His parents lost several of their children and later children were given the same name.  So there’s two Marys, two Thomases and, crucially for me, two Williams. The second William only came to light yesterday (born in 1778) and wouldn’t have been a problem except he was born two years after my William.  That would indicate that the first child called William died in infancy and the next boy child took the name.  Unfortunately, my William is the first child and I have records of him living until 1852. [Sigh]

These Cowans lived in a Stirlingshire village called Airth from the 18th through to the 19th centuries, when the population was no more than 800.  But it looks like there were at least four Cowan families there and the list of names they called their children is depressingly small.  The boys were invariably William, John, James & Thomas and the girls Mary, Janet, Agnes and Margaret.  Child mortality was appallingly high among these millworkers and miners – I found 34 Cowan deaths in a twelve year period, and I’m betting that most of those were children. Death records for the 1700s of course often don’t tell you what age the person was when they died or who they were related to.  Looking at one page of a kirk record book earlier today, I saw one poor soul recorded only as ‘Baine – died, an old woman’.

So I’ve a William who might or might not be the son of James & Margaret. But he might have been the second William, not the first.  In which case, did he have the son – you guessed it, William! – that I think he had, who was born in 1806 or am I following entirely the wrong line?

This branch of the family has been frustrating from the outset.  Every scrap of information I have on Cowans has been hard won and it remains the sparsest branch on the whole tree. It’s almost as if the ghost of my father – who hated that I wanted to look back at his family – is jinxing me! And it’s doubly frustrating because it’s the surname that I bear.  Of course I relate to the other names on the family tree, but your own surname is always special.

Right -  back to the battering ram of intensive searching, eyes glazing over at the sight of another generation of James, John and Williams. [Gritted Teeth]

Photo Falkirk Local Historical Society

Martha Robertson Higgins (I’m fairly sure she would have been known as Matty, Matt or even Oor Matt) was born in Hamilton, Lanarkshire, the middle child of 12 children.  Her father Joseph was an underground fireman down the pit and he and mother Martha both came from Lanarkshire. It’s possible, though, that the Higginses hailed originally from Ireland.

In 1912, she married a coal miner from Hamilton – John Cowan. ¹ There is a photograph of his parents with three of their children and, by process of deduction, I think that the young man in that photo is John. I want it to be him because there’s no other images of him but I can’t be sure.

They set up home in a Fife Coal Board house in Waverley St, Lochore.  A description from 1926 describes the street like this (it’s a fair bet that Martha and John lived in one of the 2 apartment houses):

Built 1909 by Fife Coal Co Ltd. 16 houses of 3 apartments
and 32 houses of 2 apartments with sculleries & WC.

Two months before the events in Sarajevo that would catapult Europe into a World War, their first child was born. She was, as family tradition dictated, named Martha after her maternal grandmother. Tragically, this little girl died of meningitis before her second birthday.  I don’t know why John wasn’t called up to serve, but I think it likely that the government regarded miners as a vital job in time of war.  As WWI dragged on into 1916, Annie (known from the start as Daisy) was born and finally, as the last British Tommies straggled home, Tom (my father) in 1919.

A year later, the coalfields of Fife claimed their first Cowan brother.  Thomas, John’s older brother, was killed in a roof fall. The whole of West Fife was riddled with underground workings and the Coal Board was the major employer in the area.

Martha’s life changed forever on a cold January night in 1925, when my grandfather, working at the coalface in the Aitken pit, was killed by, in the stark words of the official report,  ‘a stone falling on him from the roof’. It seems clear now that he wasn’t wearing a safety hat – but it’s unclear if these were even issued by the company.  The death toll in Fife pits in the 1920s was appalling and safety legislation was slow to be implemented.  John is listed in the Fife Pits & Memorial Book, a wonderful project by Mick Martin (himself an ex-miner) which is described here. The local paper reported John’s death and noted ‘The deceased who was an instrumentalist of marked ability is survived by a widow and two children.’

After John was buried, the battle began for compensation.  Martha was eventually awarded a tiny amount which went almost nowhere to keeping her children in food and clothing. But she was resourceful and practical -  there was little alternative. At first she ‘took in washing’, laundering other people’s clothes.  Then she began to bake, selling plain cakes & scones from home. Eventually, she set up shop in the front room of her tiny house on Waverley Street and the family lived in the back room.  These kind of shops were commonly called Jennie a-things because you could buy anything from a twist of tea to a bar of washing soap. Trays of children’s sweets were kept under the counter – the farthing tray, the ha’penny tray and for the privileged, the penny tray!

A few years ago, I met some very old people who had actually known my grandmother’s shop. They remembered her as friendly and kind.  One story was that she once made toffee apples and gave them away free.  Other people described small items of baked goods appearing from under the counter for hungry – but poor – children. I like these stories for it seems to show someone whose generosity of spirit was undaunted by tragedy and the hardships of poverty.

This photo from around 1939  shows Martha (far right) outside the wee shop on Waverley Street – in a shapeless frock and apparently wearing her slippers for comfort!  To her right is her daughter Daisy, already a striking and stylish young woman.  I don’t know who the couple to their right are, but the girl behind them is Matty Rodger, one of Martha’s nieces.

Two years later, in the middle of another World War, Martha died. She never left Waverley Street. Her will shows that she made extraordinary provision for her children Tom and Daisy – a four figure amount.  A woman who, left widowed while still in her 30s with no means of support, went on for many years to work all the hours a day could hold in order to scrimp and save for the future of her children.

Her name wasn’t really Daisy – it was Anne Brown Cowan (on her marriage certificate, she’s known as Annie).  The name’s important – she was named directly for her paternal grandmother Anne, who was born in India and married a Scottish solider. Family legend says that Daisy came about because somebody gazing into her pram, cooed ‘awww she looks like a wee daisy’.  It’s a nice story but of course it isn’t true – I’ve found a reference to the original Annie Brown being called Daisy.  For all I know, there are more – enough for a daisy chain perhaps?

At the age of 25, she was marrying Ian MacEwan, also 25 – whose real name was John. This happens a lot in Scottish families – Ian is an equivalent of John.  And then there’s Johns who become Jacks – but that’s another story.

They married at The Station Hotel in Kirkcaldy with four adult attendants and two child bridesmaids. The little girls are awfully sweet and look as if they could be twins, but I have no idea who they were.  The grown-up bridesmaid on the right looks like a MacEwan and the one on the left is, I think, Betty Rodger, my father’s cousin on the Higgins side of the family. I would say the best man’s hair gives him away as the brother of the groom and my father is the stern looking young man to the right of the bride. All three men have immaculate buttonholes and handkerchiefs in breast pockets (the chap on the left has his squared off, which was not the smart thing – that little mountain peak of white cotton was what was required).

The ladies’ bouquets are more fern & flounce than flowers, but this was common for the wartime years.  Most of the land in Britain had been made over to growing food crops and flowers were expensive. There’s a suggestion of a mantilla on the bride’s head and with those looks – and that hair – she could have been mistaken for a Spanish senorita.

Three months later, in June of 1942, my parents married in Hamilton.

Like the previous photograph, this was taken in a studio.  Unlike today’s weddings, there were no photos of the extended family or guests and candid photos (thankfully, perhaps) hadn’t yet been dreamt of. This is a much more restrained group – one bridesmaid, one best man. The flowers, though, are still largely fern. Jim Rodger (brother of  Betty who appears in the first photo) was my dad’s best man and the men remained close friends until my father’s death. Although the men are wearing lounge suits (they probably only owned one good suit apiece), they’re both carrying gloves, a sartorial nod to formal morning dress. Much Brylcreem went into the male tonsures and both my mother and her bridesmaid (a friend) have typical 1940s hairstyles. She had just turned 18 and he was 23.

There was apparently a three tier wedding cake which disguised the baker’s secret – a tiny sponge cake hidden inside a cardboard shell.  Food rationing meant that only the rich could afford real wedding cakes – others devised alternative, ingenious solutions. My mother’s wedding dress was white silk and it didn’t last a year.  It was cut up and most of the material sent to be made into parachutes for British troops.  The little she salvaged was made into precious French knickers.

My father had been a policeman for five years at the time of his marriage.  There are telltale signs in his body language. He’s standing with his feet firmly turned outwards and his right hand has the thumb extended down the line of his trouser leg.  These gestures were things that he’d have learned while at Police College.  Almost to the end of his life, my father walked like a policemen on the beat – very upright and with long measured strides designed to cover the ground over many hours of walking.

He joined up in 1860 to take the Queen’s shilling for 12 years – although what he actually got was “Two pounds and a free kit“. He was a 23 year old coal miner at the time – all six of the Cowan boys were down the pits, a brutal and badly-paid occupation.  I imagine the recruiting sergeants coming to the pit heads looking for likely recruits who’d swell the ranks of the lately depleted Army in India were met with open arms. Peter Bailey of Fibis tells me that

After the Indian Mutiny of  1857-1858/9, the European soldiers of the East India Company’s arnies were offered a choice to leave, with a bounty, or transfer to the British Army. About half transferred – but this left the remaining regiments a bit short of soldiers. Accordingly, fresh recruits were needed.

The second page is the meat of the record and would have accompanied Thomas throughout his 21 years in the Army. It reads a bit like one huge puzzle added to by many hands (and handwriting).

One thing that puzzles me is that on enlistment at Glasgow in July of 1860, the page says Regiment – Artillery, H.M.’s I. Forces. Which would suggest that he joined up specifically to go out to India. By Boxing Day, he’s arrived in India (the journey by sail or steamship would have taken two or three months).

1863 has some mystifying entries.  He’s listed as being with the 17 Brigade Royal Artillery and in August of that year, the entry for 1 August reads Volunteered for the British Army. Wait a minute, you mean he wasn’t in the British Army already? Anything with H.M. in front of it (then or now) means His or Her Majesty and when he enlisted, there’s the H.M.  He can’t have been part of the HEIC, because that was effectively taken apart after the Mutiny. This document is obviously going to raise as many questions as it gives answers.

Then in November of that year, there is a comment written down the side of the page which reads Elected Indian Pension Regulations 10th November 1863. Did he plan to remain in India after his 12 years were up and be discharged to pension in India rather than to Chelsea?

In 1864, in Fort St George, Madras, he married Anne Brown, the daughter of another soldier, Samuel Brown. This was the very first record I ever found for him, back in the days of the old India House.

Three years later, his military history sheet shows that he was transferred back to England for 7 months.  However, this is contradicted by the main record page, where it looks as if he moved from India straight to Cape Town, South Africa, where he remained for a year.  He had by now completed eight of his twelve years, but in April of 1869 comes the entry Reingaged(sic) at Cape Town to complete 21 yrs. I know of no conflict in South Africa at that time that would involve the Artillery of the British Army, but this is something I must check.

Later that year, any plans he may have had to remain in India seem to be dashed.  He’s transferred back to England and remains in various locations there until, at Fort Matilda in Greenock, not so far from his old home, he’s discharged from service, having served a full 21 years.

This studio photograph of some of the family was taken, I’m guessing, not long after he returned to Lanarkshire and to the pits.  (Note: this picture card is in appalling condition – maybe one day I’ll try to restore it) His bearing still looks somewhat military – indeed, on enlistment, his height is given as 5′8″ and a quarter of an inch while on discharge he’s gained another quarter and is now 5′8″ 1/2 – perhaps he wore different boots!

Going back to life in the pits aged 44 can’t have been a picnic (especially with 13 children to support) and he died thirteen years later from heart disease.  A careful note on his death certificate states that he was Coal Miner and Army Pensioner. I’m glad at least on the very last record of him, his Army service isn’t forgotten.

For two of my ancestors, ID cards were a fact of life. Both carried them during periods when Britain was at war with Germany.  First, my father, Tom.

Tom, a policeman, had what was called a reserved occupation in World War II.   A Schedule of Reserved Occupations was drawn up in 1938 and included farmers and railwaymen as well as policemen. These jobs were regarded as vital to the country at home.  Nonetheless, Tom went to the recruiting offices of every armed service and tried to enlist.  He was turned down – because a stray cricket ball had punctured his eardrum when he was a boy and left him deaf in one ear.

This picture shows his ID card in 1940 and was really an expanded version of the normal police Warrant Card.  His white dress gloves are tucked into the choker-collared tunic of the day, which was made of heavy, dark blue serge. His hair is short (there was a rule about hair never to touch the collar) and, to my eyes now, he looks ridiculously young, although he was in fact 21 when this picture was taken. During the war, he worked in Kirkcaldy, which is on the Fife coast.  I don’t think they were ever in real danger from invasion or bombing there, but the threat must have seemed real enough at the time.

I only found this ID card towards the end of my father’s life, but the fact that he had kept it all those years showed that it was quite precious to him – he wasn’t, on the whole, a sentimental man.

The second person who held an ID card in my family was a generation back and it belonged to my father’s aunt – Annie.

Again this ID is issued by the local constabulary, but for quite a different reason.  Annie, who was my grandfather’s sister, had married a foreigner, one Laurent Storione.  In 1917, that was enough to require her to carry ID with her at all times.  Laurent was in fact French, who were Britain’s allies in the war against Germany, but he was still a foreigner and so by association, Annie could be a risk to national security.

Her dress and  hairstyle are more suited to 1900 (or even earlier) than 1917, but she was very poor and I would imagine that her clothes had to last for many years.  I don’t know whether this photograph was taken especially for the card – I wonder how she afforded the photographer’s fee.

Annie was the daughter of Thomas Cowan & Anne Brown.  She was the 3rd child of at least 13, born while her father was still in the Army. She looks fairly grim in this picture, doesn’t she, and well she might.  She’s 44 here and had borne 7 children.  Her husband virtually abandoned her for long periods of time and she died only seven years later, in 1924.  A cousin of mine said of her “She died of a broken heart but she was probably just worn out – she took to Hell’s Wine to help her too”.

He was a coalminer turned soldier, she the daughter of a soldier. The twist is that he served in the British Army in India, where he married her when she was aged only fourteen. And I think that her ancestry wasn’t totally British. Curiously, there appear to be no children from this marriage until five years later.  That was very unusual in those days. I wonder if he was posted away from home immediately after the marriage, or there were children, but these died from some tropical disease (cholera was very much a fact of life then).

He was posted back to England and their first child was born on the way in Cape Town. There were to be at least twelve more children and by the time the eighth child was born, he had been invalided out the Army and they were back in Scotland.

My research has stalled because I need to follow his army records, and I can only do that at Kew in the Public Records Office. Also held there are records from India House, which might hold clues about her background. Her mother had an unusual surname which might be Anglo-Indian or Franco-Indian.

My great-grandmother must have been a redoubtable woman. A few years ago, I was given a photograph of her in her old age.  She’s dressed in the style of thirty years before and is a huge figure. She survived her husband by twenty-eight years and at least seven of her children pre-deceased her.  The coalfields of Fife claimed two of her sons, my grandfather one of them.  Consumption took a few more.  It’s a classic story of poverty and disease among working-class Scots of the time.

I mean to restart my research into my great-grandparents.  I want to track down that Indian connection and all it means.

Footnote This post first appeared in curlsdiva.com on October 5, 2008, before folkarethething.com existed. I’m transferring all genealogically related posts from that blog to this.