JOB LOT

Recently completing the census form reminded my of the hours which I've spent looking at old census records to trace my ancestors.

Back in Victorian times there were only a few questions to answer which were basically your name, your age, your job and whether or not you were an imbecile.

Apparently in the last census, a number of people declared their religion as Jedi from the Star Wars series. They were joking of course but in Victorian times, declaring yourself to be Batman wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. It would simply mean that you were an aide to an army officer. Likewise, stating that you were Vulcan, (the Roman god of war), would inform the world that you were a blacksmith by trade.

There was a much wider range of occupations back in 1891 when the census was completed as listed here. Some of these sounded very strange. A Schrimpschonger for instance was someone who carved in bone or ivory. A Qwylwryghte was just a weird spelling for a wheelwright.

Some were not what they sounded like. A drummer for instance, was not an ancestor of Ringo Starr but was a travelling salesman. A streaker did not strip off and then do a runner but instead they stripped off a dead body to prepare them for burial. The bogie man didn't go around scaring small children but actually shoved wagons around by coal mines.

Then there were the just plain funny names. A knockknobbler was a dog catcher. What do you imagine a Badgy Fiddler was? I bet you didn't come up with him being a boy trumpeter in the military. How about a Slubber Doffer? I'l put you out of your misery. It was a person who removed bobbins from spindles on a loom.

I'll leave you with one to investigate. What was a Vaginarius? I can tell you that what he did had nothing to do with ladies bits.

THIS WILL HAVE YOU IN STITCHES

Let me take you back to the 19th century. Picture if you will, or even if you won't, the drawing room of a country estate where sits the lady of the manor taking tea. She looks up at the maid who waits upon her and dismisses her saying that she won't require her services for an hour or so.

The maid goes up to her tiny room at the top of the house, taking the back stairs of course, and sits herself down with her sampler. For anyone who doesn't know, a sampler was a framed piece of sewing, often of the alphabet, or of a poem or picture, which Victorian ladies would spend hours doing - thus idling their time away. In this respect, it was the Victorian equivalent of our computers.

The maid in my story is busy creating the following poem, which I discovered in my grandfathers album entitled simply 'From a sampler'.

"I pray that risen from the dead,

I may in glory stand,

A crown perhaps upon my head,

A needle in my hand.

I never learnt to sing or play

So let no harp be mine.

From youth until my dying day

Plain serving's been my line.

Therefore accustomed to the end

To plying useful stitches,

I'll be content if asked to mend

The little angels' breeches."