Japanese seafarers in East London

 Introduction

In this intriguing article from regular contributors Mark Gorman and Peter Williams, they uncover the story of sailors from the Far East who have memorials in a local Christian churchyard dating from more than a hundred years ago. They also discover more about why this might have happened and the remarkable story of a Christian missionary who is buried locally in Woodgrange Park cemetery.

East Ham connection

In the churchyard of East Ham parish church (the church of St Mary Magdalene) there is a memorial that only has Chinese writing on it. This is in that part of the cemetery that is now Newham Council’s East Ham Nature Reserve.

The so called Chinese grave St Mary’s June 2024 (photo Peter Williams)

 

In June 2024 a member of a corporate volunteering programme spent a morning in the nature reserve. She was of Chinese heritage and was able to decipher part of the grave inscription. She worked out that the death occurred in the fortieth year of the Meiji dynasty which was founded in 1868. So death occurred in late 1907. She also thought the memorial had been erected in March 1909 after the deceased friends got together and organised it, or got the headstone placed then.

The volunteer was aware that the Meiji was a Japanese dynasty and not Chinese. The Japanese and Chinese (Mandarin) languages share many characters but they are pronounced differently. So it seemed the deceased might be Japanese.

Peter, a long term volunteer at the nature reserve, is married to Ros who has lived in Japan and can speak and read Japanese. It turns out the text on the grave is actually Japanese, and it is clear the deceased served on a ship, the “Awa Maru”. East Ham parish church is less than a mile from the Royal Docks, at the time the largest enclosed docks in the world. London was also the largest and busiest port in the world in 1900.

There were numerous ships plying trade between Britain and Japan at this period as the two countries were allies then, and this press cutting shows the Awa Maru was passing Gravesend heading for London in early December 1907.

Western Daily Press - 2 Dec 1907

 

 

The dates fit, as the person in the grave died early December 1907, and shortly afterwards, the ship sailed for Japan, as in this press cutting.

It seems that Awa Maru was built in Nagasaki in 1899 and below is a record of a Lloyds of London inspection - it seems to have had a Scandinavian captain in 1899:

https://hec.lrfoundation.org.uk/archive-library/documents/lrf-pun-nag1129-0067-r

 The ship even has its own Wikipedia page:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awa_Maru_(1899)

 

And here is a photo of the ship in British waters:

https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/392195027536

 

The photo was taken because she ran aground off Redcar, Yorkshire in 1906 but was refloated.

In WW2 another ship bearing the same name was involved in a notorious incident where it was torpedoed by the US Navy and 2,000 people died. It was carrying treasure. See more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MV_Awa_Maru

Who is memorialised at East Ham?

His name has been deciphered by a Japanese friend of Ros’s in London called Ai Minematsu (Ai).

In summary: His surname is Haru. His given name is either Kyoji or Noriharu (depending on how the characters are pronounced). The date of death shown is early December 1907.

It seems his shipmates got the stone put up – we know from the records the ship was heading back to London in March 1908 when the burial was completed, according to the dates on the stone itself. There is also evidence the memorial stone was imported from Japan, and that the inscription must have been carved there, as this could not have been done in London.

The story in context - Chinese and Japanese burials in east London

By 1900 there were large numbers of Japanese and Chinese seamen in the London docks. Chinese seafarers had been coming to Britain for some time. 

Chinese seamen and Chinatown

Some Chinese sailors jumped ship and settled, opening lodging houses, provisions stores, cafes, association halls, and laundries to cater to the transient seamen and indentured labourers that could be signed on by British merchant shipping companies in China’s treaty ports for less than half the wage of a British seaman. 

By 1890 there were two distinct, if very small, Chinese communities living in East London’s dockside neighbourhoods. Chinese men from Shanghai stayed around Pennyfields, Amoy Place and Ming Street and those from Guangzhou (Canton) and Southern China lived on the other side of the West India Dock Road on Limehouse Causeway.

The lack of fluency in the English language of many Chinese migrants added to the hostility they received from British seamen and led to cultural segregation. Gradually the streets of Pennyfields and the Chinese Causeway, as it became known, began to be transformed by colourful shops and cafes serving Chinese food, their interiors an exotic contrast to the generally drab surroundings of Limehouse.

In 1895 an article in the Gentleman’s Magazine stated that Chinatown in Limehouse was no more than a single street of shops and boarding-houses: "It exists by and for the Chinese firemen, seamen, stewards, cooks, and carpenters who serve on board the steamers plying between China and the port of London."

It was this maritime dependence which generated the rapid growth of Chinese businesses in Limehouse during the First World War. And it was this dependence which hastened the decline of Chinatown in the 1930s. Chung Chu, who kept a café on Limehouse Causeway, said in 1931 that "the loss of shipping entering the London docks was killing the Chinese population.”

Japanese seafarers

Japanese sailors were also arriving with the introduction of regular mail, passenger and freight services between the UK and Japan from the late C19th. On average two Japanese ships a month were docking in London by 1900. Given the arduous and dangerous conditions at sea, deaths would have occurred and occasional references are made to Japanese funerals in the newspapers.

For example, in 1900 there was a report that “Plaistow cemetery” had 28 Chinese and Japanese graves “and strange looking epitaphs are cut upon them in Chinese [sic] characters”. In January 1904 the Daily Mirror reported the burial in East Ham of a sailor from a Nippon Yusen Kaisha ship (possibly the Kanagawa Maru, which was in the Albert Dock at the time). As no Buddhist priest was available, a Japanese Anglican minister conducted the funeral service.

The Japanese Christian Institute

This was set up possibly in the late 1890s and may have had two locations, one at Tilbury and the other near the Albert Dock in Custom House. It was run by Margaret McLean, who was born in Inverness in about 1837, and who had been an English teacher in China from 1866 and then moved to Japan from 1872 due to ill-health.

Living in Yokohama, in her spare time she did missionary work with British seafarers. In her book Echoes from Japan (1889) she makes clear that although she had been brought up in the Free Presbyterian Church in Scotland she was non-sectarian and also that she was strongly evangelical. She also makes clear her love of Japanese society and culture, which she contrasts favourably with China. She returned to Britain in 1881, probably again due to ill-health.

 

Finsbury Weekly News and Chronicle 2 April 1904

In 1892 Japanese crews came to bring back naval vessels built in Newcastle and Glasgow, and Margaret began missionary work with them. According to one account, when a regular mail service was introduced between London and Japan she moved first to Tilbury and then to the Royal Albert Dock (though the chronology may in fact be the reverse). By the early 1900s two Japanese ships a month on average were docking in London, and Margaret was also travelling to other ports (Sheerness, Portsmouth and Plymouth) when ships arrived.

The JCI welcomed Japanese seamen and Margaret McLean (who seems to have run the Institute single-handedly) sometimes took parties of up to 200 to see the sights of London. According to the Japanese ambassador in London she was called the “mother of the Japanese navy” and naval barracks displayed her picture on their walls. In 1903 she became the first European to receive the Japanese emperor’s Imperial Order of the Crown, sixth grade, a medal for women only.

Location of the JCI

This is not clear. In the 1901 census Margaret McLean was living at 2 Dock Road Tilbury, described as an “unsectarian missionary preacher, Japenese [sic] mission”. However a letter from Margaret McLean indicates that the JCI was in Coolfin Road, Custom House. This may indicate that the JCI had two locations, or that the JCI moved to Tilbury from Custom House c1900. However, reports of Margaret McLean’s funeral in September 1904 refer to the JCI in “Woolwich” which implies that this was its main or final location.

Margaret McLean became seriously ill in early 1904, and died at Southsea in September. She is buried in Woodgrange Park Cemetery. See more below.

A twist in the tale

In August 2024, when discussing this story with volunteers in the archives at Newham Council, it emerged there are photos in the archives of further Japanese memorial stones in East Ham cemetery.

Wrongly labelled memorial to Chinese sailor (Newham Archives)

 

The first is labelled ‘monument to Chinese sailor’ but is undated. On checking this location in the graveyard today this memorial no longer exists, and it is impossible even to find the base. Note one face of this stone is in English, the rest in characters. The name of his ship ‘Bingo Maru’ (all Japanese ships are something Maru), and then a death date (illegible). Research focussed on this ship has shown that this is the person memorialised here, a J Kawauchi who drowned in 1901:

Westminster Gazette - 21 November 1901

The ship was also spelt ‘Binga Maru’ or ‘Benga Maru’ sometimes in the British newspapers. The above cutting also confirms that stones were imported from Japan.

There is another remarkable photo in the Newham Archives showing the unusual stone that was brought into the UK:

 (Newham Archives)

This photo clearly says "Monuments to Japanese sailors", and it seems the one to the extreme right is the same as the surviving one discussed earlier in this article, which initially appeared to be on its own. In August this year Peter and Ros visited this site and were quickly able to establish that there is indeed a group of memorials together. One of this group is visible and readable after clearance of vegetation, though it is tipped to one side.

Photo Ros Bedlow

Three faces have now also been read by Japanese national Ai:

Name: Yoshizo (given) Kawaguchi (surname).

Date of death: 18 September 1911. Aged 22. From Tottori prefecture, Iwamoto village, Ooaza, Ooiwa, Iwami District

British newspapers at the time reported ship movements in remarkable detail.

Searching the digital versions, it is clear ‘Kitano Maru’ was off the St Catherine’s lighthouse, Isle of Wight and London bound on 13 September 1911.

Liverpool Journal of Commerce - 14 September 1911

It is hard to identify the other memorial stones as none is now standing, and some are more than half buried.

These are not graves in the normal sense, as they are far too close together for burials – so either the seamen are buried elsewhere, or at sea, or they were cremated (as is the Japanese custom) though cremations were rare in Britain at the time. Official church records are of burials only, not memorials.

The stone used for the memorials is also interesting, being not recognisable as one of those used for gravestones in the UK. As discussed above, there is a possibility that the stone was imported from Japan. 

We can speculate about the very poor current condition of this cluster of 5/6 Japanese graves. It is possible they have been deliberately vandalised (there was huge anti-Japanese feeling after WW2) but this is speculation. We can also speculate these Japanese seamen converted to Christianity under the influence of Miss McLean, as otherwise it is hard to understand how this group of stones came to be in this Christian graveyard.

More on Miss McLean

In another coincidence, while the authors were searching for unrelated images in the Newham Archives, a photo was found of the grave of Miss McLean in Woodgrange Park cemetery Romford Rd, on the borders of Forest Gate and Manor Park. This can be seen here in a photo taken in 1991 with its Japanese characters.

 

Newham Archives

Notice it says “erected by the officers and sailors of the Imperial Japanese navy”. In the early 1900s there was a strong military alliance between Britain and Japan. New warships for Japan were being built in Newham at the shipyards of the Thames Ironworks which were located where the River Lea and the Thames meet. In fact, these were the last major orders for the yard and it closed not long after. The works' football club morphed into West Ham United FC (hence The Hammers from the tools the shipwrights used).

Woodgrange Park Cemetery, which is a private profit-making business, went through a very troubled period in the 1990s when it was bought and sold a number of times, and a developer called Badgehurst got hold of it with a view to part of it becoming a housing development. 

They applied for planning permission which was refused, then it was appealed and again refused. The Cemetery Friends Group were objectors. The owner then obtained the "Woodgrange Park Cemetery Act 1993". This allowed the clearance of the part on High Street North side for building work. The Friends Group took part in the consideration of the Act, and no work was undertaken until it came into force.

There was considerable controversy. The local MP, Stephen Timms was involved and there was much press coverage over the years, to save the graves.

Miss McLean’s grave did survive this trauma but has been vandalised since the 1990’s. It has lost its cross/anchor at the top due to vandalism in 2023, and the lower part of the Japanese inscription has been covered by raising the ground level when the current cemetery owners, a Muslim organisation, re-landscaped that part of the cemetery.

Miss McLean’s grave, autumn 2024 (Photo Ros Bedlow)

From this photo you can see there is a small interpretation sheet in front of the grave. The cemetery owners recently agreed that the Friends’ Group could place this sheet explaining why a grave with Japanese writing is there.

The sheet says that she set up the Anglo Japanese Christian Mission in North Woolwich road (now the runway to London City Airport), that she died insolvent, and that the grave was paid for by a member of the House of Lords, who was a founder member of the Plymouth Bretheren, a conservative Christian sect, not unlike the tradition of her Scottish Presbyterian upbringing.

In recent years a representative of the Friends' Group met with the Japanese Attache at the cemetery. He was interested and said he would try to get funds for the grave to be restored, but sadly they lost interest and were not forthcoming with funds.

Ai, our collaborator, has undertaken further research in the Japanese diplomatic archives. According to an article there, in September 2019 somebody from the Cemetery (presumably from the Friends' Group) contacted the Embassy of Japan in London to try to find any information on Ms Mclean, as the cemetery people couldn't decide what to do with her grave. Then the embassy staff contacted the Diplomatic Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan in Tokyo in 2020.

They found an old document explaining how she got the Imperial Order of the Crown. This showed that Naval Officer Tamara recommended her for the award to the Japanese ambassador to the UK, who in turn sent a recommendation to the Japanese Foreign Minister, in 1902. She was awarded the recognition and was contacted by the ambassador to that effect the following year.

The file suggests that Miss McLean was very well known amongst Japanse seamen staying in the UK. She looked after them well, and they called her "Dear Mother". As already indicated, she was known as the "Mother of Japanese seamen" in the UK.

The article states that in 2021 with help from the Embassy of Japan, the manager/caretaker of Woodgrange Park Cemetery managed to contact the relatives of Miss Mclean and the cemetery decided to keep Miss Mclean's grave there.

The historical documents from the Diplomatic Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan will be archived locally (presumably in Stratford - although that has yet to be confirmed, or those documents received).

Conclusion 

What started as a query over a supposed Chinese grave in a cemetery in East Ham has led the authors on an interesting journey into a little-known aspect of local history: the presence of seamen from Japan in Newham over one hundred years ago - and the influence of a Christian mission in looking after their welfare.

End note

Peter and Mark acknowledge the considerable assistance they have had on this project from Ros Bedlow and her friend Ai Minematsu with translating the Japanese; and from Ken Marshall of the Friends’ of Woodgrange cemetery who carried out his own independent research. All have contributed interesting new discoveries to this article. Tony Morrison helped with AI to enhance and read a grave inscription. Kathleen Partington a volunteer at Newham archive shared her knowledge of grave records at East Ham parish church.

A shortened version of this article recently appeared in the Newham Recorder Newspaper online version. The authors acknowledge the help of Jess Conway archivist at Newham with this.

Do not hesitate to contact either this blog or the authors for details of some of the sources accessed for this article, and in particular, if you can add more to this fascinating subject.

You may also be interested in this short film from Newham Heritage Month contributor the Thames Festival Trust: https://www.facebook.com/ThamesFestivalTrust/videos/591480612272837/ , Keiko Itoh on the Japanese Seamen’s Club, Elizabeth Street North Woolwich from 1898.

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The prisoners’ lot in Little Ilford gaol

This is the fifth and final article in the series on Little Ilford Gaol. The previous four dealt with the gaol's origins, its first thirty-year history, its final twenty years, and its ultimate demise. The fourth article looked at its governance and supervision.

An estimated 30,000 people served sentences in the gaol over its history – many of them multiple times (see later). “Average” numbers per year, or at any one time, are misleading because of the fluctuations in committals over the gaol’s history, but 60 prisoners at any one time (including ten women) and 700 prisoners over the course of a year would not have been untypical.

Treadmill, without partitions (see below) - the "hard labour" fate for many incarcerated in Little Ilford gaol - Brixton 1817

Because of the nature of the inmates sent there and the courts from which they were sentenced, the prisoners tended to be there for relatively minor misdemeanours. More serious offences were sent to the county gaol in Chelmsford, hanged, or transported to Australia (see previous articles).

This article, based on the Essex Records Office (ERO) and contemporary newspaper accounts, aims to provide a general understanding of the nature of offences committed by offenders, thereby painting a portrait of who they were likely to be. It will also examine conditions in the gaol and what “hard labour” meant in practice, including discomfort levels imposed, punishment regimes and food and dietary standards.

Newspaper articles and many of the records in the ERO provide a steady flow of details of convictions and sentences imposed on those sent to the gaol. It would be impossible to generalise too much about the fate of 30,000 individuals over a fifty-year period, but a number of trends emerge, particularly from ERO documents that help describe the lives of those committed to the gaol and the fate that befell them.

Poverty – the greatest cause

Perhaps the most obvious fact is that the single greatest cause of the majority of prisoners' incarceration was their poverty. Their circumstances and crimes show lifestyles at incredible variance with the visiting magistrates responsible for the gaol. This was not accepted at the time as a cause of their crimes; contemporary thinking saw “wickedness,” “fecklessness,” “ungodliness,” and “bad character” as better explanations for their offences.

Despite their harsh verdicts on the nature of the incarcerated, the magistrates were forced to make special provisions for the poor. As early as 1837, the visitors' report stated that "Visitors have to recommend to the court some additions to the buildings on either side of the governor's house, to place vagrants, not felons" (ERO Q/SBb 527/71).

The two most prominent visiting magistrates, John Gurney Fry and William Swanson Suart, shared fourteen and six servants with their families at different times, respectively (see last post). Many of those committed to gaol were found guilty of stealing food worth barely pennies.

As mentioned in a previous article, in an era before local police had a detection function, many offences were committed against employers, landlords, local shopkeepers, or farmers, who identified the culprit and called upon a county constable to arrest, charge them, and send them to court.

The Essex Standard of 26 May 1843 provided an account of five people committed to the goal, all for relatively minor offences. The report highlighted the arrest processes, that children as young as 11 and women were committed and that “hard labour” was often a standard part of the sentence. As far as the final case mentioned is concerned, because Colemen had a previous conviction, he was in danger of being transported to Australia for the theft of a pin (presumably a broach) had he been found guilty, which he wasn’t. The cases were:

Ellen Barry, 21 was indicted for stealing a shawl, the property of Robert Addison of Stratford Green. It appeared that the prisoner who had formerly been in his service in the neighbourhood had lodged at the prosecutors’, and the shawl was traced to a pawnbroker’s in Stratford, where it had been lodged by the prisoner. On this charge she was convicted and sentenced to four calendar months hard labour in Ilford goal.

Geo Simmons, 31, pleaded guilty to stealing a quantity of lead from the premises of JW Nyren, his master, at Leytonstone. Sentenced to four months hard labour at Ilford goal.

 Major Burton, 11, was convicted for stealing at Stratford from a shed in the possession of James Patrick Murphy, a quantity of lead: the young delinquent was stopped by a marine store dealer of trying to dispose of it. Sentenced to seven days hard labour. (It was not until the Youthful Offenders Act of 1854 that children under the age of 16 were sent to separate juvenile detention centres)

James Mumford, 16, was indicted for stealing a quantity of wearing apparel, and also the sum of 10s, the property of Thos Skiggs at Great Ilford. The prisoner took advantage of the prosecutors Skiggs’ absence from home, and stole a pair of trousers from his room (he at the time living in the same house), and in the pockets was money named in the indictment; the possession of articles was clearly traced to the prisoner. He was convicted and sentenced to six months hard labour in Ilford Gaol.

William Coleman, 18, was indicted for stealing a gold pin from Henry Barwick. He had previously been tried, in October 1841 of stealing 16 sheep, with three others. Two of the other three had been transported (to Australia). Coleman, then aged only 16 was given 12 months hard labour in Ilford goal. In the event, Coleman was found not guilty of stealing the pin. He was told in court that if he had been found guilty of stealing the pin, he too, would have been transported.

There are literally dozens of newspaper reports telling similar stories.

Essex Herald 6 June 1848

Women constituted between 10% and 20% of the gaol’s population throughout its history, and like most of the men in the above cases, they were usually there for cases of theft of small items from employers or local shops. Many were described as prostitutes in court cases, though prostitution itself was rarely the reason they faced the magistrates, but it seemed to have been used as a statement of their “bad character”, helping to explain the offence for which they were charged and cast them in a bad light.

A rare example of women being charged with prostitution per se came in the cases of two women who were also charged with creating a disturbance, as the Chelmsford Chronicle (19 November 1847) reported:

Ellen McDonald … and Emma Page were charged by the constabulary with being common prostitutes and creating a disturbance in Epping Twon on Sunday 7^th inst. Convicted and sentenced to one month’s hard labour at Ilford goal.

Hard labour

Prison governor John Anderson told the Essex Quarter Sessions in June 1844 (ERO QAGp 15) what “hard labour” would mean. “Some were put to work, others on the treadmill. Work could be tailoring, shoemaking, mat making, painting and whitewashing the gaol … working the water crank, picking oakum and turning hand cranks, of which there were three. Water was supplied via a pump, worked by five men”.

The treadmill was a punishment without product. Those allocated to it would simply walk to keep the wheel turning, for no end output but punishment.

The goal operated on the “separate system,” where prisoners were forbidden to talk to each other at any time (Anderson: “The separate system is decidedly the best system, the best form of discipline in the goal”)—hence one-person cells—see previous articles. The problem with Little Ilford’s two treadmills is that they were open (see illustration 1 below, from Brixton prison, 1817), where prisoners could talk to each other.

Anderson, again: I try “to enforce the discipline of silence and succeed generally; they do communicate, but if heard, they are punished” More than fifty punishments for breaking the silence were recorded in the previous quarter “for insubordination and misconduct on the part of the prisoners from associating with each other.”, and punishments ranged from whipping through food deprivation and solitary confinement in an unlit cell.

Anderson told the Quarter Sessions, "If you had wooden divisions (see second treadmill photograph, Pentonville 1895) on the treadmill and a turnkey walking backwards and forwards, it would prevent conversation, such is injurious to the prisoners. It would be desirable both on the treadmill and at the force pump. I have drawn attention to the visiting magistrates on the subject, and they have asked me to obtain an estimate of its cost.” 

It is not clear from surviving records whether these partitions were obtained.

Before prisoners could be placed on the treadmill, the surgeon had to certify that they were physically fit enough for the punishment and could insist on an enhanced diet for them – see later. Typically, a prisoner was required to ascend up to 12,000 feet per day on the treadmill until the 1860s, when the limit was reduced to 8,400 feet. They were expected to complete fifteen quarter-hour sessions on the wheel daily, with a five-minute break between sessions. The effort was simply punishment and literally unproductive.

Treadmill with partitions, Pentonville 1900

Picking oakum was a common form of work, and both male and female prisoners were often employed in the task (see photograph from Coldbath prison). This was picking tar out of sisal that had been used to seal the decks of wooden ships. It’s a strange task, but it was commonly used in workhouses too. The picked sisal was often sold outside the prison for mattress fillings – hence the term: “money for old rope”.

Picking oakum - "Money for old rope" - Clerkenwell House of Correction

The hand crank, of which there were three, was a machine that was installed in a cell (see etching below), and the prisoner was expected to turn it about 20 times per minute, or 10,000 times in an eight-hour shift – again without productive outcome. If a turnkey felt that the tension on the crank was too easy for a prisoner to manage, he would tighten the tension via the central screw – hence “screw”, the slang term for prison wardens.

Hand crank - Pentonville prison

Women prisoners were employed in knitting socks for the prisoners, washing and making clothes, and oakum picking too. (ERO Q/SBb 550).

Sentences for those incarcerated were typically three to six months long, mainly with hard labour. Sometimes, the product of the prisoners’ work could be sold externally, and the income received would be used to reduce the net running costs of the gaol. The Essex Herald in December 1876 (31 December) noted that over the previous quarter, the gaol had received an income of £3.6s from oakum picking, £5.9s 6d from mat making and £2 10s 6d from jute picking.

According to the same report, working hours were: “Governed by the length of the day. Commencing half an hour after unlocking (the cells) and ending half an hour before locking up for the night. Deducting three hours for meal times, prayers, attending school (often on a one-to-one basis with the “schoolmaster” in the cell), and a half hour for air (exercise yard time) and leisure”. That would mean about 10 hours of “hard labour” in summer and seven in winter—there was no artificial lighting beyond daylight hours.

As further press reports showed, these harsh punishments did not deter hungry people. The prison chaplain expressed doubts about any reforming outcome from imprisonment very soon after it opened. Oliver Lodge, in 1832, reported to the Essex Quarter Sessions that: “It is deplorable … to see some few in so wretched a state of ignorance and so far advanced in crime that in the short period of their time abiding in the prison little can be done for them.”

Recidivism, particularly for offences associated with poverty, was common. The December 1842 Quarterly returns (ERO Q/AGp 15) highlighted this, indicating that the number of people convicted for a number of offences in the gaol was: Poaching: 19 (of which for four - it was a first offence, three - the second, four - the third, two - the fourth, two -the fifth, one – the seventh, one the ninth, one – the tenth and one – the 11th). There were 12 prisoners in gaol for vagrancy at the time (of which eight were the first offence, two were the third and two were the fourth).

The Home Office was told three years later: “Over the year 64 prisoners have been in once before, 25 twice, 12 three times and 15 four or more times.”

Escape attempts were not uncommon and steps were regularly taken to prevent them. In April 1837, for example, the visitors' report noted that there had been "an increase in the height of the (outer) walls, to prevent escape, which can be done by scaling the rooves of the existing buildings" (ERO Q/SBb 527/71). 

The same report expressed concern that the recent construction of the Eastern Counties railroad, which "will pass within 20 yards of the north side of the outer wall and be about 10 feet below the surface of the ground," may encourage escapes. Reports were commissioned to offer preventative measures.

Conditions for the inmates

According to the Annual Returns of the Gaol to the Home Secretary, in October 1845 (ERO Q/SBb 550): “All prisoners before trial wear their own clothes, but are clothed if necessity requires. Convicted prisoners wear a coated dress (see etching below) and are provided with a bed filled with straw, two blankets, and a rug.” The weekly cost of keeping a prisoner under these conditions in Little Ilford at this time was estimated to be 1s 1d (less than 6p) per week.

"Coated dresses"- the uniform worn by prisoners at Little Ilford, etching from Millbank, 1873

The report continued: “Punishments for offences committed in prison: 119 solitary confinements and one whipping. During the year, there were 36 cases of sickness, with a maximum of four at any one time.”

Diet

Food and diet in the gaol provided a long-running saga, with a balance having to be struck between keeping the prisoners alive – particularly after some of the hard labour inflicted - and not providing sustenance of higher quality than the inmates could have expected outside prison, or in the workhouse.

Within two years of the goal being opened, the prisoners drafted a “Humble Petition” (see image below) claiming that the standard of food in Little Ilford was below that experienced in the County gaol in Chelmsford. This was taken seriously, and the visiting magistrates reported back to the Quarter Sessions that “Although frequently questioned, we have not heard any complaints from the prisoners. The attached petition is not based on fact … Some of the names, marked with an X, did not know about the petition or its contents”!

1832 petition from prisoners, complaining about small food portions at Little Ilford

Despite these complaints, the visiting magistrates seemed satisfied that the staff were running the gaol efficiently. Their report of April 1837 commented that they had visited at different times and "always found it in good order and discipline and that the chaplain and surgeon have constantly attended their several duties" (ERO Q/SBb 527/71).

By 1850, the Essex Herald reported that the visiting magistrates feared the standard and quantities of food supplied in the goal were higher than those prevailing in local workhouses and ordered that the quantity should, consequentially, be reduced (6 April).

Discussions were frequent on the topic, and by 1864, the Home Secretary had got involved. The Essex Herald of 5 Jul 1864 provided a detailed account of the Essex Quarter Sessions considerations on the matter.

For the first week of all terms of imprisonment from now on, the diet was to be:

Breakfast – 1 pint of oatmeal gruel

Dinner – 1lb bread

Supper – 1 pint oatmeal gruel

Quantities were gradually increased the longer the prisoner spent in gaol, so that by the time a male prisoner had served four months, he could expect to receive:

Breakfast – 1 pint of oatmeal gruel plus 10 oz of bread

Dinner – 11 oz bread every day, plus one of a)1.5lb potatoes and 3 oz cheese, b) 4 oz cooked meat and 8 oz potatoes, c) 1-pint soup and 1lb potatoes

Supper – 1 pint oatmeal gruel plus 8 oz bread.

Women prisoners were given approximately 10% less at each meal time.

The quantities of food recommended by the Home Office were so small that the surgeon was given a licence to increase them if he felt the needs of individual prisoners warranted it. Two years later, the Essex Standard was reporting:

Diet. The weekly amount of food supplied to the prisoners is according to the official dietary of 1864 (is so low that) fifteen prisoners have received extra diet by order of the surgeon for 127 days in aggregate, and the average weekly cost of food per head is 1s 11d. (9p, today, or less than £9, adjusted for inflation).

It is unclear whether the surgeon’s increased food allocation to some prisoners was because he had a relatively liberal outlook or whether the Home Office had imposed a particularly punitive regime. Whichever, food was uninspiring, but there are no recorded incidents of prisoners dying of malnutrition during the gaol’s fifty-year existence.

A snapshot of prisoner backgrounds – the 1871 census

The 1871 census provides a rare snapshot of the population of Little Ilford goal at one time. The prisoners were, for the most part, local working-class men.

There was a surprisingly low number of prisoners incarcerated on the night – only twenty men and one woman. No details are given of the offences they committed, but their ages ranged from 12 to 66, with four in their teens, eight in their twenties, four in their thirties (including the solitary woman prisoner), four in their forties and two in their sixties. It is surprising that there was a 12-year-old prisoner, as people of that age should have been placed in a juvenile institution, according to a law passed 17 years previously. He may well have been in Little Ilford on the night, awaiting transport to a more suitable location.

All bar for of them came from Essex, Middlesex or East Anglia, the exceptions being one from the West Midlands and one from Gloucester. Intriguingly, two were American-born, although they did not appear connected.

Six of the 21 were classified as agricultural labourers, three were bricklayers, two were railway workers, and two were dock workers (giving substance to the fact that the goal took prisoners captured by the Metropolitan police in the greater London area). The others came from a collection of other working-class occupations: a baker, a blacksmith, a messenger (the 12-year-old), a seaman and a seaman’s wife (apparently unrelated), a gas worker, a plasterer and a general labourer.

Conclusion

Most of the inmates were in Little Ilford goal for relatively minor offences, which received harsh punishments. The “separate system” of silence was likely to be the greatest punishment for all who were imprisoned, although most also had “hard labour” imposed on them, which was all-consuming.

Cells were small, although they often had what—compared to workhouses —seemed to offer some decent bedding, although no heat or artificial light. Clothing was standard and probably better than some of the poorer inmates had been used to outside the gaol. From the very beginning, there were real doubts about how effective the goal would be as a reforming measure, concerns confirmed by rates of recidivism.

As previous articles in this series have indicated, there was a relatively high staff-inmate ratio. Christian campaigning about prisons was probably responsible for ensuring that a higher level of religious attention and medical support was available in the goal that many of the inmates would have experienced outside.

Food provision was a real issue for the authorities, and efforts were made to keep quantities to a minimum, but at least the prisoners were fed inside, when they may not have been when they were arrested for vagrancy.

So, although it was unpleasant for all who entered the goal as prisoners, it was difficult for the authorities to impose even harsher conditions on them than prevailed on the streets and workhouses outside. This dilemma ran through the history of Little Ilford goal.

It is difficult to assess the goal's impact, either on the inmates who were incarcerated there or on the wider society who were supposed to be protected from their malign influences. The vast majority of inmates were there for crimes closely associated with their poverty. Testimony of magistrates and chaplains cited in this series of articles seems to have doubted any reforming impact a sentence in Little Ilford goal may have had on them.

Levels of recidivism, particularly for the most desperate offences (vagrancy, petty theft, and poaching), were so high that deterrence doesn’t seem to have worked as an outcome of imprisonment. Certainly, the punishment of imprisonment seems to have been severe for the prisoners, but if this were not complemented by more socially acceptable behaviour post-imprisonment, it is difficult to see its benefit rather than giving perverse pleasure to vengeance seekers.

All of which seems wearingly to summarise the impacts of imprisonment in Britain 150 years later.

 

Foornote. We are extremely grateful to Neil R Storey for his excellent book: Prisons and Prisoners in Victorian England, for the etchings that appear in this article illustrating prisoners' conditions

Little Ilford gaol’s staff and supervision

Little Ilford gaol, like its contemporaries, operated under a strict regime of regulation and supervision. Every key postholder was held to a high standard of accountability for their actions. The Essex Quarter Sessions, for instance, appointed two or three “Visiting Magistrates” from their ranks, who oversaw the gaol on behalf of the county. They came very much from the privileged end of society, as the brief biographies of two of the more significant of their number – at the end of this article – show.

Visting Magistrates

They were expected to provide quarterly reports on conditions at the establishment and to furnish detailed breakdowns of costs, responsibilities, and staff appointments.

Upon receipt of the Visiting Magistrates' quarterly reports, the Quarter Sessions were obligated to compile annual statements on the gaol's conditions for the Home Secretary. These reports, many of which are archived in the Essex County Records Office, were not kept secret. The Essex Quarter Sessions were open to the press, and summaries of the reports were regularly published in local newspapers, ensuring the gaol's operations were subject to public accountability.

As the ultimate authority, the Quarter Sessions exercised significant control over the gaol's operations. They directly appointed key personnel such as the governor, chaplain, and surgeon and required regular reports from the governor. Their influence extended to the conditions within the gaol, dictating everything from the prisoners' diets to the clothing and bedding they were provided.

The tone was set for Little Ilford gaol just before it opened at the Quarter Sessions in July 1831.

During a discussion on conditions in local prisons. William Pole Wellesley, the wastrel whose profligacy led to the destruction of Wanstead House and local MP, expressed a reasonably liberal view for the time, arguing against the imposition of the harshest conditions. 

Essex magistrate, William Pole Wellesley, the wastrel whose property adjoined Little Ilford gaol, had surprisngly liberal views about prison conditions. Etching from c 1827, a little before gaol contruction was underway. Etching couresy of Greg Roberts.

Pole Wellesley was quickly refuted by RW Hall-Dare, who was to be one of the initial visiting magistrates. The Essex and Herts Mercury of 5 July 1831 could not have been clearer in reporting Hall’s vindictive stance:

I am about in the short term to report on the state of Ilford gaol, which in a week or two will be ready for prisoners … It is the duty of magistrates to keep the prisoners in safe custody. I believe a gaol ought to be a place of suffering, so much so, indeed, as to operate on the mind and body of one in confinement in such a way as to induce him to say: “If ever I get out of this place, they shall never catch me here again” … many who are out of gaol are in a much worse condition than those confined within its wall (Hear). A gaol is intended, as it ought, to be a place of suffering; we should not only be acted upon by a sort of pseudo philanthropy, which may be pleasing to our feelings but would nevertheless operate against the best interest of society.

From the 1840s, the House of Commons published annual statistical surveys on data relating to prisons nationwide (staff numbers and pay, details of prisoners, etc.), and the Essex Quarter Sessions produced fairly detailed summaries on the conditions of the gaols and detention centres under their purview. Visiting magistrates at Little Ilford, certainly in the early days of its existence, often used these reports to provide evidence for them to embark on a race to the bottom for conditions in local gaols.

However, from the 1860s, two more liberal magistrates took on the roles—John Gurney Fry and William Swainson Suart. They were men of financial substance with significant other public service records before becoming visiting magistrates (see brief biographies at the end).

Their contributions to discussions about the gaol and proposals for changes were usually aimed at improving conditions for staff and prisoners rather than being simply cost-cutting and punitive.

Staff

Staff numbers varied a little throughout the history of the gaol, but a typical complement was eight, comprising: a governor (in 1844 paid £150 p.a.), a chaplain – always CofE (£100), a surgeon (medical officer would be a more appropriate term today) (£40), the principal turnkey (£67), assistant turnkey and schoolmaster – this post would report to the chaplain – see later (£52), assistant turnkey and baker (£52), cook and labourer (15s per week, i.e £39 p.a.) and matron (£20p.a.) (source ERO QAGp 15). [Turnkeys were what today we would call wardens].

Initially, only the governor and his family lived on the premises, but additional staff accommodation was built above the brew and bakehouses for wardens in the 1840s. During the 1871 census, staff living within the gaol included the governor, the senior warden, his wife - the assistant matron - and two other prison wardens who were lodgers in the senior warden’s dwelling.

Occasionally, there was no turnkey who could double up as schoolmaster, in which case “the most orderly and competent of the adult prisoners being from time to time employed as a teacher under my (the chaplain’s) supervision” (ERO 1832).

Staff wages varied over the gaol's history, but comparative statistics with other prisons showed that they tended to be on the low side in Little Ilford. William Stringer was the longest-serving governor, occupying the role for almost the last twenty years of the gaol’s existence, but barely saw a doubling of his pay over the period.

Interestingly, on average, there was a ratio of about 7 inmates to one staff member in the gaol, compared to about 30 children to one staff member in the children’s workhouse on Forest Lane later in the century. 

As indicated earlier, the Quarter Sessions and the visiting magistrates tightly defined the staff's working conditions and job descriptions.

The governor

The Governor was required to keep up to 30 different journals and log books about prison life, which were open to regular inspection by visiting magistrates. They included: the governor’s journal, a separate journal/day book for each member of staff, the provision dietary book, a bedding and clothing book, a quarterly account book, a ledger, a cash book and day book, prisoners received and prisoners discharged books, a prisoners’ punishment book, an inventory of books furnished by the chaplain and volumes dedicated to reports written to visiting magistrates, and the Quarter Sessions, as well as correspondence ledgers and a prisoners’ misconduct book.

In the early 1840s, the governor, John Anderson, gave a detailed statement of his daily routine to the Quarter Sessions as part of a bid for a pay rise (ERO QAGp 15). If it was accurate, he was a busy man.

He said his day started by ensuring the turnkeys were in the correct uniform, and the prisoners were unlocked and set to work by them (6 a.m. in the summer, 7 a.m. in winter). He supervised breakfast at 8 a.m. and met with the schoolmaster to review his work at 9 a.m. An hour later, he attended the chapel, supervised the service, and inspected the infirmary, yards, and cells.

During this period, he interviewed prisoners, reported any misconduct or injustices, and saw that any instructions he had previously given relating to this were being executed. He would then attend to anything requiring entry into his various journals and write any of the reports he was responsible for submitting. At about noon, he would discharge any prisoners due for release.

He occasionally attended some of the magistrates courts his gaol served, including visiting the Ilford court once a fortnight when he met up with the local magistrates. He would write “letters to the friends of all prisoners under 21, appraising them of the time they will be discharged from jail, and if any prisoners are taken ill, their friends are written to.”

He was charged with running an economically tight institution, so he proudly stated that “the cost per prisoner, per head, per day on my appointment, including staff and all other expenses was: 1841: 1/7d, 1842 1/4d and 1843 1/3d.”

Other staff

Legislation from 1814 required all gaols to have a chaplain. The relatively well-renumerated postholder usually doubled up as a local vicar with an additional stipend from the parish. He provided a detailed account of his activities in 1845, in which he described performing morning and evening services of the Church of England and preaching every Sunday.

He also performed church services on Christmas Day and Good Friday and was “always prepared to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to those who wish and be fit to receive the same.”. He claimed to frequently read scriptures to prisoners who came to him at the chapel and to instruct school classes. He provided “a sufficient number of bibles and prayer and other books of a religious and moral character” (ERO Q/SBb 550)

The Assistant Turnkey/schoolmaster reported to the chaplain and would have had a professional relationship with all prisoners – not just those of school age. He would teach religious studies and assist with reading and writing for the illiterate, based on books approved and supplied by the chaplain. Quaker influence, stressing the importance of religious teaching in prisons, is well illustrated by the etching below, showing Elizabeth Fry reading the bible to female prisoners in Newgate.

Elizabeth Fry, reading to prisoners at Newgate, showing imporatnce of religious teaching and education to many prison reformers

Like the chaplain, the surgeon or medical officer doubled up his role in the gaol with a practice outside the prison. He visited the gaol three or four times per week and “oftener, if required.” He was expected to give fairly detailed sickness reports to the Quarter Sessions.

Fewer details survive of the job descriptions of the more junior staff, although the matron—the postholders of which were usually married to another staff member—was in charge of all female prisoners and their cells and yards in gaol, as well as both male and female infirmaries, in the absence of the surgeon.

The tight regime and supervision the gaol experienced and its accountability to so many bodies, including the press, made it appear to be a scandal-free institution throughout its existence.

The life experiences of its two most significant visiting magistrates suggested an open-minded and public-spirited approach to its governance in its latter days, which was very much at variance with some of the corruption associated with many of the guardians who supervised workhouses, locally and beyond.

John Gurney Fry - biography

John Gurney Fry - 1804 - 1871

John Gurney Fry was born on 29 July 1804 in St Mildred’s Court in the City of London, the eldest son of later prisoner reformer Elizabeth Fry and her husband, banker and tea merchant Joseph Fry. When John was four, his father inherited the Plashet estate in East Ham, and John would have spent most of his childhood between there (about two miles from the site of Little Ilford gaol) and the City.

From a young age, he was immersed in the world of penal reform. His mother, Elizabeth, was not the most attentive of parents, and by the time he was nine, she began to dedicate herself to prison reform, particularly with women in mind. This early exposure to penal reform would shape John’s childhood and serve as a catalyst for his later involvement as an Essex magistrate and visitor to Little Ilford gaol.

Aged just nine, he witnessed his mother's remarkable involvement with the plight of women prisoners at London’s Newgate gaol. She established education classes and collected clothing for them. Two years later, she founded the Association for the Reformation of Female Prisoners at Newgate, and the following year—when John was just 14—Elizabeth made history as the first woman to give evidence to a parliamentary committee on prisons. These achievements were a testament to Elizabeth's dedication and a significant influence on John's future path.

When John was 17 (1821), Elizabeth established the London Society for Promoting the Reformation of Female Prisoners, where she campaigned against women being manacled in chains, the public execution of female prisoners, prison ships (hulks), solitary confinement and above all, capital punishment.

At the age of 21, John married his second cousin, Rachel. Their union was not just personal but also a consolidation of their family's social standing. Both were well-connected Quakers, and the witnesses to their marriage included prominent names such as Frys, Barclays, Buxtons, Gurneys, and Pellys. However, John's health was a constant struggle, and his illness marred the ceremony. A witness to the event noted, “It was too much for John. He was not feeling well and kept having to lie down.”

After the wedding, the couple lived in St Mildred’s Court, which was simultaneously the headquarters of the family banking and tea businesses, a family home, and a hostel for unmarried clerks working for the business.

They lived there for over fifteen years, although it was not very conducive to family life. By the time of the 1841 census, they had moved to Little Warley Lodge in Billericay, which they shared with their three children, his brother-in-law and his four children, a governess, and 13 servants. This was a farm, which John sold in 1847. He moved to Hale End in Walthamstow in 1851 with his wife, two unmarried daughters, and just seven servants!

By then, John was already an Essex magistrate and merchant with the East India Company. Having sold the farm, he could devote himself more to charitable and public service duties. Among the roles he undertook over the following twenty years were: Trustee of the City  Orthopedic Hospital (1851), Deputy Lieutenant of Essex (1852),  Chairman of the Metropolitan Free Hospital – Devonshire Square, The City, where “The friendless have immediate attention paid to their ailments” (1852) Vice President of the Agricultural Benevolent Society (1860) – with a brief to alleviate the needs of “decayed farmers, their widows and orphans” and was “a generous subscriber to the Benevolent Asylum for the Insane of the Middle Classes” (Evening Standard 10 Feb 1862).

It is difficult to fully assess John’s impact on Little Ilford gaol, as there is no definitive statement of it, but weaving through reports of his contributions, on the bench, at Quarter Session proceedings and through press reports, he seemed to be a mildly reforming character, who without his mother’s zeal, would appear to have been a force for good for the institution and its inmates.

In the late 1860s, he and Rachel moved from Hale End to Prittlewell near Southend for health reasons. Rachel died at the end of 1871, and John six months later, on 11 June 1872, of Typhoid. The Essex Herald explained the circumstances. Having presided over a meeting of Ilford magistrates on 1 June, he went home to Prittlewell and died ten days later:

His doctors agree in their opinion that his death indirectly resulted from the poisoned air of Ilford Court, and this eldest son of the great philanthropist may be said to have followed his mother’s example and to have been, perhaps indirectly, a martyr for the public benefit, for had he not been so constant an attendant to his magisterial duties, he would in all probability, have lived for many years.

William Swainson Suart - biography

William Swainson Suart was born 30 July 1814 in Liverpool and educated at Royal Military College, Addiscombe. He then received a commission in the East India Company, which effectively ran India on behalf of the British government. He became a cadet in the Royal Bombay Corps of Engineers in 1833 and married Elizabeth Murray in 1849 in that city. 

He was a civil engineer who worked on land reclamation and drainage work. He was promoted to lieutenant in 1842 and transferred to Aden as an engineer in 1847. His wife had their first child there, and he was promoted to captain the following year. He finally retired from the East India Company’s service with the honorary rank of major in November 1857 during the Indian Rebellion (Mutiny).

After his return to England, he was appointed to the Commission of the Peace for Essex on 16 October 1860 and “long acted as chairman of the Committee of Visiting Justices at Ilford Gaol”. By the time of the 1861 census, six months later, he was living in Chigwell with his wife, three children and six servants. A decade later, the family was down to three servants and just two in 1881. He played an active part in the Essex Court of Sessions, particularly in matters relating to the Beconsfield Division (of which Little Ilford Gaol was a part)”.

He was outspoken about the 1877 Prisons Act, which he described as “An Act for Abolishing the Ancient Office of Justice of the Peace”. He was interested in juvenile crime and wrote and published a pamphlet on the subject, which was apparently full of suggestions, which we have been unable to access.

Like Fry, Suart seems to have been a fair and publicly minded individual who served the court without fear or favour.

He was a governor of Chigwell Grammar School, and active in that community. He died after a long illness on 23 May 1882 (aged 69) in Bowls, Chigwell, and left an estate valued at £4,290 (twenty times a clerk’s salary of the day). (Sources: obituaries in The Essex Herald, Chelmsford Chronicle, Naval and Military Gazette and Ancestry).