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It was on a late winter's night in 1770, when Edward Wild a former lodger, broke into the warehouse belonging to his old landlord and stole some produce. He must have carefully considered his chances of being caught and based any decision to burgle the old man on his knowledge of the property, its layout and the family routine. He knew that the warehouse was separate from the dwelling and relied on the assumption that the family, asleep in their beds when he struck at midnight on 10th February, would not hear a thing.

But his former landlord was a canny, suspicious old devil and had kept his eye on Wild for quite awhile. The merchant's name was Francis Stevens and his was my 4x great, grandfather; he had lived through much of the 1730s through to the 1760s at Mayfair and at Piccadilly before moving to New Brentford in the late 1760s. The family house and warehouses were probably nearer to the old village of Hanwell where the family had a long association, than they were to Brentford.

Francis provided an account of the theft and its aftermath on the witness stand of the Old Bailey:

'I missed some cheeses; there being a great quantity, I cannot tell how many were missing. My servant seeing mark of feet upon some coals, told me of it I went into the cellar, and saw it myself; they led to the hole where the jack-weight went down. I went into my warehouse above, and saw marks of feet on some cheeses. The prisoner Wild had lived with me about two months, and had been gone but the Sunday before. I suspected him. I ordered the watchman, if he saw any body about there, to secure them. On the Monday, the watchman called me up before twelve at night, and told me, he had got one of them. He had got a boy. I examined him if he was not concerned with Wild? He said, No, he never was; but he had told him, he could get up a hole and get things; and he had received some nutmegs from him. Then I went with the watchman to the woman's house at the bar, where Wild lived, and called him to get up; he was some time before he did. When I charged him, he cryed, and desired to speak with me backwards. He then told me he had taken a cheese. Soon after he said he had taken two, and that they were in that house. We found one in the cellar cut in two, and about three pounds of it gone. The man of the house declared his innocence; he went up stairs to his wife. The other cheese was found in his bed-room, but I was not by at the time.'

  Elizabeth Boyce, wife of the 'man of the house' was charged with receiving stolen goods, but was acquitted. Edward Wild was found guilty and sentenced to transportation, probably to either Virginia or Jamaica.

The two cheeses were valued at 10 s.

Mr Foote in the character of Major Sturgeon by Johan Zoffany

Last week I visited the Johan Zoffany: Society Observed exhibition at the Royal Academy. It was unseasonable weather, the tube was hot and clammy and huge crowds had gathered in the Royal Academy courtyard to queue for the David Hockney exhibition. I sent a text home, 'It's murder here,' I wrote and for a second I regretted booking my ticket, but the moment I was surrounded by Zoffany's work the red mist disappeared and I was enveloped by the calm of the artist's world: the realm of artifice and celebrity.
   I admit that I was more interested in Zoffany's theatrical paintings and intrigued by his representations of 18th century theatre. In one room, stood a cabinet filled with large mezzotints, the like of which I had not seen before; these were prints of John Beard amongst others in full theatrical regalia. Zoffany's detailed work was so stunning I almost wept.
   Further along was the painting of Thomas King as Touchstone in As you like it and Garrick in The Farmer's Return, but some of the most memorable representations has to be that of Samuel Foote in The Devil upon Two Sticks and in the character of Major Sturgeon. Ironically, Foote lost his lower leg in a riding accident and thereafter had a wooden leg and carried a stick; observing that there were few roles for actors with wooden legs and sticks, he proceeded to write a number of plays with roles for actors with wooden legs who carried sticks!
   For those of us interested in 18th century manners, the Major Sturgeon painting shows one character's ungainly attempt at trying to stand like a gentleman in ridiculously oversized boots, however there is more to this painting than what appears at first glance. I am not an art historian, but I had two observations that I saw repeated over and over again in many of Zoffany's theatrical works. First, the actors in character can be removed from the painting and become separate entities or paintings in their own right and second, we are supposed to be looking at a stage set, but are we?
   Zoffany's painting of The Clandestine Marriage shows that the artist was more concerned with composition and style rather than staying true to the original theatrical setting and so most observers believe it to be a paean to Watteau. It seems apparent that Zoffany was trying to articulate what must have been the somewhat new idea of theatrical celebrity: in separating the actor from the painting – the subject normally standing in elaborately dramatic pose – they become a self-contained study that could easily be reproduced in print for the masses to idolise.
   The poses were snapshots in time and under the normal conventions the artist would take a few lines from a production and recreate that moment exactly;  this surely would have been a souvenir for those who had the great fortune to see Garrick as Macbeth or as Sir John Brute in The Provok'd Wife?

The Tribuna of the Uffizi and The Provok'd Wife

 Zoffany always seemed to have the eye of the observer in mind and more fool the observer if they missed something. The painting of The Tribuna of the Uffizi was painted for Queen Charlotte and depicts a room crammed with people and various works of art. The Tribuna was not altogether like this of course, but Zoffany wanted to convey the particular artworks on show for the Queen and other patrons who were unlikely to visit the Uffizi themselves. In the bottom right corner of the painting is an easel with an erection, a phallas like projection pointing towards the foot of one of the patrons – I wonder if Charlotte spotted that! In the background of The Provok'd Wife with David Garrick, the careful observer might spot the area around the Covent Garden theatre which of course was the rival theatre to Garrick's Drury Lane.
   However, it was Zoffany's own walk-on parts or painting cameos that are fun to spot. He, of course was not the first artist to paint himself into his own paintings, many had trodden that path before, but it was his unnerving quality to place himself in situations where he had never been that makes him seem like some 18th century Hitchcock. There was no silhouette, just a rather fey head popping up from behind a canvas as in The Tribuna of the Uffizi or sitting on the edge of a scene looking back at us watching him. Why do I get the feeling there was a separateness about him equal to the distinctness of his subjects?
   His self portraits had that Rembrandt quality that was emulated by all those that followed the Master  – of course there is a hint of haunted tragedy on the face, but there nearly always is in self-portraits. Towards the end of his life he suffered from dementia and retired to Strand-on-the-Green, Kew, he died in 1810 and was buried in St Anne's churchyard, Kew.
   I visted his tomb a year or so ago, it is impressive and stands distinct from many of the others. I am sure he would have been happy about that.

Johan Zoffany: Society Observed at the Royal Academy 10th March – 10 June 2012

In the 1860s my great grandmother Mary left Devon for London; she was orphaned after a tragic and appalling accident killed her father and shocked her mother to such an extent that she succumbed to spinal meningitis. Her brother Thomas, who at the time was only sixteen, took his two younger sisters to the city in the hope that they would find work and perhaps some prosperity. Unfortunately, Mary never found any satisfaction from her new life and would later die an alcoholic.

   She may have regretted leaving Devon because soon after her marriage she and her husband planted family roots in the slums of Southwark, whilst in her mother's hometown another branch of the family were celebrating – in style – the nuptials of one of the belles of Totnes.

   Annie Holman was born in 1873 into a prosperous middle class merchant's family. There was little romance about the family business, they basically made their fortune from selling poo. Her grandfather was an ardent chartist and follower of Feargus O'Connor and despite owning several farms and properties, the grandfather advocated O'Connor's land scheme. He encouraged his children to support charitable causes and participate in fund raising events; Annie continued this tradition and entertained the local populace whilst gathering money for Christian charities.

  In the spring of 1890, she performed with the Amateur Orchestral Society in the Coffee Tavern Hall at Totnes in aid of the Y.M.C.A; obviously the star of the show she contributed to a programme of secular music with masterful solos on the violin. Fourteen years later she was in the spotlight again, this time for her wedding. She had been slow to warm up romantically, but eventually had found a beau in the guise of Charles James Watts who hailed from a popular Victorian seaside town in Essex.

  The Western Times in June 1904 was ecstatic about the wedding and printed the following account:

Wedding at Rattery, Totnes

'A fashionable assembly was present on Wednesday at St. Mary Church, Rattery, to witness the solemnisation of the wedding of Mr. Charles James Watts, of Clacton-on-Sea, and Miss Annie Holman, eldest daughter of Mr. William Holman, J.P., of Velwell, Rattery and Totnes. Great interest was manifested in the event, and several of the villagers exhibited decorations, while the church was also decorated. During the assembling of the guests, Mr. Baddeley, of London rendered the "Bridal March" (Lohengrin) and Gounod's "Marche Romaine." As the bride entered the church with her father (who gave her away), the hymn, "O Father, all creating," was sung.

   'The bride was attired in a charming dress of white satin mousseline, trimmed with chiffon and orange blossom, with wreath and veil (lent by her aunt, Mrs. H. Roberts). She also wore a necklace of pearls, and carried a magnificent shower bouquet. Her bridesmaids were the Misses Kate, Gertrude, and Dorothy Holman (sisters of the bride), who wore pale green silk, trimmed with mimox [?] lace, their hats being en suite, while their bouquets were of light pink roses, and the bridegroom gave them gold bangles.

   'Mr. J. W. Herring of Taunton was the groomsman. The officiating clergyman was the Vicar of the parish (Rev. B. Packer) who was assisted by the Vicar of Shebbear (Rev. T. E. Fox).
   'After the marriage portion of the service the "Deus Misereatur" was sung. The hymn, "How welcome was the call," was sung prior to an address by the Rev. B Packer. As Mr. and Mrs. Watts left the church to the strains of the "Wedding March" (Mendelssohn), they were received with a shower of rose leaves, and the church bells were set ringing. At Velwell Mrs Holman received a large party at the "At Home," and later in the day the happy pair were given a hearty send off, as they left for Newton Abbot en route to Gloucester and Robin Hood's Bay.'

The couple had a grand celebration and bon voyage. Unfortunately, I have no further information about them, but I do have some rather pretty pictures of  Grade II listed Velwell.

'Velwell' refers to Velwell House where the family were living at the time of the 1911 Census and where Annie's father William was born in 1847. There is some confusion about the residence; William often described himself as living at 'Higher Velwell' which appears to be the name of a farm close to Velwell House. Irrespective of whether he actually meant Velwell House or the farm, it is still worth visiting the Velwell House website to take a peep.

Take a digital tour of Velwell House and look out for the splendid Victorian dresser!

MJ Holman

Two years before she died, the music hall star Marie Lloyd wrote an amusing and wry piece for the theatrical newspaper The Era. Many notables, such as the great Sybil Thorndike would later follow her example, but Marie's contribution was typical of her personal style and approach to her public:

Topping the Bill for thirty-three years

by Marie Lloyd

'This is my first fifty years; what the next will be like I shudder to think! Yes, I was fifty last month, and proud of it – prouder still to think that for 33 years I have topped the bill. Without any desire to brag – or, as the modern word is, swank – I think I can justly say that no artist can claim to have more sustained popularity. And for this I am very grateful to the public, who have loyally supported me through all these years of strenuous starring.

   'I am the only artist whose exact age the public are always asking, and I see the question answered almost weekly in the "Era." I regard that as a proof of popularity. I never made any secret of my age, and why should I? It's wonderful how artists grow old by repute. People imagine that they have a birthday every month. The other day an old man with a long white beard and tottering footstep came to me and said. "How well you wear! Why, my mother used to bring me as a little boy to see you in the pantomime at Drury Lane!" "Well," I replied. "then I must have worn better than you!"

 Reincarnation

   'On another occasion at a suburban hall, an elderly man with a grey beard down to his knees said, "Do you remember me?" I said "No." "Oh," he replied, "I used to be a call boy at the Bedford when you made your first appearance there!" It was evidently a case of reincarnation, but I'd rather like to know who I was before I was Marie Lloyd.

   'Well, I have had a crowded hour of life, work and worry, sorrow and joy. People don't always get the credit for the good they do, and some get more than they deserve, but the wounded Tommies know what I did for them, and the gratitude which I know they feel is more to me than diadems and decorations.

The Flies' Anthem

   'Personally I feel as youthful as ever, and can enjoy life with the best of them. My house at Golders Green is the scene of many merry gatherings. We call ourselves "The Flies," and friends have epitomised it in a parady of "Where do Flies go in the Winter Times?" It runs thus : -

They all go round to Mary Lloyd's

In the summer time,

And tickle a tune upon her ticolee.

There's something nice, always on the ice,

And you never have to ask her twice

For a drink of her kickolee.

Her front door is never known to lock,

It's always standing open so you never have to knock,

Nobody knows what time it is, for the

hands are off the clock,

And we don't go home till morning

At good old Marie Lloyd's.

The British in Berlin

   'Perhaps the proudest time of my life was when I went to Germany and topped the bill over all the Continental stars at the Winter Gardens, Berlin. That, of course, was before the war. I had an opportunity for studying the attitude of the Germans towards the English, and found that the ordinary people held us in the highest regard, but the military were never tired of sneering at us. I used to go about Fredreich-street with my fist clenched at some of the remarks that were made. One day I heard a burly officer, with a scar on his cheek, say something insulting about the British, and I promptly gave him a blow in the face, saying: "There's one for the other side." And then went back!'

From The Era, 10th March 1920

This description of the failure of two Totnes banks is strangely reminiscent of the scenes outside the branches of British bank Northern Rock in 2007/8!

Western Times
Saturday 24 July 1841
Totnes

'The utmost consternation and gloom were spread through this town by the failure of these Banks. Many an honest yeoman, who came to market comfortable in mind and pocket, went away almost broken-hearted. On Saturday afternoon, and during Monday, the town was crowded by people, who came in to enquire, in most cases, after their lost all. It was painful to hear the numerous cases of sudden distress into which hundreds of honest and industrious persons of all the classes have been thrown. In many cases this has been rendered more severe from this being the time when the dividends on the funds are paid'.

Totnes Guildhall

Last December some idiots vandalised the historic granite pillars supporting the canopy outside Totnes Guildhall. This fine building has been the hub of town and community life since the sixteenth century, serving as a guildhall, magistrate's court and prison. During the English Civil War, soldiers were billeted there and Cromwell and Thomas Fairfax used the large oak tables in the Council Chamber for planning and discussions in 1646.
   My Holman family have had a long association with Totnes and in particular with the Guildhall – they were sometime Mayors of the town in the 15th century when it grew prosperous from trade with France eventually becoming one of the 20 richest towns in the kingdom. The pointless attack on the Guildhall reminded me of a couple of incidents concerning my relatives James and Helen Holman which saw them appear before the magistrate's court on two separate occasions.
   James and Helen resided in Fore Street, the long main road that winds its way up to the top of the steep hill in Totnes. He was a master blacksmith following on the profession of his father, she – typically of the time – warranted no more than a mention as a 'blacksmith's wife' and whatever chores that involved. At the time of their appearance at the Guildhall they had been married for seven years and had three very young children.
   Next door lived master cordwainer John Perrott with his wife Jane and young daughter Mary. The two families were involved in some spat that boiled over on 17th August 1860 when Perrott leaving his garden to enter his house at 9 o'clock in the evening was confronted by Helen Holman. Helen had rushed from her house towards Perrott shouting, 'I'll limb you, you b**??**?,' then once in close proximity she aimed a punch towards Perrott, but missed and the blow struck against the door. Unperturbed, she said 'Come out here and I'll limb you and I'll tear your henge out.'"
   With his 'henge' still firmly in place John Perrott charged for assault and the case appeared before Totnes magistrates on 20th October 1860. Sadly there is no full account of the hearing, but it has to be presumed that there were witnesses – or Helen still had a very sore hand – as she was found guilty and fined in total 9s and 6d expenses.
  Seven days later it all kicked off again. This time John Perrott decided to lay into James Holman – obviously deciding he was the safer of the two because scary iron-fisted Helen was too much of an adversary – accusing the blacksmith of using threatening language against him. However, the magistrates at the Guildhall who heard the case on 3rd Nov 1860 contended that there was no evidence against James Holman and threw the case out, but cautioned him against such 'riotous behaviour' – I think the inference here is drunkenness…
  Hopefully the rift was forgotten and no-one was killed. James and Helen continued on into the 20th century and lived out their lives in Newton Abbott and thankfully John Perrott survived until the next census.

The Butterwalk, at the top of Fore Street, Totnes

What is a henge?

I had never heard of it before this story except of course in reference to Neolithic stone or wooden post circles. The OED has a definition of it's usage as coined by Helen Holman:

The ‘pluck’ (heart, liver, etc.) of an animal.

1469    in Coll. Ordinances Royal Househ. (1790) 96   Every sheepe to be brought in whoole, except the hedde and the henge.

1787    F. Grose Provinc. Gloss.,   Hanje, or Hange, the head, heart, liver and lights of any animal, called in Somersetshire the purtenance.

1888    F. T. Elworthy W. Somerset Word-bk.,   Hange, the pluck, i.e. the liver, lungs, and heart of any animal. In dressing sheep, the head is usually left attached by the windpipe – this is always called a ‘sheep's head and hange’.

Seven Dials, Covent Garden circa 1740

William George Brest advertised the trial opening of his new coffee-house at Christmas in the year of 1773. Two years earlier he had been working as a book-keeper to Mr Prater of Charing Cross and was a close friend and brother-in-law of William Mercer (see previous post). His coffee-house was situated in the area of Covent Garden known as the Seven Dials. Today it is swanky, upmarket and home to one of my favourite theatres 'The Donmar', but by the 19th century the area had become a slum and part of the notorious St Giles rookery.
   The fate of Brest's Coffee House is unknown, but Brest's advertisement serves to illustrate the expectations and requirements of the gentlemanly patrons of coffee houses during the eighteenth century:

Soups, Dinners, Wines, Coffee, &c.

"BREST'S Coffee-House. WILLIAM GEORGE BREST previous to acquaint his Friends and the Publick, that he has very com…..lly and genteely fitted up his House, the Corner of Great Earl-Street, Seven-Dials, near Long-Acre as a Coffee-Room and Tavern. For the Coffee-Room (the entrance of which is in Earl-Street) he takes in all the Morning Papers, Evening Papers, &c. and Gentleman resorting it will always find different Soups, Coffee, Tea, Wines, and every other requisite Article of the very best Kinds. He has also engaged a professed Cook; and any Gentleman or Company may always depend on dining or supping in the Coffee-Room, or in a Private Room as a Tavern, equal (in respect to Dispatch, Attendance, Accommodation, and Goodness) to the first Houses in London, and on Terms that will, he flatters himself insure him the Continuance of those Gentlemans Custom who now honour him with a trial."

Francis Henry Hay and The Mercer Family

This Sunday TV viewers in the UK will continue to enjoy a new series of the 18^th century courtroom drama Garrow's Law. The second season aired last year and included a story loosely based on the shocking trial of Captain Robert Jones. Garrow was never involved in the Robert Jones controversy nor were the events portrayed in the TV episode exactly akin to the factual events that were played out in 1772; the writer, Tony Marchant was concerned with Garrow's own story arc and changed the facts to mirror the counsel's personal predicament.

The real story of Captain Robert Jones and his trial can be found on the Old Bailey website and on Rictor Norton's website Gay History and Literature. The story of Jones, the treatment of gay men by the British justice system (the law did not prosecute lesbians) and the events of 1772 are widely covered in a number of books, articles and websites focusing solely on Robert Jones.

I was rather disturbed by this. If there was a perpetrator then there must have been a victim irrespective of whether one believes in the plaintiff's complicity in this specific case, and for what it's worth I do believe he was complicit to a degree. So what about the 'victim' of the 1772 trial? He is mentioned in the literature, 'a thirteen year old boy called Francis Henry Hay', but there is little else of any note.
   Regular readers of this blog can probably guess at what is coming next. I always seem to have some connection to the people and events that are the subjects of my posts and in this instance it is with Francis Henry Hay; he was the nephew of my great, great, great uncle William Mercer. William was one of the main witnesses at the trial.
   I will not discuss the trial in any detail here, I will leave that for the source list at the end of this article and the aforementioned references. My main focus will be on Francis Henry Hay with the intention of balancing the available literature of the trial and hopefully ensuring less of an onus on Robert Jones. 
   I do not claim to know what went on in the mind of Francis Henry Hay, I have no evidence to suggest that the boy was completely innocent and a victim or was naïve and curious about a possible sexual encounter. I do know, however, something of both the Hay and the Mercer families and thought it would be interesting to reflect on their background and social standing.
   If you have read my post The Abduction of Frances Mercer then you will already be familiar with the Mercer family. William Mercer was little Frances Mercer's brother and both children were the offspring of Francis and Jane Mercer; on 30 November 1757 their other daughter Mary married Alexander Hay at St Martin in the Fields.

According to his trial testimony Francis Henry Hay was born on 31st January 1760 and had lived for sometime with his grandfather Francis Mercer before moving into his uncle William Mercer's house at the beginning of 1772. The Mercer family were probably of Scottish descent and linked to a number of Scottish families: the Cowies, the McKenzies, the Dewars, the Drummonds and of course the Hays. At the time of the trial, William Mercer was living at No. 1 Parliament Street, roughly where Westminster Tube is today; he later moved to Northumberland Street next door to what was then Northumberland House.

William Mercer was a jeweller by trade and his Will has the appearance of a jeweller's catalogue: a brilliant hoop ring, a handkerchief pin, a brilliant ring, a shirt pin, brilliant cluster ring, diamond ring, pearl bracelets set in gold… and the star item a watch by Mudge and Dutton. Most of these items belonged to my great, great, great aunt Sarah. William also included in the Will 'two gold seals, one of the family arms the other my crest and cypher' as well as portraits of William Mercer and Sarah Mercer by George Morland and two of the same by George Saunders.
   On the witness stand William was asked to describe the course of events and how the assault on Francis Henry Hay by Robert Jones was brought to the attention of the authorities. He recalled that he had notified Justice Mercer; could this have been a member of his own family?
   'Justice Mercer' was probably George Mercer JP for Surrey and Middlesex and was said to be a descendant of the Aldie Mercers. The Aldie Mercers had links to the Mercer Elphinstone family and Margaret Mercer Elphinstone was famously painted by George Saunders.

The Hay Family

Francis Henry Hay was working in his uncle William's shop when he met with Captain Robert Jones in St Martin's Lane and Jones told him he had a buckle to mend. Hay went with the Captain to his lodgings to collect the buckle and Jones allegedly sexually assaulted him in the dining room.
   A month or so later Jones was called to trial at the Old Bailey for the assault and Hay appeared on the stand, followed by his uncle and another future family member William George Brest. Francis Henry Hay's father Alexander Hay did not appear at the trial and only a vague reference is made to the mother Mary who lived in Tavistock Street. Could Alexander have been dead by this date? His Will was written in 1762, but not proved until 1776 so possibly. Alexander's Will is curious because not only does he name his father-in-law Francis Mercer as sole executor, he also grants him Letter of Attorney for his freehold house in Justice Walk, Chelsea (see pictures) to hold for Francis Henry Hay; he also writes of several sums owed to him by various individuals, most notably the Earl of Rothes.
   Intriguingly, John Leslie, the 10^th Earl of Rothes was the son of John Leslie and Lady Jean Hay the daughter of the 2^nd Marquess of Tweeddale. Could there have been some link between the two Hay families? Unfortunately I have not been able to answer that question.
   I can only find a passing reference to Alexander's father, but I have managed to discover the Will of his uncle, also called Alexander. The senior of the two Alexanders had acquired large amounts of East India Company stock, most of which was divided between family members at the time of his death in 1757. In particular, £30 of East India Company stock was bequeathed to his sister Elizabeth Hay of Dundee, Angus; sadly Elizabeth never saw a penny as she died before her brother. Alexander senior was buried at Chelsea Old Church on 15 April 1757 under pews 19 and 20!

In his Will of 1791 Francis Mercer left the house in Justice Walk to his grandson Francis Henry Hay 'of Quebec', so at some point the boy had fled or escaped the ramifications of the Robert Jones trial and all the controversy that followed. At present we do not know if he ever returned or what happened to him.

The aforementioned William George Brest was a friend of the Mercer family and at the time of the trial a book-keeper to Mr Prater of Charing Cross. Mercer had turned to Brest hoping he could extract from the boy an account of the events that had occurred at the lodgings of Robert Jones. Brest later became William Mercer's brother-in-law and became the proprietor of an upmarket coffee house.
   Amazingly, both Mercer and Brest become embroiled in another court case. This time before the King's Bench where both defendants were called to answer allegations regarding a bond and a lottery ticket!

That story will be told in another blog post.

Robert Jones Trial 1772 – Old Bailey Online

The First Public Debate about Homosexuality in England

George Saunders (Sanders) at the NPG

George Morland

More Mudge and Dutton

Justice Walk, Chelsea

So in the middle of researching the Hay family for a rather long blog post that will possibly emerge from my creative rut and fuzzy brain fog of late, I discovered this:

Dec. 10 [1772].—Died at Whittingham, in East Lothian, Barbara Wilson, a virtuous old maid, aged 120, hen-wife to Alexander Hay, of Drummelzier, esq. She had spent the most of her life as a servant in that family, and was so remarkable a genealogist of her feathered flock, as to be able to reckon to the tenth generation. In testimony of her uncommon merit, her corpse was conveyed to the common burial-place there, by a large assembly of females, uniformly dressed suitable to the occasion, and interred with the greatest decency. No male person was permitted to accompany the funeral.

I think the majority of us genealogists won't be expecting that kind of send-off.

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