Wednesday 2nd April 2003
Danny Howell writes –
Louisa Colfox (nee Wansey)
Louisa Wansey was the thirteenth child of Henry and Elizabeth Wansey. She was born in April 1821 and spent her childhood at Sambourne House, Warminster, which her father built in 1800. There were 15 children in all and the three which Louisa refers to in her memories were her sister Anna Elizabeth, who was two years younger; her brother, Arthur, the youngest of the family; and herself.
The sisters, Louisa and Anna Elizabeth, married the brothers Thomas and William Colfox respectively. The Colfox brothers were wool staplers of Bridport, Dorset. A double wedding took place in May 1856 at the Nonconformist Chapel in the Close, Warminster, and this was a special local event. Both couples made their homes in Bridport.
Louisa, who died in 1899, wrote the two articles which follow, when collaborating with her sister Anna in publishing magazines (called Merry Go Round) for the benefit of their children and grandchildren during the years 1874 to 1876.
MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD (1825 – 1835)
And that is half a century ago! As I look back along the vista of years the events seem far far away, as if seen through a telescope . . . .
I was born on the 20th of April 1821, the year that George IV was crowned and poor Queen Caroline presented herself in Westminster Abbey and was rejected – and often have I heard my mother say that I was such an ugly baby that she was quite ashamed to show me to company. It was in the house [Sambourne House, Warminster] which Papa finished in 1800 to bring his bride to be, then nineteen summers old.
He married his cousin Betsey from London and a lovely miniature of her, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, is one of the family treasures (Betsey had one blue eye and one brown, she was considered very beautiful). Her father was called “Honest John Wansey,” I do not know why, but I do know that he was cheerfully religious and, being deaf, he spent much of his time apart and he was often surprised upon his knees in prayer.
His house was, however, the centre of much pleasant society and always open to welcome young men of promise. Phillips, the painter, was frequently there and he painted three admirable portraits of him. Sir Thomas Lawrence, when he went to London from Wiltshire, was kindly received and he requested to paint my mother’s portrait, partly, I expect, from admiration for her beauty and partly from gratitude to my grandfather.
An old clerk named Mr. Ford also used to be asked to dinner and was the original of many a story for us children. He was relating that he had been to the Pantomime and that he saw an “arlequin” and first of all his “edd” tumbled off and then one “harm” and then the “hother”. He it was who also went to the British Museum and saw the Mumptian Gyminy.
My first recollections are of my sister Anna being carried in arms to see the effects of a high wind which had blown down trees and trellis, and also of the grievous longing to sit up late in a very hot summer when I was sent upstairs and took longing and stolen glances at the elders expatiating in the evening shade and coolness. So much did I suffer from this cause that never would I send children early to bed in such heat.
I was only seven years old when I remember sitting with Papa and Mama and twelve brothers and sisters round the fire. How I can now conjure up the scene! Papa, white-headed, neat and trim with silver-rimmed spectacles, leaning back in his chair, his faithful wife at his elbow. I see her now, sitting close, dressed in a rich and bright crimson silk gown, her hair confined in a brown floss net (for she had not then begun to wear caps). My three elder sisters wore, as every afternoon, dresses with low bodies and the shortest of short sleeves, crepe shawls covering partially their shoulders and white necks, set off by red cornelian necklaces.
The eldest son (Henry, who died near Milan in 1829) sat opposite in another easy chair. He had just returned from Italy. And we younger ones each in our own place.
The year after this was a sad one in our annals, for three of this happy circle were called above (Henry, John and Catherine). My father’s mother lived at Warminster and I remember her well. A little upright lady of more than 80 years with a handkerchief of the whitest net pinned with a little jet-headed gold pin across her black silk dress, and a little mob cap round which a black ribbon was tightly pinned. She was a woman of spirit, an only daughter with a fortune (called Sarah Jefferies of Trowbridge before her marriage). She walked about her garden with a long-handled spud to cut off weeds. She promenaded the room for exercise, measured the distance and walked as far as to certain points to which she formerly went in reality.
She assembled her children around her on the day fixed for celebrating the passing of the Reform Bill in 1832. A goodly circle in her dining room – the families of her three sons – and, standing up she addressed us on the importance of the event and enjoined us all to remember it as long as we lived. To this end she gave the elders a sovereign each and getting smaller with our size, she descended to half a sovereign until, on coming to me, one of the youngest, her gift was half a crown. I do remember the fireworks! I remember also many things about that day as it was celebrated in Warminster. For some reason we were staying at our uncle’s, and every servant had a holiday and we dined on bread and cheese, and I thought this part of the grandeur and novelty of the day. I saw an ox roasted whole, and a triple row of dining tables placed all down the street upon which the poor were regaled on roast beef and plum pudding, the gentlemen carving.
Then we hurried away to the school rooms where the children likewise were dining in hundreds. The whole town was illuminated at night and there was a grand display of fireworks by Signor Gingellio – on ordinary occasions he was Mr. Gingell. My father was a leading Reformer in the place and our house was particularly brilliant that night. There were arches of coloured lamps over the gates, which were thrown open, and every window was bright with rows of candles. Gas was unknown in those days and we always had lanthorns to walk out with at night. The centre window was adorned with a transparency which we had all been busy preparing. It represented the Column of Reform in two steps, the lower one being “Magna Carta” and the other “The Bill Of Rights”. Round the column was twined a scroll bearing the names of Russell, Brougham, Althorp, and Grey. Papa had also caused to be brought from his woods (Norridge) a large quantity of Glow-worms which were placed on the lawn and attracted much attention.
I remember also a tiresome old lady called Mrs. Rudd whom Papa had to escort through the crowd to a window to see the fireworks, and as soon as they began she became so frightened that he had to escort her back again, and so lost the display. The Reform Bill must have been a grand thing, but what it was, at that time, I had no idea.
Before all of this I remember (1830) the opening of the first Railway, that between Liverpool and Manchester. We had a holiday that day and the present of a joining puzzle in which were long rows of carriages, steam engines and the record of the opening of the line.
I remember the Three Days Revolution in Paris, 1830, because my brother Edward was afraid to return that way from Italy.
I remember the terrible struggles of the Poles for liberty, which enraged my whole soul in sympathy for them.
I remember the Siege of Antwerp when Belgium became a kingdom.
I remember the expedition of Beechey and Ross to the North Pole and how we used to mark their progress on the map with intense interest, and the wonderful account of getting to the Magnetic Pole of the latter, when his needles stood upright.
I remember my journey to school in London by the night coach from Salisbury. What can people mean by regretting those days? Papa rode outside, I in, with a cross old lady who, after long grumbling, went to sleep and desired me to wake her up when we passed Stonehenge, and how I in shy relief at her silence let her sleep on – how she was all the more cross when she woke. How uneasily I dosed and woke up at the sound of the horn. How at last we came to Hyde Park Corner and how the guard thought I belonged to the old lady, and how thankful I was that I didn’t.
But too much of this – I grow garrulous and you weary, and so I return to the present and wish you a Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year.
_________
AN ACCOUNT OF CHILDHOOD DAYS AT SAMBOURNE
Written in 1875 by Louisa Colfox.
We were very happy – but we had our trials. Anna and I were called “you two” and Arthur’s rhyme explains the close companionship of the last three of our large family.
“We three
Sisters be
Except me.”
Also a speech by our elder sister:
“Louisa and Anna, here’s your pocket handkerchief.”
Yes! How well do I remember the time when one never left the room without the other going too, with arms entwined – and the quarter of an hour given for refreshment in school time, when we ran out with our great brown holland pinafores called “sacks,” tied so as to form a pocket in front, in which were huge pieces of bread and cheese which we devoured as we ran about.
Oh what delightful games of “Hide and Seek” we had in the shrubberies, running round the fields and premises in happy freedom. Past the kennels, to the Outhouses, Pigstyes, Cowhouse, Rickyard, Upper Field, Round the field, Down the field, Locked-up Garden, Children’s Gardens, Beds Feet, Front lawn, Stable, Coach-house, Tallet, Shed, etc., etc., and what tearing round and round in the “little chaise,” long before perambulators were known!
It is miraculous that we did not break our limbs rushing down “Boxbush Alley” and bang – the wheel locked in the Iron Gate! How we used to gather those leaves of box-bush – for money for the Turnpike and pack our books and play going to school in our coach. “We three” – and do you remember the delights of the first celandines in the yard, and the first white violets by the dog kennel? And the profusion we got in the bank of the Upper field? There were some nice patches too on the ground where the lords and ladies grew. Then mushrooms under the sycamore trees. And bonfires of leaves!
One day specially, when we roasted potatoes and had to go in to dinner and, on rushing out immediately after, found them just ready, and one of us fell a victim to the necessity of eating them up then and there.
And do you remember our “Punch and Judy”? The high Housemaid’s steps covered with our garden cloaks, one of us inside performing and the others looking on, and Arthur, with grave face, one day explaining “We ’em the audience.”
The great event was altering the house. How we used to watch Papa’s consultations with George Edwards, the builder, and when the works really began how we amused ourselves by looking at the men! There was “Old Noyle” the mortar man who had been a soldier and had had his head trepanned in the Battle of the Pyramids – and Lambert who fell from the scaffolding and was hurt, etc., etc. I see now the ponds of white plaster through which we used to chase the cocks and hens to see them sinking in at each step. Those chickens that we fed with our bread and milk and, when they were all busily eating it, our delight was to jump out of the high back-parlour window into the very midst of them and chase them furiously, especially one cruel yellow cock who trampled on the little chickens and took their food and pecked at their eyes.
One great treat we had which was indeed delightful to us, who had never been anywhere in the whole course of our lives. Papa said he was going to take us to Weymouth. “We three” immediately retired to the Tallet to talk it over, and we lay on the straw trying to form visions of what the sea would be like, and a thousand bright anticipations floated through our happy heads. We travelled in detachments in our four-wheeled chaise and we slept at the Antelope Inn at Dorchester. The next day we went on in a post-chaise to Weymouth and, going down the hill the sea was before us, a screen of blue and white butterfly sails. Then we had our first bathe in the sea, our first ride on donkeys, and endless new delights. But how glad we were to get back to our dear home, looking so green, and how we loved Sambourne!
Then haymaking! When Papa raked off a large square of the Upper field for us to make ourselves, and we all came out with rakes and forks and turned it under his directions, and finally made it into a large, high haycock on which we all had our tea. This was generally succeeded by our first strawberries and we, being there, saw the cows milked and had foaming tumblers of fresh, frothy new milk. What couch can compare with a haycock? Softly fitting in your back, sweetly-scenting, whilst you gaze at the white full clouds floating in the deep blue sky against which, at Sambourne, rose gracefully the soft acacia tree, covered with white pendant blossoms. We did enjoy this, year by year, and I brought out the dear old “Vicar of Wakefield” and read it through as my holiday treat.
Time went on and Arthur went to school and got more of a hero with us girls. Once he brought us home bow and arrows and we made a target of an iron hoop and some straw and canvas. We kept rabbits too in those days. But our chief delight was Tommy, a pony Papa bought when his own legs would not carry him on his usual daily walk to the Marsh. Sometimes we used to hire another pony too and set off, luncheon slung over his pommel, for a day on the Downs or in Longleat Park, Arthur mostly walking, though he took a gallop too, now and then. We used to go to the White Horse and to the Happy Valley and to Heaven’s Gate in this fashion. And how we loved the Downs? A walking-stick gun also came to the fore at this stage and also our Electrifying Machine, we nobly taking a long series of shocks, out of sisterly affection, and making paper men to dance with diamonds in their caps, as we called the sparks.
Then came college and, horror of horrors, a Meerschaum pipe and tobacco! This latter we scattered about and led our brother such a life about the former that they sunk into oblivion. How proud we were of our tall young brother, we three, and what acting of plays we had at Christmas and what skating upon Sheerwater Lake and what boating parties in the summer. But these were chiefly later when we were “grown up,” and so these recollections of my childhood are come to an end.