Back about seven years ago, in 2014, Britain marked Remembrance Day alongside the centenary of the outbreak of the First World War. I was only nine years old, so I naturally don’t remember a great deal from this time period; however, I do have some strangely distinct memories. We had an assembly on Remembrance Day, and towards the end, a video was played. I can’t remember at all what this video said or was about apart from it being related to Rememberance, of course. Towards the end, many photos of fallen soldiers were shown, which profoundly affected nine-year-old me. I suppose this was down to the fact that I was presented with the fact that the millions who died years ago were all human with aims, dreams, fears and hopes. As a kid, I was a sensitive soul, and I have no shame in saying that I had teary eyes walking back to class.

I always took Remembrance Day seriously subsequently, but it was a while before anything of significance happened. I joined the Air Cadets in 2017 and, because of this, partook in Poppy Selling and also marched at the Cleckheaton Remembrance Day parade.

My genealogical research began in March 2020, just before the lockdown was announced, and I came across the story of my Great Great Great Uncle George Alfred Dale. I have told his story on a Hidden Branch blog post which can be found here, but I became deeply connected to George. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why but I bought/searched anything to find out more about him. I was lucky enough to have a picture of him already uploaded onto Ancestry and, in the early months of 2021, found a second picture of him online. I suppose what attracted me to him was simply that he was the first soldier I had come across and the fact he made the ultimate sacrifice. Another reason is that I am, in a way, named after him as my Great Grandfather George Ronald Dale, who I am named after, was named after him.

The next major story I uncovered was the service of my Great Great Grandfather Ernest James Hall. He was born in 1885 in Batley and had a rough childhood with a notorious alcoholic father. He married Emily Butcher in 1908, and the couple had seven children over their marriage. Ernest joined the 8th Battalion of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry at some point after the birth of his daughter Phyllis in 1915. He would have served across France but also Italy towards the end of the war. Quite a few of the Halls served in the First World War, including his nephew Walter and his brother Lewis with whom he appeared to enjoy a close relationship. Ernest was injured at some point in 1917 and suffered injuries to his sight, and was awarded a pension that lasted for about a year. He received the British War Medal, and Victory Medal, one of his medals was inherited by his son and my Great Grandfather Percy Hall. It remained displayed with pride by my Great Grandma even after my Great Grandfather’s death and is still in the family to this day. Ernest also sadly had PTSD, or as it was more commonly known at the time “shell shock” and kept himself to himself and rarely saw his grandchildren towards the end of his life.

Fred Hopkinson, another Great Great Grandfather, was born in 1896 in Birstall also served during the First World War. He joined the King’s Own Scottish Borders and served in a variety of different battalions and was sent to France in October 1915. In the summertime of 1916, he was injured, although the nature of the injury is unknown. He was awarded the British War Medal, Victory Medal and the 1914–15 Star. His experiences of the war were rarely mentioned, although my Great Grandmother Shirley, Fred’s only daughter, recounted that when he was in trenches, he was knee-deep in mud and water.

My final connection is a larger project I have undertaken, researching and writing up the stories of all 36 known soldiers buried/commemorated at Liversedge Cemetery. The book will be published relatively soon (all will be announced on my website and social media), but it has been an experience writing it. The sacrifices, bravery and selflessness of the wartime generation bled through the individual acts of bravery and sacrifices to provide a model that everyone should strive to follow in the modern-day.

Remembrance Day means a lot more to me than it did before, and I hope that this can prove to you that there are many different ways to engage with remembrance. I haven’t even mentioned any of my Great Grandfathers that served during the Second World War or that of their siblings, both male and female, who contributed and made sacrifices to the war effort in their different ways. It is essential that we remember our fallen troops just as much as the ones who lived with the consequences of their service up until their passing. We must also ensure that in 100 years, Rememberance remains as significant as today and 100 years ago as if we forget, we are doomed to repeat.

According to local historian, Thomas William Thompson, the Spen Valley was once inhabited by a “brave, fearless people” who were “small in stature” but made up for that by their physical strength. They were known as the Brigantes and controlled the vast majority of Northern England in pre-Roman times.

The Geography of the Spen Valley would have been key to how these lived, and Thompson also gives us a captivating description of what the Spen Valley may have looked like in this pre-Roman era. The area of Spen was “densely wooded with beech, oak, pine and thorn trees” and “gorse, broom, and blackberry bushes” would reach the edge of the “broad stream of water” that would one day be known as the River Spen. This river itself twisted down the valley, collecting driftwood and other debris brought downstream by melting snow or stormwater. There were probably stretches of moorland, at places like Harsthead Moor, that were “covered with bracken, ling, gorse, broom, and blackberry bushes”.

Bee-hive shaped “wattle-and-daube” huts may have been built in this landscape. These huts were built by the Brigantes and were supported by a network of tree branches, interwoven with twigs, and covered with mud or clay. It was dark inside the huts, night or day, as there was only a small hole to enter or exit. One family resided in one hut, and they were all built close together, forming a small village that was protected by a fence or enclosure to keep out dangerous wild animals.

The Brigantes didn’t have any knowledge of metal, so, therefore, could only use tools made of bone, wood or stone. They typically used choppers and hammers for weapons, which were mainly used for defensive or hunting purposes.

Men would leave to go hunting in parties, typically killing wolves and bears, to secure their skins, which were then taken to the village to be preserved. Women would use these skins to create clothing for the village; they would use bone needles and strips of hide to sew the clothes together. Of course, the men would also hunt other animals for various other purposes, including to eat.

The people were likely self-sufficient, eating a diet of fish, deer and wild boar. They also collected nuts and succulent roots to be eaten in winter and during summer and autumn could rely on an abundance of wild fruits. The Brigantes could make fires, and these would be lit outside where they would cook communally, away from their huts to avoid setting them on fire.

There is not much known about the religion of the Brigantes, but they probably worshipped a goddess named Brigantia.

The Brigantes remained a dominant force across the North of England up until the Roman conquest and would take the Romans decades to subjugate. It is arguable that the distinct identity of Yorkshire and the unique genetic identity of West Yorkshire can be traced back to the Brigantes, to an extent.

Catherine Conley was born in the July quarter of 1873 in Monkwearmouth, Sunderland in County Durham. She was the eldest daughter of James Conley, a coal miner, and Bridget Cook. Bridget had another child from a previous marriage named Charles McIlroy, but her husband sadly passed away around the time of his birth. Bridget’s loss caused Catherine’s life in many ways and loss was to follow her for the rest of her transient life.

Baptisms and burials were the main events for the Conley family over the next few years. George Conley, born 1875, survived infancy but the next brother, James, died aged only one in 1878. Peter was born in 1879 and managed to survive infancy. The family resided in cramped conditions, at 38 Brooke Street, in 1881, with the house holding two families totalling eighteen people.

The new decade that the 1880s brought seemed to stop the relentless losses for the Conley family. Mary Ann, the second daughter of James and Bridget, was born in 1882, followed by the birth of John in 1885. Another daughter called Julia was born two years after John in 1887. Sadly, this happiness was a cruel mirage because death creeped around the corner.

Tuberculosis was the killer.

The silent plague that swept the slums killed Bridget, aged only 42 years, on 13 January 1891 just shortly after the birth of her daughter Martha Conley. Martha would survive for about 2 months before dying in March 1891. A small snapshot can be seen of the family after these two losses on the 1891 census which was taken a mere 26 days after the death of Martha. James resides with his children at 18 Stobart in Monkwearmouth and continues to work as a Coal Miner. Catherine’s responsibilities would have skyrocketed after her mother’s premature death as she was the eldest child. It Is likely she would have filled a large portion of the domestic work Bridget used to complete.

More deaths occurred in the shattered remains of the Conley family during the early 1890s. John Conley died aged 7 years in 1892 and was followed to the grave by his sister Mary Ann, in 1894, aged 12 years. James and Bridget had eight kids in total; half of them died in their childhoods. Catherine was only twenty years old and had seen the death of her mother and all these siblings. More was to follow.

Catherine married John William Jobling in the first quarter of 1895, aged 21 years. They probably got married at the local catholic church or registration office. Their first child was a girl who was born in January at home. She was named Bridget, most likely after her maternal grandmother Bridget Cook, and like her grandmother would suffer a premature death, at the age of two years, in 1898. The couple had moved to 1 Back Dundas Street, not that far from James Conley, by the burial of their daughter Bridget on 17 Aug 1898.

Possibly the worst of Catherine’s losses was to follow with death of her husband, John Jobling. 21 May 1899 was an unremarkable day for the Jobling’s, apart from the fact that John got a piece of broken glass from a vase stuck in his heel. He did not bother about it much until he fetched a doctor on 29 May 1899 to treat him. Despite their best efforts, it was all in vain, and Jobling perished on 6 June 1899 at roughly half past seven in the evening.  

Tragically, Catherine was pregnant when John died. She gave birth to a boy in mid July 1899 at home which would be named John, presumably after his late father. 6 weeks was all it took for John to join his father and sister in death.

Catherine was abruptly alone.

She seems to disappear after the death of her son John Jobling, as she is not present on the 1901 census as far as I have searched. It is likely she stayed local though as she moves to Whitburn Street by 1904.

Catherine married Luke McGinty, a 44-year-old widower, on 12 July 1905. He had an equally as tragic background and lost all but one of his ten kids to his first wife Sarah Hannon. The couple moved into 20 Whitburn Street by 1906 where my Great Grandfather James “Jim” McGinty was born on 14 November of that year.

Catherine was only 34 years old when Tuberculosis prised her from her family on 28 February 1909. My Great Grandfather had barely turned two years old when he lost his mother. She was buried at Mere Knolls Cemetery, like the rest of the family, on 3 Mar 1909.

My grandma did not even know her grandmother’s name until 2017. Her story remained a mystery even after that as the records were unclear and conflicting for a long time. Once her story was discovered, it was apparent it was clearly one of loss. Not just merely loss of life but a much deeper loss; a loss of memories, a place in history and the loss of being a mother.

Catherine’s courageous story will be remembered now as it should have been years ago.