Update to this short table;
HAYWOOD side:
The most recent information we currently have on each of our lines:
Arthur HAYWOOD'S grandfather was Josiah, b.Griffydam 1852,
and his father Thomas, also from Griffydam, was b.1821.

Harry HOLT'S father was b. Thurlaston, as was his before him, in 1867,
but there is almost no trace of HOLT in Thurlaston - so where were they really from?
Did they hail from Hugglescote in the first place, moving back there from Thurlaston ?
A temporary collection of some old Holt Family Photos are on this link:

Violetta MANDERFIELD'S family are connected, back in the 1700-1800's,
to the well-known ORRINGE and CORBETT lines of Shepshed.

Arthur HAYWOOD'S maternal grandmother was Edith ISON ,
daughter of HENRY HASTINGS ISON , b.1810, and himself a
descendant through his mother of the HASTINGS of Humberstone,
who were of the same HASTINGS family that go back
to Ashby and Kirby Muxloe Castles, and way beyond to the Plantagenet era.

STEVENS side:
John STEVENS' father and grandfather came from Hinckley and Barwell,
but we now know that prior to that, in the early 1800s, from Enderby and Croft,
with links before that back to Northamptonshire and Oxfordshire.

We now have a little more info on the BENNETTS of Sharnford,
Val's branch originally came from North Kilworth, though there is a mystery as to
why so many were called CAVE BENNETT back in the mid-1700's onwards,
around several dozen males of other surnames in the county had the christian name, Cave.
Could this be a similar story to the HASTINGS name above? Are they distantly related, or just grateful tenants.

The SWANWICK family, as far as we know, were always from Blaby, as we have no trace prior to 1793.
And the FRETTERS originally came from Spratton and Welford in Northamptonshire,
with connections to many of the villages thereabouts; Brixworth, Cold Ashby, Naseby, etc.

Recent information from a LRFHS member suggests that the SMITH family of Aylestone may well
have also hailed from Northamptonshire, in the village of Ruston.
There is a strong possibility that my SMITH Aylestone family knew Val's FRETTER Aylestone family -
the 1881 Census shows their back gardens were adjacent. I wonder if they got on okay?

SOME LEICESTERSHIRE    AND    EAST YORKSHIRE LINKS

TWO SONNETS My father, the late Norman Haywood of the RAF pages, has two surviving two brothers. One, my Uncle Don, is an unpublished poet, who also served in the RAF, and later worked at Snibston and Lount pits. I have placed a few of his lines below; 'Sonnets from the Edge of War' as a memorial to all those of his and my father's generation, who spent much of their childhood 'down the shelters', or otherwise deprived and disadvantaged by war. Born in 1930, Don's memories are of the events in and around Gough Road, in Leicester, during those years of the blitz. It is a sobering fact that today's youth would not, could not, put up with as much. Is this how it was for you? These lines quite moved me when I first read them. What did my Mum and her sisters think, as a 10-year old, as she stood at the bottom of her father's Coalville garden and watched the glow in the sky over the fields as Coventry burnt, some 25 miles away? Fear, I should think - pure, undiluted fear. They must have thought that their world was coming to an end - and for some, it surely did.

Sonnets from the Edge of War

1. Clear moonlit nights filled with the fearful drone Of war-planes on their odyssey of wrath. Descendants of the Vandal and the Goth Extending to the skies their battle-zone. The thump-thump-thump of anti-aircraft fire Reverberates around the shelter’s walls, Unsettles the children in their makeshift stalls Draws feigned indifference from a troubled sire. When resonates the All-Clear’s steady wail White knuckled fists unclench and trembling lips Begin bravado’s artificial chants. Recidivists and those who nightly fail Conceal with overcoats the sodden slips And dark-stained trews that brand them miscreants.

2. During WWII, city children in their last year at school were allowed to volunteer to pick potatoes and supplement the deflated workforce to garner this vital harvest. Unbuttered bread , but with a scrape of marge, Stale cheese, or jam soaking into the bread. The outer leaves of lettuce and onion spread Between hard crusts, loaf-ends cut overlarge. This simple fare, brown paper wrapped, re-used From yesterday and loosely tied with string Sustains soft sinews through the wearying Cortege of snail-like hours - youth’s dance abused. As evensong wafts softly from the church Tired limbs descend ungainly from the bus That brought the schoolboy home from the fields of toil Clutching potatoes on his homeward lurch. Devours his prize as mother starts to fuss And scrapes his boots free of the foreign soil.

2. Don used to work down Snibby Pit, in the early 50's. He recalls the feeling of luxury when the new pit-head baths were opened, just across the Ashby Road from the pit itself. I recall my amazement to learn that the baths had to be built and paid for by the colliers themselves! They all paid a penny a week out of their meagre wages for the 'privelege' of a bath and going home clean. No wonder they became so militant with bosses as tightfisted as that !! SNIBSTON COLLIERY, Coalville, Leicestershire. Brief wraithes of steam unfurl pale arms, With fingers, unsubstantial, fey, Grope dark discoloured walls before Evaporating all away. Twin contra-turning pulley wheels, Their spokes in stroboscopic race, Disclose the vertical approach Of colliers from their working place. Hauled swiftly from the caverned streets Of a sprawling subterrainean wen They dash across the Ashby Road In little knots of shabby men. Torn, shapeless trousers, knee-pad girt, A No-So patch unsullied yet, Coal-blackened faces zebra-striped From dried-up river-beds of sweat. Honed through the adolescent years, From male exclusiveness distilled, Come ribaldry and cutting wit As requiems for stints fulfilled. As colliers make this brief traverse Their banter's often overheard But some will cross the road and make The pithead baths without a word. Garrulous or taciturn They hasten to the shower jet To be reborn beneath the flow And cleanse the skin of grime and sweat. But cleansing showers and draughts of air Inhaled above the terrestial crust Could not begin to purify Nor ever cleanse the lungs of dust. by Donald Russell Haywood ©1999 END OF PAGE