A Dickensian start to my family history
How family history inspired my Marjorie Swallow books
In 1879, a baby called William Frank Balls was admitted to Ampthill Union Workhouse in Bedfordshire. He’s still there in the census of 1881, his name next to that of his father James Balls, aged 73, an illiterate agricultural labourer. James was his father. The story of how they came to be there is shocking. I wouldn’t have known anything about them, except that James was my great-great-grandfather.
This is their story, compiled by my aunt Gillian Firth and my second cousin Andrew Ball, both grand-children to William Frank. Thanks to them for the original research and photographs.
On 15 June 1878, the Bedfordshire Times and Independent reported that “James Balls, a labourer aged 71, was charged with attempting to destroy his life… Supt. James was called into the house of the prisoner where he was brandishing knives and declared he would destroy himself. The police officers found him struggling with Mr Wootton, the postmaster, who resided next door, when they secured him and in consequence of his great violence, they were compelled to convey him to Ampthill Station.” As if this was not enough,
“It came out that he has said he often sharpened his knife to cut his child’s throat, but that the little thing always smiled at him when he went to do it, and so softened his heart.”
Not surprisingly, “Dr Holland, who had examined the prisoner, swore he was under dangerous delusions and the magistrates decided on sending him to Arseley Asylum” [also known as the Three Counties Asylum in Arsley, Bedfordshire], leaving William Frank’s throat intact.
James Balls was born in 1808 in Pulloxhill, Bedfordshire, and married twice. His first marriage was conventional enough, although both of the sons born to him and his wife Sarah died as infants. After Sarah’s death in 1875, the 69-year-old James remarried to a woman of 21, Julia Brown, in nearby Clophill. Their son William Frank was born in 1877, followed by a daughter, Kate, the following year.
Unfortunately, the ageing James Balls’ ability to father children was not matched by his ability to earn a living to support his family. The report of Dr Holland in the asylum stated that “This patient is considerably depressed in his mind chiefly, I think, from insufficient nourishment.” His physical condition was that he was “medium size, sparely made and badly nourished. Grey haired with whiskers and beard.”
Six months of regular food apparently did the job. Medical records say that James was ‘going on well’ and ‘much improved’ from late July. By the end of November 1878, he was deemed ready to go home. There’s a record of him applying to the Amphill Board of Guardians for relief for himself and his family of four, just before Christmas. He was given… one loaf of bread. Merry Christmas.
The industrious Dr Holland didn’t leave things there, however. He wrote to the Board of Guardians. In the minutes of 23 January 1879, “A letter from Dr Holland is read calling the attention of the board to the destitute condition of a man names James Balls of Clophill who had returned from the Lunatic Asylum and stating that unless he had suitable relief, he might again become insane.”
The board, alas, “consider it is not a case for out relief [ie support in his own home] but that the Workhouse should be offered to the man.”
And so James and his son William entered Ampthill Workhouse, where James died in 1894, aged 85. While they were in the workhouse James’s wife Julia, being of working age, went into service, having deposited her baby daughter Kate with her uncle and his family in Lincolnshire. Goodness knows what she thought about leaving her young son in the workhouse, but the boy stayed there until he was about 14 years old, when he was apprenticed to a plumber (he pops up on the census of 1891 living with a plumber and his family in Ampthill).
That’s when the story starts to cheer up. Despite his unpromising early history, William made the best of his fortunes. He learned his trade, moved to London and went into business himself. He also changed his name, dropping the ‘s’ to become William Ball. There’s a splendid photograph of him as a very young man, looking dapper and rather handsome in about 1895. It’s not clear exactly how he got his start – one family story has it that he won some money on the football pools, while another says he was backed by his former employer who leant him the money.
In Lewisham, he met and married Henrietta Perry, herself the daughter of a bricklayer and one of ten children. The wedding took place in 1900, the start of a new century. The business flourished, at first offering house repairs and later buying up land and constructing houses.
William and Henrietta (known as Will and Et) went on to have nine children of their own, including my grandmother Marjorie. At some point William lost an eye in an work accident – which may have been a blessing as he was ineligible to serve in the First World War. His eldest son Bert, however, was in the Royal Flying Corps for the final year of the war, but survived. The family knew sorrow: their much-loved eldest daughter Elsie died in 1920, aged 17, of a heart defect, but they were spared the devastation that the war and Spanish flu caused so many families in the second decade of the 20th century.
The business did well during the 1920s and 1930s, and photographs show teams of workmen enjoying works outings to the seaside, ferried by coaches and charabancs. There are press reports of annual company dinners, and of the newly limited company Messrs Ball Ltd building “charming estates in south London”.
William built a big house for his own family on land he bought in Cromwell Avenue, Bromley, where they entertained and enjoyed the luxury of a billiard room. My grandmother Marjorie had her wedding reception there in 1935 (below).
William Ball also retained one of a number of cottages the firm built at Biggin Hill for family use, and photographs show him there with his many children as they grew up, as well as his wife’s family. William’s success was such that he was able to retire early, leaving his sons in charge, and to give his own children a better start in life than he’d had himself.
My mother Brenda remembers the house at Cromwell Road well, and talks about ‘sheltering’ under the billiard table during bombing raids on London during the Blitz. Thankfully, this rather dubious bomb shelter was never put to the test.
The business ran into difficulties during the second world war when a lot of land was requisitioned by the military, including land near the Woolwich Arsenal and the bungalows at Biggin Hill, which soon became a hub of activity for the RAF. It’s not completely clear why, but the company went into voluntary receivership in around 1940.
The second war was cruel to William and Henrietta’s children, with two of their daughters losing husbands or fiancès, as well as several losing their homes or businesses to the bombing campaigns.
But the photographs that remain of William and his big family show a man who looks well pleased with life. My mother remembers big family parties, outings to the seaside, laughter and fun. William died in 1946, aged 69, in his own house, with a legacy of children, grandchildren and success.
There’s one final photograph I’d like to share which I think sums up this attitude. It shows William in middle age with his wife, sister and youngest child, trousers rolled up on a seaside trip, looking happy and prosperous. I wonder if that man sometimes looked back and wondered how on earth he had come so far.
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It’s quite incredible to think that a child in the workhouse could have such an improvement to his life. I have only just come across your newsletter and have subscribed for more as I enjoyed your writing
This family history is so moving, Anna - but also gripping!