Adultery and Divorce

I have often wondered what my ancestors would have thought if they had known that, years later, details of their personal life would be freely available for anyone to discover via record offices and the internet. This is particularly the case for anyone who was a participant in a divorce case.

Until the 1857 Matrimonial Causes Act, it was extremely difficult for the ‘ordinary’ person to obtain a divorce. A costly occurrence, which could only be instigated by the husband, many preferred to stay in loveless marriages or merely separated from their spouses. In some cases, bigamy was the preferred choice when escaping an unwanted marriage.

Marriage certificate of John Howarth Ormerod and Marian Augusta Salusbury Conway

The first divorce I have discovered in my family happened in 1879 between Marian Augusta Salusbury Conway and John Howorth Ormerod. John, a cotton spinner from Todmorden, married Marian (daughter of Reverend William Augustus Conway) on 12th September 1877 at Christ Church, Todmorden. After the wedding, they continued to reside at Todmorden, at Brocklyn House, Byrom Street, where they became friendly with a local man, Lionel Edwards. Edwards would visit the couple at their home, staying on a prolonged visit from February-March 1878, and rumours soon began to circulate that there was more than just a friendship between himself and the new Mrs Ormerod.

Although John Howorth Ormerod did not believe that there was anything improper occurring between his wife and his friend, he nevertheless asked Edwards to refrain from visiting the house. Believing that Edwards had adhered to his wishes, Ormerod allowed his wife to visit her aunt in Bath and from there she was to visit an old governess in Brighton.

Westminster Palace Hotel, London

What Mrs Ormerod failed to mention to her husband, however, was that she had not gone straight to Brighton from Bath. Instead, she had stayed in adjoining rooms at the Westminster Palace Hotel, London, with Lionel Edwards. They had signed the visitors’ book as ‘Mr. and Miss Edwards,’ purporting to be brother and sister.

Mr Ormerod was somewhat suspicious of his wife’s movements and instructed his solicitor, Mr Eastwood, to make enquiries. This prompted his wife into admitting that she had been to London but that she had stayed at Wood’s Hotel and had visited the aquarium; she had not seen anybody that she knew. A chambermaid at the Westminster Palace Hotel, Caroline Tucker, however, had already identified Mrs Ormerod and Lionel Edwards as the ‘brother and sister’ in the adjoining rooms.

John Howorth Ormerod decided immdeiately that he no longer wished to live with his wife and, despite her protestations, refused to take her back. Divorce proceedings were started on 11th January 1879 and the final decree was granted on 4th November of the same year, just over two years after the marriage began.

Marian went back home to live with her parents, using her maiden name of Conway and calling herself ‘unmarried.’ She would later remarry at All Saints Church, Hoole to Harry Stanley Parsons, and have five children. She died in 1896 in Brussels, Belgium.

 

Death at Silvertown

On 19th February 1917, a huge explosion rocked the East End of London. It was so large that shock waves could be felt in Essex and the blast was apparently heard as far away as Norwich and Southampton.

The Brunner, Mond Factory in 1895.

The explosion occurred at the Brunner, Mond & Co factory at Crescent Wharf, Silvertown, where, prior to the Great War, it had been involved in the production of caustic soda. On government orders, however, it was decided that, as the army was suffering from a shell shortage, the plant was to be used to purify TNT, a process more dangerous than the actual manufacture of the product. The management of the former plant expressed their concerns due to the location of the factory – in a busy, urban area – but they were soon making nine tons of TNT a day.

Working nearby on that fateful day was Henry George Lidbury, my 3x great uncle. Henry was born on 6th December 1856 in Stratford, Essex and grew up on Stratford High Street. He became a mariner and married Harriet Maxwell Irwin, the daughter of Archibald Irwin and Margaret Doyle on 28th October 1878 at St. Mary’s Church, Walton, Liverpool.

Henry and Harriet had two children, Edmund John and Harriet Irwin, before tragedy struck and his wife died at the age of 27 in 1882. With a young son to care for (Harriet Irwin Lidbury had died before reaching the age of one), Henry relocated back to Essex where he married his second wife, Catherine Sarah John, in 1883.

By 1891, Henry had also changed his profession and now had the role of Pay Master. In 1901 he was working as a cashier for the Elevated Tram Company and by 1911 he was a pay clerk for the Port London Authority. On 19th February 1917, Henry went to work at the P.L.A. as normal, for what would be the last time.

North Greenwich Road after the Silvertown Explosion.

At 6.40pm, a fire broke out in the melt-pot room at Brunner, Mond & Co. Henry Lidbury soon became aware of what was happening and feared that there would be an explosion. Telling a co-worker, John Peel, that he had a sum of money in his office, he turned towards the door but did not make it as a huge explosion suddenly ripped through the factory. Approximately 50 long tons of TNT had ignited, completely decimating the plant and destroying other buildings in the area including the Silvertown Fire Station. A nearby gasometer gasholder was also damaged, creating a fireball from 200,000 cubic metres of gas.

The fire service soon began the task of attempting to put out the flames but not before 73 people died and more than 400 people were injured. Arthur Sway, a labourer, was blown 18 feet by the explosion but, luckily received no injuries. He, afterwards, searched the debris and found the body of Henry George Lidbury near the office of the P.L.A.

The factory grounds are still empty having never being built on after the explosion. A memorial to those who lost their lives can be seen on the site.

The Silvertown Memorial

The Oscar Wilde Connection

James Osmond Nelson, the son of James Henry and Elizabeth Nelson, was born in London in November 1859 and was baptised four years later at St. Marylebone’s Church in Westminster.

Deciding against following in his father’s footsteps and undertaking a career in law, he joined the army, serving in the 3rd Volunteer Batallion Lancashire Fusiliers and the 1st Batallion 20th Regiment of Foot. He had a successful career in the army, becoming a Second Lieutenant in 1880 and later becoming a Major. In March 1880, whilst a Second Lieutenant, he attended the Queen’s Levee at Buckingham Palace.

In 1892, Nelson retired from the army and undertook a new profession in the prison service. He would later become governor at HM Prison, Knutsford but it is his time as governor at Reading Gaol that is the most interesting due to the infamy of one of its inmates – Oscar Wilde.

Reading Gaol

In May 1895, Oscar Wilde, the playwright was sent to Reading Gaol after being found guilty of  ‘gross indecency.’ He found prison life tough as the governor, would remove his books as a punishment.

This regime would end, though, in July 1896, when James Osmond Nelson became governor of Reading Gaol as, under his tenure, the number of punishments carried out dropped drastically. It was decided that Wilde should have access to paper, pen and ink and also any books he chose to read. If the books were not available in the prison library, they were to be obtained.

Nelson went to see Wilde, saying, “The Home Secretary says you are to have books. Here is one you may like; I have just been reading it myself.” At this, Oscar Wilde burst into tears, saying that they were the first kind words spoken to him since arriving in gaol.

Oscar Wilde

On the evening before he was due to be released, on 18th May 1897, Wilde was taken to the main entrance where Nelson was waiting. Wilde wanted to thank him for his kindness and also wanted to discuss injustices in prison but time was limited. Nelson handed Wilde a large envelope containing a manuscript of De Profundis, something that the writer had been working on since January of that year.

After his release, in a letter written by Wilde to W R Paton, he stated, “Though he (Nelson) cannot alter the rules of the prison system, he has altered the spirit in which they used to be carried out under his predecessor… Indeed he has quite altered the whole tone of prison life.” In another letter, he also described Nelson as, “… a man of gentle and humane character greatly respected by all the prisoners.”

James Osmond Nelson, a man who had played an important role in the life of one of the world’s most celebrated playwrights, died on 9th October 1914.

Bibliography

Neil McKenna, The Secret Life of Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde, Two Letters, May 28 1897

Oscar Wilde, Complete Letters

Suicide in a Fit of Despondency

William McLean Irwin, the second son of Archibald Irwin and Margaret Doyle was born on 9th January 1839 in Kensington, West Derby (Now part of Liverpool). Spending the early part of his life in Everton, he enlisted in the 4th Kings Own Royal Lancashire Regiment whilst still a teenager.

The King’s Own Royal Regiment (Lancaster) cap badge.

Whilst serving with the army, he was stationed for a time at Prince Edward Island, Canada and it is, presumably, here where he met his wife, Patience Smith, a woman six years his junior. William continued to serve with the army and, by the time of the 1871 Census (where he was recorded in Farnborough, Hampshire), he had risen to the rank of Colour Sergeant.

William and Patience had nine children, the final three being born in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, where the family had decided to settle after William retired from the army in 1879. He had several changes of occupation whilst in Canada, becoming a farmer, dry goods clerk and, finally, a book keeper.

The building that was formerly the Apothecaries Hall in Charlottetown.

On April 30th, 1903, at 5.45 pm, after a period of illness, William entered the Apothecaries Hall in Charlottetown where he purchased an ounce bottle of carbolic acid. On reaching the street, outside W. A. Hutcherson’s store, he took the cork from the bottle and drank the contents. After discarding the empty bottle, he walked a few steps, caught himself on a post outside the aforementioned store and promptly fell.

A crowd quickly gathered to see what had happened. It soon became apparent what had caused the fall and an antidote was quickly administered before the partially conscious man was taken to his home in King Street. Unfortunately, only a few minutes after reaching his home, despite a doctor being summoned, William passed away.

After hearing the facts, Coroner Dr. R. McNeill decided that an inquest would be unnecessary and determined that William had committed suicide in a fit of despondency after suffering from illness.

William McLean Irwin’s funeral took place a few days later at St. Peter’s Cemetery, Charlottetown.

Summoned for Permitting Drunkenness

Henry Mills was born in Meifod, Mongomeryshire in 1822 but relocated to Toxteth Park with his family when he was only a child. After his marriage, in 1845, to Sarah Ingram, he settled in Mill Street where he became a baker and flour dealer. In about 1862, he decided upon a change of occupation and became a licensed victualler, turning his flour ship into a public house – the Great Eastern.

The Great Eastern, Mill Street, Toxteth.

Business was obviously good, as by 1868, Henry Mills had relocated to much larger premises  – also called the Great Eastern – in New Ferry. The Great Eastern Hotel in New Ferry, named after the ship designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, was built in 1862 but only really came into its own after Henry Mills became landlord. Because of its location, the hotel became popular with tourists and visitors who had crossed the Mersey on the ferry. It also boasted picnic grounds, a 1000-seater tea room and a ballroom.

On Good Friday in 1876, ar 3pm, Sergeant Perry and other police officers visited the Great Eastern where they witnessed a number of people in the grounds clearly under the influence of alcohol and staggering around.

The Great Eastern, New Ferry, 1912.

Although it was an offence, it became apparent that Mills and his staff were still serving liquor to these cusomers despite their inebriated state. The police officers brought this to the attention of Henry Mills who promised that he would stop the tap and only serve them ginger beer.

At 5,30pm, Sergeant Perry again visited the Great Eastern only to find that the hotel was in a state of great disorder. There were five or six simultaneous fights occurring and the people in the grounds were still being served with alcohol. This was, again, brought to the attention of Mills.

An hour later, at 6.30pm, the sergeant returned only to find things had got worse as there were now women lying in the grounds of the hotel, vomiting. The alcohol was still being sold.  By 8.30pm, most had moved out of the hotel grounds but a group of drunken people were discovered in the vaults, being served by waiters. One man, glass in hand, couldn’t even stand!

As a result, Henry Mills was summoned to court where he faced charges of permitting drunkenness and riotous conduct on his premises. Police officers giving evidence spoke of disorder from 3-9pm with fighting and drunkenness almost continual. The defence argued that Henry Mills had given strict orders that no drunk person should be supplied with alcohol and precautions were taken to ensure that these orders were carried out.  Witnesses were called who supported the argument of the defence.

Advertisement for the Great Eastern, New Ferry taken from the Liverpool Mercury, 3rd May 1969.

The charge of permitting drunkenness was proved with the magistrate staring that this case was a “disgraceful one.” Henry Mills was given a penalty of £10 and asked to pay costs.

This wasn’t the only time Henry Mills had an encounter with the magistrates’ court although his next appearance had a different outcome.

In January 1877, Mills was again summoned for permitting drunkenness. On December 29th of the previous year, Sergeant O’Donnell and Police Constable Asbury visited the Great Eastern where they found a local man, John Cooney, drunk, leaning on the counter with a pint mug of beer in front of him. Mills denied that there was anything wrong with the man but, after being spoken to by the police, agreed that the man had had enough. Sergeant O’Donnell had suspicions that the landlord was shortsighted.

At court, staff from the Wirral Hotel were called and said that they’d denied Cooney drink at their establishment due to his drunken state. A postman, on the other hand, who had been at the Great Eastern that evening, said that he’d not seen anything to suggest that the man was drunk.

To convict Henry Mills, he had to be seen to be serving a drunk man. Due to the sergeant’s suspicions that he was shortsighted, the case was dismissed!

Suicide of a Farmer

Oswestry, a market town in the north of Shropshire has a long and tumultuous history. Its name, it is thought, originates from the year 642 when the Anglo-Saxon kings, Penda and Oswald fought at the Battle of Maserfield. It is said that the loser of the battle, Oswald, was dismembered and one of his arms was carried to a tree by an eagle. As Oswald was a saint, miracles were attributed to the tree, ‘Oswald’s Tree.’ It is from this, that the word Oswestry is thought to derive.

St. Oswald, King of Northumbria.

Oswestry is divided into several townships, one of these being Morton, a largely rural area. It was here were Richard Thomas was born in about 1835. Richard was brought up by his parents, William and Elizabeth Thomas, on a farm consisting of 215 acres of land and he soon followed in his father’s footsteps by becoming a farmer.

Some time around the year 1857, Richard decided that life in Shropshire wasn’t for him so set sail for Australia. He remained here for about thirteen years before returning to Morton some time in the early 1870s and reacquainting himself with the family business.

Richard Thomas and his family at Morton, Shropshire on the 1871 Census.

The fateful event happened early on Saturday March 11th, 1876. Richard had been in a happy mood as he had been drinking, on and off, for a fortnight. The previous day, it had been work as usual – he had been working with the machine in the stackyard (where hay and grain is kept) and was seen by his elder brother, William, sitting on a stool in the small room.

William worked outside for the rest of the day and, on his return, sometime between ten and eleven pm, noted that Richard was already in bed in the room the brothers shared. A little after midnight, Richard awoke, got out of bed, put on his leggings and boots and came downstairs, claiming that he could hear a noise resembling lots of small dogs. His mother, Elizabeth, told him that there was nothing wrong, probably assuming that his drinking had been the cause of these ‘noises.’ Richard returned to bed.

About 5am, William was awoken by a rattling noise, a bit like the sound of someone vomiting. He got out of bed to find the source of the noise which had since ceased. It was then that he saw what had occurred and promptly called his mother, locking the bedroom door behind him.

John Lindup, one of the farm workers, went with a servant girl to view the scene. On unlocking the door, he found Richard Thomas dead in the bedroom, blood emanating from his throat. Next to him was a penknife, the blade open and covered in blood. The knife belonged to the deceased – it was one that Lindup had seen him use many times before.

As was the custom, an inquest was called later in the day and took place at the home of the deceased. Mr Coroner Blackburne decreed that death must have been almost instantaneous as the throat was terribly gashed. A verdict of suicide was returned, it being claimed that the deceased was suffering from ‘unsound state of mind.’

Richard was buried in the family grave at Morton Parish Church on 14th March 1876.

SS Philip & James, the parish church at Morton where Richard Thomas is buried.