Sat, 18 May 2024 15:28:39 +0100WeeblyThu, 26 Oct 2017 09:04:00 GMThttp://geoffarmstrong.me.uk/blog/haigh-hirstwood-1778-1854YORK CHINA MANUFACTORY. 
In 1838 Mr. Haigh Hirstwood, formerly of the Rockingham China Works, established a china manufactory in York, and by the succeeding spring had so far progressed that the following paragraph appeared in one of the York papers : " York China Manufactory — Mr. Hirstwood, of Stonegate, is erecting a kiln, extensive warehouses, etc., in the Groves, for manufacturing, gilding, and burnishing china, which has not previously been attempted in this city." 
The works were established in Lowther Street, Groves, and were continued until about 1850, when the concern was wound up. Mr. Haigh Hirstwood was at the famous Rockingham works, under the Bramelds, for forty years, he was a clever painter of flowers, etc., and was considered the best fly painter at the Rockingham works. 

According to Jewitt, in 1826 he copied for use in the decoration of the Rockingham china upwards of five hundred insects at Wentworth House, which had been arranged by Lady Milton, the daughter-in-law of Earl Fitzwilliam. He, and his sons Joseph and Thomas, who were brought up at the Rockingham works.

YORK POTTERYwere engaged upon the chefs-d’service of that manufactory, namely, the services for Fitzwilliam. and for the Duchess of Cumberland. He was succeeded in his business in Coney Street, where the china, etc., was sold, by his son William Hirstwood, who was not a practical potter like Joseph and Thomas. 

When Haigh Hirstwood started kilns in Lowther Street and commenced business in the decorating and finishing departments, he did not' actuall}' make any, but bought liis china, etc., in the "white" from Sampson, Bridgwood, and Co., of Longton, Staffordshire, and from others, and then decorated and finished it. He was assisted in his work by his son-in-law, William Leyland, who was also from the Rockingham works, and a clever painter, gilder, and enameller, but disagreements arose and the partnership was dissolved, Mr. Hirstwood dying in York in 1854. Mr. Leyland removed to London, where he took to printing and decorating lamps, and he died there in 1853. No special mark was used by Hirstwood.

The Misses Hoyle, Gillygate, York, grand-daughters of Haigh Hiistwood, have two plaques painted by Joseph Hirstwood,representing various flowers such as roses, dahlias, tulips, auriculas, woody nightshade, etc., and one painted by William Leyland showing foxglove, moss rose, guelder rose, and tulip. These are beautifully done, and I am much indebted to the Misses Hoyle for much information, and also for being permitted to examine their plaques and to have them photographed. 

She very kindly presented us with a broken plate, painted by Joseph Hirstwood, representing a basket of grapes, cherries, strawberries, currants, etc., with a broad blue border, having gilt bands and edge. Miss Sarah Hoyle remembers breaking this when she was a little girl. It is in the Rockingham style. 

It is not known where the Jonathan Martin mugs were made. They represent on one side Jonathan Martin with heavy fetters on either side of lum, and this inscription : "Jonathan Martin, the Incendiary, Tried March 31st, 1829, before Mr. Baron Hullock, and sentenced to confinement during His Majesty's pleasure." 

On the other side is a picture of the Minster burning, and this inscription : "York Minster on fire, Feb 2nd, 1829.'" These mugs are very rarely to be obtained now.
]]>Sun, 22 Oct 2017 05:17:21 GMThttp://geoffarmstrong.me.uk/blog/admiral-northExtract from Café Society article - Yorkshire Tales (c1970)

Admiral North was a well-known figure in and around Huddersfield twenty-five years ago, and there were few that didn’t recognise his rolling gait as he toured the highways and byways in search of something to sell.    

He pushed a battered perambulator, trundling it through residential and industrial areas hoping to pick up some scrap metal or rags of old clothing that he could sell to a waste merchant.  This was his only income.  He couldn’t be bothered with Social Security and didn’t keep an address long enough to get himself into the welfare system.    
In the words of Isaiah, 

he hath neither form nor comeliness,
and when we shall see him,
there is no beauty
that we should desire him.

I hesitate to describe him as ‘ugly,’ but he was decidedly unattractive.  Every painful experience of his life showed on his face and in his neglected appearance.

Although I had seen Admiral – that was his Christian name, and it is derived from the Arabic for Prince – around Huddersfield for some years, I inherited him when I bought the small café on Colne Road from Geordie Robson with money from the sale of our house in Heckmondwike.  

Admiral called in most mornings, especially during cold weather, and bought a cup of tea that he sat and drank whilst reading his newspaper.  Geordie considered him an unprofitable customer, likely to put off better customers, and laughed as he told me how, to get rid of him, he would turn off the heater that Admiral hogged to drive out the cold from his old bones.

I left the heater on and gave him free refills.  He brought things he had salvaged and offered to sell them to me cheap.  However, most of his stuff was either scrap or two days away from it, so I never bought from him.

It is said that he had once been a gentleman and held down a good job, but that when his beloved wife had died he could not cope with the loss, and grief turned him to drink.  He drank away his savings, his home, his job, and his future.  Finding himself at the bottom of the pile, homeless, jobless, friendless, and destitute, he started to collect scrap.  Whatever cash he turned from day to day went straight on beer.

He never spoke about himself and did not engage others in conversation.  He was alone.  It was impossible not to feel overwhelming pity for this poor shadow of a man, whose only feelings were want and sorrow, and whose lonely death earned him two lines in the local paper.

To those who did not know him he was a worthless thing: a broken man, a penniless tramp who smelled rather ripe, especially on wet days after twenty minutes under the café’s fan heater.  Yet inside him was a residue of the gentleman he had once been.

When I bought the café, I employed Hazel to run it while I worked as a psychiatric nurse at Storthes Hall Hospital.  One day, Admiral was sat in his usual seat when a young man who had been a friend of Hazel came in.  He was unhappy that Hazel had finished their friendship and was angry, shouting, and threatening violence to her.  Admiral rose from his seat and tacitly positioned himself between the young man and Hazel.

Although a foot shorter than the would-be assailant, Admiral stood his ground until the young man left the café.  His nobility was exposed and several people, especially those who had witnessed his courage, revised their estimations of him.

Around this time, Admiral was sleeping in a derelict house on Victoria Road, Lockwood.  The houses were scheduled for demolition prior to the area being redeveloped.  At pub closing time one night, Admiral made his way through the dimly lit street to the door of his chosen dormitory.  Thrusting his shoulder against the door, it opened into blackness.  Admiral stepped inside and promptly fell eight feet into the cellar.  Unknown to him, workmen had stripped the floorboards from all the condemned houses in the row.  A few days in hospital nursing his cuts and bruises and Admiral was back on his rounds.  

So passed his time until his race was done and he was called home.  He died younger than he should, broken by life, degraded through drink, and unmourned by friends.  There is none to tell his story, and few would feel it worth the effort to do so.  

But what of the hero lingering in the man?  What of the spirit of gallantry that had not deserted him along with the rest of his gentility?  Are these not worth the telling?  Can we not learn anything from a man who had descended into the darkest depths that dehumanisation can lead?

We can make fun of his relying on the floor to support him when he needed it, but not taking care to make sure that it was there before he placed his reliance on it.  But that understandable foolishness has to be balanced against his heroism when a lady was in danger.  However benighted he had become, the light was not completely extinguished.

In the musings of memory, when I think of Admiral North, I do not remember the sad figure huddled in the wraps of his big black overcoat, endlessly sipping tea whilst taking advantage of my good nature and heater.  

I remember him in that moment of greatness when he stood in defence of someone weaker than himself, and the vital sense of honour that shone round him as a glory, as he stood in silence but unflinchingly against a younger and more powerful adversary in the steam-filled air of Ron’s Diner and Butty Parlour, one cold and wet November day.  
In that moment, Admiral raised himself from the pit of self-deprecation to the pinnacle of humanity to be a saviour to Hazel.  In so doing, he emulated the love and concern that the Saviour Jesus Christ has extended to each of us, who might otherwise be overcome by a powerful and merciless adversary.]]>Wed, 18 Oct 2017 09:45:29 GMThttp://geoffarmstrong.me.uk/blog/kaye​It was once claimed that the Yorkshire Kaye family was of such antiquity as to have been descended from one of King Arthur's knights. Although this is a piece of romantic fiction, it is nevertheless true that the surname has a longer history than most of the county, for there was a Hugh Ke living in Yorkshire over 800 years ago, and examples of the surnames are numerous throughout the Middle Ages. It may, however be misleading to say a "surname" for there is no certainty that one surname only is involved.
In its earliest forms Kaye is indistinguishable from the words that have become in our own time "key" and "quay" and evidence from other countries suggests that both may have given rise to family names. In other words Kaye and its numerous variants may, over the country as a whole, have several different meanings. Despite this it is a reasonable assumption that most Huddersfield Kayes share a common ancestor, a certain John Kay who was taxed in Farnley Tyas in 1379 Poll Tax . He was obviously a man of some wealth, being described as a franklin and paying 3s 4d, compared with the 4d by everyone else in the village. John Kay had, in fact acquired the manor of Farnley Tyas the year previously, on the death of Sir William Finchenden, and eventually the family settled at Woodsome and remained there until the main line became extinct some 250 years ago. The suggestion that this Kaye family is the one which most local Kayes owe their surname is strengthened by two pieces of circumstantial evidence: firstly because of the Poll Tax there was no other family in tha area with the same name, and secondly because it was in the neighbourhood of Farnley Tyas that the surname ramified. By 1545 Kaye was very common in this part of the West Riding and twenty three families are distributed as follows: Almondbury parish 15, Huddersfield parish 4, Kirkburton 1, Wakefield 3. This concentration of the surname is all the more remarkable if we bear in mind the absence of the name from neighbouring towns such as Leeds, Bradford and Halifax.
The precise meaning of the family name remains in doubt. It has been said that the Kayes originally came from Wakefield and there are certainly numerous occasions on which the name appears in the Wakefield Court Rolls from as early as 1277. Unfortunately none of these confirms the origin, and in view of the regional distribution of the surname the most likely alternatives are a dialect word "kei" meaning left-handed, and in Old Norse word "ka" meaning jackdaw . In either case it seems likely that Kaye was originally a nickname.
]]>Wed, 18 Oct 2017 09:33:15 GMThttp://geoffarmstrong.me.uk/blog/the-norths-in-almondburyNorths in Almondbury

The village of Almondbury lies close to Huddersfield bridge in Yorkshire and there are intermittent North family name records there going back to the 13th century. 
John North was willed lands in Huddersfield, Almondbury and Dalton by his mother Joanna in 1520.  His descendants, the Norths of Fenay, resided at Almondbury until 1800.  With the death of Wiiliam North at that time the Fenay branch of the family then became extinct and their Fenay property passed by marriage to the Battys. 
It was the 18th century Benjamin North of this family, a lawyer by profession, who had an antiquarian interest and developed the genealogy of the family.  He and his immediate relatives were buried at Almondbury.  The inscription on their gravestone is no longer legible, but the following legend has survived: 
 
“The body of Mary Anne, daughter of Benjamin North the younger by Sarah his wife, which child died 4th June 1777 aged one year and seven months; and the body of Sarah his wife which died 4th February 1790 aged 55 years; also interred the body of Mr. Benjamin North junr. who died 13th May 1796 aged 75 years."
 
Just past the entrance to Woodsome Hall stop and look over to Fenay Hall on the right. Although the Fenays of Fenay have been extinct in the male line since 1710 the blood of this ancient family (although diluted) must flow in the veins of many local people, through the Fenay daughters marrying into several local families over the generations. The first reference to the family is found in an undated deed issued some time between 1199 and 1216. From that time the name is found in numerous deeds, in the Poll Tax of 1379 and in various manorial inquisitions, showing that the Fenays continued for four hundred years in the same parish, living on the family land and taking their place among the local gentry.
The builder of the oldest part of the present Fenay Hall was Nicholas Fenay who built in the timber and plaster style of the Tudor Age. This low wing is easily distinguished, even at this distance, from the later buildings. The old house continued as the home of the Fenays until about the time of the Civil War when they appear to have left it in the occupation of tenants.
The last male heir of the Fenays was another Nicholas who died in 1710. He left the estate to his only surviving child, Jane. Jane Fenay's story is a sad one. She had, at the age of twenty-three, become engaged to be married. On the eve of the wedding her betrothed fell into a well near the White Bear Inn at Wakefield and was drowned. Later, Jane, a substantial heiress, received several offers of marriage none of which she accepted. When she died in 1776 she left the Fenay property to her kinsman, Richard Thornton, who directed in his will that it should be sold for the benefit of his two natural children. This was done in 1792 when the North family, who had been tenants at Fenay Hall for fifty years, bought the house and land. The estate soon passed, through marriage, to the Batty family who added new wings to the house and who remained at Fenay until the mid nineteenth century.]]>