It is widely accepted that the first human beings as we know them now evolved in Africa, around 200,000 years ago. So the next time you hear a racist banging on about ‘pure blood’, or anything similar, show them this map. Basically, we can ALL trace our origins to an African.
I watched a report on the BBC about statistics for England and Wales regarding the numbers of people born outside those countries, but resident in them as of late 2021.
(Scotland was not included as it had not participated in the survey.)
I looked up some of the details available.
People born in India top the list, with a total of 920,000 born in India, but living in England or Wales.
760,000 people who were born in Poland also have a British passport, along with 539,000 people born in Romania.
EU nationals account for 36.4% of those born abroad, but living in England or Wales.
Between 2011 and 2021, the population of England and Wales rose by over 3,000,000 as a result of foreign-born migrants, according to the Office of National Statistics.
Other nationalities in the top five include Pakistan, and Ireland. Total numbers of foreign-born residents now exceed 10,000,000, almost 14% of the population.
Over 35% of all foreign-born nationals living in England and Wales live in Greater London
I find all of this fascinating. As a former Londoner, I can confirm the last figures. London is incredibly diverse, and the different cultures have added to the overall enjoyment of living in that city.
However, where I live now, in Beetley in rural Norfolk, I could count foreign-born nationals on both hands and have fingers to spare.
I am delighted to present a guest post from British blogger, Liz Lloyd.
This is her own short bio.
‘After 35 years as a primary school teacher and school librarian, I started two blog sites based on my main interests in history and books. I am a volunteer researcher at my local Workhouse Museum as well as following my own family tree. I also enjoying travelling, especially to the Algarve’.
Liz has two blogs. One is solely concerned with book reviews.
https://lizannelloyd.wordpress.com/
Her second blog features her travels, photos, and visits to places of historical interest.
https://somerville66.blogspot.com/
Here is her unedited guest post, a sad story of poverty, and forced migration.
British Home Children in Canada.
Since 2013 I have been researching the lives of people connected to the Union Workhouse in Guildford, Surrey. Initially we were preparing for an exhibition at The Spike museum about the changes from Workhouse, to war hospital in both world wars and later a General Hospital but subsequently I became particularly interested in what happened to the children who had stayed in the Workhouse, many of whom went to Sail training schools, Scattered homes, into domestic service or apprenticeships. However, the most alarming fate was the decision to send the children across the ocean to a new life in Canada.
“From the late 1860s right up to 1948, over 100,000 children of all ages were emigrated right across Canada, from the United Kingdom, to be used as indentured farm workers and domestics. Believed by Canadians to be orphans, only approximately 12 percent truly were. These children were sent to Canada by over 50 organizations including the well-known and still working charities: Barnardo’s, The Salvation Army and Quarrier’s, to name a few.” (British Home Children Advocacy & Research Association)
In Canada and America many descendants are trying to trace the origin of their ancestors, often only discovering after their grandparents’ deaths that they had been sent across by British charities or Union Workhouses. Some of the children were lucky, going to good homes where they were educated and cared for, but others were treated like slaves or abused. Government Inspectors visited from time to time but in such a large country this was a rare occasion. These are a few of the children I have followed.
Margaret Ellen, Edith Mary and Louisa were born in the village of Pirbright, Surrey the daughters of James Chewter and his wife Sarah. James was a farm labourer. As agricultural labouring opportunities declined many families moved closer into Guildford so that the fathers could find casual labouring jobs. They managed to eke out a living until one parent died and then it was impossible to provide for the family and look after the children. According to the death records registered in Guildford, Sarah Chuter, mother of the three girls, died at the Royal Surrey Hospital in 1884 aged 38, so it must have been very difficult for their father James to look after them on his own while continuing to work.
Margaret, Edith and Louisa were first sent from Surrey to Mr Middlemore’s Home in Birmingham where they were prepared for their voyage. The Board of Guardians in Guildford provided each with a chest containing a basic set of clothes and a Bible. On June 18th 1887 they were part of a group of 115 children aboard the SS Lake Ontario bound Quebec and on to the Guthrie Receiving Home in London, Ontario. The Chewter/ Chuter girls were soon given placements. Edith was placed in three different locations, the final one being at Belmont, Ontario, Louisa, age 7, was placed with Francis Davis at Adelaide Street, London, Ontario and Margaret, age 12 went to David Phillips of Durham, Oxford Co. Ontario.
Two years earlier, Walter Shires, an 11-year-old boy from a tragic family, had also been migrated to Canada. He can be found age 7, amongst the inmates listed in Guildford Union Workhouse in 1881 and next to him, the name Mary Ann Joyce, age 12, who was his stepsister. Both children had been orphaned two or three years earlier, but only Walter would be part of the small party of children sent out to Canada to begin a new life.
Walter’s mother Kate May married William Joyce at St Nicholas, Guildford in 1866. He was an Agricultural Labourer and by 1871 they were living in the area of St Catherine’s with their three children, William John Joyce, age 4, Mary Ann Joyce, age 2 and newly born Kate Elizabeth. Sadly, Kate died within a few months and a year later their father, William Joyce, was buried in St Mary’s churchyard, aged 26.
The young widow, Kate Joyce, married again next year, this time to labourer Walter Henry Shires. Their son, also called Walter Henry Shires was born shortly afterwards but there is no evidence of any other children born to the couple before Kate’s death in 1878. At the age of 30, her funeral was held at St Nicholas’s church. With three young children to look after, Walter Shires senior entered Guildford Union Workhouse where he died a year after his wife, aged 37.
By 1881, the eldest boy William John Joyce was 14, so he was working as a farm servant in Hambledon. The next time we find Mary Ann Joyce is in 1891 when she is living in Spitalfields with three other girls, all with no occupation, in the household of a Docker and a Laundress.
Like the Chewter sisters, 12-year-old Walter first went to the Guthrie Home in London, Ontario. From there, Walter was sent to live with J D Crane, a farmer in Chatsworth, Ontario. Each child was subject to one inspection to check that his new home was suitable. Walter Shires was reported to be both honest and untruthful, stubborn, sulky and a source of trouble. He was, however, “showing signs of slight improvement,” in his behaviour, although suffering from scalp disease. In later years Walter married and had 2 children, before his death in 1937.
In 1881, wheelwright, Benjamin Sink was living with his wife Jane and their three little girls in Farthing Lane, Wandsworth, but Benjamin came from Ockham, Surrey where most of his family still lived. By 1883 the lives of Ruth, aged 7, Beatrice, 6, and Ada Sink, aged 3 had been turned upside down. Their mother Jane had died and Benjamin was imprisoned in Wandsworth jail. The family in Ockham took in the three girls, but their grandmother was 64 and nearly blind so they were soon given up to the Union Workhouse in Guildford. In in June 1884 the sisters set out from Liverpool on the Allan Line steamship Parisian, with 115 other girls from various parts of Britain.
It is recorded in Ontario that Mark Smallpiece, Clerk to the Board of Governors of Guildford Poor Law Union, requested feedback on the children’s situations, as did other workhouse Boards and thus we have it on record that Beatrice, “would like to know her birthday if possible,” that Ada, “thinks she has a brother in the Union,” (Guildford Workhouse) while poor Ruth is so unwell she has been returned to Guthrie House. We do not know whether Beatrice discovered her birthday or whether Ada really had a brother “in the Union.”
Thanks to Maureen Salter, a descendant of the Sink family, I now have a little more information.
Beatrice Sink was adopted by the Burton family and took their surname. Later she married a cousin of her adopted family. Ada also went to a caring home in Ontario where, at the age of 6, she was adopted by Ephraim Snell. Sadly in 1893 she died of typhoid fever.
The children’s birth father Benjamin Sink died in Richmond Workhouse, Surrey in 1938. There is no record of a brother in Guildford Union Workhouse, and we do not know whether Beatrice was given her correct birth date.
It seems fitting to conclude with a quotation from the journalist of Guildford Jottings in the Surrey Mirror in 1885,
“Although one feels almost guilty of expatriating the poor little ones by deciding to send them from our shores, it does not follow that it is not in reality, the very kindest thing it is possible to do for them. They are at a premium in Canada, they are a discount here. It’s just as well to get a premium on one’s wares where possible.”
Liz Lloyd
Please take time to visit Liz’s other blogs, and give her some support from our great community. There is lots to discover on her general blog, and I am sure all you book fans out there will appreciate her reviews on the literary blog.
I have always been honest on this blog, especially when it comes to technology. I am simply no good with it. I can just about manage to figure out how to type and post this article, and I rely on WordPress for everything else. I can use a cash machine, but I avoid Internet Banking. Give me a new TV to set up, and the chances are you will hear me swearing and cursing within a few minutes. I have even given up lifting my car bonnet, as there just seems to be a big plastic cover over everything, something best left undisturbed.
With that in mind, and given how tired I have been feeling for some reason, you might think that I would leave technology well-alone, unless unavoidable. However, for reasons that have only passing explanation, I decided to tackle two techno gadgets, on the same day. The result of this folly is that I have been left with a muddled head, and more confirmation that I shouldn’t be let loose on these things.
For a long time now, we have managed without a printer. We are not habitual printers, never print photos, and I still write letters. So we haven’t really felt deprived, since the last one we had stopped working. There are lots of things in this modern world that are starting to assume ownership of such a device though. Discount vouchers, restaurant offers, some receipts and invoices, tickets and boarding passes, are all presumed to be ‘printable’. This week, I had to return another failed piece of technology; a multi-region DVD player that failed to play anything multi-region. The supplier was happy to take it back, but I had to print a returns label for the courier. I asked our neighbours, and they said that I could pop next door, and use their printer. In the meantime, Julie had found someone selling a printer locally, for a very low price. It was new and sealed, and had never been out of the box. An unwanted gift of some kind, sold at half price, to raise some ready cash. So we bought it. I collected it from the seller a few miles away, and brought it home last night.
As advertised, it was indeed sealed, with all labels intact. Opening it, I soon realised that it was a very basic model, and the bottom of the range from the company, Hewlett Packard. Never mind, as long as it worked. After laying out all the contents, I seemed to be missing a cable to connect it to the computer. The information book and user guide was notable by its absence too, replaced with a cartoon-style information sheet that was frustratingly difficult to comprehend. As it was getting late, I opted to leave it until daylight to attempt setup, or there was a danger that I would throw it out of the window, to smash into pieces on the path. I did some Internet research instead, finding almost 150 negative reviews, mainly about the lack of a printer cable in the box, and the absence of wi-fi capability. I did manage to find a better information sheet though, as well as a video from the company on You Tube, explaining how to set it up.
As it was a bright sunny morning (it rained later, and still is…) I felt enthused to get it going. I had a rare brainwave, and remembered that I did have an old printer cable somewhere, which I actually managed to find. I watched the video, installed the software, and set the computer to recognise the printer. Finding the relevant document, I pressed ‘Print’ with little expectation of success. And I was right. After a noise that sounded like a brass band falling down some stairs, the document that finally appeared looked nothing like the page on screen. More research, more reading, and I discovered that I had to align the printer. This done, I tried again. It was no better. My hand was reaching for the window catch, when I had a thought. I downloaded the document instead. Once it was in my documents as a file, it printed. I almost ran out into the street to shout ‘Hooray’, such was my childish delight at this everyday achievement. I should have left it there, but I was also awaiting delivery of a new mobile phone.
My step-daughter broke her phone last week, and she hasn’t been able to make calls since. It is also difficult for her to receive them, as the screen is smashed. She has a small baby, so it is not good for her to be without a phone; and as she is on maternity pay, she cannot afford to replace it at the moment. I had an idea. I have had my current smart-phone for almost seven years. It works fine, has Internet access, a monthly call plan, a camera if I need it, and it works well-enough, when the signal is strong in the area. So I haven’t bothered to upgrade to a newer model free of charge, which is allowed every two years. High time I did, thought I, and I can give the sparkly new phone to my step-daughter, who can insert her Sim card, and be back in business. I rang the company yesterday, and they were happy to send me a new phone, if I extended my contract for another two years. As I would have done so anyway, that wasn’t a problem. I only had to pay a small delivery charge, and the courier would bring it today. I agreed to the new contract over the phone, and that was that. Or was it?
The phone arrived today, and with it came a Sim card, which was unusual. I didn’t concern myself, as I had not intended to keep it. Not long after the courier departed, I was contacted and asked to activate my new card, by placing it into the new phone. I called the company, explaining that I didn’t intend to use the new phone as my main phone, and it would have a different Sim card put in. They told me that this would not be possible. It was a 4G phone, and used a micro Sim. Furthermore, my old Sim card would be deactivated within 24 hours, and the number transferred to the new handset, whether I liked it or not. They said that I could use the older handset as a spare, by buying a card to insert into that, but I had to use the new one as my main phone, due to the network transfer. This was like having a conversation in Klingon to me, and I was barely able to keep up. I protested that I had been misinformed, and that they should take back the offer. They replied that I had asked them, and that the deal was better, with the faster 4G network, and an improved data and text allowance, plus the new style handset, all at the same contract price, with no extra charge. Besides, it was too late, as my number and call plan would transfer to the new sim anyway, so if I didn’t put it into the phone and activate it, I would have two dead phones. And I had agreed to the contract, so there.
Are you following this? I’m not sure that I am.
I was left cursing myself for having another ‘good idea’. I wish that I had just gone to a phone shop, and bought her a basic phone. That’s what you get for trying to help. But there’s more.
I bit the bullet, and installed the new card, activating the swish new (and very large) phone, which I then put on charge. I would usually put in the old Sim card, and transfer all the numbers and information from that, onto the new phone. But there was a problem. The old larger card doesn’t fit in the new phone. Once the activation is complete, and the old card ‘dies’, so does all my info. I rang again. They said I could transfer all the stuff I needed from my HTC Synch Account, by plugging the new phone into my computer. ‘I don’t have a Synch Account’, I told them. Silence followed. I knew that I would have to tackle this on my own, not a prospect I welcomed. I began to explore the menus and screens. I found that if I logged in with my Facebook account, all that information would migrate easily. But I am not on Facebook. My Google+ info was easily transferred, but my dozens of contact numbers are not on Google+. As well as this, the phone menus, despite being the same company, and vaguely similar, operate differently from the old one, so everything took forever to work out. I downloaded a full user manual from the Internet. It runs to 191 pages, mostly in Hieroglyphs.
After getting the basic operation sorted, I even managed to get onto the home wi-fi, as it seems my data allowance has not yet arrived. I also called the phone from the home one, and sure enough, it has already become ‘my’ number. That got me in a panic. What if the Sim ‘dies’ tonight? I began to write down all the information from my old mobile. All the numbers, e mail addresses, notes and memos I have kept. I will have to transfer all of this manually another time. When I had finished, I had five full A4 pages of closely-written contact names and numbers in my notebook. My head was swimming, and I felt more tired than ever. But I chose a ringtone, from a truly awful selection, and opted for power save, to make the battery last. I then picked another dire text notification sound from those available, and with eyelids drooping, called it a day. Technology, don’t you just love it?
And did I mention? It’s raining. Hard.
beetleypete 