The Craxford Family Magazine Red Pages

{$text['mgr_red1']} Gretton2


By Barbara Hill


The Knight family

The family of William Knight and Rachel Harris

My grandmother, Sophia Knight, was born in Kettering, Northamptonshire towards the end of 1873. Her father, William Knight, had been an agricultural labourer in the village of Gretton. He married Rachel Harris from Rothwell in 1855 and had moved the family to Thorngate Street, Kettering in the late 1860s. The couple were to have nine children, Sophia being the third of four daughters.

The second son of Charles and Mary Holmes, James Charles Holmes had been born on May 17th 1874 and was raised in Selstone, a village on the border of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire. His father worked on the railways. The family had moved to Kettering during the 1870s, initially setting up home in Duke Street.

James left school before his fifteenth birthday and became a worker in a shoe factory alongside his older brother Edwin. Sophia and James were married in Kettering in 1893, their first home being at 143 Havelock Street. They had nine children, six boys and three girls, although second son Charles died at the age of 4 years in 1901 and twins Frederick and Charles died in infancy in 1911.

Lilian's story

Belgrave Close, Barton Seagrave. March 1974

The Holmes family

James Charles Holmes and family about 1900

I suppose all people writing about themselves are, in part, egotistic. I do not consider my life or it's story important to anyone else but often have the urge to get things down, seeing how much I can remember. Being born in Havelock Street, the humblest of circumstances, I make no claim to fame of any sort, but from being very young, and especially from the start of my obsession for reading, I wished I had belonged to a different family.

My Mother (Sophia) must have seen this in me and whenever she wanted to put me down would say,"You were cut out to be a lady but got spoiled in the making up". Very deflating! At the same time she would say, "Oh! You will be able to go anywhere, you are so free", (in manner I think). I did not examine this very much but when older, I think she thought me completely uninhibited. I suppose now I was.

So my early years were divided between school, errands, looking after the current baby and above all reading, reading, when I was lost to the world. Never bored, begging at 9 years to be allowed to join the public library and falsifying my age by one month, Father signed the form. My first book was a collection of 1001 poems, which I supposed would last me a long time. The first in the book was Robert Louis Stevenson's "Bed in Summer." It was always my favourite.

I must digress a little here before I forget. When I was five or six years old I had a fever. So bad they thought they were going to lose me and I remember being in Mother's bed, she was weeping. I was cross eyed I think for the doctor asked if I had been squinting. I think he came on his horse to see me and for a long time I suffered terrible headaches. When the doctor could do no more he sent the nurse in to give me enemas. Mother wept but this treatment went on for some time.

The day came, Father had a bicycle and trailer and decided on a Monday of all days to take me out. It was a beautiful sunny day and as we were getting ready the nurse arrived to give me the usual treatment. However after that we got ready. In those days no one went out without a hat so my summer hat was perched on my head. It was made of white broderie anglais and when soiled it was washed, starched and ironed but had been taken to pieces for this purpose. When stitched together again it was my summer hat. I was installed in the trailer and off we set. It was strange to see all the men walking back to work after dinner time and children to school. So up Nelson Street and along to Wood Street to stop off at Aunt Lizzie's (Dads sister) could come out and see little Lily after which we set off for Oakley Hay, a favourite haunt of Father's where you could sit outside the pub and have a pint. But my hat - it had no elastic. My hat was a constant bother to Father for our speed meant that I had to hold on to my hat. If not, it went into the ditch so Father would spent most of the time time retrieving it. He did not seem to mind though. We arrived at Oakley Hay and Father did have his pint for about one penny and a halfpenny. I forget what I had, I wish I could remember. He got me back safely and all was well. Apart from the fact that I continued to have bad headaches from time to time.

A new sewing machine was bought for the school, St Andrews.

North End School

North End School (about 1960) (6)

I may say here also that I went to school at the age of 3 - Buccleuch Street at 2d per week. But that changed very quickly when it was closed down and I was sent to North End School, the infants adjacent to St Andrews and the church. It was an easy step up from there for, as stated earlier, I adored my teacher. Father gave me a penny that day. I said, "Father, I have moved up and have a lovely teacher". For one farthing or halfpenny you got 1oz of sweets. I remember spending it at Bramptons for 2oz eucalyptus gums. Well! Well! My school days were happy. I had Miss Chapman (aunt of Harold Chapman), Miss Miller again, also moved up, skipped standard 1V (because I was bright) and went to V, under Mr Nicholson and became a duffer at sums. A good writer though and I should, if young now, have made something of it. But not then. Oh no!

I was known as delicate by Mother. I think I liked that as it set me apart from the others. She made that excuse when she interviewed my teacher, Mr Nicholson. I was in trouble with my sums. What did they expect, moving a child from standard 3 to 5. Missing 4 for me was bad and decimals and square roots were a nightmare. Measure a room for a carpet, not me and what was the use. I never thought I would own one. Standard 6 and I got Miss Miller again and for her I made by beautiful pinafore dress, by hand, before I learned to machine.

So far we leaned to sew beautifully by hand and I mean beautifully, by our elegant Miss Miller. I was deeply in love with her, in my girlish way. "You must learn to machine" she said, "hands up those who have machines at home". Up shot my hand. If we leaned to machine at home we could use the school machines. "Mother", say I, "we have to learn to machine". "Not on mine, you don't", she replied. Being determined to use the school machine I learned at home whenever Mother wasn't looking or so she pretended. I hemmed the Headmaster's wife's tea towels (they were sold at the time without hems), I even machined lots of what I was told were Fly Clothes for the stage or above it.

My Headmaster was interested on amateur theatricals and once I was allowed to sell programes. A great achievement. I was also errand girl for my teacher, who, as I moved up did also. I used to go to her savings bank with a gold sovereign clutched in my hand and never made a mistake. She trusted me and we were friends for life. I last visited her at the age of 80 or so and I attended her funeral some years later. I may say here, I did not see anyone I remembered at school being there. Her grave will be marked in Kettering Cemetery.

Clothes and babies

"Cousin Grace (Eagle) will get you a job in the clothing factory". "What!", said my headmaster and teacher, "going into a factory?" But I did and cried all the way through dinner on the first day. This was Wallis and Linnell in School Lane and I hated it. Within six months Grace had found another job and I went to Kaycee as a learner. There I stayed for ten years, six in gents and four in ladies.

During these times we had a few more babies. There was Elizabeth May, who, I remember was laid on the couch. She was a fair little baby and she died very early. Nellie and I remembered all our lives. She died on September 12 and was buried on the 15th, our respective birthdays.

In those days one was sent to the chemists for syrups of violets, syrup of squill (in small quantities, of course)and ipecacuanha, for coughs especially Olive's. She had a barking cough as a child and is now miraculously 70 next week. Mothercare? One dank winter evening I was sent out for some remedy or another and as I turned the corner of Regent Street a man started to walk with me. "Little girl", he said, "can you show me the way to the North Park?". "Oh yes", says I, "I am going part of the way". I turned into Nelson Street saying that Mother wants this for the baby and I would show him the way if he waits. I went in the front door and shouted up the stairs, "There's a man who wants me to show him the way to the North Park". Mother almost fell down the stairs saying "Where is he, I'll show him the North Park", and went outside. He had disappeared of course. I did not know then why she reacted so.

Before all this I must go back a year or so when Father had an illness. It was down below. We had no money coming in as Father with his usual carelessness, in these matters, had let his sick club contributions lapse and consequently we had no money. Mother had three shillings from Ern,(he was still at home) who was working as an apprentice to Mr Speight the photographer. Mother used to go washing one morning for Mrs Bird in Charles Street who also had a daughter of my age - she finished up working at the income tax office and was probably hated as I hated her because Mother had to wash for 1 shilling. Anyway, one evening we had practically no food in the house when Aunt Lizzie arrived with a basket and emptied on the table. It was full of groceries. I never forgot that - she was good.

During this time I went home from school one dinner time and heard Father calling. I rushed upstairs and there he was in tears telling me to go and fetch Mother from Mrs Birds. As fast as my legs would carry me I raced up to Charles Street pleading for Mother to come quick, Father is crying. We both raced home. Father had had an abscess lanced, with anesthetic, by Dr Allinson and he was in such pain. Afterwards I heard that the doctor had said to Father that he should hang on to the bedsted, then he lanced it.

But all was well and one year later the events already described came to be and never was a baby so adored. Though Maurice was to come later he only had us to adore him at that stage as father and Ernest were away. The poor child did not know one from the other so he called them both dad. One year and eight months to be exact, another event took place.

I was always given the job of dusting Mothers' bedroom. I used to look in the drawers and there one day I saw baby clothes, all clean and ready and seeing Mother, poor soul, getting larger and larger. So in the year of George V coronation, on a hot sunny morning in June Father was to say "Get the children ready and take them up to the woods". The children being Nellie and Arthur (Olive had already gone to Aunt Annies to be looked after). We did just that. Father had to go shooting that day so Mrs Foreman was asked to come in as usual. As I said, it was a beautiful day, real summer and we stared off. Going over the pits where Stewart & Lloyds were at the beginning of what was to be Corby steel town. Our usual place on a warm summer day were the Weekley Hall woods which were beautiful at any time. Winter or Summer we had walked and played there, freely without fear; not so today. We always wore hats in those days, boys caps of course. Mine on that day was a blue pork pie hat that I made myself. I had long straight hair and it was so hot I threw my hat into the air. It caught on a branch of a tall tree and couldn't be retrieved, so that was that. On subsequent visits to the woods we looked for the hat and it stayed in the same place for years until one spring time it had gone. Blown away, a wisp of rag rotted by wind and weather.

I must record what happened at home that morning. My Mother who already had five children to deal with gave birth to twin boys, Fredrick and Charles who was named after a five year old brother, Charles, who died of croup which was a killer in those days. Poor Mother and poor me who was to be thirteen years old in about two months. I was expected to run the house, which I did, supported by a good neighbour, Mrs Foreman who would come in shouting, "How are ya gal!". How was I indeed! She helped me put on the dinner and such, she was a dear. Father came in for dinner as usual of course and the others Ern, Nellie and Arthur (Olive at Aunt Annie's). Mother needed porridge several times a day for milk.

The mid wife came mornings and evenings in her long cloak, snow white apron unpinned and said yet again, "Have you got the hot water ready little girl?", Little girl had - all this as before. That was a sad time really for Mother tried really hard but these two little babies had no chance. They lived three and a half to four months. I was far too young to understand what Mother went through at that time. I could weep for her now - poor Mother.

Up to the time I left home in 1923 to be married I had machined countless dresses, blouses, aprons, sheets and curtains.

Olive's birth

as recounted to me by Auntie Lil (Lilian Holmes): 1989

I wandered into our kitchen on my return from school and saw Mother, looking worried, sitting at the dining table. She spoke with urgency and told me to run and fetch Mrs Clarke. Mother was very near her time and Mrs Clarke was a midwife. She told me to tell her, "She was needed". Brimming with excitement at being given the news of the forthcoming birth, I raced along Bath Road, down Avondale Road and into Stamford Road to where Mrs Clarke lived. Panting and breathless I banged on the door gasping, "Mother sent me to tell you that she needs you". "Alright", replied Mrs Clarke calmly. "Now, little girl, you go home to your Mother and boil up plenty of water, I'll be there in a while".

Off I ran again feeling so important that my message had been dispatched. Amid the excitement I cannot recall anyone else being present although Father always returned home from work at about five o'clock for his tea. To think we had all been home for dinner and didn't know something was about to happen.

I did as I was told and carefully filled two large kettles with water from the kitchen pump and had placed them over the range fire in the dining room by the time Mrs Clarke arrived. I wondered later if she ran too. Mother was upstairs in the bedroom. The midwife slowly took off her long coat and carefully hung it on a hook in the kitchen. Slowly she unpinned her long crisp white cotton apron allowing it to drop in front of her dress. Next she took off her pill box hat and placed it gently on the table. Taking the hot boiling kettles from the hearth she proceeded to climb our narrow steep staircase.

I sat and waited for what seemed an eternity and marveled at the neatness of our home. Everything was in order and it wasn't until I was a mother I realized what a difficult day it must have been for Mother. Finally Mrs Clarke came down and said, "Well, little girl, you have a lovely sister". I was delighted and so impatient to see her. First though I had to watch Mrs Clarke go through the ritual of getting dressed again before letting her out. "I'll be back tomorrow", and she was gone. I raced upstairs to see Mother and the baby. I walked slowly over to the metal crib and there lay the most beautiful baby I had ever seen and I watched as she opened her big brown eyes. "Oh, Mother, isn't she wonderful", I exclaimed, "can we call her Olive?". "Yes", replied Mother,"if you like". So, Olive she became, with Maud attached as that was the name of my lovely teacher.

Infants at school

Infant class at Park Road School (about 1914). Olive is sitting in the centre dressed in black, looking directly at the camera.

Olive & Lilian

Olive and Lilian. Candid photograph, 1964

Continued in column 2...

Please contact us

email If you have any questions or comments about the information on this site in general, or you have further information regarding this article, please Get in touch by leaving a message in our Guestbook. If you don't want the message to be added to the Guestbook, just say that in your text. We look forward to hearing from you.

Memories of my mother

Olice and Maurice

LEFT: Olive at 21; RIGHT: Olive and Maurice at the rear of Nelson Street 1928

The old Co-op factory

The Co-op factory, now derelict

I know very little about my Mum as a child except that she was favoured by her father and sometimes spoiled. She knew how to get her own way and often made up stories trying to convince the listener that things really did happen as she said they did. These famously became 'one of Polly's tales'. She excelled as a scholar at Park Road School, attended church and loved drama and singing. Cookery was enjoyed by most girls but Mum excelled in this subject too. Her love of cooking proved valuable during the war years when everyone had to cut back and later when feeding three hungry children.

Lilian (born 1899) and Nellie (1903) were older than Olive and as married women had their own homes to care for. Many of the chores were left to Olive being the remaining girl at home as the two other boys, Arthur (born 1900) and Maurice (1915) did very little. Older brother Ern (1895) had also married. Olive longed to go on to further education and teachers begged Sophia to let her stay. Central school beckoned and on reflection this would have been the making of Olive. Sadly Sophia had other ideas and refused the teachers offer, took her out of school into the arms of The Co-operative Clothing Co. in Field Street. She dared not speak the truth that she needed the money.

Olive hated it from the start and felt that if the days were to always be like this then the evenings and weekends would make up for it. Despite her chores at home she found time to attend dances and socials and had countless girl friends as well as young men. Olive was a free spirit away from Sophia and was forever getting into trouble. She met a young man at a church dance named Owen (he was always known as Ted ) but didn't really give him a second glance. He on the other hand was besotted with her. Thus began an on/off courtship that would last nine years before she agreed to say yes.

They were married on June 19 1937 at All Saints Church and moved to Rushden, where Owen had a job, to begin married life. Olive found work too but I can't remember where. Sophia expected Olive to return home as much as possible as she had lost her housemaid and took every opportunity and excuse. Ted owned a motorbike and sidecar, they went on holidays and just enjoyed their lives together. According to close family they were very happy, hopeful of buying their rented home in a several months time and remain in Rushden as Owen's job was secure and fairly well paid enabling them to save up a deposit.

The weddding cake and bill
The weddding cake and bill

LEFT: Ted and Olive marry. RIGHT: The weding cake and bill

Ted's War

Ted with badges

LEFT: Royal Engineers Cap Badge RE © IWM (2); CENTRE: Owen A G Hill RE; RIGHT: Badge of the Chemical Warfare Group, RE © IWM (3)

When war broke out in 1939, Ted was considered to be in reserved occupation working for the war effort and therefore excused military service. After much thought and consideration, he rode over to Northampton and attempted to enlist. He was refused. He returned to Kettering, gave in his notice, returned to enlist and was accepted because he was unemployed. His papers described him as 5 feet 7½ inches tall weighing 129 lbs and with a chest measurement of 34½ inches, of fresh complexion, brown eyes, brown hair and Church of England. On June 28th 1940, he became Private Owen A G Hill (1899966 - a number he never forgot), a driver with the 68th Chemical Warfare Company, Royal Engineers. Chemical Warfare Groups RE wore a distinguishing flash, green, yellow and red vertical strips, below the Royal Engineer shoulder titles.

Ted and Maurice

Ted and brother in law, Maurice, in uniform

His initial training took place on Salisbury Plain at the Chemical Warfare Training Centre RE, Barton Stacey near Salisbury. For the next eighteen months, he served at several places in the UK. One posting was to Dunster in Somerset. Whilst there, he received 4 days CB (confined to barracks) because he had absented himself from duty without permission on June 3rd 1941. He wanted to see his wife and Olive had travelled by bus from Kettering to meet him for one evening at a bed and breakfast in Minehead. At some time, too, he was promoted to corporal but lost the stripe later, possibly due to his escapades.

On December 21st 1942, he joined many others on a very large grey troop ship, loaded down with a heavy kit bag and full marching order. Each man was shown his hammock and where to stow his gear. The hammocks were great source of discomfort for some men but Ted was quite narrow and fell into it comfortably. Larger men often fell out. The routine was the same as it was in barracks and meals were relished no matter what was on the menu. I can't recall him ever saying he was sea sick as seawater and Ted didn't gel very well. Some ships had already left for North Africa and all would be part of the British First Army along with the Americans who landed further up the coast.

Records show that he was variously attached to the 2nd Pipeline Maintenance Company and the 22nd Bomb Disposal Company. After the North African campaign he was moved on to Italy.

Ted wrote home to tell them of the heat and flies and that whilst on board ship his skin started to shine like a yellow beacon due to having to take anti malaria tablets. I think he tanned very quickly and I cannot ever remember seeing him with a pale European colour. Must have been something to do with his 'romany ancestry'. Some of his stories were remarkable but he survived without the scratch. The worst he felt was when he had dysentery and having to lay in barns and sheds with mice, rats and lice.

There must have been laughs as well as tears. One particular incident involved the Italians and Americans. Dad, as a kid, rarely went hungry. Mainly because he had a knack of acquiring things that, it seemed, nobody wanted. So being in Italy he and his mates never went short of food or utilities. The trucks were all parked in a wood one day waiting for orders and quite close to a small farm. When darkness fell, he sat waiting for the farmer to blow out the candles and hopefully turn in for the night. The chickens were quiet as he crawled on his belly across a muddy field and with his knife made a small opening under the floor of a shed. He could see their feet and his hand went in as quick as lightening. One limp chicken. Then one almighty scramble to catch a few more. Keeping low he made for the woods and stripped the feathers off, burying them before heading back to camp. Throwing the lot at their poor cook Ted whispered, "Hey! Get that b......y pot going, we are dining in tonight". And so it became Ted's job to hunt for food, no matter what. He 'obtained' many water fowl, fish and once managed to catch a pig. I have seen him catch pheasants by soaking their grain in whisky and letting nature do the work for him.

1939-45 Star
The Africa star with 8th Army Clasp
The Italy star
The War Medal
Victory letter

Left to right: 1939-45 Star; The Africa Star; The Italy Star, The War Medal, The Victory Letter

The other problem they had to endure were the trucks breaking down and not being able to obtain spare parts. Dad and his mate Fred were dab hands at mechanics and they duly collected spares from whatever source they could find. The Italians trucks were fine but better still from the Americans. The truck drivers went ahead of the division or regiment with supplies, soldiers, weapons, food and fuel and therefore played an important role in the war.

Ted was returned home on January 29th 1945. On February 4th the following year he was assigned to the reservists to be ready to serve again if required. He was finally discharged from this recall at the end of 1955. In honour of their participation all servicemen who had fought in the Mediterranean campaign received a "Thank You" letter from their Commander in Chief, Field-Marshal Alexander. They were also awarded four War service medals (full descriptions and details of the requirements for each medal can be seen on the Stephen's Study Room (4) website.

Home, the hero

An 8th Army Christmas card

1943 Christmas Card

During the war years Olive remained at Nelson Street with her Father and stepmother Alice. Before his posting abroad, Ted would thumb a lift and come home whenever he could to enjoy their time together with friends and family.

After the end of 1942, contact with home was by mail only and Olive waited each day for the postman. Sometimes one letter and then several at once. All the family wanted to know how Ted was and she spent more time visiting than ever before. I cannot imagine what it was like for the wives left behind. The birth of twins in June 1943 was a surprise and Ted would not see his children until they were two. Fortunately, although Olive had the support of her sisters and cousins, it was a shock for Ted.

All soldiers were promised a home when they returned to Blighty and so it was when he came back to Kettering. Ted and Olive moved in with his mother at 84 Wellington Street where he began work as a painter and decorator for a local firm. Later he would work for himself and became quite a character on his patch. Visits to the council offices were a waste of time according to him until the day he refused to leave the office, much to the annoyance of the clerk. Finally he was given a council house at 3 Lupin Close, Kettering. Two years after I was born we moved in and we kids ran through the rooms banging doors, laughing and shouting. At Wellington Street, five of us had shared a bedroom. There was a garden in the front and back that would later accommodate - chickens!

Despite whatever occurred, our Dad would always fix it somehow. I don't think for a moment that his army days were as good as he said. Life was tough for all the men but they were strong together and that emotion remained with Ted for the rest of his life. Somehow or other he returned home with a rifle and ammunition, solely for hunting of course! The rabbits never stood a chance.

As children we always had holidays in Minehead and felt quite proud because not only did we travel a long way but our Dad knew his way around. Mum and Dad knew a lady, Mrs Roll, who kept a very good bed and breakfast and after breakfast we all had to collect whatever we needed for the entire day, because no-one was allowed to return until evening time. Rain or shine we were out there in the comfort of Dad's van that was kitted out for us kids to play, eat and sleep.


After Dad died I saved a few letters and it is interesting to read between the lines and catch Sophie's drift.

September 16 1937

Dear Ted and Olive
Sorry I could not come today as I wanted to be here in case the YOUNG lady came to see me, and Arthur has been busy getting his bed in because the weather has been so cold for him out there(†), but I hope to come next week if possible. I have not been out this week very much. Well Ern has asked me and Father to go to the Club Tea on Saturday. He will pay for us as they are opening the new billiard room. So I think we shall go that is unless Father goes to play bowls. They have to play if the weather is fine, Saturday. I have not heard from Mrs Winter (a char woman) yet. I somehow think she will not come. You know I don't like to leave it for you till Saturday but I shall have to wait and see. I am pleased you got your mangle anyhow and also sorry I have not come this lovely afternoon, but it cannot be helped now.

Glad to hear you are both alright
from Mother

† Arthur was a weak as a child and suffered from TB at a later age. During that period the authorities insisted sufferers should sleep outside. A special wooden shed was constructed that took up the entire back yard. He was not the brightest star in the constellation but had a loving nature. He died in 1939 from consumption.

January 5 1938

Dear Ted and Olive
I hope you are alright, also Trix (dog) and that you will have a bit of luck with Mr Pollark. I am pleased to tell you that Nellie is a little better. I am not in the best form myself, sorry to say. It is this rash I have and I am sending for Dr Lee today. I can't go on like this any longer. I lose sleep over it. Well dear girl, I had Mr Goodfellow to see me this morning, just as I came down the stairs. I told him all your bad luck but he wants you to call and see Elsie when you come again. He says its six months since you went in but he wasn't cross about it so you must do your best. I cannot write any more because Arthur is going out and I want him to post this.

Hoping you are fairly well
With Love Mother

Ted's car

Ted and Olive's car

July 25 1939

Dear Olive
Just a line wondering how you got on about the car on Sunday. Let me know as soon as you can as we can look out for one - or we shan't get it if we wait, you know. We don't want to be disappointed. I see in tonights paper in Higham Ferrers a seven seater(††) - it don't say the price but it is what we want. Just send a line soon.
What does Norman say? I hope Rennie was alright about it. This is the last week of the sale. How shall you go about sheets? I have been waiting this morning for Mr Wilson about the rooms, he was not there, of course, but I shall wait awhile if he is willing. If not see the other party you know. I want to go to the Savoy to see Marriage Forbidden. I wish you could come as I don't care to go by myself, so let me know if you can come one evening. I expect the evacuee today. Lil says Frank is no better with his sour stomach. She has a nice mackintosh from the Rubber Co for fifteen shillings. Frank gave her the money so he thinks about her doesn't he. But I am sorry he is so poorly because it makes it harder for her.

Hope you are well anyhow. Now I must close as I want to go to the post
Love Mother

†† This is a vehicle that Owen has to pay for and maintain. He did buy a car eventually- a four seater little box car by trading in a motorbike and sidecar.


Sophia Holmes died in November 1939 at Kettering General Hospital. Olive died on March 19th 1986. She was 75 years of age. Ted survived her for another two and a half years. Lilian married in 1923. She died in May 1997 in her 99th year.


1. Tree logo © Vintage Kin Freeware Graphics: Vintage Kin Design Studio, Australia
2. Badge, headdress, British, Royal EngineersCatalogue number INS 16860 © Imperial War Museums. Reproduced under the terms of the IWM Non-Commercial Licence
3. Badge, unit, Chemical Warfare Groups Royal EngineersCatalogue number INS 6177 © Imperial War Museums. Reproduced under the terms of the IWM Non-Commercial Licence
4. Campaign Medals: Stephen's Study Room
5. "In Winter I get up by night / And dress by yellow candle-light". Illustration by Jessie Wilson Smith for Robert Louis Stevenson's "A Child's Garden Verses" (1905) FOBO From Old Books - reproduced with permission
6. Photograph: North End School prior to demolition in 1964 History of our School: Gallery © St Andrew's Church of England Primary School, reproduced with permission

Added January 27th 2013

Return to Top of Page

Translate this page:

SSL Certificate

Internet Beacon Diamond Site - 2010

© The Craxford Family Genealogy Magazine and individual copyright holders.
Edited and maintained by Alan D. Craxford 2005 - 2022. All rights reserved. Contents may not be reproduced without permission.
You are not authorized to add this page or any images from this page to (or its subsidiaries) or other fee-paying sites without our express permission and then, if given, only by including our copyright and a URL link to the web site.

Search the Craxford Family Magazine powered by FreeFind
Optimal screen resolution is 1680 x 1050 and above
This page has been designed to display on mobile phone screens
- landscape orientation recommended

Crafted on a machine from chill Computers, Poole, Dorset, UK and hosted By eUKhost logo UK Web Hosting

This site powered by The Next Generation of Genealogy Sitebuilding ©, v. 10.1.3cx, written by Darrin Lythgoe 2001-2022.