More Victims of Isandlwana

A panoramic view of the Isandlwana battlefield. The British camp was situated in the middle of the picture. The Zulu
attack came over the hill line in the distance. The white cairns in the near foreground are British burial pits.

Photo courtesy of Ken Ray

Following on from my earlier post on the local men who fought and fell at the Battle of Isandlwana in 1879, local historian and Zulu War researcher Mr Ken Ray very kindly contacted me with information on several other local soldiers I was not aware of who took part in the battle, to which I have added a little of my own subsequent research.

25B/589 Private Enoch Worthington 1/24th Foot

Enoch Worthington was born in Kidsgrove in 1855, the eldest of four children born to miner John Worthington and his wife Eliza nee Birks. According to the 1871 census the family lived at 65 Heathcote Street and it noted that 16 year old Enoch was employed as a miner. However on 25th April 1875, he enlisted in the army at Newcastle-under-Lyme aged 20 years and 2 months. He saw service in South Africa where Like most of the 1/24th he took part in the campaigns against the Gaika and Galeka tribes during 1877 and 1878 and marched into Zululand with the ill-fated centre column in 1879, being killed with most of his battalion at Isandlwana. Enoch's effects and South Africa Medal with the '1877-8-9' clasp was later claimed by his father.

375 Private Samuel Plant 1/24th Foot
'The mail which arrived at Southampton on Friday brought a letter from Mrs. Plant, who with her husband left England for South Africa twelve years ago. Her husband was in the brave 1st battalion 24th regiment. He was one of the brave but ill fated invaders of Cetewayo's country, who fell in the battle of lsandula.

Private Glass a Hanley man was also in the same battalion, but it is not yet known if he took part in the battle. The following men of the 24th regiment were also in the battle - Private Frederick Butler, Pte. John McNally, Pte. Keats, and Pte. William Henry Hickin.'  

- Staffordshire Sentinel, 3rd March 1879.

References in the local press offer the only clues that Private Plant hailed from the Potteries or North Staffordshire, as what military records survive are silent on his origins. It is known that he served with the 24th Foot from July 1859 and that his wife Mary was placed on the regiment's married establishment on 3rd July 1862. He was no angel and had a couple of runs in with the military courts, the first two days after this on 5th July 1862 at Portsmouth, where he was charged with desertion and loss of necessaries. Found guilty he was sentenced to 84 days 'HL & D' (hard labour & discipline?) plus stoppages.*  Seven years later at Preston on 14th May 1869, Plant and two others from the regiment were charged with desertion and re-enlisting. That he was sentenced to 168 days HL as opposed to the lesser sentences handed out to his fellows perhaps indicates that he was the chief troublemaker.**

During 1876 - 1877, Plant served in H Company 1/24th at St Helena, before crossing over to South Africa to play his part in the Kaffir and Zulu Wars. Like his fellows he was killed at Isandlwana and was posthumously awarded the South Africa 1877-8-9 medal, which with his personal effects was claimed by his widow.

* WO86/12 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad (1861-1862)
** WO86/18 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad  (1869- 1870)


25B/586 Private Samuel Poole, 2/24th Foot
There were three, possibly four Samuel Pooles born in or around the Potteries in the years 1853 and 1854, which seems to have been the approximate time of his birth. In fact there is no indication that he was actually born in the area, merely that he enlisted in Hanley on 27th April 1875 aged 21 years. Records state that he served in G Company 2/24th and his South Africa Medal 1877-8-9 shows that he served in the Kaffir and Zulu Wars, being killed at Isandlwana. His medal and effects were claimed by his brothers.

1576 Private David Pritchard 2/24th Foot
Pritchard is said to have been born in Stoke-upon-Trent, in about 1844-45, though no one of that name is noted in the civil records, so that may not have been his real name. He attested for the army in Hanley on 11th January 1865 aged 20 and saw service with the battalion in its numerous postings. In 1872 he was in India, where he got into trouble. On 13th March 1872 he stood trial at Secunderabad charged with 'receiving money from a prisoner charged with stealing money'. He was sentenced to 14 days hard labour.* Nearly three years later, now back in Britain, Pritchard absconded off furlough on 14 December 1874 and found himself being listed as a deserter in the Police Gazette. Interestingly, this gives us a description of the man, noting his birthplace as Stoke-upon-Trent it stated that he had formerly been employed as a forgeman. He was 29 years old, 5' 8¾" high, had dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a dark complexion and was last seen at Aldershot wearing his regimentals.**

It is unclear when Pritchard was caught or returned to the Colours, but he was posthumously granted the South Africa 1877-8-9 campaign medal for his service against the Gaikas and Galekas and his brief involvement in the Zulu War, yet another casualty of the battle of Isandlwana. Records indicate that Private Pritchard served in B Company, though that was the company posted at Rorke's Drift, which indicates that he had switched to Pope's G Company at some point.

* WO86/21 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad  
** Police Gazette, 1st June 1875

* * * *

Though not related to the photograph at the head of this post, the following notes written up by Ken make a good guess at the distribution of the locally born soldiers involved in the battle of Isandlwana and speculates at where their remains might now be interred.

'Update on local men K.I.A Battle of Isandhlawana

It is impossible to locate graves/cairns of our local soldiers on the battlefield as sadly the graves are not named as several, or more soldiers remains are buried there. But due to my research I have a good idea where some of them would have fought and died.

I have marked in red on photo where the six British Infantry Company's were positioned at the time of the battle. Shown left to right the first five company's were men of the 1st 24th foot. The sixth Company nearest the track were men of the 2nd 24th foot under the command of Lieut. Pope. Three members of this company were born ,or lived in Stoke on Trent. They were - Pte Samuel Poole, Sergeant William Shaw and Pte David Pritchard, all died fighting the Zulu Ngobamkhosi Regiment, and it is said that this company with our three local men was amongst the last British company to hold out until the end?

A corporal and private of the 24th Foot in
1879. In reality their campaign dress would
have been much more rough and ready.

It is very possible that these three local men's remains are buried near the track or further up the hill? The other four local men's remains from the 1st 24th foot would be almost impossible to locate Pte's Glass, Hicken, Plant and Worthington. They would have all first fought around the perimeter of the camp, but could have died and been buried where they stood, or died escaping through the camp or further on towards the Buffalo river?

NOTE — About four months after the battle the soldiers remains were more or less buried intact but over the years due to soil erosion, bad weather, wind and rain etc some of the bones have come to the surface would have got scattered about possibly by wild animals and later buried again with other men's remains.

The reason why Lieut. Pope's G did not leave the Isandhlawana camp with the other five companies of the 2nd 24th was that at the time they were out on outpost duty. The other 2nd 24th company was the famous one stationed at Rorke's Drift.

Ken Ray 2019.'

Teddy Boy (Part 1)

Bill Cooper (third from left) in his early days as a Ted.

'When I was 14 and still living in Nelson Place with my sister Minnie and her family, two of my mates who were older than me had asked me if I wanted to go dancing. I said, “Dancing. I’ve never danced in my life except some square dancing at the church hall. Where you going?” They said “The skating rink, they’re playing rock and roll.” I said, “Rock and roll, what’s that?” - “Haven’t you heard those new records on the radio?” They said.

Well, I wasn’t all that interested at first, but I said I’d think about it. They were going on the Tuesday, so I tuned in to the radio after this just to find out what they were on about. The first rock and roll record I ever heard, even before Bill Haley and the Comets, was by Boyd Bennett and the Sky Rockets. It was one that was imported from America, you never heard it much because they didn’t play that sort of stuff on the wireless much then, it was mainly crooners and big band sounds like Victor Sylvester, Edmundo Ros and Ted Heath.

Anyway, I went to the dance. It was at the Ideal Skating Rink; they had dancing there on Tuesdays and Saturday nights and as I was tall for my age they thought I was 15 and they let me in. I enjoyed myself, but I was still a bit shy so didn’t dance, I stood at the side talking to some girls from school and some older ones who’d already left. They were all asking me why I was there. I went again the next week and this time I had a few dances and started to like it. They were still doing what they called jive which had been introduced when the Americans were here during the war. It was very similar to what they called bopping, only to big band music. But that wasn’t in the Teddy Boy era; it hadn’t started around here yet. 

Of course, when the first rock music came out, the big band stuff and the jive had had it, that had gone. When Elvis and Bill Haley came out, we didn’t want to know that other stuff, all we wanted was rock music. And when proper rock and roll dancing came in, the Teddy Boys appeared. The Teddy Boy era didn’t last all that long. It started in about 1953 and by 1959 it was all over, around here at least. I first decided to be a Teddy Boy after seeing an article in the 'Daily Mirror' about lads in London dressing as Teddy Boys. Anyhow after the article in the 'Mirror' about the Teddy Boys in London, of course it spread all over the country and they started appearing around Hanley. I saw one or two and then more started dressing like that, then as I say, I became one as well. My family didn’t mind about me becoming a Teddy Boy. Minnie wasn’t really bothered, she knew it was the 'in' thing then and that I liked dancing. Her kids, Marie, Margaret and all the others would say “Where you going?” when I used to start getting dressed up to go out on a Saturday night.  

Weekday wear.

In the week we'd wear jeans and bomber jackets, sometimes leatherette or leather if we were well off, but at the weekend we’d never go out without a suit on and a tie. That was the real Teddy Boy look - it took Edwardian style dress and exaggerated it a bit. I think we took some style from the pictures too, like the film 'Beau Brummell', that one with Stewart Granger. I know Beau Brummell wasn’t Edwardian, but he was a dandy and if you watch that film you’ll see the influence there, the flashy cravats and ties. The long coats were the main thing that made us stand out, some with fancy lapels and we wore drainpipe trousers that tight that you used to have to sometimes lie down on the bed to pull them on. But a lot of the tailors in Stoke-on-Trent wouldn’t make you a Teddy Boy suit, I don’t know why - they just wouldn’t do it. To get a Teddy Boy suit, I had to hunt around and finally got one made at a private place down in Shelton. It cost me £15, which was a lot of money then, even when I worked in the pit. At one time, though, I did have a real Edwardian suit. The bloke next door, Lily Kondratiuk’s father, saw me dressing up one night and he said, “That looks like Edwardian stuff.” and I said, “That’s how they’re beginning to dress now. They call them Teddy Boys.” He says, “Well, I’ve got one of them suits, but it’s in the pawn shop. If you want it, here’s the ticket; go get it.” 

Anyway, I went up to get it and it was absolutely brilliant! Jet black it was, with a waistcoat. When I put it on it was a perfect fit because he was same build as me then. I bought a pair of black shoes to go with it, a fancy white shirt with frills on and a string tie. My mates were jealous to death. They said, “Where’ve you had that made?” I said, “I haven’t had it made. It’s older than any of us this is.” I wore it for ages, it was a lovely suit.

Another time, I bought a Teddy Boy jacket on its own. A grey one it was, very long, down to my knees. I’d only worn it a couple of times, but with sweating from all the dancing I did the lapels went crinkled on both sides. I said to one of the lads, “I onna bloody wearing this again. It’s had it.” To my surprise, though, he said, ‘Hey, it’s great! I wish I’d got one like that.’ What it was, after the dancing I’d put a big duffle coat over the top of my jacket - a big black one with those big peg buttons - and it held all the sweat in and made the jacket all wrinkled down the lapels. Everyone said it looked good, so I wore it all the time after that. 

We also used to wear fancy shirts as well. We’d think nothing of wearing bright orange shirts, or pink or yellow. Tony Hughes was best when he came in a frilly shirt. He met us outside the Albion and when he arrived he’d got his big duffle coat on and he says, “I’ve bought a new shirt.” That was nothing new because we used to buy shirts regularly. Anyhow, we went inside the Albion for a couple of drinks and said, “Let’s have a look at it then.” He took his coat off and it had frills all round his collar like lace, all around his wrists and lace sticking out all down the front. Harold Hale said, “You look like a big girl, you do!” We were all laughing, but it was different and the following week, we’d all got them on. They didn’t last long though, as they were right buggers to iron. Minnie had to iron my shirts, I couldn’t iron shirts, I'd just iron the front and put it on. When she saw these frilly shirts, though, Minnie said, “What the bloody hell have you brought me here for iron?”

The Tony Curtis look was in, so you had to have a quiff as well. I went to see how much it cost to have it cut in that style - I was told 10 shilling, which was an astronomic price! So, I did it myself, they showed you how to in a paper. To do your quiff you’d comb your hair up, then just pull it forward. I used sugar and water mixed. What you did was you mixed the sugar and water, not much water, but plenty of sugar. The water had to be aired so the sugar was just starting to melt and then you dug your hands in it and rubbed it hard until it melted right down, you could feel it sticky on your hands and you rubbed it on. Then you combed your hair and that’s it, it stayed. Mind you, my first go wasn’t all that brilliant, my hair was too short and it came out all spiky.

Bill Cooper, Harold Hale (on bike) and Ronnie Williams.

I had plenty of friends to go out with. There was still John and Harold Hale from Nelson Place. They were Teds as well, but John more than Harold. There was our cousin Raymond Walsh and Tony Smith, he was only a little guy, he was only about five foot and when he’d got his long jacket on the sleeves hung down to his finger tips. He’s the one that kept getting into bloody trouble all the time and expected us get him out of it. There were a lot of us. There was Brian Ward, Ronnie Williams, Billy Gilbert, Bernard Shaw and others. There was quite a few of us from the Nelson Place area, but not the older ones; those that were two or three years older than me and who I first went dancing with didn’t take it up. 

You could call us a gang, I suppose, but it wasn’t just made up of those I’d known when I was growing up in Nelson Place, there were others that we’d meet in dance halls and in pubs. We used to all hang round together. There used to be a bunch of girls with us as well all the time. We would go all over the place dancing, not only in Stoke either, we also went to Manchester.' 

Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.

Teddy Boy (Part 2)

'The first time we went to Manchester was after we’d talked with a bloke named Danny. I remember him saying he’d been in Manchester on a Saturday night with a couple of mates of his and they’d visited some rock and roll clubs there. Because there wasn’t all that much of it going  on around in Stoke at that time, we started going to Manchester on the train. It used to be 3s/6d return, and the trains used to run every half hour so you could catch one back early in the morning from Manchester to Stoke. We would catch the train at six o’clock on a Saturday night, arriving in Manchester three quarters of an hour later and would go the clubs until one or two o’clock in the morning. Then on the Sunday morning we would catch the mail trains back, that were coming down to deliver the papers from Manchester to Stoke and Birmingham. We went there plenty of times visiting all the different clubs in Moss Side in Manchester.

The Teddy Boy was also a miner. L to R: Stuart Colclough, Bill Cooper and Derek Ford at Hanley Deep Pit.

There were a  few times when we didn't take the train and instead had a lift up there in a car. I worked at Hanley Deep pit at the time and I knew this big, tall black guy named Jim Brown who had come down from Manchester to work in the pits here as he couldn’t get any well paid jobs where he came from. He’d got an old Standard Vanguard car - he was the only bloke I knew that had got a car - and he asked us if we wanted to go with him to Manchester for a weekend. We said “Well, it’s going cost us a bit.” - “Ooh no, you can stay with my family.” he said.

Anyway, he took us, five of us, in his Standard Vanguard, from the pit on a Friday night when we’d finished, straight to Manchester. When we got there we found that his family had a three storey house, a big old Victorian place with a stack of bedrooms! It was like being in one of the boarding houses at Blackpool. His parents were nice people and his mother especially was a right jovial woman! Jim had about five or six brothers and sisters and they all lived at home. I said, “Where are we going stay?” His mother said,” Well, there’s a lot of us here. Just grab somewhere to sleep. There are plenty of rooms. If you go in somebody’s bed you’re all right, they’ll go in another one.”

We went out that first night, but we were all tired because we’d been at work, so we only stayed out until about two o’clock. But on the Saturday night Jim took us to a party in Moss Side,  where all the warehouses were. Going down some steps he opened an ordinary looking door and we went into a huge cellar. There were old settees scattered all around the place and tables too, a band was playing and there were records in between! It was packed, mostly with black people, but there were quite a few white folk there as well. But, bloody hell, it was five o’clock in the morning when we finally came out, from about seven at night! And talk about drunk! Well, they were selling beer out of wooden barrels on trestles and you’d just helped yourself. You just gave them the money and filled your pint; or you could have bottled beer or whisky, or whatever you fancied. It was licensed, the blacks ran their own club. We went again on the Sunday night and then went to come home the next morning, because we had to go work on Monday night. 

We went to that place two or three times and Jim’s mother used to feed us up like mad. She had a large room and she’d had two big tables put in it, with chairs all around and then a kitchen with a serving hatch she’d had knocked in. She said, “I was fed up of carrying the stuff in, so I’ve had this knocked in so I could just pass it through to them.” 

They’d got a big range to cook all the stuff on and two of the grown up girls used to help her. They used to have a stack of food, a quantity of food I’ve never had since. I remember going in once and she said “We’re having chicken.” She got these big bowls out and they were full of chicken legs piled high, all cooked, it was steaming hot and you just helped yourself! 

They seemed to have plenty of money but, there were a lot of them and most of them worked. I’m not sure, but I think I remember something about a shop they’d got. Well in that area there were a lot of big shops down the main street and I think one of them was theirs. The mother didn’t work, I think it was the old man and two or three of the lads that run the shop. But, she used to come with us when we went out at night time, either that or she and the father used to come along later. She would dance as well, she wasn’t all that old, I should say she was in her late forties, but she seemed old to me because I was only sixteen or seventeen.


Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.

Teddy Boy (Part 3)

Despite all the dancing there was still plenty of time for drinking.

'We'd dance all night. That was the one thing we wanted do, nothing else, just dancing, dancing to rock music, continually. I used to go out dancing five nights a week. I often wonder how I ever made it to the pit the next day because we didn’t just go out for two or three hours at a time, we went out for six or seven hours.  It’s a wonder I wasn’t worn out by the time I was twenty. I’ve got in the house when Minnie was in, taken my big duffle coat and jacket off and my shirt was stuck to me, wringing wet. She’d say to me “You’ll finish up with bloody pneumonia.”

When you wanted to go dancing in Stoke, you’d either go up the Ideal Skating Rink, or to the TA places, like the one at the top of Bucknall Road. But after a while we started clubs of our own, one at Meakin's club near Meakin’s pot bank and we started another for rock and roll dancers at the Northwood Mission. It was there I taught Minnie's eldest Marie how to rock and roll and she used to go up the Northwood Mission with me on a Tuesday night. 

There were bigger halls of course, but they wouldn't let us in. You couldn’t get into Kings Hall if you were wearing a Teddy Boy suit in the early 1950’s, they’d kick you out. They probably thought we were going smash the place up. Aye, well, some of them did! There were plenty of fights. Every time you went anywhere there was nearly always a punch up. It was like it is now, no different - boozing and fighting. No different at all. The only thing that wasn’t around then much was drugs. You could get marijuana - a couple of sailors, blokes doing their National Service used to sell it at the Ideal - but at five bob a time it was too much. It was expensive five shilling was! A pint of mild was seven pence and the bitter was nine pence a pint. So reckon that up. You could have nearly six pints for five shilling. I mean, it used to be a shilling to go in the dance hall.

In the Ideal they didn’t sell alcoholic drinks, you could only have orange squash, tea or coffee. If you wanted a drink you used to have to go out and when you went out they stamped your hand so you could get back in again. You could guarantee that everyone would rush in quick, get a seat in there, or sit around the side, because you danced on the skating rink. All as they did was throw chalk down to make it less slippery, because they had ballroom dancing and then jiving in between that. They played a bit of ballroom, a bit of jiving. We all used to go in and get a seat, but you could guarantee at half past nine that half of them would be across the Sea Lion, or the Golden Lion further down.

Well at that time when I was seventeen I only had to have three pints and I was drunk! But some were worse. One of my mates, Tony Smith, he was terrible at getting us in fights when he'd been drinking. Terrible, he was. We got that fed up with him that we used to tell the blokes he was falling out with “Give him a bloody good hiding, it'll serve him right. He only does it for try and drag us in for pull him out again.” One bloke did give him a good slapping one night. We said to Tony afterwards “That serves you bloody right. It’ll teach you a lesson that will.” Mind you, they could have hurt him bad because there was a gang of them that night, but they let this one lad slap him around, he didn’t hurt him all that much anyway.

Then on another occasion, about six of us were sitting down at the side in the Ideal and Tony says “That bloody lad over there keeps bumping into me when I’m dancing.” We said, “Well what’s up with that?” He says, “He won’t do it again.” Next minute he runs on the floor, jumps on this bloke’s back and starts pulling him over. He’d been drinking and being the size he was he only had to have a pint and he was drunk. Of course, this bloke’s mates all started kicking and hitting Tony so we all joined in. They finished up chucking us out and it took us three weeks to get back in again. We had to go up and apologise to them.

With the boys in Blackpool.

I remember one big punch up in a dance hall at Blackpool when I was about eighteen or nineteen. It was absolutely packed in there. They’d got these three rock bands on and it was just solid rock and roll. There was a big gang of us and we were dancing with these girls from different parts of the country when the fight started. The next thing I knew a fist had hit the side of my face. Then somebody hit me with something. Then I was hitting somebody else. The next minute I said to Harold and John Hale and one or two others, “Come on! Out of here!” We dashed through the door and ran on up the stairs to the balcony, then we were looking over the top watching them fight. Then all these security blokes in uniforms came in. They just grabbed anyone who was fighting and must have thrown about a hundred and fifty of them out. We got well out of that, but my ear hurt the next day where somebody had punched me!

I’ve been in fights when they’ve been whirling bike chains, once at Blackpool and once down Stoke when one of us got stabbed. It was that quick. I remember leaning over him with a jumper, holding it on the wound until the ambulance came. The blood seemed to be everywhere! But I suppose it seemed a lot because he was wearing a white shirt. I think he must have been stabbed with a penknife myself. He was all right, though, it wasn’t all that deep. He was out next day walking around. I saw him in the pub. I said, “Art owrate? I thought thay'd have been in hospital for a month!”  He says, “Nah, they give me a couple of pints of blood and stitched me up.” I said, “Let’s have a look.” - three stitches. The best part of it, him that got stabbed, he’d only been with us about three or four times. He was no trouble at all, he wasn’t aggressive or anything. It wasn’t his fault, it was just that the fight started and he was the one that was in the road and got stabbed. And those that started it had all run. Of course the cops came and they were asking us all these questions, who was it, what’s their names - and how the bloody hell did we know? We didn’t know them. We just got into a fight with them in a dance hall which finished up outside.

I saw a lot of rockers and bands in the 50s and early 60s. Roy Wood of Wizard, I saw him when he was nobody, when he first started out. Joe Brown and the Brothers too and Tommy Steele. One time, I think it was with Ted Heath and his orchestra, Cliff Richard and the Shadows were there and me and Tony Hughes were talking to Cliff outside. He’d got a pink jacket on, a black shirt and a pink tie. We’d come out, we’d seen the show, come round the side, round where that little car park is - the stage door used to be there. Anyway, he was there with two of the Shadows - I think it was that Bruce Welch who used to play with them and somebody else. But they went in and we were talking to Cliff - I can’t remember what we said to him. I know Tony Hughes had his autograph, but we were talking to him for about five minutes and then he says, “I’ll have to go, because we’ve got another show.” And he went in. He was standing outside, he wasn’t smoking but the other two were. And then the Americans started coming to the Theatre Royal, but I can’t remember them all. And then what happened in 1965, when Rock and Roll was still going - even though the Teddy Boy era had finished - and it was bigger than ever? He came here, Chuck Berry, the greatest.

The Teddy Boy era went, though. As quick as it started, it finished, it just died out almost overnight. The music was still there, rock music was as big as ever, it’s just that the people themselves changed, I don’t why. I think it was partly because the Teddy Boy suits got that expensive; the tailors they twigged on. Plus the Teddy Boys, they started getting married and what have you and a lot of them were called up for the army, because National Service was still on. So, it just died out everywhere. But, they were good exciting years and I wouldn’t have missed them for anything.'

Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.