This post is about censuses. Censusses? Censusii? One census and then another one … Censuses is correct but just feels wrong. It is rather like the story of the zookeeper who wanted a pair of mongooses but thought that the spelling didn’t look right. So he put mongeese and then crossed that out as well. Finally, he hit on the solution. He asked for one mongoose and put ‘PS, please send a second one as well.’
Anyway, census day on March 21 2021 (except in Scotland) was the date on which to base one’s most recent census return and no doubt the census gnomes are busy at work crunching the data as you read this. The detailed answers will be kept inaccessible for 100 years and possibly in 2122, family historians will be eagerly awaiting the Great Reveal just as they are currently awaiting the 1921 census which will be made public in 2022.
The word census is from the Latin censere – to assess. Historically, they have been a means of assessing a population. One of the most well-known is that recorded in the Bible –
‘In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.’ (Luke 2:1)
The result of this was a birth in a stable. Reasons for counting the population include taxation, assessing necessary supplies in the event of a siege or how many men could be called up to fight. In Britain, in 1086 a national survey was carried out which we now call the Domesday Book.
A national census in Britain was proposed in the 18th century primarily because of concern that the population was decreasing. As with all these things, there was argument and counter-argument for perhaps half a century before finally landing on a time where there were more in favour than against. Even so it had to be backed by parliamentary act. It has been taken every decade since 1801 but, in case you are wondering where the details from 1801 – 1831 are, you haven’t missed them: they don’t exist. Yes, the census took place. Yes, the information was applied for use nationally. But the returns were destroyed, by government order, in 1904 leaving just the abstracts. It was not until the 1841 census that individual information was deemed of value. Each subsequent census has been just that bit more detailed – and, per se, useful for tracing Great Aunty Gertrude-Millicent-Maud and placing her in the family tree – even though this was not the original purpose.
In fact quite possibly individuals have made greater use of the census other than for the purpose intended than any government. Looking at the School through the various censuses gives a different aspect to the history. This post concentrates on 1841 to 1881.
For the 1841 census, the School was in St George’s, Southwark.
54 pupils are recorded as being present on the night of June 6th. Frances Crook, the Matron, is apparently 50 years old – completely wrong or she would have been 11 when she became the Matron in 1802. Adult ages were rounded down but as one enumerator commented ‘You’ll find the girls ‘mysterious ages’ ‘[i]. The enumerators were not supposed to comment but many did, including the one who wrote ‘this is the first and last census I shall do.’ Clearly, he had not found it a happy experience!
There was one servant at the School; one matron and an assistant; two teachers (both young so more like pupil teachers); one school ‘lady’ acting as governess. Of these, two were sisters (Sarah and Eliza Jarwood, both of whom had been pupils) and one was possibly the sister of a former pupil who had herself twice been employed by the School. The ‘possibly’ is because the ages don’t match but then we have already seen that these were massaged. Elizabeth Jack, former pupil, became assistant matron in 1807, then left to marry but returned to fill a gap when the writing master had been sacked for allowing his son to deputise for him instead of carrying out his duties. Harriet Jack may have been Elizabeth’s sister, born in 1787 despite the age given in the census, or it may be coincidence. Given the School’s propensity for employing former pupils (and perhaps also relatives of them), the inclination is that Harriet was the sister of Elizabeth but it cannot be proven.
Ten years later and the staff listed in 1841 are all still there but now we know where they were born. (Frances Crook, incidentally, was still fibbing about her age: she has added 10 years – correct arithmetically – but was still a long way shy of the truth.)
In 1851, the School was about to move premises because the lease on the existing property was expiring and it seemed easier to start again elsewhere with a new building. In 1852, after a grand opening ceremony, the School moved to Battersea, usually referred to in School annals as Clapham Junction to everlasting confusion.
By 1861, the pupil count has become 79 so an exponential increase. Jackson’s Oxford Journal of May 1859 indicates that there ‘are about 70 in number’ so is roughly within the ball park.
Given the School’s traditional Drill, it is interesting to see that the next door neighbour is a Drill Instructor for the Volunteers!
There are 2 pupil teachers, 3 adult staff (Matron, Sch Mistress, Asst Mistress) and four servants including a married couple where he was the gardener. They would have been provided with a small cottage in the grounds. The head servant is the same person listed since 1841 – Martha Marshall from Rayleigh, Essex. Frances Crook had died in 1854 at which point it had been revealed that she was actually 78! It means that her age declaration of 50 in 1841 was rounded down by some 15 years.
Amongst the girls are 5 sets of sisters, and four others whose sisters had been pupils previously, indicating that, at this time, the ruling about not admitting more than one daughter of a family was being ignored. The adherence to this rule came and went, presumably dependent on whether ‘those at the top’ were sticklers for the rules or partial to some judicious bending of same.
By 1871, the School is listed as the Royal Masonic Institution for Girls (RMIG) and the numbers have leapt up again to 103 with 5 teaching staff and four pupil teachers. There are five servants including the long-serving Martha Marshall, now listed as cook. The gardener and his wife are still there and they are joined by two sisters, Elizabeth and Ellen Kite, as kitchen maid and nursemaid. There are again 5 sets of sisters but proportionately this represents a reduction as the school roll has increased. Six girls had been born overseas (South Africa, America, Italy, Australia, India, and Turkey), all described as British subjects or born in the British Empire.
The 1881 census, taken on April 3rd, lists 16 house servants – ranging from two cooks to five laundry maids. A gardener and his wife are listed, presumably occupying the same cottage, but not the same couple as in 1861 and 1871. Martha Marshall, at the school since at least 1841, had died, her burial being on 30 Mar 1874 at St Mary’s, Battersea.
There are now 17 school mistresses, in age from 70 to 16. The School varied in its distinction of pastoral and academic staff, sometimes lumping them all in together, sometimes separating them into matron’s staff and school mistresses. In 1881 the census did not distinguish them one from another, listing them all as School Mistress even though five of them are Pupil Teachers aged 16. Some of these went on to become ‘proper’ teachers, either at the School or elsewhere. At the time there was little in the way of formal teacher training and a practitioner learned at the chalk face, so to speak. Or discovered that teaching was not for them and moved into other roles.
The School roll had leapt upwards again to 236 and as all entries were handwritten, someone’s hand – and head – must have ached getting all the information down accurately. Or not, because all census returns contain errors and trying to interpret what is written from information recorded elsewhere has been the historian’s lot ever since.
The School census returns of 1841-1881 provide not just a snapshot of who was in the buildings on census night but a means of analysing the history by reading across the grain – i.e. reading meaning that was not necessarily intended but which gives a fascinating insight into the past by capturing one small moment in time. As such they are worth their weight in gold, something that is unlikely to have been anticipated by those who instigated them.
[i] Making Use of the Census – Susan Lumas 1993
RMSG History Extra 