He dug deep for his poems

There were a distressing number of young widows at the top of Weardale and Teesdale. But one of the most depressing examples involved John Hunt, who passed away in Middleton in the early 1870s at the age of 42. He had been unable to work for the previous two years after being struck down by tuberculosis. His wife was left with eight children, all below working age.

John started as a washer boy in the mines at the age of ten, after his own father died young, and later worked underground in several of them.

For a lot of years he spent much of his spare time writing poetry, but, unlike Richard Watson, who was five years older than him, they did not bring him any local fame or benefits. He was known as a keen scribbler, but only to his relatives and workmates.

Watson, who was hailed as the Teesdale Bard, was hard up most of his life, but he received useful sums now and then and was regularly treated at dinners and other functions, where he sang a few songs and recited his verses.

There were no perks like that for John Hunt. But after his death a handful of friends gathered some of his poems and had them printed in a slim pamphlet. These were put on sale in local shops at a shilling apiece to raise funds for the struggling family.

A preface to the publication stated: “A widow and eight children have to mourn his loss and are left to battle with the world, and to eke out a subsistence as best they can.

The design in publishing the following poems (the cost of which has been defrayed by private subscription from a few warm-hearted gentlemen) is to render assistance to a charitable object in relieving the wants of the fatherless and the widow.”

It seemed to doubt the quality of his verses, as it said “considerable allowance”

should be made for them as he never had opportunities for self improvement during his hard life.

However, it commended the work to the benevolent portion of the community.

How much money the effort brought in is not recorded, but it certainly would not keep the family in food or clothing for long. There would be some parish relief, but not much of that either.

There is talk in modern times about some families living below the poverty line, but back then there was the kind of extreme hardship that should not exist in any part of Britain today. P ETER JEFFERIES had a special reason to take an interest in a story here about a Romaldkirk man who fatally wounded his brother with a knife in 1870. The account stated that the victim was treated by a local doctor, William Kipling.

Mr Jefferies has a book, McPhun’s Universal Gazeteer of the World, which has a corner tab inside saying it belonged to William Kipling of Carrowcroft House, Romaldkirk. The medical man signed it as his in December 1885 in Edinburgh. Mr Jefferies has owned the volume for about ten years.

THERE are protests these days about the amount of directions sent out by government offices to control our lives, but they are nothing new.

There was a feeling about far too much interference from Whitehall back in 1935.

A large sheaf of papers was sent out by the Ministry of Transport then with rules about how people should walk over roads. They annoyed J Ingram Dawson, the Teesdale solicitor who called himself the Rascally Lawyer.

One section which referred to pedestrian crossings had a rule pointing out that folk using them “shall nor remain longer on the crossing than is necessary for the passing from one side of the road to the other with reasonable despatch.”

Dawson pointed out sarcastically this meant that squatting in the middle to enjoy a cigarette, or stopping to use a powder puff and lipstick, was now an offence.

Another order was that notices saying, “Please cross here” were to be removed.

The solicitor quipped that they were being done away with in case foot passengers might read them.

He quoted one long chunk of gobbledegook from the directive and asked what the ordinary individual would make of it.

He declared that such documents should cease for at least ten years, adding: “There is no question but that the volume of faddist enactments will have to be curtailed if not ended, otherwise the only two institutons in which people will be living will be lunatic asylums or county prisons, with their children all brought up in Poor Law establishments.”

He probably enjoyed composing his long rant and no doubt many dalespeople back then agreed with him.

But after 78 years isn’t there still a stream of useless, difficult-to-unravel twaddle coming out from official sources?

HOW did George Maw become so rich? The man flogged in Durham prison, as recalled here last week, was described as a property owner of private means. His wealth probably stemmed from his well-heeled grandparents, Edward and Anne Jackson, who lived in Wolsingham, says Eric Draper, of the Weardale Museum.

Their daughter, Barbara, (spelt Barbary in the church register) married George Maw senior in 1815, in Wolsingham, and became the mother of the man who was flogged. It was through this marriage that the Maws became owners of a Bishop Auckland tannery and currier business along with considerable property. It was certainly enough of a fortune to enable the man in the prison controversy to keep his wife, Georgina, and three children in some style.

His son, also George, born in 1850, became a solicitor, and played a part in the protest movement following the prison punishment. He became a leading advocate, appearing in many notable court cases, including a number of murders.

He died after an accident in 1887, only three years after his father, at the age of 37.

He was riding his horse towards his home in Henknowle when it was in collision with horses pulling a lemonade wagon near the Wear Valley Hotel.

He suffered a serious leg injury and doctors failed in an attempt to save him. He left a wife and two children.

There was a huge turnout for his funeral at St Andrew’s Church, Bishop Auckland. Judges, solicitors and barristers from a wide area were among those who attended.

A bizarre feature was that his horse, limping from the accident, walked in the funeral procession with a black drape under its saddle.

There were probably numerous comments about the fact that horses were involved in both the solicitor’s death and the incident which landed his father in prison.

FOLLOWING the appearance here of a picture from a victory street party in Middleton after the Second World War, historian Bill Payne got in touch to say he has a number of other photographs of similar events in the village.

He sent his favourite one of a jolly party held in Wesley Terrace, with everyone eager to get started on the party fare.