DEATH AND RELIGION

Life expectancy in the 19th Century was not that much higher than it had been at the start of the 17th Century. James 1st had seven children and only three survived into adulthood, and that’s not counting the seven or eight miscarriages. Women in the 19th Century could expect much the same result. Consequently, undertakers did a roaring trade.

Not only did undertakers do well, but so did religion. After the Plague and Civil Wars, people did not trust in anything anymore, other than having a good time and grabbing money by any means. Even so, nobody does marriage, birth and death better than the church and that proved the mainstay of Church activities and their saviour. Up in the Hebrides the Kirk might have been compiling lists of sinners to be ordered to repent or else, but down in Great Baddow, the church organised flower festivals and pie competitions, probably with less alcohol involved despite the presence of the Brewery.

Even so, St Mary’s had had a long history of high church vicars, if not outright papists, and so there was an increased demand by non-conformists for a separate meeting place.  In 1814 a group of non-conformists started meeting and slowly by 1848 they had a chapel that could seat sixty people.  It's now the United Reform Church. But even they weren’t non-conformist enough for some. In 1850 the Chapel for the Peculiar People was built on Bell Street. Their name came from Deuteronomy Verse 14, “The Lord has chosen thee to be a peculiar people unto himself.” Consequently, they managed to live up to the name.

They followed the preaching of an Essex farm worker called James Banyard. He was a drunk, turned T-total by attending a Wesleyan Chapel in Rochford. He had a penchant for literal interpretations of the Bible and an aversion to doctors. Prayer was supposedly good enough for the godly but then his son fell sick and when prayer failed, he called in a doctor. This proved that he really did not have enough faith and was thus not the sort of man the members of his own church wanted in their midst.  He was unceremoniously requested to leave the organisation.
 
One might scoff at their lack of faith in medical science but given the numbers of premature deaths in the UK, let alone Great Baddow, often prayer was just as good. In Great Baddow Doctor Foaker, whose rather splendid home is seen below, seemed to be on the scene of many deadly births. Like many of his contemporaries, he was suspicious of new-fangled ideas like germs, and was probably unaware of Dr Pugh who operated in Essex in the late 18th century advocating cleanliness and infection control in midwifery. Midwifes calling for boiling water became something of a joke with doctors dismissing this as just a ruse to get the husband out of the room while the midwife checked to see if it was necessary to call in a proper doctor.

Dr Foaker's house, Great Baddow, somewhat altered by the 21st Century

Great Baddow was not the only part of England suffering from ill health. The UK in the 19th Century was as prone to flu epidemics as we are. In 1803 the theatres and banks had to be shut down. And there were epidemics in 1833, 1837, 1847 and other periods. Each one as bad as the recent pandemics.
 

We find the Essex County Standard making fun of the fad for Ghost spotting in Essex. The editor, Charles Benham, wrote,
 

“Goo'morning, sir, you minter say you bought them housen there,
An'you're a-go'nter live in one?  Well, that'll make'em stare.
Them housen, sir, is harnted, an' was when I's a lad,
An anyone as see there, sir, is sartin to be had!.....

 
And there are still tales of ghosts in Great Baddow. There are ghostly monks singing, ghostly children wandering about pubs, ghosts of murder victims in places like Molrams Lane where Mrs Molram was supposedly murdered by her husband, and on Deadman’s Lane, there is the Gallows Barn and supposedly a hanging tree, though I could not find one. Perhaps at midnight it would mysteriously appear along with a suitable creek of a stretching rope.

The story of the spook was told to a Morning Leader representative by Mrs Wallace.
 
For over a week, Mrs Wallace said, the “spook” has tormented them. It began its tricks by overturning the bed as soon as she had left the room. Not only have the bedclothes been flung on the floor in a disordered heap, but the mattress has been bundled upon the top of the pile. The first day this happened once, but the next day the persevering old lady made the bed four times altogether.
 
“And then” she added, looking nervous at the mere recital of the incident, “when my husband took the candle and went up to bed, he called out “They’re all off again!”
 
This was too much for the terrified couple and they sat up all night in the kitchen, listening intently for every sound. For four or five nights they were afraid to go up to the haunted bedroom; and although neighbours came in and made the bed each day in fear and trembling, as soon as they had gone and the bedroom door was shut the same thing happened.
 
The mysterious power next began to play pranks in the living room. The inevitable China dogs on the mantel piece were thrown into the fender when Mrs Wallace’s back was turned, books on a little table were scattered on the floor, the ornaments on an old-fashioned bureau were jumbled topsy turvy, and the geraniums in pots on the cottage window were upset and disarranged in the most unaccountable manner.
 
Knives and forks disappeared off the table while the couple were at meals, and at last the thing became unbearable, so the couple sought the aid of the vicar, the Rev. A.A. Colley.

“Parson”, continued the good lady, “said there had been an earthquake somewhere, but I said that couldn’t have upset our little home. Anyway, Parson went up to the bedroom and then he said some prayers. He prayed we might find out all about what was disturbing us.”
 
But the prayers did not “lay” the spook for its pranks continued, and so the local constable was called in, but he could find nothing to arrest. One man offered to sit in the haunted chamber all night provided some other volunteer would keep him company, but nobody had mustered courage to share his proposed vigil.
 
The Great Baddow ghost therefore still “Gangs ain gait.” Hurrah!