Pilgrimage To Letheringsett - The Moore Family Roots

After a leisurely breakfast at Camberley House I walked to NNR’s Sheringham station in time to catch the 10:30 train to Holt.  My 0-6-2T GWR tank engine, #5619, was on the front.  It was a cool breezy cloudy day with the clouds getting darker and threatening to rain.  On the way up, I saw a freighter on the horizon in the North Sea making its way to King’s Lynn or to other ports west.  Pheasants with bright red heads were in the fields and bushes.  The “chuffa-chuffa, chuffa-chuffa” of the engine as it climbed up the 1.3% grade to Weybourne and Holt had attracted the railfans and gawkers alongside the fences to take their photographs as the train went by. 

Arriving at Holt Station on the eastern edge of Holt proper for 11:00, I started walking down the countryside sidewalk to Holt.  On the eastern edge of Holt is Gresham’s Preparatory School, established in 1555.  It dominates this part of the village with its old buildings mixed in with its new glass and steel ones.  A concrete walkway goes over the top of the road so that the students don’t have to walk on the road.  In North America, we would install a high chain link fence to make sure the students didn’t take shortcuts across the road.  At Gresham’s, they had planted hedges.

As I walked along looking towards the Glaven River valley with the little village of Letheringsett nestled down below, I couldn’t help but wonder the number of times that my forebears, Edmund Moore (great-grandfather), Matthew Moore (great-great grandfather), Stephen Moore (great-great-great grandfather), Mark Moore (great-great-great-great grandfather), their wives and their children, had walked Letheringsett Hill.  In particular I wondered how Edmund Moore felt walking this hill in 1852 leaving Letheringsett to make his way to London.  A bit too philosophical a thought, perhaps, but I couldn’t help but wonder. 

My great-great-great grandfather, Stephen Moore, was killed November 1st, 1804, by a “marl of clay” while working in a small clay pit.  He had shovelled the lump out of the bottom of the pit but didn’t throw it out far enough.  It fell back into the pit, hitting him on the head, and crushing his skull.  He was buried 3 days later on November 4th 1804.  While the pit hole wasn’t overly deep - perhaps 10’-12’ - one has to consider the composition of the lump.  The soils in Norfolk are full of flint stones the size of baseballs and softballs.  Nothing ever goes to waste around here.  You can see these excavated flint stones mortared into the brick walls that line the properties - walls that are taller than you can reach to walls that are only waist high.  I learned about these flint stones in the clay in conversation last night with Brian from Sheringham.  The light bulb went on.  There must have been one (or several) large flint stones in that marl of clay to crush Stephen Moore’s skull! 

By 12 noon, I had walked through the centre of Holt, down Letheringsett Hill and was sitting in the King’s Head pub in Letheringsett drinking a ginger beer (non-alcoholic), eating a shrimp-and-prawn baguette, finishing up with a warm (I ordered it cold) brownie and ice cream with drizzled strawberry sauce, all the while writing up the first part of today's blog.  

The distance from Holt to Letheringsett is about 2 miles with a paved pathway alongside the road all the way through the countryside - very civilized these English, they are.

After lunch , I walked down Blakeney Road trying to find #36.  The 1851 census showed my great-great grandparents, Matthew and Elizabeth (nee Gidney) Moore living at #36.  Finding old residences can be quite a task as houses are constantly being renumbered over the centuries and decades, in addition to being demolished, renovated and moved.  This challenge was no exception.  I quickly located #35 going north and proceeded to try and find #36.  #34...., #33....., #32....., #31...... , #30......, the Home Farm.  

 I turned around and went back to #35.  Where #36 should have been stood half a low garden shed or garage.  Peering through the hedgerow, it appeared that #36 had been demolished - if indeed this was the #36 shown in the census. 

 The woman in #32 asked me what I was doing.  This was the start of a conversation that indicated the buildings had indeed been demolished.  I made my way back to the centre of the village and entered St Andrew’s Church of England.  It was here that the Moore’s were baptized, married, and buried. 

Or were they - buried here?  They were definitely baptized, married, with the burial service taking place here but were they buried here?

Going outside, I walked around the church graveyard looking for their gravestones.  The only Moore with a grave stone was a recent burial.  Being farm labourers, it would have been next to impossible for them to afford a grave stone - assuming they were buried in this graveyard.  At this point, David Mayes of #2 Church Cottage on Holt Lane, Letheringsett came out asking me who I was looking for.  In our conversations, he brought out the book published by Lord Cousens-Hardy in 1959 which contained the diaries of his forebears.  It is in this book that the death of Stephen Moore is recounted.  Dad had acquired a copy in the 1970s which is still in family possession.  The book lists the names and addresses of the farm labourers, along with location maps which I will have to verify when I get back home.  He then mentioned that there was another graveyard down Blakeney Road just beyond #36.  So it may be here that Stephen Moore and Sarah Page, Matthew Moore and Elizabeth Gidney are buried. 

By this time it was after 3pm.  The sun had come out, the breeze wasn’t as cooling, and it was time to head back to Holt station in time to catch the last train.  I stopped in for a tall ginger beer (non-alcoholic) at the King’s head, and wrote up the continuation of today’s blog.  Then it was 3:45 and time to hike back to Holt and Holt Station - uphill all the way - to arrive at 4:40 to find an empty station platform and everything closed.  It took a few minutes for me to figure out that I had missed the train by  minutes, but there was another train - the last train - arriving at 5:25 and leaving at 5:39.  I sat down on one of the benches and started to read the history booklets that I had picked up at St Andrew’s Church in Letheringsett. 

The train arrived on schedule.  I climbed aboard the first of the 1st-class-coaches and sank deeply into the well-upholstered seat.  It would be a question of whether I would be able to get out of the seat upon arriving in Sheringham.  As we travelled along the line back to Sheringham, I could see a handful of barges loaded with intermodal containers moving in and out of the ports of The Wash. 

Debarking from the train at Sheringham, I walked down Station Road to “The Lobster” to see if they had any lobsters.  Answering in the positive, I sat down with a pint of Abbot’s, my glass of ice, and my history booklets, sipping on the ale and waiting for my lobster thermidor to arrive.  Delicious it was so I had an extra pint for dessert.  Finishing up dessert, I made my way back to Camberley House in time to update the blog. But the router had been moved back to their quarters so I couldn't access the Internet.  Instead, I soaked my poor feet in a long hot bath.  Tomorrow is another day.