The Pre-quel: Slander the Midwife

As a young clergyman, the Rev Gordon James Henry Llewellyn served the Free Church of England, a strict and evangelical offshoot of the state church. In 1888, he was ordained in the Church of England and spent the next decade ministering amongst the "necessitous poor" in London's East End. He'd been chaplain at several schools, workhouses and infirmaries and, since 1894, he was vicar of St. Matthew's on the Commercial Road in Stepney. 

Among his duties was to serve as director of the Tower Hamlets Dispensary and Infirmary in White Horse Street. Founded in 1792, and supported entirely by charitable donations, the facility served roughly 4000 patients per year, with admission by recommendation only. Depending upon the size of their donation, supporters received a certain number of passes to allow the needy to use the infirmary. The services available included beds for maternity; there were attending physicians and a team of certificated midwives headed by Dorothy Coulton.

In 1896, the vicar and Coulton fell out over her willingness to receive young unmarried women. Llewellyn believed such cases, many of which were of the very poorest classes, were best sent to the local Union. Further, he suggested that her open door policy was "lending itself to the encouragement of sin."

Returning from a holiday, Coulton was stunned to learn from one of the other nurses that the vicar had been talking about her in her absence. He had joked that she was "off on her honeymoon with Dr. Huddlestone," the local medical officer. MRS Dorothy Coulton went to the directors for an explanation. In a stormy session, Llewellyn explained that he'd merely repeated gossip. He never believed it. Then why hadn't he stopped it, she demanded to know, adding. "I have a great mind to resign." To which, the vicar replied, "I think you'd better." The directors were agreed but she left with a small testimonial and a solid reference. 

Mrs Coulton began to attend some private patients but when they were referred to the infirmary, they were turned away. Word got back to her that the Rev. Llewellyn had discouraged at least one woman, telling her that Mrs. Coulton had been dismissed from the Infirmary because she was not a fit and proper person. The Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand are a long way from Stepney but in March 1898, before Mr. Justice Grantham, Mrs. Coulton sued the Rev. Mr. Llewellyn for slander. 

In his defense, the vicar of Stepney denied ever making any slanderous remarks. He had always had the highest opinion of Mrs. Coulton's abilities. As for her soul, well, he admitted falling out with the chief midwife primarily because she didn't go to church regularly and gave him only the vaguest excuses. As for the unmarried women, he did not object as long as the women were members of the parish. All the decisions regarding the treatment of enceinte women were as directed by the policies of the St. Matthew's Maternity Society, he insisted.

The jury found for Mrs. Coulton but probably for a much smaller sum than she had been seeking. She was awarded just 20 pounds.

The Rev. Mr. Llewellyn remained in Stepney, both at St. Matthew's and the Dispensary, until 1905. The church and dispensary are both gone today. Mrs. Coulton was soon employed as chief nurse at the Croydon Infirmary.

Map courtesy of the National Library of Scotland (https://maps.nls.uk)

Volume 2 of Clerical Errors, A Victorian Series is available here.

A Curate Caught Off Guard

St. Michael & All Angels, Great Torrington

The North Devon town of Great Torrington is “pleasantly seated on a bold eminence.” From Castle Hill, the eye can follow the winding wooded banks of the river Torridge. Just below the hill, you will find the celebrated Great Torrington Common. 

On a summer Monday in 1879, the Rev. Herbert Oldfield Francis was out walking on that common. He had been curate at the parish church of St. Michael's since 1876. Mr. Francis was the son of a prosperous London industrialist. He was 40, married and the father of three. On his ramble that day, he happened to meet Miss Lucy Jones. He knew Lucy well; her father was a physician who worked with the curate at the town's workhouse. It also happened that Rev. Francis's wife was also a doctor's daughter and she and Lucy were great friends. 

Wouldn't you know there was a fourth person on that common that day? A passerby, who knew the Jones family, came upon the scene and thought it worth mentioning to Lucy's father. Things quickly spun out of control. The doctor went to the vicar. Rev. Francis, having presumably explained all of this to his wife, also went to the Rev. Buckland. The curate swore to his innocence. He said he had acted out of shock and weakness when he gave the money to Balkwill. Gossip was now rife and - after enquiries from the Bishop’s office from Exeter - the Rev. Francis brought charges against William Balkwill for “making a threat with the purpose of extorting money.” 

Torrington Common covered – and covers still – over 365 acres of rolling terrain. This meeting between Mr. Francis and Miss Jones took place in an area later described as “a hollow or a gully.” They were there for some little while. And, they were being watched. William Balkwill was out hoeing turnips on the Common that day. He was 27 with no record for being a troublesome sort. Nevertheless, once the Rev Francis and Miss Jones parted, Balkwill approached the young woman to make some remarks of a "coarse nature." She cried out and the curate, within earshot, hurried back. Francis insisted that the man's disgusting comments were falsehoods. Balkwill, however, thought the townfolk would have an interest in his story. Rev. Francis, in a moment he would later regret, gave the man a half-crown. "Not enough," was the reply; so, by agreement, the two men met that evening when Francis paid him another half crown. 

In late September, the Great Torrington Petty Sessions at the Guildhall were “crowded to its utmost capacity.” The Rev. Mr. Francis recounted the events of that day five weeks previous.  On the common, he'd taken a circuitous route looping around a cricket game when by "merest chance" he saw Miss Jones. They met in a slight hollow but were never out of sight of the players and others. They briefly chatted as friends will do. When Balkwill suddenly appeared and began making vile accusations, Francis admitted that he was “thrown off my guard as anyone would have been.” He regretted making the payments but did it to preserve the honour of Miss Jones.  

The counsel for Balkwill, Mr. Bencraft of Barnstaple, questioned the curate closely. Wasn't it true that the gossip about his coziness with Miss Jones pre-dated the commons imbroglio? Francis denied it but he did admit that, on one occasion, he went with Lucy by train to Exeter. His wife wasn't present but the train and the city were quite crowded and they returned separately.   

Lucy Jones, described in the papers as a woman “of some personal attractions," firmly denied any improprieties had occurred that day or ever. Mr. Francis was simply a family friend. But Bencraft was up again. Wasn't it curious, he said, that by merest chance, the two had met in a hollow, surrounded by great ferns. Miss Jones had no recollection of the ferns. 

The law precluded Balkwill from giving evidence. The closing arguments were brief. Francis' lawyer called Balkwill an "enemy to society." From the other side, the whole matter was described as nothing more than a tempest in a teapot. The worldly Bencraft suggested that married men are seen talking to women all the time. If word gets out, they get no more than "a wigging" when they get home. It had to have been something more than that for Mr. Francis to be willing to pay for silence. In the box, Rev. Francis had said that he was caught “off guard.” A strange phrase to use, Bencraft closed, if your conduct had been totally blameless.

Balkwill had a great deal of support in the public gallery. The family was a numerous one, During the testimony, the magistrates were frequently forced to silence the "lustily expressed manifestation of feelings of many in the room." The deliberations were brief.  Mayor Mallett declared that owing to the contradictory evidence, there was no reason to send this matter on to the assizes and Balkwill was ordered released. 

The Rev. Mr. Francis had been left in a most awkward position. He stayed in the town for a few more months but the rural dean finally urged him to go. He found it difficult to secure church employment, eventually preaching to railway navvies building the London-Brighton line. In 1883, he died in Streatham, leaving a widow and five children. 

Of course, the scandal had reflected as much on Miss Lucy Jones. In 1884, after five years of presumed public rehabilitation, Lucy married Rawlin Buckland, one of the vicar’s sons.  

William Balkwill's story is interesting, as well. In 1889, Parliament formalized the status of Torrington Common and authorized the establishment of a Board of Conservators.  One of the first to serve was William Balkwill who continued to have an interest in whatever people were getting up to on Great Torrington Common.

The Torrington Common story was told previously in my collection of clerical scandals set in Devon. See Blame it on the Devon Vicar (Halsgrove, 2008).