Newcastle & Newspapers

I have this loose idea floating around in my head that some day I'd like to write a book about Newcastle's history from the point of view of both my own and my past family's perspective. You know, a sort of exploration of the corners of the town/city which have a 'connection' with my ancestors and I. I have been looking into my family tree, on and off, for more than 30 years, but have never properly focused in on my links with the city in which I was born in 1964. Genealogical research on one's family is never ever really 'complete', but sooner or later I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and get my Newcastle connections well and truly sorted.

The roots of my mam's direct line (the Lothians/Lowthians) go back to Cumberland. I think there is a distant cousinship to Isaac Lowthian Bell, the great Tyneside industrialist, and his granddaughter, the explorer Gertrude Bell - whose line also hails from Cumberland. Anyway, my mam's family arrived in Newcastle c.1850 and, well, here we still are today. My dad's line (the Southwicks) arrived on Tyneside c.1870 from the Black Country - but married into other, maternal lines which have a presence in Newcastle going back to at least the 1820s. Across the two sides of the family I have ancestral interests in central Newcastle, the Blandford Street area, the old streets around 'Eldon Garden' off Percy Street, Benwell, Denton Burn and some others I can't recall right now. And if I get myself sorted, there'll be plenty of other places to investigate, too!

Now I'm not going to bore you with the fine detail, but there are tons of problems with my paternal line in particular. My grandfather, Walter Southwick, and his father (also Walter), have proved to be pretty elusive. They just seem to have had a knack for avoiding officialdom and kept wandering around. Walter Jr is especially troublesome, research-wise. His birth in 1906 (Hanover Square, Newcastle) was registered under his mother's surname, which took some finding; he is not immediately traceable on the 1911 and 1921 censuses; then he gets married in London and fathers my dad in 1936; and, at 48yrs of age, he dies in Newcastle in 1954. I didn't even have a photo of him until quite recently.

In the past few months, though, things have began to appear out of the mist. I found a newspaper report that indicates that a "W.Southwick" enrolled in the army in the 1920s, was posted to the West Indies, then promptly deserted. I'm pretty confident this IS my Walter, but can't be 100% sure yet. I will have to apply for the chap's army records, I guess.

Then, just yesterday, I saw that FindMyPast, the genealogy research company, were offering free access to all their newspaper records until 10am on Monday 6th June 2022. So I thought I'd have a look to see if my grandfather, Walter Southwick (Jr), popped up anywhere.

There was no reference to the fall-out following his supposed army desertion, but, amazingly, I fell upon three other mentions of his law-breaking. In March 1931, he was caught pinching a large boxful of items from the Palladium cinema in Newcastle's Groat Market (it used to stand where Thomson House was later built). He was apprehended by a waiting PC whilst lowering the goods, then himself, from a rear window. The stolen goods included clothes, towels, cutlery - and basically anything he could get his hands on during the burglary.

He was hauled before 'The Bench', found guilty, but in view of the man's run of bad luck they decided to take a sympathetic view and remanded him in custody for arrangements to be made for some help to be obtained for him through the Church Army.

OK, then, so that's another part of Newcastle I've now got an interest in: The Palladium in the Groat Market!

In November of the same year (1931), he popped up as a "jobbing gardener" at Pontefract Police Court, accused of pinching brushes and other cleaning materials to the value of approximately £3 from Upton Council School. He was also found to have a "football bladder" in his pocket. He got six months' hard labour. And furthermore, it was added that he had been convicted several times previously at Newcastle. I guess I've got some more Toon research to do, then!

No wonder the man is hard to find. In the Pontefract case he supposedly was of "no fixed abode"; but I know that he spent some time in London in the 1930s (where my dad was born), including, probably, the war years. But then, in October 1949, he mysteriously appears as a "43-year-old labourer of Duke Street, Newcastle" in Penrith Court, after stealing a bicycle from a farm in Plumpton, Cumberland. It seems that he nicked the bike, rode to Greenhead and was arrested there. What was he up to, I wonder?

There were a couple of other suspect incidents, too, involving Walter Sr (his dad), and even a possible street fight in which his granddad, Joseph, was embroiled in Darlington in 1868. And all of this extra detail from plain old newspaper reports - brilliant!

So do have a look for your ancestors in the freely-available FindMyPast newspaper database before the offer expires on the morning of 6th June. You never known what you might find.

For Newcastle Stuff ... Check out Young Jordan

A short post this time, but a real treat for fans and followers of the history of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The question is: have you checked out the YouTube Channel of that rarest of individuals, i.e. a (relative) youngster who is interested in our local history? His name is Jordan Reeve, and he is into what he describes as 'The Built Environment'. There is much to ponder among his many short films, and a good deal of it is about Newcastle.

I've only touched upon his efforts so far, but I think it's worth a look for all you history enthusiasts out there. His piece on the Town Moor was especially thought-provoking - I mean, why can't we just get on with it and make this expanse of nothingness more useful (but without necessarily building on it to any great extent)?

Anyway, give it a try. His YouTube homepage can be found here.

Well done, Jordan - brilliant stuff.

French Invasion of Northumberland, 1691

A few days ago I related the tale of my wee trip to Low Chibburn Preceptory near Druridge Bay, together with a potted history of the curious little site. Whilst conducting my research for the article I came across reference to a supposed French invasion of 1691 which, among other things, seems to have brought an end to the active history of the former Knights Hospitaller farmstead. This threw me a bit, so I set about trying to find out more about the mysterious incident.

The short-lived incursion by England’s perennial enemy received scant mention in the history books. Macaulay’s famous History of England of 1848 touches lightly on the event, yet gets the date wrong. Fortunately, that great historian of the North-East, William Weaver Tomlinson, put matters straight in his 1899 paper Jean Bart’s Descent on the Coast of Northumberland in 1691.

The story begins with the adventures of two remarkable French naval commanders, Jean Bart, and his side-kick, Claude de Forbin. During the Nine Years War (where France faced off against most of the rest of Europe during 1688-97), this pair managed to get themselves captured by the English in 1689, then effected a dramatic escape from jail, before rowing back across the Channel to rejoin hostilities. Then, when the English and Dutch were trying to blockade Dunkirk to prevent French ships entering the fray a little later in the war, the two commanders skilfully slipped through the net, and began a short campaign of harassment of the English coast and of general nuisance-making in the North Sea.

Bart eventually decided to have a pop at Newcastle and its fleet of colliers (he often chose modest targets for his ‘kills’, including fishing boats). It just so happened, though, that there were none to be found, and he instead “found himself, on Tuesday 21st July [1691], off the Northumberland coast, with a stately castle and some small villages in sight.”

The stretch of coast in question was Druridge Bay, with the castle being that of Widdrington. Forbin advised his boss, mistakenly, that they were most likely off the coast of Scotland. But, whatever: they decided to land some men, cause some havoc, and make a headline or two. With the help of an English renegade named Chetworth (or Thetford, sources vary), the French fleet of eight ships was guided ashore - and it is likely that there were also present a number of privateers - with Forbin in charge of the operation.

The party of a few dozen men moved carefully across Druridge Links, falling first upon the village of Widdrington, which they duly pillaged and set ablaze. Then nearby Widdrington Castle was broken into and burgled, and the outbuildings set alight. Nearby cottages were similarly destroyed; after which the old preceptory at Low Chibburn (by then used as a farmhouse) was burnt to the ground, and the tiny hamlet of Druridge was also wasted. By this time a small body of poorly equipped cavalry and infantry had arrived to meet the threat, forcing the French to retire to their ships with their plunder. One invader was caught and killed, weighed down by his personal cache of booty.

The French thus escaped with their takings, boasting that they had caused far more damage and destruction than they actually had - and on their way back to Dunkirk they bravely attacked several more fishing boats. News of the mini invasion did, however, make the headlines, and collections were made for the benefit of the victims of the attack. Attempts were repeatedly made in the ensuing years to bring the miscreants to book, but only two individuals were ever punished - one being the Chetworth/Thetford chap who had piloted the French ships into the bay. Some sources say he was executed at Newcastle, others that he escaped capital punishment altogether.

And that explains the rather strange end-of-days at Low Chibburn Preceptory ….

Note: Tomlinson’s paper was published in Archaeological Aeliana, Series 2, vol.XXII (1900), pp.12-19, which is available in full online here.

Low Chibburn Preceptory

First of all, a preceptory is/was the special name given to a monastery of the Knights Templar or the Knights Hospitaller*. And, secondly, Low Chibburn is a few yards inland from the huge expanse of Druridge Bay in Northumberland. So what we have here is a pretty rare thing: a remnant of a building known to have Templar/Hospitaller connections situated right here in the North-East of England.

And it's not easy to get to, either. At least, not if you're expecting to roll up to the ruins in your car. No! For you have two rather awkward ways of getting in: apparently your can settle yourself into one of the quite-difficult-to-reach Druridge Bay car parks and walk inland (the site is behind Druridge Pools); or, as in my case, you can pull into a farm track access road from the village of Widdrington, then leave your vehicle when the road gets too rough and walk the last few hundred yards in an easterly direction.

Anyway, once you get there, this is what you'll find:

To get this close you have to be a bit spritely. As well as the access road (semi-blocked with fallen trees when I visited), there are a couple of farmer's fields to negotiate, plus a series of stiles, then an overgrown plot with bits of decaying ruin strewn around and about. Even the information boards are past their best.

Never mind, though, 'cos this is, after all, a pretty special place due to its rarity value. It's not even listed on most Templar/Hospitaller online lists. Its lifespan covered a mere couple of centuries or so, c.1313-1540, until it was claimed by the Crown, then passed to the Widdrington family in 1553. Of the Templar/Hospitaller stuff, only bits of the chapel remain; with most of the ruins actually being the house added on by the Widdringtons in the sixteenth century.

Originally, the site was given to the Knights in order that they could raise revenue for their various noble activities (crusades, etc.), and operated as a small farm, with a chapel and accommodation block - possibly offering facilities to those on pilgrimage to Holy Island. There would have been a moat in the site's heyday, but this has disappeared due to land movement caused by coal mining activity.

Interestingly, the chapel served as a pillbox during World War II:

Finally, Low Chibburn's active history was cut short in dramatic and unusual fashion when, in 1691, a small party of Frenchmen came ashore and plundered Widdrington, robbed it's castle and had a go at the old preceptory. Now there's an interesting little story. Think I'll look into it and tell you about it next time....

* I think the Hospitaller link far more likely, as the Templars were disbanded in 1312.

St.Nicholas' Tower Tour

Newcastle's St.Nicholas' Cathedral is currently offering tours of its famous lantern tower. So I thought I'd give it a whirl last week. It only cost a tenner for an hour's wander of one of the city's greatest landmarks - well worth it, even if just to say that you've done it.

Our cathedral may not be as large and imposing as most, but its recently restored form presents an impressive tourist attraction (so do pop in for a wander when you've a moment). The tower, though - which is only accessible via online booking - is a rather special feature in its own right. The fifteenth century creation is arguably the best 'crown' of any ecclesiastical building in the UK, stretching to a delicately graceful 200ft, with its flurry of flying buttresses and intricate stonework.

Suitably kitted out with hard hats, our two guides took half a dozen of us through the little access point tucked just inside the west door, and onwards and upwards via the spiral staircase toward our destination. The climb is a two-stage affair: the first ending at the Ringing Room. Here was to be found, obviously, the bell-ringing ropes (or whatever the technical term is for them), various commemorative peel-ringing boards and the workings of the tower clock. One is also offered the chance to peer out over the roof of the main body of the cathedral from this vantage point, as well as listen to a few facts about the old place from the guides.

The board celebrating the 'Peace Peel' following WWI/Versailles. Apparently, Newcastle Cathedral was the only ecclesiastical venue in the country able to raise a bell-ringing team at the moment peace broke out in 1918.

Then its up to the roof level, via the ever-narrowing spiral staircase. It's a pretty tight affair is this stretch - rather claustrophobic, and with a minor obstruction along the way in the form of a strengthening iron bar/brace. The last of the 162 steps is a big one, before you emerge into the daylight, directly underneath the giant lantern itself.

You need that hard hat for your trip, especially so on the roof due to the many head-height obstructions hereabouts. What you don't realise from ground level is the amount of 'bracing' the tower/lantern has in place. The delicate structure (and indeed the tower as a whole) has been known to move an inch or two over the years and, in order to prevent potential collapse, various support devices have been put in place to prop it up. Originally, it seems, there were the (still existing) wooden beams, which were later strengthened with iron, then coated with lead flashing - and some very heavy-duty Victorian-age iron girders and bracing were added later. Everything is tightly clasped together - and there is plenty to bang your head on!

You are given plenty of time to carefully crawl your way round the roof space and peer out over the city and its environs. But do hang onto your hat when looking over the parapets, and likewise your phone/camera when taking a few snaps!

Afterwards, you will be taken back down into the Ringing Room for another little story or two (including the famous one about the Scottish prisoners being held in the room during the Civil Wars to prevent it being destroyed by Scottish cannon fire). Then down the stairs to ground level, and out. Apparently, there is usually a short film to watch, but this was not available for whatever reason when I visited.

All-to-often we Novocastrians are denied access to historic corners of our city (back alleys, private buildings, and the like), so it was nice to be able to have a poke around one of the most interesting few square metres of Newcastle such as this.