The Voyage of the Orestes to NSW, 1839 Spreadsheet

Voyage of the Orestes to NSW Stroudwater Assisted Emigrants.

With thanks to John Loosley for providing the information and Noah Griffiths for his work in providing these spreadsheets for further research.

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Emigration from Stroudwater in the 1830s and 40s: Prologue

Emigration from Stroudwater in the 1830s and 40s


My emigrant’s passage started in Bisley

Along a snowdropped Sunday footpath to the church;

The service had just ended –

I sauntered in through the open door,

And there to my surprise, in a glass case,

Lay a nineteenth century list of parish accounts,

With an italicised card:

cost to the Parish of Bisley of ‘emigrating’ 68 persons from the parish’,

Together with a bible open to the fronts-piece:

The Bible which was presented by the Reverend Thomas Keble who was the Vicar of Bisley when they and 66 others emigrated to Sydney, Australia in August 1837 [The Bible has been rebound].

Two other information cards lay partially hidden beneath the bible, I could pick out a few words, however:

hoped they might have a more prosperous life. They were equipped with clothes, transport and food to Bristol and Thomas Keble also presented each family with a Bible and a Prayer Book.’

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River Map

Mapping the River Frome along its course from where it rises near Nettleton, to just before it joins the River Severn, RiverMap uses a simplified, easy to follow, linear form familiar to anyone who has used mass transport in major cities and which was initiated on London’s Underground system.
Whereas most maps indicate places and topography, this map also examines the responses of individuals to the landscape offering subjective evaluations and responses to ‘place’.
The contrast between an essentially ‘urban mapping form’ and a map examining the rural environment was intended to create a new approach to looking at and ‘seeing’ this special landscape.
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Canal Life

Canal Life by Jon Seagrave.

OK, let’s start with the pretty picture. You can imagine it: pale winter sun and a light mist rising from the still water; the air perfumed with the sweet sulphur of coal-smoke, curling in slow wreaths across the frosted towpath. An early morning cyclist creaks through the stillness, past the endless, jumbled line of colourful boats, roofs piled high with flower-pots and bicycles, firewood and coal-sacks. A black flag hangs limply from a cane. Somewhere an ancient Lister engine coughs into life, a slow, erratic chug, as someone gets ready for a pre-breakfast move. It’s like a tiny town, transient and ever-shifting. No grid electricity. No mains water. Just one long street…

There’s lots of mornings just like that. They help you keep going.

So I lived on the canal. This was something that was bound to happen at some point, what with canals being edge places, and- without getting too Will Self about it- I’m deeply attracted to edge places. They’re somehow ingrained in my psyche; a youth spent exiled on the Outer London suburban margins seems to have stained me indelibly, however much I longed to escape it at the time. Adult me just can’t walk through a nice, juicy transitional interzone without getting all worked up. I’m hot for a liminal hotspot, and few places flaunt this status more brazenly than the canal.

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‘For the rain it raineth every day’:

Floods in the Slad Road when it raineth every day,

Springs and streams racing down five valleys

When the rain it raineth every day.

But drought can bring its own problems too:

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