Edmund or Edward?

William John PERRYMAN (Tuesday’s post) is currently without parents on the FamilySearch Shared Tree.

The parents have a presence, lacking children and forebears.

The Blue Hints are to the marriage register. FamilySearch offers a page image and the groom provides a signature.

(Citation: “England, Middlesex Parish Registers, 1539-1988,” database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:3Q9M-CSFC-MN7T?cc=3734475 : 12 April 2021), > image 1 of 1; London Metropolitan Archives, England.)

Filey Genealogy & Connections has given Edward and Hannah six children.

The three daughters are all present and correct in the 1841 census – but their father is “Edmund”.

The address given is No. 22 Tower, Dymchurch. “Edmund” is not given an occupation but the Tower referred to is one of many built on England’s southern coast to deal with the invasion threat posed by Napoleon Bonaparte. After that danger passed this Martello Tower served the Dymchurch Coastguard Station.  

Look for “Edmund” Perryman on a list of British coastguards on Genuki, and then scroll up to “Perriman” to see EDWARD and Hannah with two children in 1871.

In 1861, the family is in Murray Street, Filey, but not easy to find – unless you search for “Edmond PENYMAN”. I have not found the parents in the 1881 census but there is an 1883 death registration in Scarborough for an EDMUND Perryman, with an age at death that fits his birth year. I failed to find a death record for an Edward Perryman.

His widow appears in the next two censuses, living with son Edward James in St Mary’s Walk, Scarborough. She dies on 13 April 1901 (less than a fortnight after the census) and a Roman Catholic register records her burial four days later, giving her age as 86. The same age is found in the civil death registration source but the recent census giving her age as 91 is a better fit with her other vital records.

I have enough information now to extend the family on the Shared Tree. My coastguard will be Edward, not Edmund.

Tree 72 · West Avenue

Selective Memories

Father of twenty William John PERRYMAN died in 1925, aged 82. He was survived, as far as I know, by just four of his children. The large red marble headstone in St Oswald’s churchyard has plenty of space to remember the whole family but it bears the names of just three.

In loving remembrance of AGNES PERRYMAN, born July 17 1869, died Jun 29 1890.

‘Thy will not mine O Lord’

ALBERT PERRYMAN, born Oct 7 1886, died Oct 11 1887 (sic).

AGNES PERRYMAN, beloved mother of the above, born Sep 2 1849, died Oct 15 1909.

Dates inscribed in stone are not always correct. The church burial register notes that Albert was eleven months old when he died.

William seems to have been a successful plumber and house painter and in 1911 was living at 7, The Crescent – a lodging house as well as home for himself and unmarried children  Jeremiah, 31, and Alice, 30.

Photographed 11 November 2021

Jeremiah died in Bridlington in 1927 aged 49. Alice reached the grand age of 93.

Path 157 · Sand Hill Lane

Remembering Henry Perryman

One of twenty children born to William John and Agnes Ann in 1883, Henry didn’t get to know six or seven of his older siblings. They had already departed for the next world. The lost ones were replaced and in 1891 there were six Perryman children at home in North Street, Filey. Edward, 16, was the eldest and Henry, 7, the youngest. An older sister, Agnes, had died the previous year aged 20. Mary and Albert had not reached their first birthdays when they passed over in 1885 and 1887.

Henry married a shepherd’s daughter in 1911. Mary Ellen PATTISON, raised at the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors, brought her first two children into the world in Nottingham, where Henry had found work as a fireman.

Shortly after war was declared in August 1914, Henry enlisted with the Sherwood Foresters (The Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Regiment). In the late summer of 1915 he was with the 1/7th Battalion in the area around Hooge and would become one of 50,000 British casualties in the Battle of Loos, fought between 25 September and 16 October. Wounded in combat, he died on 5 October.

The memorial in Filey St Oswald’s gives him the rank of Corporal but his headstone in Vermelles Britsh Cemetery, and most official sources, show him as a Private (Service Number: 2285). He is also remembered at the Filey Memorial in Murray Street. His adoptive city, Nottingham, is more fulsome in its remembrance than the town of his birth. His name appears on the Nottingham Police Force Memorial and on a memorial board saved from the demolished Holy Trinity Church. Nottinghamshire County Council’s Roll of Honour website also generously offers a Personal Profile of Henry compiled by Jim Grundy.

I have put Henry and sixteen of his siblings on the FamilySearch Shared Tree. An older brother, Frank, has a baptism record but I have yet to find sources for his birth and death. Children 19 and 20 remain a mystery.

Mark of Man 76 · Memorial Gardens

Suffer Little Children

In the middle of the 19th Century, there were too many children in Victorian Britain. One in three Victorians were under fifteen. Large numbers of these young people failed to reach adulthood. In The Face of Britain, Simon Schama writes about Charles Lutwidge Dodgson and Alice.

…for all the Liddell girls in their flouncy white skirts and aprons, nibbling on muffins in the Deanery, there were whole armies of soot-caked, blood spitting, tiny walking skeletons, greasy rags falling off them; sticking bony hands out to beg in the alleys or cutting purses of the unaware, for Fagin’s kitchen was not entirely an invention of Dickens’s imagination. Nor were the other starvelings of his pages imaginary. There were indeed factory-floor toilers sent to poke around between the cogs and grinding wheels of machines where grown-up hands couldn’t reach. There were still more of them gasping in the filthy clouds of grey-and-yellow choking dust which clogged their lungs and shortened their lives. Rickety-limbed urchins tottered over the back-lane cobbles; child prostitutes with running sores bleated from murky doorways; little battalions of the houseless slept rough under bridges, batting away the rats; emaciated crossing-sweepers like Jo in Bleak House scraped the horse turds from the streets between the oncoming clatter of carriages, barely recognizable as humans at all, more like scurrying, whimpering, grimy-clawed vermin. Pillars of society high-hatted and tidily bonneted stepped over child-shaped bundles of rags, whether they were squirming or inert. Survival for the rag-bundles depended on precious exposure to the kind of worldly wisdom taught in the Artful Dodger School of Useful Knowledge.

Today, only 18% of Brits are under fifteen but, arguably, there are still too many children. The current generation of the high-hatted and tidily bonneted seem to think so anyway and have implemented a plan to do something about it. The full effect of “the vax”, (you know the one I mean), will not be known for 10 years or more but enough damage has been done already to know that mandating C-jabs for children is wrong. (Link to No More Silence for more testimonies.)

Tree 72 · Glen Gardens

The not yet fallen