A private, close knit family

The re-imagined story …

I’d walked past 10 Bath Road many times before. It was a pretty little house with a charming wrought iron porch, but it was very neglected. The woodwork badly needed a coat of paint and moss grew in the guttering and obviously hadn’t been cleared out in years. I never saw anyone go in or out, but then I don’t suppose you very often see the people who live in the houses you walk past.

I began training as a district nurse at the Victoria Hospital in 1956 under the supervision of the formidable Nurse Morris. Our first call that Monday morning was at 10 Bath Road.

“This is the home of Miss Mary and Miss Frances Wilton,” Nurse Morris explained. “Miss Frances had a fall several weeks ago and I’ve been dressing an ulcer on her leg.” She paused to look at me. “You’re not squeamish, I hope.”

I thought she was making a reference to the wound I was about to see.

“I’ll not make a very good nurse if I am,” I laughed, full of youthful audacity.

Nurse Morris raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t impressed. She said nothing.

We leant our bicycles against the garden wall and Nurse Morris knocked on the front door. We waited for what seemed like a very long time.

“No one in?”

“Miss Mary is over 80 years old,” she snapped back. I wasn’t making a very good impression. I pulled a face at Nurse Morris, behind her back, obviously.

Eventually the front door with the chipped paintwork opened a crack.

“Nurse, welcome, welcome. Do come in,” a soft voice greeted us.

“Good morning Miss Mary. I’ve brought a student with me today, hope that’s alright with you?” She turned back to me with such a glare, I wasn’t quite sure what I had done wrong this time. “Miss Mary, this is Linda.” I held out my hand and in the dark hallway the smallest, little wizen hand grasped mine.

“How nice to meet you, my dear. My sister and I seldom receive visitors these days.”

Miss Mary, when I could eventually see her in the murky hall, was as neat as a pin; until I looked again more closely. The little bird like figure was dressed in a long, dark dress, stained and stiff with dirt. Her long, white hair was tied up in a neat bun on top of her head but her wrinkled face was engrained with dirt. She had the twinkliest blue eyes and an engaging smile. She must have been a lovely looking young woman.

Now the smell inside the house hit me. It was indescribable. A cocktail of human excrement and cat wee and unemptied bins and something I couldn’t even put a name to.

I looked at Nurse Morris for some kind of explanation, but she clearly wasn’t disposed to give me one.

Miss Mary led us into what had once been an elegant dining room overlooking the front garden, but which now served as a bedroom for our patient.

“Good morning Miss Frances. How is the leg?”

At first I could barely see the old lady lying in the bed, so small was she. If Miss Mary was tiny, Miss Frances was skeletal, her face cadaverous. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. I was shocked by the physical condition of these two sisters who were malnourished and filthy, their home dirty, unhygienic and neglected. A cat that had been sitting on the bottom of the bed suddenly sprang into the dark corner of the room where there was a sudden scurrying and a squeaking.

“This is looking much better, Miss Frances,” said Nurse Morris as she began to clean the ulcer on the lady’s shin.

“Would you two nurses like a cup of tea?” asked Miss Mary.

I dare hardly imagine the state of the kitchen, but before I could reply Nurse Morris shot me another warning glance.

“Thank you, Miss Mary, but we had a cuppa with our last lady. I’m fine, how about you Linda?”

“Yes, I mean no, no thank you,” I stuttered.

Nurse Morris maintained an easy conversation with the two women as she worked and soon our patient was settled back against the grubby pillows on the bed.

“Well I think that’s us done for today,” she said. “Is there anything we can help you with while we’re here? Shall we empty this commode?”

Please, please don’t ask me to do that, I thought. And where would we begin. They both needed a bath, the bedclothes needed changing, their clothes need washing and that’s before any attempt was made on the filthy house.

“No thank you nurse,” said Miss Mary with the sweetest, gentlest smile. “We’re just ticketyboo, aren’t we Fan?” She rested her claw like hand on her sister’s skinny shoulder.

The front door had barely closed on us when Nurse Morris laid into me.

“Before you say one word, young lady you must learn to disguise your emotions, especially your disgust. Those two ladies are perfectly aware of the conditions they are living in. They are old, not stupid.”

“But why would you put up with that?” The smell of the house clung to my clothes.

“Because they are proud and they don’t want to ask for help.”

“Someone should sort them out.”

“Have you got grandparents?”

I had and they lived in a tidy little terrace house in Gorse Hill. Was she going to make some kind of comparison?

“And would they appreciate someone barging in and telling them what to do, touching their things and clearing up and throwing things away?”

“No, but …”

“If you are going to be a good district nurse you must quickly learn compassion and empathy.” We pushed our bicycles side by side, back to the hospital.

“They value their independence. Would you take that away?”

“No, but …”

I could not argue with Nurse Morris, but I knew there must be some solution to the ladies’s predicament, some way of providing them with help without robbing them of their dignity. I learnt a valuable lesson that day and have Nurse Morris to thank for my long career in nursing. And of course the Misses Wilton.

The facts …

The imposing monument pictured below marks the grave of the Wilton family. The burial registers record that it covers plots D5a and D6a with six graves reserved in a brick built vault.

Elizabeth was the first to die and the dedication on the prominent face of the memorial is to her. What is interesting is the name of the property that was the Wilton home in 1905 – ‘Old Croft’ Bath Road. Research has revealed that Old Croft, 10 Bath Road was the family home for more than sixty years. In 1901 10 Bath Road was the home of Swindon architect William Henry Read, so unless some renumbering took place in the early 20^th century it is possible to trace the house history of this property for almost 100 years.

George Wilton was a butcher by trade and for more than 30 years the family lived over the shop at 58 Fleet Street. He married Elizabeth Townsend at St Leonard’s Church, Broad Blunsdon on October 25, 1870. She was 37 years old and he was 49 so quite a mature couple for a first marriage. Their first daughter Mercy Joanna was born on October 31, 1871, followed by Ruth Edith on November 19, 1872, Frances Elizabeth on March 25, 1874 and finally Mary Townsend on March 15, 1875.

The Wilton family were a very private, close knit unit. The four daughters didn’t marry, didn’t have any children, or nephews and nieces to tell their story. How did they end their days? Mercy and Ruth both died in the 1940s but Frances and Mary lived on into the 1960s and extreme old age. Were they comfortably off, well provided for, well cared for? Were they fit and vital in their last years? Did they belong to clubs and societies? Did they have a wide circle of friends? Is my re-imagined story way off the mark?

George died in 1908 and the Faringdon Advertiser and Vale of the White Horse Gazette published the following obituary.

‘Death of Mr George Wilton – General regret will be felt at the news of the death of Mr George Wilton, which took place at his residence, Old Croft, Bath Road, Swindon on Tuesday morning. Deceased, who was in his 87^th year, was born at Oaksey. He was the oldest butcher in the town, and in an unbroken period of about 35 years he conducted a successful business in Fleet Street, retiring a little less than three years ago. Mr Wilton was a purveyor of the old fashioned type, and his excellent judgment and the dependable character of his stock established for him the reputation of being the leading butcher in New Swindon for many years. Apart from his business, to which he was most devoted, Mr Wilton was in no sense a public man, and was, in fact, of a retiring disposition. His wife pre-deceased him about three years ago, but there remain four daughters to mourn a heavy loss. Although burdened by the weight of years, Mr Wilton was in his usual health until Boxing Day from which time the fatal illness really dated.’

All four sisters lived on a private income with Mary appearing to be the only one to have paid employment when in 1939 she was working as a Brewery Cashier.

When Mercy died in 1944 she left £2,611 6s to her sister Mary. Ruth, who died two years later, left more than £3,800, also to Mary. However, when Mary died in 1961 her effects were valued at just £411 19s which she left to the last surviving sister Frances.

All four sisters are buried with their parents.

William and Albertina Haynes

This magnificent Celtic Cross shouts wealth and must have been a pretty expensive monument in its time.

The Celtic Cross design combines the ancient Celtic circle symbol with the Christian cross, and was usually a free standing stone monument. In Ireland examples have been found dating back to the 7^th century.

In the mid 19^th century there was a Celtic Revival when monuments like this became extremely popular and the Celtic Cross has since become associated with graveyard memorials. The Celtic Cross on the Haynes grave includes the letters IHS symbolising the Greek spelling of Jesus Christ.

This is the final resting place of William and Albertina Haynes. In their retirement the couple lived at Longford Villa one of those impressive Victorian properties on Bath Road. William died on September 17, 1922 and Albertina on January 30, 1931.

William had grown up in Fairford where his father worked as a confectioner. He moved to Purton to begin an apprenticeship in Edward Kempster’s grocer’s shop, which is how he met his future wife. Albertina was the daughter of Richard Newman who was a Beer House Keeper in Purton.

The couple married in the summer of 1879 and by the time of the 1881 census they were living at 5 Westcott Place where they ran a grocer’s shop. William employed two assistants including his younger brother Hubert.

By 1891 the establishment had grown somewhat. The couple had six children and employed three grocery assistants and two domestic servants.

Researching the census returns I think the Haynes grocers shop was in the large premises on the corner of Westcott Place and Read Street, which has various signs outside today.

When William died in 1922 he left £65,473 9s 8d worth several million pounds today, an impressive amount of money for those post war times and more than enough to pay for this magnificent memorial.

You might like to visit Swindon Bottles for information about many other Swindon based firms.

John Webb – builders’ merchant

The re-imagined story …

If you were a builder, where would you build your own house? When I was a child it was always my dream to live in one of those Victorian red brick villas on Bath Road. I had a couple of favourites; properties I would buy if I ever won the pools. Dad always let me do a line on his coupon. I used to have my favourite teams as well, ones I picked every week. I could tell by the expression on dad’s face we wouldn’t be collecting our winnings anytime soon.

Mr Webb had built the house I had my eye on – an elegant property named Fairhaven, close to the Bath Road Methodist Church. It was everything you’d expect a fairhaven to be – beautiful with a fantastic view; a safe place to raise a family.

When Linda and I got married we bought a three bedroom terrace house in Dover Street. An old lady had lived there all her life – it needed a lot of work doing on it. No bathroom and an outside toilet, an old fashioned scullery and you could smell the damp as soon as you opened the front door. We ploughed every penny we had into renovating that little house, doing most of the work ourselves. We were young, fit and in love. I wouldn’t attempt a project like that now – not that I don’t still love Linda, of course!

When we eventually finished we decided to give the house a name; of course it had to be Fairhaven. Our own beautiful place in which to raise our family. And would you believe it, John Webb had built our house in 1882.

The facts …

John Webb was born in North Nibley, Gloucestershire in 1850, the son of Henry Webb, an agricultural labourer, and his wife Lucy. At the time of the 1871 census he was still living at the family home and working as a wheelwright. However, he soon struck out on his own, moving to Swindon in the early 1870s.

Through the 1870s and 80s John was busy across town building houses in Regents Circus (c1872) Page Street eight cottages (1876) Princes Street, house (1879) Station Road house (1881) Dover Street houses (1882) and so it continued.

He married Edna Whiteman at ‘the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel near the market place Swindon’ on April 13, 1876. He was 26 years old and describes himself as a carpenter and joiner living at 5 Henry Street, Rodbourne Lane. Edna[h] was 22 years old, the daughter of Jesse Whiteman, a farmer from Gorse Hill.

At the time of the 1881 census John Webb employed 12 men and 3 boys. Between 1881 and the mid 1890s John and Edna lived at 13 Station Road, sadly not a fairhaven as here two of their children died – Ellen Lucy in 1887 age 3 months and Jesse Henry who died in 1892 age 15.

And then in 1911 John changed tack. Hereafter he worked as a builder’s merchant. Perhaps he found it more profitable. Perhaps he found the years of heavy labour were taking their toll.

John died on May 31, 1927 aged 78 years. He was buried in plot E8528 with Edna who had died in April 1923 aged 69 years. Their two young children are buried in the neighbouring grave where Edith Annie, their second eldest child, was also buried when she died in 1948 age 69.