by Christine Swan
My maternal grandfather died before I was born. When my mother became incapacitated by a stroke, I spent many hours talking over cups of tea, about old times, and the characters that I never met. I also had the privilege of meeting my oldest maternal aunt who, as she was ten years older than my mum, remembered even more, and was aware of the characters behind the ancestry records.
Gran and Grandad Apthorp in their garden in Barrett Road
My grandfather was born in 1888, in Leyton, Essex, the youngest child of Charles Robert Apthorp and his wife Isabella Aylott. Charles Apthorp, or Charlie, as he preferred, had a difficult early life. His mother died when Charlie was not yet three years old. Eldest daughter Ethel, assumed the role of housekeeper at just sixteen years old, caring for her father and six younger siblings. Charles Robert was working as a potman, clearing glasses in a pub, which would not have been a lucrative line of work. The two older boys were already working, William Charles, aged fifteen, as an assistant potman, and thirteen year old Ernest, working as an assistant barber. This would have brought some money into the household but unlikely to have been a great deal.
The Apthorp family in 1891, with Charlie aged two years. His mother Isabella, was to die in the same year
My mother recounted her own mother telling her that Charles Robert was a tyrant. Ten years later, in the 1901 census, Charlie was twelve years old, still living at home with his two older brothers, sister Ethel, and his father, but he did not intend to stay.
Ten years later, in 1901, Charlie was twelve years old and still living at home
As soon as he was old enough, he went to sea. He worked as a steward for the Canadian Pacific Railway Steamship Company. In 1910, he worked the SS Montrose, which was a transatlantic cruise liner fitted with the latest technology including Marconi wireless telegraphy. This year is significant to those who recognise the name of the ship. The Montrose travelled from London to Antwerp, where more passengers boarded, including a man, Mr Robinson and his son who were acting suspiciously. The boy was described as “effeminate” and there was a good reason for this because this was Dr Hawley Crippen and his lover, Ethel le Neve, escaping after the murder of Crippen’s wife. The police were alerted and a plan to arrest the fugitives was hatched.
The SS Montrose before her cruise ship refit in 1903
It was decided that a Scotland Yard Chief Inspector would board a second, faster ship, the White Star Laurentic, would overtake the Montrose, and effect the arrest when they docked in Quebec. Communication continued during the voyage courtesy of wireless telegraphy, making history in its use.
This may have been the last voyage that my grandfather made on the Montrose, although the family legend is that he considered becoming crew for another passenger liner, due to be launched the following year, and to undertake its maiden transatlantic voyage in 1912. This is my family’s Titanic story.
Instead, Charlie returned to the East End and began working in the Cock Inn in Mare Street, Hackney as a barman. It is here that he met his future wife, Dora Humphries, who was also an employee. The Titanic intention thankfully, remained just that. I do wonder how he must have felt when he read the news stories of the awful tragedy. I am grateful that he made the decision to not go, but such a terribly sad event, is overwhelming in the grief associated with it.
Where granny met grandad – Mare Street, Hackney
Charlie and Dora were married in October 1913 and their daughter Ethel Ivy was born in – October 1913. I can remember discussing this with my mother who was quite shocked. The couple were living in Pembury Road, Hackney, but before the development of the Pembury Estate.
However, their domestic bliss was about to be interrupted by World War I. Charlie signed up for the Army Cyclist Corps. I am unaware if he was sent to France as many of the battalions were intended to be for home defence, particularly of coastal regions. I do not know what became of my grandfather’s medals but later I know that he had a large photograph of his battalion.
The couple went on to have six more children, with my mother the youngest. They moved to Leyton and then to Chingford. From working for others, my grandfather bought a barrow for selling coffee, and began working for himself.
The family suffered tragedy when their youngest son Edgar, was killed by a car ion 1930. The family were so poor that neighbours contributed towards the funeral and burial in Chingford Mount Cemetery.
My grandfather progressed from the coffee stall to renting his own cafe, which he named the Montrose. My grandmother made sandwiches and baked cakes in their own kitchen. The business was a family affair but my grandmother also had a large family to manage as well as preparing food for the cafe. My mother remembered her working after midnight preparing food or ironing clothes. It wasn’t until I visited their house in Barrett Road, that I realised that the cafe could be seen from their house, and vice versa.
Grandad’s cafe with the regimental photograph of the Army Cyclist Corps on the wall
Grandad Charlie sold cigarettes in his cafe. He had always been a smoker, but an endless supply led to him always having a cigarette on the go – sometimes two. He would put a lit cigarette behind his ear and burn what little hair he had. He set fire to the bed with a lit cigarette, would leave one burning in an ashtray while he smoked another. He was hopelessly addicted.
Grandad’s cafe is now a scout hut
During World War II, he volunteered in the Home Guard and although the family laughed at his wooden rifle, he took his role seriously. All of his children served, including my mother, in the ATS.
The children married and grandchildren arrived, but smoking caught up with Charlie. Unfortunately, it killed both of my grandfathers. After my grandfather died, his wake was held at the Montrose Cafe, before the lease was given up, and my grandmother moved in with her eldest daughter, my aunt Ethel. On one of my trips to London, I walked between the Cafe, now a scout hut, and the house that would have been thronging with little Apthorps and their pet dog, Jack, the Airedale Terrier. I tried to visualise my grandfather’s world. I love drinking coffee, although my mother disliked it intensely. What I wouldn’t have given to go to the Montrose Cafe, to wash down a coffee with one of my grandmother’s cakes.
The Apthorp family photographed in their garden
Awful Rigours and Wretched Pay 