A Tavistock Widow’s Tragic End – Florence Smale (1888-1921)

ON THIS DAY… 18TH AUGUST

On the 18th August 1921, my great-grandmother, Florence Weaver (née Smale), passed away at her parents’ home, 22 Ford Street, Tavistock, at just 33 years of age. Her death, sudden and tragic, left behind a grieving family and a daughter who was not quite five years old.

AI Generated Memorial Image

AI Generated Memorial Image

A Life Touched by War and Loss

Florence was the daughter of William Henry Smale and Grace Smale (née Martin) and her life had already been marked by tragedy before her untimely death. Her husband, Henry James Weaver, had died during the First World War nine months after he and Florence had married. Serving in France, he was accidentally killed by a bomb at the base, just after leaving the trenches for a brief respite. Her baby was born ten days later – my grandmother, Phyllis Grace Weaver.

A Community Mourns

A newspaper report, published just after Florence died, described the sorrow felt in Tavistock at the loss of a woman who was “amiable…. well liked and greatly respected by all who knew her”. It also noted with particular sympathy the plight of “the little orphan child” and expressed condolences for Florence’s grieving parents and the rest of the family.

Illness and Sudden Decline

The same article recounts that Florence was out and about on the evening of Thursday 11th August 1921. The very next day, Friday 12th August, she fell ill, and within a week, on Thursday 18th August, she had passed away. That means her decline was frighteningly fast. Despite the care of Dr. C.C. Brodrick, who visited her and did all he could, she succumbed to meningitis in just six days. Her father, William Henry Smale, was present at her death and registered it the same day. Her burial took place two days later, on the 20th August.

Following her passing, the family extended their gratitude in the local paper for the sympathy and floral tributes they received during their time of “great bereavement”.

Newspaper Notice of Thanks

Newspaper Notice of Thanks from the Smale Family

Final Resting Place

Florence was buried in an unmarked grave in Tavistock New Cemetery, Plymouth Road, Tavistock, Devon. She rests in plot F114, alongside her mother who was buried in 1925, aged 68, and her father who was buried in 1944, aged 78. To locate their resting place, you can take the left path at the cemetery. Near the top, just before the right turn, you’ll see a large tree. The unmarked plot lies five or six graves in from the path between the names Ash and Kenworthy.

The Smale Plot at Tavistock New Cemetery

The Smale Plot with No Markers at Tavistock New Cemetery (click to enlarge)

Location of the Smale Plot at Tavistock New Cemetery

Location of the Smale Plot between the Ash and Kenworthy Graves at Tavistock New Cemetery
(click to enlarge)

A Daughter’s Reflections

Many years later, my gran told me that when her mother was lying gravely ill in bed, she heard her daughter playing in the garden and asked her family to quieten the child. I know this saddened my gran, realising they were the last words she spoke of her, but I can only imagine how poorly Florence must have been at that moment.

Memorial Announcement

Another notice was placed in the local newspaper, perhaps on the anniversary of Florence’s passing. It reads:

IN MEMORIAM

WEAVER.-In loving memory of Florence, the beloved daughter of W. and G. Smale, and darling Mother of little Phyllis, who died August 18th, 1921.

Day by day we sadly miss her,
Words would fail our loss to tell.
But in Heaven we hope to meet her,
Happy there with Christ to dwell.

22, Ford-street, Tavistock.

A Life Remembered

Though her life was tragically short, Florence’s story reflects both the personal cost of war and the devastation of sudden illness in an age before modern medicine. A beloved daughter, wife, and mother, she left behind a grieving family and a young child who grew up without her parents.

Today, more than a century later, her story is not forgotten.

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Born Together, Gone Too Soon: The Story of Lily and May Hellyer

ON THIS DAY…13TH AUGUST

In the late summer of 1880, twin girls were born into a Royal Naval family in Plymouth. Their father’s work kept the household afloat but also took him away from home, while their mother managed daily life and cared for the children. For a brief moment, Lily Elizabeth and May Amelia Hellyer shared the same early milestones but, within two years, both would be gone – two tiny lives lost in quick succession, leaving their parents with grief they would carry forever.

Lily and May Hellyer were born on 13th August 1880 to John Hellyer, a stoker in the Royal Navy, and his wife Mary Ann, née Congdon. The girls began life in the family’s home in Mount Street, Devonport, Plymouth and were baptized just two weeks after their birth, on 27th August at St Mary’s Church in Devonport. Their arrival must have brought joy and hope to the Hellyer household but their time together would be heartbreakingly brief.

AI Generated image depicting the Hellyer Family

AI Generated image depicting the Hellyer Family in 1880

By June 1881, the family were living in Tavistock, Devon, a quieter market town on the edge of Dartmoor. While Plymouth’s dockside streets bustled with noise, sea smells, and the grit of coal smoke, Tavistock offered cleaner air and a slower pace. Yet in both places, illness and infection were constant threats.

Lily Elizabeth was the first to pass away on 8th June 1881. At 10 months old, she succumbed to pneumonia and exhaustion at 24 Bannawell Street, Tavistock, Devon, the home of Charles and Elizabeth Gill. She was ill for 5 days and Elizabeth, described as an aunt, was present at the death. She was actually the second wife of Lily’s great-aunt’s husband. Lily was laid to rest on 12th June.

Her sister, May Amelia, followed a few months later. She died on 26th February 1882 at the same address. At just 18 months old, her cause of death was recorded as Tabes Mesenterica, a form of tuberculosis affecting the lymph nodes of the abdomen.  May’s death certificate noted her father was a stoker on board H.M. Ship Briton and therefore, it’s possible John was not at home when she died. She was buried on 5th March.

In the 1880s, England’s infant mortality rate was high. Even in families with stable housing and an income, diseases such as diarrhoea, scarlet fever, measles, and whooping cough claimed countless young lives. Without antibiotics, safe infant feeding practices, or modern sanitation, a simple illness could turn deadly in days. For John and Mary Ann, the twins were not the only children they lost. Alice Maud was born in February 1887 and died in the December of that year.

There are no photographs, no surviving letters, no toys tucked away in attics to tell us more about Lily and May but their names endure in the family tree, quietly nestled among siblings who lived longer lives. Their brief existence reminds us of the fragility of childhood in the 19th century, when even the most cherished children could be lost in the blink of an eye.

In remembering Lily and May, we honour not just their lives, but the resilience of families who carried on through grief, holding fast to memory and love.

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Six Months, Two Domains, One Fresh Start – Why My Blog Moved House

Updating my Website and Blog (AI Generated Logo)

Over the past six months, I’ve been immersed in a major technical overhaul of my family history website and blog – work that’s mostly happened behind the scenes but was essential to keeping everything running smoothly and securely. What began as a routine server upgrade turned into quite a technical adventure.

The first big step was moving my main site from a non-secure http address to a secure https one. While this was vital to improve online security it wasn’t without hiccups. The change meant some of my website’s scripts stopped playing nicely, so they had to be updated before everything worked as it should again.

While all this was going on, I hit a bigger snag – my old blogging software was so outdated it simply wouldn’t run anymore. I decided it was time for a fresh start and chose WordPress as the new platform. But there was another hurdle. My blog needed a newer version of the ‘engine’ that powers the site. Unfortunately, updating this engine in my existing web space would have broken some of the other scripts on my main site.

The solution was to give the blog its own dedicated space. I purchased a separate domain, and the blog now has a new home under the www.hibbittbarnes.uk address. This allows me to run the latest software for the blog without affecting the main website. The main site, www.hibbitt.org.uk, will continue to serve as the hub for all my other work, with updated links directing you to the new blog, a task I’m still working on to make navigation as smooth as possible.

With the new WordPress site set up, the next monumental task was moving all the old blog posts over. Unfortunately, there was no simple way to transfer them in bulk, so I had to do it all manually, one post at a time. While time-consuming, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It gave me the chance to fix broken links and update some of the posts with new information based on more recent discoveries

If you’d like to follow my blog and stay updated with my latest findings, you can subscribe for free – either by email, via RSS feed, or through my Facebook page. I’d love to have you along for the journey.

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A Glimpse into Polperro’s Past

Polperro, Cornwall - Old Photo

Polperro, Cornwall – Old Photo. (Click to enlarge)

From my grandpa’s collection of old slides comes this charming snapshot of Polperro, a small fishing village on the south coast of Cornwall, likely taken in the 1950s or 60s.

The photo captures a moment on the quay, where people are strolling along the harbour, past the old inns and tea rooms, with a sign for the museum. The bright summer skirts and dresses and neat jackets capture a slower, more graceful pace of life, and the warm sunlight makes Polperro look timeless.

This picture isn’t just a photograph; it’s a window into a bygone era, preserving a single moment in the life of this quaint Cornish village. I wonder what brought these people there on that particular day.

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Pain and Legacy – 156 Years Since Robert Weaver’s Passing

5TH AUGUST

Today, 5th August, marks the 156th anniversary of the death of Robert Weaver, a boot and shoemaker of Curry Rivel, Somerset, just one day short of his 80th birthday. Robert was my 4 x great-grandfather and he is buried with his wife in St Andrew’s Churchyard in the heart of the village.

Robert and Sarah Weaver's Headstone

Robert and Sarah Weaver’s Headstone

Robert’s final wishes, penned on 28th January 1865, laid out a clear plan for his estate. He appointed his wife, Sarah Weaver (née Street), and a local currier named George Crease as his executors. A currier was a craftsman who prepared and finished tanned leather. This process, known as ‘currying’, prepared the leather for use by other trades, such as shoemakers and saddlers. It’s very probable that Robert would have relied on a currier like George for his raw materials, or at least had frequent dealings with him. This business relationship could explain why Robert chose George Crease to be one of his executors and a trustee of his will.

Robert left all of his household goods, furniture, business stock, and personal effects to his wife for her “absolute benefit”. More significantly, Robert instructed George Crease to hold in trust the family’s property, including houses, gardens and an arable plot called Croftland. Sarah was to receive the rents and profits from this real estate during her lifetime. It was after Sarah’s passing that the real estate was to be sold, with the proceeds carefully divided.

Robert had several specific legacies in mind. His son, Henry Weaver, was assigned £19 19s in monthly payments of ten shillings, a sum that many in the 1860s would recognize as strategically chosen to avoid a higher probate tax. This clause may have been influenced by Henry’s reputation – he’d had frequent brushes with the law throughout his life. Spreading the payments across months perhaps reflected concern for financial stability or accountability. The will outlined that if Henry died before receiving the full amount, the remaining balance would be divided among Robert’s surviving children.

Robert’s daughter, Ann Willshire, was to receive a legacy of £10 for her sole and separate use and if she was to die before Sarah, the legacy would pass equally to her surviving children. The remainder of the money was to be divided equally among Robert’s other children and one granddaughter; Jane Payne (wife of John Payne), James Weaver, Elizabeth Wheller (wife of George Wheller), Amelia Weaver and Emley [sic] Weaver (daughter of Robert’s son, Alfred). There was a protective clause ensuring that the daughters’ inheritances remained theirs alone, shielded from marital debts or entanglements. A debt from Alfred would be deducted from Emily’s share.

Perhaps the most fascinating detail of this historical document comes from the probate process itself. George Crease, in his sworn oath, revealed that when Robert signed his will, he was suffering from a severe case of “acute Rheumatism in his hands and arms”. His initial attempt to sign his surname was unintelligible so he had to write it again directly underneath his Christian name. George testified that Robert fully understood the will’s contents, which had been read aloud prior to signing. The will was witnessed by Henry Hartnell and Joseph Billing and was eventually proved a few months after Robert’s death on 22nd November.

Robert Weaver's signature as recorded on his Will written in 1865

A copy of the will’s signature, demonstrating the
severe rheumatism Robert Weaver suffered in 1865

Robert Weaver wasn’t wealthy and his estate was modest by any measure, noted as being under £100. Nevertheless, within these documents lies the character of a man who thought ahead. He worked with what he had, arranged fair and specific legacies and sought to shield his loved ones from hardship.

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