This photo may serve better as an idea than an actuality. It’s the layers that attract me – not only of light and shadow, surface reflections and leafy river bed, but also of present and past: the stones that,for two and more centuries, my maternal ancestors used to cross the River Derwent.
Or at least so goes the family tale, the one my great grandmother, Mary Ann Fox, passed on to my grandmother, Lilian Hickling, who passed it on to her daughter, my aunt, Miriam Wilkinson, who passed it on to me. The photo, then, could be taken as a physical rendition of Chinese Whispers. Well, aren’t all family histories like this, word of mouth down the generations? There are bound to be omissions, distortions, total fabrications even.
But there are some certainties too.
Great grandmother Mary Ann was a Derbyshire lass, born and raised at Callow Farm, the child of tenant farmer George Brayley Fox and lead miner’s daugher Mary Ann Bennett. The land all around belonged, as it does still, to the Dukes of Devonshire. The stone-built farmhouse was (is) tucked high into the hillside below Highlow Hall and Offerton Moor. From Callow’s garden wall, the fields fall steeply down to the River Derwent. The stepping stones crossing was the quickest route from the farm into the Peak District village of Hathersage across the river, and the path there, across Callow’s meadows, still survives on OS maps. And so we have a scene, relayed to me by aunt via grandmother, of a young wife and mother living in the close and gloomy streets of industrial Farnworth. There she conjures her girlhood life, telling her four town-born children how, if she needed to buy the slightest thing she would have to traipse across many a field before reaching the stepping stones to Hathersage.
Other scraps have reached me. There is one that now lurks in my memory like a small haunting. For it seems my grandmother often told my aunt that Mary Ann was ‘a sad woman’. Nor is this surprising. She was widowed twice: at 30 and at 41. After the first loss, and with four young children to raise, she took up inn keeping beside the Manchester Ship Canal at Hollinfare. Grandmother said that as Mary Ann moved about the inn, she recalls the waft of her black silk dress always carried the scent of lily of the valley; a touching image until you learn the scent was dabbed on to cover the smell of gin.
But before the sorrow, I have a sense that, as a young woman, Mary Ann was headstrong and passionate. Though it may well be that those very characteristics were precisely the source of some poor decision-making. In 1886, aged twenty two she went against family wishes and married Thomas Shorrocks, a spindle and flyer manufacturer, who worked with two brothers and a widowed mother in the family firm in Farnworth, Bolton, part of Greater Manchester. His first wife, Mary Ann Wright, had died around the time their first child was born, leaving Thomas with a young son. How Mary Ann Fox in Derbyshire met Thomas Shorrocks of Farnworth, Lancashire is still a mystery. Grandmother’s only surviving comment on the matter was that her mother fell for the first man she saw wearing a stove-pipe hat, that she was a country girl swept off her feet by a townie. Grandmother also said she scarcely knew her father. He had no time for children and kept away from home until they were asleep, staying on at the works or at his club. And then too, he died very young. Around 1891-2 the family firm of Robert Shorrocks & Co was in grave financial difficulties. The machinations to keep the business afloat involved a high profile court case, but then all was lost anyway. By 1893 Thomas Shorrocks was dead. He was only 39.
But how did Mary Ann adapt to life in industrial Farnworth?
Her first married home, 8 Kildare Street, Farnworth, was not far from the Shorrocks works on Bridgewater Street. It was a modest terraced villa with a small front garden and a back yard – a far cry from the sweeping high-moors vistas around Callow. And if she did not see much of Thomas during daylight hours, was she abandoned to her own devices? We know from the 1891 census that she did at least have the company of Lucy Stubbs, a young Derbyshire girl from Grindleford Bridge employed as a domestic servant. There were also other Shorrocks households along Kildare Street, including mother-in-law at number 23. Mary Ann also formed a close friendship with her husband’s younger sister Mary, though it was in every way subversive. Mary was being wooed by one John Hamer (later to become an wealthy mill owner), but Thomas and the Shorrocks family in general disapproved of him. It was Mary Ann who allowed the couple to meet in secret at Kildare Street, a kindness that was long remembered; for in the end John Hamer did marry Mary Shorrocks, and after Mary Ann died it seems they did much to support her children.
It also seems Mary Ann did not fall over herself to fit in with Farnworth mores either. There’s a clue in another of Grandmother’s snippets. She told my aunt that the traditionally dark clad women of Bolton and Farnworth looked askance when Mary Ann went abroad in her bright print country frocks. Did she ever back down, I wonder. Or did she flaunt? In my mind’s eye I see the flash of free-spirited obstinacy that brought her to that place. Much like the light flickering through the riverbank trees and onto the Derwent stepping stones.
The collapse of Shorrocks’ fortunes coincided in 1892 with Mary Ann’s father’s decision to leave Callow Farm where his family had been tenant farmers for four generations. Derbyshire farmers were having a hard time in the early 1890s: prices for crops were low, and rents were high, and landowners unwilling to compromise on the rents. It seems likely that some of the proceeds of the farm sale of stock, crops, horses and household belongings were used to secure the licence for the inn in Hollinfare, Cheshire, where Mary Ann began a new life as innkeeper.
My aunt said the Fox family had decided that taking the inn was the best means of securing a home and living for her with three young children and an adolescent stepson. It stood on the south bank of the great Manchester Ship Canal, which linked the vast industrial heartland of northwest England with the port of Liverpool. It had only recently opened in 1895 when she took over the inn. In every way the Foxes must have thought it a shrewd decision, anticipating plenty of passing trade.
Mostly what it brought, and pretty rapidly too in January 1895, was another marriage to another widower – one Charles Rowles, a ship’s pilot on the canal and a former sea captain. My grandmother disliked him, although she adored her young stepbrother, Giles, born in 1896. She said it was only once her mother had married him, that Charles Rowles produced two teenage daughters from his first marriage. These young women apparently moved into the inn and tried to rule the roost which, I know for sure, would not have gone down well with my grandmother. If any roosts were to be ruled, she would be doing it.
When I tried to discover more about these interloping young women, I found a hint of scandal. It very much looks as if Mary Ann’s younger brother, George Fox, then aged 26, eloped with one of his sister’s new stepdaughters. Hannah Louisa Rowles was probably only 15 when she married George, although she claimed to be 18 on the marriage licence. At the time, November 1895, there were both living on York Street, Manchester. The following August their daughter Dorothy was baptised although she does not survive. In 1901 the census indicates that George was running ‘on his own account’ a large public house on Oldham Street, Manchester. By 1908 he had died, and in the 1911 census his young widow is listed as a servant, working in another Manchester pub. What happened to her remains to be discovered.
As for Mary Ann, in 1905 after ten years of marriage, Charles Rowles died. She survived him only by another four years, dying in the Manchester household of her stepson, Robert Shorrocks. She was 46. Her youngest child Giles was about 12 years old at the time. The 1911 has him living with a widowed Rowles aunt in Cardiff and employed as an apprentice shipping agent. He was to die at Gallipoli in 1915. Nineteen years old and buried at sea somewhere off Lemnos.
Now as I look at the stepping stones photograph, these are the thoughts that run through my mind. It is all too easy to look back to Mary Ann’s growing up at Callow Farm and see a rosy past. It’s how we tend to view things: the glamour of an imagined rural idyll – the stepping stones back to happier days. I had hoped to cross here too. I badly wanted a closer view of the farmhouse. But on the day of my visit there had been heavy rain, making the Derwent far too active to attempt to cross without rubber boots and a stout stick for support. A quest then, for another time? Perhaps.
Mary Ann Fox (1863-1909) sometime before her marriage, and before her father sold her pony. He had threatened to do this if she persisted in jumping the farm gate on horseback. She did not listen. You can tell that she would not just by looking at her.
Copyright 2016 Tish Farrell
34 thoughts on “Stepping Stones Through Time”
Excellent response to the challenge, Tish….and what a sad tale
It is sad, isn’t it. I keep doing bits of historical research in hopes of some better bits 😦
Oh, goodness, I do hope you find some happier stuff
And fascinating history – have you inherited her stubborness? 😉
Now that’s a question and a half, Debbie 🙂
I love reading about your ancestors; what a tale you tell. I wish I knew more about my family, but sadly I only know bits.
Truly Jude, I didn’t know very much till I started digging around on Google, and then the bits of family nattering surfaced in my brain and started to make sense. My aunt would have been so delighted if she had known all that I’ve discovered via the internet.
What a story, Tish! It was an exciting trip for you going back in the footsteps of your ancestry. Like Jude, I would love to have photos of my ancestors, but they were all destroyed in the last war. Thank you for this touching share.
That’s so sad about the loss of your family photos. I only have this one photo of the Fox family. I often wonder when I’m roving round junk shops if there are family photos lurking there.
If they were, would you be able to recognise them?
No.Not at all. Sad really.
Here , the novelist in you ,sorts out in all her strength…!
Love the historical tale , but love more the way you present Merian and her world….
Reality may be so sad sometimes!
Thank you for that lovely comment, Anna.
Some things do work better in words, but i still get your point and it’s a great post 🙂
Such a fascinating story you spun from that picture! I really enjoyed your detective work stepping through the time.
It does become rather too absorbing an activity – ancestor sleuthing. On the other hand, one does learn some really good general people history along the way – all the intriguing stuff missed out of long ago history lessons.
What a fascinating family history Tish, with sad stories and headstrong women. Catherine Cookson could have written about them.
Yes, definitely Catherine Cookson territory.
A lovely post to read….and what a free spirit Mary Ann Fox appeared to be. History is always fascinating but when it has to do with ones own family – even more so….it seems to put everything into perspective. Thank you, Tish:)
Glad you liked this, Janet. It’s v. true how family history research really does help to bring the past to life – trying to walk in one’s ancestors’ shoes.
I love the atmosphere in the photo, Tish. 🙂 Having read these the wrong way round, I do think it’s a shame there wasn’t someone over there to invite you in.
I needed someone or thing to hoist me over t’river first. Or some gallant chap to throw down their cloak, and hand me across. I could of course have got myself soaking wet, and arrived on Callow Farm’s doorstep – wrinkly dripping damsel in distress. But then the deerstalker would be ruined 🙂
No, not worth it! You’ll have to try the civilised method, drive round and knock on the door. Wear the deerstalker- you might get invited in for sherry and tall tales. Even short ones would do? 🙂
Fascinating but sad family history, Tish. Love the stepping stones image. They really do look timeless.
Fascinating. And such elegance: riding amazon and all that. 🙂
Yes, she was quite something, but I think she may have been very slight in person, even if amazon in spirit. I have one of her rings, and it is absolutely tiny. Would only fit a child’s hand these days. I’d forgotten about it until now.
Yes, she was likely small. The horse is definitely a poney, under I-don’t-recall-how-many hands. I have a photo of my grand-mother in 1916. Not sure she made it to five ft. How lovely to have her ring. We must always remember who we are and where we come from.
A great, thoughtful response to the challenge, Tish. I think it wonderful that you know so much of your family’s history. I do hope further research will reveal a bit of happiness for Mary Ann. It’s surprising how learning of an ancestor’s troubles can affect us today.
I think that’s so true – learning about a forebear’s unhappiness does rub off a bit. And it opens one’s eyes to situations that one’s not thought about much before. I’d like to find a better story for Mary Ann, but I’m not too hopeful. She’s looks her happiest as a girl on her pony. There’s also a story of her opening the tenants’ ball with the Duke of Devonshire at Chatsworth – she as the eldest daughter of the longest serving tenant farmer… I think that would have been an exhilarating moment. Chatsworth is one of England’s grandest country houses.