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December 22nd, 2009:

James Hamilton – Architect of Regency Weymouth

Along the esplanade at Weymouth, where stands an ornamental clock tower, is a multi-storey Regency terrace now considered as one of the finest developments of the period anywhere in England. This Georgian terrace is the Royal Crescent; but what could this development possibly have in common with the White Horse chalk down monument at Osmington? The answer is that these two disparate landmarks were both the conception of James Hamilton, a somewhat obscure figure among 18th century architects, but one who evidently enriched the Weymouth townscape as perhaps no other draughtsman has.

The Osmington White Horse had its origin on Hamilton’s drawing board in 1808 as a commission from the citizens of Weymouth for an equestrian memorial to King George III once he was no longer able to “take the waters” at the resort after 1805 due to his worsening mental illness. But these two undertakings are not the only marks this architect has left upon the soil of Dorset.

Hamilton was born in 1748, but to this day little is known about his origins, family background or education, so it is not certain whether he was born in Dorset or elsewhere. It has been suggested he may have been a descendant of the “Johannes Hamiltonius Britannicus” who sculpted a fine monument to the memory of Robert Napier that can be seen at Puncknowle.

Although nothing is known as to his education or whether he studied architecture Hamilton almost certainly would have been trained in building crafts before setting himself up as an architect. But the profession under that name did not become recognised until the 1750’s and it was commonplace for practitioners to come from a wide variety of backgrounds. For Hamilton, that background seems to have been working as a mason or stonecutter, since there is a record of a James Hamilton of Melcombe Regis being employed as a mason in the Portland Quarry under William Tyler RA, the architect who designed Bridport Town Hall. Since this building dates from 1786, Hamilton may not have established his architectural practise before this time.

There is evidence however, that Hamilton was practising architecture more fully by 1790 at the latest. This comes from a certain Joshua Carter of Bridport, who sometime after 1787 “…began to rebuild his father’s house, employing a James Hamilton, architect, of Weymouth, a contractor in Portland stone.” And Hamilton did work on the rebuilding of the south east wall of the Cobb at Lyme Regis in 1795.

In 1797 Hamilton is mentioned in Weymouth Corporation records for the first time. That year Messrs Sumersvall & Hamilton undertook to repair the inner and outer piers of the harbour. This shows that the architect was evidently still working as a contractor when not in his drawing office, and in association with a Mr Welsford he applied to Weymouth Corporation on behalf of the Protestant Dissenters for a lease of land to enable their Chapel to be enlarged in 1802. Hamilton also designed the Dissenter’s Chapel in West Street in 1804 and, in 1805, the Methodist Chapel in Lower Bond Street, though both of these buildings have since been demolished.

Then three years later came Hamilton’s great design for the imposing Royal Crescent. The Osmington White Horse, on the other hand, was designed and executed on a grand scale, being 320 feet high, yet, as the Dorchester & Sherborne Journal of October 7th 1808 noted: “the likeness of the King is well preserved and the symmetry of the horse is so complete as to be a credit to Mr Hamilton of this town, for its execution.” The equestrian figure of George III is portrayed mounted on his favourite grey charger.

In 1802 John Herbert Browne, a town councillor of Weymouth, recorded that the Council had resolved to put up a statue of the King in the town itself, to honour George’s contribution to popularising Weymouth as a fashionable resort. The figure was to be made from stoneware produced by Coade & Sealy of Lambeth. Having sought approval from the king, John Sealy went to the palace in 1803 and spent about three-quarters of an hour with the King to obtain a measure of the likeness upon which the statue is based. On the basis of this material, James Hamilton then drew up a blueprint, which was then sculpted at the Coade & Sealy works before shipment aboard the ‘Lovell’ to its permanent site in Weymouth.

The cost to Sealy of Hamilton’s design turned out to be greater than that for the statue itself. The finished work is mounted on a square pedestal standing on a plinth flanked by a lion and a unicorn. A full-length robed effigy of the King wearing the Order of the Garter and holding a sceptre stands before a smaller pedestal surmounted by an imperial crown. The statue was unveiled by the Prince of Wales in the presence of the Duke of Kent, Princess Mary & Princess Amelia in a ceremony of great splendour in October 1810.

It was likely also that Hamilton was responsible for designing the houses numbered 7 to 14 in Gloucester Row in 1790; and, between 1811 and 1815, those in Johnstone Row. At 3.00 am on Monday, March 27th 1815 a ship called the Alexander was wrecked on the Chesil opposite Wyke, with the loss of 130 passengers and crew. On hearing of the tragedy, James Hamilton designed a plaque to commemorate the dead, which was put up in Wyke Church in 1816.

Hamilton’s work however, was not confined to Weymouth’s town centre or, in one instance, even within the actual borders of the county. The architect turned his attention to buildings that could adorn the outlying villages, such as Hamilton House in Chamberlaine Road, Wyke Regis. Research based on the 1819-25 Grove Diaries carried out by Stan Pickett of Weymouth has revealed that Thomas Grove commissioned Hamilton to design and oversee the building of a “charming mansion” at Berwick St. John in Wiltshire. This work occupied Hamilton for two-and-a-half years from 1809 to 1811, a commission that evidently required the architect, by then in his sixties, to lodge frequently at Berwick so he could be on site to supervise the construction.

During this period the architect was certainly responsible for drafting the plans of the Parish Church of St. Mary at Melcombe, built between 1815 and 1817, replacing an earlier church on the site built in 1605. Hamilton’s church of Portland stone, with triple-arched portico, pilasters, square podium and black-faced clock surmounted by a cupola with ball-finial supported by eight slender Roman Doric columns, clearly manifests either conscious or subconscious modelling upon the façade of Bridport Town Hall. Possibly Hamilton poached Tyler’s basic design for the latter, but adding modifications of his own originality. Rather critically, this design has been described as having: “a monumental west front of some distinction, but the building is of particular interest as an expression of the empiricism of a provincial architect, acquainted with, but possessing little knowledge of the neo-classical style of the period…” However, the pediment projecting from a plain obtusely-gabled parapet wall is typical of a Hamilton design.

Regarding the particulars of Hamilton’s marital status, rather than his family background, we are rather better provided for. Hamilton was twice married, his first wife having apparently died early in the marriage at an unrecorded date, as the register of St. Anne’s Church at Radipole records that in 1814 a James Hamilton, widower, of Melcombe Regis married Ann Croad, a spinster of Melcombe. By his first wife Hamilton had a son, John, who family tradition relates was the sculptor of the monument to Princess Sophia of Gloucester in St. Georges Chapel, Windsor. Ann was the daughter of Caleb and Mary Croad of Preston, having been baptised on February 23rd, 1785, making her just 29 at the time of her marriage to a man 39 years her senior. Despite his age, Hamilton fathered five children by Anne, baptised as follows: Henrietta (1818); Ann Augusta (1819); Edwin John (March 1824); William John (September 1824) and Edwin Charles (1828).

It is generally considered that Hamilton’s career as an architect effectively ended in 1816, his last project possibly being St. Mary’s in Melcombe. Yet as late as 1824 he is still described as such on his children’s baptism certificates.

James Hamilton died in 1829, aged 81. The Dorset County Chronicle announced his death on January 15th with the words: “on the 13th inst. Jas Hamilton, architect, far advanced in years, leaving a wife and family to deplore his loss.” As he had been a member of a Masonic lodge “Brother” Hamilton was granted a Masonic funeral with 39 other brethren in attendance. This took place on the 19th of January with a procession from the Hamilton’s home in Frederick Place to the Masonic Hall, thence to Wyke Parish Church where the service was conducted by the Revd. George Chamberlaine.

This innovative architect’s passing however, left behind him a bitter legacy for his grieving family to endure. Three months later his widow, Ann, was compelled out of some desperation to seek help from the London-based Masonic Board of Benevolence. She was, she declared, “left destitute with five young children to care for.” As Hamilton’s will has never been found, it is not clear why this was so, but the MBB’s records show that the institution awarded Ann £10, a considerable sum in those days. More ignominiously, it would have been possible for John Hamilton, James’ son from his first marriage, to claim his father’s entire estate if he had died intestate.

On December 3rd, 1831, the Hamilton’s youngest child, Edwin Charles, died and was buried in Wyke Churchyard, possibly in the grave of his father as no separate headstone bearing his name was ever set up. Ann lived on at Frederick Place until sometime between 1851 and 1861. The 1841 census is the last to record Ann’s daughter Augusta, then 20, as still living with her mother at home.

When the King Came to Stay

He was “a tall man, above two yards high, with dark brown hair scarcely to be distinguished from black.” That is the description of the 21-year-old King Charles II posted about the countryside by Cromwell’s men as they looked everywhere for him, encouraged in their search by the prize of £1,000 on his head.

The King realized on the 3rd of September, 1651 that the “battle was so absolutely lost as to be beyond hope of recovery.” Almost alone except for Henry Lord Wilmot the King escaped from the Worcester battlefield and headed for Wales but finding the River Severn too heavily guarded he turned south towards Bristol, where he hoped to find a ship to take him to France. No ship could be found in Bristol and it became clear he must use a south coast port to make his get-away.

Charles owed much to the loyalty and imagination of his Roman Catholic supporters in whose houses he stayed as he made his way south. He reached Abbots Leigh, the home of Sir George Norton, on the 12th of September where he was recognised by the butler, John Pope, who suggested Trent for his next refuge. It was quiet, had no particular strategic value for the Parliamentarians and it was in a straight line from Bristol to the coast and only a score and ten miles away from a safe passage to France; it was the ideal bolt hole while plans were made for his escape.

Trent is one of those border parishes that over the years has gone to bed in Dorset and awoken in Somerset and vice-versa. Since 1895 Trent, a short step north-west of the town of Sherborne, has been in Dorset but in the mid 17th century it was a part of Somerset and The Manor House was home to a family well known for their Royalist sympathies: the Wyndhams. Edmund Wyndham had married the King’s nurse, Christabel Pyne, and had served under Lord Wilmot during the early days of the Civil War.

Lord Wilmot travelled ahead to warn the Wyndhams. Travelling behind and staying overnight at the Castle Cary home of Edward Kyrton the King was accompanied by Jane Lane and Henry Lascelles. The party arrived at Trent about ten on the morning of the 17th of September. Playing the role of servant to Jane Lane the King was wearing a suit of grey cloth; the small group was quickly ushered into the house and out of sight of any busy-body neighbours. The Manor House is only 100 yards from the parish church.

Francis Wyndham was despatched to arrange a passage for the King. He called first on Sir John Strangeways at Melbury but neither he nor his sons could offer any suggestions although they contributed £100 to the royal purse. Wyndham travelled on to Lyme Regis and for a consideration of £60 secured a passage with a Stephen Limbry, who was taking a cargo from Charmouth to St. Malo on the 22nd of September. The cover story was that a merchant and his servant were escaping from their creditors.

The King, Juliana Conigsby, Wyndham, Lord Wilmot and Henry Peters, Wyndham’s servant, departed from Trent. They met Captain Ellesdon, who had made the introduction to Stephen Limbry, at a house on the hills above Charmouth where final plans were made. But not for the last time an element of farce crept into the best laid plans in the King’s bid to reach France.

Francis Wyndham and his servant waited throughout the night on the beach at Charmouth but Limbry failed to make the rendezvous. The King with Wilmot and Juliana Coningsby playing the role of eloping lovers took rooms at the Queen’s Arms. The party left Charmouth for Bridport in the morning and, it seems, not a moment too soon for the blacksmith had noticed Lord Wilmot’s horse had been shod in three counties including Worcester.

Henry Peters was sent to Lyme Regis to find out why Limbry had not appeared. It seems his wife had guessed her husband was embarked on a dangerous mission and decided to lock him in his room and threatened to report him if he attempted to escape.

At Bridport there were Parliamentarian troops waiting to leave for the Channel Islands so the party couldn’t stay there and set off again, fortunately deciding to leave the main Bridport to Dorchester road and head for Broadwindsor just before a troop of Roundhead soldiers led by a Captain Macey began a search for them.

The landlord of the Inn at Broadwindsor knew Wyndham and gave them a room upstairs.  Farce again played a part but this time working to the King’s advantage. The constable arrived at the Inn with forty Roundhead soldiers to billet. At about midnight one of the women following the soldiers gave birth in the Inn to a particularly noisy baby. The parish officials, overseers and churchwardens, were more interested to find out who the father was and avoid a charge on the parish chest than they were to investigating rumours that the King was in the vicinity. In all the confusion the royal party made their escape and returned to Trent.

His presence was the cause of much anxiety and apprehension to the lady of the house and her mother-in-law, Lady Wyndham, as they guarded against all contingencies. It is recorded that on the King’s first arrival at The Manor House Ann Wyndham was overcome with emotion by the sight of “so glorious a prince thus eclipsed” and paid him “the homage of tears.” The consequences of capture were serious indeed for the King but all of his supporters who actively assisted him, if caught, would likely suffer a similar fate. One has to wonder if the Wyndhams were as overjoyed to have him as their guest a second time.

The local tailor warned them that local supporters of Cromwell had their suspicions about the guests and that a raid on the Manor House was planned. On another occasion Anne had seen a troop of Roundhead soldiers in Sherborne and entreated the king to go to his privy chamber, probably a priest’s hiding place. Colonel Wyndham let it be known that his guest was his relative Col. Bullen Reymes and he would show himself at church that Sunday.

Lord Wilmot had been despatched from Broadwindsor to Salisbury to rendezvous with other supporters and make plans to get the King away via the port of Shoreham. On his return to Trent Henry Wilmot was not best pleased to find that it was his turn to play a role; that of Col. Bullen Reymes, who he resembled in build and stature.

Now it was the turn of black comedy rather than farce too come to the King’s aid. The King in conversation with the diarist Samuel Pepys after the restoration recalled hearing the church bells ringing to celebrate his death. He told Pepys: “There was a rogue, a trooper come out of Cromwell’s army that was telling the people he had killed me, and that was my buff coat which he had on; upon which, most of the village being fanatics, they were ringing bells and making a bonfire of joy of it.” The King may have owed his life to that rogue trooper who having hood winked the local Protestants for his own aggrandisement had successfully diverted their attention from the guest at the Manor House.

On the 6th of October Charles was able to take his leave “of the old Lady Wyndham, the Colonel’s lady and family, not omitting the meanest of them that served him.” He set off with Juliana Coningsby riding pillion behind him, accompanied by Col. Robert Phelips of Montacute and Henry Peters. They made for Wincanton and Mere and on, without mishap, to Shoreham on the Sussex Coast where on the 15th of October he set sail on the brig ‘Surprise’ and into exile that was to last for nine years.

Some in the villagers of Trent must have guessed who was staying with the Wyndhams and for whatever reason hesitated to turn Charles in. The local Protestants and especially those of non conformist persuasion would have been livid when they realised he had been living amongst them and they had failed to capture the Papist King.

Trent – St. Andrews Church

On an autumn afternoon the parish of Trent is a picture of tranquillity and belies the fact that it has been a refuge for a Catholic King of England and a retirement home for an Archbishop of Canterbury and judging by the bullet holes in the church weather vane it has also seen turbulent times as well.

These days the parish is on the Dorset side of the Dorset/Somerset divide being about equal distance from the Somerset town of Yeovil and Sherborne in Dorset. Trent is a quiet rural parish and besides farming and some fine houses is home to little more than a pub, the Rose and Crown, and the parish church which is dedicated to St. Andrew.

For a few days in September of 1651, unknown to most residents of the village, the Catholic King Charles II was hiding in the Manor House just one hundred yards from the church. Some of the more fanatical Protestant dissenters had their suspicions about who the mysterious guest of the Wyndham family was and were secretly planning to raid the house but then events took an ironic twist: a soldier arrived in the village claiming to have personally killed the King. The Protestants celebrated the news by ringing the church bells and making a bonfire, their plans to raid the Manor House quickly forgotten. Rather than killing the King the soldier probably saved his life!

Walking through the tidy and well kept-up churchyard you pass-by a tall memorial; the lower part has stood here since the 15th century but it was damaged during the Civil War and was only restored in the 20th century as a memorial to the dead of World War I.

Continue on past the south porch entrance to the church to the western edge of the churchyard and you will find, unusually in my experience of visiting churches, a small building housing a public lavatory and washroom kept to a high standard.

Entrance to the church is through the south porch where a notice hangs: “All Persons are requested to take off, Pattens and Cloggs before entering the Church.” Looking to the west end of the nave there is a door of 15th century origin which leads into the modern vestry. The window above the doorway is of the 15th century and of three lights as are the two windows in the north wall of the nave, though they have been much restored. The two windows in the south wall are modern. The roof of the nave is 19th century.

The pews are worth more than a passing mention. Obviously pre-Reformation and probably carved in the early 16th century, some show floral designs, others figures of people, beasts, birds and lettering. It is said these along with other images, crucifixes and candlesticks were removed and hidden from a troop of Parliamentary soldiers sent to Trent in 1643 on the orders of the Puritan Committee to demolish “all Monuments of Superstition and Idolatry.” This is when the upper part of the churchyard memorial mentioned earlier was destroyed.

Looking east towards the choir and chancel we see first the screen which is said to have come from Glastonbury Abbey. It dates from the 15th century. Behind the screen the choir and chancel and a large east window of four lights with similar windows but of only three lights in the north and south walls.

You are asked not to enter the north or Manor chapel but there are steps you can mount to see in. The chapel houses three effigies; the oldest probably being of Sir Roger Wyke who married a lady of Trent. Sir Roger died about 1380 and is represented as a knight in armour. The second is probably of John Franks. He was a sergeant-at-law and a local man who became Master of the Rolls and for a short time acted as Lord Chancellor to King Henry VI: he died about 1438. The 19th century effigy is of the Revd. William Turner, Rector of Trent from 1835 to 1875; it was his wife who founded the almshouses. Apparently the effigy was carved in 1853 and kept in the rectory coach house until his death in 1875. Mr Turner and his wife are both buried in the churchyard though a vault was prepared for them.

There is a small table surrounded by several chairs and the chapel is lit by three modern windows in the north wall and a restored early 14th century three light window in the east wall which depicts the military saints; St. George; St. Martin and St. Michael. The window remembers General Lord Rawlinson who died in 1925. As you peer into the Manor chapel you will notice the arch of 13th or early 14th century origin. The mirror writing on the arch reads: “All flesh is grass and the glory of it is as the floure of the feilde” (Isaiah Chapter 40, verse 6 and Psalm 103, verse 15.) The mirror writing was supposed to remind the ladies of the manor (this is where they sat) of their religious duties if they looked at a mirror during the service.

The south transept area is now largely a memorial to Lord Fisher of Lambeth, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1945 to 1961. His contributions to the religious and social life of the nation are many but he will be mostly remembered for the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in Westminster Abbey on the 22nd of June 1953. Earlier, in 1947, he had married the then Princess Elizabeth to Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh. On his retirement he came to Trent where it is said he achieved his ambition to become the assistant parish priest. He attracted large congregations when he preached here and in the neighbouring Comptons. He died peacefully in the village on the 15th of September 1972 and his funeral was held in the church on the 20th of September. Afterwards his coffin was lowered into the vault under the 15th century churchyard memorial. The vault originally intended for the former rector William Turner.

It was the Archbishop’s suggestion that the south transept became the baptistry. The font is probably Victorian, though the elaborately carved cover is of the 15th century. On display here is one of the Archbishop’s copes.

The south transept is the ground floor of the tower and spire. St. Andrews, is one of three Dorset churches with a medieval spire – the others being Iwerne Minster and Winterbourne Steepleton. The second storey has in each of the East, South and West walls, a window of two lights.

The bell-chamber has, in each wall, a window similar to those just described but larger and houses six bells and five of them would have been rung to celebrate the supposed death of King Charles II in 1651. Nine years later Charles was restored to the throne and the Wyndham family forbade the Trent bell-ringers to ring a peal to celebrate this event; instead ringers from Compton were invited to ring the Trent bells. It has since been the tradition for the Compton bell-ringers to ring the Trent bells each year on Oak Apple Day, the 29th of May, the anniversary of the Restoration of Charles II.

St. Andrews is built from local rubble with ashlar dressings of Ham Hill stone. The roofs are covered with stone slates. The north chapel and the nave date from the 13th century, the south tower and porch were added in the 14th century and the chancel was rebuilt in the 15th century.

The Family History of John and Hannah Bagg

John Bagg (1828-1900) and Hannah White (1834-1900) were both born in rural Dorset from working class families. Hannah, the daughter of Joseph and Sarah White was born in the village of Piddletrenthide. John the son of Joseph Roberts Bagg (1801-1882) and Ann Vincent (1799-1874,) was christened in the village of Cattistock. John and Hannah were married on June 24th, 1852 at St. Nicholas Anglican Church, Sydling. Their marriage was to be the start of a dynasty spreading across the world, with living descendants today in Canada, Australia, Wales and England.

John and Hannah had 12 children: Eliza Ann White Bagg (June 14th, 1852 – 1925) Eliza married John Denning of Weymouth, Dorset, where the couple operated a green grocer shop. They had 8 children.

 Emma Jane Bagg was born October 13th 1853; Joseph John White Baggs (March 6th 1856 Piddletrenthide – July 19th, 1930) Joseph emigrated to Newcastle, NSW, Australia where he worked as a coal miner and married Mary Jane Gills (1865-1940) they had 6 children.

George Bagg (July 15th, 1857 Piddletrenthide – May 12th 1951) George married Mary Jane Shaw (1858-1937) and farmed near Woolbridge, Ontario with their 4 children. And James Bagg born June 2nd, 1859 at Piddletrenthide married Catherine Morris and lived near Toronto Junction with their 5 children.

Elizabeth (Bess) Bagg was born July 15th 1861 at Weston, Portland. She married William Bull (1866-1920) at Beaufort in Wales, where they raised a family of 6 children. Bess died on December 30th 1950.

John and Hannah then moved to Weymouth where Frederick William Bagg was born on July 28th 1865. Fred had 4 children with his first wife Annie Dennis (1870-1897) and 3 more children with his second wife Jennie Bishop (1867-1949). Fred was a successful farmer near Guelph, Ontario. He died on September 28th, 1940.

In 1867 on November 28th, Harry (Henry) Bagg was born. Harry married Alice Dennis (1862-1942) and they had 7 children. They operated a successful farm in Downsview now in the City of Toronto.

Thomas Bagg was born in 1869 and married Margaret Graham (1873-1920.) The couple had 3 children. Thomas, who died on August 6th 1942, was a farmer and thresher at Downsview.

William George Bagg was born at Llagattock, Crickowell, Wales in April 1871 and died at just 7 months.

Walter Bagg born May 16th 1874 at Crickowell, Breconshire, Wales died in 1942. He married Charlotte Duncan (1872-1954) and had 7 children. They homesteaded on the unsettled Saskatchewan prairie near Springside, in 1900.

John and Hannah’s youngest child, William Charles Bagg, was born on July 29th 1877 at Crickowell. Bill married Blanche Hadden and they had 7 children. Bill and Blanche also homesteaded near Springside, Saskatchewan, and operated some grain elevators. They eventually retired in the Rocky Mountains near Trail, British Columbia. William died on October 21st, 1953.

The Bagg family moved frequently in search of work. They originally lived near the rural villages of Sydling and Piddletrenthide. Here, like many of his family, John worked in the fields as a general farm labourer. This was a time in British history when mechanisation was replacing the need for farm labourers. The agricultural based economy of rural Dorset County provided fewer and fewer employment opportunities. Industrialisation was underway and many people were forced to move from farm cottages to city slums in search of employment. The working class struggled to survive.

In search of employment, John moved his family to Portland, Dorset, where manual labourers were required to work in the limestone quarries. Long hours, low wages, harsh working conditions and child labour were the norm. The Census taken on April 7th, 1861 has John listed as a labourer living at the top of the steep slope above Fortuneswell on Yeats Road with his younger brother George Bagg (1835-1916) and his family. George is described as a “carter,” which means he worked with teams of horses or mules and a cart used to move materials in the limestone quarry. Hannah (6 months pregnant) and their young children Emma (7), Joseph (5) and James (1) were living about 20 miles away, on the Doles Ash Estate, near Cerne Abbas. Hannah is listed as a “farm servant.” Eight year-old Eliza was sleeping over at her White grandparents’ home at Lower Sydling.

A short time later, Hannah and the children joined John in Portland. Hannah gave birth to daughter Elizabeth (Bessie) at the small Portland village of Weston on July 15th 1861. They later lived for a few years at nearby Weymouth, where John likely worked at the harbour.

Their first-born son Joseph left home with a friend at 14 years of age, about 1870, and emigrated to Australia. He married and settled in Lambton, Newcastle, New South Wales and worked as a coal miner. Joseph worked in the mines for the rest of his life and many of his descendants are still living in Newcastle today.

Times were still very difficult for John and Hannah and their family, so about 1870 they moved to Wales to look for work in the coal mines and steel foundries. They worked in the coal mine at Llangattock, Breconshire for what was likely subsistence wages in chronically dangerous conditions. It was still very difficult to get ahead financially. Even the young children were expected to work. When she was 12 years of age, Elizabeth (Bessie) went to work as a domestic for the Ebbw Vales Ironworks Company Shop.

John’s younger brother George Bagg (1835-1916) had previously left Portland limestone quarries and moved his wife Mary Ann Porter (1832-1907) and two children, James (1854-1932) and Martha (1856-1941) to Ontario, Canada. They had emigrated in 1871 and were already doing quite well farming near Toronto. George encouraged John and the family to leave Wales and come to Canada. Their decision to do so was a turning point in their lives.

In 1880, John, Hannah and seven of the sons (George, James, Fred, Henry, Thomas, Walter and William) emigrated to the Weston area, near Toronto. George and his “little brother” Walter came to Canada first with their friends, the Mellings family. The family bible states “March 28 1880, leaving for America.” The rest of the family followed several months later. John and Hannah farmed in Downsview on Jane Street and Wilson Avenue. John also kept the tollgate at Wilson Avenue and Weston Road. These areas are now part of the City of Toronto. With the help of their seven sons, John and Hannah lived a happy and prosperous life. They were able to watch their many grandchildren grow up and establish their own farms, businesses and professions.

In April 1900, just as William and Walter were preparing their move to homesteads on the Saskatchewan prairie, John and Hannah died within a week of one another. They are buried together in the Weston Riverside Cemetery. The large “Bagg” tombstone is shared with George and Mary Ann Bagg. Also memorialized on the tombstone are John and Hannah’s grandson Arthur Bagg (1892-April 9, 1918,) who was killed in France during World War 1, and their great-grandson, Sgt Murray John Henry Bagg (1918-July 12, 1944,) who was killed at Caserta, Italy during World War II.

On July 1st 1930, 50 years after John and Hannah’s arrival in Canada, the first Bagg Family Reunion was held at the farm of Harry Bagg in Downsview. This was attended by 130 of the Ontario descendants of John and his brother, George. It is amazing to see how prolific and successful the family of John and Hanah Bagg has been in the last 150 years. There are now over 700 known descendants in Ontario, Saskatchewan, British Columbia, Australia, England and Wales. Like their 19th century ancestors, these Bagg descendants possess a strong work ethic, and a close sense of “family” that includes providing improved opportunities for the following generations.

Thomas Stovey: alias Stubbey (1797-1843)

Born into a working class family in Dorset during the closing years of the 18th century meant there was little prospect of Thomas Stovey becoming anything other than an agricultural labourer who would marry a local girl and have a large family to support on meagre wages.

Thomas was baptised at Hazelbury Bryan on the 30th of July 1797, the son of John and Sarah Stovey. For reasons that are not clear he was, like his siblings, baptised with the surname Stubbey. In 1840 he was described as being 5’7” tall with brown hair, grey eyes and a fair complexion.

The Hazelbury Bryan burial register records the passing of two-year-old Charlotte Elsworth: “the natural daughter of Priscilla Elsworth and Thomas Stovey.” Charlotte was buried on the 17th of December 1818. Thomas and Priscilla’s affair, if indeed it was an affair, didn’t last. Seventeen months later, on the 24th of May 1820, in the 14th century parish church dedicated to St. Mary and St. James and where he was baptised 23-years earlier, Thomas married Sarah, the eldest daughter of Thomas and Leah White.

The marriage was witnessed by his sister Charlotte who married John Hutchins, also a witness to the marriage, a couple of years later. The other witness was John Gillingham.

Thomas and Sarah had twelve children. Baptised at Fifehead Neville, this is about two miles from Thomas’ birthplace, were: Edmund (1821); Robert (1822); Mary (1824); Henry (1825); Charlotte (1827); James (1829); Susan (1830); Jane (1832); Sarah Ann (1834); Christopher (1835); George (1836.) Then there was Sarah (1838); she was baptised at Hazelbury Bryan. Her mother died giving birth to her; Thomas, who already had a daughter named Sarah Ann, undoubtedly named his last child after his wife.

Two years after the death of his wife, Thomas was charged with committing a misdemeanour. The Quarter Sessions record states that with Thomas Holt and Henry Bushrod – “let them be severally imprisoned in the House of Correction to hard labour for two years” and on the 14th of September 1840 Thomas found himself in Dorchester Gaol, while his children were sent to the Workhouse at Sturminster.

We know from the Dorchester Gaol records that he had a cut above the bottom joint of his right finger on his left hand and another cut just below the middle joint of the middle finger. Work injuries perhaps? But what are we to make of the fact that he had a cut to the left side of his throat? The Gaol records report he was a disorderly prisoner.

It seems likely that on his release from jail Thomas was reunited with his children and they returned to Fifehead Neville. His 10-year-old-daughter, Sarah Ann, died and was buried there on the 18th of June 1843, just two months before Thomas himself passed away. He was buried on the 17th of August 1843 aged just 46 years in the same churchyard as his daughter. His mother was buried at Hazelbury Bryan on the 12th of October 1834 aged 80 years.

John Endicott – Dorset Pioneer in the New World

Most people will have heard of the famous voyage of the Mayflower, the gallant little ship bearing 102 Puritans fleeing religious persecution, which sailed to the New World from Plymouth in 1620. Just eight years later another little ship sailed from Weymouth, following the lead that the Mayflower had set. That ship, called Abigail, was conveying many Dorset emigrants to the colony of New England. The Abigail was under the mastership of Henry Gauden, but also aboard was the man on his way to become the plantation’s Governor. His name was John Endicott.

Beside Weymouth’s Harbour today there stands a double memorial to Endicott and Richard Clark, a pilot captain from the town involved in the pioneer discovery of Newfoundland. Originally set up by the Pavilion (The Ritz) on 2nd June 1914, the memorial was relocated to Alexandra Gardens after the Pavilion was gutted by fire in 1954. The original unveiling in 1914 was undertaken by Mrs Joseph Chamberlain, a direct descendant of John Endicott. In 1999 an appeal to raise funds for moving the monument to its present site beside the harbour was launched by Weymouth Civic Society. The lower of the two inscriptions is dedicated to Endicott and reads: “John Endicott, who on June 20th 1628 set forth from Weymouth in the ship “Abigail” on the expedition which led to the establishment of the plantation at Salem, Massachusetts.”

John Endicott (sometimes alternatively spelt Endecott) was born in 1558, but there are few or no records relating to his early life. Although he is recorded as having been born in Dorchester, there is also a tradition that he was born in Chagford, a small town on the eats flank of Dartmoor, since here there exists a building bearing his name. Certainly it is known he was a member of the Dorchester Company of the Revd. John White and became one of its six patentees. By means of a purchase of 1627 the company succeeded to the property, rights and privileges formerly belonging to the Plymouth Company. Soon after, Matthew Cradock and Roger Ludlow secured the proprietor rights and became respectively Governor and Deputy Governor at the Company’s headquarters in London. By virtue of being related to both men by marriage, Endicott was assigned the task of taking charge of the colonial plantation at Naumkeag, as Salem was first known, and to develop its potential. In the embryonic colonial world of the early 17th century there were several semi-independent colonies ensconced in what is today southern New England, and each under the control of its own leader.

He duly arrived in New England with his family and sixty men aboard the Abigail in September 1628. The colonists were settling land previously administered by Robert Conant, who had left the Plymouth colony two years before. Endicott was the chief authority, magistrate, soldier and governor in the colony for the next two years until the charter and company were transferred to New England and John Winthrop arrived to take charge in April 1630. In 1634, while a member of the court of assistants, Endicott, angered by a fiery sermon delivered by Roger Williams, had the red cross of St. George struck from the King’s colours hanging before the governor’s gate. The governor evidently deemed the cross to be an idolatrous emblem redolent of popery, but the action brought upon him a stinging reprimand and dismissal from his post.

Despite his sacking from the Governorship, Endicott continued to serve in several important positions. But Endicott was not without his supporters and sympathisers, principally among the militia. Some even refused to march beneath a flag that bore the George cross. After some controversy, the military commissioners agreed that the cross should only be retained on the banners or ships and forts. In association with Captain John Underhill, Endicott undertook an ineffectual expedition against Block Island and the native Pequot tribe in 1636. But his move against the Indians was extremely harsh and punitive, such that the tribe’s reaction sparked the Pequot War. The combatants in this war however were represented by different leaders with different interests.

John Endicott served several terms as Governor: in 1641, 1644, 1649, then from 1650 until 1665 with the exception of 1654. In addition, in 1645 he was awarded the highest military office in the colony; that of sergeant major general and subsequently became president of the colonial commissioners in 1658. At times he was Commander-in-Chief of the militia and served as Commissioner and President of the United Colonies of New England.

It was entirely typical of Endicott’s business-like acumen that he should early establish a mint in the fledgling colony to meet the fiscal requirements of the time. However, the works contravened a law by continuing to mint coinage for thirty years. Despite his professionalism, like all men, he had his faults. One of these was some would consider an intense religious bigotry and fanaticism in the line of Puritanism, such that he could not endure the least breach or deviation from what he considered the straight line of orthodoxy. He distained episcopacy as much as popery, as some of the prelatic clergy found to their cost, though rather out of character he defended the stance of Roger Williams, who had earlier inflamed the governor with his controversial sermon. Even the Quakers were not above his condemnation, and under Endicott’s administration four of these gentle pacifists were executed at Boston for alleged flouting of the laws. His other unpleasant trait was a quick temper, which on one occasion early in his administration brought upon him a fine of forty shillings for striking another man.

On a more positive note, Endicott was said to be a man of dauntless courage and “a fit instrument to begin the wilderness work.” His was a rugged nature which the strictness of his nonconformity never mellowed, though he could be cheerful and benevolent. He also aimed for the good of the colony and always sought to ensure that its welfare was a priority.

He died in 1665.

The Extraordinary Woodford Kidnap Case

For the Reverend Robert Bruce Kennard, his forthcoming marriage to Marie Magdalene Bade in September 1881 was hardly a new experience. After all, he had first tied the knot 33 years earlier when he was wedded to Anne Grace Davis, who bore him no fewer than nine children. Now, the second-time-around the Rector of Marnhull in Dorset was on the eve of another matrimonial union and no doubt in eager anticipation of the happy event for his faithful flock and for him personally. Never in his wildest dreams could he have had any inkling of the bizarre fate that awaiting him next.

Kennard had booked a suite for himself at the Castle Hotel in Woodford, near to the residence of his fiancé, and arrived to heck in at seven o’clock on the evening of the 13th September to prepare for the ceremony the following morning. Having ordered a meal for eight o’clock the minister then retired to his rooms. Later he emerged to discuss the arrangements for carriages to be laid on for the wedding guests in the morning, being especially particular to ensure that the coachmen knew where to call for guests on route.

But there were other guests at the Castle Hotel that evening that did not harbour benign intentions. “A tall, dark man with a heavy moustache and military bearing” in the company of two other men had also checked into the hotel sometime before Robert Kennard’s arrival. Having finished a meal they had ordered, the leader of the party asked a waiter if they could view the rooms upstairs, a request that was complied with. The tall dark man then asked the waiter “if a man by the name of Kennard” was staying at the hotel. Since the waiter had no knowledge of the current reservations his answer was inconclusive.

Downstairs meanwhile, the first man’s collaboration had been in conservation with the barman’s wife. Taken aback to be asked whether there may be another Castle Hotel where Kennard could be found, she went to fetch her husband the landlord, who, considering the men looked entirely respectable, did not take much notice of them. After sitting for a while in the coffee room, the men left the hotel by the London Road. Of course, everyone supposed that they were continuing their journey. In fact, they stopped only a short distance from the hotel to lie in wait for Mr Kennard – evidently with the intention of kidnapping him.

But kidnap him for what purpose? Certainly there was nothing in the clergyman’s background or circumstances that would immediately suggest a motive for such a crime. Like most Anglican clerics of the Victorian period Kennard was a mild-mannered and charitable parish priest with the best interests of his parishioners at heart. Born in 1824 Kennard had been rector at Wymondham in Norfolk before being appointed rector of Marnhull in 1858. His first wife Ann had died on New Year’s Day 1878, leaving the vicar a widower with his children to support or be supported by. With a flair for writing and not one to be idle during his widowhood and latter years, Kennard was to publish a number of books including a translation of Gray’s Elegy into Latin, and even ventured into stock-farming, building up a collection of pedigree dairy shorthorns.

Kennard had been back in his rooms about half an hour when a man called at the hotel stating he had come from a Mr Frazer of Buckhurst Hill, a brother-in-law of the minister. The waiter escorted the man to Kennard’s rooms and a few minutes later the service bell was rung: Kennard asked that his evening meal be put back half an hour as he had been called away for a short time, though he did not specify where he was going. The two men left the hotel together and disappeared into the night.

By three o’clock the following morning Robert Kennard had still not returned to the Castle Hotel. Having waited up for him the landlord came to the conclusion that the minister must have decided to stay the night at a friend’s house. In the morning, preparation of the carriages for the wedding party was proceeding as normal when one of Kennard’s sons arrived and was shocked to find that his father had gone missing.

The son’s immediate response was to telegraph enquiries, the wedding party all the while proceeding to the church in the expectation of finding the clerical bridegroom there. Thoroughly alarmed when Kennard still had not turned up at the church by midday, the guests returned home. However, the minister did arrive at the church about an hour later. Finding no wedding guests, who presumed the ceremony to be cancelled in his absence, he hurried to Woodford rectory for an urgent consultation with the vicar, the Revd. A. Hughes.

Hughes must have heard out the fatigued, overwrought minister’s story with shocked incredulity. Robert Kennard had simply been too polite to return a rough, sceptical answer to the messenger purporting to come from his brother-in-law. Having thus been lured away from the hotel on the pretext of a bogus message about his relative, he was ushered into a waiting carriage. Another man climbed in after the first, while another man was on the driving box. The carriage moved off, but not in the direction of York Villas, the home of the bride–to-be Miss Bade. Instead the coach was heading in the direction of London.

Once the minister realised that the coach was not heading for York Villas and that he was a virtual prisoner, he panicked and began to remonstrate with the driver, but was restrained by being seized by the throat and silenced by the men in the compartment with him. Kennard’s abductors then told him he was not being taken for his money or goods; that robbery was not their intention, though they did not then confide what their motive was. However, at one point the cleric managed to through his hat out of the window in the hope that it could lead searchers to wherever he was being taken.

On arriving in London Kennard again tried unsuccessfully to call for help. The coach stopped at 41 Hunter Street, Brunswick Square and again the minister struggled to break free of his captors while being bundled into the house, but bystanders did nothing to help or raise the alarm. He was taken to a pokey back room in which there were two beds evidently prepared in advance for the night. Kennard, Kennard then passed a sleepless night in agitation, reflecting on the perilous situation he now found himself in.  During these dreadful hours of darkness he heard knocks at the front door and then voices outside, evidently a conversation between his captors and some confederates. At dawn the man who at first brought Kennard the bogus message entered the room and threw himself on the other bed without undressing.

Desperate to secure his liberty, the minister then bribed the messenger, first with £5. He then wrote a telegram to Woodford: “Unavoidably detained. Will explain all in a few hours.” Kennard then gave the second man a further £1 to cover the cost of sending the telegram (in fact it was never sent.) On being offered another £5 the messenger then consented to release Robert Kennard unharmed onto the streets of London, whereupon he caught a cab to Liverpool Street Station to catch the next train back to Woodford.

And so did Kennard, upon his arrival at Woodford, come to be just one hour late for his own wedding. Having related the full facts of his unnerving experience to Revd. Hughes he went straight to York Villas and into the welcoming arms of Marie Bade, who had been entertaining Canon Duckworth of Westminster and other friends of Marnhull’s Rector. Duckworth had been appointed to conduct the marriage ceremony and had arrived at the house with the other friends for the wedding breakfast. By a curious twist however, the Canon’s official duties at the abbey had detained him too late for the scheduled time Kennard’s marriage was to have taken place.

Later that morning the Cannon returned to the Castle Hotel with Kennard to stay the night with him there. At eight o’clock the following morning, a Thursday, and with the assistance of Hughes, Duckworth solemnised the wedding of Robert B. Kennard and Marie Magdalene Bade in Woodford parish church. Curiously, Cannon Duckworth later found it necessary to send a letter to the editor of The Standard, correcting a mistake that had been published about the timing of the marriage: “Sir, in your report of the extraordinary abduction of the Revd. R.B. Kennard there is one inaccuracy it is important to correct. Mr Kennard’s marriage, which was so strangely prevented on Wednesday, took place not on Friday but on Thursday morning. I married him in Woodford Church on that day at eight o’clock on the earliest moment after his escape at which the wedding was legally possible.”

One Robert Kennard had returned to Woodfood and placed the matter in the hands of the police, who managed to trace the perpetrators and keep the minister informed of developments. It’s a strange story, and one that over the century following the event has thrown up several conspiracy theories as to what could have led to the kidnap of a respected and well-loved clergyman.

It was never considered a possibility that the incident had had anything to do with Marie Bade. She was German by birth at a time of Franco-German hostility, the daughter of a Charles Bade of Bremen, and the circumstances in which she met Kennard were certainly unusual and rather obscure. Instead, suspicion fell upon members of Kennard’s own inner circle. One theory was that the kidnap had been nothing more than an extremely overplayed practical joke perpetrated in order to delay the wedding. Then there was a rumour circulating in the village at the time that the abduction was concocted by one or more of the minister’s sons or relatives out of covetousness for Kennard’s wealth and the belief that Miss Bade might be the sole beneficiary in the event of his death. Indeed, he was wealthy, a touch eccentric and about to wed a woman much younger than himself. It was thought that, at considerable personal risk, some of the minister’s family may have wanted to have him kidnapped and imprisoned for a period in order to humiliate him and prevent his marriage. Those most interested in the disposition of Kennard’s estate, it is surmised, may have resolved to interfere by putting him out of the way in the expectation that, once his marriage was delayed, it could never afterwards take place. Possibly the abductors were criminals hired to carry out the job, though the amazing thing is that they should have been able to pull off such a daring and foolhardy plan.

The matter was duly referred to the civil courts. Apart from being thoroughly roughed up and traumatised by his experience Robert Kennard was able to resume a normal life soon enough. After the wedding the couple honeymooned at Windsor, and the minister went on to enjoy another fourteen years of productive life in the service of the parish. In 1882, less than a year after his kidnap and re-marriage, he restored the chancel of St. Gregory’s, Marnhull at his own expense, and in 1884 bought the Nash Court estate. He built up his fine herd of pedigree shorthorns, one of which, “Queen Mary,” came to be an unbeaten champion of the show ring. He published The Subversion of the Constitution (an indictment of the admission of Jews into Parliament) besides the Latin version of Gray’s Elegy.

Robert Bruce Kennard died in 1895 aged 71. His son Stanley, who did not live at Nash Court but at Orchard House, sold off his father’s estate in 1921.

Weymouth’s Wonderful Wealth of Authors

If you have ever wondered what it is about Liverpool that has bred so many actors, entertainers and popular music bands, then spare a thought for the extraordinarily rich heritage of women and men-of-the-pen associated either by birth or adoption with a town much further south.

That town is Weymouth, Dorset’s mid-coastal port-cum-resort, with its spacious marina and harbour. And while the Lancastrian port can lay claim to the Beatles, the Scaffold, Ken Dodd and others, Weymouth can boast at least twenty-two authors and journalists who have left their marks in the great litany of letters handed down to our time. While some of these writers were quite prolific, others were one-title authors or newspaper columnists who have not left behind a name to be remembered by anyone other than lifelong Weymouth residents.

As to what in their environment inspired these writers to put pen – or typewriter – to paper, we can make some fairly educated guesses. Likely it was simply the boundless open sea before them, or the busy harbour. Even those not blessed with a spectacular view of the Chesil from a window at home would have been in easy reach of a viewpoint of the great shingle spit. Then of course there is the chequered history of the town and coast to lend substance to the visual aspects.

Of the earliest of these writers in comparatively modern time, i.e. from the mid-19th century onwards, the name John Falkner (1858-1932) ranks first. Under the better-known name of J. Meade Falkner he penned the smuggling adventure ‘Moonfleet,’ one of the most famous novels ever to be inspired by and written in Dorset. Though born in neighbouring Wiltshire, Falkner wasn’t yet nine-years old when he walked from Dorchester to Weymouth to visit three aunts who lived in a house in the town’s Brunswick Buildings, while the rest of the family travelled by train. When John was twelve his father, an Anglican curate, accepted the living at the Rectory

Puddletown – Church and Parish

Puddletown: small town or large village? The name suggests the former and in earlier times there is no doubting it deserved the rank. Nowadays, with the decline of services and facilities common to all rural areas its role has diminished to a dormitory for Dorchester. The designation large village is more appropriate for a parish of some 7,185 acres.

Puddletown attracted people from the surrounding villages and hamlets and was the commercial hub for this rural and under developed part of Dorset. Only about half of the nearly 1400 inhabitants recorded in the census of 1851 were born there. The town had permission, granted before the reformation, to hold two fairs each year and to hold weekly markets. There was employment for all kinds of craftsmen and tradesmen.

In addition to the several shopkeepers there were three bakers, a couple of butchers, a grocer and a post office complemented by two inns, two pubs or alehouses, six cordwainers (boot and shoe makers), three stonemasons, a cabinet maker, three blacksmiths, a saddler and harness maker, two tailors and two dressmakers, all doing business in the town. Puddletown also had a surgeon and a dentist and the town employed two school mistresses.

The parish church is near the centre of the village. St.Mary’s is a church that has escaped being mucked about by our Victorian ancestors but since the 12th century it has enjoyed its fair share of restoration works. There was a church here in Saxon times but the oldest part of St. Mary’s visible today is a section of the tower, probably no older than the late 12th century. Transepts added in the 13th century, turned the earlier structure cruciform in plan.

Most of the building we see today date from around the beginning of the 15th century when the glorious oak roof was put up. A century later more restoration work saw the roof being raised, the addition of a clerestory, a north aisle, the tower heightened by 20ft with an external staircase built on and the parapet on the tower was added at the same time. The tower’s bell chamber is home to six bells one dating from 1599.

In 1634 the people of Puddletown were to agree to fit out the church with much of the interior furniture and fittings we see here today. New seating, a new pulpit and prayer desk, communion table and rails as well as a new font cover were commissioned. The texts on the walls are from this period.

The unusual tumbler shaped font is from the 12th century decorated with a repeating pattern of acanthus leaves; the octagonal pyramid shaped cover is from 1635. From the same period the magnificent three stage pulpit with tester, the box pews and, the most ambitious addition from this time, the west gallery.

Difficult to believe now but the chancel was a tiny space till restoration works paid for by Revd. J.C. Brymer and completed in 1911. Nowadays, the east end of the nave, the carpeted chancel and the north east chapel make a wide open spaced area contrasting with the nave proper resulting in that appearing a little cluttered by the box pews that are, nevertheless, delightful. The nave has a north arcade of four bays and there is a wide north aisle. There is a south chapel containing tombs from the 13th to 16th centuries, and a south vestry.

By the end of the 19th century the population of Puddletown had fallen by about a third but now, no doubt because of its convenience for the county town, the number of inhabitants is back up to levels not seen for nearly two hundred years.