Sometimes, when I walk the dog or cut the pizzas at work, I will come up with ideas for the blog. It was around last Monday as I write this when I considered looking at the long line of Georges, basically looking at how the name was probably passed down the family for at least nearly three hundred years. From Newcastle to York to Batley and then finally Liversedge. I wanted to dive into how the name stood up in times of conflict and suffered through generations of strife and loss.

Jumping forwards to Thursday now, I got up early (well, early for the school holidays) at around nine and took the dog out for a walk. It was strange weather that day, ranging from snow to sun to hail. It had just started the snowing part when I checked BBC news and realised that Putin had done the unthinkable and plunged Europe back into war. I have no shame in saying I felt physically sick.

George Alfred Dale, my Great Grandad’s uncle, is someone who I deeply look up to and, in the strangest of ways, love. He was the first lad that I came across in my family tree that made the ultimate sacrifice in the First World War. There was a fair bit of information on him, and also, luckily, there was an ace photo of him uploaded onto Ancestry. I wrote my second Hidden Branch Blog post on his life, and he is also mentioned in my Remembrance Day post. Furthermore, I recently wrote a second biography of him, really weaving in some more personal thoughts and feelings and submitted it to my School’s creative writing competition.

G. A. Dale enlisted underaged, and the horrors he must have seen are unthinkable. Villages, towns, homes destroyed, men mutilated or killed on a daily. As a lad of my age, he saw the worst of humanity – death, destruction, and cruelty in its most naked form. We will never his exact own thoughts and experiences, but it is genuinely unthinkable what his generation experienced, only to be repeated by the next one.

My Great Grandfather, George Ronald Dale, was a kind man that I unfortunately never got to meet. I have quite literally never heard a bad word said about him. He worked most of his years at Batley Park, but due to the fascist terror spreading across Europe and during the late 30s and early 40s, he ended up serving just like his uncle George.

He joined up in March 1941, just after turning twenty, and served with the Royal Signals, eventually serving across France and the Netherlands. He worked his way up to the rank of Corporal and was also very physically fit, helping run a fitness camp in Ossett at some point during his service. He was a little older than his uncle but again likely saw the worst of humanity as he helped liberate Europe from its Nazi tranny.

Whether they were a woman, man or child, everyone made sacrifices and took part in the war effort, and this was clear as crustal when it came to my Great Grandad George’s marriage. He married Shirley Hopkinson, another kind and loving soul, at Birstall Parish Church in 1944. George’s brother Harry was his best man and also served in the Royal Navy. I guess the war shadowed even the supposed happiest day of his life to an extent. I can only think of the dread that those left at home must have felt every morning waiting to hear in case the worst had happened. Imagine also looking forward to your wedding and your future with your sweetheart while fighting a war.

It is almost unthinkable.

But there I was, almost glued to Twitter, the BBC News website or Facebook, watching the human tragedy unfold. I do not wish to be political, but it is as clear as day that the war which is unfolding is all things said above; cruel, unnecessary and the worst of humankind. Whether they be a soldier or civilian, each fallen person is another soul lost to war.

It seems ironic and poignant that I wanted to discuss this. Still, regardless of what happens across the world, this legacy of loss associated with the name George in my family has hopefully faded away. The wars experienced by my great grandfather and his uncle made strong, courageous men willing to give everything for those they loved in the face of the worst. It is truly inspiring to me to be related and directly connect to those two men.

I will leave you with a simple statement from the memorial book at Dewsbury crematorium after my Great Grandfather’s death in 1987. Although written for my great grandfather, words that very much apply to his uncle George.

“Courageous in Life and Death. Gentle, Kind, and much loved”.

Batley was changing fast, growing from a small village where everybody knew everybody to a booming town enriched by the industrial revolution in the space of about forty years. However, the wealth didn’t trickle down to everyone, and society split into two distinct classes; the haves and the have nots. Eliza Ann Day was born into this changing society.

Born on 10 April 1847 in Batley Carr, her birth likely caused some controversy as her mother, Sarah Ann Day, was unmarried. Illegitimacy was typically looked down upon, and many infants faced cruel fates at the hands of baby farmers, but Eliza was lucky.

Lucky as her mother, Sarah wedded James Rayner, a widowed farmer from the nearby Osset, on 5 June 1848 at Dewsbury Parish Church. He was about thirteen or so years older and came from an interesting background. Firstly, his parents never married but had about nine children together. Secondly, as mentioned before, he was a widower, but I have struggled to find out what happened to his first wife. He was living with his mother in 1841, so I think it is likely she sadly passed away prematurely.

This was significant for Eliza because it represented some stability in her life. Her dad was a farmer and brought home a regular income. I refer to James as Eliza’s father for a few reasons but mainly that there is a strong case that she was his biological daughter. He came from an unorthodox background himself, and there is some flimsy but firm DNA evidence suggesting so. Regardless, from this point onwards, James Rayner became her father.

Growing up, Eliza lived in Gawthorpe, which wasn’t too far from where she was born and would live in later life. It was likely a tough and gruelling childhood, as was typical of the time. James brought stability but not comfort, simply providing an escape from near-death or extreme poverty. Sarah and James had some children, so Eliza didn’t grow up alone, but she was the eldest child and perhaps stuck out a bit. In the 1851 and 1861 Censuses, she is the only one in the household not to bear the name Rayner.

Eliza married William Henry Hall at Batley Parish Church on 27 January 1866. He was a Batley lad who lost his father when he was only little and came from a similarly difficult childhood. It wasn’t long after this marriage that their son Jeremiah, named after William’s father, was born. However, this happy start to their marriage was tinged due to Jeremiah’s passing before he was even three months old. This was followed by the birth and death of a daughter who wasn’t even named. I have given her the name of Betty.

However, happiness did develop for the couple when Margent Ann Hall was born on 28 February 1869, and she was their first child to survive infancy.

The couple likely lived with William’s mother Harriet after their marriage, and by 1871 they remained living with her. William’s brother lived not so far away, so it was a close-knit family. Their second son Joseph Hall was born in March 1871, and a fair few more children would follow.

Harriet was a strong woman who suffered through a lot in her life. By 1877 she was an old woman, and she passed away aged 66. William Henry Hall registered her death and was present at it. I can’t speak for him, but as tradition follows, Hall men tend to be close to their mothers and considering his youth, I think he was. This might explain his turn to alcoholism, I can never be sure, but it seems to me that this is the most likely moment for his habit. Perhaps he already was an alcoholic by this point; we will never know for sure.

What we can be sure about is that he was notorious for his alcoholism. He was arrested and either imprisoned or fined countless times, and Eliza likely paid for it. We do not know what kind of drunk William was, he might have been alright, and there was never any talk of violence or abuse, but you can never be sure. I think he was a man who struggled, and that wouldn’t be atypical of the family. Still, his struggles deeply affected those around him as their stability, security and happiness were put at risk.

His second youngest son Lewis refused to drink, and his in-laws disapproved of the match due to his father’s reputation. The family always seemed to move about, living at Spring Gardens, Beaumont Street, Taylor Street, and Cobden Street. These addresses were all spotted around Batley and could indicate a chaotic family life.

Eliza lost her father in about May 1884. I don’t know her feelings towards him, but I hope that he provided her with the stability she needed, and it didn’t matter to her if he was her biological father or not. Fortunately, this loss was followed by the birth of my Great Great Grandfather Ernest James Hall on 11 February 1885, who would be the last child she gave birth to.

Her family was complete but still victim to her husband’s drunkenness. It isn’t easy to imagine what Eliza felt; I’d like to think she did love William and that she didn’t get with him just because he was the only one that would take her. I want to believe she had a great sense of self-worth and became a victim of her husband’s addiction. It doesn’t matter what the answers are, though, because she was clearly a strong woman and one I take pride in descending from.

1903 and 1904, two deaths of high importance occurred.

Firstly in 1903, Sarah, Eliza’s mother, passed away. It is ironic that we haven’t discussed her much, perhaps indicative that she was another “Jane” lost to time, but this was a significant loss to Eliza. I don’t know her exact feelings towards her, but their survival in the early days wasn’t certain, possibly forming a powerful bond between them.

In 1904, William fell ill, suffering from Thyroid Cancer. He died within three months on 10 September 1904 at the Batley Cottage Hospital. Eliza registered the death, and it is unclear if she was present the exact moment he passed away, but she was clearly in attendance. He was buried at Batley Cemetery a few days later, and even a short death notice was published in the local paper.

She remarried in 1909 to a widower called George Bennett, and by 1911 they lived on Bradford Road, Dewsbury. Things had seemingly improved for Eliza, who was now in her mid-sixties. Sadly, however, things became more complicated.

The First World War broke out.

At least two of her sons (Lewis and Ernest) served in the war, and their brother Joseph’s son Walter also enlisted. He made the ultimate sacrifice and died in 1918. She had to wave goodbye to at least two children and likely many more grandchildren as she approached her seventies, an impressive age at the time. She couldn’t be sure she would ever see them again.

As fate would have it, she would never see peacetime again passing away of bronchitis at the age of 70. Her son Ernest was injured in the summer of that year, so she likely saw him then, but it is unclear whether she saw any other serving kids or grandkids before her passing.

She was buried in the same plot as William Henry Hall alongside some of their grandchildren who died as infants. The plot is unmarked, and I was lucky enough to mark it with a small plaque in the summer of 2021. Unfortunately, it was soon “minced” over by the council lawnmowers, but as the legal process would be a massive headache, I will likely never be able to mark their grave.

Irrespective of that, Eliza remains marked in my heart. She was a remarkable woman who survived through a lot and against all odds. Lamentably, she was lost to time, not for any particular reason, but she was, and I hope I can do her some justice by writing this biography.

We will never know her true feelings about the events of her life, but deep down, I hope she is proud of me and my family, who are carrying the Hall name onwards as much as I am proud of her.

Defined by Collins Dictionary as a friendship between several people doing the same work or sharing the same difficulties or dangers, comradeship is easily created during times of conflict and war. Unquestionably, this allows men from wildly different backgrounds to become as close as brothers in a matter of weeks, as did William and George Roe during the First World War.

George Roe was born in mid-February 1897, the youngest of nine children, with two sadly dying in infancy. His father was George Roe, a mill worker, and his mother was Hannah Maria Roe, who undertook the typical but trying domestic duties. His family lived in the White Lee area of Heckmondwike. He was baptised into the Methodist Free Church near White Lee on 30 May 1897, aged 15 weeks.

George was educated at Healey Council School and then later St. James’ School. Despite his humble background, he was awarded an apprenticeship in the tailoring department of the Heckmondwike Co-operative Society and was held in high esteem there. Furthermore, he was a regular attendee of the White Lee United Methodist Church and its Sunday School.

In late June 1914, Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, and the spiralling web of alliances across Europe soon led to the outbreak of the Great War.

George was called up and enlisted promptly afterwards. He was posted to the Prince of Wales’s Own (West Yorkshire) Regiment’s 9th Battalion. He had been involved with the Batley Ambulance Corps before his enlistment.

He was soon sent to train in Blyth and Whitley Bay and became acquainted with a William Roe of Oakworth. The two lads were not related but had lots in common; they were both the same age, both worked for a co-operative society, both were called to the colours on the same day. Perhaps down to these similarities, they both became incredibly close over their period of training.

Just before Christmas 1916, when the two lads were sent to France, they were both made Lance-Corporals and began the horrors of active service together.

Both lads were close to each other and had become true friends and comrades. The horrors and dangers of the war only furthered the connections they both shared, and they became coincidental comrades.

War is cruel, and despite their luck in both being unscathed after being buried by the same shell, a different shell killed both George and William instantly on 17 January 1917.

They made the ultimate sacrifice for their country with a gallant and noble attitude and, through all the horrors, forged an unbreakable bond that not even death could break. Despite my focus upon the more locally based George Roe, it is clear that both William and George’s legacies are strong, and both men deserve to be remembered equally.

Daniel, from Daniel’s Genealogy and also a Hidden Branch colleague alongside the wonderful Mish Holman, has set the genealogy community a challenge to tell their genealogy story.

On Wednesday, January 26th – myself and @mishjholman are setting you a challenge. We want as many people interested in genealogy to tell your genealogy story either in the form of a blog post, Facebook/Instagram post, Twitter thread or any form that you like! pic.twitter.com/7k8yIH5jD1

— Daniel Loftus is working on #ProjectInfant. 🌳🔎 (@danielmloftus) December 30, 2021

My genealogy story isn’t that profound nor does it have a particularly impressive backstory. I have always been vaguely interested in my family history but I didn’t really have the means to pursue it. I know that this may seem a little against the whole ‘#GenealogyForAll’ movement but I was too young to pursue it as I didn’t wish to sit down researching for hours, didn’t have the knowledge or much self-confidence to learn nor did I have the financial means. I was only eight years old!

However, my Grandad Richard, my dad’s dad, remained a mystery throughout my childhood. He was rarely discussed; once I became a little older, I was told that he sadly took his own life. My dad was only nine years old when he died, so didn’t remember a great deal about him. I remember being relatively young, perhaps six to nine years old, in the car with my dad driving up Lady Ann Road in Soothill just thinking and imagining who / what the Halls were like during the Victorian era. I obviously didn’t imagine that my Great Great Grandfather, William Henry Hall, who was born in 1842 and died in 1904, nicely just about encompassing the Victorian era, was a rampant alcoholic!

It seemed weird that the family name would even have meaning. I even remember walking to French or Form in about Year Eight, call it late 2017 to mid-2018ish, and considering dropping the name Hall because it ‘meant nothing’ and taking my mother’s maiden name Richardson. But, of course, the great irony in doing that is that I would have dropped a surname that had nearly half a millennium’s history for one that elusive Great Grandfather Fred probably made up.

Let’s jump forward a bit now. Despite my cringe-worthy attempts at a tree when I was about eight and a half-hearted attempt at a school project in late Year Seven (2017), I hadn’t probably begun my Genealogy story. However, that changed one late Friday night, just as Covid was becoming a significant issue, on Friday 13 March 2020. That Friday the 13th turned out to be a lucky one!

I was, for unknown reasons, scrolling through my old Virgin Media email address and came across an advert from Ancestry, probably related to my old account. I had recently begun taking photos of graves as part of the DofE skills section and became deeply interested in all the possible stories they could represent. Therefore once I had seen the advert, I decided to create an account and start a free trial.

I put in my dad and mum’s details and then my living grandparents’ details. I then put ‘Richard Hall’, died ‘about 1982’ and low and behold, the mysterious and unknown figure of my paternal grandfather came somewhat into focus. Well, at least his grave up at Morley Cemetery did.

I was hooked from then on.

The defining feature of my whole journey since the somewhat cursed March 2020 is the connections I have made. Sure, I found my major interests in history but also developed my passion for writing and words but meeting all the wonderful people I have since then has truly been life-changing. Not just finding family through blood, but family in all different definitions the word has. I already know I have made life-long connections with people I would have never met or known about.

Thank god for that advert, eh?

I don’t know what the future will bring. I hope it will be good, but God knows, at this point but I’m just thankful for what I have got. After all, I have just winged it all up until this point.

Now, to understand the proper context behind this incident, I’d ensure you have read about the 1905 incident.

To start, we have to discuss an ending, more specifically the death of Mr. Joseph Brook. Prior to his passing, he resided at 38 Pyrah Street off Carlton Road in Dewsbury and was employed for many years at the woollen manufacturers Messrs. Mark Oldroyd and Sons Ltd. He married Emma Ellis in 1872, and they went to have five children that survived infancy, with at least three passing away in their childhoods. Out of the five surviving children, there were four girls and one boy.

However, his health began to decline in 1907, and he was unable to work regularly and passed away on 7 August 1907, aged 56 years. He was interred in a plot at Batley Cemetery with three of his deceased children three days later. The funeral was a large one, attended by more people than the Chapel could accommodate, and everything passed satisfactorily.

The day after Joseph’s funeral, alongside one of her daughters, Mrs. Brooke visited the cemetery. She wanted to ensure that the grave had been filled in and to have a look around and perhaps visit her husband.

In an almost familiar scene to that of Mr. Marsden’s visit in 1905, Mrs. Brooke instantly sensed something was wrong, remarking to her daughter that she was certain that her father was buried in the wrong grave. Again, a certain type of tile surrounded the grave, and Mrs. Brooke noted it was not disturbed.

Now convinced the error had been made, Mrs. Brooke was unsure what to do. Naturally, this deeply disturbed her, and she was unable to sleep at night. Not only had she lost her husband, the breadwinner, and had four children to look after, but she now had to sort out this error. Finally, about five or six days after the burial, after taking some advice, she decided that the best course of action would be to head to the cemetery lodge and talk to the Registrar, Mr. William Henry Atkinson.

Atkinson didn’t believe her at first but was willing to check to ensure a mistake hadn’t been made. It quickly became apparent that Mrs. Brooke was correct in her assessment, and Mr. Brooke’s almost perfect funeral had one fatal flaw. He was buried in the wrong grave.

The Cemetery Registrar immediately expressed his deep regret to Mrs. Brooke and promised her the incident would be sorted. Afterwards, Mrs. Brooke communicated with a Town Council member and the Deputy Clerk of the Council, with the latter being contacted as the Town Clerk himself was away. She was even advised to contact the Mayor (Cllr. W. J. Ineson), who assured her that everything would be sorted in a satisfactory manner without a doubt.

This greatly comforted Mrs. Brooke but being a woman of incredible grit and steel, she refused to rest until her objective was met, continuing to contact the relevant bodies for the next week.

A short while passed, and it was reported that the Home Office had been contacted and that the official form required for the reinterment had been received. However, owing to the typical bureaucratic nature of government agencies, it took a while to arrive. Furthermore, it was reported that Mrs. Brooke and her family were satisfied that everything was being done to rectify the mistake.

Eventually, on 29 August 1907, the permit for the reinterment of Mr. Brooke was received in Batley. The following day at 6 am, Mr. Brooke was interred into the correct grave, finally resting with his three deceased children. Mrs Brooke, the driving force in ensuring the mistake was rectified, alongside three other family members and various representatives of the council and Atkinson, the Cemetery Registrar.

The incident is a testament to the courage, determination and perseverance of Mrs. Brooke. After all that she had been through, she had managed to get it sorted. However, the incident also shows the impact of the 1905 incident as everything is done “above board” with no chance of any legal comeback.

With that comes the end of my interest in these two very unnecessary and unfortunate incidents in 1905 and 1907. Unfortunately, I know for a fact that incidents like this would continue up until at least the 1990s, if not the present day. I suppose this is a sad reality that we must face, but it seems so cruel that families have to face these incidents in times of grief.

A sensational headline was recorded in the Batley Reporter and Guardian on 16 June 1905. But how did this incident happen and what was the true story behind it?

John Edward Marsden was an average bloke. Born around 1872 in Dewsbury, he married Rachel Emma Kelsell in 1895 and went on to have three children (Edith, Harry, Hilda) with her. Their eldest was a daughter named Edith, who was born on 27 February 1897. Sadly she passed away aged sixteen months and was buried in plot R 360 on 25 June 1905 at the Cemetery. Her father worked in the mill and could not mark the grave with a headstone, but a bottle was placed on the grave, containing a card with Edith’s name written on it. Furthermore, the grave was enclosed with some red tiles, and Mr. Marsden paid half a crown a year to help keep her plot in order.

It is unclear precisely from who, but John Marsden heard that his daughter’s grave had been disturbed around May 1905. Obviously, after hearing the chatter, he went to check up on her grave. Much to his horror, he was able to confirm the grave had been disturbed almost immediately as the “little mound” upon the grave had grown by about a foot and also the soil on top of it appeared to be freshly broken. Additionally, the bottle containing the card was removed, and the tiles around the edge were scattered.

However, this was not the most worrying thing as the cut flowers that now upon the grave suggested there had been a fresh internment in it recently. Obviously, as the grave owner, Marsden knew that permission was not granted for the grave to be disturbed nor for a fresh interment, so he went to see Mr. William Henry Atkinson, the Batley Cemetery Registrar.

Atkinson was adamant that the grave hadn’t been disturbed at first and went into his office and checked his book. Marsden insisted that the grave had been disturbed, and Atkinson reviewed another book and consulted the grave plan. Both men then decided to check the grave together, where Atkinson hoped to convince Marsden that the grave hadn’t been touched.

Once at the grave, it was pretty obvious for the reasons said before that it had been disturbed, and Atkinson admitted that a mistake had been made but assured Marsden that the mistake would be “put right”.

Marsden called upon Atkinson a fortnight later, and he was told that the situation had been resolved. However, Marsden reasonably wished to receive some proof, and after some convincing, both men visited the grave, and Atkinson took a rod and bored it into the soil. He then said that it had gone to the bottom and, therefore, Mr. Marsden’s daughter was the only person interred in the grave. Mrs. Marsden visited the grave after it had been “put right” and noted that the cut flowers previously on her daughters grave had been moved to another grave nearby.

Mr. Atkinson was called upon for a statement by the Batley Reporter and Guardian. He explained that when a grave is opened for another interment, a rod is placed upon it in an upright position. Mr. Atkinson didn’t necessarily see the said graves until the interment took place but still was unsure exactly why or how Mr. Marsden’s plot was disturbed. Perhaps the rod had been placed incorrectly or moved by some unknown party from the intended plot to Marsden’s, which were situated close to each other. He also explained the fact that his daughter had been seriously ill around the time of the burial and was therefore not in his usual state of mind.

Nevertheless, Mr. Atkinson took responsibility for the mistake and ensured that the deceased was reinterred into the correct grave. However, Mr. Atkinson didn’t write to the Home Office to ask for permission to reopen the grave as was the law. Therefore in July 1905, the Cemetery Committee heard a letter addressed to the Mayor of Batley from the Secretary of State asking for his observations of the matter. A subcommittee was formed to discuss the matter after the Cemetery Committee met on 15 June 1905 and met on 16 June 1905.

Now you may be asking, who was the person interred into the incorrect grave? Atkinson gave us a clue as he stated it was a woman but logically refused to provide a name. After looking at the Batley Cemetery burial register located at Batley Library, I believe that Mrs. Susan Regan, a 70-year-old widow, was incorrectly buried in the Marsden plot.

She resided on Talbot Row, which was located on Bradford Road. She was meant to be buried in R 363, which is situated close to R 360, the Marsden plot. Furthermore, the burial date of 13 May 1905 allows Mr. Marsden to discover the issue, report it to Mr. Atkinson, and come back in two weeks time. After that, the excess time can account for gossip spreading, which the article (which obviously takes some time to produce) wished to quell. I cannot be 100% certain but there is a strong chance it is her.

Not much was reported in the Batley Borough Council minute books located at the wonderful Batley Library regarding the matter. The subcommittee which was formed isn’t mentioned. The only aspect mentioned is the Mayor’s reply to the aforementioned Secretary of State’s letter, which was approved. Either way, the Committee must have decided against taking any action against Mr. Atkinson as he remained in his post of the Cemetery Registrar.

No matter the reasoning behind the error, it clearly reinforces that everyone is imperfect and human error and chance can affect various fields. Mr. Atkinson shouldn’t be held entirely at fault and clearly took his duties seriously as registrar. However, you would expect lessons to be learnt and changes to be made.

Unfortunately, another familiar headline would be reported in a Batley newspaper a mere two years later.

John Thomas, the son of Joshua Joseph Crossley and Margaret Murphy, was born on 7 January 1866, on Bradford Road near Batley Carr. He was born into atypical circumstances as his father was already married with two children to a lady named Emma Parker. However, Joshua had probably left Emma before the birth of John as on his birth certificate, he is registered as Margaret’s son, who is in fact also recorded as Joshua’s wife.

The couple did marry eventually, around two years after the death of Emma, at Batley Parish Church on 11 July 1870. The couple already had another two children by the time of their marriage, Emma in 1869 and George in early 1870. Over the next decade or so, the couple would have three more children.

Just around sixteen months after the couple’s marriage, on 11 November 1871, Joshua was brought before Batley Borough Court to face charges of assaulting his wife. In the words of Margaret herself, on 18 November 1871, Joshua returned home drunk and struck her. The Huddersfield Daily Examiner reported that Margaret appeared in the witness box with a black eye which appeared greatly swollen. Margaret was reluctant to testify as she had agreed not to press charges as Joshua had promised but admitted that Joshua had struck her again since the original incident. It seemed that when Joshua was under the influence of liquor, he was in the habit of beating his wife. Joshua ended up pleading guilty, and the Mayor allowed Joshua to remain free but warned him that as these cases were becoming frequent, another case would see him sent to prison.

Times were hard for everyone, especially the working classes, and individuals may have found it hard to cope. Furthermore, individuals typically repeat the actions they were taught, so we must consider these and many more factors before condemning Joshua as an absolute villain. But being truthful, I find it hard to view him in anything but a negative manner. I appreciate the many factors that could cause it, but his apparent lack of respect for women is unjustifiable and plainly wrong, even if it was 150 years ago.

After an illness of a year or so, John Thomas Crossley’s father died of heart disease in August 1887. John remained living with his mother up until his marriage in 1893, and in this period before his wedding, the consequences of a difficult childhood became apparent.

John was either imprisoned for two weeks or fined for being drunk and disorderly in 1891. More convictions would follow in 1901, 1905 (this one was for obscene language) and 1913, with perhaps even more taking place. At least one or two convictions would end up in John being sent to prison for a week or two. It was said that John was a hardworking man but would leave his family penniless as he spent most of his money on alcohol.

He married Fanny Eliza Tasker at Birstall Parish Church on 11 December 1893. They went on to have two daughters, including Alice, my Great Great Grandmother, and three boys.

One of his sons, James Edward, was born in late June 1900. Around this period, it seems that John enlisted into the 3rd King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry’s Militia Battalion. He first tried to desert the battalion based in Strensall and succeeded for a while but was eventually arrested and detained and attached to an escort. However, he managed to break away again despite being handcuffed and concealed himself in a house in Birstall, the town where his family was living. Eventually, he was caught hiding under a bed in an upstairs room with the handcuffs from his original arrest in his pocket. He was sentenced to 85 days imprisonment, on 30 August 1900, for absence, breaking away from an escort and loss of kit.

Three of his children were living with their elderly maternal grandparents up Blackburn Road in Birstall by 1911. His daughter Frances was adopted out of the family by that point. Fanny Eliza, his wife, died in 1914, aged only 47 years.

John’s later years remain a little more mysterious. It is possible he remarried to a lady named Mary Frain in 1915, but from about 1924 to 1926, he lived with a relative without a wife registered to vote at that address. He appears on the 1939 Register, aged 73 years, as an old age pensioner living at some unknown establishment situated in Batley.

There is no clear record of his death, but it is likely he died in the 40s or, at a push, the early 50s.

John’s life was clearly a complex one. He may have simply been a victim of the times and also circumstances, struggling to cope in a harsh world and being affected by his father’s behaviour towards alcohol and his mother. This would, in turn, affect his own family, just like it affected him. However, he was also clearly a defiant character, willing to do things his own way, even breaking away from an army escort for unknown reasons.

Alfred Dale was born in November 1858, most likely at the family home situated on Dennis Street in Walmgate, York. He was the sixth child of William, a composite, and Mary Dale, formerly Stead. Mary undertook the typical but still gruelling domestic work while William Dale worked as a printer compositor, arranging a movable type for printing. It was a skilled profession, and William would have had to be skilled at spelling alongside probably needing a basic understanding of grammar and punctuation. In addition, he likely worked under high-pressure conditions with the machines moving at high speeds and mistakes being very costly.

Alfred was baptised on 30 November 1858 at St. Deny’s Church in Walmgate. In 1861 the family lived at Butter’s Buildings, remaining in the Walmgate area, and by 1871, the family moved to 2 Hope Street in the same area. All nine Dale siblings had been born, six boys and three girls by that point. In that year’s census, Alfred is described as a scholar and, at some point before his marriage, would take up work as a glassblower, perhaps following the footsteps of his older brother Edward.

Alfred married Mary Jane Fell towards the end of 1879. Mary Jane’s family was a challenge to wrap my head around, but due to an illegitimate birth a few generations before Mary Jane, the family seems to switch between “Turner Fell” and “Fell Turner” as their surnames. It seems to settle out as Fell towards the end of the 19th century.

The 1881 Census gives us a picture of life for the newlyweds; they were living at 14 Willow Street, again around the Walmgate of York. Interestingly, Mary Jane is recorded as working as a combmaker’s labourer, probably working for her father, alongside Alfred’s work as a glassblower. Their first daughter, Frances Lily, was already three months old by this point, so it is interesting to note that Mary Jane remained working. Another daughter, Mary Jane, followed in 1882.

Sadly, Alfred’s father passed away on 26 August 1883, aged 62 years. His father’s loss represented his first significant loss, apart from the death of his Grandfather back in the 1860s. His father was buried in a public grave (10027) at York Cemetery in the afternoon at around 3:30 pm. Another loss followed in 1884 when his first son Edward was born. Unfortunately, he lived a mere five hours and died on 3 March 1885. I can’t be sure, but Edward may have been named after Alfred’s older brother, who he likely looked up to, perhaps making the loss sting that bit more.

The birth of his daughter Ada in 1886, ironically born on or around the same day as her brother Edward and then followed by the births of Albert Victor in 1888 and Florence Edith in 1890, cemented the end of his period of quite tragic loss. In 1891 the family lived in four rooms at 33 Duke of York Place in Walmgate. The birth of my Great Great Grandfather, Arthur Dale, followed in 1893 alongside the birth of the youngest child, George Alfred, in 1898. The family remained living at 33 Duke of York Place in 1901.

Things seemed to be looking up for Alfred. He had managed to replace a period of loss with the growth of his family. Things mightn’t have been easy, and fears for his job security might have started to bubble up towards the beginning of the 20th century, but regardless it is arguable he had managed to get through the worst and had a lot to look forward to in life.

Life is perhaps more cruel than we like to acknowledge, and this cruelness was seen when Alfred became ill with tongue cancer. He passed away aged only 47 years, at home, on 30 August 1906. He was buried at York Cemetery in a public grave, just like his father twenty three years earlier.

In Alfred’s memory, a kerb was erected on the grave, but it has since sunken. It seems almost to be the direct words of Mary Jane: “In Loving Memory of my beloved husband Alfred Dale, who died 30 August 1906”. Of course, we cannot put words into the mouths of others, whether they are dead or alive, but I, at least, believe that this shows the deep affection and love between the couple and only adds to the tragedy of his unnecessary and plainly cruel death.

I genuinely believe that Alfred was the man that “missed out”. Not only did he miss seeing all of his children growing up, but he also missed any real chance to get to know his grandchildren or see much of the dramatic changes of the 20th century. Furthermore, his son, George Alfred, served during the First World War and made the ultimate sacrifice in the spring of 1918. Sure, to some, it may seem a blessing that he missed the pain of the loss, but he never knew that his youngest boy would be capable of such courage and selflessness in serving his country.

And surely, after all the loss and hardships of his life, knowing that courage was his legacy would have only made everything worth it?