Goodramgate, the street where my great-great-grandparents lived

This is the second of my posts about my pilgrimage to York in August of this year. Accompanied by tour guide Matthew from “Exploring York”, I sought out addresses where my ancestors in my maternal line had lived. This account is about the street called Goodramgate.

Goodramgate dates back to Viking times and it is said that it was named after a Viking called Guthrum” or “Gutherun”. Historians believe this may refer to the Viking king known as Guthrum who ruled from York in the ninth century.

The street runs diagonally from Monk Bar beside the old city walls to King’s Square, or from south-east to north west. Starting at Monk Bar, we trod its ancient cobbles, surrounded by enthusiastic tourists and busy locals. Cars may travel along the street but preference is given to pedestrians. As a result, the atmosphere is relaxed, and the sunny weather on the day of my tour added an extra feeling of jauntiness.

We passed the Snickelway Inn, a pub named after the many narrow alleys and footpaths called “snickelways” which run through the old city. Originating from medieval times, These snickleways provide access to out-of-the-way houses, taverns and workshops. Many of them have odd names, like Mad Alice Lane, but what appeals most to me is the image of people “snickeling” or scurrying along the dim passages, having to squeeze past those coming in the opposite direction!

A little way further on, on the other side of the street, Matthew pointed out a row of wood-frame dwellings built in the 1300s. Called Lady Row or Our Lady’s Row, they are a series of small tenements designed to be let out to bring in an income for a chantry priest at the nearby Holy Trinity Church. What is remarkable about the terrace as a whole is that the upper floor projects out into the street by means of a “jetty”, because property tax was calculated according to the area of the ground floor. Today, Lady Row has shops at street level and the facades have been altered, but it is fascinating to consider that the building was there for five centuries before my great-grandfather Charles came along.

Behind Lady Row , accessed through an eighteenth-century brick archway, is Holy Trinity Church itself. Originally built of limestone in the 1300s, it has undergone major reconstruction to hold up the roof and preserve its quaint features. Today it no longer serves as a parish church and is open to visitors such as me. I was fascinated to learn that, in 1884, two women—Anne Lister and Ann Walker—took Holy Communion together at the church as an affirmation of their lesbian relationship. This would have been shortly after Charles left York with his first wife Emma Elsey but it would have been hot gossip among his parents and siblings who still lived in the city.

Speaking of Charles’ parents, Thomas and Mary Ann Sanderson knew Goodramgate well. They spent the first year of their marriage at an undisclosed address in the street. Their eldest daughter Emma was born there and christened at Holy Trinity Church on 13 February 1851. The 1851 census shows that Thomas’s occupation was hatter, which makes me think that he probably worked close by, but those details remain to be discovered.

Soon the Sandersons would have to move away from Goodramgate to accommodate their growing family. However, in doing so, they would have been just like me, stopping to gaze around at the centuries-old buildings—perhaps even recalling their forebears who worshipped at Holy Trinity Church in years gone by.

The above photo shows me standing outside the Snickelway In, Goodramgate.

 

Impressions of Lord Mayor’s Walk in the city of York

York has called to me for a long time. It’s the city in which my great-grandfather Charles Sanderson was born. Grandma Sandy also spoke about it, although I have no proof that she ever travelled there. Anyway, this August I got a chance to visit York with my sister and get a first-hand sense of what the city is like.

We were there for just two nights, staying in accommodation just outside Monk Bar, very close to Yorkminster. We were so close, in fact, that my bedroom window was just feet away from the old city wall. I couldn’t have asked for a better spot from which to walk the streets where my ancestors lived. Not only that, but the weather was good—neither rainy nor excessively warm—and we managed to avoid—albeit by chance—the crowds which descended on the city for the biggest horse race of the year!

In order to get the most out of my time there, I inquired about a guide who could give me a solo walking tour. I was directed to Matthew from “Exploring York” who was happy to oblige. Before leaving home, I had compiled a list of all the landmarks I wanted to see, along with notes about how each place was connected to my family. Matthew called it an “interesting project” and, using a paper map, worked out a convenient route. He also played photographer, snapping pictures of me at various locations on my phone, so the whole exercise proved very effective.

This post will deal only with the very start of our walking tour, and I hope to follow it up with others that feature more of the locations I visited. My aim is to give an impression of what it was like to walk where my ancestors walked and reflect on the difference between their lives and ours today.

Lord Mayor’s Walk is a busy road running parallel to the north wall of the city between Monk Bar on the eastern end and Gillygate on the western end. As we walked along with the old wall on our left, Matthew pointed out the wide gully separating the old wall and our position on the pavement. He explained that it had once served as a moat to protect the city against invaders. That was long before my known ancestors were alive. As we gazed at the lovely view of the minster rising above the walls, I thought of all the Lord Mayors and residents of York who had walked this route and enjoyed the same outlook.

Lord Mayor’s Walk is where some of my ancestors lived at the time of the first census. Mary Ann Bland, mother of Charles Sanderson, recorded her age as 13 in 1841. She lived with her parents, John and Rachel Bland and her brother Thomas, aged 15. The 1841 census noted that they lived in the parish of St Maurice, and Matthew pointed out the site where St Maurice’s Church used to stand. It was apparently removed in the 1960s after which the churchyard was converted into a green space for public use.

Further up the road from the St Maurice churchyard in the direction of Gillygate is St John’s College. The college was established in 1841—the same year as the census—although it has now been incorporated into the modern York St John University. In its early days, the college was dedicated to the training of teachers. For the first five years, only boys were admitted; then, from 1846, the Diocesan Institute for Female Teachers was launched. By 1847 there were 10 students, and the number increased to 33 the following year. A blue plaque commemorates the pioneering women—Winifred, Catherine and Mary Cruse—who created this extraordinary legacy of equal education in the first half of the nineteenth century.

Neither Mary Ann nor Thomas Bland became teachers, so it is unlikely that they had much to do with St John’s College. Still, growing up on Lord Mayor’s Walk would have exposed them to the possibility of higher education for women and of teaching as a desirable career. The well-maintained gardens of the college would also have been an inspiring sight. Having been there and literally smelt the lavender bordering the lawn in front of the blue plaque, I hope they found time to pause with the sun on their faces and dream of a bright future.