Elizabeth Seymour
My great grandmother Elizabeth Seymour was a single parent. Her husband Thomas died a few months before my grandfather was born. She supported her three children, Tom, May and Robert, by opening a shop in Arkwright Street.
A friend scanned and enlarged this photo for me some years ago, and it was as if the gates of time opened and the past came back to life. We could see everything in the window, and even see inside the shop. I was even more enthralled to see the boy looking out of the upstairs window. I thought this might be my grandfather, but she rented a room to the local football team so they had a place to change. I think she and her children lived behind the shop.
This is my mother's account of her paternal grandmother and her shop:
'Grandma Seymour had a small general shop in 2 Arkwright Street to support the children. She wore long black dresses and a long white apron. Her hair was very thick and worn swept up on the top of her head. The shop was typical of the day. Plain wooden counter with tin adverts on the front. There was a brass bell behind the door which rung if anyone entered. Brass scales with brass weights on the counter. Main trade sweets and lemonade. The bottles had a glass marble in the top and were called eods. Opposite the shop was a sports field and a room in the house was let to a football team (boys I think) as a changing room and to eat their sandwiches. This later became allotment gardens and was finally built on. Grandma made her own black bullets and sweets were sold in a poke made of newspaper. As you could get a poke for a halfpenny there was no profit if you bought paper bags.'
Elizabeth Ann Seymour, maiden name Jobling, was born in1859 in Gateshead. Her christening took place in Whickham. By 1881 she was living in Jesmond. She married Thomas Seymour on October 29 1892. Her parents were William and Margaret Jobling. She was one of five children Sarah Alice, Theodosia, Alexander Davieson, Margaret.
I've yet to discover how William Jobling made his living, but the family were living in rural areas, just outside the town.
Her husband Thomas Seymour was born in 1847. He died of a heart attack in 1893, leaving two very small children, with a third about to be born. His father was also called Thomas Seymour.
Elizabeth died in 1927.
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A friend scanned and enlarged this photo for me some years ago, and it was as if the gates of time opened and the past came back to life. We could see everything in the window, and even see inside the shop. I was even more enthralled to see the boy looking out of the upstairs window. I thought this might be my grandfather, but she rented a room to the local football team so they had a place to change. I think she and her children lived behind the shop.
This is my mother's account of her paternal grandmother and her shop:
'Grandma Seymour had a small general shop in 2 Arkwright Street to support the children. She wore long black dresses and a long white apron. Her hair was very thick and worn swept up on the top of her head. The shop was typical of the day. Plain wooden counter with tin adverts on the front. There was a brass bell behind the door which rung if anyone entered. Brass scales with brass weights on the counter. Main trade sweets and lemonade. The bottles had a glass marble in the top and were called eods. Opposite the shop was a sports field and a room in the house was let to a football team (boys I think) as a changing room and to eat their sandwiches. This later became allotment gardens and was finally built on. Grandma made her own black bullets and sweets were sold in a poke made of newspaper. As you could get a poke for a halfpenny there was no profit if you bought paper bags.'
Elizabeth Ann Seymour, maiden name Jobling, was born in1859 in Gateshead. Her christening took place in Whickham. By 1881 she was living in Jesmond. She married Thomas Seymour on October 29 1892. Her parents were William and Margaret Jobling. She was one of five children Sarah Alice, Theodosia, Alexander Davieson, Margaret.
I've yet to discover how William Jobling made his living, but the family were living in rural areas, just outside the town.
Her husband Thomas Seymour was born in 1847. He died of a heart attack in 1893, leaving two very small children, with a third about to be born. His father was also called Thomas Seymour.
Elizabeth died in 1927.
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Tom and Emily Seymour, with Edith May, Thomas Godfrey and William Lewis
Elizabeth's first child was baptised Thomas Jobling Seymour. He was born on 14/3/1891. Tom is easily recognisable in photographs as is tall and sturdy. He was fond of his moustache, which, it must be said, was no match for his future in-law Sidney’s. He was an engineer at Armstrong Whitworth. My mother had fond memories of him and his talents. She wrote:
‘He was very clever with metal work and would make brass door knockers, name plates and fenders for dolls’ houses. Mine had ‘Seymourville’ on. During the war he made identity bracelets. He also made toy cookers. He was married to Emily Brown, who had two sisters Jean (Jenny) and Lily who married two brothers called Burgess. There upon both the Browns and the Burgess’s were accepted as family and became extra aunts and uncles to all of us. As they had three children they were quite often a bit hard up but Tom would go to the fruit market on his way home from work and come back with a big bag of oranges and apples which were given to all the kids who happened to be in the house at the time. He also would take his own to the moor and spend a huge amount on them.
He got a sore throat and told the doctor he would be dead by morning. The doctor was very irate and said it was tonsillitis and nobody ever died of tonsillitis. Either the doctor was wrong or there had to be a first time because he did not survive the night.'
My mother is also my only source of information about his wife Emily.
'Emily was very thin. had her hair in little crimped waves, called a marcel. She had a gift for making you feel welcome. When you went into her home you felt she was so pleased to see you. She made oval jam tarts, and I’ve never tasted a round one that was anything like them. She went out very little. Aunty May and Aunty Emily went to the sisterhood at Vine Street Mission.
May Seymour
Thomas and Elizabeth's only daughter May, was my mother's Aunt May, and the mother of her best friend Florence.
'May Seymour was also a very home loving person. Did a lot of knitting and crochet. She was married to Harry Mullender. When at school I went twice a week for lunch. This was because I was anaemic and very thin. Her favourite ‘treat’ was a nice, ground rice pudding with a face made out of strawberry jam. She was very sympathetic and always ready to listen to your troubles. Always stood at the gate to watch for you coming. On Saltwell Road we lived only a few doors away from each other. When we came to Rawling Road they went to Fieldhouse Road.
'May Seymour was also a very home loving person. Did a lot of knitting and crochet. She was married to Harry Mullender. When at school I went twice a week for lunch. This was because I was anaemic and very thin. Her favourite ‘treat’ was a nice, ground rice pudding with a face made out of strawberry jam. She was very sympathetic and always ready to listen to your troubles. Always stood at the gate to watch for you coming. On Saltwell Road we lived only a few doors away from each other. When we came to Rawling Road they went to Fieldhouse Road.
Thomas Godfrey Seymour
I do recall Thomas Godfrey Seymour, my Uncle Tommy. As a child I sensed the pleasure my family felt in his company. Visiting him and his wife was always different to visiting other relatives, where there was often an element of duty. My own delight was mainly for his wife, my favourite aunty, Molly.
According to my mother, Emily had wanted to call him ‘Godfrey Osborne Seymour, a fact that horrified him. He was known as Godfrey until he started work when he told everyone his name was Tommy. He was fair and had blue eyes unlike the rest of us.’ Tommy is always recognizable in photos by his protruding ears.
Tommy was mischievous as a boy. He liked to play practical jokes, such as putting grapes down someone’s back, then squashing them. My mother found him ‘rough’. (She admits she wasn’t used to boys.) As a teenager he rescued a boy from the sea and was given a medal.
He worked at Armstrong Whitworth with his father until the start of the war. Most of his service was in Italy. His claim to fame was being one of the first men to enter Rome when it was liberated on 4 June 1944. (The British 8th Army and the American 5th Army) My mother and her family were very excited to see him on film of this on a Pathe Gazette newsreel, at what is now the Tyneside Film Theatre. After the war he took a degree in Modern Languages and was head of a large office at the Square Grip Huwoods.
Tommy married Mary Dixon, preferred name Molly. It’s a mystery why there’s no photographs of this wedding or of Molly. If they married in church it’d probably be St Chad’s, especially if he was still living with his parents. It’s quite possible that they defied convention.
It’s interesting that both Tommy and Molly had refashioned themselves by adopting a chosen name. They refused to abide by the rules and restrictions that most of my family obeyed. Perhaps there was a secret admiration for them and their daring, unconventional lifestyle. I only found out decades later that they had been naturalists, with a caravan at a nudist camp in Throckley. Although I wish I’d known this earlier, it couldn’t have made me love her any more. I must have intuited something different about Molly.
Molly was a free spirit, gay in the old sense of the word. She had red hair, which I’ve always loved. As well as nudity, she loved to dance all night, in high heels, and would walk home at dawn, in bare feet. No wonder I loved her. In the late 1960’s, an aspiring flower child, I often went out in bare feet.
I’m glad she enjoyed herself as her life story is filled with sadness. Her mother died when she was a baby and she was raised by an older sister, Thelma. She married at 18, then had a series of phantom pregnancies. In one such pregnancy she attended hospital for six months and prepared baby clothes, only to discover there was no baby. My mother believed she wasn’t too distressed but I suspect she was good at hiding her feelings. Gaiety often disguises pain and sadness.
Another unsolved mystery was why we’d stopped visiting her when she became ill. I’m still unclear about what degenerative illness she developed, so will return to my mother’s account:
‘It was found she had a disease that thickened the blood and they dilated the veins to help her. When the blood couldn’t reach the brain she became mentally unstable, sometimes violent and was for a time in a mental hospital. She had been a supervisor at the Telephone Exchange but lost the power to write. She spent hours trying. When they could no longer help her, they said it would be a long drawn out deterioration, but she had a heart attack and was spared this.
Three weeks after the funeral Tommy collapsed and was said to be dead, but after several hours on a life support machine he came round and lived for three years. He said he had things to do.’
My mother appreciated the help he gave her parents as they aged. She wrote that he was ‘a great support to me. I grew to be very fond of him.’
Although writing about my family history is immersive and satisfying, it’s interwoven with sadness. The holes in this story of Molly and Tommy throw up many questions about their lives and about my family. Difficult things weren’t talked about, especially to children. My mother inhabited a genteel world and worked hard to keep out anything unpleasant. I suspect she secretly admired unconventional behaviour, but she certainly wouldn’t discuss it.
Of course, I now wish we’d talked more, about everything, just as I wish I remembered more of the things we did talk about.
Godfrey was born 5/3/1919
I was overjoyed to find this photo of Tommy and Molly, on holiday, possibly in Austria.
According to my mother, Emily had wanted to call him ‘Godfrey Osborne Seymour, a fact that horrified him. He was known as Godfrey until he started work when he told everyone his name was Tommy. He was fair and had blue eyes unlike the rest of us.’ Tommy is always recognizable in photos by his protruding ears.
Tommy was mischievous as a boy. He liked to play practical jokes, such as putting grapes down someone’s back, then squashing them. My mother found him ‘rough’. (She admits she wasn’t used to boys.) As a teenager he rescued a boy from the sea and was given a medal.
He worked at Armstrong Whitworth with his father until the start of the war. Most of his service was in Italy. His claim to fame was being one of the first men to enter Rome when it was liberated on 4 June 1944. (The British 8th Army and the American 5th Army) My mother and her family were very excited to see him on film of this on a Pathe Gazette newsreel, at what is now the Tyneside Film Theatre. After the war he took a degree in Modern Languages and was head of a large office at the Square Grip Huwoods.
Tommy married Mary Dixon, preferred name Molly. It’s a mystery why there’s no photographs of this wedding or of Molly. If they married in church it’d probably be St Chad’s, especially if he was still living with his parents. It’s quite possible that they defied convention.
It’s interesting that both Tommy and Molly had refashioned themselves by adopting a chosen name. They refused to abide by the rules and restrictions that most of my family obeyed. Perhaps there was a secret admiration for them and their daring, unconventional lifestyle. I only found out decades later that they had been naturalists, with a caravan at a nudist camp in Throckley. Although I wish I’d known this earlier, it couldn’t have made me love her any more. I must have intuited something different about Molly.
Molly was a free spirit, gay in the old sense of the word. She had red hair, which I’ve always loved. As well as nudity, she loved to dance all night, in high heels, and would walk home at dawn, in bare feet. No wonder I loved her. In the late 1960’s, an aspiring flower child, I often went out in bare feet.
I’m glad she enjoyed herself as her life story is filled with sadness. Her mother died when she was a baby and she was raised by an older sister, Thelma. She married at 18, then had a series of phantom pregnancies. In one such pregnancy she attended hospital for six months and prepared baby clothes, only to discover there was no baby. My mother believed she wasn’t too distressed but I suspect she was good at hiding her feelings. Gaiety often disguises pain and sadness.
Another unsolved mystery was why we’d stopped visiting her when she became ill. I’m still unclear about what degenerative illness she developed, so will return to my mother’s account:
‘It was found she had a disease that thickened the blood and they dilated the veins to help her. When the blood couldn’t reach the brain she became mentally unstable, sometimes violent and was for a time in a mental hospital. She had been a supervisor at the Telephone Exchange but lost the power to write. She spent hours trying. When they could no longer help her, they said it would be a long drawn out deterioration, but she had a heart attack and was spared this.
Three weeks after the funeral Tommy collapsed and was said to be dead, but after several hours on a life support machine he came round and lived for three years. He said he had things to do.’
My mother appreciated the help he gave her parents as they aged. She wrote that he was ‘a great support to me. I grew to be very fond of him.’
Although writing about my family history is immersive and satisfying, it’s interwoven with sadness. The holes in this story of Molly and Tommy throw up many questions about their lives and about my family. Difficult things weren’t talked about, especially to children. My mother inhabited a genteel world and worked hard to keep out anything unpleasant. I suspect she secretly admired unconventional behaviour, but she certainly wouldn’t discuss it.
Of course, I now wish we’d talked more, about everything, just as I wish I remembered more of the things we did talk about.
Godfrey was born 5/3/1919
I was overjoyed to find this photo of Tommy and Molly, on holiday, possibly in Austria.
harry and may mullender
Harry Mullender married Thomas and Elizabeth's daughter May.
May had coffee with my grandmother, her sister-in-law, every morning. When my mother was very ill she visited every day, bringing fruit and comics.
'On Saltwell Road we lived only a few doors away from each other. When we came to Rawling Road they went to Fieldhouse Road.
Harry Mullender was an orphan, who was brought up by an aunt called Mrs Chapman. He was short, square, with black hair and bushy eyebrows. He was very strict, and she was very timid.
Like my father, he was a printer’s compositor and for a lot of years they worked together at Downies of Mirk Lane. It specialized in invitations and advertising pamphlets. He was very clever and had frequent wins on the crosswords. There was always pennies in his pockets for us children. Even when you and Stephen were small, and he was wheelchair bound after a stroke, he would struggle to get money out of his pocket for you. Like us they always had a holiday.'
They had one daughter, Florence.
May had coffee with my grandmother, her sister-in-law, every morning. When my mother was very ill she visited every day, bringing fruit and comics.
'On Saltwell Road we lived only a few doors away from each other. When we came to Rawling Road they went to Fieldhouse Road.
Harry Mullender was an orphan, who was brought up by an aunt called Mrs Chapman. He was short, square, with black hair and bushy eyebrows. He was very strict, and she was very timid.
Like my father, he was a printer’s compositor and for a lot of years they worked together at Downies of Mirk Lane. It specialized in invitations and advertising pamphlets. He was very clever and had frequent wins on the crosswords. There was always pennies in his pockets for us children. Even when you and Stephen were small, and he was wheelchair bound after a stroke, he would struggle to get money out of his pocket for you. Like us they always had a holiday.'
They had one daughter, Florence.
florence and Jim lindsay
Florence Mullender was my mother's cousin and close friend.
They were literally close. They always lived a short walk away from each other. Their fathers worked together and job shared during the depression.
Florence married Jim Lindsay. In this photo both look very young and eager. Perhaps he hasn't been to war yet. He served in Egypt and , unlike many men, was happy to talk about his time there.
Florence excelled in the feminine arts. She gave me a beautiful embroidered tablecloth, as had no daughter of her own.
After the war Jim built up his own pest extermination business. Some years later he was bought out by a much larger company but he continued to work for them. He had asthma, probably made worse as a result of working with poisons and chemicals.
They inherited her parents' house in Fieldhouse Road. It was an Edwardian semi-detached, a few steps up from my grandparents' council house. They spent most weekends at a caravan near the Scottish border.
They had one son, Keith. Keith was older than me. He had a passion for vintage cars, which he tried to turn into a business. Sadly, this didn't work out. and he had to take a more mundane job. I don't think the family were sympathetic. Work and earning a living were serious matters. Hobbies were applauded, but passions frowned upon.
Florence outlived her husband by many years. My mother and her had remained close friends and, both widowed, they often went on holiday together. After a bad fall she chose to go into care, a decision which horrified my mother. At first she spent her time watching the birds in the garden, but her health soon deteriorated and her last months and death were very sad.
They were literally close. They always lived a short walk away from each other. Their fathers worked together and job shared during the depression.
Florence married Jim Lindsay. In this photo both look very young and eager. Perhaps he hasn't been to war yet. He served in Egypt and , unlike many men, was happy to talk about his time there.
Florence excelled in the feminine arts. She gave me a beautiful embroidered tablecloth, as had no daughter of her own.
After the war Jim built up his own pest extermination business. Some years later he was bought out by a much larger company but he continued to work for them. He had asthma, probably made worse as a result of working with poisons and chemicals.
They inherited her parents' house in Fieldhouse Road. It was an Edwardian semi-detached, a few steps up from my grandparents' council house. They spent most weekends at a caravan near the Scottish border.
They had one son, Keith. Keith was older than me. He had a passion for vintage cars, which he tried to turn into a business. Sadly, this didn't work out. and he had to take a more mundane job. I don't think the family were sympathetic. Work and earning a living were serious matters. Hobbies were applauded, but passions frowned upon.
Florence outlived her husband by many years. My mother and her had remained close friends and, both widowed, they often went on holiday together. After a bad fall she chose to go into care, a decision which horrified my mother. At first she spent her time watching the birds in the garden, but her health soon deteriorated and her last months and death were very sad.
Edith May seymour
Edith May Seymour was born on 27/3/1914. She was the daughter of Tom and Emily, the sister of Tommy and Lewis. Called Maisie by her family, until she met her husband, Bob Venus, who called her May. He proposed on their first date.
May survived a childhood accident, two years in the children's hospital and medical interventions. When discharged she was wheeled around in a bath chair. This portrait gives a hint of her steeliness. May learned to walk again, graduating to crutches, then a stick. Bob encouraged her to cycle and they shared a tandem.
They had three children Lewis, Susan and Richard.
May died on 16/2/1998
May survived a childhood accident, two years in the children's hospital and medical interventions. When discharged she was wheeled around in a bath chair. This portrait gives a hint of her steeliness. May learned to walk again, graduating to crutches, then a stick. Bob encouraged her to cycle and they shared a tandem.
They had three children Lewis, Susan and Richard.
May died on 16/2/1998
william lewis seymour
My mother had fond memories of May and Tommy's brother, William Lewis.
He 'had a lovely, laughing face and was full of fun. He went to Kelvin Grove, Sheriff Hill and then the Central School. This was a high school, not quite so high academically as the Secondary, but more business and technical. When they lived at Sheriff Hill he would build tents in the garden and we’d all pile in for tea.
Although he had matriculated jobs were hard to find and he worked in Godfrey’s which sold piano’s opposite the cathedral. He was partly a salesman and partly played the grand piano in the showroom. He closely resembled my father and I adored him as little girls adore a big brother. He let me ride his bike. He walked home with me.
On a Whit Saturday night he was riding to a big cycle rally at Barnard Castle with Jimmy Lindsay and Doris Paul when a car swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Jim, who saw it coming, swung in front of Lewy and his legs were injured, but Lewis hit a telegraph pole and was killed instantly. He was twenty years old. Witnesses said the driver was drunk but when the case went to the assizes the defence said he was ill.
When the police went to the house, May was the only one who wasn’t in bed, and they told her it was a slight accident so she went with them and had to identify him. Uncle Harry came to inform us, and this very tough man, who we were all a bit scared of, was in floods of tears.'
He 'had a lovely, laughing face and was full of fun. He went to Kelvin Grove, Sheriff Hill and then the Central School. This was a high school, not quite so high academically as the Secondary, but more business and technical. When they lived at Sheriff Hill he would build tents in the garden and we’d all pile in for tea.
Although he had matriculated jobs were hard to find and he worked in Godfrey’s which sold piano’s opposite the cathedral. He was partly a salesman and partly played the grand piano in the showroom. He closely resembled my father and I adored him as little girls adore a big brother. He let me ride his bike. He walked home with me.
On a Whit Saturday night he was riding to a big cycle rally at Barnard Castle with Jimmy Lindsay and Doris Paul when a car swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Jim, who saw it coming, swung in front of Lewy and his legs were injured, but Lewis hit a telegraph pole and was killed instantly. He was twenty years old. Witnesses said the driver was drunk but when the case went to the assizes the defence said he was ill.
When the police went to the house, May was the only one who wasn’t in bed, and they told her it was a slight accident so she went with them and had to identify him. Uncle Harry came to inform us, and this very tough man, who we were all a bit scared of, was in floods of tears.'