A Tale of Trafalgar

A Royal Marine private in 1815
Source: Wikimedia Commons

In the pages of M. H. Miller’s interesting compilation, Leek: Fifty Years Ago, can be found the story of one Joseph Mottershead from Leek, who served as a Royal Marine aboard HMS Dreadnought at the battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Joseph was born in Leek in early 1778, the son of Josiah Mottershead and Ann nee Milner. He had an older brother named William and by account also had a sister. According to the story in Miller’s book, Joseph Mottershead had run away from home after falling out with his family and gone off secretly to enlist, joining a recruiting party on the Ashbourne Road. He was away from his family for the next 17 years and though Joseph wrote to them, the letters were few and far between.

The account had no doubt that Mottershead had ‘been in many a scrimmage’ from early in his career at sea, but Trafalgar would overshadow them all. By 1805, he was a serving Marine aboard HMS Dreadnought, a 98 gun second-rate ship under Captain Conn, part of Nelson’s force in full pursuit of Admiral Villeneuve’s Franco-Spanish fleet. Mottershead recalled how, ‘… when the combined fleets of France and Spain were signalled a great shout went up. On that day he [Mottershead] had nothing on but his shirt and trousers and said that he and seven others made a hasty breakfast out of one dish. Owing to the line of battle taken up by the fleet the Dreadnought was late in coming into action and so was not so hotly engaged as some of the ships, but, nevertheless, they captured one of the Spanish vessels.’

This was the San Juan Nepomuceno, whose fire-eating captain had nailed the ship’s colours to the mast and refused to surrender, despite taking a pummelling from half a dozen circling British warships. As already noted Dreadnought joined the fray late and opened fire at two o'clock then fifteen minutes later boarded the Spaniard and forced her crew to surrender after their captain had been killed in action. Dreadnought then turned in pursuit of the Spanish flagship Principe de Asturias, firing several broadsides and mortally wounding the Spanish Admiral Gravina, but was unable to catch the enemy vessel which slipped away and succeeded in reaching Cadiz. Captain Conn consoled himself with his initial prize, the San Juan Nepomuceno being one of only four captured enemy ships to survive the great storm that followed on after the battle. 

HMS Dreadnought suffered 7 crew killed and 26 wounded in the fighting, but Mottershead was lucky and seems to have come away unscathed. Not that his family back in Leek were to know that and when a Mr Beadnall was passing the Mottershead’s home near Belle Vue, he spotted Joe’s sister and asked her what ship her brother was serving on. On being told it was the Dreadnought, he informed her that the ship had been in a great sea battle and the British fleet had won. The news drove the family frantic with worry, wondering if Joe had been killed and it was not until several weeks later when they received a letter from him stating that he was safe and well, that their fears were finally allayed.

Mottershead’s account of his career added a few more details of his time at sea. He had stated that his ship was once ice-bound for a long period and the men were put on short rations. When they finally got free and returned to Portsmouth, Mottershead said ‘they could almost see through each other’. He also recalled that he once saw a group of his comrades hung from the yardarm for breach of their duty. When these incidents happened, though, is not made clear.

Joseph Mottershead was discharged from the Royal Marines in either 1814 or 1815. Servicemen of the period were usually provided with the fare back to the town where they had enlisted, but otherwise had to make their own arrangements to get back to their real home. His low-key return to Leek was recounted in Miller’s book.

‘One very wintery day about the year 1815, Gaunt’s work people had been paid for their work and were getting “a glass together” at the Cock in Derby street, when the coach from Derby drew up and a soldier got off and came into the house. He stood by the fire warming himself, and presently he asked “Is ------ alive,” naming his father. One of the people, a woman of the name of Nixon, eyed him for a moment, then rapping her snuff-box and turning to one of the men (Mottershead’s brother) said, “By Jove, Will, it’s your Joe!” Yes! Joseph was come back and received a hearty welcome.’

A replica Naval General Service
Medal with the Trafalgar clasp.

When the 1841 census was taken, Joe was still alive at 63 and living at Mill Street, Leek, his profession given as a ‘silk doubler’ employed in the town’s notable silk and lace industry. Two other names are listed at the same address, Hannah Mottershead aged 61 and 34 year old Sarah Mottershead. At first glance we might think Joseph had settled down to a married life, but the 1851 census lists Hannah as his ‘infirm’ sister and Sarah as his daughter, though if this is the case there is no indication of who her mother was. By this time Joe had retired and was listed as a ‘Greenwich Pensioner,’ reaping the albeit meagre rewards of his service at sea all those years before. He had also received further recognition for his service a couple of years before when he applied for and was awarded the Naval General Service Medal with the ‘Trafalgar’ clasp.

Joseph Mottershead, North Staffordshire’s most notable Trafalgar veteran died on 4 December 1855 aged 77 years old and was buried four days later in St Edward’s Churchyard. His death and claim to fame was mentioned briefly in the pages of the Staffordshire Sentinel,  where it was noted, ‘He fought by the side of Nelson, at the Battle [of] Trafalgar.’

Reference: M. H. Miller, Leek: Fifty Years Ago, pp.150-151. Staffordshire Sentinel, 8 December 1855, p.5.

Dickens, the Dodo and the Dinner Plate

On 1 April 1852, the writer Charles Dickens wrote a letter to his wife Kate informing her ‘We think of going on tonight from Birmingham to Stoke upon Trent.’ Despite worries about the trains, it seems that he and a travelling companion arrived in Stoke the next morning. Here after gazing with some fascination at the town before him, the famous author (who at the time was also writing up weekly instalments of his longest book, Bleak House) spent a few hours at the Spode factory which was at that period owned by W. T. Copeland. Here he apparently watched a thrower and his attendant swiftly and skilfully fashion a breakfast set for his amusement, watched jiggerers and pressers making bowls and basins and saw Parian statuettes being produced in moulds. He then explored the factory kilns, seeing the saggars being stacked prior to firing and mused on the constant cycle of heating and cooling that accompanied the manufacture of pottery. This was followed by visits to see transferers and decorators at work, producing willow pattern wares or fancier stuff, before moving on to the dipping shop for glazing and then to the placers carefully loading the ware into the appropriate saggers prior to them being loaded into the kilns he had seen earlier. Dickens seems to have enjoyed his tour and it was doubtless a thrill for the workers at the Copeland works to meet, albeit briefly, one of the biggest celebrities of the Victorian age and show him their own impressive skills. Armed with all he had seen and imbibing a good working knowledge of the history and process of pottery making, Charles Dickens moved on the next day to Stafford.

Compared to the grime and industry of the Potteries that evidently spoke to his imagination, Dickens was bored with Stafford and rather rude about the place, ‘it is as dull and dead a town as any one could desire not to see’ he wrote tartly. He lodged at the Swan Inn, which he disparagingly nicknamed ‘the Dodo’ and where he apparently seemed doomed to spend a very dull evening indeed. According to the tale he told, though, he chanced to look at the bottom of a plate and saw the name ‘COPELAND’, which set him to musing on the previous day’s events. Employing a literary conceit, he then let the plate ‘remind’ him of all he had seen at Copeland’s pot bank, telling the story outlined above as a journey through its creation. The plate’s ‘recollections’ got Dickens through the evening, so he claimed, though one might suppose that he was actually quite busy putting his recollections down on paper. His clever bit of writing, ‘A Plated Article’, was published in the magazine Household Words, on 24 April 1852. 

Wind-Stars for Mr Wells

Norman Saunder's illustration showing the
Time Traveller rescuing Weena from the
Morlocks in The Time Machine.
(Wikimedia Commons)

In early 1888, 22 year old Herbert George Wells was recovering from an illness, some disorder of the lungs, and went to stay with an old college friend and his wife at their terraced house in Basford for a few months where he was apparently a troublesome and petulant house guest; perhaps as a result he also spent some time lodging at the Leopard Inn in Burslem. The future ‘father of science fiction’ had lived most of his life in rural or semi-rural districts and the Potteries was the first industrial landscape he had encountered. As he later wrote to local author Arnold Bennett, ‘the district made an immense impression on me’ and his memories of the area later found their way into his works. 

In the 1890s, Wells wrote a short essay entitled ‘How I Died’, in which he seemed to recount his recovery at this period. He described how after four months lying ill and convinced that he was dying, he staggered out one early spring morning to get some fresh air and take a last look at the sky before expiring, when he encountered a young girl who had got her dress caught by a bramble whilst climbing a hedge. After helping her free, the invalid stood chatting with the girl about this and that and he noted that she carried a small bunch of wood anemones that she called ‘wind-stars’. Wells was charmed by the pretty name that the innocent youngster gave her flowers and by his account the meeting - if genuine - bucked him up and he grew bored with the idea that he was dying and decided at that point to put all gloomy thoughts aside and get on with his life. It has been suggested that this pleasant meeting was the model for the time traveller’s first encounter with the childlike Eloi Weena in Wells’ first novel, The Time Machine, who presents a bunch of flowers to him for saving her life, then sits with him as he tries to communicate with her. Also in The Time Machine, a friend of the time traveller refers to a conjuror he had once seen in Burslem, while the spectacle of the Potteries at night with its numerous kilns and furnaces casting a fiery glow into the sky, is famously referenced early on in The War of the Worlds, to describe the destruction wrought by the Martian war machines.

In addition to these famous examples there were lesser tales of his that owed something to the Potteries. In 1895, the same year that The Time Machine was published and he began work on The War of the Worlds, Wells had a short macabre horror story The Cone published, which was set in a fictional forge in Etruria, and was probably based on Earl Granville’s iron works. That story was all that remained of what Wells had originally planned to be a larger dramatic novel set in the area, but he went on to produce another work, the slightly scandalous science fiction novel (because it advocated free love) In the Days of the Comet, published in 1906, which was also set in a fictional version of the Potteries.

The Lamppost of Beauty

On 11 June 1956, 46 year old Arnold Machin and his 34 year old wife Pat of number 15 The Villas, Stoke, took a stand against the encroachment of post-war brutalist architecture and what they saw as the insidious spread of ‘subtopia’ near their home. When they heard that morning that a gang of workmen were coming later that day to remove an old Victorian lamppost from the centre of their estate and replace it with a modern streamlined concrete electric lamppost, they were appalled that such a fine bit of street furniture was being usurped simply in the name of progress. So, the Machin’s decided to make a stand and promptly sat themselves in front of the lamp for the next six hours. It was a hot day, so they hunkered down under an umbrella and tellingly sat reading The Seven Lamps of Architecture by John Ruskin, (an essay that outlined the principal demands of good architecture) and waited to see what transpired.

Arnold Machin was no mean intellect when it came to the subject of form and beauty. Born in 1911 at Oak Hill, he had begun his working life as a china painter at Mintons, but moved on to study sculpture at the Art School in Stoke, followed by a stint at Derby Art School and then the Royal Academy in London. He was later retained as a designer for Wedgwood and worked a teacher at the Burslem School of Art and in the same year that he made his stand over the lamppost, he was elected as a member of the Royal Academy and a Fellow of the Royal Society of British Sculptors. And as his record showed, like many a seemingly straight-laced academic, he had a strong rebellious streak and was prepared to stand up for his beliefs come what may. Sixteen years earlier Arnold Machin had done just that and served time in prison during World War Two for being a conscientious objector. Now, when the workmen turned up he stuck to his principles once more, saying: " I forbid you, as a token protest on my part, to remove this ornamental gas-lamp centrepiece."

Faced by the prickly couple and not sure what to do, the workmen politely withdrew and put in a call to the city surveyor, Mr D. F. Brewster who soon arrived on scene. In response to the official, Mr Machin merely turned to Chapter IV "The Lamp of Beauty." of Ruskin’s work and carried on reading. When shortly after this a police inspector and a sergeant also appeared, seeing what was afoot Machin put down his book, threw his arms around the lamppost and his wife slipped a chain around his wrists and padlocked him in place. Mr Machin then proclaimed to the police: "This is my protest against the destruction of all the beautiful things which is going on in this country." 

The officials paused to have a quick conference then offered Mr Machin a compromise, saying that he could have the lamppost to have in his garden. He was satisfied with the suggestion, so Pat unlocked him. A crane arrived a short time later, pulled the lamp out of the ground, carried it 40 yards to the Machins’ house and dropped it neatly outside their front gate. Undaunted by the large post with a sizeable block of concrete at the bottom, the Machin’s said they were going to mount a commemorative plaque on it, find somewhere to put it in their garden and surround it with flowers. 

Reference: Daily Mail, 12 July 1956.

Characteristics of the Working Population

Published in 1847 by Charles Knight, The Land We Live In, was ostensibly a travel guide written for those adventurous souls who wished to make use of the new railways which were springing up all over Britain. One chapter was dedicated to 'The Staffordshire Potteries' and as well as containing descriptions of the six towns, it also gave an interesting pen-portrait of the ordinary people of the district.

'Whoever wishes to see the characteristics of the working population of a manufacturing district, should watch for the hour when all hands troop out to dinner, There is sure to be a something which an observant eye can catch ... If at the Potteries, he will observe that all the world ... wear little, natty, gray, hemispherical hats or caps - not the broad-brims which have recently had a season of favour among cricketers and steam-boat tourists, but having a brim curled up compactly all, round. These caps are made of coarse gray felt; and they form an extensive article of manufacture in the neighbouring town of Newcastle; for they are worn almost universally by the potters, men and boys, while at work and the feminine workers do not altogether reject then; The caps have the double reputation of being 'nice and warm' in winter, and 'nice and cool' in summer. If we further look at the groups of potters, while returning homewards to dinner, we can hardly fail to see that they are a whiteybrown race, so far as dress is concerned; the pottery materials are mostly of a light colour, and they leave their impress both on skin and on clothes...

As to the streets in which the operatives live, a passer-by would find it difficult to distinguish one house from another. They are like casts taken from the same mould. All are about of equal height, and have an equal number of windows; all the windows are decked with flowers, placed in pots which would shame our London flower-pots; all the street-doors open into the best parlours; and all the best parlours (or so many of them, that we feel tempted to jump to a conclusion as to the rest) have mahogany chests of drawers. It appears that the potters have a very commendable bit of pride concerning this article of furniture; and there can be little doubt that the treasures stored away in such receptacles often comprise no small amount of display and finery for the Sunday's wear. But we are not entitled to peep into the drawers; so will pass on.

While speaking of the potters and their houses we may as well mention that they have the reputation of having more freeholds in their possession than any other class of operatives in this country. Among the more prudent men the earnings are large enough, in a cheap county, to permit them to lay by sufficient for the purchase of a small freehold dwelling; and it is said that near Burslem there is a row or street of houses consisting entirely of workmen's freeholds, this does not appear to be the result of any Building Society, Land Society, or Socialist scheme, but to spring from individual acts of prudence - so much the better. That some potters are reckless and poor, and some poor without being reckless, may well be imagined. We remember seeing a handbill emanating from the " Handlers' and Flat and Hollow Ware Pressers' Surplus Labour Society (a name almost as long as Boz's "Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company"), in which the grievances of the members were to be remedied by a certain labour-scheme - and the Reports of the "Children's Employment Commissioners" showed that there is much more squalor and more ignorance than there ought to be where so large an amount of wages is distributed every week; but we incline to think that the potters, as a class, would rank as high as most English operatives in intelligence and in comfort. Some of the witnesses who gave evidence before the Government Commissioner presented rather a gloomy picture of the people and their condition; while others felt that they could venture to take a more cheerful view of the state of things. One of them, a manager or foreman, said: " I do not think that there is a more respectable set of mechanics in England. They are great politicians ; for it is the practice, when the newspapers arrive, for one amongst them to seat himself in the middle of the room, and read aloud for twenty minutes; he is then relieved by another, and returns to his work." Here follows, however, rather an ugly spot -" If it happens that, in his turn, one of the persons cannot read, his place is taken by another and he works for him." There is a Potters' Emigration Society, whose funds have been devoted to the purchase of an estate at Wisconsin, in the United States of America, whither many of the potters have emigrated and it is said, prospered.'

Reference: Charles Knight (publisher) The Land We Live In, London, 1847

Elijah Fenton

Elijah Fenton

Elijah Fenton, poet, biographer and translator, was born at Shelton on 25 May 1683. His father John Fenton, an attorney at law, and one of the coroners for the county of Stafford, was of an ancient family and possessed of a sizeable estate, while his mother Catherine Meare claimed direct descent from an officer in the army of William the Conqueror. Elijah was the youngest of their twelve children, and not being likely to inherit any of the family estate he was destined from an early age to be placed into some form of employment. He was an intelligent child  and the church was therefore chosen as his future profession. Accordingly, after being educated locally, on 1 July 1700 he was admitted as a pensioner of Jesus college, Cambridge, where he earned a reputation as a diligent student. He gained his B.A., in 1704, but being an adherent of the old Stuart dynasty he denied himself the chance of taking holy orders by declining to take the required oaths of allegiance to the Crown. 

Seeking out alternative employment, Fenton became first an usher in the school of a Mr Bonwick, in Headley in Surrey, but was soon afterwards patronised by the representative of the noble Boyle family. He was subsequently appointed as secretary to Charles, 4th Earl of Orrery and later tutor to his son Lord Boyle. The Boyles were residing in Flanders and it was during his time there that Fenton produced some of his early poetry.

On returning to England, he opened a grammar school at Sevenoaks in Kent. Though this added to his growing reputation as an able tutor to the gentry, the school was not a success and Fenton turned to publishing a series of verses. These received some favourable notices and he attracted the patronage of Henry St. John (later 1st Viscount Bolingbroke) and resigned his teaching post in 1710. This connexion, together with his abilities and amiable manners, brought him to the attention and earned him the friendship of the great and learned of his day, most notably one of the great British poets of the 18th century, Alexander Pope, who became a lifelong friend. 

Fenton's friendship with Pope seems to have energised him and over the next few yeas he produced a series of poems. Pope also managed to get his friend additional patrons, first as private secretary to the politician James Craggs and after the latter's death he secured him the patronage of Lady Trumbull who appointed Fenton as tutor to her eldest son. He was to enjoy the lady's patronage until his death nine years later.

During this period he produced further poems and a tragedy Mariamne, which though deemed unfit for performance by the then poet laureate, went on to earn Fenton over £1,000. There was also a profitable collaboration with Alexander Pope, who asked Fenton if he would assist in a translation of The Odyssey. Fenton duly translated books 1, 4, 19, and 20, his style apparently being so similar to Pope's that it is difficult to tell them apart.  Fenton also wrote the Life of John Milton, a biography that continued to be reprinted into the 19th century. His last significant work was an edition of the poems of Edmund Waller. 

Though seen today as a minor 18th century poet, at the time Fenton's skills were highly regarded by his contemporaries and may indeed have improved were it not for by his habitual idleness. One of Fenton's early biographers, none other than Dr Samuel Johnson of dictionary fame, touched on this in an amusing pen portrait of his fellow Staffordshireman.

'Fenton was tall and bulky, inclined to corpulence, which he did not lessen by much exercise; for he was very sluggish and sedentary, rose late, and when he had risen sat down to his book or papers. A woman, that once waited on him in a lodging, told him, as she said, that he would "lie a-bed, and be fed with a spoon." This, however, was not the worst that might have been prognosticated, for Pope says, in his Letters, that "he died of indolence;" but his immediate distemper was the gout.'

But, Johnson notes further, Fenton's faults were outweighed by his intelligence and the kindliness of his character.

'Of his morals and his conversation the account is uniform: he was never named but with praise and fondness, as a man in the highest degree amiable and excellent. Such was the character given him by the earl of Orrery, his pupil; such is the testimony of Pope; and such were the suffrages of all who could boast of his acquaintance.

By a former writer of his Life a story is told, which ought not to be forgotten. He used, in the latter part of his time, to pay his relations in the country an yearly visit. At an entertainment made for the family by his elder brother he observed that one of his sisters, who had married unfortunately, was absent, and found upon enquiry that distress had made her thought unworthy of invitation. As she was at no great distance he refused to sit at table till she was called, and, when she had taken her place, was careful to shew her particular attention.'

Fenton died at the age of 47 on 16 July 1730, in Easthampstead, Berkshire, most likely from health problems related to gout and is buried in the churchyard of St Michael and St Mary Magdalene's Church, Easthampstead, with an epitaph by his friend Alexander Pope. It reads:-

To the memory of Elijah Fenton of Shelton in Staffordshire,

who dyed at Easthampstead Anno 1730, aged forty seven years.

In honour of his great integrity & Learning.

William Trumbell Esq erected this monument.

This modest stone what few vain marbles can

May truly say, here lies an honest man

A poet blest beyond the poets fate

Whom heav'n left sacred from the proud and great

Foe to loud praise and friend to learned ease

Content with science in the vale of peace

Calmly he look'd on either life & here

Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear

From natur's temp'rate feast rose satisfy'd

Thank'd heav'n that he had liv'd and that he dy'd.

A. POPE

Reference: John Ward, The Borough of Stoke-Upon-Trent (1843); Samuel Johnson: Lives of the English Poets (1779-81); ed., Hill (1905), 2:257-66

Illustrations: John Ward, The Borough of Stoke-Upon-Trent (1843)

Jane Austen and the Clay of Staffordshire.

Through the efforts of potters such as Thomas Whieldon, Josiah Wedgwood, Josiah Spode and many others less well known, between 1750 and 1800 the local pottery industry had undergone a tremendous revolution. In 1762 when Wedgwood was just beginning his career as a major manufacturer, there were 150 potteries in the district employing over 7,000 people. By 1800, the figures for both had doubled. The improvement in trade was matched by technical developments and the use of new resources which improved the quality of the products produced. Thus the salt-glazed wares of one decade had been displaced in turn by creamwares and porcelains and by the turn of the century by bone china. All in all it had been quite an achievement in so short a time, As the words of the Wedgwood Memorial had it, these enterprising potters had 'converted a rude and inconsiderable manufacture into an elegant art and an important branch of national commerce.'

It was an improvement noted by none other than that great observer of her age, the novelist Jane Austen. Jane never visited the Potteries and had only a vague notion of its location (she thought it was near Birmingham and may have been confusing the district with the Black Country). She was, however, part of the genteel social set that these new, finer, highly decorative wares were aimed at, for whom buying the latest thing in pottery became something of a craze.

In her letters Jane writes of visiting the Wedgwood showrooms in London and in one gleeful missive to her sister Cassandra in June 1811, she writes 'I had the pleasure of receiving, unpacking, and approving our Wedgwood ware' and anticipates the arrival of a new Wedgwood breakfast set for their mother, 'I hope it will come by the waggon to-morrow; it is certainly what we want, and I long to know what it is like'. 

A decade earlier, though, her enthusiasm for Staffordshire pottery found a release in one of her early novels. Though not published until after her death, Jane Austen's Gothic conceit, Northanger Abbey, was revised and finished between 1801 and 1804. In chapter 22, there is a short witty passage that may be the first literary appreciation of the Staffordshire Potteries and their rising status amongst the ceramic capitals of the world. 

'The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Catherine’s notice when they were seated at table; and, luckily, it had been the general’s choice. He was enchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed it to be neat and simple, thought it right to encourage the manufacture of his country; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the tea was as well flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresden or Seve. But this was quite an old set, purchased two years ago. The manufacture was much improved since that time; he had seen some beautiful specimens when last in town, and had he not been perfectly without vanity of that kind, might have been tempted to order a new set.'

Though the line about a breakfast set made two years earlier being 'quite old' is a touch of Austen wit, it nevertheless reflects the real situation at that time, when local manufacturers were working day in, day out to keep their wealthy clients happy with newer and more exciting goods.

Reference: Letters of Jane Austen (1884); Northanger Abbey (1817)