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September « 2024 « Top of the Campops: 60 things you didn't know about family, marriage, work, and death since the middle ages

Top of the Campops: 60 things you didn't know about family, marriage, work, and death since the middle ages

Archive for September, 2024

You’re not from these parts, are you?

Thursday, September 26th, 2024

Kevin Schürer

John Leech, ‘Bits from the mining districts‘ (1868).

The John Leech cartoon above, published in 1868 and entitled Bits from the mining districts, bears the following caption: 

First polite native – ‘Who’s ‘im, Bill?’ 

Second polite native – ‘A stranger!’ 

First polite native – ‘ ‘Eave ‘arfa brick at ‘im’.

Whilst obviously sarcastic, the underlying context is clear. Outsiders – those not from these parts – are treated with caution, if not distrust and open hostility. Yet mining communities, often being mono-cultural in terms of employment, were known for being tight-knit, closed, maybe inward looking, and the stranger of this cartoon was not only ‘not from these parts’, but also clearly socially distant judging from the way he is dressedYet, how wide-ranging were such notions of xenophobia – literally fear of strangers – in the past?  

In an earlier post in this series it was demonstrated that, contrary to popular belief, migration was relatively commonplace in pre-industrial England. Most of this migration, however, was relatively localised, often occurring within regions or territories. Yet to what extent do local migration patterns indicate the existence of regionalism, or what the historian Charles Phythian-Adams has termed ‘cultural provinces’ – a geographical area which the people of the past identified with, and towards which they felt a sense of belonging?  

Surnames as a source

One possible way in which the concept of regionalism in the past might be explored is through the examination of surnames. The process of giving individuals a hereditary surname, passed from generation to generation from the male line, started to spread quite rapidly in England in the 12th century and become virtually complete by the early 15th century.   

Whilst many if not most historical documents post-1500 which record details of individuals provide information on surnames, to gain a comprehensive picture of how surnames vary by geographical location, one needs to turn to the 19th-century censuses, which record names, residence, and place of birth for every individual and place in the country.  

The 1881 census of England and Wales suggests that the surname pool was relatively large – there were approximately 40,000 surnames in 1881 – however, the majority of these could be placed into one of three dominant categories: 

  1. Occupational: those derived from a form of work (Smith, Taylor, Butcher);
  2. Toponymic: these include topographical names indicating landscape features (Wood, Green, Thorpe, Hill) as well habitational surnames derived from a specific location (Windsor, Claydon, Devon);
  3. Patronymic or Matronymic – those derived from a usually male forename (Davidson, Thompson, Jones) or female forename (Marriott (from Mary)).

John Russell, ‘Cook Cooper Taylor and Sons‘, Merchant Adventurers’ Hall.

Other less popular or frequent surnames include those derived or taken from a particular characteristic, a kind of nickname, such as Brown, Large, Short, or those suggesting a certain status, such as Reeve, King, Lord (those working for the King or Lord). 

Despite the large number of different surnames, the distribution was (and still is) far from even. In 1881 a fifth of the population shared just 15 surnames; a third of the population some 150 surnames; and a half of the population shared only 600 surnames. Conversely, the 30,000 rarest surnames – 75 percent of the total surname pool – accounted for only 10 percent of the population.  

Mapping surnames

 So what can surnames tell us about regional diversity? Whilst it is clear that the most frequent surnames can largely be found across the country as a whole, this is not true of less common surnamesFor example, in 1881 the names Jeeps and Coteman only occur in the county of Cambridgeshire; Bumpass in Berkshire; Tuffney in Buckinghamshire; Trewern in Cornwall; Trowl in Devon; Hollowbread and Coolbear in Essex; and so on. For much of the 19th century every county had their unique crop of surnames.

Yet in order to understand regional diversity, one needs to go beyond looking at individual surnames. Rather one needs to analyse clusters or groups of surnames. One way of doing this is to take the surnames recorded in one particular place and to measure the extent to which this pool of surnames is to be found elsewhere. This is done for the 9,999 most frequent surnames recorded in York in 1881. The map below shows the overlap between the York pool of surnames and all other parishes in the country, where the darker the brown the greater the overlap, and vice versa.

Overlap of surnames ranked <10,000 recorded in York with other places in England and Wales, 1881.

 The map shows a distinct regional concentration centred on Yorkshire, but also running north through Durham to Northumberland, west to Cumbria, as well as south to Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire, but barely crossing over to west of the Pennines. Likewise, a similar map for the top surnames found in Ely displays a distinct East Anglian concentration:

Overlap of surnames ranked <10,000 recorded in Ely with other places in England and Wales, 1881.

The regional pattern of Ely surnames is even more marked when one considers less frequently recorded surnames (those ranked 10,000+), which shows a relative tight concentration around the Fens, but also interestingly pockets of similar names in large urban centres such as London and Birmingham, as well as a number of Lancashire towns, suggesting targeted migration away from the Fenland heartlands.  

Overlap of surnames ranked 10,000+ recorded in Ely with other places in England and Wales, 1881.

Looking at the geographical distribution of various types of surnames can also indicate regionalism. Perhaps one of the most surprising and remarkable of these is the distribution of patronymic and metronymic surnames. Mapping all those surnames found in 1881 ending in –son (Johnson, Robertson, Williamson, etc), shows a heavy concentration in the counties of Cumberland, Northumberland, Lancashire north of the river Ribble, Durham, the north and east Ridings of Yorkshire (but not the west), and eastern Lincolnshire. Conversely, in 1881 such surnames were relatively rare south of a line running from the mouth of the Mersey to the Thames.  

This 19th-century distribution of –son type surnames is similar to that depicted by the Lay Subsidy Rolls some 500-600 years earlier. Indeed, given that –son names are usually associated with a Scandinavian/Viking origin, it is possible to draw parallels between the distribution of such names as found in 1881 with the geographical territory associated with Danelaw – the places where the laws of the Danes held sway between the early 10th century and the Norman conquest.  

Geographical distribution of surnames ending in -son, 1881.

Looking at the flip side of the coin, those patronymic surnames formed by the use of a genitival –s at the end (Jones, Roberts, Williams, etc), display minimal overlap with –son surnames. Such names are very heavily concentrated in Wales, and decline in proportion quite sharply moving eastwards, yet very few incidences of such surnames are found north and east of a line running diagonally from the Mersey and the Thames.  

In short, despite all the urbanisation, industrialisation, and associated migration which occurred through the 19th century, the regional concentration of patronymic surnames appears to be little changed over the course of nearly a thousand years.  

Occupational surnames

Turning to surnames derived from an occupation, many of these, especially those with a high frequency, unsurprising display little regional concentration, since most towns and villages required smiths, tailors, carpenters, and wrights. However, plotting linguistic or dialectic variations of the same occupation reveal some interesting patterns.  

One example is the surnames Fuller, Tucker, and Walker. These are all names which essentially refer to the same job – someone who works in the preparation of textiles, scouring or beating the cloth as a means of finishing or cleansing the fabric. The map below shows the geographical distribution of these three surnames in 1881.

The geographical of Walker, Tucker and Fuller surnames, 1881.

The shading on the map is colour coded as follows: Blue = parishes in which only Fullers occur; Red = parishes in which only Walkers occur; Yellow = parishes in which only Tuckers occur; Purple = parishes in which Walkers and Fullers occur; Orange = parishes in which Walkers and Tuckers occur; Green = parishes in which Tuckers and Fullers occur; Grey = parishes in which either Walkers, Tuckers and Fullers all occur, or none occur.

Of the three surnames, Walker is by far the most numerous (there were a total of 83,001 Walkers recorded in the 1881 census compared to 16,430 Tuckers and 12,042 Fullers), but in terms of location, Walkers predominate in the area north of the Wash/Severn line. Fullers occur in the south and east, and Tuckers in the west. Those parishes in which only Fullers are found are located around the South Downs, western Suffolk and southwest Norfolk, while those parishes where only Tuckers are found are situated in north and south Devon, Somerset, west Dorset and scattered across Cornwall.  

It is also interesting to note that with the exception of two areas, one south of the Wash and the other in the Weald, where Walkers and Fullers both occur, there is not much mixing of the surnames in what might be considered to be transition zones. Again, as with patronymic and metronymic surnames, there is evidence to suggest that this broad regional distribution of the three surnames is similar to that of the early 14th century 

Conclusion

What do all these maps tell us about regionalism? Whilst it is hard to be definitive and to draw rigid fixed regional boundaries on a map, through the examination of historical (and present) surname distributions, one can see evidence of cultural and linguistic patterns in the origins of surnames that remain in place centuries after surnames came into common use. This further supports the notion that, despite the widespread migration which has occurred historically, much of this migration was local or regional in nature. Because of this, even today, if a Johnson or Williamson is to be found in, say, Cornwall, or a Fuller or a Tucker turns up in Lancashire, one could be fairly certain in claiming that they are ‘not from these parts’!  

Further reading

Hey, ‘The local history of family names’, The Local Historian (1997), 27, i–xx.

Hey, Family Names and Family History (Hambledon, Continuum, 2006).

W. Lasker and C. G. N. Mascie-Taylor, Atlas of British surnames (Detroit, 1990).

McClure, ‘Patterns of migration in the late middle ages: the evidence of English place-name surnames’, Economic History Review (2nd series) (1979), 32, 167–82.

Phythian-Adams, ‘Local history and societal history’, Local Population Studies (1993), 51, 30–45.

Schürer, . ‘Surnames and the search for regions’, Local Population Studies (2004), 72, 50-76.

Sokal, R. M. Harding, G. W. Lasker, C. G. N. Mascie-Taylor, ‘A spatial analysis of 100 surnames in England and Wales’, Annals of Human Biology (1992), 19, 445-76. 

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Tuesday, September 24th, 2024

Frank Holl. ‘Despair‘. Southampton City Art Gallery.

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How dangerous was childbirth in the past?

Thursday, September 19th, 2024

Alice Reid

It is not unreasonable to believe that childbirth in the past was terribly dangerous. This view is common among popular history blogs and even some academic articles. Several internet sources, when discussing maternal mortality, state that in medieval or early modern times, as many as one in three women died during their childbearing years. 

A poor woman in childbirth being watched by her husband. Engraving by J. J. Frilley, 1827, after Ary Scheffer. Image credit: Wellcome Collection.

If one in three women died in childbirth it would indeed be a terrifying prospect, but although childbirth did come with substantially higher risk than today, childbirth was never the most common cause of mortality among adult women. 

Between 2020 and 2022 in the UK, around 13 women died during or following pregnancy out of every 100,000 pregnant women, equivalent to a risk of .013 percent or 1.3 per 10,000. This measure is known as the ‘maternal mortality ratio’.

How much higher was this risk in the past?  

The graph below shows that in the middle of the 17th century, at its highest level, maternal mortality was 170 per 10,000 (or 1.7 percent of women). Across the main pre-industrial period, average maternal mortality was 120 per 10,000 or 1.2 percent. During the 19th and early 20th centuries it was around 50 per 10,000 or 0.5 percent (although as explained below, this is likely to be an underestimate).  

Even as far back as the medieval period, evidence from elite women suggests that maternal mortality was no higher than 1.2 percent.  

The risk of childbirth-associated death was therefore far greater in the past than it is today, but does this mean that childbirth was terribly dangerous? It can be very difficult to assess what a particular risk expressed in percentage terms actually means (particularly when women might experience repeated childbirths and therefore repeated risks), so it can be helpful to think about this in different ways. One strategy is to look at the lifetime risk of maternal mortality, and another compares the risk of maternal mortality to the risks of other forms of mortality faced by women of childbearing age. 

Lifetime risk of maternal mortality 

Gerhard Marcks. A skeleton as Death embraces a pregnant woman (1959). Wellcome Collection.

The lifetime risk of maternal mortality takes account of the fact that many women have several children, and so face the risk of maternal mortality more than once. It is not a simple calculation, as it needs to take account of the risk of surviving the last birth and the chance of another pregnancy as well as the risk of dying in childbirth. In the overall period between 1550 and 1800, the lifetime risk for a married woman was about 5.6 percent, or one in 18 married women dying (because not every woman married, the risk of any woman dying in childbirth will be a bit lower) 

For reference, this is just a little lower than the lifetime risk of maternal mortality in Sub-Saharan Africa in the year 2000 (one maternal death per 16 women), but a lot higher than that for Europe in 2000 (one in 2,400 women). One in 18 married women dying in childbirth may sound quite high, but it is the same as saying that 94 percent of married women did not die in childbirth: the vast majority of women survived, despite repeated exposure to the risk 

Comparisons with deaths from other causes 

Alongside maternal mortality, women of childbearing age also faced the dangers of accidents and diseases, which were also much higher in the past than they are today. Over the pre-industrial period as a whole, the risk of a woman dying in childbirth, or the 6-8 weeks following it, was similar to the chance of dying from a non-maternal cause over the course of a year. Because women did not face the risk of childbirth every year, only around one in ten deaths to married women between the ages of 15 and 49 would have been due to childbirth. Childbirth was therefore far from the dominant cause of death, and women had far more reason to fear dying from a different cause. 

Nevertheless, it is likely that women did approach childbirth with trepidation. The risk of dying from other causes was dependent on uncontrollable, random, and often sudden factors such as the occurrence of an accident or contracting an illness.  

Once pregnant, however, the risk of childbirth was both inescapable and highly concentrated in time. Although comparable to other mortality risk over the course of a year, during the birth and the following few weeks a woman faced around six times her normal risk of death. A fear of death during childbirth is therefore not incompatible with the fact that the vast majority of women survived childbirth and that childbirth was a relatively minor form of mortality among adult women. 

Trends and social differentials 

The risks of childbirth were not static across time, or between social groups. Maternal mortality rose a little from the late 16th century, peaked in the mid-17th century, underwent a sustained fall to the early 19th century and then plateaued until another sharp fall in the mid-20th century. This last fall has been uncontroversially attributed to the introduction of sulphonamides and antibiotics in the 1940s, which allowed safer caesarean section and infection control. The earlier trends are less easy to explain, with some arguing for the quality of obstetric care and others favouring deteriorations and improvements in underlying maternal health as the key explanatory factor.  

Mignon F. Baldwin Griffith, ‘Devotion after Childbirth‘. Image credit: Amgueddfa Cymru, National Museum Wales.

Given the importance of both the quality of care at the birth and the underlying health of the mother, it is surprising that most privileged members of British society, the peerage, had higher maternal mortality than the general population until the early 20th century. The explanation lies in the fact that the elite were more likely to have been attended by doctors in childbirth, who were more likely to actively assist in the delivery, often unnecessarily and always with the risk of introducing infection 

However, the parallel reduction in risk between the elite and the wider population until 1837 suggests that changes in obstetric care were not responsible for trends in maternal mortality in this period (obstetric care, midwifery training and birth outcomes will be returned to in a future blog). Maternal mortality trends run parallel to trends in general mortality until the mid-19th century, and this indicates that changes over this period were driven by changes in the underlying health of women. It was likely that changes in women’s health was affected more by changes in exposure to epidemic disease (which was likely to have affected everyone) than by changes in the quality or quantity of dietary intake (which was likely to have affected social groups differently). 

Why is it tempting to think that death in childbirth must have been higher? 

There are several reasons why it is so tempting to think that death in childbirth must have been terribly high in the past. Some of these have already been hinted at above. Firstly, although maternal mortality was not a major killer, the risk was concentrated into relatively short space of time and was inescapable once a woman became pregnant. There were few other foreseeable events which carried such clear and focused danger.  

Secondly, the heightened risk of elite women has also been highlighted. As such women are much better documented, examples of their maternal mortality can make it seem more ubiquitous than it was. In addition, the fact that since the end of the 19th century there has been a clear social gradient in most forms of mortality makes it tempting to think that maternal mortality among non-elite women in the past would have been even higher. The emergence of the social gradient in mortality will be addressed in a future blog. 

Luke Fildes, “Motherless” (1914).

Finally, literature is full of maternal mortality: this useful plot device removes a character and places a surviving child into a challenging environment which provides a good opportunity for an interesting narrative. It has been used in relation to both heroes and villains, from Dickens (Oliver Twist’s mother) to J.K. Rowling (Lord Voldemort’s mother). 

In the 19th century the ubiquity of the device was already so well recognised that in her satirical novel Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen wrote of her main character: “No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine. Her situation in life, the character of her father and mother… were all equally against her… Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived on.” 

Why is maternal mortality so hard to measure? 

The WHO defines a maternal death as the death of a woman while pregnant or within 42 days of the end of a pregnancy (usually a birth), from causes directly related to pregnancy or childbirth (such as post-partum haemorrhage or puerperal fever) – termed direct maternal deaths, or from a cause which could have been aggravated by the pregnancy (such as tuberculosis or heart disease) – termed indirect maternal deaths, but excluding accidental or incidental causes of death. This means that measurements of maternal mortality depend on knowing which women were pregnant or recently delivered, as well as knowing the cause of death. Many death certificates now have tick-boxes to indicate a current or recent pregnancy, but this was not the case in the past. 

For historic periods, two main strategies have been used to generate maternal mortality ratios. 

For the pre-civil registration period, many maternal deaths can be identified by linking the baptisms of children with the burials of their mothers. However, this misses maternal deaths among women whose children died before baptism, or were stillborn. It also misses women who died while pregnant, without delivering a child.  

Pioneering work was carried out at Campop by Roger Schofield to inflate observed deaths depending on the average time to baptism, the likely rates of stillbirth, and the risk of dying un-delivered, and to deflate for accidental deaths. His inflation and deflation factors were informed by detailed analysis of maternal mortality in Sweden, which had a similar demographic profile but much better data, and were subjected to careful testing. The results were reassuringly similar to maternal mortality levels and trends in a range of other European locations. Maternal mortality in both the wider population until 1837 and in the peerage was calculated using this method, by Roger Schofield and Jim Oeppen respectively. 

Arthur Stocks, “Motherless“, 1883. Walker Art Gallery.

For the period from the introduction of cause of death registration in England and Wales in 1837, and Scotland in 1855, the number of deaths are published by age, sex, and cause. The maternal mortality ratios for the period from 1850 onwards in the graph above and for the UK will be dominated by the larger population in England and Wales, where maternal mortality included direct causes of maternal death only. One might expect this method to yield an accurate assessment of maternal mortality, but work at Campop indicates that the true maternal mortality ratio in the UK between 1850 and 1930 could be up to twice the reported figure.  

Alice Reid and Eilidh Garrett used a rare set of Scottish civil registers for the second half of the 19th century to compare maternal deaths identified by linking a birth and death of the mother, with maternal deaths identified through the cause written on the death certificate. The exercise revealed that up to 30 percent of maternal deaths could not be identified as maternal through the cause alone. Instead of writing ‘post-partum haemorrhage’ or ‘puerperal peritonitis’ doctors might just write ‘haemorrhage’ or ‘peritonitis.  

English and Welsh maternal mortality is also underestimated because it only included direct maternal causes and not indirect causes. The Scottish exercise reveals that the latter could form up to 40 percent of all mortality 

Hence the real maternal mortality ratio for England and Wales could be up to twice that reported. However, making a blanket adjustment is not easy, as the Scottish exercise showed that underestimation depended on the proportion of causes of death certified by doctors and underlying mortality. Paradoxically, causes of death offered by a nextofkin could be more accurately allocated to maternal or non-maternal causes as they were often simply ‘childbed’, and underestimation was therefore greater where there were more doctors. 

Georges de la Tour, “The Newborn” (c.1640-1649).

Urban areas, where background mortality was higher, had considerably higher indirect maternal mortality. Therefore, the extent that the official maternal mortality needs to be inflated will depend on medical provision, practices of medical recording, and on background mortality and these will have changed over time as well as varied between town and countryside. 

On the other hand, the UK maternal mortality ratio uses the numbers of live births as a denominator rather than the total number of birth events, as stillbirths were not recorded until 1927. This is likely to inflate the ratio and to some extent balances the underestimation already discussed. 

A couple of lessons can be learnt from this: firstly, levels of reported maternal mortality can vary with the levels of medical services due to reporting practices, and this can complicate comparisons over space or across time. Secondly, using maternal mortality as an indicator of the coverage and quality of health services is likely to be flawed 

Further reading 

Galley, Chris, and Alice Reid. “Sources and Methods Maternal Mortality.” Local Population Studies 93.1 (2014): 68-78. 

Loudon, Irvine (2000). “Maternal mortality in the past and its relevance to developing countries today”, The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, 72(1): 241S-246S, https://doi.org/10.1093/ajcn/72.1.241S 

Podd R (2020). “Reconsidering maternal mortality in medieval England: aristocratic Englishwomen, c. 1236–1503”. Continuity and Change 35(2):115-137. doi:10.1017/S0268416020000156 

Reid, Alice and Eilidh Garrett (2018). “Medical provision and urban-rural differences in maternal mortality in late nineteenth century Scotland.” Social Science & Medicine 201: 35-43. 

Schofield, Roger (1986) ‘Did mothers really die? Three centuries of maternal mortality in “the world we have lost’’’, in L. Bonfield, R. Smith and K. Wrightson (eds) The World We Have Gained: Histories of Population and Social Structure (Oxford): 231–60  

Smith, Richard and Jim Oeppen (2006). “Place and status as determinants of infant mortality in England c. 1550-1837″, in E. Garrett, C. Galley, N. Shelton and R. Woods (eds) Infant Mortality: A Continuing Social Problem (Ashgate): 53-78. 

Wrigley, E. A., R. S. Davies, J. E. Oeppen and R. S. Schofield (1997) English Population History from Family Reconstitution (CUP). pp. 307–21. 

Sorry, you’ll have to walk!

Thursday, September 12th, 2024

Alan Rosevear

Imagine! No bike, no car, no bus, no train; a walk to work and a wet trudge to the shops. Our social support miles away; how to keep in touch? Can granny look after the sick kids? How far do we dare move from home? 

The personal diaries of men and women from the mid-1600s to the early 1800s show how people in England and Wales resolved these dilemmas. What emerges from the analysis of 300,000 miles of journeys is a story of evolutionary change in travel, facilitated by technological improvement.  

Walking

Walking is the simplest mode of travel. Most people lived and worked in one locality, and physical labour was the norm. A ploughman walked for miles a day, and most jobs would easily clock up 10,000 steps. So, for travel from place to place, diarists of all ages and classes were quite prepared to walk several miles.  

For a town dweller, all their needs could be met within walking distance. Those in the country needed to travel further to trade or socialise so walked more often, perhaps carrying a pack or pushing a barrow. However, people only occasionally record walking more than 10 miles, and doing more than 20 miles in a day was rare; average speeds of 3mph were typical after including rests. 

George Chinnery, A Man Carrying Faggots, ca. 1799. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B1981.25.96.

Good old Dobbin

Prior to 1750, the preferred mode of travel for our diarists (other than walking) was the saddle horse. In rural areas, horses were kept for agricultural work but were often available to carry riders and panniers. Both men and women rode, though men had more opportunities to make journeys for business and for recreation. They preferred small, agile, low-maintenance mares that would keep going through all conditions. There was another option with a stronger horse; a woman could ride “double”, sitting on a pillion saddle behind her husband or a male servant. 

Thomas Rowlandson, “Migrants“, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Maintaining a horse was costly, so only the better-off could justify a dedicated mount; and even they found keeping a horse at livery in town too expensive. This created a steady market for hired horses or post horses. These were hired from a licensed posting inn.  

People also borrowed a horse from a friend, relative or employer. This was not as generous as we might expect. A horse needed daily exercise and food, even when not “working, so avoiding that on a slack day was a bonus. Getting a small payment sweetened the deal. 

A rider travels almost twice as fast as a pedestrian, and with more luggage. In one day they might cover up to 50 miles, at an average 5mph, making allowance for resting and feeding horse and rider. In an emergency a horse might gallop 12 miles in an hour, but then need a long rest. However, using a post horse, a fresh mount could be taken at the next inn and so an average speed nearer 10 mph might be sustained during daylight hours. Nevertheless, at 6d per mile this was an exceptional option for most. 

Hitching a ride

Helping neighbours extended beyond lending a horse. Those with a cart gave friends a lift into the market, while farmers provided a wagon to carry workers to festivities such as a fair or the races. Carriers had always been prepared to treat passengers as just another cargo; it was not fast (maybe 2mph) or comfortable (sitting on baggage), but it was cheap and dry (0.5p per mile, with a tarp over). For poorer travellers this was a good way to make a visit or move to fresh employment in the town. 

People in rural areas had access to the two-wheel cart. The main cost of this was the horse, so running a small cart to carry one or two people and goods to market was common. By the late 1700s, gigs designed for travel were often illustrated, sometimes with women drivers 

Detail from Thomas Rowlandson, Plate 21, World in Miniature (1816). The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Snug inside a vehicle 

Four-wheeled vehicles, pulled by horses, had been used by the wealthy since Elizabethan times. However, keeping a coach and dedicated horses meant substantial costs. Early coaches moved at walking pace and might be regarded as status symbols rather than a convenient mode of transport.  

In large towns there was a demand for short distance travel in a privately hired vehicle. Entrepreneurial drivers repurposed old coaches to carry the comfortably off, such as Pepys, slowly through the dirty streets of London. Even at 2s per mile, this became so popular that the government taxed it – requiring Hackney Coaches to pay for a limited number of licences. 

Rowlandson, A Comfortable Nap in a Post Chaise (1788), Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Technical innovation 

Prior to 1700, most roads were maintained by local parishes. Though roads were not universally bad, there were plenty that travellers described as “execrable” or dangerous, making travel in a vehicle uncomfortable and unreliable. 

After 1760, diaries record a steady increase in travel made by coach or carriage outside the towns. The mileage of main road under the management of turnpike trusts was growing rapidly. Trusts took a toll payment for horses and vehicles using a particular road. This was used to repair the road and raise capital to make major improvements. Fixing potholes, deep enough to swallow a horse, and burying the mud under welldrained gravel meant that lighter, faster vehicles could travel reliably between the main towns. 

Rowlandson talking with a Lady outside ‘The Angel’ Inn, Lymington. Royal Museums Greenwich, via Wikimedia.

Posting inn keepers now saw the opportunity to offer a small carriage with their posthorses; the postchaise had arrived. These light vehicles were drawn by two or four horses with a postillion sitting astride the lead horse. They were normally available to hire for journeys of about 10 miles, typically the distance to the next posting inn. They were returned by the postillion. At 9d to 18d per mile they were expensive, but shared between a party of 3 or 4 passengers and with a good luggage capacity, they were affordable for the better-off.

Importantly, postchaises would go wherever and whenever you wanted, away from the main roads where a rudimentary coach service operated. By jumping into a new chaise with a fresh team at regular “stages”, the traveller might average 8mph and hope to cover up to 80 miles in daylight. By the 1770s, travel by postchaise had begun to challenge the saddle horse as the preferred mode. Women valued the privacy and freedom to wear elegant clothes. However, the diaries regularly recorded that male members of the party still chose to ride horses alongside the chaise. 

Age of the stage 

Stagecoaches had offered a public service since the late 1600s, but demand was low for a slow, bumpy, expensive trip in a cramped compartment. However, after 1760 there was a steady rise in the number and frequency of “scheduled” stagecoach services. Maybe, this was driven by the improved design of steel spring suspension on coaches running on the new turnpikes. But better management by innkeepers who were already collaborating in hiring postchaises helped 

Professionals and gentry could afford the four inside seats, costing 3d to 4d per mile. Initially, outsiders had to hang on the edges of the roof but these “places” were half price and were affordable by less wealthy tradesmen, soldiers and servants. 

By 1800 the number and security of outside seats increased, and typical speeds rose to 8mph as the design of coaches continued to evolve. By 1830, the standard stagecoach had four inside and 12 outside seats and was averaging 10mph. The same coachmasters ran the Mail coaches, though, to protect the mailbox, only three outside passengers outside were allowed. Mails left London each evening and could be 240 miles away by the following evening. 

Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg, Revellers on a Coach, between 1785 and 1790. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B1981.25.222.

Commuters’ omnibus 

The population of London grew rapidly and by the late 1820s many of the better-off had moved to suburbs in Hackney, Islington, Paddington and over the new bridges to the Surrey bank from Camberwell to Clapham. These areas were initially served by short stage coaches, but this market was transformed by a new concept: the omnibus. This was a box on wheels with the passenger door at the back and longitudinal seats inside for easy access. You bought the ticket from an onboard conductor and the vehicle could stop at the kerbside to accommodate passengers.  

William Maw Egley, ‘Omnibus Life in London’ (1859). Image credit: Tate. Image released under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 DEED

Vested interests slowed introduction into the City of London, but in 1829 Shillibeer ran a regular omnibus from the new suburb of Paddington to Bank, along the Marylebone Road turnpike. The full fare of 1s was affordable for betterpaid office workers and tradesmen. Soon new services crisscrossed the urban and suburban areas. By 1836, vehicles with a seating capacity of 188,000 per week were running to The Bank and there were 100,000 seats available over London Bridge. Daily commuting was here.  

Mary Cassatt, “In The Omnibus“, c.1891.

However, the majority working in the city still walked – a survey on London and Blackfriars bridges in 1812 claimed 175,000 pedestrians each day crossed from the Surrey bank into the city. 

How wide was the circle? 

These travel options set the horizons for social, business and contact groups. Diarists generally travelled less than 50 miles in a whole day. So, to get home by night the destination needed to be under 25 miles away. To meet someone, buy or sell goods, pay or receive rents or socialise reduced this circle of regular experience to a radius of around 10 to 15 miles. 

This might also encompass one’s eligible marriage prospects. A wider circle for less frequent travel involved an overnight stay at the destination – most people stayed with friends, relatives or a member of their religious congregation. At under 50 miles radius this was the limit for regular contact with “home” for economic migrants.  

The appearance of high-speed stagecoaches in the 1820s, travelling at 10mph, meant that the growing conurbations were now within the travel orbit of most small towns. An occasional trip on the outside of a coach might now be feasible for the non-labouring classes. The stage was set for the railways. 

Further reading

Dorian Gerhold, Bristol’s Stage Coaches (2012). 

Peter Edwards, Horse and Man in Early Modern England (2007).

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Chinese genealogies are different

Thursday, September 5th, 2024

Ying Dai

People’s keen interest in exploring their family trees, as evidenced by the popularity of websites like Ancestry.com, is not just a modern Western phenomenon but also has deep historical roots in China. Unlike Western genealogies that track lineage through both paternal and maternal lines starting from the individual upwards (see “What a big family you have, Grandma!), Chinese genealogies typically begin with a common ancestor and document all descendants downwards. This key difference reflects the distinct roles of genealogies in each culture. In the West, genealogical research is often driven by personal curiosity, whereas in China, it has significant socioeconomic functions, deeply intertwined with the transformation of the country. 

Illustration of western and Chinese genealogies. Drawn by author.

From imperial roots to modern revival 

Chinese genealogical records, originally reserved for royal and noble families, gained broader societal importance during the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1636–1912) dynasties. During this era, lineages were crucial for collaboration in business and the organisation of villages. The lineages owned collective properties, established business networks, and supported education and poor relief. The practice of documenting lineage membership based on common descent was crucial here, leading to widespread compilation and updates of genealogies across wider society. 

A Chinese family sit around a small cooking stove eating by the side of the road. Coloured lithograph after W. Alexander. Wellcome Collection.

In the first seven decades of the 20th century, these genealogies were criticized as part of a patriarchal ‘old culture’ that was believed to have resulted in China’s ‘backwardness’. Between the 1950s and the 1970s, with the dominance of class and collectivism in social organisation, the lineage lost many of its traditional socio-economic roles. As a result, the practice of compiling and maintaining genealogies significantly diminished. 

In the 1980s, China saw a revival in the practice of compiling genealogies. The reintroduction of market institutions reemphasized the importance of blood and marital ties, both within the country and between domestic and overseas Chinese. Economic progress enabled more families to afford the compilation, maintenance, or updating of their genealogical records. This revival reflects a renewed appreciation for China’s traditional values. 

Both photos depict contemporary genealogies. The photo on the left features genealogies bound in traditional covers, whereas the one on the right displays genealogies in modern book formats. Photographed by the author at Zhejiang Library.

Tradition partially transformed 

The revival of genealogy compilation is not a return to tradition. Two main trends characterize this new generation of Chinese genealogies:

  1. Occupational information is documented more comprehensively. Traditionally, only notable individuals had their occupations recorded, but now, some of the new genealogies captured the occupational information of ordinary workers like peasants, petty businessmen, and factory workers. The comprehensive recording of occupations in the new genealogies sometimes serves merely to keep a fuller record of lineage members. However, it often reflects a deliberate intent to change traditional practices that highlighted only distinguished individuals. A notable example is the genealogy of the Yang Lineage in Jiangsu, in which “lineage members are all equally included with their biographies so as to change the old norm of making biographies for the [distinct] minority. 
  2. Womens information is recorded much more comprehensively. Traditional genealogies typically traced only male descendants, answering the question Who is my father’s father’s father’s … father? However, a small proportion of the new genealogies now track female descendants and their offspring for one to three generations, allowing some individuals to know Who is my mother’s … mother? Furthermore, female lineage members were now given individual entries, instead of being listed under their fathers or husbands’ names, and the contents of women’s entries also begun to align with those of mens. 

Registration form of the Qian Lineage for genealogy compilation. Provided by Xiaoqin Qian.

The new trends reflect modern values of occupational and gender equality. However, the transformation of traditional genealogies is only partial. For instance, only about two per cent of the new genealogies I reviewed have comprehensive occupational records. It is also notable that the documentation of women’s information remains less comprehensive compared to men, and female descendants’ offspring are tracked for fewer generations.

Understanding social transformation through genealogies 

Despite the partial nature of the transformation, comparisons of the occupational and educational data from the genealogies and censuses for the Yangtze Valley, where more than 40 percent of the national population resided, suggest that genealogies could broadly represent the wider population. The new generation of genealogies allows us to understand the social structural transformations of China in the 20th century, which witnessed devastating wars, radical political revolutions, and, recently, very rapid economic development that lifted hundreds of millions from dire poverty. 

The Yangtze Valley and the distribution of individuals with occupational records from genealogies the author collected. Drawn by author.

In 1982, 74 percent of China’s labour force was employed in agriculture. By 2020, this figure had dropped to 21 percent, with the majority shifting to manufacturing and services. This is the fastest economic and social structural transformation ever identified in world history.

Genealogical data from the Yangtze Valley highlights several key aspects of this shift.

  • Occupational change over a lifetime: For those born before the 1940s, agriculture was the destination of most people who changed their occupations. But for those born after the 1940s, it became more common for peasants to move into non-agricultural occupations. 
  • Dual occupations: A large number of peasants participated in non-agricultural production, playing significant roles in industries such as construction and the production of building materials and woodwork. 
  • Household labour division: Alongside the more traditional arrangement where the husband works outside the home while the wife manages agricultural production, it has become increasingly common for both partners to leave their home to work in non-agricultural sectors while the elderly remain behind to farm and look after the children. 
  • Intergenerational occupational mobility: The linked genealogical data of the Qian lineage from Lower Yangtze suggest that out of the 448 male peasants born in the 1940s, only 32 (seven percent) of their 499 male descendants continued to work in agriculture, while 467 (93 percent) shifted to non-agricultural sectors. 

The illustration shows occupational mobility between generations, occupational changes over the life time (separated by ‘->’), dual occupations (separated by ‘&’), and gender difference. Drawn by the author based on the genealogy of the Li Lineage in Yunnan province.

Chinese genealogies also contain individual biographies detailing the working experiences of a broad social spectrum. The quantitative and qualitative evidence in these genealogies can finally allow us to understand the working lives of 20th-century China from the perspectives of both macro structures and micro experiences. 

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Further reading

Y. Dai, Lineage genealogies as a new source for researching the occupational structure of twentieth-century China: Tradition (partially) transformed, Historical Methods, XXX.