Set in stone

The re-imagined story …

I haven’t visited the family grave for many years, the distance to travel was too far and life too busy. I remember being brought to the cemetery with my grandmother as a child. That’s what grandparents did in those days. I’ve never taken my grandchildren on a trip to a cemetery. I can imagine what their response to such a suggestion would be. But recent events have made me want to visit my hometown, touch the past.

For now I know my story was different and things were not as they seemed, as I was once told they were. The woman I thought was my mother was not and the family history my gran told me was someone else’s, not mine.

I was given away, not adopted, nothing as formal as that. I was just given away, generously, selfishly. It wouldn’t happen these days, but then, well, these things did happen.

Did I have a happy childhood? A good life? I can’t judge any longer. All I keep coming back to is it wasn’t the life I was supposed to have, but then I don’t know what that was either.

I thought I would remember where the grave was and that I would be able to easily find it. It was close to a path but the cemetery looks very different now; the benign neglect suits my mood.

When I eventually find it the headstone is blank, the inscription lost, disappeared along with my past. My beginnings forgotten, everything I know a lie, everything I am a mystery.

Please note that this re-imagined story has nothing to do with the Neate and Tyler families as mentioned below and is purely a work of fiction.

This headstone is a victim of weathering. Other deteriorating examples can be found across the cemetery, but this is the end result, when the surface cracks and eventually falls away.

It might seem that the history of those buried here is lost, but it is possible to piece together the family history.

A cemetery marker is propped up against the headstone. These should be treated with caution as many are in the wrong place, but I struck lucky with this one. Using the cemetery maps and grave plot registers I was able to trace the story of not only the people buried in this grave but those in the one next to it as well.

James and Dorah Neate

This is the last resting place of James and Dorah Neate. James was born in Box, Wiltshire and Dorah in Bruton, Somerset. They married at St James Church, Bath on October 30, 1877.

James worked as a railway engine driver and the couple moved about a fair bit. At the time of the 1891 census they were living in St Brides, Bridgend with their two sons. William 10 who had been born in Box, Wilts and Frederick 9 born in Weymouth, Somerset. By 1901 they were living at 7 Park Terrace (Faringdon Road) in Swindon. William and Frederick were both working for the GWR, William as a stoker and Frederick as a fitter. The couples’ last home was at 13 Jennings Street where James died in 1925 and Dorah in 1930.

James was buried in Radnor Street Cemetery on April 27, 1925 in plot D519. Dorah’s funeral took place on July 7, 1930 and she is buried in the same plot.

The collapsed pink granite monument next to James and Dorah’s plot is the grave of their son William.

Like his father William also became a railway engine driver. He married Elsie Maria Tyler at St Paul’s Church, Swindon on June 24, 1907. At the time of the 1911 census William and Elsie were living in Goodwick on the Pembrokeshire coast with their two-year-old daughter Kathleen Dora. They also had a son, Arthur William T. Neate, who was born in Wales in 1915.

William and Elsie returned to Swindon where Kathleen died in 1931 aged 22.  William died at 30 South View Avenue, Walcot, Swindon on September 11, 1948 and Elsie died at 20 Castle View Road, Stratton St Margaret on December 13, 1968.

William, Elsie and Kathleen are buried in plot D520 next to William’s parents.

Elsie Maria Neate 4

The Tyler family photo was shared on Ancestry by Debra Tyler on February 8, 2010. Elsie is standing on the left with her arm resting on her mother’s shoulder.

Elsie Maria Neate nee Tyler

Poor little Freddy Whitby

The re-imagined story …

My grandfather always lingered awhile at the corner of Clarence Street opposite the site of the old Empire Theatre.  He would grip my hand tightly and recall the tale of little Freddy Whitby.

I know the story well as he never failed to mention it.  It was only much later that I fully understood; well you don’t as a child, do you? It was one of Pop’s stories, like the ones about the war, stories you heard all the time as a child and yet could only recall in fragments as an adult.  How many times have you wished you’d asked about this or that, wished you had listened more carefully?

The Empire Theatre has long gone and there are traffic lights at the busy junction now, so as I wait for the traffic to come to a halt, I too think of little Freddy Whitby.

Freddy Whitby was 10 years and 10 months old on that fateful Friday in June 1911.  He was on his way to school from his home in Swindon Road.  At the corner of Clarence Street Freddy stepped off the pavement as if to cross, but then he hesitated before breaking into a run.

A witness said when he saw the car so near him Freddy appeared scared and dazed, and knowing not what to do stood absolutely still.

The driver of the car was racehorse trainer Mr W.T. Robinson from Broome Manor who was on his way to the GWR Station to catch the nine o’clock express train to London.

Mr Robinson told the inquest how he had been blowing the whistle all down the street from the tramlines and how, realising the danger the boy was in, he slammed on his brakes.  The left headlamp clipped young Freddy, knocking him off balance and under the front wheel of the car.

Mr Finn, a butcher, was on his way to work when he too saw the accident.  He ran across the street and picked up the boy, carrying him to Dr Lavery’s surgery just around the corner in Regent Circus.

The children on their way to Clarence Street School gathered round.

“Who is it?” they asked one another, but nobody seemed to know the boy.

Complaining of pain in his stomach Freddy was transferred to the Victoria Hospital where he was subsequently operated on for an internal haemorrhage.

The operation had proved successful and Freddy was showing signs of recovery when he died suddenly on Saturday morning.  A post mortem revealed that the injuries had been slight and it was believed that Freddy had died from shock.

“I never even knew him,” Pop used to say, which always struck me as odd.  Why, half a century later, did he still grieve for the boy knocked down on the corner of Clarence Street that he never knew?

But perhaps that was why? Nobody had known Freddy Whitby.  Had he been walking to school with a group of boys, or even just one friend, that accident might never have happened? I think my Pop believed that had he been that one friend, Freddy Whitby would have lived.  Throughout his long life my Pop somehow felt responsible for the death of Freddy Whitby…’

Freddy Whitby

The facts …

At the inquest Freddy’s father described his son as being a very nervous boy who had poor eyesight and wore glasses.  The family had previously been living in Liverpool, Freddy had only been in Swindon since Tuesday of the previous week and the streets were new to him, he told the court.

The Swindon Advertiser reported that ‘the accident again calls attention to the danger of children crossing the streets on going to school when motor cars are frequently passing.’

The Deputy Chief Constable suggested that in future motorists travelling from Old Town to the GWR station should proceed by way of Drove Road to avoid the Clarence Street schools’ area.

Freddy’s funeral took place on June 14, 1911.  He is buried in plot B2238 in a grave he shares with three other children; Herbert Mark Keen who died in July 1894 aged 12 months; Oswald Hall who also died in July 1894 aged two years and an eight-week-old baby George Henry Clifford who died a month after Freddy in 1911.

The grave is marked by a memorial to Freddy, a cross toppled off long ago and lies in the grass.  The inscription reads: In Loving Memory of Little Freddy the beloved and only son of F.  and E.  Whitby aged 10 years and 10 mths  Accidentally killed by motor car June 10th 1911.