Hawthorn Hive (NZ442460)

Where Hawthorn Dene and its Burn meet the sea can be found…

… A small bay, called Hawthorn Hythe [Hive] …  sheltered by a reef or natural pier called the Skaw. The rocks of the coast are broken, rugged, and pierced with caverns.  Fifty ships, with all their crews, were lost on 25* Nov. 1824, on the Skaw; and fires used to be kindled on Beacon Hill, on the S side, to warn mariners off. 

[Imperial Gazetteer of England and Wales (1870-72)]

* some sources say 5^th.  And at least one other source also has the crew of one of the fifty vessels being saved, thus:

On the 5th of November, 1824, not less than 50 vessels perished in a storm immediately off this part, and the crews of all were lost, with the exception of the crew of one only, who were enabled to effect their escape by means of a rope, thrown from the vessel, and brought to land by a Newfoundland dog belonging to Major Anderson. 

[A Topographical Dictionary of England (1848)]

Cavemen of Seaham (c.NZ442462)

A newspaper cutting from the Northern Echo of 25^th June 1913, refers to an Inquest held following the death of John Gallagher, 31, a miner of no fixed abode, who died in a cave on Hawthorn Beach.  The poor man’s demise brought to the public’s attention “once again” the problem of the cave dwellers of Seaham.

Apparently, for five weeks prior to his death both the deceased and his brother had been living on bread, butter and bacon in a cave two miles south of Seaham Harbour – as part of a roving community, it seems.  Continually evicted by the police, these poor folk would simply move onto neighbouring caves – their old haunts being taken over within hours by their brethren.

The Inquest report dwelled on the future policing policy in the area, with rather more concern being shown for the meeting of the costs and expenses incurred by this sad incident than sympathy expressed for the victim and his associates.

P.S. I should be pleased to know if anyone has any further information on this story.

[Thanks to Jan Coyne]

Hawthorn Tower(s) (NZ438461)

 

This lovely little effort didn’t exist pre-1820, nor is there any trace of it left today, amazingly enough.  Hawthorn Tower(s), originally known as Hawthorn Cottage, was built in 1821 to the designs of John Dobson for Major George Anderson, a Newcastle big-wig.  Anderson died in 1831, but his wife lived on in the property until her death in the 1850s – afterwhich the Pembertons assumed ownership and renamed it Hawthorn Tower(s).  At some point in the 1850s, it was also extended in size.

In 1910, the Pembertons vacated the premsies, and let the pile out, firstly, to colliery agent Malcolm Dillon, then to another colliery official, Mr Henegan.  In 1930, the Boys' Brigade rented the Tower for weekend camps, and it was used during World War II by the military and the Home Guard.  The Pembertons then returned briefly, before selling up in c.1949 to a South Shields man.  Several more sales followed, during which period the house fell into a state of decay.  Vandals help send the structure to its ultimate demolition in 1969 after a man was killed by a partial collapse.  Today nothing remains.  It’s as if the old place never existed.

There’s a fair bit more to be found on Hawthorn Tower(s) – including the nineteenth century census returns for the structure – at the DurhamRecordsOnline website, here.

Kinley Hill Tower (NZ430467)

This curious gazebo-like affair sits atop a lofty prominence overlooking the surrounding countryside a mile or two south of Seaham.  For risk of breaching copyright, please see the structure’s form here.  As you will observe, it was a splendid little landmark before the storms of December 2006.

The two-storey affair was built as little more than an eye-catcher – a folly – by Major George Anderson of nearby Hawthorn Tower around 1830 – and indeed was for years known as ‘Anderson’s Folly’.  It was probably used as a summer house by the estate during Victorian times, but several sources state that it became a residence around the turn of the twentieth century (as is evidenced by remains of a privy and midden).

It may soon become a holiday cottage after remedial work has been completed.  Or perhaps it already has!  Do let me know if you can enlighten me further.

P.S. Have just found an up-to-date picture here.

Growth of a Pit Town (NZ388472)

So many of the North-East’s towns of today began life as tiny hamlets at the dawn of the nineteenth century, only to be transformed as pits were sunk and workers and their families came flooding in.  Utterly typical of this dramatic metamorphosis is that which occurred at Murton, Co.Durham…

Population

1801: 75

1811: 71

1821: 72

1831: 98

First pit sunk 1838

1841: 521

Coalmining begins 1843

1851: 1,387

1861: 2,104

1871: 3,017

1881: 4,710

1891: 5,052

1901: 6,514

Present: c.7,300

Another interesting comparison is the Tithe map of 1777:

... with the present-day layout here (which I can’t reproduce for reasons of copyright).

Astonishing.

And now all the pits, without exception, have gone.

[1777 map taken from www.murtonheritagesociety.co.uk]

Nose’s Point & the Blast Beach (NZ438478)

© Copyright Brian Abbott and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

This abandoned corner of the North-East has seen more than its fair share of industrial blight over the years.  The heights of Nose’s Point and thereabouts have seen ironworks, a bottle factory and a chemical works built, thrive and demolished over the years – as well as, of course, Dawdon Colliery, which closed in 1991.  Add to the mix random railways and a ballast dumping ground for merchant ships, and it is a wonder that it looks as scenic as it does today.  Blast Beach, seen in the foreground of the picture above probably got its name from the blast furnaces of the ironworks, or is perhaps a slight corruption of the word ballast.


Such was the state of the area prior to its recent clean-up that the headland used to protrude further out to sea thanks to the dumping of industrial waste – and a platform, or crust, of compacted slag and slurry covered the beach, again extending far out into the waves (you can still see the edge, or lip, of this artificial surface where the rocky beach abuts the land).  It looked so barren that it was used in the opening scenes of the film Alien 3 in 1992.

With the retreat of industry, nature – with a little help from man – has largely wiped the grime from the shores and the cliffs.  However, with the protective coating of waste now gone, coastal erosion is a major concern.

Dalden Tower (NZ420487)

© Copyright Andrew Curtis and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Seemingly an early form of the modern-day village name of Dalton(-le-Dale), ‘Dalden’ Tower was built at least as early as 1375, when it passed from the hands of the Escolland family to the Bowes family.  Prior to the switch, the Escollands had changed their name to Dalden, the name of the village – hence the name of the structure.


For two centuries it remained a popular and well-used residence for the Bowes family, subsequently passing through the hands of the Collingwoods, Millbankes and Londonderrys, but it has been derelict since at least the early 1700s.  What remains implies that the structure was lofty, though not especially designed for defence – more residential, in fact; though there is some evidence of a moat. The living quarters on the ground floor were clearly high status, with elaborate fireplaces, as well as remains of two small shields dating from the 14^th century.

There is little to indicate what the upper portions of the building may have looked like; but a tower seems likely (16^th century), as well as, possibly, a circular turret, as evidenced by traces of a spiral staircase.  The site has been excavated twice, in the 1960s and the 1980s.

More pictures here.

Seaham or Seaham Harbour? (NZ430495)

To look at the map now, you would think that Seaham must have been there for ages.  Its piers reaching confidently out to sea, the lines of its railways – current and past – twisting their way through the town, to say nothing of the considerable scattering of churches, halls and the like thereabouts.  But almost all of that which is man-made between the modern-day A19 and the eastern seaboard has sprung up in the last 170 years or so.  Like many other settlements of the region, of course, it owes its spectacular growth to the Industrial Revolution.

Before the arrival of industry, ‘Seaham’ amounted to little in the way of conurbation, and centred on the still countrified environs of Seaham Hall, including the ancient church of St.Mary’s and the Old Vicarage, all of which lie a mile north of the town centre of today.  Even as late as 1894, it was described thus: “There is really no village of Seaham: the church and the residence of the rector constitutes what is known as Seaham, which is situated on the coast, about five miles south of Sunderland.”  What we now recognise as Seaham was, formerly ‘Seaham Harbour’, where, to quote the same 1894 source, “seventy years ago there was not a house or a path; and when it was proposed to create a port at the place, the project was treated as visionary and absurd.”  The harbour was build  in the early years of the Victorian era – curiously, at a point where no river meets the ocean – for the sole purpose of meeting the needs of industry, namely, getting coal and glass bottles out, and timber and silver sand in.  Pits were sunk, too, of course, in great profusion from the 1840s, leading to the creation of, among others, New Seaham, or Seaham Colliery, a little inland.

During the course of the early twentieth century, the variously-named settlements grew and merged into the Seaham we now see on the modern OS map – whilst swallowing nearby villages such as Dawdon; and leaving others, such as Dalton-le-Dale, the centre of the former ancient parish, languishing in the past.

The history of the town is well-served by many websites, which can be easily Googled.

The ‘Hell Pit’ of Seaham (NZ410496)

[From an article which appeared in the Sunderland Echo of 22nd July 1992]

The Seaham Colliery Disaster of 9^th September 1880 was one of the worst of its kind in history. One hundred and sixty-four men and boys died after an explosion swept through the pit-workings, thereafter dubbed ‘Hell Pit’ by the press at the time of the occurrence.

The episode is rife with tales of individual heroism and sad stories of epic proportions. Among them, the tale of one George Dixon, who chose to stay in the devastated pit with his young injured putter boy rather than take the chance to escape. “Nay, I’ll stay with the lad,” he was heard to say – his last words, as it happened, for their two bodies were later found lying together.

One other touching find was a board found next to four bodies with the words, written in chalk: “Five o'clock: we have been praying to God.” And, on the reverse: “The Lord has been with us. We are all ready for Heaven.” The board now stands in nearby Christ Church.

Perhaps the most heart-wrenching tale of all, however, is that of miner Michael Smith, who scratched a last message to his wife, Margaret, upon his tin bottle with an old nail the following: “Dear Margaret, there was 40 of us all together and some was (sic) singing hymns, but my thoughts was on my little Michael that him and I would meet in Heaven at the same time. Oh dear wife, God save you and the children, and pray for me.... Oh, what an awful position we are in.”  ‘Michael’ was Smith’s own 18-month-old child who had died that same morning....

(my thanks to J.C.Coyne for this piece)

The ‘Nicky-Nack’ Pit (NZ410496)

Seaham Colliery, opened in 1849, almost immediately acquired the nickname ‘The Nicky-Nack’ or, more simply, ‘The Nack’; though, as time passed, I suspect that not many folk knew quite why.

The story goes that in the 1820s and ‘30s a local man by the name of Tommy Chilton became well known in the vicinity of the future pit, being something of a local character.  He held the now long-gone windmill, and also ran the local pub, The Mill Inn (still standing).  Besides his dual career, he was also something of a technical genius, and regularly entertained folk with his ‘electrical devices’ (whatever they were).  Most famously, though, he had a talent for repairing women’s spinning wheels.

At the time, a model called the Knack-Reel was in use, with its distinctive ‘nicky-nack’ action.  These new-fangled contraptions were somewhat complex in arrangement and prone to mechanical failure – and in would step Mr Chilton to fix ‘em.  Tommy, it seems, had the knack, like no one else for miles around; and, in time, his dwelling at The Mill Inn became full of old spinning machines in various states of repair.  And so the inn came to be commonly known as ‘The Nicky-Nack’ – and Tommy, in turn, became ‘Tommy Nicky-Nack’.

So when, in 1849, a new coal shaft was sunk within a stone’s throw of Tommy and his inn, it, too, borrowed the curious tag of ‘The Nicky-Nack’ – or more commonly still, ‘The Nack’.

It’s true, I tell you.

Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know (NZ420505)

 

This most famous of phrases was once used to describe the flamboyant English poet, Lord Byron, remembered chiefly here in the North-East for his short-lived marriage to local heiress Anne Isabella Milbanke – the ceremony of which took place at Seaham Hall in 1815.

The moody, broody Byron and the prudish Miss Milbanke first met in London, and when the great poet deemed it necessary to rescue his perilous financial state by way of an advantageous marriage, his attention fell upon Anne Isabella, whom he considered “a very superior woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress … an only child, and a savante … a poetess, a mathematician, a metaphysician … there was never … a more amiable being.”  And so they were married, in the Drawing Room of Seaham Hall on 2^nd January 1815.

Within days they were bickering.  During their three-week honeymoon at her father’s estate at Halnaby in Yorkshire, the new Lady Byron was said to be “greatly distressed” by the “irregularities of her husband.”  Byron himself found day-to-day life at Seaham dreary – or more accurately, perhaps, the husbandly and social duties so.  A great quarrel occurred in the sixth week of their marriage, after which they lived separate lives, before they eventually formally separated on 16^th January 1816, little more a year after their marriage.  Byron soon left England for ever – leaving his ex-wife and their baby daughter behind.

Note:  The Byrons’ daughter, Ada, is generally recognised as the world’s first “computer programmer”, thanks to her work with the famous Charles Babbage – see here.

Warden Law & the Legend of the Dun Cow (NZ370507)

 

[thanks to Rebecca Kennison at http://en.wikipedia.org]

The story of the Dun Cow, as depicted in the above eighteenth-century panel on the north facade of Durham Cathedral, supposedly explains how the remains of St.Cuthbert came to find their way to the city of Durham – an event which led, in turn, of course, to the construction of the mighty Durham Cathedral.

Legend has it that in around 995AD the monks of Lindisfarne, whilst traversing the North-East with the saint’s holy remains in tow, came to rest upon Warden Law, a prominence a little to the north-east of Houghton-le-Spring.  On attempting to resume their journey they couldn’t move the cart upon which the coffin was being carried, and resorted to prayer in order seek divine guidance.  Bishop Aldhun (or the monk Eadmer – accounts vary) then had a vision in which he was told to take St.Cuthbert’s remains to ‘Dunholme’, but nobody knew where that was.

The story goes that the monks then overheard a passing milkmaid asking a local woman if she had seen her wandering dun (greyish-brown) cow.  The local was heard to have said that she thought she’d seen it walking towards Dunholme, whereupon the maid made her way westward.  The monks then quickly gathered themselves and returned to the coffin with the intention of following the young girl, whereupon they found that, miraculously, the cart now moved freely.

And so the party moved happily down the road, bound for the saint’s final resting place.

Mind you, it’s not the only hill that claims the rights to the story!

Ryhope Pumping Station (NZ403524)

 

Now known as the Ryhope Engines Museum, this splendid landmark is one of the best examples of its kind to have survived from the Victorian era.  It was opened in 1868 to serve the Sunderland area, providing it with a supply of clean water for a century before it closed in 1967.  Though the station no longer pumps water, its two 100-horsepower beam engines are kept in working order and prodded into life for the benefit of visitors during regular ‘steam days’.

Like similar stations in the region, the idea was to draw clean water up from the magnesian limestone rocks below, and thus improve the lot of the expanding populations of the local towns – in this case Sunderland.  It was all in response to the cholera epidemics of the early nineteenth century, of course, and followed various Acts of Parliament which facilitated the creation of the Sunderland & South Shields Water Company in 1852.  In line with other similar stations (including that at Cleadon), Thomas Hawksley was the architect, the planning and construction process spanning 1864-68.

Museum website here.

Ryhope’s Two Railway Stations (NZ414527)

Few settlements the size of Ryhope can claim to have had two railway stations – and surely no other place in the country can have had two within a few dozen yards of each other, both operating at the same time!

This curious state of affairs came about because of the number of competing railway companies in the region during the early years of the railways. What was originally known as Ryhope Railway Station was opened in 1854 as part of the Londonderry, Seaham and Sunderland Railway system, built by local notable, Lord Londonderry, to help ship his coal (and a few passengers) to the coast and Sunderland. Within a year, though, a second line and station graced the still modest village as a competing company spread its wings. The two stopping points became known as East and West Stations, respectively, and operated quite independently of one another, yards apart. The course of the two tracks can still be clearly made out on the modern-day map.

The ludicrous state of affairs didn’t last, with the stations’ amalgamation in 1900. The western track (Londonderry’s old line), which once went all the way to Durham City, is now disused (being finally closed to passengers in 1952); whilst the eastern track still carries folk betwixt Sunderland and Middlesbrough – though no one has disembarked at Ryhope since 1960 when the old East Station complex closed.

There’s a neat track plan of Ryhope here, which may explain things a little better.

Ryhope Hall (NZ414528)

 

Many Ryhope old-timers may remember Ryhope Hall. Gutted by fire in the 1950s and demolished in the 1960s, its unusual brick tower was a notable village landmark for many a year.

 

But it’s an odd-looking piece of architecture. The most popular explanation for the construction of the out-of-place item lies in the story that it was raised after an argument between neighbours. Following a heated exchange between the lady of the Hall and her former friend in the neighbouring Manor House (now Coqueda Hall), the latter was said to have built a high wall between the properties to prevent the Hall’s occupants spying on her. In response, the Hall owner simply went one better, building the tower to overlook the wall!

 

The then tower-less Hall was originally built around 1675, and enjoyed a varied history as both a posting inn (The Three Boars Head, or something similar – sources vary) and a private residence – with lively links to a highwayman and rogue by the name of Robert Drummond in the early 1700s. In the early nineteenth century, Ryhope was a resort for sea-bathing and the Hall became popular with visiting gentry. After the railway replaced the coaches, the Hall came into the possession of the Streatfield family, owners of Ryhope Colliery.

 

As its fortunes gradually faded its ownership passed from one hand to another – its grounds even hosting professional boxing contests in the 1950s. Soon afterwards, as it fell into general dilapidation, it was destroyed by fire, and was then demolished completely in the 1960s. The site is now occupied by local authority housing on the southern side of the old village Green.

 

 

 

Maiden’s Paps (NZ392544)

 

Maiden’s Paps – or Tunstall Hills, as they are less crudely and more properly called – form one of the best vantage points in the borough of Sunderland. Though little more than 300ft in elevation, the twin peaks of Rocky Hill and Green Hill offer extensive views in all directions, far beyond the expectations of those who scale their modest heights.

A noted landmark from land and sea for many a century, the magnesian limestone outcrops have courted their fair share of attention and controversy over the years: fossil hunters in search of traces of ancient marine life, natural historians on the look-out for rare flora and fauna, and quarrymen, of course, all have their place in the history of the beauty spot. The site is now a Nature Reserve and a Site of Special Scientific Interest with its Rights of Way protected in law, enabling dogs to be walked there in perpetuity. But this has not always been the case, thus:-

[Letter to the Sunderland Echo, 15th September 1854]

About 2 years ago an attempt was made to hinder the public from enjoying free access to that most delightful resort - Tunstall Hill - the stile at the foot of the hill (on its southern side), being repeatedly closed with thorns - and on one particular Sunday evening, when the thorns had been removed, the bars of the stile were carefully daubed with filth, with the disgusting intention of damaging the garments of those who might unwittingly attempt to climb over. This summer another determined attempt has been made to close of the stile, but I hope the publication of this letter will be sufficient to rouse the spirit of those who, like myself, love a country walk, and induce them to clear away the obstruction. You will remember that the right of way over Tunstall Hill was challenged some years ago before the magistrates, when the bench wisely declined interfering with so clear and palpable public right.

[article from the Sunderland Echo, 10th June 1859]

Blockade of Tunstall Hill

We feel that we are strictly within the line of our duty as public journalists in directing the attention of our township to an attempt which has been made during the afternoon of the last three Sundays, on the part of the tenant farmer, to exclude the public from the approach to Tunstall Road and the hill. We need hardly say that this is an illegal act, and only calls for vigorous action to be effectively set aside. The inhabitants of Sunderland have enjoyed the undisputed right of walking on these beautiful hills so far back that "the memory of man knows not to the contrary" … We understand that if these attempts should be persisted in, a number of gentlemen are prepared to take the steps needful to restore the public rights and, in the meantime, we advise our fellow townsmen to insist upon the right of way, and to remove all obstructions in the way of free ingress and egress, and thus secure for future generations the liberty of visiting the romantic locality, from which a view of our town and all the adjacent country can be obtained of surpassing interest.

However, as the very same newspaper was to eventually report on 2nd June 1943…

Tunstall Hills Gift to Sunderland

The whole of Tunstall Hills is to belong to the people of Sunderland. Some years ago, Sunderland Corporation purchased 39 acres of land in this area, including the Rocky Hill, for allotments, playing fields and open spaces. Now Miss E H Pemberton, of Ramside, County Durham, has offered to present to the town the remaining 7 acres of the site, which consists of the Green Hill and surrounding land. Sunderland General Purposes Committee last night was told that this was a free gift without conditions, except that the land is to be considered as a memorial to those from the town who have given their lives in the service of their country in this war.

Latterly, the Tunstall Hills Protection Group has ensured the powers-that-be are kept well-and-truly on their toes when it comes to encroachment upon their green oasis – golf courses, roads and, most recently, from wind turbines.

For more information (and a nice picture) see the Group’s website at http://www.tunstallhills.org.uk/ - from which the above newspaper extracts have been lifted.  More details about Tunstall Hills can also be found here.

 

Hasting Hill Barrow (NZ353544)

 © Copyright Brian Abbott and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

This prehistoric burial mound sits atop a low prominence a few yards to the east of the busy A19 on the very edge of suburban Sunderland. Now largely ignored and forgotten it is, however, one of the borough’s most notable historical sites.

Excavated by archaeologist C.T.Trechmann in 1911, it was found to be of earth and stone construction, 12m in diameter and about 1m in height – basically a chamber build into the limestone peak covered with earth and stones. The remains of ten burials were found, dating to approximately 2,000BC (late Neolithic/early Bronze Age), together with a wide selection of pottery – including several food vessels, beakers, and the like – all associated with the burials. Some bone and flint tools were also found. The finds are kept at Sunderland Museum.

The site, in the meantime, has since had a triangulation point plopped on its top.

400m to the south-east can be found faint traces of Neolithic earthworks, indicating significant human activity in the area around 4,000 years ago.

If you wish to find out more, check out here, here and here.

Hendon: A World First (NZ412568)

   

In case you can’t read the inscription, it says:-

The First Aluminium Alloy Bascule Bridge in the World.

Port of Sunderland.

From the water colour painting by Leslie Carr, published in “Light Metals,” December, 1948.

… A ‘bascule bridge’ being one that opens from the middle upwards, much like London’s Tower Bridge. Can’t say whether the aluminium version ever caught on, though, and I’d be interested to learn if anyone out there knows. The Hendon model certainly didn’t last long: opened in 1948, it was reported as being in a poor state by the 1970s – and I have been unable to discover when exactly it was dismantled and sold for scrap. If anyone has anything to add, please comment below.

In the meantime, there is an excellent article about the bridge about half way down the page, here, where one will find many more images and locational plans and maps.

 

The Victoria Hall Disaster (NZ400566)

 

The largest catastrophe of its kind ever to take place in the UK occurred on 16th June 1883 in Sunderland, when 183 children died of asphyxia at the base of a stairwell in the town’s Victoria Hall.

Tempted by The Fay’s travelling entertainers from Tynemouth Aquarium, upwards of 2,000 youngsters descended on the now long-gone theatre which used to stand on the junction of Toward Road and Laura Street, overlooking Mowbray Park. The variety show was a magnificent success, until its tragic finale – the children having been royally entertained by the show’s many tricks and illusions. At the end of the afternoon’s antics, with the audience at fever pitch, the much anticipated hand-out of free gifts commenced – a random process for the most part, though specially numbered tickets had precedence.

As those in the stalls began benefiting first, a certain amount of confusion and panic spread throughout the gallery as those in the upper reaches of the theatre feared they would miss out. Keen to collect any gifts on offer – a rare treat indeed for youngster of the day – the 1,000 or so children began swarming downstairs – to be met with a partially bolted door and no way of escape.

Reports as to how the situation arose – and who was to blame – differ wildly. The net result was indisputable, however, as a massive crush – some say as much as twenty bodies deep – ensued. As the few adults present tried desperately to release the locked doors, the children kept on piling in from the staircase above. By the time the doors were finally ripped from their hinges, a total of 183 youngsters had perished in the writhing mass – 114 boys and 69 girls, almost all of them between seven and eleven years old. Some families lost three or four offspring – and one entire Bible Class of 30 from a local Sunday School was wiped out.

The national outcry which followed resulted, directly, in the passing of new laws that required all public venues to have a sufficient number of exits, and that all exit doors must open outwards – which led to the invention of the now familiar ‘push bar’ emergency door.

There are many excellent sources of further information on the Internet, including:-

Wearside Online (very full account);

BBC (including victims list);

Sunderland City Library Handout (many photos);

Wikipedia (good list of further sources).

 

John the Pieman (c.NZ397570)

 
Joseph Cawthorne, or ‘John the Pieman’, was a well-known character of mid-nineteenth century Sunderland – more especially for the way in which he would sell his goods. When a customer approached, they were required to put a penny down on a tin lid and ask: “Heads or tails?” If John guessed right, he took the penny and gave them no pie; but if he guessed wrong, they got their penny back and a pie into the bargain. “I am the only man in Sunderland who fought at Waterloo,” he would claim – a boast sustained by medals he occasionally wore on his breast which proved him to be a veteran of the great battle, and of the Peninsular War.

Cawthorne, it seems, was born on 29th August 1790, at Newark-on-Trent. At 14 he was apprenticed to a canvas weaver, but was hardly out of his apprenticeship when he joined the Montgomeryshire Militia, and thereafter the first battalion of the Rifle Brigade. In the Peninsular War he fought at Vittoria, the Pyrenees, and Toulouse, among others, during which time he was wounded once.

At Waterloo in 1815, he was wounded again, this time more severely. After returning to England, he continued in the service of his country until his discharge in about 1819. He got no pension, and for some unknown reason eventually found himself in Sunderland, where he took up his living as a pieman. In his late 60s, efforts were made to get him a small pension, and sixpence a day was awarded; which was increased to 9d in 1863, and in 1866 to a shilling a day. The old man died in 1869, aged 78.