Obsolete Occupations: Getting Knocked Up (a queer English custom)
If you regularly research family history, you’ve probably come across occupations which you don’t recognize. Technology has steadily replaced, and made obsolete, many common jobs our ancestors performed. Even things which we find quite common today, weren’t at all common back then (if they even existed at all). For instance, not everyone in eighteenth century England had a clock or watch. This Industrial Revolution era (and beyond) occupation is indeed curious, or as Americans called it – “a queer English custom”.
Once upon a time everyday working folks paid someone to “knock them up”. This, of course, elicits winks and giggles amongst us 21st century denizens as “knocked up” often refers to what Merriam-Webster calls “sometimes vulgar: to make pregnant”.1 There was nothing vulgar intended or implied as this quaint and curious English and Irish custom, begun during the Industrial Revolution and carried forward into the early twentieth century (and beyond for some locales), was an honorable occupation. Before alarm clocks were available and affordable, “getting knocked up” was essential to ensure working men and women avoided fines for arriving late to work.
It may have been a curious custom, but it was honest work for anyone willing to arise before anyone else in the neighborhood, and rain or shine, walk around tapping on their clients’ windows, or should I say “knocking them up”. They would advertise themselves as a “knocker-up” or “window tickler” and were paid perhaps two to three pence per week to make sure their client rolled out of bed on time.
The work of knocking up the neighborhood was necessity on one side of the world, while on the other side Americans found it a “Queer English Custom”.2 For some it wasn’t a neighborhood job, but rather a part of their duties as caretakers at prominent residences. At Fullham Palace, the bishop of London’s residence, the lodgekeeper began working up servants around 5:30 a.m.
The palace knocker-up used a fifteen-foot pole known as a “rousing stave” to wake up the servants, knocking until the “wakee” gave “a more or less grateful answer in reply.” Although similar, there was a difference between the pole used in rousing the help and the one used during church services “directly upon the persons of inattentive or dozing members of the congregation.” The church rod was meant to bring slumbering congregants “a proper sense of their position.”3
During the era before alarm clocks were more readily available in the United Kingdom, one might see a card in the window of the general store: “Workmen called early in the morning. Terms moderate.” The Washington Post, musing about knockers-up in England, opined:
The “knocker-up” would have a much harder job in America than he has in England, for there he is favored by purely local condition. In the first place, the houses in the industrial sections are closely packed together in long rows, like the buildings in the business sections of American cities, and are very seldom more than two stories high. Thus the “knocker up” is able to quickly arouse an entire street of workers, the rattle and roar of his stick bringing the men and women promptly from their beds. And his work is expedited by the fact that many of the sleepers hear him while he is a dozen hoses away, and are out of bed and rapping on their windows in reply by the time he reaches them.4
In other words, a knocker-up would have a harder time making a living in America since buildings in larger cities were built so close together. Why pay for a knocker-up when the rap on your neighbor’s window is sufficient to arouse you? Perhaps the equivalent today would be people who “borrow” a neighbor’s Wi-Fi signal instead of paying for their own Internet service?
Not everyone appreciated their neighbors’ knocker-up at such an early hour, especially actors and actresses who tended to “sleep in” after arriving home late the night before. One London actress, a Miss Hay, was just dropping off to sleep when she heard a “weird sound against her window.” Startled, she rushed to the window and threw the curtains aside, and heard “Coom on, Joe,” shouted a voice. “Are you no gettin’ oop to-day?” The knocker-up had forgotten his regular client was away.5
Not only did the knocker-up arouse his clients, he even saved a few it appears. The London Evening News reported two women saved themselves from a burning house by sliding down sheets to the street. The fire was just below their living area and a knocker-up had sounded the alarm when it was apparent escape by the stairs would be impossible. The building was gutted, but the occupants were saved thanks to their neighborhood knocker-up.6
As well known as their services were in certain parts of England, one journalist was startled out of a sound sleep one morning after relocating to Lancashire. He also received quite an education about “knocking up” in the process:
TEN MINUTES WITH A “KNOCKER-UP”. When the present writer first settled in Lancashire, he took up his residence in one of a row of new houses – the landlord called them “villas,” but that is a detail. Early on the following morning he was rudely awakened by a sound at the window which can only be likened to the rattle of peas, though they seemed to be propelled by steam power through a “shooter” about fifty times the usual size. Jumping out of bed, he rushed to the window and pulled aside the extemporised blind, whereupon a cry, which sounded like “fire” came from below, followed immediately by the retreating clatter of clogs. This was puzzling, but in no way alarming, for the house, exuding moisture as it did from every pore, was as safe as a freezing chamber. Later the same day the mystery was cleared up. The supposed man with the pea-shooter practised the little-known industry of the “knocker-up,” and roused people at any time they liked by rattling wires, fastened to a long stick, against their window-panes; and, not being then accustomed to the new hours, he woke up the wrong man. “I was always a good getter-up,” said a knocker-up to the writer recently, “and some of the mean at the mill used to ask me to give them a call. I did, and for nothing, except, perhaps, a drink now and then; but when they got too many – I had to go to work myself – I charged them 2d. a week. I kept at my work until I was getting a bit done, and then, as I had got a pretty good connection, I started knocking-up for a living. I get up a four; sometimes earlier, especially in Whit week and holiday times, when people go off on trips; them I’m at it pretty nearly all through the night. But, as a rule, it’s four, and I’m done about six – yes, done for the day. It’s not so easy as you think. You see there’s a man in the next street here that wants calling at four, and another right over yonder at a quarter-past four. It’s a good walk. Well, then I have to come back here; and so I go on. There’s so much dodging about, arrange things how you like. I’ve above two hundred to knock up every morning, and they pay me 2d. a week; it takes me best part of Saturday afternoon to draw the money. Some knockers-up have a good many more than that, particularly the old widow women, but their sons or daughters help them, or, perhaps, an old couple manage it between them. How many knockers-up in Lancashire? I don’t know; I don’t think anybody does. Thousands, I should think. You see nearly everybody among working folk has a knocker-up, because they’re on the safe side then. If they get a few minutes late, they’re ‘baited’ (fined) or lose a quarter. Yes; I should hear about it if I stopped in bed till seven some morning. But sometimes I oversleep myself a bit, and then I have to tell them to look sharp, as I am late. Oh, yes; I have known knockers-up to miss a morning altogether; but they mustn’t do that very often, I can tell you. If they won’t do it right, somebody else will.” Thus the knocker-up. It may be added that in some places the charge for the service he does is 3d. a week, and that his industry is a favourite refuge for men when they become too old to follow their trade.7
Such was the life of one knocker-up who admittedly himself didn’t always “rise to the occasion” on time himself. One humorist mused a veritable tongue-twister about a knocker-up’s dilemma:
Tommy Jones was always late for work, so his employer approached him one morning and inquired what had made him so late.
“Well,” replied Tommy, “it’s this way. You see our knocker-up has a knocker-up that knocks our knocker-up every morning at four o’clock. Well, our knocker-up’s knocker-up didn’t come to knock our knocker-up up, so our knocker-up didn’t come to knock us up.”8
While the job normally provided steady income, a knocker-up was out of luck when worker strikes occurred from time to time. One such person ended up in court after he’d stolen a pair of boots, “pleading that because of the cotton lockout nobody wanted his services and that he was starving.”9
One knocker-up in particular was adversely affected during the same cotton lockout. He had been calling on clients every morning for forty years, his only occupation and sole means of support. Suddenly, two hundred clients didn’t need his services or perhaps couldn’t afford them during the lockout. In 1912 clients still preferred their reliable knocker-up to alarm clocks.10
One of Oldham’s best knocker-ups was a deaf and dumb man. Why was that? As one client explained, “He’s the best caller-up I could have,” because he can’t hear me when I should all right. I have to get out of bed and go down and push him away from the door.”11
Unfortunately, there were no knocker-up trade unions either to protect their livelihood in the event of work stoppages. In one town, however, knockers-up combined their efforts and began demanding advance payment.
For many years the profession was strictly male-oriented, but in the early twentieth century women began to pursue careers as knockers-up – an oddity for sure. Still it must have taken a special kind of person to arouse themselves before heading out to arouse others. Such was the case of Henry Wood, who years before had been nursed back to health by Florence Nightingale.
Despite the challenges of his chosen occupation, Henry seemed well suited for the task:
Leaving his bed every morning at four o’clock he is soon afterwards in the streets. He meets nobody but the friendly policeman as he goes from house to house and taps with a long stick at the bedroom windows of cotton-workers who pay him a few pence a week to do so. “Owd Harry” has to face many bitter and wretched mornings in the course of a year, yet he is hale and hearty and likely to go on rousing people to the duties of the day for a long time to come.12
Despite occasionally over-slumbering themselves most knocker-ups were reliable. Indeed, it was true, according to Mr. W.B. Mucklow who produced a stereopticon slide show in 1892 – a sort of “man-on-the-street” exposé. Mucklow had met with every day “street characters” in the great cities of the world. At the top of his “50 Life Models” was none other than a knocker-up, followed by the milk boy. Other life models included “two old fruit women”, “the Italian and monkey”, “the blind Bible reader” and last of all “the policeman”.13
The profession eventually experienced a setback of sorts, as evidenced by a news blurb entitled “Persons Not Insurable”. In 1913 certain provisions of British law forbade the following men from obtaining insurance: “men who volunteer, or are asked, in a market, to put burrs under the wheels of vehicles, cover the horses, and adjust their nose-bags, while the drivers are in a shop, no payment for these services being promised; a ‘knocker-up’, engaged by various people to wake them daily for a fixed weekly payment.”14 Brits did have some unusual occupations, didn’t they?
When World War I broke out, knocker-up services were in even higher demand in Lancashire especially as workers went to work in military-related industries. It turned out to be a boon for a knocker-up who might normally receive up to three pence a week per client. Now that the war effort had kicked in, they could demand four pence as extra war pay.15
It appears the practice wasn’t going away even though the rest of the modern world had long since adapted to waking up to alarm clocks. During World War II certain areas of England still employed their friendly neighborhood knocker-up. Men were off to war and women took up the profession “in English mill towns, making the rounds and knocking on houses to waken workers in time to get to work.”16 Scotland adopted the practice briefly in 1941 when a shortage of alarm clocks for factory workers was noted.17
Alarm clock shortages aside, the reliable knocker-up was sorely missed in some communities. London’s Guardian held a poetry contest, offering “a first prize of two guineas and a second prize of one guinea…for Lines on the Alarm Clock’s Summons.” First prize was a clever acrostic:
A voice to all the houses crises: “Sleep no more!
Laggards and lie-abeds, awaken!
Abandon now the sonorous snore;
Rise up and get you read for
Munching your matutinal bacon!”
Cursing, I scramble out of bed; half-blind,
Look for the place I put my socks in.
Oh! what a bane this bell I find!
Cannot some keen, ingenious mind
Kindly invent an anti-tocsin?
Second prize was a short homage to bygone days:
The knocker-up with rattling canes
Rapped against the window-panes.
Nor did he cease his strident knocking
Until you “showed a leg” – or stocking.
Buy nowadays our chanticleer
Crows lustily beneath our ear.
Often from the bedside locker
We receive our morning shocker.
Do not ignore thus siren’s warning,
Or blitzed will be your busy morning.18
In the early 1950s there were still a few knockers-up awakening railway workers in Derby, England. However, in 1951 it was announced that English railroads had ended the “ancient job” of knocker-up:
Britain’s most unique jobholder – the “knocker-up” – had been declared extinct by a ruling of the nation’s socialized railways. Ever since trains began running in Britain, “knockers-up” have plodded before dawn through snow, fog and rain to awaken engineers and firemen in the big railway towns.
They knocked on doors until sleepy heads emerged from windows above and assured that the men behind the throttle would get to work on time.
But the railway management decided it could save about $840,000 yearly by asking the trainmen to wake themselves.
Today, 1000 former “knockers-up” were looking for new jobs. They predicted, however, that the muddle caused by their absence would convince the railway management to revoke its order before the month was out.19
Alas, it appears this was the end of the knocker-up. After years of indispensable service to mankind they were suddenly quite the opposite – “dispensable”.
******************
Postscript: Being a knocker-up wasn’t the only “curious profession” of the nineteenth century, however. Others included: “artificial ear and nose makers, prayer-makers, leg stretchers, saladmakers, knockers up and fourteenth men.”20
The “fourteenth man” was much in demand in Paris where, to avoid the awkwardness of having thirteen guests at a dinner, the “lucky man” always ready at a moment’s notice. This is, of course, in contrast to the Thirteen Club whose express purpose was to challenge the notion of the number thirteen being unlucky.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Digging History Magazine: Volume 2026: Issue 2
The second issue of 2026 features articles on Iowa, “The Hawkeye State”. This issue, like all issues in this continuing series (Illinois is next), will feature the state’s history, including how to find great historical and genealogical records and more:
● Mining Genealogical Gold: Finding Historical Iowa Records (and the stories behind them). The land we now call Iowa stands as a testament to American possibility. Here, upon vast prairies that once stretched beyond vision, a story unfolded that tells us not just about a single state, but about our nation itself. This story begins long before recorded history, when glaciers sculpted the terrain and left behind soil so rich that it later earned the title of “black gold.” In continues through centuries of native peoples who built civilizations among its rivers and rolling hills. And it carries forward into our present age, where Iowa remains fundamental to understanding America.11
● The Vacant Chair: Iowa’s Civil War Soldier Farmers (and the families they left behind). The premise of this article is two-fold, not only highlighting the Civil War service of Iowans, many of them farmers, but the wives and families they left behind. While there were no battles fought in the state, the war and its aftermath nevertheless left its mark on the young state of Iowa.
● Weathering Iowa. If Iowa were a person, its best friend would be agriculture and its worst enemy would be the weather. The land may have the richest soil in the world, but the sky seems determined to destroy it at every opportunity. Iowans do not just farm; they battle nature as if it were a seasonal sport. Tornadoes, floods, blizzards, and droughts all show up on the schedule, and if the Bible promised plagues of locusts, Iowa has the climate to make it happen.21
● The Dash: Vida Lois “Mom” Moreland Wade (1891-1976). In the 1930s and ‘40s she was known as “Mom Wade”, and historical evidence confirms how fondly she was remembered. For as long as she could remember, Vida wanted to be a nurse. Instead, years later, she established a maternity home, perhaps, as her family speculates, to fulfill her long-held dream.
Purchase the issue here: https://digging-history.com/store/?model_number=mar-apr-26
Or consider a regular subscription: https://digging-history.com/digging-history-magazine-subscription/
Thanks for stopping by! Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
History Twisters: (Naming Our Fair City: Lubbock . . . . or Willis?)
I wrote this article several years ago as newsletter editor of the South Plains Genealogical Society (SPGS), and presented it as a “theory”. We simply don’t know for sure, as you will see.
By the way, if you’re interested in exploring your family history (or you’ve been working on it for years), consider joining SPGS. On Saturday, May 9, we will be celebrating the 65th anniversary of our founding at our regular meeting at Mahon Library (Community Room) at 10:00 a.m. More info here: https://spgstx.org/
Long-time Lubbockites are no doubt familiar with the story of how our fair city came by its name. Articles have been published over the years in the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal. You might think the article title a bit odd, but there’s another story (theory) to be told.
Thomas Saltus Lubbock was born on November 29, 1817 in Charleston, South Carolina to parents Henry Thomas Willis and Susan Ann (Saltus) Lubbock. At the age of seventeen Thomas went to New Orleans and became a cotton factor. A cotton factor worked with cotton planters to market and sell their product, acting as a broker for a commission.
That career was short-lived after Thomas heard about the Texas Revolution. He then marched to Nacogdoches with Captain William Cooke’s New Orleans Greys and participated in the Siege of Bexar, the Revolution’s first major campaign. Lubbock then set out to once again acquire an honest living, taking a job on an upper Brazos River steamboat.
Unbeknownst to Lubbock the Revolution continued as Santa Ana laid siege to the Alamo and later General Sam Houston, in turn, laid waste to the Mexican forces at San Jacinto. Meanwhile, his brother Francis Richard Lubbock had arrived in 1836 and would later serve as Texas governor during the Civil War. In 1838 twenty-one year-old Thomas sailed from Galveston back to New Orleans.
Three years later he served as lieutenant in a combined political-military-commercial fiasco (as it turned out to be) known as the Texas-Santa Fe Expedition. The expedition, conceived by Republic of Texas President Mirabeau Lamar, was tasked with establishing a trade route to Santa Fe and, hopefully, persuade New Mexicans to join the new republic.
The party, consisting of merchants and civil commissioners protected by the military force, headed out from Kenney’s Fort about twenty miles north of Austin on June 19, 1841. Traveling north and crossing the Brazos River they arrived in present-day Parker County on July 21.
Their intentions were to travel northwest and find the Red River, but instead mistook the Wichita River for the Red and had to backtrack. Meanwhile, the Mexican guide had disappeared. Fighting off both Indians and starvation, the expedition eventually reached Quitaque Creek in present-day Motley County. Not knowing how to best descend the steep Caprock, part of
the military force was sent ahead to locate some New Mexican settlements.
After finally making it across some rather difficult terrain, and expecting to be welcomed with open arms by New Mexicans, the group was instead met with armed resistance. New Mexico Governor Manuel Armijo had been informed of the expedition and sent forces to dissuade the Texans. Around the area of present-day Tucumcari, without a shot being fired, the expedition force surrendered itself into Mexican hands.
Thomas was among those captured and he and his men were marched to Mexico City and confined in the Santiago Convent. Ever the adventurer, Lubbock escaped by jumping from a balcony and made his way home to Texas.
Lubbock continued serving in various military campaigns, and by the early 1860’s he was an avid secessionist, a member in good standing of the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC). KGC sought to establish a slave-holding empire throughout the South, stretching all the way to Central America, with Havana as the center of the so-called “golden circle”.
Lubbock accompanied other secessionists to Virginia and in June of 1861 petitioned President Jefferson Davis for “authority to raise a company or battalion of guerrillas”.22 Impressed with this band of Texans, Davis wholeheartedly welcomed their support.
While still in Virginia, Thomas Lubbock, Benjamin Franklin Terry and fifteen other Texans organized as independent rangers who would act as civilian scouts for the Confederate Army. Lubbock and Terry both served as battlefield aides at the “First Bull Run” and were afterwards authorized to raise a cavalry regiment. The regiment, the Eighth Texas Cavalry, was more
commonly known as Terry’s Texas Rangers, however.
Terry served as the regiment’s colonel and Lubbock its lieutenant colonel. Lubbock fell ill and left the regiment at Nashville. While recuperating at Bowling Green Hospital, Lubbock received word that Colonel Terry had been killed at the Battle of Woodsonville (Kentucky) on December 17, 1861. Lubbock, however, never recovered nor returned to active duty, dying shortly thereafter in January of 1862.
Good story and a worthy namesake for our beloved city, right? But, what if Lubbock wasn’t actually his family surname? And, why in the world would I ever propose such a thing? For the answer to that question, read on.
Can you imagine Lubbock being named Willis — I can’t. However, the actual and historical family name from which Thomas Saltus Lubbock descended could possibly have been Willis and not Lubbock. I came across research notes assembled by Eric Lubbock, 4th Baron Avebury, and was intrigued. Following is a summary of his research and various hypotheses.
The story begins with Reverend Henry Willis, born in 1738 or 1739 to John and Temperance (Hames) Willis. Following a brief naval career, Henry Willis married Jane Lubbock, daughter of Richard and Jane Lubbock. They married in 1765 and together had six or possibly seven children. Their third child, Richard Lubbock Willis, was born in 1770.
It is assumed Jane died in childbirth since Henry remarried in 1784. Prior to his remarriage Henry had attended Merton College and Oxford in pursuit of a career as a minister. He later served as Rector of Little Sodbury and Vicar of Wapley. Henry remarried yet again in November of 1792 and subsequently took an appointment to a parish in East Shefford, Berks.
Along the way Henry obtained land and had the expectation of inherited wealth if certain conditions were met. However, Eric noted that Henry’s wealth may have been depleted by the extravagances of his son Richard Lubbock Willis. In his original will dated October 3, 1783 Henry wrote: “Having by some Indiscretions (but much more by disappointments) only a small matter to leave behind me . . .”23
A codicil dated August 30, 1791 referred to son Richard’s excesses and/or improprieties:
My eldest son Richard Lubbock Willis having by his Infamous Conduct forfeited my favour & affection I here cut him of [sic] from any Share of my Effects except for one shilling to be paid him after my decease by my Executors.
Henry’s daughters Temperance Jane and Ann Packer Willis immigrated to Augusta, Georgia, either with Richard Lubbock or perhaps on their own in 1794 following Henry Willis’ death. Richard Lubbock Willis immigrated sometime around 1790 to Augusta. A man named Richard Lubbock married thirteen year-old Diana Sophia Sandwich in Beaufort, South Carolina and
their first child, Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock, was born on July 24, 1792. Was it possible Richard had dropped the Willis surname? Had he named his first child after his father to regain favor with him? Or, was this even the same person?
According to Eric it seems likely Diana Sophia’s husband was somehow related to the Willis family since she was named executrix of the will of Ann Packer Willis, “formerly of Grovesend, Alverton, Gloucestershire, sister of Temperance Jane Willis”. Even though the Gloucester Record Office had concluded Richard had dropped the Willis surname, Eric believed that may not have been the case.
How could the ill-tempered and disinherited Richard Lubbock Willis possibly be the same man who was by all accounts a pillar of his community? While Ann Packer Willis had referred to Diana Sophia as her “sister and wife of my brother Richard” Eric proposed Diana’s Richard may have been a first cousin named Richard Lubbock, and referred to colloquially as her “brother”. That might be a stretch too, but still intriguing.
Richard the “black sheep” was in England in June of 1794 following the birth of Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock in 1792. If this Richard was indeed the father, then perhaps he had returned to England before Henry Willis’ death in December of 1794 to get back in the good graces of his father.
Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock studied medicine and was a practicing physician until 1819. He married Susan Ann Saltus and in 1817 Thomas Saltus Lubbock was born — and later his name attached to our city.
Based on Eric Lubbock’s research, this story does beg the question: was Thomas Saltus Lubbock really a Lubbock or descended from a man named Henry Willis? Perhaps this particular bit of history isn’t so settled after all, eh?
If you’d like to read more about Eric Lubbock’s research and theories, see the footnotes below and draw your own conclusions. Eric Reginald Lubbock was born in 1928, inherited his title in 1971 and served in the House of Lords. The long-time politician was passionate about family history and passed away on February 14, 2016 at the age of 87.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
A Genealogical “Head-Scratcher”: Stumbling Across Hidden Cousins
After years of learning the ins-and-outs of family history research (and still learning!), I’ve come to the conclusion that “genealogy is not for the faint-of-heart.” Just when you think you’ve busted through one “brick wall”, yet another one pops up. Genealogical research is fraught with pitfalls – from “brick walls” to missing records, mysterious disappearances and more. Then, there’s the following tale of stumbling across “hidden cousins”.
It all started with a Surname Saturday article for the Digging History blog in mid-August 2015. I hadn’t written one of those articles in awhile, and after stumbling across an interesting bit of family history I felt compelled to write about the Renfrew (variously spelled Renfro, Rentfrew, Rentfro, Rentfree and more) surname.
While researching for an interesting character for another regular column (Tombstone Tuesday), I had recently come across an unusually-named woman: June Victory “Queen Victoria” Rentfrow Parrish. While attempting to find out more about “Queen Victoria” I came across others with the Rentfrow surname who might have been related to her. I tucked away the entry for her and proceeded to write a Surname Saturday article, which turned out to be much more than the normal fare – a genealogical head-scratcher for sure!
One of my rules for selecting entries at Find-A-Grave (the most common source of Tombstone Tuesday articles) was that it couldn’t be someone I was knowingly related to. Yet, as I began looking at “Queen Victoria” and her Rentfrow family, I eventually discovered something quite startling to me — these people with the Rentfrow surname were related to me even though I have no such name in my ancestral line … anywhere. How could that be?
I came across two records, one at Ancestry.com and another the Find-A-Grave entry of Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow. When I saw the Ancestry.com record, I thought it very unusual and perhaps someone’s mistake. T.J. Rentfrow’s parents were Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Rentfrow. But, why were their children surnamed “Rentfrow” and not “Hensley”?
The most compelling detail was the name Hickman Hensley. I have at least one ancestor, and possibly two by that name: Hickman John Hensley (1806-1872), my fourth great-grandfather, and Hickman Hensley (1759-1815 or 1816), possibly my sixth great-grandfather. Hmm. A little more digging was clearly in order. Here’s what I discovered.
According to family researchers who base their findings on the Bible records of Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Rentfrow, Hickman was born in Virginia on April 15, 1759 to parents Benjamin and Elizabeth (Hickman) Hensley. From what I had skimmed through it appeared Hickman was first married to Agnes Fisher – sometime before 1778 perhaps. By 1790 he is enumerated in the first United States census with a large family.
While it’s unclear just how many children Hickman and Agnes had (or, for that matter, their names), one researcher believes four of their sons were Larkin, Samuel, William and James. Some believe they also had a son named George Washington Hensley, who may be my fifth great-grandfather and Hickman John Hensley’s father.
Some believe Agnes died before 1800 (perhaps sometime in the 1790s following the census). This is likely when Elizabeth Rentfrow entered the picture. Elizabeth was the daughter of John and Elizabeth (Fisher) Rentfrow – Agnes was her aunt and, by marriage, Hickman’s niece. Researchers claim records prove that Hickman and Elizabeth never married and their children listed in the family Bible were: Jesse, Rhoda, Rodice, Joseph, John, Eli, Levi, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison – all taking the surname of their mother Elizabeth Rentfrow. As someone pointed out, it seems an odd place to list children born outside of marriage. Technically, they were Hensleys, making them my kin even though none of Elizabeth’s children are part of my Hensley line.
It’s possible George Washington Hensley was not the son of Hickman and Agnes – it doesn’t appear that Hickman’s children with Agnes were enumerated in the Hickman-Rentfrow family Bible records either. Still, it seems logical and certainly possible there is a link if George Washington Hensley had a son named Hickman John and perhaps named him after his own father?
I may not be able to prove if Washington belonged to Hickman and Agnes but I found this such a fascinating story. After writing the article, I started thinking Hickman who had Rentfrow children might be a great uncle instead. However, I’ll still file this away as part of my Hensley history.
A few days after publishing the article, I received my first contact from one of my Rentfrow (really Hensley) cousins!
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow was born to Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Renfrow in Maury County, Tennessee on July 12, 1812. It appears for a period of time Hickman had been in and out of Tennessee before settling there sometime between the 1800 and 1810 censuses. When or where Hickman died is uncertain, but Elizabeth was later enumerated in 1850 living in Effingham, Illinois with her son T.J. Rentfro.
T.J. married Eleanor Trapp in 1843 and was a prominent citizen of Effingham County. I wouldn’t normally quote such a lengthy passage, but this one has a great deal of information about early Illinois settlers. His biography was included in the History of Effingham County, Illinois:
Thomas J. Rentfrow, farmer, P.O. Effingham, was born in Maury County, Middle Tennessee, in July, 1812. In the fall of 1829, he came to Illinois with his mother, who settled in Wayne County, near what is known as Fairfield, until the spring of 1830, when they came to Effingham county. Richard Cohea and Hickman Langford, brothers-in-law, came at the same time, and four brothers of our subject, Jesse, John, Joseph and Eli, joined the party in this county in 1860. They settled on the Little Wabash, just above Ewington, this county. At this time there were more Indians in this county than white people. Our subject states that there were only two white families within 10 miles of their home; these were John P. Farley and Samuel Bratton. The Rentfrows brought four horses and one ox team.
On their arrival, they went into a deserted Indian Camp on the Wabash bottom, near what is now known as the old Reynolds place, in the month of March, while snow was yet on the ground, making their surroundings as comfortable as possible, they began to tap the maple trees and make sugar. The old camp was made of linn puncheons pinned to trees with wooden pegs; they contented themselves as best they could in this temporary shelter, until they had time to build a house on the hill, near a spring, as the Tennesseans in those early days did not know what a well was. Joseph was the bread finder, and went as far as Paris, in Edgar County, to get corn, on horseback. In those days, the greenhead flies were so thick and ravenous that it was impossible to travel in mid-day with the additional pest of mosquitoes and gnats. They cleared off a patch in the bottom and planted corn, and also a patch of cotton, but the latter was a failure. The corn for bread was pounded in a wooden mortar, dug out of a log or stump, with a pole attached like a well sweep, with an iron wedge as a pounder. Raising early in the morning, preparing the frugal breakfast, the pounding for meal was answered by the gobbling of the wild turkeys, which were very abundant in those days.
In a few years, the convenience of the colony was improved by the erection of a horse mill on the Okaw, thirty-five miles distant, whither the subject would go with his grist, and had to wait four or five days for his turn at the grist, living on parched corn and sleeping in the mill. The journey on these occasions was made with ox teams across the prairie at night, driving into the bushes, cutting them down and building “bush harbors” for protection, the oxen feeding on the high grass so common in those days. When the grist haulers arrived and squatted around the mill, it had the appearance of a modern camp meeting. Deer, wild turkeys, and bee trees were plenty, and it took but a short time to accrue either to supply their need. A few black bears could be encountered, and wolves, big and little, were plenty, and at times dangerous.
The tables of the settlers were furnished with wild meat, wild honey and corn bread. Our subject went to school for a few months in Tennessee, but never had an arithmetic or a quire of paper, and never attended a school after settling in this county. He remained a member of his mother’s family until he was married, May 18, 1843, to Miss Eleanor Trapp, daughter of John Trapp, of this county, who was at one time Sheriff of Effingham County. He had made improvements on the first settlement of the family, and bought the interest of his mother and others, which he sold to Reynolds for $160.00 and entered 120 acres in Section 35 in 1842, afterward entering 280 acres more; he now owns 300 acres, all under cultivation, raising principally grain, with good success.
Mr. Rentfrow, is the father of ten children, six of whom are living – John C., of this county; Mary E., wife of Dennis O. Keating; William Elijah, of this county, Sarah, wife of Lee Burrell of Effingham; Stephen A. and Michael, at home. Once upon a time, Mr. Rentfrow, while hunting with Alexander McWhorter, they would lay out all night, Rentfrow placing a coon skin under his head for a pillow; the natural warmth of his head united with the heat from the log heap, melted the snow and frozen ground while he was sleeping, on awakening; he found his hair frozen to the ground, requiring skill, patience and solid pulling to get him loose. Mr. Rentfrow was elected sheriff of this county in 1843, which he held for eight years; he was nominated by the Democrats of which party he had been a lifelong member.24
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow (actually a Hensley, and more than likely my kin) died on October 6, 1889 and was buried in the Rentfrow Cemetery in Effingham County.
Like I said, “not for the faint-of-heart!
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Don’t Be Duped: The King of Genealogical Fraud
Being Aware of Past Incidences of Genealogical Fraud
Not intending to throw a “monkey wrench” into anyone’s long and relentless pursuit of family history, but I draw attention to another important thing to be aware of: blatant genealogical fraud which occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Believe it or not, it is in fact still possible these genealogical hoaxes have crept into our own research today.
Harriet de Salis was a British authoress (publishing under the name “Mrs. de Salis”) of numerous books in the late nineteenth century. She was well known for a variety of published cookbooks and it appears she fancied herself an expert on an array of other subjects such as raising dogs (Dogs: A Manual for Amateurs, 1893) and poultry (New-Laid Eggs: Hints for Amateur Poultry-Rearers, 1892). Her book, The Housewife’s Referee, was a “treatise on culinary and household subjects”.
Mrs. de Salis also had a rather short career in the field of genealogy. In the 1870s she began sharing tidbits of genealogical “research” which came to be recommended by one of the most distinguished resources for early American ancestry, The New England and Genealogical Society. Harriet had formerly worked with Joseph Lemuel Chester, who although born and raised
in America, left the country and settled in England in the late 1850s.
Chester embarked upon a career in genealogical research after receiving a commission from the United States government to research wills recorded in England prior to 1700, thereby contributing vital research data concerning early American ancestry. Joseph Chester was the person who eventually revealed the de Salis deception after she confessed to him she had
fabricated at least two wills. By 1880 Mrs. de Salis’ genealogical career was over and eventually her fraudulent claims were corrected.
Meanwhile, back in America, Horatio Gates Somerby (1805-1872) was subtly perpetrating a similar fraud. Somerby wasn’t necessarily attempting to link various family lines to famous or noble ancestors. As Paul C. Reed noted in his 1999 article published in American Genealogist, Horatio Gates Somerby was “not necessarily better at fakery than Mrs. de Salis”.25 Still, Somerby probably thought he could get away with it because records were far less accessible than they are today.
In 1976 American Genealogist identified some lesser-known genealogical fraudsters: C.A. Hoppin, Orra Eugene Monnette (founder of the Bank of America), Frederick A. Virkus and John S. Wurts. The history surrounding these hoaxes is fascinating, but one man’s genealogical hi-jinks topped them all.
The King of Genealogical Fraud
Swedish-born Gustave Anjou perhaps got off on the wrong foot in life, so to speak, as Gustaf Ludvig Jungberg, the illegitimate son of Carl Gustaf Jungberg and his family’s housekeeper Maria Lovisa Hagberg. After serving a prison term for forgery in 1886, he changed his name to Gustaf Ludvig Ljungberg. Following his marriage in 1889 Anjou took his wife’s maiden name and changed the spelling of his first name to Gustave.
After immigrating to America in 1890, Gustave was up to his old tricks – more or less back in the forgery business. Anjou began developing a mail-order business, targeting wealthy American families who were willing to pay $9,000 for their family history. That was a lot of money and today would probably equate to well over $200,000.
Coal baron Josiah Van Kirk (“J.V.”) Thompson ended up paying Anjou over $50,000 to research several family lines he was interested in. Thompson had declared voluntary bankruptcy in 1917 and began devoting himself to genealogical research, with hopes to compile his research, publish it and make a tidy profit. In 1930, before an Orphan’s Court, defending himself against contempt charges, Thompson admitted to paying the considerable sum to Anjou.
Anjou would travel – his obituary cited some sixty trips to Europe and several around the world – to “research” his clients’ ancestries. He would place various noble and royal ancestors on their family trees, often using made-up European parishes and forging wills and vital records. Many of these genealogies would be published, reprinted several times and distributed to the genealogy collections of large libraries.
Not content to forge his clients’ genealogies, Anjou forged his own as well. According to Robert Charles Anderson, author of an article entitled “We Wuz Robbed!”, an Anjou genealogy would typically consist of four recognizable features:
- A dazzling range of connections among dozens of immigrants (mostly to New England).
- Many wild geographical leaps, outside the normal range of migration patterns.
- An overwhelming number of citations to documents that actually exist, and actually include what Anjou says they include.
- Here and there an “invented” document, without citation, which appears to support the many
connections as noted in the first item.26
One can imagine what all the fakery could lead to – estate fraud stands out as one of the most damaging. Someone basing their claims, even if unknowingly, on a fraudulent genealogy would have themselves been committing fraud.
It wasn’t uncommon either for so-called “confidence men” to pepper advertisements throughout American newspapers searching for “missing heirs”, the prospects of which were “ripe for the picking” on the unsuspecting (and gullible) general public. Newspapers like the Boston Evening Transcript and the New Orleans Times-Picayune began running genealogy columns in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Because “Dr.” Anjou was considered an “expert” his work was sometimes cited as a resource.
Of course, Gustave Anjou wasn’t a genealogist, but rather a forger of genealogical records. Somewhere along the way he “obtained” a Ph.D apparently as the New York Times reported on November 17, 1905 that “the library of Gustave Anjou, Ph.D, an extensive collection of American history and genealogy, was sold.” The collection consisted of “privately printed or locally published family and local histories of America, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England”, which unknowingly at the time were likely based largely on falsified records.27.
In 1921 an article appeared in the Baltimore Sun, stating Anjou was willing to pay $100 for information about the Jack/Jacques family. Was Anjou about to be exposed and perhaps he decided to establish some sort of legitimacy? Although it’s unclear as to why, by 1927 Anjou had dropped his fees considerably as he spread the net wider to garner more clients – making his fees and services “within the reach of many”. However, he made no guarantees as to the accuracy of the genealogies provided.
An article appeared in the December 12, 1927 issue of The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, sounding like the editors might have figured out that Anjou was mostly a fraud, mildly mocking the “gullible with social aspirations . . . trying to convince themselves that there may be something after all” to Anjou’s mail-order offer. For only $250 they might receive a complete list of “forefathers running back to the Crusaders.”28
Of course, Anjou’s mail-order catalog included glowing testimonials like this one:
I am delighted at what you have accomplished in regard to our line, and am really amazed at it, as all clews back of my grandfather seemed obliterated and shrouded in oblivion. I consider you quite a genius in this particular work.29
Anjou conducted his scam from an office building on Staten Island. He was described as “a well-groomed man of 60 with gray hair, a waxed mustache with turned-up ends and he speaks with a foreign accent.” He could not promise royal ancestry, however, the caveat being that many “noble families did not have stamina enough to become ancestors of our sturdy immigrants”.30
Gustave Anjou died on March 2, 1942 and his obituary, published in several newspapers across the country, was a little short on details of his life (or maybe not – since after all this was what he was known for):
Gustave Anjou, 78, genealogist who made 60 trips to Europe and several around the world, tracing lineages of wealthy families at a price of $9,000 a pedigree, died Monday night.31
It would take years, however, to uncover the blatant fraud following Anjou’s death. Some newspapers would cite his research for years to come. Meanwhile, false information continued to be propagated and other fraudulent genealogies were uncovered in the meantime. Such was the case of the Horn Papers. More on the duplicity of William F. Horn later.
If you’ve relied heavily on “hints” that lean more to conjecture rather than solid historical facts and records to fill out your family tree – and one or more of your family lines is on “The Anjou List” (see the link below to download) you might want to do a little more research to ensure you aren’t perpetuating any myths and hoaxes, and as the saying goes “barking up the wrong
tree.” Caveat investigator.
If you have research which you suspect might have been “tainted”, feel free to contact me for a consultation.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Genealogical Fraud: Don’t Be Duped
If you have been researching your family history for any length of time, you very well may have spent time in what I call the “rabbit hole”, à la Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. “Going down the rabbit hole” is, unfortunately, not uncommon, given what we sometimes rely on to document our research.
I see it all the time when I review family trees on sites like Ancestry and FamilySearch. Many a researcher has obviously taken a trip down the proverbial rabbit hole, relying on dubious research, or, worse yet, copying from someone else’s tree (which may very well have been populated the exact same way).
In particular, genealogical fraud and inheritance scams of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, can still lead us astray – far off the beaten path – even in the twenty-first century. As you will see it pays to know your history, as well as utilizing common sense and some basic math skills. We all need a reminder of the pitfalls of genealogical research from time to time.
It’s no wonder genealogical research has become such a popular pursuit with popular television programming like Who Do You Think You Are? and Finding Your Roots. Ancestry.com and similar sites have ballooned into a multi-million (or try BILLION) dollar industry.
The advertisements seen on television and across the Internet, coupled with the success stories depicted in these shows, have piqued the interest of millions of people around the world. After all it sounds so easy – like magic almost – given the “happy endings” featured in the various genealogy television programs. What is not depicted in these shows, however, are the hours of behind-the-scenes research which must take place in order to deliver those “happy endings”. I hate to say it but so many these days are gullible enough to believe they can discover their family history in a relatively short period of time, just like they do on television. If you are a serious and sober-minded genealogist, you are aware that’s quite unlikely to happen.
There are no magic solutions, nor are there web sites which will reveal each and every detail of each and every one of your ancestors. Remember the old adage: “if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is”? The same can be said for web sites claiming to sell access to databases “you can’t find anywhere else” or quick solutions to your genealogical “brick walls”. These sites, however, are likely to be a total waste of both your time and hard-earned money. Similarly, beware of sites which claim to sell things like your family’s entire history, the history of your family name, or even in some cases a “fake” family crest or coat of arms.
Family Crests and Coats of Arms
One of your ancestors may indeed have been legitimately granted a coat of arms, yet today many web sites seem to imply surnames are attached to these noble symbols. Simply not true.
According to the College of Arms in London, there is no such thing as a coat of arms for a surname. They point out that many people with the same surname can be entitled to entirely different coats of arms, while some people with the same surname (or perhaps a variation) aren’t entitled to one at all.
Furthermore, they point out that coats of arms belong to individuals who have had it granted to them or descendants of the legitimate male line of a person previously granted one. It must be confirmed to be legitimate. And, it’s not that American citizens cannot be entitled to a coat of arms. It depends on whether an American can show proof of descent from a subject of the British Crown or some other royal entity.
A popular misconception exists that the term “family crest” is the same as the entire coat of arms. The crest is “a specific part of a full achievement of arms: the three-dimensional object placed on top of the helm.”30 Thus, those companies who claim to sell your family crest may or may not be on the up-and-up. Caveat Emptor.
Finding the Cherokee Princess in Your Family Tree
Everyone who has actually found a Cherokee princess in their family tree, raise your hand. Hmm . . . I didn’t think so, but why is that? Primarily, it’s because there was no such thing as a Cherokee or Indian princess. Orrin Lewis, a Cherokee, has some observations:
“Princess” may be a very poor translation for the chief’s daughter. Remember, Cherokee chiefs were not kings, but rather chosen by their tribe or community. Lewis muses that perhaps the “mis-translation” may have been the result of American fascination with royalty, or as he called them “romantic-minded white people”.32
“Princess” may also have been a poor translation for an important female politician, peace chief or “Beloved Woman.” Again, these would have been elected positions and not inherited. Should you have such a person, Lewis suggests you not use the term “princess” for such an obviously “interesting and powerful woman”.
The term may have been used by ancestors who married Indian women, hoping to alleviate racial tensions or stigmatization. In fact, men who married Indian women may have referred to their
wives as Cherokee simply because the Cherokees were considered more civil than most tribes.
It’s entirely possible that an ancestor referred to as an Indian princess may have actually been African-American. Lewis related the experience of one family researcher who had discovered that the term was sometimes used derogatorily in the South for light-skinned mulatto women (e.g., “light yellow”).
Next: The King of Genealogical Fraud (whose dubious research still effects family trees today).
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Genealogically Speaking: Bigger Head
Bigger Head (1812-1912)
I came across this most unusual family name while researching a friend’s Head family line. I found multiple instances of a “Bigger” forename or middle name. First of all, I’ve never heard of anyone with the first name of “Bigger” (have you?) so that alone was intriguing (and near giggle-worthy). Where did that come from?
This particular Bigger Head was born in Highland County, Ohio on October 12, 1812 to parents William and Mary (Elder) Head. According to Head family genealogy, William and Mary were cousins and together had fourteen children, ten of them living to adulthood. Bigger was the second son named Bigger, following the death of the first at the age of eight months in 1807. The name was used twice in this family. Did it have a special significance?
I soon discovered the name began to be used when William Head married his second wife, Anne Bigger, daughter of Colonel John Bigger. So perhaps to honor the “Bigger” surname they decided to name their son (born in 1698) “Bigger Head”. He was the fourth great-grandfather of Bigger Head born in 1812 (if calculations are correct). What became confusing to research (as you might imagine) is sometimes brothers would name one of their sons “Bigger” meaning there could be multiple “Bigger” boys around grandpa and grandma’s table (“Hi, I’m Bigger and this is my cousin Bigger, and my other cousin Bigger”)!
William was the son of Bigger Head, born in Maryland in 1754 and a Revolutionary War veteran, who later removed to Pennsylvania and then migrated to Washington County, Kentucky around 1795. William married Mary Elder in Kentucky, married and then removed to Ohio. Bigger was one of four of their children who later migrated to McDonough County, Illinois. Bigger married Mary Lucas in Ohio on June 28, 1835. To their marriage were born eleven children: Harriet, Lucretia Ellen, James, Mary Catherine, Maria, Renick Richard S., Jennie, Columbia Alta, Augustus Newton, John and Hettie. At the time The History of McDonough County, Illinois was published in 1885, five of their children were deceased.33
After first settling in McDonough County, Bigger owned three quarter sections and retained 340 acres when he and his family moved to the Mound Township in 1876 where he purchased an additional 160 acres. In 1885, Renick, Maria and Hettie still lived in McDonough County and Bigger owned a total of 504 acres.
A school was established on the edge of the Mound Township in 1837. During the winter of 1838, Bigger taught at the school that season. Bigger and Mary joined the Methodist Episcopal Church around 1840 and were faithful members. Bigger served in various offices in the church for over forty years. It appears Bigger also had a “big heart”:
Mr. Head has assisted largely in building six churches. He is always a liberal subscriber to things of that character. He hewed the timber for three churches, while a resident of Ohio. He has always been ready to extend a helping hand to those in need, and when any one has the misfortune to lose his home by fire or other similar incident, Mr. Head always gives liberally.34
In 1860 the value of Bigger’s real estate was $25,000. so he was no doubt prosperous. He had been blessed and gave generously to help others. It is unusual to be able to view 1890 census records as most were destroyed by fire. However, a fragment of that year’s census remains for Bigger and Mary. Bigger’s sister, Mariah who was 74 years old at the time, was either visiting or living with them.
By 1900 Bigger had retired from farming, living in the village of Bardolph which was located in the Macomb township. At the time of that year’s census he was 87 years old and Mary was 84. Their daughter Hettie and her family were enumerated in the same household, either living there or visiting. On February 17, 1905, Mary died just five months and ten days before her ninetieth birthday.
In 1910 Bigger was living with his daughter Marie Winter and son-in-law Wilson in Bardolph. Bigger lived another two years, passing way at the age of 99, four months and eleven days short of his one hundredth birthday. He is buried in the Bardolph Cemetery alongside Mary.
Here are some other “Bigger” fellows (and one gal) that I ran across in the Head genealogy:
● Nancy Bigger Head
● Bigger John Head
● Thomas Bigger Head
● Benjamin Bigger Head
● William Bigger Head
● Bigger Head nicknamed “Round Head”
● One of the Bigger Heads married Lucy Sarah Livers (another unusual surname!)
● Ireland Head (not Bigger, but nonetheless an interesting first name)
Bigger Head of McDonough County, Illinois appears to be one of the last of a long line with that name, however. Today there are but three “Bigger Head” entries at Find-A-Grave. This article has been excerpted from the March-April 2019 issue of Digging History Magazine. In the last issue of 2019 this article was significantly enhanced via extensive newspaper research, entitled “Bigger Family: A Bigger (and Better) Story”. Purchase the November-December 2019 issue here.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Genealogically Speaking: Curious Kin (Thomas Jefferson Roach and His “Sister Wives”)
Thomas Jefferson Roach and His “Sister Wives”
I don’t mean to imply “Sister Wives” (as in the TLC reality show of the same name) meant Thomas Jefferson (“T.J.”) Roach was a polygamist. Quite the contrary, since according to family history Thomas was of the Baptist faith. He does, however, have a unique story.
Thomas Jefferson Roach was born on August 25, 1825 in Orange County, Virginia to parents William and Tincey (Row) Roach. On January 27, 1845 T.J. married Alice Farish in Caroline County, Virginia. Census records indicate their first child, Eugenia, was born around 1849.
By 1860 the family had migrated from Virginia to Cherokee County, Texas. Their oldest son, George W., was nine years old that year and had been born in Virginia. The next child, John, was six years old and had been born in Texas. Presumably the family migrated sometime between 1851 and 1854. Two more children, Robert (4) and Mary K. (six months old) were also enumerated in 1860.
According to Cherokee County history T.J. owned and operated a sawmill on Tail’s Creek in Pine Town (now Maydelle). From November of 1856 to April of 1860 he was Postmaster of Pine Town, this in addition to farming. Thomas was a deacon and one of the charter members of The Pleasant Grove Missionary Baptist Church, organized on September 16, 1854.34 In 1855 he had been named a squire which meant he could perform wedding ceremonies.
There is no official record of Alice’s death, although family historians believe she died around 1861 en route to Virginia, perhaps to visit her mother, Clementine, who had been widowed in 1845 when her husband, George Buckner Farish, passed away. It is presumed Alice was buried along the way in an unmarked grave, perhaps in Louisiana or Mississippi. One source, The Tracings, indicates Alice appears on a Mortality Schedule with a death date of April 1860.35 This is curious, however, since she was enumerated on July 23 in Cherokee County for the 1860 census. If true, it seems more likely the family departed sometime after the census date, especially if she died in 1861.
Alice was decidedly unhappy with life in Texas. T.J., like so many others, had come to Texas to seek his fortune, but Alice longed to go home to Virginia. In letters back home she wrote of her contempt for the life T.J. had chosen for his family:
I would rather be poor in Virginia than rich in Texas. . . Texas is a poor man’s country. You have no idea how many poor people there are in Texas. It takes all they have to bring them here and many of them would leave but they have not the means to leave with. They are moving constantly from one portion of the State to another. You rarely see a family but that they are willing to move . . . Texas is a rough country to live in. We have a plenty coarse diet, but I can tell you that dainties are a rarity. Mrs. Herndon says she had to eat so much corn bread that it scratches her throat. She likes Texas as bad as I do. They use the great-quantity of coffee, tobacco and snuff. You seldom meet with a lady young or old but that they use snuff and tobacco. Mr. Roach married a couple last Thursday and he said there as 150 persons and nearly every lady after supper had a pipe in her mouth. Would you not think they were well smoked?36
Perhaps the journey, which would cost $700 round-trip, was a compromise of sorts between the reluctant wife and her fortune-seeking husband.
Although no official records appear to exist, family historians estimate T.J. married Sallie, his first “sister wife” in 1862. Sallie was Alice’s younger sister. In 1860, Sallie was still single and living with Clementine in Caroline County, Virginia. Sallie was available and Thomas needed a wife to raise his children. The couple returned to Texas, although it’s unclear when that occurred. Of note, Alice and T.J.’s youngest child Mary (Mollie) was left with family in Virginia, never to be reunited with her father and siblings in Texas. Mollie apparently never married either.
Sallie died not long after their return from Virginia. Thomas served during the Civil War, joining the Texas 35th Cavalry, Company F, in September 1863. As a 1st Sergeant he served under the command of Captain John T. Wiggins of Rusk. Where the children lived and were cared for during this period of time is unknown, although some records indicate that other members of the Farish family had at some point migrated to Texas.
On February 14, 1865, T.J. married his third wife, Mary Josephine Broome, in Cherokee County. The Tracings notes two children born early in their marriage did not survive. Around 1869 their son Eugene was born and in 1871 another son, Gus Wallace, was born.
Thomas also operated a steam-powered sawmill south of Pine Town. When the county decided to build their own transportation company (a horse-drawn tramway) after being by-passed the Houston and Great Northern Railroad Company. In exchange for company stock, Thomas agreed to provide crossties and narrow wooden rails. It was, without a doubt, a rather risky investment.37
While the railroad met with much excitement in Rusk at its opening on April 29, 1875, it had been constructed on a shoestring budget, utilizing prison labor from the Texas State Penitentiary, and already on shaky ground financially. T.J.’s contributions didn’t fare well, either, as it soon became apparent his rails proved woefully inadequate. Without infusions of stockholder capital, it all went bust in 1879 when the railroad was auctioned off for the grand total of $90.50. T.J. was never paid for the lumber provided.
Nevertheless, T.J. continued to lumber area forests, perhaps supplying wood to his father-in-law Cicero Broome, Josephine’s father. Cicero, born in North Carolina, left Alabama for Texas in 1848. For some time Cicero had been either a “gin maker” (1850 census) or in the milling business. He also owned a furniture factory, manufacturing “primitive wooden cotton gins and mill wheels”.38
While there is no official record of Josephine’s death, on March 23, 1876 T.J. was wed a fourth time to Elizabeth Bobbitt. Family historians report Elizabeth and her twins died in childbirth, presumably in 1877.
On November 14, 1877 T.J. married his second “sister wife”, Kate Bobbitt, who was Elizabeth’s half-sister by their father Anthony T.S. Bobbitt. According to census records, Kate would have been at least twenty-five years younger than T.J. By the time they were married most of Thomas’ children were grown – only Eugene and Wallace, children from his marriage to Josephine, remained with their father. To their family, T.J. and Kate added three more children: Nannie (November 1880), Thomas Jefferson (December 1884) and James (December 1886). T.J. continued to farm in Cherokee County and in 1881 took on the additional duties of Notary Public, which according to Cherokee County History, Texas Governor Oran M. Roberts had appointed him to that office.
Although it isn’t known for sure which wife this is, given the number of short-lived marriages, this may be a picture of T.J. and Kate.
Thomas Jefferson Roach died on February 14, 1891 in Maydelle, Cherokee County, Texas. He was buried in what is today known as the Roach Cemetery in Maydelle. His sons Eugene and Gus Wallace are buried there, as are their wives and two of his grandchildren. Kate, the only one of Thomas’ wives to outlive him, married John T. Jones on December 17, 1900 and died in Rusk in 1919.
The life and times of Thomas Jefferson Roach and his wives demonstrate quite clearly the dangers faced by pioneers who left the comfort of their settled homes in places like Virginia, the Carolinas, Alabama, and Mississippi and joined hundreds of others who had “gone to Texas” during the great migration which took place in the nineteenth century.
With very few doctors to tend the sick and mothers in childbirth, many deaths occurred, leaving widows and widowers and motherless, fatherless children behind. And, with all the siblings, half-siblings, cousin marriages and the like, it’s easy to see why serious genealogical research is not for the faint of heart!
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Genealogy by Subscription
Do you want to learn more about your family history and need to budget the cost of research (or a custom-designed family history chart)? Digging History offers a unique way to do just that with a month-to-month genealogical research subscription. For one hour per month, the subscription is $35 (plus tax for Texas residents), billed monthly to your credit card until you tell me you want to cancel and/or your project is complete. That way you only purchase once and are continually billed until cancellation. I will perform one hour of research (or chart) work each month and provide a progress report.
Want to purchase more time per month? The price will drop a bit, and I will set up a special discount and invoice. If interested in more hours per month contact me first to discuss: [email protected]
TO SAVE EVEN MORE, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine (three budget-minded options). All subscribers receive 20% off all services. For subscribers, I’ll set you up with a special discount. If you have questions regarding Genealogy by Subscription, please contact me: [email protected]. Note: After signing up, and before I begin research, you will receive a one-hour free consultation.
Purchasing a subscription also entitles you to a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Genealogically Speaking: Curious Kin (The “Ocean Sisters” of Johnson County, Tennessee)
The “Ocean Sisters” of Johnson County, Tennessee
Andrew Garfield Shoun and Elizabeth Powell married in 1817 and began raising a family in 1818 with the birth of their first child Andrew. Then came George Hamilton (1822), Rachel Catherine (1823), Isaac Harvey (1825) and Joseph Nelson (1827). In 1829 their first “Ocean” daughter, Elizabeth Atlantic Ocean, was born, followed by Mary and another “Ocean” daughter, Barbary Pacific Ocean, in 1834. They rounded out their family with Elva Olivene (1836) and Frances Eve (1838).
Most of their children had “normal” names like Andrew, George and Mary, but for some reason they blessed two of their daughters with middle names of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Elizabeth was obviously named after her mother. Barbary, according to will records, appears to have been a family name (her grandmother was named either Barbara or Barbary).
Elizabeth Atlantic Ocean Shoun
Elizabeth Atlantic Ocean Shoun was born on April 8, 1829 in Johnson County, Tennessee. In 1850 she was still residing with her parents and siblings at the age of twenty-one. She married Isaac Rambo later that decade on December 7, 1856; he was twenty-three and she twenty-seven. Their names appeared on their marriage license, dated December 5, as Isaac Rambow and Atlantic Shown.
Census records indicate that Isaac and Atlantic never had children. However, her nieces and nephews called Atlantic “Aunt Tackie” – perhaps “Aunt Tackie” being easier to pronounce than “Atlantic”. Although they had no children of their own, their lives later became intertwined with Pacific and her family.
Barbary Pacific Ocean Shoun
Barbary Pacific Ocean Shoun was born on May 12, 1834 in Johnson County. In 1850, she and Atlantic were enumerated with their full names on that year’s census. At the age of nineteen, Pacific married John Monroe “Roe” Gentry on December 11, 1853. Her name appeared as “Pecific O. Shown” on their marriage license. So, apparently the sisters went by their “ocean names”. To her nieces and nephews she was known as “Aunt Siffie” – again presuming “Aunt Siffie” was easier to pronounced than “Pacific”. (In actuality, adults have trouble pronouncing it as well!)
On March 19, 1854, Isaac Lafayette Gentry was born. He would go by the nickname “Fate”. Another son, Robert Phillip, was born on January 2, 1856, followed by Thomas who was born in 1859. Thomas was enumerated as “Thomas A.R.N. Gentry” for the 1860 census, and since no other record of him seems to exist, it is presumed he died as a young child. Pacific was enumerated as “Barbara P.O.”
Pacific’s life took an unfortunate turn when John, presumably called to serve in the Civil War, never returned. According to family history she also suffered a paralyzing stroke, although it is unclear exactly when that occurred. Her sons Isaac and Robert were then raised by their Aunt Tackie. Family historians also believe that Atlantic cared for Pacific, and while Isaac and Atlantic went into town on Saturdays their gardener would rape Pacific. The man was run out of town, yet supposedly Pacific became pregnant and had another son, but the gardener was forced to take him to raise.39
Whether or not the story is true, for some reason Pacific wasn’t enumerated in the 1870 census with her children Isaac and Robert who were living with Isaac and Atlantic Rambo. This particular record was somewhat difficult to locate because the person who transcribed the record listed Isaac and Atlantic as “Isaac and Atlantie Rennels” – although the actual record clearly reads “Rambo”.
However, by 1880 Isaac Gentry was married with a young family of two and Pacific was living with them. It is likely she remained with Isaac and his family for the remainder of her life. Although I found no official records, family historians believe Pacific died on October 22, 1892 and was buried in the Wilson Cemetery, the same one where Atlantic is buried, although Find-A-Grave lists only Atlantic.
Back to Atlantic. Following her husband Isaac’s death in 1899 she lived with Robert Gentry and his family and was enumerated with them in 1900. Apparently Isaac Rambo had been well off because in 1910, Atlantic was enumerated at the age of eighty-two with her “own income” and two servants, N. Hamilton and Dora S. Blackburn. Nephew Lafayette (Fate) Gentry lived nearby. Elizabeth Atlantic Ocean Shoun Rambo died on April 6, 1912, just two days before her eighty-third birthday.
It would certainly be interesting to know why Andrew and Elizabeth Shoun gave these two daughters such unusual names. It seems to have forged a bond between them, perhaps in part because of the uniqueness of their names. Certainly, when circumstances called for it Atlantic was there for her younger sister Pacific – caring both for her and her sons, who in turn kept an eye on Aunt Tackie in her later years.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes: