A Family Rooted in the English Countryside

1847 It was late afternoon just before the end of spring and the weather was still bleak, with the quite unusual heavy, depressing fog still lying all around the hills. Sarah Williamson, who stood at the door of their big old rambling farmhouse in Rugby, Warwickshire, England, peered through the misty fog and could just pick out the outline of the three hills that were part of her husband’s property. She loved the country and this farm which Alexander had bought a mere nine years before. It had given her so much more hope for the future of her sons who were fast growing up, but she had to admit to herself at last that it could, after all, only mean a living for herself and her husband once the family had grown. They would sadly have to disperse and find livelihoods elsewhere. How she dreaded that time, although she knew it was fast approaching. She also knew that Francis, the eldest, already seventeen years of age, stayed with them merely because he knew his help was so much needed to work the farm and bring up his three brothers and one sister who were just so much younger than he. In fact, James, who was next in age to him, was at this time only ten years old.

Sarah was taken for many more years older than her true forty-three. Life had not been easy, yet she was never heard to complain. The large family she had borne at intervals of about two years or thereabouts over the nineteen years of her married life had fed her at times to most extreme anxiety and even depression. Four of her sons had died before reaching the age of two years. Sarah was slightly more than medium build with fast greying hair. She had been a very beautiful girl with golden brown hair, hazel eyes and a pink and white complexion. But her skin now showed many lines, and the light-hearted personality of Sarah had turned to a quiet, intense one. She was always a spotless woman, wearing a dark frock, buttoned at the cuffs and reaching to her ankles, over which a snowy white apron with wide lapels. Any day and at any time she looked as though she had just changed into newly washed clothes. Her hair was always neatly brushed.

Alexander had always been deeply interested in trees and gardening of any nature. His care of animals came before all else, but his deeper interest was never neglected. He had a beautifully laid-out garden with very suitable trees in and about, and a walk in the shade or sunshine could bring scents of violets, jasmine or any old-world plants, as well as the beauty of a flourishing garden. Indeed, Alexander had a deep reverence for all growing things, and in doing so had become an expert about plants of any sort.

It had not been surprising when Alexander and Sarah, who were wed in Berwickshire, Scotland, began married life at Dunns Castle in that district. He became Head Gardener in the beautiful grounds of the old castle and he and Sarah lived in one of the cottages on the estate. A year passed happily, when in Dunns Castle, Francis, the first child of Alexander and Sarah, made a grand debut. He was a hale and hearty child who thrived and grew like a mushroom. He was loved by all about him, and time passed quickly as this child grew from a small infant into a happy youngster. His intelligent curiosity often brought quite painful injuries in the way of cuts, bruises, a bee sting, and even a broken arm. With all this, his crying was rare and he continued his search for knowledge.

Alexander, always wishing to better the conditions for his family, at this point made a change in both occupation and climate for them. He accepted a position, this time in charge of the beautiful grounds of ‘Shawe Hall’, at Chester, England. From an interesting letter I had from the present owner, the property was a sporting and agricultural centre. It comprised fish ponds, which are there to this day, dairy and fattening farms, and hunting woodlands to an area of two thousand and four acres. It was a place for the highest social garden parties held on a grand scale.

The Hall itself was of beautiful architecture and contained 40 rooms with 98 doors. He added that it now stands empty. He built a bungalow for his family, as it was beyond him to keep ‘Shawe Hall’ in repair. The only visitors now are groups of school children who include it in their history studies. Alexander believed they would have less fog and more sunshine here than in the north, where sunshine was rare.