Poignant Tales from WW1 - Week 3 of 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks.

This week's prompt from "52 Ancestors" asks to consider what this story means to  me. 

We are at a dangerous point in our world history   with so much war and conflict dominating our news headlines.    

I take a look back at  my ancestors, who  fought  in World War 1 to remind us what war entails with suffering of those fighting  and and the anguish those families back home. 

    "I had to assist the wounded at a dressing station and stuck to     it for about 40 hours. It's blooming hard work being a            stretcher bearer in the field."  

These were the words of my great uncle George Danson (1894-1916),  written three weeks before he was killed on the Somme 

One of the many embroidered cards sent from Flanders by her sons to my widowed great grandmother, Maria Danson, nee Rawcliffe.  

George Danson was the youngest of eight sons (surviving infancy) of James Danson and Maria Rawcliffe of Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire.  Born in 1894, he was followed three years later by the birth of an only daughter Jennie.  The photographs and memorabilia here come from my great aunts coillection.  

Young George 

George (above) was the favourite uncle of my mother and aunt,  and they had fond memories of him, perhaps because he was nearest to them in age and took on the role of the big brother. I can see why in the photograph of him above.  George worked on W.H. Smith bookstalls at different railway stations in Lancashire and West Yorkshire.

George joined the Royal Army Medical Corps in 1916 and I was lucky enough to trace his service record on www.ancestry.co.uk  as many were destroyed  in the Second World War.  On his enlistment,  George's  medical report stated he was 5'3" tall,  weighed 109 lbs. (under 8 stone), with size  34 1/2 chest and he wore glasses - so a slight figure to be a stretcher bearer in the turmoil of war, carrying men who were badly wounded or dead.   

Also amongst the family papers were two letters written on  headed paper of the British Expeditionary Force.  A letter of 19th March 1916 to his eldest brother Robert said:

 

     "I will tell you one thing it is no easy job the army life today         and I am of the opinion as most of the chaps are here they         won't be sorry when it is all over."

The second letter of 23rd August 1916 was to Frank, the brother nearest to him in age:

     "At present we are about  8 miles behind the firing line. I had       to assist the wounded at a dressing station and stuck to it for     about 40 hours. It's blooming hard work being a stretcher             bearer in the field. On Friday I was in a big bombardment and     will say it was like a continual thunder and lightening going         off. As I write there are blooming big guns going off abut 50         yards away every few minutes. 

 

    Don't I wish that all of us could get home. Wouldn't that be           great, lad, there's a good time coming and I hope we shall all         be there to join in." 

 

Sadly it was not to be.  

 

 Three weeks later, and a week after his 22nd birthday,  George was killed on 16th September 1916 at the Battle of the Somme, and buried in the Guards Cemetery, Les Boeufs, near Albert.

 

 

 

A report in the local paper  



 A photograph, sent to his widowed mother,  of George's initial grave.  It conveys in a stark way the reality of war amid the mud and blood that George must have experienced - and contrasts with the pristine white of the more lasting memorials that we recognise today. 

 

George remembered on Poulton War Memoral  along with his brother John who died in 1917.

 I have written about George before on my blog,  but it is such a poignant tale, that  I make no apologies for telling it again.

 

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This is just one story in my family history but there is much more  to tell another time - 

• My great uncle John Danson who in 1917 committed suicide whilst in army  training,  leaving  his young daughter an orphan.
  
  
•  My great uncle Arthur  Weston killed at Gallipoli in 1915, aged 35,  leaving a wife and two young children with her  expecting their third child.  
   
• My cousin's grandfather Edward Stuart Ingram Smith - a broken man  following his war experiences  which led to his broken marriage.  
   
• My husband's great uncle ~ died Fredrick Donaldson  killed the very same day as George above.  He is remembered on the Thiepval  Monument in France -  the- largest British battle memorial in the world. On Portland stone, piers are engraved the names of over 72,000 men who have no known grave and who were lost in the Somme battles between July 1916 and March 1918.
  
  

Just five member from  one extended family   and experiences  mirrored in millions of other  families - this is what war is all about!

     

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The Wheels Go Round, Round, Round! - Sepia Saturday

 This week’s Sepia Saturday prompt photograph  shows a giant wheel at a Power Museum in Australia.  

 

 

 Above is one of the biggest wheels I have come across.  It  is in  Hawick in the Scottish Borders.  A water wheel  was a once prominent sight in the region  where I live,  as a symbol of the knitwear and tweed mills which developed alongside the many tributaries of the  River Tweed.   Before modern industrialization,  water was the main power source for industry in Scotland.  

 

This wheel at Tower Mill.   Hawick was built in 1852 over the Slitrig Water, and is noted  for having the largest surviving waterwheel in a textile mill in southern Scotland. During the 19th century, water power was superseded by steam power, and tall chimneys came to dominate the town's skyline.  

But the massive 14 foot wheel was the  first in Hawick to generate electricity in 1900.   As part of a Hawick major regeneration scheme, Tower Mill reopened in 2007  as a multi functional arts centre.  The waterwheel is still visible from above through a glass flooring.   

 

A 19th century photograph of Tower Mill, Hawick 

 

So much for the history lesson!  Let's take a look at other wheels.

 

With thanks for Auld Earlston for the this photographs from its collection  

 

Cartwheels  in the stable yard at Beamish Open Air Museum in North East England  which recreates life in the 19th and 20th centuries. 

 

A powerful view of the giant wheel on a steam train on the North Yorkshire Moors Heritage Railway at Grosmont, near Whitby.   

 

 

A visit to the National Railway Museum at York  where our  daughter enjoyed playing gymnastics on the giant wheels.

  

The London Eye - we stayed in a hotel round the corner from the Eye on the south bank of the River Thames and every evening enjoyed this lovely view. The structure, the world’s tallest cantilevered observation wheel, opened December 31st 1999 and was originally called the Millennium Wheel.

 

 

A pub sign in Greenwich, London.  

 

And a final thought - how many of you can look back on singing endless times with your children 

 

 "The Wheels of the Bus Go  Round, Round, Round".   

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Sepia Saturday give bloggers an opportunity 

to share their family history through photographs.

 

 

 

 

Look  HERE  to see more contributions 

rom Sepia Saturday bloggers. 

 

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Henry Danson ‘s Tragic Death - 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks - Week 2.

Week 2 of the year long prompt  "52 Ancestors in 52 Week"  asks us to come up with a a record that added colour to an ancestor's life.   

A report I found in  the British Newspaper Archives  on the tragic death of my great great grandfather Henry Danson (1806-1888) fits the bill.   

It is never too late to discover new information on an ancestor,  as more and more Records come online.  Such was the case l for me.  

I first wrote a  profile on my great great grandfather Henry Danson (1806-1881)  many years ago  in pre-Internet days. He lived near Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire in north west England and the standard resources provided me with a good picture emerging of his life, his family (6 daughters and 3 sons) and his occupations as a farmer and later in life as a bridge toll collector.  at the River Wyre, in nearby Singleton.

I am a regular user of newspapers online**  and in a very casual browsing  of the Danson name,  I came across a wonderful find -  an obituary and a coroner’s report  on Henry's death.  I I iscovered information on Henry that was completely new to me and added cvour to his life.  

Blackpool & Gazette Herald:  11^th November 1881. 

" DEATH OF AN OLD INHABITANT. Few men were better known in the Fylde than Mr Henry Danson who died at Shard Bridge Tollhouse on the 29th ult. aged 75.    

He was born at Trapp Farm, Carleton, at which place he resided until he was nearly 60 years old. After leaving the Trapp he took a farm at Warbreck, but only occupied it for a few years.  Shortly after leaving Warbreck he was appointed toll-collector at Shard Bridge, which occupation he held up to the time of his death. 

He was brought up as a farmer. When a young man he had few equals at any kind of farm labour. At staking, thatching, mowing, or ploughing, he did his work in such a manner as made him noted for miles round as a first-class man. In the management of horse he was quite at home, and always had his team under perfect command. He was also a famous judge in horse flesh, and for many years possessed a breed of horses well known and much admired in the Fylde for their endurance and good constitution. They were known by the name of "Robin Hood's breed," and many of the old farmers at the present day think they are not excelled if equaled by the present breed of horses. He was a kind neighbour. His motto ever was "to do unto others as he would they do unto him."

What a lovely description of my great great grandfather  - and a wonderful find, as in Britain,  unlike  the USA,  it is not customary to write such tributes to a person, unless they have made their mark in some distinctive way in their community - as clearly Henry Danson had.  I  had no idea he was well known locally and had never heard of the breed of Robin Hood horses, as Robin Hood country was much further south around Nottingham.

But as I found later, there were some omissions in the obituary on the nature of Henry's death.  For another newspaper report  revealed the details.

Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser: Wednesday 02 November 1881

“FATAL FALL FROM A CART. On Monday evening Mr. Gilbertson held an inquest at Poulton-le-Fylde, on the body of Henry Danson, collector of the Shard Bridge tolls. The deceased, who was 75 years old, was riding in a cart with Mr. John  ? farmer, on the way to Poulton, when the horse took fright and jumped forward. Danson was standing in the cart leaning on his stick at the moment he  was jerked out upon the road. He was attended Mr. Winn, surgeon, but could never walk afterwards, his left thigh being injured, and he had an attack of pleurisy fortnight before his death, which occurred on Thursday night last. The jury returned verdict of Death  from the effects of injuries received, and resulting illness, through fall from a cart."

It is both sad and ironic that Henry,  noted for his skill with horses,  should have died,  whilst driving his horse and cart.   

Henry was buried in the graveyard of St. Chad's Church, Poulto-le-Fylde. 

A photograph taken by my uncle Harry Rawcliffe Danson, great grandson of Henry above. 

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Note – I would never have searched in a Manchester paper for a report relating to Poulton – a lesson that a wider search by county, rather than by specific place or newspaper  title  can  be more productive.

Sources

• Find My Past British Newspapers  
• British Newspaper Archive
  
  

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Feisty Aunt Edith - 52 Ancesors in 52 Weeks

After a long gap, I have signed up once more  for Amy Crow's 2026  "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" Challenge.  For the first week the prompt is   "An Ancestor I Admire" and I have chosen my aunt Edith Danson (1907-1995),  

 
I think of my Aunt Edith (right)  as one of a line of "Feisty Danson Females", amongst them  my Great Grandmother Maria   and her daughter, my Great Aunt Jennie.  Aunt Edith played a key role in my life and was a teacher, traveller, and great talker.  She was also a talented lady - and married  for the first time at the age of 73.  

 



Edith was born 2nd September 1907, followed  just a year and a week  later by my mother, Kathleen, born on 8th September 1908, daughters of William and Alice Danson of Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire.   They remained very close as sisters  and most of  the photographs I have of Aunt Edith show her almost always with my mother. 

 (Edith left)  and Kathleen at Poulton Gala Day c.1912

 

Edith (left) with Kathleen, 1916.   

Kathleen and Edith (right)

Aunt Edith was fond of regaling me with stories of the family and her life in teaching.  She was the only one to win a scholarship to Fleetwood Grammar School, riding the four miles on her bike in all weathers.  She became a teacher at Burn Naze School in Thornton Clevelys (a poor area of town in the 1920's and 30's)  and had a keen memory for past pupils (particularly black sheep)  and humorous incidents such as excuse notes, written  for absences.  

I have my blog and Facebook to thank for a wonderful update on my Aunt Edith (Danson). Ex pupils at the school set up a Facebook page on Burn Naze School Past,  ahead of the centenary of the school in 2014 and in a Google search found my blog and got in touch. I was delighted to read comments from former pupils of "Miss Danson". who was remembered with fondness and for teaching sewing and knitting.   

"Miss Danson was my first teacher and was a lovely lady.

Just read Miss Danson's history and pictures - very interesting and I always thought she was a wonderful teacher with lots of patience and undesrsstnaind. 

A wonderful teacher - my first teacher at Burn Naze School in 1956.

Fantastic tribute and pictures - just as I remember her.

Amongst learning our tables, reading and writing etc. who remembers knitting class with Miss Danson, making a sackcloth needle work case using blanket stitch,   

Edith on the right with her class on a school trip.

 

Edith  must have been great to know in her 20's, with tales of the young men she went dancing with in nearby Blackpool.    

Kathleen & Edith



Like her sister, Edith was talented in painting, embroidery and dressmaking, loved dancing, music, reading and baking - though there were some apocryphal cooking moments when my uncle (her brother) stirred a rice pudding, thinking it was very thin - she had forgotten to put in the rice!  Another time she was proud of a tart  with a golden pastry crust and  blackcurrants from the garden - until we took a mouthful - she had forgotten to add sugar to the fruit.  "Scatty" was often a term used to describe Aunt Edith,  as her mind was on so many things at once. 

My first visit to Scotland was thanks to Aunt Edith - a reward for passing the 11+ e xam for grammar school.   I was stirred by the sight and sound of the bagpipes at the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, gazed over the battlements at Stirling Castle across  to Bannockburn (the site of the battle in 1314)  and was captivated by my first island trip to the Isle of Arran. I returned home singing "Scotland the Brave" and wrote a story about a fictional island, complete with map drawn with my coloured pencils.   Six years later Scotland became my home. 


Edith  kept home for her widowed father and brother for much of her life and travelled widely, even to Russia in Iron Curtain days, bringing back gifts  to add to my collection of costume dolls.On retirment she took a world cruise, visiting her other sister, Pggy.  in Austral. 

In line with her spirit of adventure, she  married for the first time in 1981 at the aged 73. a widower friend of my parents. and died in 1995 aged 88.  

Aunt Edith (in blue) with her husband George, my mother Kathleen and brother Harry.

 

You can tell from these photographs that Aunt Edith was someone who enjoyed herself.   She took on the role of my godmother with great gusto and with my mother left me with a wonderful  legacy on how to get the most out of life, plus  many fond memories of a feisty woman.  

A Painting by my Aunt Edith

Copyright © 2026 · Susan Donaldson.  All Rights Reserved

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Portraits that tell a Story - Sepia Saturday

Portraits  is the theme of this week's Sepia Saturday prompt.  No shortage in my collection with each one revealing a distinctive story hat makes family history such an absorbing  hobby - much more than just names and dates!

 

 My great grandmother Maria Danson, nee  Rawcliffe (1859-1919)  is at the heart of my family history, with her life giving me many stories  for my writings.  She was the seventh of eight sisters (five surviving infancy) and went on to have eight sons and as her last child,  only daughter Jennie. She showed  determination and resilience  particularly in the latter part of her life,   when her husband died in 1906, her eldest son Harry in 1907, and in 1905 her daughter in law Sarah died of TB  leaving a baby daughter Annie whom Maria took into her own home.  The First World War brought more sorrow  - the death on the Somme in 1916 of her youngest son George.  A year later young Annie's father John Danson  committed suicide whilst in army training.    

                         

 Maria's only daughter and youngest child.   Jennie Danson (11897-1986) was by all accounts  had a feisty character and held her own  against her eight older brothers.  Jennie was determined to lead her own life.  She shocked her mother by cutting off he long haired plait  and adopting the 1920's fashionable short cut.

Following her mother’s death in 1919,  Jennie  took over the  reins of the household, looking after her four brothers  still unmarried and living at home, plus her ypung niece Annie who had been orphaned.   Her marriage in 1929 prompted all her brothers to set get married in the following years.  

 

 My great uncle George Danson (1894-1916) who worked on W. H. Smith's station bookstalls and sang in the local church choir.  He was the favourite  uncle of my mother and aunt and was killed on the Somme in 1916.  

 

My great grandfather James Matthewss of Wolverhampton in the English Midlands .  John was a staunch Methodist who conducted the local church choir.  His wife Matilda Such had had a checkered  childhood as a third illegitimate daughter born to her unmarried nam-sake mother. 

 

 My  paternal grandmother Mary Barbara Matthews (1876-1958),  was the third of ten children born to John and Matilda Matthews  Mary's brother Arthur was killed in Gallipoli in  the First World War  and her sister Fanny Elizabeth died aged 33 in 1909, following a tragic  accident when a lighted candle set fire to her apron and she died of the burns.  

                    

 It is hard to believable that these two portraits are of the same man - Edward Stuart Ingram Smith, my cousin's grandfather. They  depict a sad tale, tracing his life from a handsome artistic  young man to a man 30 years later, with a dispirited air,    haunted by his WW1 war experiences and the breakdown of his marriage.   

                

My father   John Weston of Blackpool, Lancashire often talked about his war experiences and I am afraid it did provoke the reaction at times of “Not the war again, Dad”. It was only later that we came to realise what a life-defining period it was, and I persuaded him to write an account for his granddaughter.   I was also  proud to add my father's accounts to the BBC World War Two People's Story online.

Dad served in the RAF Codes & Ciphers Branch  and was seconded to General Bradley’s US 12th Army Group HQ. He landed at Omaha beach after D-Day and advanced via St. Mere Eglise, Avranches, Versailles, Paris, Verdun and Luxembourg through to Wiesbaden in Germany. Immediately after VE Day he was posted to Burma where he was for VJ Day. 

 

My father’s zealous spirit was reflected throughout his life.

He  joined the  church choir at the age of seven and remained a choir member wherever he lived, with a love of hymns and sacred  music.  Listening to Sunday Half Hour (hymn singing on the radio) was part of our Sunday evening ritual when I was growing up - as was TV's "Songs of Praise".

 

On his school life, Dad recalled " the deputy head was very good (he had been gassed in the war).  He was keen on poetry and I enjoyed it, he had us do the Merchant of Venice.  I was Bassanio.  I was very fond of him which, of course, made me listen to what he had to say".  In later life, Dad could still recite his favourite poems, often in dramatic tones.
 

Dad left school at 14 and worked as an errand boy in a local grocer's shop.  He then  became a commercial traveller (salesman) and rose to the position of Sales Director of a small Scottish company  - not bad for a largely self educated lad! 

 

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Sepia Saturday gives an opportunity for genealogy bloggers  

to share their family history and memories through photographs

 

 

 

Click HERE to find further portraits from Sepia Saturday bloggers.

 

 

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