Felsham Paupers in the 1840s

I am currently writing a chapter on the lives of Felsham farm labourers in early Victorian times, entitled "Felsham Paupers in the 1840s".  I was amazed to see this editorial in a contemporary newspaper that discussed issues that were at the forefront of people's minds over a 160 years ago.

I have reproduced the article in full, highlighting the "history lesson" bit in red.

"Rich and poor: deserving and undeserving

The attempt to distinguish between different categories of the poor is almost as old as the modern British state

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/jan/27/rich-poor-deserving-undeserving

When the Archbishop of Canterbury warned against "a quiet resurgence of the seductive language of 'deserving' and 'undeserving' poor" he may not have expected his immediate predecessor to lead a charge against "hand-outs given to the long-term unemployed", as he did this week. Yet Lord Carey's attack upon his fellow bishops for resisting the government's welfare reform legislation breathes new life into that most unhelpful of distinctions. According to Lord Carey, we now have a "bloated" welfare system that "rewards fecklessness and irresponsibility". In contrast, the former archbishop offers his own story of how hard work and diligence led him from a Dagenham council estate to Lambeth Palace. By so doing he reinforces the view that there are a whole category of people who are responsible – and thus to be blamed – for their own misfortune.
The attempt to distinguish between different categories of the poor is almost as old as the modern British state. The Elizabethan poor laws were designed to keep the poor at home – and thus to stop them from becoming vagrants. By the time of the Napoleonic wars, however, the rise in population, the escalating cost of war, and sharp differences in the scale of poor relief between urban and rural parishes, all led to the conclusion that the old poor law wasn't working. Utilitarians insisted that a great deal of poverty was not inevitable but a product of fecklessness. Economists like Rev Thomas Malthus argued that the Elizabethan poor law encouraged irresponsibly large families. All this has a horribly familiar ring again today.
The result was the introduction of an increasingly uniform system based around the idea of the workhouse – a place where paupers would be incarcerated and made to work. In 1834 the new poor law was promulgated. At its heart was the notion of less eligibility: reducing the number of people entitled to support, so that only those who could not work (rather than those who would not work) would receive support. It's here that the distinction between the deserving and undeserving poor became a legal one. To deter those who would not work from applying for poor law support, workhouses were made deliberately unpleasant, often resembling a prison as much as a refuge. Critics condemned them as "the new Bastilles". As we celebrate the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens, we are witnessing a return of just the sort of language about the poor that he did so much to expose as cruel and inhuman.
Who are today's new undeserving poor? The familiar tabloid assumption is that you know them when you see them. The undeserving poor drink White Lightning in the daytime, have too many children, keep dangerous dogs and spend their lives lolling about on the sofa. Now as in the past, the undeserving poor make an easy and popular target, especially when public money is tight again. Which is why references to fecklessness and irresponsibility have become such effective drivers of the coalition's welfare reform legislation.
During the last recession in the 1990s, public attitudes towards those living on benefits were considerably more sympathetic than they are today. Anxieties involving welfare and work, immigration and housing shortage, have all contributed to a hardening approach. As the latest British Social Attitudes survey demonstrates, 55% of the English subscribe to the view that high benefits encourage poor people to remain poor. Which is undoubtedly why even the Labour party is hesitant to challenge the prevailing mood to limit state support for some of the most vulnerable in our society. Like any other government programme, welfare must be open to serious reform. Yet a society that cannot cap the income of the undeserving rich – witness the latest row over bank bonuses this week – but is quite happy to cut off funds to the poor is a society that has learned nothing from its own history."

Leaving Felsham: an emigrant family’s journey to Australia 1849-50

On the 1st day of February, 1850, the emigrant ship, “Agincourt” arrived at Adelaide in southern Australia. On board were the Felsham farm labourer family – the Seamans – consisting of Peter Seaman, his wife Hannah, and their nine children. Their 13,000 miles sea voyage from England to Australia had taken 116 days.

The ship’s passenger list recorded the family thus:

SEAMAN Peter B 42

SEAMAN Hannah 41

SEAMAN Luke 15

SEAMAN Rachel 14

SEAMAN Eliza 13

SEAMAN Mary 11

SEAMAN David 10

SEAMAN Phillip 7

SEAMAN Emma 4

SEAMAN Rebecca 1

SEAMAN Peter infant

Why did this large family, with three children under the age of five, leave Felsham and undertake a long and arduous sea voyage across the world? How did they cope with the vicissitudes of life in “steerage class” on a sailing ship in the mid 19^th century? What happened to the family after they walked down the ship’s gangplank to set up a new life in the young colony of Southern Australia?

The answer to these questions is that we do not really know. We can only make inspired guesses based on the little documentary evidence that we have about the family in the form of tithe map apportionments, parish records, census returns and some basic Australian family archives. But we can build up a picture of what may have happened to the family using newspaper reports and evidence such as diaries and letters written by other emigrants to Australia making the journey at about the same time.

I have written a fictional account of the family’s journey in the form of three imaginary letters written by the eldest daughter, the 14 year old Rachel Seaman. It is imagined that Rachel addressed the letters to her old schoolmistress who it is assumed would read them out to her pupils. It is also imagined that the first letter was written from near the port of Gravesend on the River Thames in north Kent prior to embarkation; that a second letter was written on board the Agincourt and sent back to England via a homeward-bound ship; and that a third letter was written some years later when the family were settled in their new home.

********

Deptford Emigration Depot, London 5^th October 1849

Dear Mrs Frost

I am writing to you and all the children from the Emigrant Depot at Deptford by the river Thames. Tomorrow we get on the train again for the short journey to Gravesend where we board our ship in readiness to sail for Australia the day after that on the best tide.

Soon after we left Felsham on Boggis’s cart three days ago, it started to pelt down with rain and we were glad of our new coats. Because the cart was packed full, Dad and Luke had to walk behind and they got very muddy. Despite the extra weight the horses got us to the new Stowmarket railway station at 6 o’clock, just as it was getting light, and in good time to catch the steam train to London. We helped the porters heave our trunks onto one of the open carriages and we sat down beside them trying to keep dry. And then we were off.

The journey was really noisy and so frightening that the young ones began cry. Not only were we careering along so much faster than the carrier’s cart, but every time we looked up we got a smut in the eye from the smoky chimney of the engine. When we got in the tunnel the other side of Ipswich station it was really spooky and dark and I could see water dripping down the sides of the wall.

When we arrived near London Bridge we had to change trains and get on the London to Greenwich railway. I had never seen so many people in my life before. And so much hustle and bustle - you would not believe it. At last we arrived at our destination, the Depot in Deptford where all the emigrants are assembled before boarding ship. There were over two hundred people all crowded together. We were given some dry bread and some bitter coffee, boiling hot. I am sure I am not the only one who lost the skin off the roof of the mouth. But everyone was very kind and civil to us and we were very grateful for a nice lie down after our long journey from Felsham.

In the morning, after more coffee and lots of bread and butter, I helped to scrub down the mess tables. Everything is organised as if we were already on board ship. I overheard someone say that it is help us get acclimatised to the long sea voyage ahead. We have messes and berths and we are organised into gangs to do the cooking and cleaning. The children are learning fast and they now use the water closets without any fuss and climb into the berths as agile as little monkeys.

Eliza and Mary are learning straw plaiting and basket weaving, while David and Philip are being taught how to make ropes and tie knots. They reckon these will be handy skills to know when we get to Australia. I spend a lot of time playing with little Emma while Mum has her hands full looking after baby Peter. Dad and Luke have been chatting with some of the other emigrants. They have met another Suffolk family travelling on our boat – the father is a gardener and they have a daughter called Ellen who is fifteen years old and has also done some domestic work just like me. They have also met up with some emigrants from Scotland – the way they talk is really funny – and they have been hearing stories about what it was like on the coastal journey by steamer from Dundee to Deptford. Lots of people were terribly seasick.

Dad has been telling people about how he first started thinking of emigrating. It was over eight years ago when he heard someone talking in the Bells public house about an advert they had seen in the Bury and Norwich Post. It told of free passage to Australia for married agricultural labourers and how they were crying out for workers and giving good wages. It was some years later that the Reverend Anderson spoke of emigration from his pulpit one Sunday and Dad went to speak to him about applying to the Colonial Commissioners. Life was very hard at the time and Dad had been out of work for over three months.

Neither he nor Mum can read very well and they find writing very difficult but Luke and me helped them fill in the application form that the rector gave him. Mr Anderson also wrote a testimonial to go with the application to say that Dad was very hard-working and that the whole family were well regarded in the village. By the way, we still look hard at that map you gave us showing the new colonies in Australia. We can’t wait to get on board ship but I’m very worried about getting seasick.

We have to go for a medical inspection now. We will have to show our birth certificates and also the certificate proving that we have all had the smallpox inoculation. The scar on my left arm still itches occasionally. I just hope we stay healthy and get to Adelaide without any major mishaps. Mum worries about the little ones catching something nasty from all the other emigrants. She is always talking about the Felsham children who got measles or whooping cough or scarlet fever and nearly died. She is a real worrier, is Mum.

Thank goodness for the Penny Post. I am going to post this letter in the Depot post box and you might get it from the Felsham shop before school starts on Monday.

Your ever-loving friend and past pupil,

Rachel Seaman

********

Somewhere in the south Atlantic, 11 January 1850

Dear Mrs Frost

Writing in haste - passing homeward bound ship has signalled that it would be happy to accept letters addressed for England. The captain and some of the cabin passengers are going to be rowed across soon for luncheon as the sea is quite calm. So I have quickly found pen and ink and excuse my scribble.

Well, where do I start? There is so much to tell. We left Gravesend on the 7^th October at high tide and headed down the Channel to Plymouth where we picked up more emigrants. We left Plymouth loaded to the gunnels (please notice that I have picked up some sea-faring words) with labouring families from Ireland and the West Country. We did not clear land until well after the 20^th October because the winds were so contrary. Many were seasick especially poor mother and my new friend Ellen Smith. They both spent days and nights retching into buckets and neither could keep any food down.

Life in steerage takes some getting used to. Below the main deck there are two rows of bunks one above the other which run all round the sides of the ship. The young unmarried men have to sleep in the fore-hatch area. Luke has to join them at night because he is fifteen, but fortunately I have been allowed to stay with Mum and Dad and the children in the married quarters in the main hatch. This is so I can help with the little ones. All the single women have berths in the after-hatch and this is where Ellen has her quarters. It is all a bit crowded and noisy but it is not much different from when we lived in that little cottage on Upper Green near the Smithy which we had to share with the Pilbrow family. We are lucky because our bunks are near the hatchway so we get some light and fresh air.

All the boxes have been stowed away down below in the hold. The sailors bring them up about once a week, weather permitting, to give them an airing. That is also the time we can grab some clean clothes.

We are allowed to have full run of the ship except for the Poop Deck which is reserved for the officers and the ten cabin passengers. On the first few days I took my brothers and sisters on deck as Mum was unwell and we listened to the sailors singing sea shanties and watched them scrubbing the decks and climbing the ratlines. We don’t wash much but Dad and the boys have saltwater showers on the deck. Mum and me and the girls, we sponge ourselves down with a basin whenever possible.

The mess tables are long wooden benches down the centre of the main hatchway. They have raised edges so that plates don’t roll off in rough seas. The food is very generous. In fact, we have never eaten so well. We eat three times a day and there is plenty of salt beef and pork. We get bread, ship’s biscuits (very hard), rice sometimes and lots of potatoes. We get rations of sugar, lime juice (to prevent the scurvy), tea, coffee, butter, cheese, raisins, suet, pickles and even mustard. The water is usually quite fresh tasting considering it is kept in oak barrels. Sometimes, we get rainwater to drink when the sailors spread sail-cloths during rain showers.

On calm days we take long walks around the decks. Dad, in particular, loves doing this because it allows him to get out from under Mum’s feet and gives him the chance to talk to the other Dads. He comes back with so many extraordinary stories about life in other parts of the United Kingdom. In some counties it seems that wages for agricultural labourers is worse than in Suffolk.

To while away the time we play chequers, backgammon and cards. On deck we play shovel-board, where we slide flat wooden discs along the deck into nine numbered squares. Sometimes, we watch the sailors “heaving the log” and counting the knots, which is what they do to find out how fast we are travelling. We love to look out for other boats and sometimes we spot whales and dolphins. Near Madeira lots of small birds flew into the rigging and one day a hawk was caught up there.

After the Captain, the Surgeon is the most important person on board. He appointed one of the emigrants, a shoemaker back in England, to be a schoolmaster and to hold lessons on deck for the boys and girls. I was asked to help with teaching the girls and I showed them how to read their letters and do some sewing. At the end of the voyage the schoolmaster might get a £5 gratuity for all his work. I wonder if he will give me a shilling or two?

By the time it got to November it was getting very hot as we were near the equator and sometimes Dad and the boys went to sleep on deck. Mum wouldn’t let us girls do that so we had to stay below decks and “steam” in our nightclothes! We crossed the Line on the 26^thNovember and we had all sorts of fun and games to celebrate the occasion. The sailors even fired one of the cannons. When one of the sailors, dressed as Neptune, started being a bit rude with his trident and the single men started cheering, Dad told us all to go below decks. But later on, while we were collecting our food from the galley, Luke told me all about what had happened. I won’t go into details except to say that it involved shaving one of the young sailors who had never crossed the Line before.

Two babies were born in early December and there was a christening service held by Captain Cumberland. The babies were given ‘Agincourt as second Christian names after the name of the ship. After some stormy weather Christmas arrived at last. We were told that we were still 5,000 miles from Adelaide. There was a lovely Church Service held on deck and we all sung our hymns with great gusto –you would have been proud of us. Then we had the New Year festivities on the 31^st and we all stayed up till after 12 o’clock, even Mum with baby Peter in her arms. There was a fair breeze and the moon shone brightly on the white heaving sails. I stayed on deck all night and Ellen and I saw the dawn come up. Then, magically, an albatross with its broad wings outstretched glided by, and after doing a brief inspection of the ship flew off and quickly disappeared from view.

Sadly, on the 7^th January we had our first death on board. Baby Agincourt Maslin died in the night. He was buried in the way they do it on board ship. The funeral took place in the evening just before sunset. The little body was wrapped in a piece of sail and placed on the grating by the side of the ship, and at the words, “We therefore commit this body to the deep,” slid off into the sea and was instantly lost to sight. The memory of that tiny sail-wrapped body sliding into the troubled waters will never leave me. Sea life is very difficult for the little ones. I am so glad baby brother, Peter, now 6 months old, is doing well and gaining weight. It must have something to do with the fact that Mum, since she has gained her sea-legs, is eating well on the generous ship rations, and is getting quite fat, as Dad has rudely pointed out.

Must hurry as the row boat is about to leave for the homeward bound ship and I must hand this letter to the bosun. It will probably be months before you receive it. Miss you all dreadfully.

Your ever-loving friend and past pupil,

Rachel Seaman

********

Morpett Vale, Adelaide, South Australia, 1^st March 1853

Dear Mrs Frost

I am so sorry not to have written to you sooner. I hope this letter finds you all in good health, as it leaves us at present, thank God for it. I have fond memories of the little school room behind the churchyard especially when during cold dark winter days you piled logs into the old stove and we all sang hymns in front of the flickering flames of the fire.

Life inAustralia since we landed at Port Adelaide on the 1^st February 1850 has been so incredibly full and busy we have had hardly a thought for our old existence in Felsham. The day the good ship Agincourt sailed into the harbour was a time of great joy. We had been impatient to arrive from New Year’s Day onwards. Every day we checked the direction of the wind, noted the number of miles we had accomplished and the distance yet to be travelled. We were getting increasingly tired of our dry, salted rations and the lack of fresh food.

We experienced such pleasure when, on our arrival, the Emigration Agents boarded the ship bringing with them supplies of fresh produce: green peas, lettuces, spring onions. All so wonderful. We were not allowed to disembark immediately. We had to wait until we were allocated a home and jobs ashore. In the meantime, we gorged ourselves on all the lovely greens. The Agents questioned us about our voyage and whether we had been treated correctly and whether everything had been done according to the regulations. Dad was complimentary about the running of the ship but he did mention some of the coarse language spoken by the sailors as being unacceptable in the hearing all God-fearing folk. I was congratulated on helping with the schooling of the girls and given a gratuity of 10 shillings by Dr Gregory, the ship’s Surgeon-Superintendent.

After seven day waiting on board ship we were eventually allowed ashore. It was marvellous to have solid land under our feet after three months being tossed around the oceans. The only thing that annoyed us was that we were plagued by mosquitoes which breed in the nearby swamps. Fortunately, we were soon on our way to Morphett Vale, a hamlet about ten miles south of Adelaide where Dad and Luke had been promised a job. They started work in a gentleman’s garden for 10 shillings a day and I entered service in a good house on the very first day of our arrival for the princely wage of £15 a year.

After a few months, a farmer came down out of the bush and hired Dad and Luke –both of them for 5 shillings a day but with all rations thrown in. That consisted of 40 lbs of flour, 40 lbs of meat (beef or mutton), 1lb of tea and 4lbs of sugar. The house the farmer provided for us, and which was big enough for the whole family, was rent free and we didn’t have to pay for any of the firewood that we used for cooking. After the hay harvest, the master was so pleased with the way Dad and Luke had done the mowing that he gave Dad a cow and a calf on top of the wages which he increased to twelve shillings a day for Dad and ten shillings for Luke. My brothers, David and Phillip also worked around the farm doing odd jobs and carrying out errands. Meanwhile Eliza helped the farmers’ wife and Mary did her best to support Mother with the little ones.

When I went home on my afternoon off, I would spend many an hour sitting in the new kitchen garden gazing at all the lovely vegetables that my family had sown. They grow so much more easily than those we struggled to nurture on the clayey soil of the Felsham allotments. And here there are no Felsham Charity rules and regulations to annoy Dad especially that requirement to attend Church every Sunday. In fact there is no Church in our hamlet though there are plans to build one soon.

All the gardens are wonderful here. You can grow peas all year round and cucumbers about nine months out of a year. You may grow two crops of potatoes and turnips a year; the onions and cabbages are the best that I ever saw. There are grapes, oranges and figs, almonds and peaches in abundance, all growing in open gardens.

Some things are dearer here. Things like pins and needles for sewing are expensive. Dad also complains about the price of tools such as hammers and hatchets, and kitchenware such as pots and kettles. Clothing is a little dearer than at home but now that I earn about 12 shillings a week as a general servant I don’t find it difficult to buy a pretty dress for myself.

Last year Dad and Luke bought about twenty acres of land with the money they had saved up. Land is about £1 an acre here. They will soon have a nice little farm with horses, cattle and pigs. Dad can’t believe how lucky we are. He is always going on about this free country of Australia where he doesn’t have to pay any tithes, taxes, nor rates of any kind.

Please tell all the people of Felsham about our good fortune. If any of them want to come out here, send me a letter and we will meet them at the port. We could help them find a house till they could get one for themselves.

And I nearly forgot to say. I have a new baby brother. Elisha Seaman was born on Valentine’s Day earlier this year. And he is thriving in this wonderful new country of ours.

I remain your ever-loving friend

Rachel Seaman

The will of BALDEWIN COKSEDGE of FELSHAM, 1469

A dying man, surrounded by doctors and family, dictating his will
(Justiniani in Fortiatum, Madrid)


Google books provides useful access to a will made by Baldwin Cocksedge in English Historical Documents 1327-1485 by A. R. Myers. 

In the will Baldwin makes provision for this wife after his death.

The document begins like this:

"This is my last will.  That I Baldewyn Coksedge of Felsham, gentleman, being in whole mind and good memory at Felsham aforesaid, the 5^th day of the month of July the year of Our Lord 1469, do take and own my testament before made... And I will that Denise my wife to have 20s for her dower and my place called 'Upwode Hall', otherwise 'Coksedgys', in Felsham during her lifetime..."

Read my review ‘Wills from the Register ‘Baldwyne’, Part II: 1461 – 1474’ Edited by Peter Northeast and Heather Falvey here


Where was Coksedgys?  Could it have been on the site of one of the two medieval manors known to exist in Felsham? At Felsham Hall Farm or Brook Hall farm?  A charity document of 1460 describing the FEOFFMENT of a croft and appurtenances called le Cherchecroft states:

"... between lands late of Walter Skarp on both sides, one head abutting Felsham churchyard, and the other a meadow of Baldwin Coksegge, with the hedges on both sides ..." 

This suggests that Baldwin Cocksedge owned the meadow adjoining the southern boundary of the Felsham Charity Lands.

DICK CAN TELL: extracts from "The autobiography of a Suffolk Farm Labourer"

I have recently transcribed parts of this excellent 19th century document which gives an illuminating and insightful overview of the life of an 'educated' farm labourer in the first half of the Victorian era.  It was serialised in the 'Suffolk Times and Mercury' newspaper between 1894 and 1895.  In the autobiography, the anonymous author recounts his experiences and observations of agricultural life over a period of sixty years, from 1816 until 1876.

If you would like to receive a copy of this transcription please contact me here.

James Collinson – ‘Answering the Emigrant's Letter’

1850, oil on panel, 70 x 89cm, Manchester City Art Gallery

http://www.manchestergalleries.org/

Traditional music making in Felsham

I have recently come across a book by John Howson called: "Many a Good Horseman..."  The book is a survey of traditional music making in Mid-Suffolk and includes a section on Felsham.

Felsham Six Bells PH

John Howson reports the words of a local man - Frank Smith - who tells how music was an important feature of life in the village centred on the Six Bells pub.

Now in Felsham Bells, we used to have a club there, and they called that "The Jolly Boys," and we didn't have to pay much for it. There was a big room up some stairs, and you were right out of the way, and at that time of day they used to swim in beer - they could bloody drink it. That was good stuff then, but I'm talking about 50 years ago. The "Jolly Boys" stopped when insurance became cheaper, but on the yearly share out, they'd have this do.

                                                                             

There'd be an old boy called George Witton, he must have been 100 when he died, and his son, who was also called George, he's retired now.  Well, he would getup and sing, so would his father. They lived in Thorpe Morieux. Well, the old boys would sit round with their hands leaning on their sticks, and if there was any noise, they'd grunt, "Order!" Well, you could hear a pin drop.  "The singer's on his feet", they'd holler, and he'd be up singing and he'd forget a line, and an old boy would say, "Never mind, boy. Many a good horseman has turned round in a field."

Many of the songs that may have been sung in the past in Felsham appear on a CD entitled SONGS SUNG IN SUFFOLK [Veteran]

Some of the songs which feature on this excellent CD are sung by Cyril Barber.  Cyril is now 87 and still lives in Felsham.
An extract from the beginning of "Hail the dewy morning" can be heard here.

Hail the Dewy Morning

I went out one May morning to see what I could shoot,
I there a-spied a fair pretty maid a-rowing in a boat.

Chorus: Singing hail the dewy morning,
Blow the winds high-ho,

Clear away the morning dew,
How sweet the winds do blow.

We both strolled on together 'til we came to some cocks of hay,
I said 'Young lady it's a very nice place for you and I to play.'

I put my arms around her and tried to lay her down,
She said 'Young man this dewy grass will spoil my new silk gown.'

'If you come down to my father's house there you may lay me down,
And take away my maidenhead, likewise ten thousand pounds.'

We strolled down to her father's house, where she quickly locked me out,
She said 'Young man I'm a maid within, and you're a fool wthout.

One of the earliest English versions of this song is 'Blow the Winds i-o' (1609). It has been found all over the British Isles; Cecil Sharp collected many versions, and it has been collected under a variety of titles including: 'The Shepherd Laddie' (and 'The Shepherd's Son'), 'Yonder Comes a Courteous Knight', 'Blow Away the Morning Sun' and 'The New Mown Hay', but is normally classified under the title 'The Baffled Knight' (Child ballad no. 112). It was printed in the 19th century by, amongst others: Pitts of London, Bebbington of Manchester and Forth of Pocklington. It was a popular song in East Anglia and Sam Larner's (of Winterton Norfolk,) version is worth hearing (TSCD511). Cyril learned this from his father and it is unusual in that the 'fair maid' is found rowing in a boat.
Song transcribed by John Howson/Song notes: John Howson 

Cyril was born into a large family in 1922 and his three brothers Sonny, Rip and Royal all played, danced and sang. The eldest brother, Sonny, was first to have an accordion. As Cyril said, "When he was out of the way we'd all steal a tune on his music." Many of Cyril's songs he grew up with, as both his mother and father sang. The family home was Wingfield and it was around that area he first started to sing, play and step dance. He told me, "Yes there was a lot of singing in the pubs around Wingfield. There was one old man who lived to be a hundred and he used to sing about 'shot and shell flying across the battle field' from the 1914 war. The folk used to sit there and tears came into their eyes."
He would often keep company with the Whiting family, "Old Charlie Whiting, he could dance and sing a song!" and favourite pubs in those days would have been the Hoxne Swan and the Ivy House at Stradbroke.
Cyril worked mainly on the land and he moved around quite a lot to find farm work, including a period in Cambridgeshire. In the sixties he moved to Felsham and worked for the council before retirement. In these later years he had almost stopped playing and singing: "Nobody wanted to hear those old songs any more" he told me. I'm pleased to say that many people are still interested in the old music and Cyril is always pleased to oblige with a tune, a step or a song. (John Howson at http://www.veteran.co.uk/index.htm )

There is more information about Cyril Barber in an article from 1984 at MusicalTraditions.

The article includes a photograph of Cyril playing his accordion.

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Felsham’s Green Men, Gargoyles and Grotesques

Font with mid 14th century base

The font in St Peter’s Church has a very curious feature: it is really two fonts. It would appear that the base of the octagonal font was the top part of another older mid-14th century font. This base has been cut down showing only the upper half of eight sunken panels which are carved with various figures. One of the figures, below an ogee arch, shows the top half of a head which is believed to be a “green man”. If so, this is an example of how a feature of pagan culture – the fertility symbol - survived into the Christian period.

"Green Man" on base of font

The Green Man on the font appears to have leaves for hair or is perhaps just peering out from dense foliage. His lower face may have originally shown a vigorous leafy beard and perhaps a mouth disgorging fresh shoots.

The gargoyles that peer down at us from high up on the church roof are perhaps a more familiar sight.  

Gargoyle on Church Roof

They are rather obscured by the large basins that are fixed to the top of the drainpipes.  Most people know that these frightening carved stone faces with a spout were designed to convey rainwater away from the side of the building to prevent erosion of the mortar and stonework.  Apparently, the word “gargoyle” derives from the French “gargouille” and the Latin “gargula” meaning “throat” or “gullet”.  Gurgling and gargling must have similar origins.  The Felsham gargoyles are carbuncled and heavy jawed with strange scaly ears and are reminiscent of pictures of the jaws of hell.  The frightening WENHASTON DOOM shows the damned being swallowed up by a vicious looking fish like monster.

The jaws of hell, The Wenhaston Doom

It has been said that the purpose of gargoyles was to frighten away demons and other evil spirits.



Church porch

Among the carvings on the entrance arch to the fine church porch there is another curious feature. 

Detail of carvings on porch archway

Among the carved crowns, shields and square-shaped roses, small grotesque faces can be seen.   


Tongue-poking grotesque on Church doorway

Like the green men faces on the font, their eyes stare blankly out at us.  The hair style is aggressively wild with strands standing up vertically as though in fright.  But, the most startling feature of the pugnacious face is the long tongue that provocatively pushes out from the broad wide mouth. What effect did the medieval sculpture intend with this startling malevolent image on a church doorway?  One answer can be found by studying the Luttrell Psalter, an illustrated manuscript commissioned by a rich Lincolnshire knight sometime between 1320 and 1340.  The Psalter includes depictions of strange figures and imaginary beasts called babwyns.  One big-eared babwyn sticks his tongue out in a way reminiscent of our Felsham grotesque:

These strange illustrations may well have been representations of medieval folk activities which included dressing up in weird garb similar perhaps to features associated with our more familiar morris dancing groups.
I have recently visited the Villa d'Este near Rome with its incredible water features.  This photo shows one of many biomorphic faces in the Garden of the Hundred Fountains with water gushing from its mouth.  A little reminiscent of our Felsham grotesque?

Fountain in Villa d'Este, Italy

Finally, it has been suggested that these grimacing gargoyles, tongue-poking beasties and melancholic green men with foliage spewing from their mouths could be caricatures of villagers who lived in Felsham in medieval times.

Dragon sculpture on porch

References:
Illustrated Guide to St Peter's Church, Felsham, Suffolk
Nikolaus Pevsner: "The buildings of England - Suffolk"
http://www.britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/en-280793-church-of-st-peter-felsham
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/outdoors/8049149/Gargoyles-The-monsters-of-rock.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gargoyle
http://www.wenhaston.net/doom/index.php
http://www.bl.uk/onlinegallery/sacredtexts/luttrellpsalter.html
A useful description of the church's north porch can be found at
http://english-church-architecture.net/suffolk/f/felsham/felsham.htm

Hairy face carving on base of font

The Felsham Green Man - a poem

I have seen it all. 

In the beginning I lived in the wild and sacred wood 

Hidden among oaken boles bearded with ivy I watched 

With knotted eyes of furrowed brown the browsing 

Snouts sweeping besom-like the musty floor of cracked acorns. 

I have seen it all. 

Then they took my free high heathen spirit open 

To the canopied over-arching sky of dappled green 

And enclosed me heavily in white stained stone 

Under a carved canopy of heaving hammer-beams. 

I have seen it all. 

But I am dumb, my gaping mouth stuffed and gorged 

With yellowing leaves of the Fall by dark figures who lift 

The silvered chalice above the cope to the crossed form 

Where the sun rises refracted through beaming glass. 

I have seen it all. 

The unlocking of the ashen lid to reveal the blesséd water 

And the thrice dipping of the pulsing infant fontanel 

And the thrice crossing at the chrisomed head, hands and soles 

And the devilish screams as the North Door slams shut. 

I have seen it all. 

The souls harassed by thoughts of unpurged purgatory 

Buying their heaven-ward hopes by willing the sheltering porch 

Of crusted grey flint and buttressed stone enlivened 

With gruesome grotesques and roses repeated in roundels.

I have seen it all. 

The stripping of the altars and the crash of statued-saints 

As the Suffolk iconoclast with forked rod aloft wreaks his revenge 

On suffering neighbours, now faceless and unknown, broken 

And dejected where the pursed lips and narrowed brows berate.

I have seen it all. 

But the tiled and trodden terra firma clogs my mouth and nose. 

I stare out uncertain, half-submerged, trapped in my font of unknowing 

What the shrouded future holds. The rivulet Rat is rising and threatens 

The larches limply branching as the charcoal ash buds stir and die.

Christopher Bornett