Rev Thomas Trafford Shipman

The re-imagined story …

We gathered outside the farmhouse where father fired the traditional shots above the rooftop to ward off evil spirits. Then the little party of ladies and gentlemen consisting of father and I, Uncle Richard, Charles and Letty, Thomas Plummer and his sister Ellen then set off down the carriageway from Hook to Lydiard House and the parish church of St Mary’s.

Although barely eight o’clock in the morning our friends and neighbours came out of their cottages, throwing showers of rice and as we made the short walk children linked hands and barred our way until Uncle Richard threw them some coins.

Those family and friends who had not joined our merry parade were already seated in the box pews. The beautiful little parish church with its monuments to the St John family. The ancient font where Letty and I had been baptised and where I in turn would bring the child I carried to be christened and blessed by Rev. Shipman.

Rev. Shipman knew I was expecting a baby and he knew Will was not the father, but he made no judgement.

“You’re not the first bride and you won’t be the last who walks down this aisle carrying a child who is not the grooms,” he said. “Do you love Will?”

It seemed a strange, romantic kind of thing for a clergyman to ask. I’d expected him to tell me to repent of my sins, to look to Christ for forgiveness and guidance.

Will was a good man. I’d known him all my life, we had grown up together. He was reliable and dependable and hard working and his prospects were good. But he didn’t make the breath catch in my throat or the heat surge throughout my body.

Will promised he would look after me all the days of our life. He did not promise to transport me to unprecedented levels of physical delight, as Ambrose had. He probably wouldn’t even know what that meant. He does not use flowery language, or pay me extravagant compliments.

Ambrose St John, a cousin of Lord Bolingbroke, had whispered fancy words into my receptive ear, and played my body with his expert lovemaking. And then he had left. I was not the woman I had been before he kissed me, before he touched me, but he had not reached my heart.

Will was aiting for me at the church door where Letty fussed with my sash and straightened my bonnet.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you.”

Rev. Shipman baptised our daughter on Michaelmas Eve. We brought two more babies to St Mary’s to be blessed by the kindly clergyman, but he would not be officiating at the baptism of our next child.

Rev. Shipman died recently following a short illness. Sadly, he will not rest at St Mary’s among the parishioners he served so well. The churchyard is closed and discussions are in progress as to where the people of Lydiard Tregoze shall bury their dead.

The funeral of Rev Thomas Trafford Shipman takes place tomorrow in St Mary’s Church with the interment at Radnor Street Cemetery in Swindon. I will be there, with my husband.

The facts …

Thomas Trafford Shipman was born in Sedgebrook, Lincolnshire in 1831, the younger son of William Shipman, a farmer, and his wife Harriet.

After studying at St Catherine’s, Cambridge he was made deacon at Carlisle in 1856 and ordained the following year. He served as a curate at Barbon, Westmorland 1856-58 and at Christ Church, Carlisle in 1858-59. He was Rector at Scaleby, Cumberland from 1859-1866 and at Nether Denton from 1866-1872 when he became Vicar at Aspatria, a position he exchanged for one at Lydiard Tregoze where he was instituted on April 1, 1879.

He married Margaret Sidney Roper-Curzon at St Mary’s, Cheltenham on October 13, 1859. Thomas was 28 and Margaret 24. The couple had four children, daughters Alice, Ethel and Mary and a son Francis Trafford Shipman. The 1881 census records Thomas and Margaret with their three daughters living at the Rectory, Lydiard Tregoze.

The Rectory, Lydiard Tregoze – published courtesy of Roger Ogle

Thomas died suddenly in 1884 and is buried in Radnor Street Cemetery.

Canon Brian Carne writes in Notes on Rectors, Curates, and Patrons published in Friends of Lydiard Tregoz Report No. 38 published in 2005.

“Shipman’s death must have been sudden, because it became a legend. Right up to the 1960s it was said – at least by Mrs Large – that he appeared at the top of the rectory stairs to presage the death of the current incumbent.”