Tipperary House in Grantham 1894


a story from the heart and beyond



This is a private creative project from Dr. Michael G Millett outside of his main work as a psychotherapist, hypnotherapist, meta physicist and counsellor now based in Grantham in Lincolnshire.
Everything here carries full copyright © by Dr. Michael G Millett, Elevated Therapy
®. All rights reserved. 
May not be used, copied or redistributed by anyone in any manner whatsoever.

The Diaries of Mary Ann Wennell

Thursday August 23rd, 1894
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5:00am –Woke up early as the golden white lady came into my dreams again last night, calling she was and saying words I didn’t understand. It`s been a while since I dreamed of her. 
I like the golden white lady, she has been with me since I were a girl. One day I will understand more, I`m thinking. 

At breakfast, Master James said there was something in the paper about Jack The Ripper and the Whitechapel murders, down London. Made me quite fearful, it did.
It`s an ill cause that none dare speak in. You have to have courage with bad things and master them rather than expect there to be no fear at all, I say.
There were more bad news with the assassination of that popular French President Carnot after a banquet and the killer`s execution by the guillotine for it last week.
It`s said that punishment follows upon crime.
Dickens said, there are dark shadows on the earth and some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light, they do.
I say, to walk safely through darkness, one needs the light of wisdom and that is for us all to choose with our free will it is, and through the guidance of virtue, actions that lead us to a good life, I always say. 

Master James was reading that the first meeting of the Irish Trade Union Congress took place after the British Trades Union Congress didn`t take much notice of them.
Master James said they decided to form their own, they did. And Horace Plunkett just established The Irish Agricultural Organisation Society over there, after getting his fortune in America
He does seem like a good man he does, trying to bring everyone together to work for the prosperity of the Irish people. 
I say, coming together is a beginning, now they need to keep together and work together for a successful peace, I do.

Young Tim didn`t eat his breakfast. He was listless and hot and said his head hurt, poor mite.
Mrs. Chapman was in a quandary as she had arranged for her and Master James and Archibald and young Tim to visit Nottingham to do some shopping and go to the Lace Market on High Pavement.
Young Tim was too poorly to go. Mrs. Chapman asked me would I look after him while they were away in Nottingham for the day. Of course, I will, I said. He`s like one of me own. He is one of my own in a way.

Alf the gardener is due today, he shall be dispatched to ask Molly over in College Street to come in and do the other jobs while I spend time, and look after young Tim.
Alf is our gardener and handyman. Married with a baby, he is. He works hard does the lad. Mind you, he does have to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
Alf comes to us once a week during the summer to look after the gardens. That lad works seven days a week all over the place, and he does have a story or two to tell - mind.
He visits some of the real big places in Grantham and round abouts, including William Brewster Harrison`s and Lady Sarah`s, the Lord Mayor`s House. 

Got Alf to bring down me rocking-chair to take outside. Aye, this brings me back a while and a few years when I was looking after the Chapmans as young babes in Lincoln, telling them nursery rhymes and singing lullabys, I did. 

Goosey goosey gander,
Whither shall I wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn't say his prayers,
So I took him by his left leg.
And threw him down the stairs. 
The stairs went crack,
 He nearly broke his back.
 And all the little ducks went,
 Quack, quack, quack.  

Ohhh time flies, it does ! Time is free but it`s priceless, I always say.
I want young Tim to be cooler outside under the shade of the apple-tree. So I got some nice damp cloths to put on his forehead to cool him down.
Put him on me knee in the rocking-chair – all snuggly like.
I read him The Owl and the Pussycat. He fell asleep before I finished it. Bless Him ! 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose, 
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

"The Owl and the Pussycat" is a nonsense poem written by Edward Lear, first published in 1871.
Edward was an English artist, illustrator, author, and poet. Edward wrote the poem for a three-year-old girl.

Left young Tim in the rocking-chair to sleep in the shade. Sleep is the golden thread that links health and our bodies together, and the best cure in the doctor's book, I always say. 
Health is man`s greatest blessing, it certainly is. 

Alf was working quietly in the garden. I came in to make a cuppa and called Alf and Molly to join me over a brew.
I mentioned what Master James said this morning about Jack The Ripper and his bloody work. Fair made me blood freeze again, it did. 
Folks are saying £500 is what`s being said behind the scenes that the City Police are offering for his capture. Poor Molly, she nearly had a turn, she did.
The Ripper has never been found you know. I said he could even be in Grantham now for all us folks know. I told Molly to keep Percival close, I did. Keep Percival close !
Ohh, it don`t bear thinking about. And I can remember Sweet Fanny Adams back in `67 down Hampshire way, poor mite, only eight years old she was. 
One year older than young Tim sleeping under the apple tree. On Christmas Eve, they hanged Baker outside Winchester Gaol for what he done. 
And Baker wrote to Fanny`s mum and dad expressing his remorse for doing that to her in an unguarded hour, he said, and he wanted their forgiveness ! 

Well, most things are forgivable, but this was inexcusable and unacceptable, it was. You would have to be real brave to forgive that, you really would. 
Perhaps Fanny`s mum and dad were so brave and were able to write their injury on water and their kindness on marble, I don`t know !
And then there was that other murder case up north in Scotland and that Madeleine Smith and all the headlines about her secret romance all over the world, shocking it was.
Well, when secrets are revealed, the wind reveals them to the trees, I always say. She got off, she did. 
And what about poor Briggs some years back as well, thrown from the compartment of a train in London. Beaten and robbed, he was by a German tailor. They had to get this German tailor back from America after, they did. 
Because of that they brought in communication cords on the trains, so folks travelling can contact members of the railway crew now. 
Thank God for that, I say. Life has many dangers and avoiding danger is no safer in the long run. 
Sometimes if you look fear in the face, you can gain strength and courage by the experience. 
You can`t let fear get to you. Use moments wisely, then will not hours reproach thee, I always say. 

6:00pm – Mrs, Chapman, Master James and Archibald arrived back from Nottingham in time for dinner. I laid the table with fresh flowers, candles, the silver cutlery and crystal glasses. 
I served shoulder of veal, garnished with Forcemeat Balls and vegetables.
They had seed-cake afterwards and Master James ate all his again too. 

Young Tim by this time was up and about and much restored after his long sleep, he was. Windows opened more would keep Doctors from the door, I always say. Fresh air is the best, it is. 
And outside fresh air is best still. 

Mrs. Chapman showed me some of the lovely Nottingham Lace she bought over there. A fine shawl and delicate mittens and a lace tablecloth, aye they were champion. Things of luxury they were.
Archibald liked his trip to Nottingham as well and said it was a grand town.
Master James bought some Botanic Beer from Newball and Masons. They gave him a coloured little story book free with it, titled `How a Railway Accident Was Averted`. Strange fellows, I`d say ! Very strange! 

Mrs Chapman wants to return to Nottingham, and go to the Castle Museum in the autumn, and visit an exhibition of Cornish painters she says. It's called `Cornish Light` and brings together the very best paintings that Cornish artists have produced in the last ten years. That sounds very interesting as it will consist of over 200 paintings by 50 different artists she says. I always think that painting is wonderful to say what you cannot put into words.

Master James and Mrs. Chapman retired to the Front Parlour with some Madeira Wine for Mrs. Chapman and the Botanic Beer for Master James and this strange little story book.
They were listening to the phonograph and playing Champagne Charlie. Ooh, I like that song by George Leybourne.

Champagne Charlie is me name, champagne drinking is me game ……….”
Champagne Charlie is a music hall song that was very popular at this time.
Composed by Alfred Lee with lyrics by George Leybourne.


11:00pm – In bed, remembering the music from downstairs, Champagne Charlie. Was humming it in me head, I was. In fact, couldn't get it out of me head.
Had a little read of nice Mr. Scotts book again, "The Heart of Midlothian".  
Up to page 52 now and now at chapter 7 where Reuben Butler is meditating alternatively upon the horrible catastrophe which he had witnessed, and upon his fate with that Effie Deans, the handmaiden of the careful Mrs. Bartoline Saddletree. 

 I wonder if the golden white lady will enter my dreams again tonight… listening to myself.


Lord Mayor of Grantham

William was the Lord Mayor of Grantham in 1894.

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