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This post owes its existence to a talk given by Pat Candlin at a ‘Guyana Speaks’ event. The monthly events regularly feature interesting presentations which, as the title of the sessions indicates, focus mainly on Guyana. Pat’s talk was about his book (co-authored with Cassandra Pybus) ‘Enterprising Women – Gender, Race and Power in the Revolutionary Atlantic’. 

The gap between buying a book and actually reading it can be quite long but, having recently got round to it, this one is very thought provoking for a number of reasons.

How often do we bemoan the absence from the history books of stories about strong, successful and independent women of colour? This book has many such stories.

However, a health warning is necessary. The women featured in the pages of the book were all operating in the southern Caribbean at a time of great political turmoil under conditions that bear comparison with what we know as ‘the wild west.’ This was frontier territory, with islands like Grenada and Trinidad changing hands following tussles between the competing colonial powers of Britain, France and Spain. British Guiana came into existence after Britain seized Demerara, Essequibo and Berbice from the Dutch in 1796. The problematic feature of these women’s stories is that they all owned slaves, in some cases many of them. Having been enslaved themselves, or being the daughters of women who were, their route to riches involved the enslavement of others.

British writers of the time were quick to stereotype women of colour, perhaps some things haven’t changed as much as they should have done over the past two hundred years. 

Betsey Goodwin was the woman who ‘shared the bed’ of George Ricketts after he became Governor of Barbados in 1794. An early historian of Barbados, John Poyer, writing in 1808, suggested Betsey’s position encouraged other members of the free coloured community who had ‘assumed a rank in the graduated scale of colonial society to which they had hitherto been strangers.’ He also suggested that, because Betsey was believed to have encouraged the Governor to allow prisoners to go free, other free coloured people had ‘boasted of the impunity which they could obtain through the influence of Betsey Goodwin.’ Betsey was described as ‘sly and insidious’ and this became a familiar stereotype. Enslaved black women and women of colour had much to gain from associating with a powerful white man, if they played their cards right they could gain their own freedom and that of their children. It suited contemporary writers to portray them in a very negative light.

Another common stereotype was that of the black (or mixed heritage) brothel keeper. Rachael Pringle Polgreen is one such person and we have a supposed likeness of her.

Whether this unflattering image or ‘likeness’ is an accurate portrayal is very much up for debate. It is a lithograph by Thomas Rowlandson dating from 1796. Rowlandson could have met Rachel on the one visit he made to the Caribbean but the lithograph was created when he was back in London (five years after Rachel’s death) and based on a drawing by another, un-named, artist. It is a caricature that fits well with the stereotype that the British were happy to perpetuate. As the authors of the book say, the caricature ‘played to the powerful cliches that had enveloped Caribbean women by the end of the eighteenth century.’ For example, writing in 1806, Dr.George Pinckard wrote that the typical tavern keeper in Barbados was a ‘mulatto woman … who now indulges in indolence and the good things in life, grows fat and feels herself to be of importance to society.’

The few known facts about Rachel’s life give a far more nuanced picture. There were white men at various stages of her life but it is clear that she had a strong entrepreneurial spirit and was a shrewd businesswoman. The (long) list of her belongings at the time of her death was, Candlin and Pybus assert, ‘just the kind of inventory one would expect of a wealthy white person in Barbadian society at the time.’ This list included her main property which was valued at £1,000 (£154,000 at today’s prices) and 38 enslaved people, six of whom she chose to grant their freedom.

The story of the Philip clan starts in provincial France where, some time in the 1750s, a baker, Honore Philip, decided to seek new opportunities in the Caribbean. With his two brothers he settled on the small French colony of La Grenade. Two of the brothers chose to settle on the tiny outlying island of Petite Martinique while the third settled on the main island of Grenada. Why they located here is not known but they were soon thriving producing cotton and indigo.

By 1760, Honore had married ‘Jeanette, a free negro woman.’ The authors speculate that his relationship with her started while she was enslaved and that he gave her her freedom at the time he married her. This sort of behaviour was sanctioned by the Code Noire, the ‘rules’ that governed how French colonisers were expected to treat the local black poulation.

At some point in 1770s Honore died and Jeanette became the sole proprietor of his extensive estates. In 1778 a visitor wrote that all the land of Petite Martinique – some 477 acres – was ‘jointly owned by Jeanette Philip and a number of her mixed race children.’ Contrary to the stereotype, Jeanette did not succumb to ‘indolence’ but continued to expand her property empire with vigour. When she died in 1788 the estate was divided among her children, among them a daughter, Judith. There are many twists and turns to the story of Judith Philip, including ten years living at a fashionable address in London, which cannot be covered here, suffice to say that she lived until 1848 and died a very wealthy women.

The book gives some information about the extent of the Philip family’s ownership of enslaved people. But the details are all to be found on the Legacy of British Slavery database https://www.ucl.ac.uk/lbs/search

Looking at the records for Judith Philip alone shows her ownership of enslaved people on three estates on Grenada.

The total compensation claimed by Judith Philip was £6,515 4 shillings 2 pence, about £866,000 at today’s prices according to the Bank of England inflation calculator.

As an aside, I couldn’t resist putting ‘Gleave’ into the database search box. I know there was a Gleave on Barbados in the 1860s but he was a Methodist minister at a time when Methodists were still extremely unpopular with the plantocracy because they gave the until recently enslaved people ideas above their station. It is a relief to know that the name Gleave does not appear in the ‘Legacy’ database and that John Rowland Gleave was on the side of the good guys. You can read about him here https://www.historycalroots.com/john-rowland-gleave/

The book is full of surprising stories, none more so that that of Susannah Ostrehan who owned her own mother, Priscilla. Strange as this sounds, owning family members was the best, indeed the only, way of keeping them relatively safe.

In 1809 Susannah realised she was dying and she went to extraordinary lengths to ensure that her mother became a free woman once her owner died. The British colonial authorities put all sorts of obstacles in the way of those seeking to manumit slaves. Just a few years earlier in 1801, the Governor had become so concerned at the number of enslaved people being freed that he increased the cost of issuing a manumission certificate from £50 to £300 and even if the money was raised, officialdom could not be relied upon to issue the appropriate papers. It was cheaper and more reliable to entrust a friendly ship’s captain bound for London with the requisite papers and rely on him to secure the enslaved person’s freedom through the appropriate authorities there (where the cost was still only £50).

Susannah entrusted a Captain Welch with the mission to secure her mother’s freedom. This was clearly a lengthy process as, having made the voyage to London, a ship would have to complete a return journey with the precious papers. Susannah died before the ship returned but she had prepared for that eventuality in her will by bequeathing her mother to a friend, Christian Blackman. The story has a happy ending as, although her daughter did not live to see it, the papers arrived from London and Priscilla was freed.

Finally, if we learn anything about the abolition of slavery in schools it is likely that the names of William Wilberforce and Thomas Clarkson will feature prominently. What we hear less about is the agency of enslaved people themselves in bringing the whole trade to an end. There is plenty of evidence of this in the book, one of Judith Philip’s own brothers, Joachim, turned against the system. He was eventually hanged in the market square in St Georges for his part in the 1796 uprising in Grenada led by Julien Fedon. Hopefully we will learn more about how enslaved people fought against their oppression thanks to projects like this one https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/jul/18/secrets-of-rebel-slaves-in-barbados-will-finally-be-revealed

As I suggested at the outset, it is very hard to pretend that people like Judith Philip were exemplars of enlightened behaviour – they were not. As the authors say of Judith Philip, ‘she owned people on a large scale almost all of her life. Her wealth was built from plantation slavery and when the horror of slavery was over, her powerful attorneys made sure she was substantially compensated for her loss. But should we only see women like Judith Philip through the prism of slavery?’ They conclude ‘her singular success marks her as a remarkably enterprising women, worthy of our attention in a world so profoundly shaped by white men.’ More generally they conclude ‘one does not have to valorize self-emancipated slaves who became slave owners and helped perpetuate the system that held them in bondage – or even admire them. However, we would argue it is important to know such women existed in all their complexity and contradictions.’

An uncomfortable read, but I certainly found it a thought provoking book.

By Audrey Dewjee

Many years ago, shortly after I began researching British Black History, I paid a visit to Harewood House, the stately home built by the Lascelles family (Earls of Harewood) near Leeds in Yorkshire.  Knowing that the family had owned a plantation in Barbados, and that they had connections with the East India Company, I wanted to find out if any servants of African or Asian ancestry had been employed at Harewood House during the 18^th or early 19^th centuries.

Harewood is often referred to as “The Treasure House of Yorkshire”.  The wealth that financed its building came from an immense West India fortune created by Henry Lascelles (1690-1753) whose net assets at death probably totalled over £50 million in today’s money.  As historian Simon D. Smith explains, “Henry earned his fortune primarily through unscrupulous exploitation of his positions as Barbadian customs collector (1715-33) and government-appointed contractor to supply troops stationed in the Caribbean with provisions during the Wars of Jenkins’ Ear (1739-42) and Austrian Succession (1742-8).  He also used his skills as a merchant to establish a London commission house, importing sugar for sale to the city’s refiners.  Profits from these activities were invested in English land, London securities, and loans to West India planters.” [1]  Henry participated in the slave trade, setting up a syndicate investing £41,200 (approx. £4.5 million) in slaving between 1736 and 1744 and bought a plantation in Barbados, although this was sold off a few years after his death.  In 1742, Henry Lascelles became a director of the East India Company.  A very astute businessman, Henry became one of the richest men in England.  He killed himself in 1753 by slashing the veins in his arms.[2]

Henry’s eldest son, Daniel, inherited the London business while his second son, Edwin, was educated to be an aristocrat (Cambridge University, followed by a “Grand Tour” of Europe) and settled on the land bought by Henry at Harewood.

Construction of the house began in 1759 and was completed in 1771.  It was designed by John Carr and Robert Adam, lavishly decorated and filled with the finest Chippendale furniture, works of art by grand masters, exquisite china, enormous fine carpets and hundreds of leather bound books.  Edwin’s younger brother, another Henry, became a captain for the East India Company.  In command of a ship named York, he made three voyages to Canton in China.  It is unknown whether he brought back the spectacular Chinese wallpaper and other exotic Eastern treasures which eventually further enhanced Harewood House.

One of the main activities of the London business house (known as Lascelles and Maxwell) was to provide loans and mortgages to West Indian planters.  When financial problems began to hit West Indian sugar producers in the second half of the 18^th century, Edwin Lascelles “suddenly acquired an immense portfolio of West Indian property as planters began defaulting on loans and surrendering plantations to their creditors.”  In just 14 years between 1773 and 1787, he took possession of more than 27,000 acres and 2,947 enslaved workers, worth £293,000 (about £28.3 million).  This total included 22 working plantations on the islands of Barbados, Grenada, Jamaica, and Tobago.

Edward Lascelles inherited Harewood House and the family fortune from his cousin Edwin, who died childless in 1795.  In 1812 he was created Viscount Lascelles, Earl of Harewood, and thus a gentry family from Northallerton in Yorkshire entered the higher ranks of Britain’s aristocracy.

“After 1788, the owners of Harewood steadily reduced their interests in the Caribbean. By the time of Emancipation (1833), however, the Lascelles family still owned six estates in Barbados and Jamaica, consisting of 3,264 acres and 1,277 slaves. Under the terms of the Parliamentary scheme to compensate planters for freed slaves, the 2nd Earl of Harewood received £23,309 in 1835-6 (approximately £1.9 million).”[3]

At the time I visited Harewood, a watercolour of a Barbados plantation great-house was on display, and on the wall of one of the outbuildings – perhaps in the stables – there was a timeline of family history including the fact that Henry Lascelles had been customs collector in Barbados, and that the family had been plantation owners.  On my visit, I thought I might discover a painting of some long-dead grandee which included an African or Asian servant in the corner or the background that might indicate their former employment in the house.  On this I was to be disappointed.[4]

At closing time, just as I was leaving, I saw an elderly house-guide sitting by the door.  I asked him if he knew whether there had ever been any Black servants at Harewood and I was amazed at his reply.  “Oh aye! – I remember Bertie Robinson.  He was a footman here when I were young.”  I asked if he could remember anything about Bertie.  “In an evening he used to walk down to the village pub carrying a silver topped cane and he was in love with the cook at the vicarage – but she died.”

I asked what happened to Bertie.  “Oh, he put his hand in t’purse and was sent back to Barbados.”  I think the assumption was that Bertie had been gambling and run up debts and that was the reason he stole.

This mysterious Bertie caught my imagination and I tried to find out more about him.  Several years later, I rang Harewood House Trust and said that I was looking for pictures or information about him.  I was referred to a gentleman named Gerald Twinn (an ex-employee who still lived in the village in retirement) who was known to have many photographs of Harewood and the staff who used to work there.

Mr. Twinn invited me to visit.  He showed me his fantastic collection of photographs which included not only servants, but also members of the Lascelles family.  There was one of his father who had been a coachman, driving members of the family in a beautiful open carriage.  Among the collection, there was a photo of Bertie dressed in his footman’s uniform, standing on the famous Harewood Terrace.[5]  Mr. Twinn gave me a copy of the photo and permission to use it in any way I liked in the future.

In 2002 our Diasporian Stories Research Group[6] was invited to work with staff at Abbey House Museum to expand their display on Victorian Leeds by looking into the wider context of the British Empire, struggles against slavery, colonial trade and migration.  We told them about Bertie.  A short while later, Museum Curator, Kitty Ross, got in touch with us to say that in their Christmas card collection, they had discovered a card sent by Bertie in 1905, which included his photo.

More of Bertie’s story gradually emerged out of the mists of time.  Terry Suthers, former Director of Harewood House Trust, discovered entries for “Bertie” on the census in both 1901 and 1911.  From this we learned that Bertie’s given name was actually George and that he had been born in 1881 in St. Vincent, not Barbados.  His route to working at Harewood thus became even more obscure.

A third photo of Bertie was found at Harewood which shows what a handsome young man he was.  No wonder the cook at the vicarage was attracted to him.  This photo, taken in London by the Jubilee Photo Company of 1 Buckingham Palace Road, together with a little information about Bertie, was featured in an exhibition at Harewood in 2004.[7]

While working for the Lascelles family, Bertie must have waited on many prominent people – politicians, aristocrats and royalty – not only at Harewood, but also in the Lascelles’ townhouse at 13 Upper Belgrave Street, London, SW1.  In 1921 yet another Henry Lascelles (later 6^th Earl of Harewood) proposed to Princess Mary – the only daughter of the king – and was accepted.  They were married on 28 February, 1922.  It is not unreasonable to suppose that Bertie met the princess before or after their marriage.

Why Bertie stole and what happened to him remained a mystery until recently.  In 2016 while researching online, I came across a reference to a letter written in 1924 by Lady Constance Wenlock, (née Lascelles, sister of Henry, 5^th Earl) which mentioned a ‘Blackamoor’ at Harewood.  My friend, Dr. Joan Kemp, kindly looked at the original and transcribed notes for me.  The letter reveals why Bertie, after giving a quarter of a century of honest service to the Lascelles family, suddenly committed such an uncharacteristic act.

Joan explains the background to the letter – “On 6 January, 1924, Lady Wenlock is writing to her daughter.  Amongst a lot of other things she mentions that she has been reading The Diary of Lady Anne Clifford, edited by Vita Sackville West, who includes a lengthy introduction.  The details of Lady Anne’s household [in the early 17^th century] seem to fascinate Lady Wenlock, who comments on the different tables at meals, according to the level of the retainers.”  Joan then quotes directly from the letter:

“There is the Laundrymaid’s table which includes the ladies’ maids and there are delightful old world names Penelope, Judith, Prudence, Faith and ‘Grace Robinson a Blackamoor’…..In the kitchen and scullery table is included ‘John Morocko a Blackamoor’.  I wonder if the negroes were a married couple?

“Do you remember the ‘Blackamoor’ at Harewood, the West Indian ‘boy’ who has been a sort of extra footman so many years there?  He got into trouble last year.  He stole a £50 note and was so silly as to take it to cash at a shop close by Upper Belgrave Street.  Henry [i.e. the 5th Earl of Harewood] missed the note from a drawer in his writing table and informed the police and stopped it at the bank but the shop hearing about it reported that a black man had brought it for cash.  He then confessed and gave back about £20 that he had not yet spent.

“Henry said that he would give him 24 hours to get away out of the country before he informed the police that the note had been found.  So he has disappeared.  Henry says he could not have believed it if the man had not himself confessed, and thought his folly pitiable, being conspicuous as a black man, to suppose he could take a £50 note like that without being found out.  It seems that in all these years there has never been the slightest suspicion of his honesty and in his odd way Henry was fond of the ‘Boy’ and always insisted that he was not to be unfairly ‘put upon’ by the white servants.  He had the offer of going back to the West Indies but declared himself perfectly happy and had no wish to go back.  Henry had supposed that perhaps he might wish to go back some day to have a wife of his own species.  Now it seems that the motive for the theft was that ‘He had got into trouble with a young lady, and there was a baby that he ought to provide for!’  It was not gambling as one would have supposed likeliest.”

Bertie must have been desperate.  Why hadn’t he just explained his situation to Lord Harewood and asked for assistance and permission to marry?  Someone “in service” was usually accommodated in the same house as the family they worked for.  On getting married they would have to leave their job, unless (like a number of the servants in Downton Abbey) they were allowed to live-out and had a cottage provided for them on the estate.

Another letter from Lady Wenlock to her daughter gives a pretty clear indication why Bertie didn’t ask for help – if her views on inter-racial marriage were shared by her brother and his family.  Joan continues, “On  29 April, 1924, Lady Wenlock wrote that she had been reading Tagore…She comments on Hindus, racial issues, divided families such as Catholic/Protestant, etc. and continues, ‘I find it interesting but it confirms the conviction that the difference between East and West is unbridgeable….I feel very strongly against any intermarrying of different coloured races.  The thought of any Negro intermixing is simply disgusting’.”

In the 1920s scientific racism held sway and the eugenics movement held a powerful influence on public thinking.  Francis Galton, a cousin of Charles Darwin, had coined the term “eugenics” in 1883 in his book Inquiries into the Human Faculty and Development.  His aim was to propose a way to “give to the more suitable races…a better chance of prevailing speedily over the less suitable.”  In 1923, people of all classes really believed that white people were superior to people of colour.  Like Lady Wenlock, some even thought that people with pale skin were a different “species” to those whose skins were darker.[8]

Lady Wenlock says that Bertie disappeared.  What happened to him, and his child?  Did he really leave the country, or did he simply move to another part of London or Britain where he wouldn’t be found?  Did he marry his partner and live happily ever after?  We may never know.  As George Robinson is a very common name, he will be difficult to track down.

It would be truly wonderful if someone, reading his story, realised that George was their ancestor, and could fill us in with the details of the rest of his life.

[1] http://www.bbc.co.uk/leeds/content/articles/2007/02/22/abolition_harewood_house_feature.shtml  [accessed 25/05/2020]

[2] https://harewood.org/about/the-foundation-of-harewood/  [accessed 27/05/2020]

[3] http://www.bbc.co.uk/leeds/content/articles/2007/02/22/abolition_harewood_house_feature.shtml  [accessed 25/05/2020]   For a full account of the Lascelles family’s business dealings see Simon D. Smith, Slavery, Family, and Gentry Capitalism in the British Atlantic: The World of the Lascelles, 1648-1834, Cambridge University Press, 2006.

[4] As far as I can discover, no-one has yet found evidence of Black household servants at Harewood, or at the Lascelles’ London town-house, in the 18^th or early 19^th centuries.

[5] https://harewood.org/explore/gardens-and-grounds/the-terrace/

[6] Diasporian Stories Research Group was founded c.1994 when history teacher, Allison Edwards, inspired a group of interested individuals to join together to start researching Black History in Leeds and the surrounding area.

[7] Below Stairs: Harewood’s Hidden Collections was on display from 17 March – 14 November 2004.

[8] For a history of how power has shaped the idea of race, and information about the current upsurge of scientific racism, see Superior: The Return of Race Science by Angela Saini, 4^th Estate, 2019.

The internet is a wonderful thing, where would we be without it? So much knowledge at our fingertips! Unfortunately the internet is also great for propagating fake history and once a false seed has been planted it spreads like wildfire (apologies for the mixed metaphor) and trying to correct the record feels a bit like playing that whack-a-mole game, you may whack one fake story but they keep popping up.

Emma Clarke, ‘the first black female footballer’ is a case in point. Our interest started on Tuesday 30th October 2018 when we attended an event at a prestigious London venue. It was a good event and everyone who attended must have left convinced that Emma Clarke, a young girl from Liverpool, was the first black female footballer. Stuart Gibbs, one of the speakers at the event, was introduced as the person who had uncovered Emma’s story. Press coverage of the event (and there was plenty) explained that ‘Gibbs uncovered articles referring to “a coloured lady of Dutch build” in goal, and “the fleet-footed dark girl on the right wing”, forming the foundations of his research.’  The article in the Telegraph went on to add that ‘Despite Gibbs’ hours of unpaid research, there is still a dearth of biographical detail.’ We were sufficiently intrigued to contact Stuart thinking that we might be able to help track down that elusive biographical detail.

Unfortunately, after considerable digging, we came to the view that Stuart’s research had taken one or two leaps in the wrong direction and the conclusions he had reached regarding Emma’s true identity were, very probably, wrong. It’s easily done, you so want to find the right person that you close your eyes to flaws in the research process.

One article we have seen states that Emma’s ‘mother, Wilhelmina, is thought to have been of black Dutch heritage.’ We have researched Emma quite carefully and have found no evidence of black heritage. Wilhelmina’s maiden name was Farmer and she, judging by census returns, was born in Liverpool in about 1853. It is true that Liverpool had a relatively large black and mixed heritage community in the 19th century but it is a leap to suggest that Wilhelmina was part of it. But there is a bigger issue.

We have copies of the birth certificate and marriage certificate of ‘Liverpool Emma’ and the marriage certificate of her parents. We have also traced her and her family in the 1881, 1891, 1901 and 1911 censuses, in almost every single case (the 1891 census is the only exception) her name is Clark without an ‘e’. But the footballer Emma is consistently referred to as Clarke with an ‘e’. So, whether Wilhelmina had black Dutch heritage or not is pretty irrelevant as there is nothing to suggest that ‘Liverpool Emma’ is the same person as ‘footballer Emma’.

It’s worth adding that Liverpool Emma came from a large working class family (she had at least 7 siblings and quite a few more if you include children who didn’t survive to adulthood). At the age of 15 she was working as a confectioner’s apprentice (1891 census) and by the 1901 census she was now a confectioner. Is it really plausible that she was able to take time off from earning her crust to travel round the country playing football and that she made her way to London for the inaugural ladies football match in March 1895?

If someone can make a case for ‘Liverpool Emma’ being black and being one and the same as Emma Clarke the footballer then fine, but it needs to be based on evidence rather than wishful thinking. The evidence seems sadly lacking at the moment. Until that evidence is found we think ‘Liverpool Emma’ needs to be discounted as the first black female footballer.

Meanwhile in London, another candidate has been identified as Emma Clarke the footballer. This Emma hailed from Plumstead in south London. Her (maternal) grandfather served in the British Army and spent some time in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) where Emma’s mother, Caroline, was born. There is no indication that Caroline’s parents were anything other than white but the suggestion is that Caroline may have been the result of an extra marital ‘dalliance’. We would be happy to see convincing evidence to support this.

A shameful piece of football history was made on Saturday 19th October 2019 when an FA Cup tie between Haringey Borough and Yeovil was abandoned after both teams walked off in protest at alleged racist abuse from a tiny minority of Yeovil fans directed at black players on the Haringey team.

Fair play to the Yeovil players for supporting the stand taken by Haringey. As the manager of Haringey, Tom Loizou,  explained ‘Yeovil’s players and manager were different class. Their team tried to calm their supporters down, they tried their best and they supported us – they said “if you’re walking off we’re walking off with you”.’ Such solidarity between opposing teams is the silver lining in the otherwise dark cloud that engulfed the game at Coles Park that afternoon.

The incident reminded me of a sunny afternoon a year or so earlier when I interviewed Abdelhalim el-Kholti (Abdou), the first black player to represent Yeovil in a football league game.  Abdou has more decency in his little finger than the racists who claim to support the club could muster between them. Here is the story of my chat with Abdou.

I am sitting in the Grateful Kitchen in Canary Wharf, London. Outside, the waters of the old dock are twinkling in the afternoon sun (difficult to imagine now that this was built to service the slave trade), inside, I am talking with the proprietor Abdelhalim el-Kholti (Abdou). My wife is chatting to Emily, Abdou’s charming wife, about things that only women can talk about, the shared experience of childbirth gives them a common ground that I am only too happy not to be part of. I am talking to Abdou about football, he was Yeovil’s first black player in the football league. While we talk Abdou and Emily’s young son, 18 month-old Sami, is playing at our feet (‘he is already kicking a ball,’ says Abdou proudly).

Abdou was born in Annemasse, France, in an area close to the Swiss border. His parents, both originally from Morocco, had settled in the area, his mother was a house worker and his father worked in a factory.  As a boy, Abdou was mad about sport, any sport, by the age of eleven it was football that won the tussle for his affections. But when he told his teachers that he wanted to be a footballer they were very negative ‘you should be a plumber’ they told him. He played in local junior teams and then from the age of 16 or 17, semi-professionally, for a team across the border in Geneva. His first professional club was in his parents’ homeland, Raja Casablanca, in the top division. It was good experience for him: ‘the manager there was coach of the national under-21 team and he wanted to promote young players but, when he got sacked, somebody from the local town took charge of the team and wanted local guys. So, in April, I left and went back to France.’ This story shows the delicate thread by which an aspiring footballer’s career hangs.

Back in France and at a loose end, an uncle working in Bristol was able to help Abdou fix up a trial with Rovers. It seemed he might be offered a contract but once again fate intervened as Garry Thompson, the manager, was almost immediately sacked (he was only in the post for four months). That is the roundabout route that led Abdou to Yeovil. He wasn’t quite their first black player as Abdelaye Demba (who would go on to earn seven international caps with Mali) was already at the club. Demba made his debut on 17^th August 2002 when he became the first black player for Yeovil in any league. Abdou comments that ‘he only stayed a few months but scored some goals and was popular with the fans,’ but Demba left Yeovil at the end of the season leaving the way open for Abdou to become the first black player to appear for Yeovil in the Football League.

Abdou describes himself as a hard working left back or left sided midfielder. Not especially tigerish in the tackle he compensated by being quick, having good technique and ‘a good engine’ as they say. It was a good time to join Yeovil as they were having an outstanding season, playing good football and scoring goals for fun. Abdou’s first game was against Torquay and he scored twice. They gained promotion to the Football League for the first time in the club’s long history. Abdou played a full part, making a total of 36 appearances and scoring 3 goals, earning a champion’s medal in his first season in English football.

Following their elevation Abdou was offered a new contract and he appeared in Yeovil’s first ever League game, coming on as a second-half substitute in a 3-1 away win at Rochdale in August 2003. But he was hampered by needing to have a hernia operation and didn’t play many games during the first half of the season. Later he played more often and made a total of 26 appearances, helping Yeovil to a creditable 8^th place finish.

Injured towards the end of the 2003-4 season he needed to have a second hernia operation. His career at Yeovil never quite regained its momentum and it was time to move on. He spent 2004-5 with Cambridge (15 appearances) and 2006-7 with Chester, still in the league in those days, (22 appearances). Subsequently he played for a string of non-league clubs but, although he loved playing football, he knew he was never going to make the big time: ‘if you aren’t playing in the Premiership or Championship by the age of 23 or 24 then I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. It’s tough in the lower leagues. Yeovil played good football, on the ground, but not many teams do, it’s boom, boom, boom, long ball all the time. You get kicked a lot,’ he adds ruefully. ’The money isn’t great in the lower divisions and you need to think about how you are going to make a living after football.’ Abdou decided to set up business in the world of catering: ‘my mother was a good cook and it was something I’d worked at in France, you do what you know.’ He continues: ‘it’s tough going, the hours are long, most mornings I’m up at 5.30 to be here by 6. It’s very stressful, and sometimes you wonder if it’s worth it.’ One thing that is clear from our conversation is that Abdou is a very hard worker.

I asked him whether he had experienced much racism during his time in the game. He said that he had often felt a bit of an outsider. As someone who doesn’t drink, the culture at many clubs was difficult for him. At Yeovil, for instance, ‘I was there to play football, not to go out socialising. After training I just wanted to go home, eat good food, rest and look after myself. When I went out I felt I was cheating.’ He says there was ‘banter’ and that sometimes, because of the language barrier, it was difficult to tell how serious it was. But ‘you can’t let it affect you.’ He continues ‘one manager told me that if I didn’t play well he would send me back to Azerbaijan but he was smiling as he said it. Banter? Sometimes it’s hard to know.’

Abdou is fortunate to have the support of a young woman who he has known for about ten or eleven years. He met Emily ‘through a friend’ and they have been together through many ups and downs, marrying in 2015, in her native Ireland. The strength of their relationship is there for all to see. Her parents were fine (‘very open minded’), his less so, his mother in particular thought he should marry ‘a nice Moroccan girl.’ But the presence of a grandchild can have a powerful healing influence in situations like this and it seems that everyone is happy now.

You don’t often read a love story in a book or article about football but this is one. Abdou and Emily are a lovely couple, obviously devoted to each other. They are living proof that Bill Shankly got it wrong all those years ago. Not only is football not more important than life and death as he claimed, it is clear that there are many things in life far more important than football, no matter how it may sometimes feel at five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon.

In October 2019, more than sixteen years after Abdou became the club’s first black player, Yeovil found themselves in the headlines for the wrong reasons.  The chairman of Haringey Borough summed up when he said ‘racism is in society but that doesn’t mean we have to accept it. It doesn’t matter if you’re a little club or England, what we both did is how all the game needs to respond.’

Here at Historycal Roots we often say that Black History is all around us, we just need to know where to look.

Bill Hern was wandering around the Victoria and Albert Museum last week, he writes that he came across a display of old posters from the entertainment industry. One was advertising a circus in 1843. There was no commentary attached to it, it was simply an interesting old poster. Yet if we delve slightly more deeply, we will learn about a black circus owner and even make an unlikely link between him, his circus and a Beatles’ record from 1967.

Most people of my age can remember the very first LP they bought. Younger readers may not know what an LP is (it is an acronym for Long Player as in long-playing record) and in this age of digital streaming, some may not even know what a record is! The first LP I purchased was in 1967 and cost all of 32 shillings and 6 pence (about £1.63). It was called Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band by a group called The Beatles. Yes, bands were called groups in those days. The album cover (below) became iconic.

What has this got to do with Black History you may be wondering? You might hazard a guess that it must be connected to the black boxer in the silk dressing gown on the left hand side of the cover. The boxer is former World Heavyweight Champion Sonny Liston but this story isn’t about him.

Let us go further back to February 1843 and Rochdale, Lancashire. Pablo Fanque’s famous Circus Royal is in town. Posters like the one below are displayed everywhere.

The local people are eagerly awaiting sight of the celebrated horse Zanthus and Mr Kite himself appearing on the tight rope. Mr Henderson the celebrated somerset thrower, wire dancer, vaulter and horse rider would carry out his extraordinary trampoline-leaps over men and horses, through hoops, over garters and lastly through a hogshead of real fire. What a talented and versatile man he seems to have been.

The owner of the circus, Pablo Fanque, was, as can be seen from his photograph below, a man of colour.

Born as William Darby in 1810 in Norwich, Norfolk, he changed his name as a young adult.

So successful was Pablo that he went on to become the first non-white owner of a circus. His circus was one of the most famous in Britain for over 30 years during a time that was considered the golden age of the circus. He is an important figure in British Black History particularly given that he achieved all that he did only a few years after slavery had been abolished.

You might now be thinking ‘yes, we now know the link to Black History but where do The Beatles fit into this story?’

One hundred and twenty three years after the Rochdale extravaganza the Beatle, John Lennon, saw the poster in an antique shop in Sevenoaks. It obviously made a big impression as he bought it.

Not only did he buy it, he also used it to compose a song. The last track on side one of the Sergeant Pepper LP (yes, kids, you played both sides of an LP, turning it over half way through) is called Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite and the words of the song drew heavily on the poster advertising Pablo Fanque’s Circus. Apart from the song’s title, the lyrics refer to many of the acts on the poster including Mr Kite and the Hendersons although Zanthus becomes ‘Henry the Horse’ presumably because it scans better. The song also mentions the throwing of somersets, trampolines and a ‘hogshead of real fire’. Pablo himself also gets a mention.

Pablo Fanque was a highly skilled horseman both in terms of training and riding. He was also a successful business man becoming the owner of a major circus. He had many celebrity friends including the boxer Jem Mace, indeed he may have learned some tricks of the trade from his pugilist friend. In Manchester in March 1852 Pablo found a man called Ratcliffe sticking posters over adverts for the circus. When Goodwin refused to desist Pablo beat him with a stick. A passer-by named Goodwin interceded. Pablo threw down the stick and resorted to using his fists giving Goodwin ‘a very beautiful pair of black eyes’ according to the Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser. Pablo had to appear before the Borough Court but after much toing and froing, the bill-sticker Ratcliffe agreed to accept one sovereign from Pablo and the case was dropped.

Pablo died in 1871 and is buried in what was once Woodhouse Lane Cemetery in Leeds. He rests alongside his first wife Susannah Darby who died in 1848 in Leeds when the building in which the circus was performing collapsed, crushing her to death.

So, there you have it, an important figure in British Black History and his link with The Beatles almost 100 years after his death.

Bill Hern writes: Just over 12 months ago we gave an update on Sarah Bonetta Forbes-Davies, the African Princess who was treated as a goddaughter by Queen Victoria and is buried in the British Cemetery in Funchal, Madeira.

We won’t repeat Sarah’s amazing story again here, you can read it elsewhere on the site (just use the ‘search’ function) but we do have welcome and exciting news to convey.

One hundred and thirty nine years after her death, Sarah finally has a gravestone!

Much of the thanks for this great news is due to a lady called Taiwo Olaiya who raised almost £1,000 in sponsorship when she completed the Hackney half-marathon in 2017. The rest of the cost was met by the people of Madeira via The Diocese in Europe (Church of England).

After learning of this most welcome and overdue development I went to see the caretaker of the Cemetery and asked if I could see Sarah’s burial record. He took me to the interior of the Chapel and unlocked the door of a huge safe. Taking a ledger from the safe we leafed through the records until we came to August 1880. There we saw the entry for Sarah. She is shown as the wife of I P L Davies of Lagos, West Africa. She died on 15 August aged 37 and was buried on the following day as was normal in those days. This of course meant that she almost certainly had no friends or members of her family at her funeral. We know for certain that her eldest daughter, Victoria, was not there as Queen Victoria noted in her diary: ‘saw poor Victoria Davies, my black godchild who learnt this morning of the death of her dear mother.’

After 139 years visitors to the British Cemetery will now be able to see that what was previously shown simply as Plot 206 is the resting place of a Princess – and not before time! Well done to Taiwo and the people of Madeira.

We don’t often do book reviews on here, there are simply too many good books and the ones we like may not appeal to anyone else! We’ll make an exception for ‘Mixing It’ by Wendy Webster. The subtitle ‘Diversity In World War Two Britain’ probably gives a clue as to why we were initially attracted to it.

We saw Wendy do a presentation at a ‘What’s Happening In Black British History’ event and some of the things she said were a little startling and certainly caught our attention. She made the point that, even while the war was going on, while black servicemen were fighting for and in some cases dying in the service of Britain, the government was exploring ways of getting rid of them when the war ended. She backed this up with quotes from official documents held in the National Archives at Kew. This quote comes from a 1942 Cabinet paper: ‘service departments should do all they possibly can by administrative action to reduce to a minimum the opportunities these men [black servicemen] might have of being demobilised in this country.’ The ‘problem’ of course was that people from the colonies whether black or white all enjoyed the same rights of citizenship as those born in the UK. The whole chapter ‘The Empire Comes To Britain’ contains many examples of how the British authorities struggled with this issue.

However ‘Mixing It’ goes far wider in its consideration of diversity. Wendy makes the point that Britain had never seen such diversity with people coming from all parts of the globe to help in the fight against fascism.  How, for instance, should Britain treat German Jews fleeing persecution, even those eager to take up arms against Germany? Why, incarcerate them of course! Similar issues were raised by people coming to the UK, from Poland, Czechoslovakia, etc. Wendy’s book is generally very readable but even she struggles to make a coherent narrative of the tortuous twists and turns in government policy which seemed to change, sometimes literally, on a daily basis.

What is interesting, and depressing, about Wendy’s book is that it reveals  that many British people have long felt a deep distrust and dislike for any ‘foreigners’ and that seems to have changed less than some of us would like. The way some Polish people were treated following the EU referendum made our blood boil and demonstrated an appalling level of ignorance of our own history. The sacrifices of Polish airmen during the war are well documented by Wendy – Polish airmen were the second largest nationality among ‘the few’ who defended British skies. Unable to return to their native country which was now part of the Soviet block when the war ended, many had little choice but to remain in Britain and put down roots. The Polish Resettlement Act of 1948 recognised the debt they were owed and people often overlook that there were 65 Polish refugees, mostly women and children, on board the Empire Windrush when it docked at Tilbury in 1948. Their descendents deserve better.

We get particularly exercised about the failure to commemorate the service to Britain of black people in all walks of life but Wendy’s book paints a broader picture of collective memory failure and lack of respect for the many ‘foreigners’ who have made this country what it is. We sometimes hear people demanding a return to ‘Anglo-Saxon values’  – let’s not forget that the original Angles and Saxons were in fact invading Germanic tribes!

Wendy’s book is an academic work (there are 50 pages of footnotes!) but it is generally very readable and raises important issues that are still relevant today.

We’ve been contacted at Historycal Roots by David Claydon who has commented on our Lionel Turpin page. David raises two points, one concerning the absence of a blue plaque for Lionel and the other to express the view that our article downplayed the significance of Lionel’s son, Randolph.  Here is what David had to say:

‘I’ve often read the articles you’ve posted on your website and recently came across the page on Lionel Fitzherbert Turpin and the comments about his son, Randolph. As I have an interest in both the First World War and boxing, I may be able to offer a more balanced view.

I had to take issue with the comment about skewed priorities being reflected in the fact that Lionel Turpin lies in an unmarked grave while his son’s grave is marked and the house where he was born is commemorated with a blue plaque.

It is incorrect and a massive understatement to say that Randolph Turpin ‘achieved a degree of fame’. At one point he was the most famous and celebrated man in the country when he became the first black world boxing champion from England and the first British boxer in 60 years to win the World Middleweight Title, beating the man widely regarded even now as the greatest boxer who ever lived and was thought to be invincible. Turpin’s victory gave the country’s morale a huge lift in the difficult years that followed World War Two. There has not been an achievement in British boxing before or since that comes close to this and therefore Randolph Turpin richly earned the recognition of a blue plaque and referring to him as ‘a boxer (albeit a good one)’ is giving him nothing like the respect he deserves.

As the British Empire suffered over 900,000 fatalities and 2,000,000 wounded during the First World War, the sheer and tragic volume of numbers indicates how impractical it would be to argue for a blue plaque commemoration for each British soldier on either of those lists.

However, I fully agree that there is something very wrong when a man who fought, suffered and ultimately died for his country continues to lie in an unmarked grave but it could be argued that the fault, in this particular case, lies with Randolph Turpin himself rather than society’s priorities as, at one stage, he could easily have afforded to have the most lavish headstone in Warwickshire placed over his father’s grave.

It undoubtedly does a great disservice for Lionel Turpin and many others to lie in unmarked graves, but I also feel that you are doing his son, who certainly does not lie in a grand grave but a relatively modest one, a disservice too.

He was, in his own way, a hero as well.’

David makes some fair points, the focus of our piece was on Lionel and, because of that, we may have downplayed Randolph. There is, of course, a great deal of information about Randolph available on the pages of the internet, Wikipedia is one obvious place to start, but to continue the process of redressing the balance here is a complete (as far as we know) record of his career:

http://boxrec.com/en/boxer/13106

There is also an interesting film about Randolph, ’64 Day Hero’, on You Tube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSS3oLP3YlY&fbclid=IwAR0H91HzBSErcSdOTCz1O3nUWea25wU7nuSZw12RG-Eipn4ni3MOFwuaQFo

One final point, we are very pleased to report that descendants of Lionel Turpin have taken steps to get his grave in Leamington cemetery marked. This has involved quite a lengthy bureaucratic process but we understand their persistence has paid off and the grave  will very soon be marked. A good ending for a story that we first explored over two years ago.

NOTE: This was previously published as a separate page on this site, it has now been turned into a post. If you have previously read the page then nothing has been changed, if you haven’t read the page then welcome to the story of a great uncle who was a pioneering Methodist minister on Barbados.

John Rowland Gleave was neither black nor mixed heritage but he was the great, great uncle (I think that’s the right number of ‘greats’) of a member of the Historycal Roots team and so we have bent the ‘rules’ to include him. He lived in Barbados as a young Methodist Minister, married on the island and had his first two children there. His most significant contribution to black history was to help re-establish the Methodist Church in Barbados less than 40 years after one of his predecessors, Reverend William Shrewsbury, was forced to flee the island when his Church was torn down by a rowdy mob. The mob’s aim was to “eradicate from this soil the germ of Methodism, which was spreading its baneful influence over a certain class, and which ultimately would have injured both church and state.” The mob’s proclamation ended with a warning to any of Reverend Shrewsbury’s potential successors that “all Methodist preachers are warned not to approach our shores as, if they do, it will be at their own peril.”

The mob’s real issue was that they considered the Methodist Church as “enemies of slavery” and when they talked of “a certain class” they meant black people, in particular, enslaved black people.

After Reverend Shrewsbury left Barbados, incredibly brave people such as Sarah Ann Gill defied all threats and violence to ensure all were free to worship. There is little doubt that Gleave would have been a contemporary of Sarah who is now commemorated as one of the 10 National Heroes of Barbados. This is the story of John Rowland Gleave.

On 15th December 1910, after a lifetime of service to the Church, Reverend Gleave entered the Liscard Wesleyan Methodist Church. After getting his breath back he hung up the heavy coat which had protected him from the cold winter air outside. It was exactly 10 days to Christmas Day and, like all clergymen at that time of year, he was facing a busy couple of weeks.

This was his first Christmas back in the Liscard area which forms part of Wallasey in Cheshire. He had retired as resident Minister at Epsom and Ewell in Surrey earlier that year. Sadly, his replacement, Reverend John Wesley Howells, was destined to die in World War 1 in 1917.

Today he was here to give a religious instruction class to children from the adjoining school. He took his Bible from his briefcase, said good afternoon to the children and took his seat. He felt dizzy, then saw only blackness before slumping forward and hitting the floor with a thud. A Doctor was called but it was futile. In truth, Reverend Gleave was probably dead before he struck the ground. A couple of days later an inquest attributed his death to heart disease.

As a man of God, Reverend Gleave would have been content to draw his last breath in a place of worship. But the Liscard Chapel held even more special memories for him. As a former Superintendent of the Seacombe Circuit of which Liscard was part, he was instrumental in the building of the Church which had opened as recently as 12 July 1904.

John Rowland Gleave had been born in Warrington on 21 August 1837. Throughout his adult life he referred to himself as J Rowland Gleave but for the purposes of telling his story as well as for brevity, we will refer to him as Reverend Gleave.

Reverend Gleave’s life had been of sufficient importance for his death to attract interest. A syndicated article appeared in newspapers right across Britain and Ireland the following day. The article was short and to the point. The Dublin Daily Express of 16 December reported that “Reverend J Rowland Gleave, a supernumerary Wesleyan Minister, 70 years of age, died suddenly at Liscard, Cheshire yesterday afternoon.”

As might be expected, the local newspaper, the Liverpool Echo went into greater detail explaining that Reverend Gleave was; “About to give religious instruction to a class. He suddenly collapsed and when medical aid was summoned the Doctor pronounced life extinct and the body was conveyed to the mortuary.”

In summarising Reverend Gleave’s life the article recalled that he had been born in Warrington and went on to become a scholar at one of the great Wesleyan Colleges (the exact location is not quoted). He had worked in Liverpool, London and parts of Kent and also had a lengthy spell as Superintendent of the Seacombe circuit. He became a supernumerary Minister only 12 months previously and at the time of his death was living at Withens Lane, Liscard. He was said to have been 74 years of age when he died. He was, of course, having been born in August 1837, 73 years old when he died but at least the Liverpool Echo got it a lot closer than the syndicated article which had knocked 3 years off his age.

Given that Reverend Gleave had been a Minister since approximately 1861 and Wesleyan Ministers normally changed locations every 3 years, it is clear that the Liverpool Echo article omitted many of his previous posts. In addition to those towns quoted he had served as a Minister in places such as Hull, Huddersfield, Preston, Nelson, Bingley, Colwyn Bay, Rawtenstall and the north-east of England.

But far and away the most notable omission was the spell, almost 50 years before his death, that Reverend Gleave had spent in Barbados. We don’t know the precise year Gleave left for Barbados but it was quite probably his first posting as a newly-ordained Minister. He married on the island and his first two children were born and baptised there. He was living in Liverpool by 1871 which suggests he lived in Barbados for a number of years, certainly no less than three, between 1861 and 1870.

The Methodist, or Wesleyan, Church was introduced to Barbados in 1788 by the first ever Methodist Bishop, Thomas Coke. Methodists were detested by slave owners as one of the Methodists’ objectives was to introduce enslaved people to the Christian faith. The upper class saw Methodists as anti-slavery agitators but even more than that, feared their teaching would upset the ‘natural balance’ where black people identified themselves as inferior to the white population. Every effort was made to disrupt gatherings of Methodists, they were pelted with stones and there were even efforts to make Methodism illegal. In 1823 the Methodist Chapel in James Street (which was to later play a significant part in Reverend Gleave’s life) was torn down.

Coke died in 1814 well before Gleave was born. But Reverend Gleave would certainly have met one of the 10 National Heroes of Barbados – Sarah Ann Gill. Sarah was born in 1795 as a ‘Free Coloured’ of mixed heritage.

Sarah became a Methodist and even in the face of violence and threats, refused to renounce her religious beliefs. She joined the Methodist Church in her early 20s at a time when the establishment in Barbados was most fervently opposed to the principles of Methodism. She was a relatively wealthy person and in 1819 donated £10 towards the building of the first Methodist Chapel in Bridgetown.

In October 1823 that Chapel was destroyed by white rioters. The Methodist Minister William Shrewsbury and his pregnant wife were forced to flee the island in fear of their lives.

Sarah and her sister Christiana continued to defy all threats and hosted worship in Sarah’s home. In April 1825 one of Reverend Gleave’s predecessors, Reverend Moses Rayner wrote to Sarah asking for advice on taking the post in Barbados. She replied that “I don’t advise you to come, but if it was me, I should come.”

Partly due to the abolition of slavery, conditions had improved by the time Reverend Gleave arrived on the island in the early 1860s but nevertheless some of the hatred directed at the Methodist Church only 40 or so years earlier cannot have disappeared entirely. No doubt Reverend Gleave thought and prayed long and hard before deciding to take up the post.

Before leaving England Reverend Gleave had met Louisa Hitchcock a young dressmaker from Liverpool. This must have made the decision to leave England even harder for him. Reverend Gleave resolved the matter by asking Louisa to marry him and move to Barbados. She said ‘yes’ and sailed for Barbados where she joined her husband-to-be in October 1865.

The couple married on 10 October 1865 at the Wesleyan Chapel, James Street, Bridgetown. Reverend Henry Hurd, who was the Chairman of the District as well as the General Superintendent, officiated. Reverend Gleave’s address was shown as Speightstown which is about 10 miles north of Bridgetown.

It would seem highly probable that, as a leading member of the Methodist faith in Bridgetown, Sarah Ann Gill would have greeted Reverend Gleave shortly after his arrival on the island. Indeed she may even have been involved in his selection for the post. Sarah worshipped at the James Street Church so she would almost certainly have been in the congregation on that day in October 1865 to help celebrate the marriage.

Reverend Gleave had been appointed to the Bethel Church which opened as the Bay Street Chapel on 28 March 1844 and became the main church of the Bethel circuit in 1848. It is a beautiful church and has changed little since Reverend Gleave’s days.

A son, Henry Hurd Gleave, was born in 1866 and was baptised at Bethel by Reverend Henry Hurd on 8 August 1866. At this stage the family’s address is shown as Bethel. Reverends Gleave and Hurd obviously had a good relationship and respect for one another as young Henry was named after the Reverend.

A daughter, Florence Louisa, was born on 1 November 1867. We know she was baptised on Christmas Day 1868 but careful checking by officials of the Church and this author has failed to find an entry in the Bethel register of baptisms. This is a mystery that remains to be solved another day.

My search did however reveal the existence of a William Gleave Thomas of Bay Street, born on 17 February 1868 to William and Sarah Thomas. Reverend Gleave had carried out the baptism and the parents had paid him the honour of giving their son his name. Gleave isn’t a traditional Bajan surname but this discovery led me to wonder if there was a small enclave of people on the island who had inherited the unusual moniker. Alas, this wasn’t to be. William Gleave Thomas married his wife Annie on 9 September 1893. The couple moved to New York in 1905 where they had a daughter Kathleen in 1908. William took American citizenship on 16 April 1940, Annie having pre-deceased him. Thus the surname would seem to have disappeared from Bajan ancestry.

The pulpit where Reverend Gleave preached is still there:

Although the Liverpool Echo had failed to mention Reverend Gleave’s spell in Barbados we are fortunate in having a record of his views of the island and its people. On 19 October 1881 he gave a speech at the Annual Public Missionary Meeting and this was recorded by the Jarrow Express two days later.

What he said might seem patronising now but he was trying to argue against the widely held perception that prevailed in those days that black people were lazy, unintelligent and disruptive. He (or perhaps the reporter) avoids using the term ‘black’ or ‘white’ but instead contrasts ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ classes. However, he betrays what he really means by referring to Dr Davies, who, although black, was very wealthy and upper class, as an example of one of the ‘many’ who had an English outlook on life as well as a high level of intelligence.

“At one time the upper classes were callous and immoral, the lower sunk in ignorance and superstitions, whereas the immoral men were shunned and the lower classes were intelligent, religious, law abiding and industrious”. Of the Wesleyan churches on the island he said, “the people were conscientious, liberal and regular in all that pertained to their religion and had the respect of all classes of the community.” He also referred to the “people being imbued with English ideas, and many were endowed with the highest intelligence” and instanced several bright examples, including Dr Davies, at one time well known in this country. The ‘Doctor’ in question is surely James Pinson Labulo Davies the wealthy African who married Sarah Bonetta Forbes, the goddaughter of Queen Victoria, in Brighton in 1862.

By 1871 Reverend Gleave had returned to England and was living in Warrington with his young family. Shortly afterwards he took up a post in Lambeth, London. The rest of his career would see no more foreign postings but he did cover many other locations in England and Wales.

In the late 1890s Reverend Gleave was Minister at the Wesleyan Church in Carr Road, Nelson. The Home Reading Union, part of the Church, had organised a trip to the Lake District. On Friday 12 August 1898 eight members of the trip had set out on a boat on Derwentwater. The wind suddenly got up and the boat began to rock and take in water. Panic set in and the boat capsized. Five young girls drowned. They were all cotton weavers from Nelson. Four were aged 21 and the other was 20.

The girls were buried together. A monument in memory of them was unveiled in Nelson on 12 May 1889. At this ceremony Reverend Gleave, as reported in the Burnley Express of 17 May 1899, expressed his feelings at having to break the news to the devastated families. He said he “would never forget the testimony which was borne by those who had passed through great sorrow. The families bereft lost precious treasures, but they were cheering themselves with the thought that one day they would see their loved girls in the Father’s house on high.”

Reverend Gleave continued to serve the Church diligently until his death in 1910. If he was to now return to Barbados, he’d find that there are still people who believe black people have many of the negative traits touched upon in his speech at the Missionary Meeting in 1881 but his spirits would be raised to the rafters by his old Church in Bridgetown. It remains a beautiful, light and airy building. The congregation is thriving and enthusiastic. It is the most welcoming of churches and the young people that attend are truly inspirational. It also provides support for the less advantaged in the local community.

The inside will have changed very little since he last stood in the pulpit about 150 years ago and he would recognise the font (if not the dodgy wiring behind it!) where his first two children were christened:

and he would no doubt experience with joy the shaking of the floor when the famously loud Bethel organ gets into full flow.