Albans documents are to be found and the reasons why the documents are held where they are. The town life of St Albans is described and analysed. Throughout the introduction well researched footnotes (rather than those annoying ‘endnotes’ to be found in some publications) guide the reader to sources of further information and research, such as Ralph Tailor’s Summer by Keith Wrightson (2011: an exploration, through the will writing of a scrivener, of the city of Newcastle upon Tyne’s tribulations during the plague of 1636). For a telling example of how the 1604 plague affected the townsfolk of St Albans, see the will, inventory, and account for Walter Dewbury, shoemaker, whose wife predeceased him leaving him to settle his five children’s futures before he himself succumbed.

The transcribed documents lay bare the private life of 179 individuals and are a welcome source of information about early seventeenth century urban living. In addition to wills and accounts, the volume contains a high proportion of inventories (151 of them) which list and value the belongings, credits and debts of the deceased, drawn up by named appraisers who then exhibited them before the court prior to, or at the time of, probate being granted. Hertfordshire Archives holds a wealth of inventories, unlike some other less fortunate depositories.

The importance of St Albans as a staging post on one of the main thoroughfares from London to the North is evident from the number of probate documents of innkeepers and publicans, brewers, blacksmiths, ostlers, and even a coverlet maker. Bedroom chambers appear in excess. Personal wealth took many forms, whether as silk testers and wainscotting, painted cloths and table cloths, coverlets and bedsteads, clothes and household stuff, pewter and furniture, numerous fireplaces and their accoutrements, money, sheets and yet more sheets.

Information about occupations and social status is reflected by what is listed in the inventories: William Guy the butcher, a possible plague victim in 1604, was owed payments on account for meat or for loans of money by as many as 50 people; the musician John Streete lived in a house of fifteen rooms and bequeathed two virginals with other instruments, as well as decorative lime wood and several sorts of valuable timber in his workshop; the shoemaker Thomas Camfield left a shop full of ready-made shoes in various sizes in addition to a very well-appointed house of at least six rooms; the property of the ostler John North property was mainly a quantity of smart clothes in three chests, but he was owed hopeful debts of £29 1s, in addition to desperate debts of £13 15s, some from as far away as Yorkshire (perhaps signifying his travelling the Great North Road with changes of horses for clients). Women’s probate documents, usually written by widows or spinsters, appear in the volume, but there are three married women’s documents. One will, made by Anne Sawnders, was written at the command of her husband John who appears to have been obeying a previously signed bond.

The editors’ decision to modernise the capital letters, together with other minimal editorial changes, creates a very readable text. Following the transcriptions there is a generous bibliography as well as a name index, subject index (in a form which takes a bit of getting used to), place index and an extensive glossary plus appendices. Appendix 3 (‘some observations’) includes a useful example of the text of a Latin acquittance clause together with its English translation. The dust wrapper shows delightful sections of a 1634 map showing the three parishes of St Albans, house by house and church by church. The end papers contain very clear plans of the layout of the seventeenth-century town and its environs.

Congratulations are due to the editors and their colleagues for providing us with a well-researched and thoroughly enjoyable read. If, like me, you love to spend your spare time poking your nose into other people’s business then this is the book for you.

HONOR LEWINGTON is convener of the Bucks Archaeological Society’s Palaeography Group who transcribed the wills and inventories of Stoke Mandeville, a small rural community of yeoman farmers, their landlords and their tenants, and she edited those documents for publication in Stoke Mandeville Wills and Inventories 1552-1853 (Buckinghamshire Record Society, vol.38, 2019); she is also member of the Oxfordshire Probate Group.

PASSING THROUGH The Grand Junction Canal in West Hertfordshire 1791–1841 by Fabian Hiscock (Hertfordshire Publications 2019 213pp ISBN 978-1-912260-15-7) £16.99

The Grand Junction Canal, known since 1929 as the Grand Union Canal, opened in 1801 as a trunk route from the Midlands and the North to London. Crossing the Chilterns near Tring, it descended southwards through or near Berkhamsted, Hemel Hempstead, Watford and Rickmansworth in west Hertfordshire. The railway which paralleled the canal opened fully in 1838.

Fabian Hiscock’s researches were prompted by the paradox that the canal seemed to have so little apparent effect on the area. He wanted to see whether this were true, and if it were, why this was so. To try to find the answer the author has analysed census records, directories, tithe and other maps, canal and turnpike minutes and consulted numerous secondary sources; as a comparison he has examined developments at St Albans during the same period.

The answer he found is complex and nuanced.

Agriculture was the dominant local industry throughout the period of study. The reasons why farmers used the canal less than one might expect are examined in detail, including consideration of the crops grown, the London markets and the economics of road and canal transport, particularly the issues of transshipment and the optimum quantities carried. The distance from West Hertfordshire to London was such that the result was finely balanced. However, it is clear that the canal brought little benefit to agricultural workers. Their wages stayed low, supplemented by earning from the straw plaiting cottage industry. A particularly interesting analysis shows that even during the construction period, when one might have expected the increased demand for labour to have pushed up wages, the evidence is that agricultural wages were unaffected and farmers did not have particular problems at harvest times. The author speculates about why Hertfordshire agricultural labourers did not join the construction gangs.

The relatively small-scale industrial activities of the area before the canal era are examined in detail, as are the reasons why the coming of the canal assisted development of some (particularly paper-making) but had little effect on others (such as cotton- and silk-spinning). Case studies show that the industrial entrepreneurs varied in the degree to which they transported raw materials by canal or used coal to supplement water power. The contentious relationship with the mills along the rivers Gade and Colne is reviewed and the reasons given why several mills were bought by the canal company in order to acquire their water rights.

The author reminds us that some industries and employment was created by the canal. Watford and Hemel Hempstead both had gas works by 1835; the coal came by canal, as no doubt did the retorts and pipework needed to make and distribute the gas. The gauging registers record several local boat-owners; and boat-building commenced at Berkhamsted. The economic effects of the various wharves are examined, including their creation of new businesses selling timber and building materials. In particular, coal became much cheaper, and the range of goods available became broader. Thus, the author concludes, the canal did benefit those west Hertfordshire residents who had at least a little disposable income. Other topics discussed include the effect of the canal on the individual communities, landowners, the turnpikes, migration and local taxation.

Fully referenced but written in an easily readable style, this book should satisfy both the academic and the amateur local historian. A pioneering study, it has a relevance to rural areas well beyond Hertfordshire as it deepens the understanding of rural transport needs and problems in the first half of the nineteenth century, and prompts the reader to make comparisons with his or her own area.

PETER BROWN is a member of the Council of the Canal & River Trust and the author of The Shropshire Union Canal: from the Mersey to the Midlands and Mid-Wales (2019).

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By Susanna Wade Martins

(Boydell 2018 xiii+301pp ISBN978-1-78329-330-0) £25; GEORGE ROBERTS MP: a life that did different by Frank Meeres (Poppyland 2019 108pp ISBN978-1-909796-43-0) £10.95

Benjamin Armstrong was born in Islington to wealthy parents and married into a family with excellent social connections. These mattered to someone who wished to be a Church of England priest, with benefices mostly in the gift of a prominent family and, when vacant, given to a preferred candidate or sold on. It cost Benjamin’s father £4000 to establish him in his first permanent parish, Little Stanmore-with-Whitchurch in Middlesex. He moved to East Dereham in Norfolk in 1850 and remained vicar there until 1888.

For 46 years he kept a diary which forms the basis of this biography. Extracts have long been published, and the originals are at Norfolk Record Office. To quote Wade Martins, they are of ‘unique importance. They cover without a break the entire period of his ministry, giving an insight into ecclesiastical divisions within the Church of England from the point of view of a serving parish priest ... This alongside a detailed description of his day-to-day work amongst the poor and at school in a class ridden society which he was happy to accept as the norm’. The diaries also contain much personal detail: his family, his social life, musing on walks in the countryside, his hopes and opinions. His personality was austere. He was humourless, pompous and snobbish. After visiting a London theatre he was outraged that dancing girls were part of the show, for fear of its effect on morals. This attitude probably explains why the obvious mutual attraction he had with a female parishioner did not develop into something he himself thought ‘dangerous’. Being High Church, with its premium on ritual, put him at odds with his congregation but, over the years he succeeded in introducing the practices albeit with the loss of some parishioners to the local nonconformist churches and, in his own mind anyway, spoiling the chance of preferment in the Church.

Despite his preference for the company of the local gentry he regularly visited his poorer parishioners and took a paternalistic interest in encouraging them to send their children to school, even though the education on offer was limited in duration and breadth. He also encouraged local farmers to pay a fair living wage. It is salutary to consider that his successors are still trying. He never succeeded in translating this concern into any thoughts of how society might be changed for the better, as he was firmly of the view that the prevailing social order should be protected. He hated radicals and was opposed to the Third Reform Act of 1884 which gave the vote to most rural workers. When this led, in the 1886 general election, to the election of Joseph Arch, Armstrong denounced him as ‘the demagogue and agitator and deceiver of labourers’.

This, then, was a man who was a product of his class, time and profession, a man not easy to empathise with in our time. Nonetheless he had positive qualities and Wade Martins has done an excellent job in bringing him, his locality (important to me as someone born in and resident in Dereham) and times to life and placing them in context. The book is well illustrated, largely with photographs of Armstrong and his family and of landmarks important to him in and around Dereham.

Before reading the biography of George Roberts I, a historian, a Norfolk man, and a lifelong member of the Labour Party, had never heard of him. I found no reference to him in any of my books on the early years of the Labour Party and on the First World War. Even his Wikipedia entry is short and has mostly been taken from this book, although he was the first Labour MP elected in Norfolk, a Labour Party Chief Whip and a member of the wartime Coalition Government first as Minister of Labour then Minister of Food.

Roberts was born, illegitimate, in 1868 to a poor family. Although intelligent he had to leave school at 13 to become an apprentice printer. He established the Norwich branch of the Typographical Association and by the age of 30 was president of the Norwich Trades Council. In 1896 he joined the Independent Labour Party, which in 1900 became an affiliate to the Labour Representation Committee (which became the Labour Party in 1906). He first stood, unsuccessfully, for parliament in a by-election in 1904 for the multi-member constituency of Norwich and was elected, in first place, at the 1906 general election. He spoke in favour of public ownership of land, railways and mines; better housing and education; a minimum wage; and against the poor law.

His relationship with the Labour Party began to sour over the increasingly serious international crisis. As a rule, the I.L.P was against increased military spending while the trade unions were in favour. Even after the declaration of war in 1914 a large number of I.L.P members were opposed. Despite being chief whip, and against party policy, Roberts voted for increased funds for the Royal Navy and became a fervent supporter of the war. In 1915 he co-founded the Socialist National Defence Committee and, at the 1916 Labour Party Conference spoke for a Transport Workers’ Union motion declaring that the government was justified in the war and pledging conference to fully support it. He declared that to cast against the motion was, in effect, to vote for the Germans. Largely as a consequence of these views he was the first Labour MP to be deselected by his constituency party.

In 1918, when the Labour Party withdrew from the coalition, Roberts was one of four ministers who chose to stay in government and thus leave the Labour Party. He stood successfully as a Coalition Labour candidate in the 1918 ‘Coupon’ election while denying he had abandoned his support of the working man, arguing that ‘the work of reconstruction is beyond the capacity of a single party’. On being made Minister of Food Control he immediately sought to increase the availability and strength of beer. By now he was moving seriously to the right. He deplored the Russian Revolution and thought many trade unions had taken up ‘this Marxian or class war theory’. In the 1922 general election he stood as an independent and the goodwill felt towards him enabled him to come first in the two-member constituency of Norwich. In 1923 he completed his political journey by joining the Conservatives, stating that ‘A lengthy experience with the Labour Party made it impossible for me to entertain the idea of a return to that Party. In fact, my main reason for remaining in politics is to assist in combating the new brand of socialism now impressed on that party’. Upon losing his seat in 1923 he retired from politics and used the business connections he had made to enrich himself.

It is fair to say that in a book of this length the author was obliged to concentrate largely on facts at the expense of context and analysis—for example, the differences in attitude to increased military spending then support for the war in the constituent parts of the Labour Party is a large subject in itself. Nonetheless Roberts has been served well by Meeres, in this biography of a man worthy of being much better known but whose later career party-hopping probably diminished his interest to Labour historians. The book is liberally illustrated and has notes and an index.TIM MANTRIPP is a native of Norfolk and a history graduate who spent a number of years working in IT. Now retired, he has the opportunity to research the many areas of historical research for which he previously had no time! The history of Norfolk is prominent among these.

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By Roger Cordiner and Anthony Brook

(self-published 2017 160pp ISBN 978-1-910719-49-7) £34.99 sales via the authors rogercordiner@gmail.com or anthony.brook27@btinternet.com

The Weald can lay claim to be the cradle of geological science and it attracted the attention of eighteenth centuries antiquaries and the first geologists of the nineteenth century. It is also rich in building stones, extracted from the lowest beds of the Cretaceous to the soft ‘Ferricrete’ of the Holocene (very recent in geological time-span). This wide range is reflected in the historic buildings of Sussex, notably its churches. Within a small compass is a greater variety of local building stone than any other area of the British Isles.

This variety is admirably demonstrated in Cordiner and Brook’s Atlas. That term might suggest a large unwieldy volume, but their commendably systematic approach to the presentation of a large amount of carefully analysed information allows it to be set out in an accessible way in a landscape format soft cover book measuring 300 x 210mm, that can easily be taken out on field trips. It is beautifully printed too, by Verité CM. The introductory pages explain the genesis of the project, provide an overview of the geology of the Weald, and explain the organisation of the main part of the book. As the title implies, at its core is a series of maps, all in the same format and easily related to the Ordnance Survey grid, showing the distribution of stone types found within historic buildings. The maps are ordered in ascending geological order, from the Sussex Purbeck stone and ‘marble’ from the Brightling-Mountfield area to the above mentioned ‘Ferricrete’; plus a further section showing the use of non-local stones. Succinct text on the page facing each map, and below it, provides information about geology, nomenclature, historic use, together with highly informative photographs often including a macro view as an aid to stone identification. The appendix contains lists of the churches and other historic buildings surveyed, bar charts indicating the density of distribution of the various stone types, and glossaries of architectural and geological terms. There is also a comprehensive bibliography and index of places.

The maps clearly make the point that medieval builders where possible sourced their stone from the nearest quarries. Most of the main occurrences of particular stones are close to where they outcrop and have been quarried. There are some exceptions, notably decorative stone such as Sussex Marble, the local equivalent of Purbeck Marble. Needless to say, some of the quarries (for example Reigate or Kentish Rag) occurred out of Sussex, near the border—and for the purpose of this book they count as ‘imports’. It is a commonplace to say that the local trend changed completely in the nineteenth century with the advent of the railways, but the Atlas amply demonstrates that importing stone from afar was not unusual in the middle ages: Caen stone and Devon slate are obvious examples, and of course Purbeck Marble (for good measure the Atlas includes a useful plan and section of the Isle of Purbeck).

No-one studying the buildings of Sussex, or with an interest in the geology of the Weald, can afford to be without this excellent book.JOHN CROOK FSA is an archaeological and historic building consultant, with a background in geology as well as medieval history.

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By Robert Liddiard and David Sims

(University of Hertfordshire Press 2018 363pp ISBN 978-1-912260-08-9)

This is a magnificent book. The authors are entitled to regard it as a ground-breaking study not only because its foray into twentieth century landscape archaeology highlights a topic only just coming into view, but also because it is on a colossal scale, breathtaking in its in-depth coverage of the topic and the area during the Second World War. Furthermore, although it is exceptionally detailed and at times highly technical, it is also extremely well written and completely accessible to the historian and lay person who has an interest in landscape and military history, World War Two and the story of this part of East Anglia’s coastline.

The book covers in great detail the military’s developing and changing plans for the defence of this area, placing them firmly within the context of the ebb and flow of the European situation; in this respect I especially enjoyed reading about the crucial invasion years of 1940 and 1941. This theme is enhanced by the massive use of military sources, particularly a huge number of war diaries. At the core of the book is a study of the man-made defences which were erected, the many different types of defences from pillboxes to observation posts, slit trenches to anti-tank ditches being dealt with in detail, all illustrated with examples.

I approached a book on modern landscape archaeology with a certain wariness, but my apprehensions proved unfounded. This is because this is no dry as dust academic account but is instead crammed with the human element. Here I discovered the daily decision-making of senior officers and the thinking behind such decisions, the necessarily limited discussion of the impact of training on servicemen, and the consequences for civilians of living in a highly militarised zone. Having said this, one of my favourite parts of the book was the account of the unique survival of so much wartime archaeology in the Sandlings, which gave a pathos with which to conclude the study.

There is much to admire about this book including its depth of research, the quality of its writing and the thoroughness of its footnotes, bibliography and index. But I cannot end without thanking the authors for arranging so many detailed, colourful and informative maps on every aspect of the subject, for choosing such a fine collection of original black-and-white and modern colour photographs. The publisher, the University of Hertfordshire Press, is to be congratulated for ensuring that the end result of their work is a book produced to such a high quality of presentation.PAUL RUSIECKI is a historian specialising in the twentieth century. His work covers the whole spectrum of people's experiences—social, political, military, economic and religious. Among his publications are The impact of catastrophe: the people of Essex and the First World War (2008) and Under Fire: Essex and the Second World War (University of Hertfordshire Press, 2015).

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By Richard Brockington with Sarah Rose

(Cumbria County History Trust in collaboration with Lancaster University for the Victoria County History of Cumbria 2019 106pp ISBN 978 1 912702 04 6) £14 [e-book £11.20]

Kirkoswald and Renwick are situated in the Eden Valley in the former county of Cumberland, approximately 16 miles from Carlisle and 9 miles from Penrith. The Pennines are to the east and the River Eden to the west. This is the first parish account to be published as part of the project to complete the Victoria County History of Cumberland as part of a wider strategy of covering the post-1974 county of Cumbria, which principally comprises Cumberland, Westmorland and Lancashire north of the Sands, under the auspices of the Cumbria County History Trust. The foreword is written by Brian Gray, chairman of the Trust.

The text is divided into seven main sections. The introduction includes landscape, communications, settlement and population. Other sections cover landownership, important local families and estates, and the economy (for example farming, woodland and forestry mining, quarrying, milling, manufacturing, markets, fairs and commerce). Social structure includes education, then follow religious history and a final section on local government.

The book clearly demonstrates the depth of research that has been undertaken and is full of interest especially for a reader who is familiar with the Eden Valley. Historical details ranging from the Stone and Bronze Ages to present-day transport and social life in the villages will be useful and relevant to a wider readership for comparative purposes. Excellent photographs punctuate the text. The maps are useful and informative but perhaps an additional one showing the location of the parishes in the wider context of the county and/or the north of England would have been helpful for non-local readers.

There are occasional instances that could have been usefully clarified, altered or expanded. For example, on p.8 Cumbria is given as the location of the parishes and the text states that ‘most of the county of Cumbria ... does not appear in Domesday Book’, but for the eleventh century the term Cumbria is meaningless as an historical term. Kirkoswald and Renwick were in Cumberland which was not included in the 1086 survey. On p.36 and p.54 a clearer definition of the term ‘servant’ (indoor in gentry houses, if female usually as domestic servants, or male farm servants) and the difference between a farm servant and agricultural labourer would have been helpful in the text, or as a footnote or in the glossary. Farm servants lived in the farmer’s house, were hired at annual or twice yearly hiring fairs, and were paid for those periods of time. In Cumberland and Westmorland this was a common form of employment. Agricultural labourers were paid regular wages, or might be paid only when work was available. Many were married men with their own household.

The education section demonstrates how schooling was valued and widespread in Cumberland and Westmorland centuries before the Education Acts of the 1870s. These counties had some of the highest literacy rates in the country as measured during the nineteenth century. Poor relief is covered from the seventeenth century. The religious history of the parishes reveals that nonconformity was early and predated Methodism by more than a century. The section concludes with an account of the architecture of St Oswald’s and All Saints, Renwick. Manorial government, vestry government and ‘post 1894 arrangements’ (the latter being a very short section that could usefully have been expanded) cover the period from the sixteenth century until 1974 when Cumberland County Council and Penrith Rural District Council were reformed out of existence. However, in spite of the text referring to events which post-date the creation of the new county and the re-organisation of local government there is no mention of those major changes. This is an interesting and valuable addition to the general literature of the area as well as being part of the revived Victoria County History. Richard Brockington and Sarah Rose are to be congratulated on their research and the clarity of their account of the history of Kirkoswald and Renwick.MARGARET SHEPHERD is an emeritus fellow of Wolfson College, Cambridge. She is the author of From Hellgill to Bridge End: aspects of economic and social change in the Upper Eden Valley, 1840-95 (University of Hertfordshire Press, 2003) and Across the Oceans: emigration from Cumberland and Westmorland before 1914 (Bookcase, 2011).

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By Dorothy Jamieson

(Bedfordshire Historical Record Society vol.95 2019 ix+241pp ISBN 978-0-85155-082-4) £25+p&p from Boydell & Brewer Ltd, Bridge Farm Business Park, Top Street, Martlesham IP12 4RB

The medieval manorial records of Willington, a single manor parish on the road between Bedford and Sandy, are extensive: 101 court rolls, and also other types of documents, dating from 1382 to 1522. These records survive because the manor was dominated by the Mowbray family, the Dukes of Norfolk, and by Katherine Neville, widow of the second duke, who held it as part of her dower, 1432–c.1482, and, perhaps more significantly, because the manor was purchased by the Duke of Bedford in 1779. The majority of the court rolls are part of the Russell Collection held at the Bedfordshire Archives; eight rolls are at the British Library; a few more, and some other manorial documents, are at Arundel Castle in the archive of the Duke of Norfolk. Dorothy Jamieson has been transcribing, translating and studying these documents since 1997. Her comprehensive knowledge of their contents is such that she produced an informative account of aspects of medieval life in Willington.

Setting the manor in the context of the Mowbrays’ whole estate, she considers the ways in which they managed Willington not only through manorial officials but also through the estate’s council, which visited twice a year. Over time there were changes in estate management but she has found no evidence of ‘systematic exploitation’ of the tenants by the Mowbray lords in the second half of the fifteenth century, noting that ‘as far as can be ascertained [they] used progressive and humane management techniques’. Villein tenure continued, but the demesne was leased thus rendering boonworks unnecessary for the lord or lady. Free and unfree tenants were elected or appointed to manorial offices, their details being given in appendix 5. The manor was regulated by customary practice, usually unwritten and passed down by word of mouth; however, there were several occasions when penalties for failure to keep animals under control and other offences were written in the court roll. These bye-laws have been listed in appendix 2. Regarding the economy of the manor, as well as discussing rents, landholding and agricultural practices—matters regularly mentioned in court rolls—several village craftsmen and tradesmen are highlighted. Indeed appendix 4, a transcript of the court roll for 22 April 1440, is particularly important in this respect: a new barn was built on the holding of Thomas Wyltschyre for which the costs and expenses are itemised, and similarly details are given of repairs to the tenement of Dynyell and the houses in the holding of Robert Tayllour.

Population estimates for the manor from 1394 to 1522 are calculated from the numbers of names mentioned in the view of frankpledge court rolls at roughly ten-year intervals, which were then multiplied by 4.5 to allow for family members. These estimates include the names of some of the free tenants: they were required to attend the manor court and if they defaulted (i.e. did not attend) were amerced (fined); most of the rolls have a list of defaulters. This method of calculating the population is ingenious, but must provide minimum figures. The estimates indicate that the population fluctuated—possibly a reflection of record keeping—but did not grow during the fifteenth century, which is in line with the general trend in England.

Evidence for villagers’ social life and interactions is also drawn from court records. The practice of pledging is considered in detail: men of some social standing in the manor might on occasion agree to provide a pledge (a guarantee or surety) for a tenant or would-be tenant. The frequency of pledges, and their purpose, is summarised. As the manorial court was empowered to deal with petty crime, minor crime and anti-social behaviour in the manor can be uncovered. More incidents occurred in periods of recession, thus some thefts may have been caused by need rather than greed. Brewing, the product of which may have caused some of the anti-social behaviour, is discussed in detail. At the end of the fourteenth century a large number of brewers (and brewings) were recorded: Jamieson suggests that families on the manor brewed in rotation, although two or three men or their wives brewed more regularly than the rest, perhaps supplying the alehouse. There are also glimpses of games being played on the manor, if only when forbidden in bye-laws. In October 1397 it was ordered that ‘no-one shall play the game called quoyte (quoits) in the future, under penalty of 12d’; and in 1467 playing tennis was restricted to those under 12 years old, and not at all at Christmas, the penalty to be 40d and imprisonment for a day and night.

Newnham Priory in Bedford had been granted the rectory of Willington and thus appointed the vicars. As rector, the priory held freehold land in the manor. A terrier of the priory’s lands, dated 1507, describes in detail the 134 parcels of land and two crofts that it held in Willington. This is presented in appendix 1 with the Latin and its English translation in parallel text. Jamieson notes that although the prior chose not to attend the manor court, the vicar did. She concludes that the vicar’s ‘influence on the tenants is unknown. There is no evidence that religion dominated the lives of the population in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries’ (p.156). This conclusion is misguided, to say the least: in the manorial documents analysed here the vicar and prior were simply tenants. Evidence for the practice and role of religion in the village might be found in parish or ecclesiastical records, or wills, but not in manorial records. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

Like several others published by the BHRS, this volume is a monograph based on the contents of various historical records, rather than transcripts of those particular documents. In fact transcripts of Willington’s court rolls are available on the website of Bedfordshire Archives. This is mentioned in a footnote on p.11 but could have been made more obvious: these transcripts are very important because readers of this highly informative discussion of medieval Willington could consult the relevant documents if they so wished.

http://bedsarchives.bedford.gov.uk/CommunityArchives/Willington/WillingtonManorCourtRolls/WillingtonManorCourtRollsIntroduction.aspxHEATHER FALVEY is secretary of the Hertfordshire Record Society. She has published an edition of late eighteenth century recipes, a ‘memorandum book’ kept by two early modern Hertfordshire vicars, and several volumes of medieval wills. She is the Reviews Editor for The Local Historian.

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Edited by Deborah Smith

(Cambridge Scholars Publishing 2019, 333pp ISBN 978-1-5275-3114-7) £64.99

This is a remarkable feat of scholarship at two levels. James Losh was a Cumberland-born lawyer and businessman who between 1802 and 1833 made a relentless record of weather experienced largely from his small farm at Jesmond, then on the outskirts of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. His scholarly efforts have been meticulously analysed, using her life-long professional experience, by Deborah Smith, so that we can fully celebrate and share his achievement. This source is very important to Newcastle-upon-Tyne and indeed the archived record of his observations is a prized possession of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophic Society but what James Losh observed has much wider scientific and historical significance at a national level.

Deborah Smith has evaluated Losh’s ‘weather diaries’ and has established that they are a consistent and valid record of what he observed during that historically important period from the short-term Peace of Amiens to the time of the Great Reform Act in 1832. She explains his methodology and, while examining its potential weaknesses, concludes that the consistency in quality of his observations give them their own validity. He was working, as she indicates, in an era before the advent of the Stevenson Screen and so any of his temperature readings taken at the rear of his house will not have had the same protection as would now be the case. He did not use a minimum thermometer but it is believed that the regularity of his three times daily readings did significantly compensate for this omission. Equally he was operating in an era before the Beaufort Scale came to be adopted for wind force in 1836 but his directional sense is quite reliable. This means that, despite these caveats, he is to be regarded as a major source of reliable data.

One of Professor W.G. Hoskins’ regular aphorisms was that it was possible, in observing local topography every day, to see variations according to changed circumstances. One of these would be variations in local weather. This is why Losh’s observations, which are particular to the North East but do draw in other places, are so important. In reading his diaries we have to appreciate that, in effect, his intended audience was himself. In 1816 he recorded how unsatisfactory the summer had been for crops. Unwittingly he is describing the after effects of the Mount Tabori volcanic eruption which dispersed volcanic dust across the world, leading to the notion that it had been ‘a year without a summer’, with devastating effects on agriculture and life across the globe. His local testimony gives local context to how his particular region was affected. Later in 1831 he commented on the ‘hazy state of the atmosphere’ and this time he is describing the after-effects of a number of volcanic eruptions that year, including one near the Sicilian coast which we now know produced a dust column rising 12 miles into the sky. This was another example of a local context being affected from far away.

There are technical observations about botanical phenomena. For example in 1825 he noted that, in what had been in many ways a fine summer, ‘the cold nights in May greatly injured the blossom, and crops were with respect to Apples, Pears &c more scanty than usual’ but he then reported that the ‘long continued heat of the summer brought was there was to great perfection and the wood of all kinds of fruit trees appears to have been so well ripened as to give a very fair promise for the next year’. This type of observation can be verified against reported output in 1825 and 1826.

Politically Losh was a progressive, possibly arising from his Unitarian religious stance. There are a number of references to his personal critique of the protectionist Corn Laws and also a recognition, in 1829, that the Government had tried, albeit not very successfully, to improve the way they functioned. In 1831 he made a reference to a problem with the potato crop in Ireland, almost a glimpse of what was to come in the 1840s. His careful observation revealed, for example, that in 1832 there was a shortage of ‘Irish Reapers’, the result of which meant that people working in this itinerant occupation were able to command higher wages. Apart from the regular commentary on what crops were being produced, discussing the prevailing weather conditions and the wider economic context, these diaries yield fascination detail, from disruptions to the London Mail, flooding and water supply problems, frost fairs on the River Tyne and the observation of natural phenomena such as ball lightning. This is a major source and Deborah Smith has provided a valuable service to us in how she has explained and presented the material.TREVOR JAMES was editor of The Historian between 2006 and 2019.

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By Christopher Doughan

(Liverpool University Press 2019 320pp ISBN 9781786942258) £80

It was a common complaint among people in Northern Ireland during the period of the conflict there in recent times, known as ‘the Troubles’, that British news media rarely reported on many of the incidents that took place. Bombings, shootings and other events, though reported widely in Ireland, north and south, were not deemed newsworthy enough for the ‘national’ media unless there were a large number of casualties. Of course, in a sense this was a reflection of the perception that the Troubles were an intractable and dreary feature of the landscape and essentially a regional story, albeit one with national and occasionally international dimensions. An earlier and shorter, though in many ways more intense, period of conflict in Ireland is the subject of Christopher Doughan’s book on the regional press between 1914 and 1921. British newspaper coverage of that revolutionary period could be said to have been rather better, and it was reliant on a wide range of regional and local Irish titles with roots in the community, talented if sometimes jaundiced journalists, and an ability to unearth remarkable stories, helped to fill the ‘news from Ireland’ sections of national and regional papers in Britain.

Doughan’s book is based on his PhD completed in 2015 at Dublin City University and it is centred around four core chapters exploring each of Ireland’s four provinces (Leinster, Connacht, Munster and Ulster) with a preliminary contextual chapter on politics and wartime censorship. The introduction surveys the literature and sets out the core questions to be explored in the book, principally ‘what was the relationship between both the provincial press in Ireland and wider Irish society and the authorities in Britain’. Giving extensive details on newspaper proprietors, editors and reporters, the study ultimately looks at how the events of the First World War, Easter Rising and Anglo-Irish War were covered by the nationalist and unionist press in Ireland. Unsurprisingly perhaps, the book is replete with episodes of attacks on the Irish provincial press by police and soldiers as well as on occasion by the IRA and its supporters. Journalists were imprisoned, newspapers closed down and presses destroyed at certain points in the Irish revolutionary war though, ironically, formal government censorship, as in Britain, came to an end after the First World War. The authorities therefore relied on a more informal, and often much more repressive set of ad hoc procedures and actions to counteract what they saw as support for an illegitimate political movement. However, a majority of the population regarded the Sinn Féin-dominated parliament, Dáil Éireann, as the lawful government of Ireland chosen in a landslide election contest in 1918. They, in turn, replaced the increasingly jaded representatives of the Irish Home Rule movement led by John Redmond at Westminster and chose an independent republic over a devolved parliament within the UK. Attitudes thereafter hardened towards the British government and the Dáil’s mandated military force, the Irish Volunteers (increasingly referred to as the Irish Republican Army), began to take offensive action in a guerrilla war to secure the republic which was declared soon after the election in 1919. Irish provincial newspapers found themselves on opposite sides of this conflict, not merely in a simplistic north-south, unionist-nationalist manner (one of the strengths of this study is Doughan’s exploration of nationalist titles in Ulster and unionist titles in Munster) but also in terms of the split within nationalism between Home Rulers and republicans.

While this study does not take the broader environmental approach and forensic analysis of Andrew Hobbs’ recent study of the provincial press in Britain, it does establish for the Irish counterpart the same importance and value for that press. It will be an indispensable handbook for those interested not merely in the newspaper industry in Ireland but the wider character, conduct and impact of the Irish revolution as we approach the most dramatic years of the centenary.MÁIRTIN Ó CATHÁIN is a senior lecturer in Modern Irish History at the University of Central Lancashire. His research primarily focuses on the Irish diaspora, modern Irish labour history and aspects of oral history and he is currently working on a global study of Irish migrant obituaries.

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By Bill Chapman

(Coast & Country 2019 247pp ISBN 978-1-09970-044-6)

Esperanto is the best known of a number of ‘planned languages’ that were invented and developed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Volapϋk, Bolak, and Ido were others of which brief histories are given in this book, and it was not apparent in the early years that Esperanto would come to dominate and survive by creating a speaker community with its own wealth of culture. It was launched in Warsaw in 1887 by Dr Lazarus Ludwig Zamenhof who ‘wanted to enable ordinary people ... to have conversations across national frontiers’. The British Esperanto Association was formed in October 1904, by which time there was a perceived need for a structure to unite local groups, the first of which had been established in Keighley in 1902. Directories of supporters began to be published (Adresaro de la personoj kiuj ellernis la lingvon ‘Esperanto’) and it is these that supply the names listed in this book. The author has also provided information about other known pioneers, as registration was not essential.

Organisation of material in a book such as this is not simple. Chapman has arranged the names geographically, sometimes by county and sometimes by town. So, for example, the entries begin with Bedfordshire (10 names), Berkshire (14), Birkenhead (8), Birmingham (42), Bristol (31), Buckinghamshire (3), Cambridgeshire (33) and so on. Chronological coverage reaches the end of the First World War. For each person there is the date they first appeared in the Adresaro, and their name and address. For most it is also possible to ascertain their gender, and sometimes their occupation from their address, such as Rev W.J. Ashford at The Manse, Dorchester, and H.J.E. Nosworthy, Wilts & Dorset Bank, Weymouth. There are numerous cases where several members of the same family were involved, for example the three Miss Wightmans in Newcastle-upon Tyne, and the Mugglestone siblings of Market Bosworth.

In every section there is additional information, both on the individuals collected from trade directories, census returns and local newspapers, and to a lesser extent on the places themselves. It would be of interest to expand the latter, to speculate why some places had larger numbers of Esperanto speakers than others. Economic, social, political characteristics must have played a part. Links across other organisations in an area might also be a fruitful area of study—were Esperanto speakers also supporters of women’s suffrage or vegetarianism? During the war some were conscientious objectors, but others saw active service. Helpful additions indicate where records might be found, such as for Bedford, Bristol and Keighley.

Although not a central part of this book, the reasons why people learnt to speak Esperanto were diverse. It attracted those wanting a practical skill to promote business and cultural links, and became a home for many different ideologies including pacifism and internationalism, of which my grandfather, who studied Esperanto, was a keen adherent. With him I first met the idea that national and ideological boundaries were not ineluctable. Bill Chapman’s work has brought to light the extraordinary variety of people in all corners of the country who were enthusiastic pioneers of these notions and the language skill that made them possible: crafts people, teachers, academics, politicians, clergy, lawyers, musicians and so many more. Some took their interest into other areas. One example was Kitty Higden who, with her husband Tom, was the leading protagonist in the Burston School strike of 1914 in Norfolk—Esperanto was taught at the Burston Strike School. Another was Eglantyne Jebb who founded Save the Children. A life of Zamenhof was among the books listed as her possessions at her death, and her brother-in-law Charles Buxton, a Liberal then Labour politician, appears among the London names in Chapman’s valuable compilation. It is a volume that breaks new ground and opens up possibilities of fascinating further work for local historians.JANE HOWELLS is editor of BALH’s Local History News

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By Angus J.L. Winchester

(Handstand Press 2019 288pp ISBN 978-0-9576609-7-7) £10 via www.handstandpress.net

Angus Winchester, Emeritus Professor of Local Landscape History at Lancaster University, is an established and respected writer of well-researched publications on the landscape history of Northern England. He has a particular interest in the landscape of Cumbria and its local and regional identity, encompassing human societies in the past and their interactions with the environment. Apart from a few locations such as Laithkirk in Teesdale, this book is essentially a study of a relatively restricted geographical area of the north-west Lake District—the Lorton, Loweswater and Buttermere valley. It is in depth and articulate while also readable and accessible—and immensely enjoyable. Focusing on an area he knows intimately and which has deep personal context and meaning for him, Winchester’s writing shows a subtle element of nostalgia and his love for the area speaks through his eloquent expression. The analysis is objective and the arguments coherent, while sufficient documentary evidence has clearly been available for the study.

Each chapter covers a theme such as people, dwelling places and places of prayer. The first chapter sets out the central concept—that a major key to the ‘language of the landscape’ is the naming of places including fells, water, boundaries, crags, prehistoric features and even individual buildings. Our human response to, and interaction with, the landscape and surroundings roots us in these locations, charging them with meaning and creating for the individual a sense of their place within the landscape. We immediately pick up on the traditionally perceived wisdom about Viking colonisation in this part of Britain but Winchester provides evidence that many names have origins reaching further back. In discussing the colonisation of the uplands before the era of Scandinavian settlement he does much to explain how the etymology of place-names can be variously interpreted. This is a complex issue and the referencing of the subject is comprehensive and important.

Winchester includes references to early documents which confirm longstanding familial ties to locations and argues that these illuminate ‘recall beyond living memory’. The names of inhabitants mentioned in old documents connect them with a landscape but their naming of features and dwelling places speaks of them and reaches out to us today. In ‘Breeding Grounds’ (ch.12) Gatesgarth Farm is studied in detail and aspects of its centuries of stock-breeding are explored. The importance of place names is paramount: Gatesgarth means ‘mountain pass frequented by goats’ and the names of fields, becks, fells and valleys record wildlife once found in the area. Many are now extinct here, the names serving as ghostly reminders of older environments. Similarly, the surnames found on tombstones tell the story of former residents, in communities with roots going deep into the Cumbrian past.

Nowhere remains static: throughout the book Professor Winchester acknowledges changes to the landscape—the end of droving sheep and cattle to common grazing grounds, enclosure, disputed boundaries, drainage and quarrying have all shaped the evolution of the landscape and he examines these with historical rigour. The ‘when’ and ‘where’ of such change is discussed with authority, and explanations of ‘why’ are included. But Winchester leaves the reader to reach conclusions as to the merits or otherwise of such change, and to consider any ethical or aesthetic concerns prompted by the factual history.

The illustrations and maps are rather small and do not do justice to the text: a copy of the relevant OS map open alongside would make for even greater enjoyment. There is an extensive bibliography and list of sources which reflect the depth of the research and will be very helpful to anyone wishing to delve deeper. This is an extremely readable and informative book and the author’s passion for the subject is evident. He set out to ‘capture something of the spirit’ of the area and he has succeeded admirably.CAROL DOUGHERTY is a retired teacher with a passion for history and archaeology. She has worked on many projects surveying, recording and excavating sites in the Yorkshire Dales, is currently investigating placed stones on limestone pavements in Westmorland, and is involved with her local archaeology group in researching the early history of Appleby in Westmorland. She is co-author of a book about Barnard Castle and designed an accompanying town trail.

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Edited by Adrian Webb and Andrew Butcher

(Halsgrove 2018 208pp ISBN 978-0-85704-329-0) £16.99

These essays on aspects of family, community and religion in Somerset were inspired by Robert Dunning’s work when, among other roles, he was editor of the Victoria County History for Somerset from 1967 to 2005, researcher for the History of Parliament Trust and general editor of the Somerset Record Society. While specifically about Somerset, several of the essays will be useful to historians of other counties, either by demonstrating methodology that could be applied elsewhere or by illuminating particular sources.

Nicholas Orme considers how medieval cults of saints throw light on the history of the Church and on religion as it was understood and practised by local people. Focusing on cults and saints who had a site in Somerset, whether a church, chapel, altar, shrine or image, his main sources are the churches themselves, records from cathedrals and monasteries, and wills. He draws on the observations of two travellers: William of Worcester in the late fifteenth century and John Leland in the 1540s. Barry Lane’s essay on St Lawrence in Somerset and David Dawson’s on Martin Renger, a sixteenth century Somerset potter, both arose from archaeological finds and so are very location-specific but they demonstrate how the background to finds can be developed using documents and archaeological evidence from other sites. Anthony Scrase scrutinises the management of the urban estate of the vicars choral of Wells, records for which have survived from the 1330s but not continuously. He argues that they were not very efficient managers of their properties due to the constraints of the traditional land market rather than their own deficiencies—indeed, they were primarily singers with no administrators to assist them.

Five essays concentrate on specific individuals or their estates. In 1663 William, 11th Baron Stourton commissioned a survey of all of his manors, some being in Somerset. Few of the family papers have survived but this survey was purchased by the Wiltshire and Swindon History Centre in 2015 (a salutary reminder that documents relating to a particular place might be held in repositories elsewhere). Steve Hobbs briefly discusses the survey of Kingston iuxta Yeovil and then provides the text in full: it is clear that in some respects forms of landholding had remained unchanged for centuries even though some rents and fines had increased. Joseph Bettey, using documents and particularly letters of the Smyth family of Ashton Court, Long Ashton, discusses the background and activities of Thomas Smyth (1609–1642). Despite having a violent grandfather and a father who suffered from crippling depression, Thomas appears to have been a ‘normal, agreeable person’. In 1628, aged 18, he became an MP for Bridgwater—an active and energetic member, he kept notes of some parliamentary debates and of speeches before the Petition of Right in 1629. As an MP in late 1630s and early 1640s his letters contain much about the fierce political controversies of the times and those from the 1640s reveal much about tensions and relationships: several of his close friends fought on the opposite side in the civil war, while he ultimately fought for the king.

The Smyth family managed to retained their estate and house at Ashton Court, where their archive remained until its dispersal after the Second World War. Their property survived because of, or in spite of, the activities of men such as Edward Curll, a sequestrator, discussed by Mary Siruat. Sequestrators, appointed in pairs for each hundred in a county, were charged with managing the forfeited estates of royalists while they were seized and before they were, in effect, sold back to them, often after years of argument with the County Committees. Little is known about their work, so the survival of Curll’s detailed account book covering his work for the Somerset County Committee in Catsash hundred from 1645 to 1646 is especially useful, shedding light on the work of his counterparts elsewhere. He appears to have been a conscientious officer, pursuing three types of ‘delinquents’: royalists who had been in arms against parliament, papists and scandalous ministers. Dr John Westover II (1643-1706), a physician and farmer, was also conscientious in his record keeping. His surviving ‘journal’ is an account book with diary notes, covering the years 1686–1705. In addition to his activities as a doctor, it contains details of his farming with records of land purchases and crop-growing. He recorded three short-lived commercial ventures: selling quantities of clover seed to various customers (1688-89); growing and selling teazles (1693); and selling gribbles or crab-apple rootstocks, used for grafting superior orchards (1699). His notes are important because, as Frances Neale observes, they are personal records of farming in the pre-enclosure era. The activities of Thomas Carew of Crowcombe, revealed by Sue Berry, are a complete contrast. Carew is almost a caricature: a gentleman with no idea how to live within his means, pouring money into building a new house that proved to be a bottomless pit.

During the eighteenth century many counties were mapped. William Day undertook to map Somerset, initially with John Darch, and then with Charles Masters. Day’s survey of the county was financed by subscriptions for the finished product. Using local newspaper advertisements Adrian Webb traces how subscriptions were raised and managed and examines how subscribers and promoters of the map assisted the map-makers, ultimately ensuring its publication. Edmund Rack’s survey of Somerset parishes, made between 1781 and 1787, is examined by Mark McDermott for evidence of neglect. Only at the end of the chapter does the reason for this negative analysis become clear: very few Somerset churches were unaffected by the widespread ‘restoration’ during the Victorian period. Was this for practical or purely aesthetic reasons? In fact, Rack recorded positive views of many of the churches that he visited. Finally Dominic Bellinger examines monastic revival in Somerset: the establishing of Downside Abbey means that in this particular instance Somerset is unlike most counties.

Although in some respects this book will be mainly of interest to West Country historians, the variety of sources used provides pointers for historians in other counties. It is beautifully produced with excellent coloured illustrations and very reasonably priced.

HEATHER FALVEY is the Reviews Editor of The Local Historian and secretary of the Hertfordshire Record Society.

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