Shed some light?

I have a huge backlog of things to write about including the dead (an old burial road) and circuses (the greatest show-woman) because when I’m looking for one thing, I inevitably seem to find another. Case in point: Last week I went to see if there was anything left of a burial mound known as Offlow and ended up at Shenstone pondering 19th century funerary art.

Offlow

Offlow: the short answer is there is nothing left.

Shenstone gravestone.jpg

Shenstone: So much going on with this 16 year old woman’s grave. Look at the tiny tools!

To summarise my predicament using a popular meme like the cool kids do:

distracetd meme

I have no idea why my kids are ashamed of me and have me blocked on Twitter.

To show solidarity with my GCSE-sitting son, I have decided to show my working out. Or not working it out, as is probably more accurate as I want to share the things that have me stumped, the dead ends and the ‘not quite sure about this but maybe someone else will be able to help’ type stuff. Whether it’ll lead to quantity over quality or prove that a picture is worth a thousand words remains to be seen.

With that in mind, I have two sheds for your consideration and comments. Firstly, one spotted in a field on a walk around the lanes of Fradley, in the village proper rather than the site of RAF Lichfield. My best guess is that’s where it originated though, with the windows suggestive of an accommodation block. I imagine it was relocated here after the airfield closed in 1958 and re-purposed, although what for I’m not sure.

Fradley shed 2Fradley shed

Tonight’s second shed is this ramshackle affair spotted alongside the disused Walsall to Lichfield railway line in-between Sandfields Pumping Station and Fosseway. My best guess for this one is that it’s a platelayers’ hut where chaps working on the track would store tools and take shelter. As with the rest of the line, it’s slowly being reclaimed by nature which is sadly ironic given that the platelayers were responsible for keeping their stretch in good working order and free of vegetation.

Railway shed 2Railway shed

I’m hoping this new approach will be as effective at reducing the amount of draft blog posts I have as GDPR is at reducing the amount of emails I get. In the meantime however, shedloads of comments on this, or any other subject, are always welcome!

 

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Gaol Sentences

In the churchyard at St Chad’s in Lichfield there’s a gravestone belonging to John Prickett who died in March 1832, at the age of 63. According to the inscription, he was ‘thirty Years keeper of the Goal in this City’.

John Prickett's grave at St Chad's, Lichfield

John Prickett’s grave at St Chad’s, Lichfield

Clearly, Mr Prickett’s epitaph is not referring to a Peter Shilton-esque stint in a number one jersey for Lichfield City FC, so has the stonemason made a spelling mistake? Not exactly….

In Dr Johnson’s dictionary (I used the online version), the entry for ‘gaol’ is as follows: GAOL (gaol Welsh; geole French) A prison; a place of confinement. It is always pronounced and too often written jail and sometimes goal.  John Ash includes a separate entry for ‘goal’ in his ‘New and Complete Dictionary of the English Language’ in 1775 defining it as ‘gaol or jail’, with a note that this is the incorrect spelling (1).

Incorrect it may have been, but this spelling of the word as ‘goal’ crops up frequently in old newspapers (including the Newcastle Courant newspaper on 22nd February 1716 who reported that ‘A Brazier in Holburn is committed to Chelmsford Goal for robbing on the highway in the County of Essex’ and closer to home in April 1832, the Staffordshire Advertiser listed the people committed to Stafford Goal) and is also in evidence above the door of the Shire Hall in Nottingham, underneath a later amendment to the more usual spelling.

County Gaol, Shire Hall, Nottingham. (Alan Murray-Rust) / CC BY-SA 2.0

By 1801, around the time Mr Prickett was handed the keys, Lichfield Gaol had fourteen cells but during the nineteenth century doesn’t appear to have ever reached anything like full capacity. In a report submitted to the government regarding the proposed Gaols Act of 1823, John Prickett stated, ‘The small number of Prisoners at this time in this Gaol and the smallness of the Prison render it difficult to introduce the Regulations required by the new Act and many of them cannot be acted upon in a Prison on so small a scale’. A report to the House of Commons in 1835 said ‘It frequently happens that there are no prisoners at all but three or four may be taken as the daily average’ and between January 1st and December 31st 1839, only 34 people were admitted (including two debtors).

Perhaps one of the reasons for the low numbers of inmates is that they kept escaping. Some, like Smith and Cotterell in March 1837, used the classic sheets tied together method, and climbed over the wall into the yard of the George IV pub next door. Others were less conventional – in April 1890, Harry Oliver climbed up into a ventilator space above his cell and crawled beneath ‘the floor of the volunteer armoury above’, before dropping ten feet into the yard of the George IV.  Perhaps the greatest escape happened on Mr Prickett’s watch (who, in this instance, was obviously not watching) in July 1820 when it was reported that ‘the whole of the prisoners in the county gaol of Lichfield, six in number, made their escape’.

No escaping for him...

No escaping for him…

You can find out more about the place that they were escaping from by reading the reports written by the Inspector of Prisons after visiting in 1839 and 1847 and the Old Guildhall Cells are open on Saturdays until September for you to visit yourself (more info here). If you happen to spot any of the former residents’ initials and names, ‘cut deep into the woodwork’, as noted by the Inspector, please let me know!   

prison door

Notes

(1) On the subject of mistakes, it’s worth mentioning the howler that John Ash made when compiling his dictionary. Johnson had included the word ‘curmudgeon’ in his dictionary, and suggested that it was derived from a pronunciation of ‘coeur mechant’, information that he noted he had received ‘Fr. an unknown correspondent’. Ash, clearly taking his definition straight from Johnson’s, took the abbreviation Fr. to mean ‘French’ rather than ‘From’, and so ended up with his entry for curmudgeon suggesting that it derived from the French for ‘unknown correspondent’. Ash’s dictionary is also famous for being the first to include definitions for the F-word and C-word in English, words that may well have been uttered when Ash realised his error…

Sources:

‘Lichfield: Town government’, A History of the County of Stafford: Volume 14: Lichfield(1990), pp. 73-87

Noah Webster and the American Dictionary by David Micklethwait

http://johnsonsdictionaryonline.com/

Holy Stones

Although St Peter’s Church at Elford was largely rebuilt in the nineteenth century, it is famous for its medieval monuments.  The most well known is the ‘Stanley Boy’, said to depict young John Stanley, last of the male line, holding a tennis ball in his left hand, and pointing to the place where it fatally hit him with his right. On face value, it’s a great story, but the fact that it has been cast into doubt by some makes it even more interesting in my opinion. Nikolaus Pevsner and an article called ‘The so-called Stanley boy monument at Elford’ by Sophie Oosterwijk for the Church Monument Society date the monument as thirteenth century whereas, according to the story, John Stanley died in around 1460. It has been suggested that at some point the effigy may have been modified to add weight to the local legend. It’s a nice reminder that when it comes to history, you can’t even trust what’s carved into stone. There’s a drawing of the effigy from the eighteenth century here on Staffordshire Past Track.

Unfortunately, on my recent visit, I didn’t manage to see the Stanley Boy (or whoever it may be!) close up. The wooden gates separating the Stanley Chapel from the rest of the church seemed to be locked and I didn’t try to hard to open them.  A lady doing her stint on the flower rota had told me that the church had suffered from a recent lead theft and I didn’t want to add to its troubles by breaking anything. Anyway, there were plenty of consolations including the beautiful Minton tiles, stained glass and another curious monument outside.

Just one of the lead pipes stolen for scrap metal, leaving the church vulnerable to water damage.

I’ve walked around my fair share of churchyards and although I’ve seen plenty of worn and weathered stones,  I can’t remember having ever seen a hole in one like this before and would be grateful for any explanations (or failing that, guesses!) for what’s happened here.