> One thing family historians may have noticed is that some of their ancestors got > married on Christmas Day - I have several examples - since it was the only day of the > year they had off. Some friends of ours celebrate their golden wedding on Boxing day Ann

My ancestor George Webley born at Berkley, Somerset in 1787 had a brother Ambrose Webley born Berkley 1784. They were children of George Webley & Rebecca Biggs. So far so good. Ambrose was gardener at Oldbury Court for 55 years and was involved in the founding of Dr Bell's School at Stapleton. I recently discovered on Ancestry that he left a will and probate was granted to Ann Elizabeth Shipton, widow, daughter of William Webley of Frenchay, gardener, and James Webley of Henbury, gardener, who were joint executors. William Webley of Frenchay appears to have been the son of Isaac Webley of Winterbourne. However, I can find no link between the Berkley Webleys and the Winterbourne Webleys. I am sure there must be a link because it seems too much of a coincidence that Ambrose would have named executors who shared his surname but were not related to him. If anyone has any bright ideas or knows anything of either family I would be interested to hear. Regards & Happy Christmas to all Bob Sanders

My background is very mixed. My paternal g,g grandparents were Devonians, agricultural workers who went to Bermonsey and worked in the leather - tanning - trade. After one of the men died young, some of the family wer put in an orphage while their youg mother tried to keep body and soul together. My maternal grandparents were very different - born in France of British parents, son of a bank clerk, grandpa was an army officer 1908-1919, worked briefly for Spinks the jeweller and ran Collins Music Hall in the 1930s. (His mother was furious when he wrote Licensed Victualler as his occupation in the 1931 census) His wife was daughter also of a bank manager who died in 1932. My mother told the story, probably 1931, when she would have been 12, shortly before he died, that as they were celebrating at dinner, her grandpa started to choke on the Christmas pudding. In the fuss to make sure he did not snuff it there and then there was a loud cry - "Well what is it? the silver threepence? the bachelor's button? No. It's the swastika!!" What is a swastika? spluttered the poor victim. The silver charms came in sets of 6 or 12 each with its own significance. We still have the silver coin, but the rest are largely forgotten. A mere 3 or 4 years later everyone knew what that was - but it is one of the oldest good luck symbols, going back 3000 to 5000 years. http://www.luckymojo.com/swastika.html http://www.wisegeek.com/did-the-swastika-symbol-really-originate-in-some-eastern-religions.htm This symbol has dropped out of our Christmas customs now!But I cannot think it would have been the pleasantest to find in the pudding! http://www.madmolly.co.uk/Vivi_Silver_Candle_Holders___Charms/Christmas_Pudding_Charms_-_Sterling_Silver.html?c=177&p=3951 http://www.orkney-antiques.co.uk/items/764931/item764931store.html Do look at this one! Jean > From: roy.stockdill@btinternet.com > To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com > Date: Thu, 16 Dec 2010 11:13:56 +0000 > Subject: Re: [B&S] Christmas tradition > > On 16 Dec 2010 at 10:20, Tom Perrett wrote: > >> On Wed, 15 Dec 2010 05:53:49 -0800 (PST), Joni Saunders wrote: >> >>>Every year at this time I can't help but wonder how my ancestors in >>>England celebrated Christmas >> >> Joni, >> >> What era are you interested in, like when did >> they leave England? >> >> >> Cheers, >> >> Tom Tom Perrett> > > The original question is a bit like asking how long is a piece of string ! > > It's not just the historical period that is important but knowing the circumstances and > lifestyle of Joni's ancestors and who they were. > > If, for instance, they were from the aristocracy or wealthy landowning classes, then > they would probably have celebrated Christmas in grand style. Middle class people > would have celebrated it somewhat more modestly, while if they were ordinary working > class families they would quite possibly barely have noticed that it was Christmas at > all, since just surving from day to day was a struggle against adversity. Many would > have celebrated Christmas in the workhouse - indeed, they were probably better off > there than many working families who spent Christmas at home, since in the > workhouse they would at least be assured of a decent meal! > > One thing family historians may have noticed is that some of their ancestors got > married on Christmas Day - I have several examples - since it was the only day of the > year they had off. > > A little imaginative Googling should turn up some facts. For instance, what is believed > to have been the world's first Christmas card was sent by one Henry Cole in 1843 and > now resides in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. The Christmas tree tradition > began in Germany in the 18th century and was introduced into Britain by Queen > Charlotte, wife of George III and continued by Prince Albert during his marriage to > Queen Victoria. > > Many of the Christmas traditions popular today are not actually all that old but, of > course, many would argue that they were originally symbols of a much older, pagan > and secular tradition than Christianity and that Christmas was "hijacked" by Christians! > There is no real evidence, for example, that the central theme of Christmas, > Christmas Day, was actually the birthday of Jesus Christ (see Wikipedia on the > subject). > > -- > Roy Stockdill > Genealogical researcher, writer & lecturer > Newbies' Guide to Genealogy & Family History: www.genuki.org.uk/gs/Newbie.html > > "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, > and that is not being talked about." > OSCAR WILDE > > > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

On 16 Dec 2010 at 18:53, David Lindsell wrote: > My Great Grandfather, named above was born in James Street, Clifton, > Bristol on the 12 March 1863. Please would anyone have any information > on his Baptism? > It sounds as if you have his birth certificate, so what extra information would you expect to find from his baptism? If you don't in fact have his birth certificate, then you can obtain it and it will give his parents' names. They can also be found in the 1871 census in which there appears to be only one Frank LINDSELL, born 1863 at Bristol, and the family were living in Nottingham at the time. They appear to have moved about a bit, since one child was born in London, three in Bath, Frank in Bristol and one in Nottingham, so pinning down his baptism (if you really must know it) may not be easy. -- Roy Stockdill Genealogical researcher, writer & lecturer Newbies' Guide to Genealogy & Family History: www.genuki.org.uk/gs/Newbie.html "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." OSCAR WILDE

My Great Grandfather, named above was born in James Street, Clifton, Bristol on the 12 March 1863. Please would anyone have any information on his Baptism? David

Hi Marsha, I'm afraid I can't answer your question directly, but there's a rootsweb list for discussing/sharing information on FTM where I'm certain you'll get the answer, or it might be useful for future reference... http://lists.rootsweb.ancestry.com/index/other/Software/FTM-HELP.html Jan > From: stringer@mstringer.net > To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com > Date: Thu, 16 Dec 2010 09:23:31 -0500 > Subject: [B&S] OT FTM 2010 Gedcom Help? > > Hi, > > Trying to help my cousin save her FTM 2010 working file as a gedcom. I still use V16 and my Export/SaveAs menu doesn't seem to > match hers. > > We're trying to do this over the phone before she drives down in an hour or so. It's not on a laptop, so not something she can > bring. > > Could anyone give us instructions (off list)? > > Thanks. > > Marsha Stringer (nee MEERE) > stringer@mstringer.net > USA > www.bittonfamilies.com >

On 16 Dec 2010 at 10:20, Tom Perrett wrote: > On Wed, 15 Dec 2010 05:53:49 -0800 (PST), Joni Saunders wrote: > > >Every year at this time I can't help but wonder how my ancestors in > >England celebrated Christmas > > Joni, > > What era are you interested in, like when did > they leave England? > > > Cheers, > > Tom <tomp@st.net.au> Tom Perrett > The original question is a bit like asking how long is a piece of string ! It's not just the historical period that is important but knowing the circumstances and lifestyle of Joni's ancestors and who they were. If, for instance, they were from the aristocracy or wealthy landowning classes, then they would probably have celebrated Christmas in grand style. Middle class people would have celebrated it somewhat more modestly, while if they were ordinary working class families they would quite possibly barely have noticed that it was Christmas at all, since just surving from day to day was a struggle against adversity. Many would have celebrated Christmas in the workhouse - indeed, they were probably better off there than many working families who spent Christmas at home, since in the workhouse they would at least be assured of a decent meal! One thing family historians may have noticed is that some of their ancestors got married on Christmas Day - I have several examples - since it was the only day of the year they had off. A little imaginative Googling should turn up some facts. For instance, what is believed to have been the world's first Christmas card was sent by one Henry Cole in 1843 and now resides in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. The Christmas tree tradition began in Germany in the 18th century and was introduced into Britain by Queen Charlotte, wife of George III and continued by Prince Albert during his marriage to Queen Victoria. Many of the Christmas traditions popular today are not actually all that old but, of course, many would argue that they were originally symbols of a much older, pagan and secular tradition than Christianity and that Christmas was "hijacked" by Christians! There is no real evidence, for example, that the central theme of Christmas, Christmas Day, was actually the birthday of Jesus Christ (see Wikipedia on the subject). -- Roy Stockdill Genealogical researcher, writer & lecturer Newbies' Guide to Genealogy & Family History: www.genuki.org.uk/gs/Newbie.html "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." OSCAR WILDE

On Wed, 15 Dec 2010 05:53:49 -0800 (PST), Joni Saunders wrote: >Every year at this time I can't help but wonder how my ancestors in England >celebrated Christmas Joni, What era are you interested in, like when did they leave England? Cheers, Tom <tomp@st.net.au> Tom Perrett

An excellent site for answers to your Software problems etc. http://genforum.genealogy.com/ Edna - Ottawa Merry Christmas and a Healthy New Year!

Hi, All set. In her version the Save is in a different location. Marsha Stringer (nee MEERE) stringer@mstringer.net USA www.bittonfamilies.com -----Original Message----- Sent: Thursday, December 16, 2010 9:24 AM To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com Subject: [B&S] OT FTM 2010 Gedcom Help? Trying to help my cousin save her FTM 2010 working file as a gedcom. I still use V16 and my Export/SaveAs menu doesn't seem to match hers.

Hi, Trying to help my cousin save her FTM 2010 working file as a gedcom. I still use V16 and my Export/SaveAs menu doesn't seem to match hers. We're trying to do this over the phone before she drives down in an hour or so. It's not on a laptop, so not something she can bring. Could anyone give us instructions (off list)? Thanks. Marsha Stringer (nee MEERE) stringer@mstringer.net USA www.bittonfamilies.com

Thank you for all of the wonderful posts. Tom, My g-g-grandparents left England between 1875, when they were  married in Bristol, and 1877 when their eldest son was born in Quebec. Family lore says they left for Canada almost immediately after they were married, I have never found their ship's record, just their marriage record and birth record of their son. It didn't look like people were too happy at Christmas time back then, my family certainly didn't look like they had lots of money, but they worked at jobs so I don't think they lived in workhouses. I remember my nan (great grandmother made pies, something that we never did on the sicilian side. To this day I can make a mean apple pie, thanks to her. she and her (3rd) husband, both in their 80's, used to drive down from Washington to the San Francisco bay area to visit, but seldom on a Christmas,  the roads were too snowey up in Washington. Her son, my grandfather was on his 3rd wife by the time I came along so no traditions were passed down there, they celebrated how ever that wife celebrated, I don't remember ever going to their house for Christmas, we always went to my mother's side of the family. Looking at the amount of marriages that side had, maybe the mothers were struggling single moms at times and had no time or resources for traditions. It is hard to imagine what life would be like for a single mom back then when jobs for women were not very good. Jo SaundersJS http://joni.tribalpages.com/

Don't go too mad on the Christmas cheer, then. In 1860, a new shaft was being sunk at Vobster colliery. The entry for Christmas day (in the engineer's jpurnal) runs: "Pit stood 12 hours, all hands off. Sinkers went into bottom at midnight." Note in the context of these operations, this means they worked through until noon! Tinsel is a product of affluence. Ian On 15/12/2010 13:53, Joni Saunders wrote: > ... Since my ancestors did not pass on traditions to me, maybe I can > borrow some from your ancestors...

Paddy, My father, a sometime taxi driver, used to recite a different version: Twas Christmas Eve in the Workhouse. Not a taxi was in sight, and all the local charabancs were locked up for the night. He didn't know anymore or perhaps it was unsuitable for children's ears.   Maybe somone knows the rest of it. This was in a South Wales setting.  Jeff ----- Original Message ---- From: Paddy Buckley <paddy.buckley@lineone.net> To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com Sent: Wednesday, 15 December, 2010 15:48:45 Subject: Re: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 Edna If this thread is allowed to continue, I may run out of tears.  Your two poems came at just the right time to jolt me out of indifference. Thank you. Paddy in Lancaster ----- Original Message ----- From: "liverpud" <liverpud-49@rogers.com> To: "Bristol-Somerset List" <Bristol_and_Somerset@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2010 3:08 PM Subject: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 > from Edna - Ottawa > --- > Christmas Day in the Workhouse > George R. Sims (1903) > It is Christmas Day in the workhouse, > And the cold, bare walls are bright > With garlands of green and holly, > And the place is a pleasant sight; > For with clean-washed hands and faces, > In a long and hungry line > The paupers sit at the table, > For this is the hour they dine. > > And the guardians and their ladies, > Although the wind is east, > Have come in their furs and wrappers, > To watch their charges feast; > To smile and be condescending, > Put pudding on pauper plates. > To be hosts at the workhouse banquet > They've paid for -- with the rates. > > Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly > With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'" > So long as they fill their stomachs, > What matter it whence it comes! > But one of the old men mutters, > And pushes his plate aside: > "Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me! > For this is the day she died!" > > The guardians gazed in horror, > The master's face went white; > "Did a pauper refuse the pudding?" > "Could their ears believe aright?" > Then the ladies clutched their husbands, > Thinking the man would die, > Struck by a bolt, or something, > By the outraged One on high. > > But the pauper sat for a moment, > Then rose 'mid silence grim, > For the others had ceased to chatter > And trembled in every limb. > He looked at the guardians' ladies, > Then, eyeing their lords, he said, > "I eat not the food of villains > Whose hands are foul and red: > > "Whose victims cry for vengeance >>From their dark, unhallowed graves." > "He's drunk!" said the workhouse master, > "Or else he's mad and raves." > "Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper, > "But only a haunted beast, > Who, torn by the hounds and mangled, > Declines the vulture's feast. > > "I care not a curse for the guardians, > And I won't be dragged away; > Just let me have the fit out, > It's only on Christmas Day > That the black past comes to goad me, > And prey on my burning brain; > I'll tell you the rest in a whisper -- > I swear I won't shout again. > > "Keep your hands off me, curse you! > Hear me right out to the end. > You come here to see how paupers > The season of Christmas spend;. > You come here to watch us feeding, > As they watched the captured beast. > Here's why a penniless pauper > Spits on your paltry feast. > > "Do you think I will take your bounty, > And let you smile and think > You're doing a noble action > With the parish's meat and drink? > Where is my wife, you traitors -- > The poor old wife you slew? > Yes, by the God above me, > My Nance was killed by you! > > 'Last winter my wife lay dying, > Starved in a filthy den; > I had never been to the parish -- > I came to the parish then. > I swallowed my pride in coming, > For ere the ruin came, > I held up my head as a trader, > And I bore a spotless name. > > "I came to the parish, craving > Bread for a starving wife, > Bread for the woman who'd loved me > Through fifty years of life; > And what do you think they told me, > Mocking my awful grief, > That 'the House' was open to us, > But they wouldn't give 'out relief'. > > "I slunk to the filthy alley -- > 'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve -- > And the bakers' shops were open, > Tempting a man to thieve; > But I clenched my fists together, > Holding my head awry, > So I came to her empty-handed > And mournfully told her why. > > "Then I told her the house was open; > She had heard of the ways of that, > For her bloodless cheeks went crimson, > and up in her rags she sat, > Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John, > We've never had one apart; > I think I can bear the hunger -- > The other would break my heart.' > > "All through that eve I watched her, > Holding her hand in mine, > Praying the Lord and weeping, > Till my lips were salt as brine; > I asked her once if she hungered, > And as she answered 'No' , > T'he moon shone in at the window, > Set in a wreath of snow. > > "Then the room was bathed in glory, > And I saw in my darling's eyes > The faraway look of wonder > That comes when the spirit flies; > And her lips were parched and parted, > And her reason came and went. > For she raved of our home in Devon, > Where our happiest years were spent. > > "And the accents, long forgotten, > Came back to the tongue once more. > For she talked like the country lassie > I woo'd by the Devon shore; > Then she rose to her feet and trembled, > And fell on the rags and moaned, > And, 'Give me a crust -- I'm famished -- > For the love of God!' she groaned. > > "I rushed from the room like a madman > And flew to the workhouse gate, > Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!' > And the answer came, 'Too late.' > They drove me away with curses; > Then I fought with a dog in the street > And tore from the mongrel's clutches > A crust he was trying to eat. > > "Back through the filthy byways! > Back through the trampled slush! > Up to the crazy garret, > Wrapped in an awful hush; > My heart sank down at the threshold, > And I paused with a sudden thrill. > For there, in the silv'ry moonlight, > My Nance lay, cold and still. > > "Up to the blackened ceiling, > The sunken eyes were cast -- > I knew on those lips, all bloodless, > My name had been the last; > She called for her absent husband -- > O God! had I but known! -- > Had called in vain, and, in anguish, > Had died in that den -- alone. > > "Yes, there, in a land of plenty, > Lay a loving woman dead, > Cruelly starved and murdered > for a loaf of the parish bread; > At yonder gate, last Christmas, > I craved for a human life, > You, who would feed us paupers, > What of my murdered wife!" > > 'There, get ye gone to your dinners, > Don't mind me in the least, > Think of the happy paupers > Eating your Christmas feast; > And when you recount their blessings > In your smug parochial way, > Say what you did for me, too, > Only last Christmas Day." > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' > without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

Some time ago while viewing the LDS film, I saw written in the Parish Church Register at Meare: Memorandum - After prayers of Thanksgiving for the glorious victory obtained by the Allies over the French commanded by Buonaparte in person June 18, 1815 at Waterloo in Flanders on Sunday July 23, 1815 a collection was made for the benefit of the brave soldiers who fell in the Battle, which amounted to £3.11.7 and at Godney Chapel on Sunday July 30, 1815 £1.6.0. (This was totalled) £4.22.7 signed by W. Phelps, Curate. Memorandum - After a sermon which was preached X by the Command of his Majesty George the 4th and by the authority of the Lord Bishop of the Diocese in aid of a Fund to relieve the distressed manufacturing Poor of this Kingdom a collection was made amounting to the following ?vizt. Collection at Meare £5.10.7 3/4 Godney Chapel 1.4.6 ( totalling) £6.15.1 3/4? ) X on Sunday February 11th 1827 (signed) W. Phelps, Vicar of Meare Thought these were interesting. Edna - Ottawa Merry Christmas and a Healthy New Year

Edna If this thread is allowed to continue, I may run out of tears. Your two poems came at just the right time to jolt me out of indifference. Thank you. Paddy in Lancaster ----- Original Message ----- From: "liverpud" <liverpud-49@rogers.com> To: "Bristol-Somerset List" <Bristol_and_Somerset@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2010 3:08 PM Subject: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 > from Edna - Ottawa > --- > Christmas Day in the Workhouse > George R. Sims (1903) > It is Christmas Day in the workhouse, > And the cold, bare walls are bright > With garlands of green and holly, > And the place is a pleasant sight; > For with clean-washed hands and faces, > In a long and hungry line > The paupers sit at the table, > For this is the hour they dine. > > And the guardians and their ladies, > Although the wind is east, > Have come in their furs and wrappers, > To watch their charges feast; > To smile and be condescending, > Put pudding on pauper plates. > To be hosts at the workhouse banquet > They've paid for -- with the rates. > > Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly > With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'" > So long as they fill their stomachs, > What matter it whence it comes! > But one of the old men mutters, > And pushes his plate aside: > "Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me! > For this is the day she died!" > > The guardians gazed in horror, > The master's face went white; > "Did a pauper refuse the pudding?" > "Could their ears believe aright?" > Then the ladies clutched their husbands, > Thinking the man would die, > Struck by a bolt, or something, > By the outraged One on high. > > But the pauper sat for a moment, > Then rose 'mid silence grim, > For the others had ceased to chatter > And trembled in every limb. > He looked at the guardians' ladies, > Then, eyeing their lords, he said, > "I eat not the food of villains > Whose hands are foul and red: > > "Whose victims cry for vengeance >>From their dark, unhallowed graves." > "He's drunk!" said the workhouse master, > "Or else he's mad and raves." > "Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper, > "But only a haunted beast, > Who, torn by the hounds and mangled, > Declines the vulture's feast. > > "I care not a curse for the guardians, > And I won't be dragged away; > Just let me have the fit out, > It's only on Christmas Day > That the black past comes to goad me, > And prey on my burning brain; > I'll tell you the rest in a whisper -- > I swear I won't shout again. > > "Keep your hands off me, curse you! > Hear me right out to the end. > You come here to see how paupers > The season of Christmas spend;. > You come here to watch us feeding, > As they watched the captured beast. > Here's why a penniless pauper > Spits on your paltry feast. > > "Do you think I will take your bounty, > And let you smile and think > You're doing a noble action > With the parish's meat and drink? > Where is my wife, you traitors -- > The poor old wife you slew? > Yes, by the God above me, > My Nance was killed by you! > > 'Last winter my wife lay dying, > Starved in a filthy den; > I had never been to the parish -- > I came to the parish then. > I swallowed my pride in coming, > For ere the ruin came, > I held up my head as a trader, > And I bore a spotless name. > > "I came to the parish, craving > Bread for a starving wife, > Bread for the woman who'd loved me > Through fifty years of life; > And what do you think they told me, > Mocking my awful grief, > That 'the House' was open to us, > But they wouldn't give 'out relief'. > > "I slunk to the filthy alley -- > 'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve -- > And the bakers' shops were open, > Tempting a man to thieve; > But I clenched my fists together, > Holding my head awry, > So I came to her empty-handed > And mournfully told her why. > > "Then I told her the house was open; > She had heard of the ways of that, > For her bloodless cheeks went crimson, > and up in her rags she sat, > Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John, > We've never had one apart; > I think I can bear the hunger -- > The other would break my heart.' > > "All through that eve I watched her, > Holding her hand in mine, > Praying the Lord and weeping, > Till my lips were salt as brine; > I asked her once if she hungered, > And as she answered 'No' , > T'he moon shone in at the window, > Set in a wreath of snow. > > "Then the room was bathed in glory, > And I saw in my darling's eyes > The faraway look of wonder > That comes when the spirit flies; > And her lips were parched and parted, > And her reason came and went. > For she raved of our home in Devon, > Where our happiest years were spent. > > "And the accents, long forgotten, > Came back to the tongue once more. > For she talked like the country lassie > I woo'd by the Devon shore; > Then she rose to her feet and trembled, > And fell on the rags and moaned, > And, 'Give me a crust -- I'm famished -- > For the love of God!' she groaned. > > "I rushed from the room like a madman > And flew to the workhouse gate, > Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!' > And the answer came, 'Too late.' > They drove me away with curses; > Then I fought with a dog in the street > And tore from the mongrel's clutches > A crust he was trying to eat. > > "Back through the filthy byways! > Back through the trampled slush! > Up to the crazy garret, > Wrapped in an awful hush; > My heart sank down at the threshold, > And I paused with a sudden thrill. > For there, in the silv'ry moonlight, > My Nance lay, cold and still. > > "Up to the blackened ceiling, > The sunken eyes were cast -- > I knew on those lips, all bloodless, > My name had been the last; > She called for her absent husband -- > O God! had I but known! -- > Had called in vain, and, in anguish, > Had died in that den -- alone. > > "Yes, there, in a land of plenty, > Lay a loving woman dead, > Cruelly starved and murdered > for a loaf of the parish bread; > At yonder gate, last Christmas, > I craved for a human life, > You, who would feed us paupers, > What of my murdered wife!" > > 'There, get ye gone to your dinners, > Don't mind me in the least, > Think of the happy paupers > Eating your Christmas feast; > And when you recount their blessings > In your smug parochial way, > Say what you did for me, too, > Only last Christmas Day." > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' > without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

Hi   My name is Liz Jones and I have started a Denman DNA Project at Family Tree DNA. I have been researching the history of the Denman surname since 1999.  Through my research I have become very interested in the history of the Denman name and its origins, as well as tracing my own Denman line, which we have traced back to Lopen, North Curry and Taunton in Somerset. A Surname Project traces members of a family that share a common surname. The  project is just getting started, and we expect to have many exciting discoveries. Participating is an opportunity to uncover information not provided in the paper records, which will help with your family history research. We will also discover which family trees are related. As the project progresses, the results for the various family trees will provide information about the evolution of the surname. Are all people with the surname Denman related? Where did the name originate? I can’t promise you the answers to these questions but by contributing to the study we will all learn more about the name.   The Y DNA test tells you about your direct male line, which would be your father, his father, and back in time. You must be male to take this simple cheek swab test, and you should bear the Denman surname, although if you believe there is a Denman or variant in your direct male line, despite having a different surname, you are also welcome to participate. If you are female, you will need to find a direct line male Denman in your family tree to take the test and represent your tree, such as your father, brother, uncle or cousin.   Tests ordered through this project are charged at the special group rate which provides a substantial saving on the standard FTDNA price. By the way, I don’t work for Family Tree DNA, nor do I benefit financially – I’ve just volunteered to start and administer the Denman project in the hope that it will be of help to Denman researchers.   Further information is available here: https://www.familytreedna.com/group-join.aspx?Group=Denman, or if you have any questions please don't hesitate to contact me using the same link.  I do hope that you will choose to join! Kind regards Liz Jones

It seems that many of our Christmas traditions are not that ancient being popularised during Victorian times to the 1930s by people as diverse as Prince Albert and Coca-Cola!! Chris Jefferies Cheltenham Glos -----Original Message----- From: bristol_and_somerset-bounces@rootsweb.com [mailto:bristol_and_somerset-bounces@rootsweb.com] On Behalf Of Joni Saunders Sent: 15 December 2010 13:54 To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com Subject: [B&S] Christmas tradition Every year at this time I can't help but wonder how my ancestors in England celebrated Christmas and what traditions would have been handed down to me if they had not immigrated once to Canada and again to the US. My father married my sicilian mother and we always celebrated Christmas with mother's family, Daddy's was far away and he wasn't all that religious,  so I did not learn too much about how things were done by his ancestors or if anything was passed down in his family. So most every year I try to post a thread asking about family tradidtion, I do feel it is also part of our genealogy. My father's g-grandmother family came from the Shepton Mallet and Gurney Slade areas of Somerset. What foods did they eat, what did they do in their churches, did Father Christmas come to visit, do they do the nativity scenes, do they go caroling?  Did they take care of their poor, were they poor themselves, so many questions... Since my ancestors did not pass on traditions to me, maybe I can borrow some from your ancestors... Jo SaundersJS http://joni.tribalpages.com/ ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message

Jeff, I had been thinking of my Father's version. He was born and bred in Bristol. It was Christmas Day in the workhouse, The white washed walls were green..... I don't remember the rest of it but he recited it every year. Maureen ----- Original Message ----- From: "J GOULD" <gould93@btinternet.com> To: <bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2010 10:27 AM Subject: Re: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 Paddy, My father, a sometime taxi driver, used to recite a different version: Twas Christmas Eve in the Workhouse. Not a taxi was in sight, and all the local charabancs were locked up for the night. He didn't know anymore or perhaps it was unsuitable for children's ears. Maybe somone knows the rest of it. This was in a South Wales setting. Jeff ----- Original Message ---- From: Paddy Buckley <paddy.buckley@lineone.net> To: bristol_and_somerset@rootsweb.com Sent: Wednesday, 15 December, 2010 15:48:45 Subject: Re: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 Edna If this thread is allowed to continue, I may run out of tears. Your two poems came at just the right time to jolt me out of indifference. Thank you. Paddy in Lancaster ----- Original Message ----- From: "liverpud" <liverpud-49@rogers.com> To: "Bristol-Somerset List" <Bristol_and_Somerset@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2010 3:08 PM Subject: [B&S] Workhouse Poem 1903 > from Edna - Ottawa > --- > Christmas Day in the Workhouse > George R. Sims (1903) > It is Christmas Day in the workhouse, > And the cold, bare walls are bright > With garlands of green and holly, > And the place is a pleasant sight; > For with clean-washed hands and faces, > In a long and hungry line > The paupers sit at the table, > For this is the hour they dine. > > And the guardians and their ladies, > Although the wind is east, > Have come in their furs and wrappers, > To watch their charges feast; > To smile and be condescending, > Put pudding on pauper plates. > To be hosts at the workhouse banquet > They've paid for -- with the rates. > > Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly > With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'" > So long as they fill their stomachs, > What matter it whence it comes! > But one of the old men mutters, > And pushes his plate aside: > "Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me! > For this is the day she died!" > > The guardians gazed in horror, > The master's face went white; > "Did a pauper refuse the pudding?" > "Could their ears believe aright?" > Then the ladies clutched their husbands, > Thinking the man would die, > Struck by a bolt, or something, > By the outraged One on high. > > But the pauper sat for a moment, > Then rose 'mid silence grim, > For the others had ceased to chatter > And trembled in every limb. > He looked at the guardians' ladies, > Then, eyeing their lords, he said, > "I eat not the food of villains > Whose hands are foul and red: > > "Whose victims cry for vengeance >>From their dark, unhallowed graves." > "He's drunk!" said the workhouse master, > "Or else he's mad and raves." > "Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper, > "But only a haunted beast, > Who, torn by the hounds and mangled, > Declines the vulture's feast. > > "I care not a curse for the guardians, > And I won't be dragged away; > Just let me have the fit out, > It's only on Christmas Day > That the black past comes to goad me, > And prey on my burning brain; > I'll tell you the rest in a whisper -- > I swear I won't shout again. > > "Keep your hands off me, curse you! > Hear me right out to the end. > You come here to see how paupers > The season of Christmas spend;. > You come here to watch us feeding, > As they watched the captured beast. > Here's why a penniless pauper > Spits on your paltry feast. > > "Do you think I will take your bounty, > And let you smile and think > You're doing a noble action > With the parish's meat and drink? > Where is my wife, you traitors -- > The poor old wife you slew? > Yes, by the God above me, > My Nance was killed by you! > > 'Last winter my wife lay dying, > Starved in a filthy den; > I had never been to the parish -- > I came to the parish then. > I swallowed my pride in coming, > For ere the ruin came, > I held up my head as a trader, > And I bore a spotless name. > > "I came to the parish, craving > Bread for a starving wife, > Bread for the woman who'd loved me > Through fifty years of life; > And what do you think they told me, > Mocking my awful grief, > That 'the House' was open to us, > But they wouldn't give 'out relief'. > > "I slunk to the filthy alley -- > 'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve -- > And the bakers' shops were open, > Tempting a man to thieve; > But I clenched my fists together, > Holding my head awry, > So I came to her empty-handed > And mournfully told her why. > > "Then I told her the house was open; > She had heard of the ways of that, > For her bloodless cheeks went crimson, > and up in her rags she sat, > Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John, > We've never had one apart; > I think I can bear the hunger -- > The other would break my heart.' > > "All through that eve I watched her, > Holding her hand in mine, > Praying the Lord and weeping, > Till my lips were salt as brine; > I asked her once if she hungered, > And as she answered 'No' , > T'he moon shone in at the window, > Set in a wreath of snow. > > "Then the room was bathed in glory, > And I saw in my darling's eyes > The faraway look of wonder > That comes when the spirit flies; > And her lips were parched and parted, > And her reason came and went. > For she raved of our home in Devon, > Where our happiest years were spent. > > "And the accents, long forgotten, > Came back to the tongue once more. > For she talked like the country lassie > I woo'd by the Devon shore; > Then she rose to her feet and trembled, > And fell on the rags and moaned, > And, 'Give me a crust -- I'm famished -- > For the love of God!' she groaned. > > "I rushed from the room like a madman > And flew to the workhouse gate, > Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!' > And the answer came, 'Too late.' > They drove me away with curses; > Then I fought with a dog in the street > And tore from the mongrel's clutches > A crust he was trying to eat. > > "Back through the filthy byways! > Back through the trampled slush! > Up to the crazy garret, > Wrapped in an awful hush; > My heart sank down at the threshold, > And I paused with a sudden thrill. > For there, in the silv'ry moonlight, > My Nance lay, cold and still. > > "Up to the blackened ceiling, > The sunken eyes were cast -- > I knew on those lips, all bloodless, > My name had been the last; > She called for her absent husband -- > O God! had I but known! -- > Had called in vain, and, in anguish, > Had died in that den -- alone. > > "Yes, there, in a land of plenty, > Lay a loving woman dead, > Cruelly starved and murdered > for a loaf of the parish bread; > At yonder gate, last Christmas, > I craved for a human life, > You, who would feed us paupers, > What of my murdered wife!" > > 'There, get ye gone to your dinners, > Don't mind me in the least, > Think of the happy paupers > Eating your Christmas feast; > And when you recount their blessings > In your smug parochial way, > Say what you did for me, too, > Only last Christmas Day." > > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' > without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message ------------------------------- To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to BRISTOL_AND_SOMERSET-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message ----- No virus found in this message. Checked by AVG - www.avg.com Version: 10.0.1170 / Virus Database: 426/3317 - Release Date: 12/15/10

from Edna - Ottawa --- Christmas Day in the Workhouse George R. Sims (1903) It is Christmas Day in the workhouse, And the cold, bare walls are bright With garlands of green and holly, And the place is a pleasant sight; For with clean-washed hands and faces, In a long and hungry line The paupers sit at the table, For this is the hour they dine. And the guardians and their ladies, Although the wind is east, Have come in their furs and wrappers, To watch their charges feast; To smile and be condescending, Put pudding on pauper plates. To be hosts at the workhouse banquet They've paid for -- with the rates. Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'" So long as they fill their stomachs, What matter it whence it comes! But one of the old men mutters, And pushes his plate aside: "Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me! For this is the day she died!" The guardians gazed in horror, The master's face went white; "Did a pauper refuse the pudding?" "Could their ears believe aright?" Then the ladies clutched their husbands, Thinking the man would die, Struck by a bolt, or something, By the outraged One on high. But the pauper sat for a moment, Then rose 'mid silence grim, For the others had ceased to chatter And trembled in every limb. He looked at the guardians' ladies, Then, eyeing their lords, he said, "I eat not the food of villains Whose hands are foul and red: "Whose victims cry for vengeance >From their dark, unhallowed graves." "He's drunk!" said the workhouse master, "Or else he's mad and raves." "Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper, "But only a haunted beast, Who, torn by the hounds and mangled, Declines the vulture's feast. "I care not a curse for the guardians, And I won't be dragged away; Just let me have the fit out, It's only on Christmas Day That the black past comes to goad me, And prey on my burning brain; I'll tell you the rest in a whisper -- I swear I won't shout again. "Keep your hands off me, curse you! Hear me right out to the end. You come here to see how paupers The season of Christmas spend;. You come here to watch us feeding, As they watched the captured beast. Here's why a penniless pauper Spits on your paltry feast. "Do you think I will take your bounty, And let you smile and think You're doing a noble action With the parish's meat and drink? Where is my wife, you traitors -- The poor old wife you slew? Yes, by the God above me, My Nance was killed by you! 'Last winter my wife lay dying, Starved in a filthy den; I had never been to the parish -- I came to the parish then. I swallowed my pride in coming, For ere the ruin came, I held up my head as a trader, And I bore a spotless name. "I came to the parish, craving Bread for a starving wife, Bread for the woman who'd loved me Through fifty years of life; And what do you think they told me, Mocking my awful grief, That 'the House' was open to us, But they wouldn't give 'out relief'. "I slunk to the filthy alley -- 'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve -- And the bakers' shops were open, Tempting a man to thieve; But I clenched my fists together, Holding my head awry, So I came to her empty-handed And mournfully told her why. "Then I told her the house was open; She had heard of the ways of that, For her bloodless cheeks went crimson, and up in her rags she sat, Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John, We've never had one apart; I think I can bear the hunger -- The other would break my heart.' "All through that eve I watched her, Holding her hand in mine, Praying the Lord and weeping, Till my lips were salt as brine; I asked her once if she hungered, And as she answered 'No' , T'he moon shone in at the window, Set in a wreath of snow. "Then the room was bathed in glory, And I saw in my darling's eyes The faraway look of wonder That comes when the spirit flies; And her lips were parched and parted, And her reason came and went. For she raved of our home in Devon, Where our happiest years were spent. "And the accents, long forgotten, Came back to the tongue once more. For she talked like the country lassie I woo'd by the Devon shore; Then she rose to her feet and trembled, And fell on the rags and moaned, And, 'Give me a crust -- I'm famished -- For the love of God!' she groaned. "I rushed from the room like a madman And flew to the workhouse gate, Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!' And the answer came, 'Too late.' They drove me away with curses; Then I fought with a dog in the street And tore from the mongrel's clutches A crust he was trying to eat. "Back through the filthy byways! Back through the trampled slush! Up to the crazy garret, Wrapped in an awful hush; My heart sank down at the threshold, And I paused with a sudden thrill. For there, in the silv'ry moonlight, My Nance lay, cold and still. "Up to the blackened ceiling, The sunken eyes were cast -- I knew on those lips, all bloodless, My name had been the last; She called for her absent husband -- O God! had I but known! -- Had called in vain, and, in anguish, Had died in that den -- alone. "Yes, there, in a land of plenty, Lay a loving woman dead, Cruelly starved and murdered for a loaf of the parish bread; At yonder gate, last Christmas, I craved for a human life, You, who would feed us paupers, What of my murdered wife!" 'There, get ye gone to your dinners, Don't mind me in the least, Think of the happy paupers Eating your Christmas feast; And when you recount their blessings In your smug parochial way, Say what you did for me, too, Only last Christmas Day."