Interlude: In the Footsteps of HJB Marriott

If you are reading this interlude and are not familiar with the life of Henry John Burton Marriott, known as “Jack”, born 1888 in Lewisham, London, died at Starr’s Point, Kings, Nova Scotia in 1986, then here is a brief sketch of his early years. For those of you who know me well, Jack is my old friend, whose favourite cat I froze and kept in my freezer so that I could place it on his shoulder in his casket when I buried him two-and-one-half years later. I have nearly completed a book about Jack’s colourful and adventurous, eccentric life. (I am currently hampered by the fact that I put the manuscript on a disk to bring to the UK hoping to put it on this new computer, but have discovered that the disk is corrupted. Nevertheless, I am researching as best I can.)

Jack’s father was a London stockbroker, their household having servants, and Jack started out with good prospects. But he found himself working as a clerk in the Bank of England, sometimes shoveling gold sovereigns into bags for delivery, and he dreaded the work. Philosophically and politically, Jack was not comfortable in his own social class, and clearly resented the upper classes. He also fell into disfavor with his family, ostensibly by marrying beneath his station in life, to Leila Talbot. Leila had been to Canada and her sister had married into the Crawley family of Wolfville, N.S. Jack met the sons of the Wolfville Postmaster and they encouraged him to emigrate to Canada. He resolved to follow a life of farming, but he was ill-prepared to farm in Canada and, for all intents and purposes, eventually failed at the enterprise.

Nevertheless, before leaving he was eager to learn, and while he and his wife made preparations to leave England, he sought out opportunities to learn agricultural methods, offering himself as an unpaid worker to farmers who in turn might teach him some skills.

On 22 September 1920, Jack Marriott began keeping a diary of the planning, concerns, and details of the life of his family as they made the commitment to leave England. (He kept diaries up until days before he died, in 1986. These diaries are a major part of my manuscript.)

In October 1920, he began finding farmers on week-ends, from whom he might learn to milk cows. He found it difficult, and did not continue for long.

In February 1921 he resigned from the Bank of England.

After leaving the Bank, and having gathered together as much capital as possible, Jack an Leila awaited final word on a sailing date from Liverpool and about potential opportunities in Nova Scotia.

[Note that the diaries that Jack kept were casual records of day-to-day experiences. He was sometimes careless in spelling and he took shortcuts, using abbreviations. Also, British conventions—note use of hyphens and apostrophes—are not the same as our conventions. Numbers in parentheses represent pages numbers in the diaries.]

March 2, 1921. Spent a long morning at Covent Garden market interviewing salesmen who touch Nova Scotia apples—Got a good deal of interesting information out (94) of them and some farm cards and lists of the apples they like to get, etc. etc. I will pay another visit yet, but to the Borough Market & then I think I shall have got some really useful hints.—I cannot but help believe that much of the grumbling of the farmers at their treatment by the market of their goods etc. is greatly caused by themselves. My impression was of straight & open dealing—
Mch. 3. Beginning to feel I must be up & doing, but am waiting for a letter from a farmer friend of Billy Fisher’s. Failing that I shall go seeking a place on Monday. Still no word from Furness Withy. What a nuisance they are—I am half dreading & half excited at the thought of seeking out a farm on spec. to teach me ploughing. What rebuffs may I not subject myself to? They may think I’m a thief, and of course I must accept no pay or I come under the rules of the Farm Labourers Union! Well, we shall see I don’t quite know how to proceed. Spent the day gardening here; Harold cannot touch a spade so is pleased (95) to find someone who likes it. Don’ t know that I do like it much though, the “good earth” being a mixture of sticky yellow clay, bricks, tiles, slates and cats messes---Must answer the letter of Nova Scotian office—Oh by the by, heard from the Secretary of the Bank today saying that the D/G [Deputy Governor] would be prepared to commute my pension at about £930! Beyond my fairest dreams. This side of the business goes well anyway, even if other things are not good—So after all my speculations, my capital will be (by the 1st June) £930, plus what is left of the sale of my furniture after paying fares, say £220 (already in $) making in all at least £115O or about $4950. Enough to keep us for 5 years! So surely we need not fear—
March 7 Monday. Still no letter from Furness Withy so shall not go seeking a farm today but shall run up to town to see if a letter has arrived by first post, to receive my gift, (a pocket aneroid Barometer) and then into the London offices of Furness Withy if no letter has arrived, to try & get them on the phone.
(Later) carried all (96) this out, but got no satisfaction from the slippery people, so have written them a stiff letter—Billy’s farmer has failed so tomorrow I must go seeking. I also today had a long talk with the secretary of the Bank re the many points which arise before I can settle upon commutation.
March 10. This has been your birthday my little one. Where shall we be next birthday? Sat 2 hours at Canadian office awaiting an interview & discovered (103) by looking at my papers that the trouble was both our fathers having died of consumption thus making it possible that the entrance into the Country would be refused us. I spent a fairly hair raising ½ hour awaiting the interview. For this would absolutely put the lid on everything if this were enforced. Eventually I explained & a letter was dictated to the shippers saying I was passed. Now a letter has come from Furness Withy informing me the Digby will not sail until the 30th! And the Cunard people can’t get us on any of their boats now, so we must wait until 30 April. I must get in some farming here if possible. I’ll write to Wye Agricultural College & then go off on Monday.

In March 1920, he went to the Reigate area at Betchworth and Dorking. He tried his hand at ploughing, and then decided to go to the agricultural college at Wye for advice. Here we pick up on what happened, from his own diary. Jack calls his plan to learn farming methods firsthand, his “Little Lone Adventure.” He refers to the pending move to Canada as the “Great Adventure.”

Tuesday, 8 March 1920: The “Little Adventure”, precursor to the “Great Adventure”, begins—
Saturday March 12th 1920: Spending the week end reading up about tractors, book borrowed from Board of Agriculture—
Tuesday 15 March. End of 2nd day of second chapter of Little Lone Adventure! Too tired last night to write up this book. Started off to go straight to Wye College Monday morning as no letter had arrived. Got out of train at Wye, Kent, about 2.30 and went to College. Whilst sitting waiting for Secretary read Prospectus and took everything in and came to the conclusion it was no earthly good. Rich mans college for training of lazy overseers and bailiffs—(104) They certainly have a practical side apart from their prayers and lectures, but hurriedly apologized for it—Then there was the lounging about the streets of insolvent looking students very conspicuous of the fact that they belonged to the domineering class and had enough money behind them to keep them in it snugly. Then in the town there was the parson and two richly dressed snobs “visiting” a poor mans cottage—No—It was like slugs all over me, so I hurried out without seeing the Secretary and fled from Wye towards the string of villages fringing the downs. After tramping about 2 hours through farm and park lands (and not seeing one man woman or child at work in the fields) I came to a farm owned by a Scotsman Alexander, a wild looking giant—I passed his actual house and took a long circuit to the farm in a rushy marshy hollow only to be directed back. By this time I had a bad headache and was hungry. He could do nothing for me and suggested my going right back to Wye to an address there! Then his wife suggested a neighbouring farmer, who, if not full, sometimes took pupils—“Just down the turning at the top of the hill.” This proved to mean a good mile and eventually in the approaching dark I arrived there nearly dead beat. Had enough energy left to speak intelligently to the farmer (105) an one named Roseveare and to persuade him to take me on for a few weeks. This he did (without premium as I should not get a thorough insight) and off I went to find lodgings. Ashford was the only hope 2 miles away. Followed the direction given and followed the wrong road in the dark. So after about 2 ½ miles I fetched up at nearly my starting point. Here I found a public house and got a little food, and luckily caught a bus to Ashford. I don’t think I should ever have walked it. After some more trouble put up at a Temp: Hotel, where after supper I retired almost too tired to sleep and sick with headache. Alright in morning and walked off to farm arriving at 8.30. (Bill for night 9/6) There I was attached to another pupil who looked after the sheep etc. an awfully nice chap named Ford. He had been ahead of me in the army through Brighton and on to Weedon but not to France—Took 5 black pigs to market in the float, which fetched 3@£8, 2@£6. Then at 5 ocl tramped back again to Ashford 2nd time, to change my lodgings. Eventually found a place cheaper. Supper Bed and brex for 5 nights a week 30/-. So also hired a bicycle for 30/- a month. I must try to get this back in fares etc. Also persuaded Mrs. Roseveare to feed me middle day. Out of pocket another 10/- a week for that! Always pay pay pay! Will it ever (106) come in? I trust so, or we shall be on the rocks—Wrote a long long letter to you, my dear One and went to bed up the flimsiest little winding stairway. But I do feel so small in this world without you—
Wednesday 16th Passmore’s Restaurant Ashford—Got along pretty well today. Spent practically the whole time “skimming” a field of beans with the waggoner—Easy work, too easy in the keen blustering wind that blew across the field—Drew the old man out about farming during dinner—How we shall ever live by agriculture I don’t know; there seems to be no money in it at all. Let us hope that things are different in the beyond and that we somehow manage to keep our capital fairly intact. I wonder if anyone, except you dear Soul, could know how lonely I can get here of an evening when the work is done? This restaurant is not very comfortable.
17 March Got on a bit better, begin to understand what the jargon means. Unfortunately, Ford suddenly leaves, and is gone. He was splendid one to explain anything. I take on his job! That is, feeding the “Lags” (last years lambs), the bullocks and the 9 rams—To save getting back and having too long an evening at Ashford, I stayed on at the farm and (107) and did some digging until 6.30. For doing this Mr. Roseveare insisted on my going in to tea first, a lot for him who is a regular skinflint and exacted payment of dinner money from Ford right up to the last day, although he was thoroughly experienced, and had spent 3 years on farms, out of which about 1 ½ years was spent here at Kingsland. By the by the address of this place is H. Roseveare, Kingsland Farm, Westwell Near Ashford, Kent. And I should think as good a place as I could get. Not too well run, as that is open to enlightening criticism of the farmhands. Intelligent and broadminded farmer, and every kind of farming. Arable, pasture dry and moist, orchard and kitchen garden, milking cows (12), 2 fattening cows, bullocks, sheep, rams, pigs, horses, a bull, and chickens. I must use my time well, which, though expensive, may be made worthwhile—

This is the farm which I went searching for. Having Googled Westwell, and then Kingsland, I was pleased to find both, Kingland Lane running towards Westwell from exactly 2 miles outside Ashford. This is an extremely rural area still, so odds were that I was in the right place. Curiously, a Jack did, we kept ending up at the only pub in Westwell—maybe the same one Jack found himself at in 1921—and could not at first find Kingsland Lane: even the Royal Mail Delivery person couldn’t help us, but the whole family running the pub talked it over and directed us to exactly the right lane! We could not, however, find the Passmore Inn/Restaurant in Ashford.

The narrow Kingsland Lane, two miles from Ashford, Kent.




In all probability, these fields were part of Kingsland, in the South Downs.




Odds are that these buildings were on the Kingsland farm at which Jack stayed and laboured.

This newer home, not likely the original farmhouse of which Jack writes, is maybe built on the site of the farmhouse. Unfortunately, no one seems to be around, and we were in too much of a hurry to go looking.

This farm, on the same property, could be the original house, but I am not skilled enough in the style of buildings in Kent to know if it could be 100 years old.

The farm, today, is in the clump of trees, left. These could be the very fields Jack spoke of. If nothing else, they are in exactly the right location, and the area looked much the same then as now.




Jack's account of his days at this farm continues:

21 March. Last day at this Restaurant thank goodness. The townspeople do not compare favorably with the country ones. I shall no longer be stared at all evening by Lord Beaconsfield and Gladstone! Roseveare says he can board and lodge me at the farmhouse for 30/- a week, which will be a saving, as they are charging me that here and I get no mid day dinner (108) for that. . . . Spent today assisting in the treatment of his sheep for foot rot; not pleasant but useful to get hold of—Away in the back of my mind I have great worry about my obtaining a suitable and sufficiently lucrative job in the farm line in Canada. You keep cheerful enough to save the most hopeless from despair, dear One and assure me we’ll be alright.
March 23 Kingsland Farm My first full day, sleeping at the farm. At work from 5.30 a.m. (milking) to 6.45 p.m. with intervals for meals. How I’d love it if only you were here dear One! You’d love it too. The weather continues brilliant and hot except in the wind. Pruning apple trees for a good many hours. Still making slow progress with milking. I haven’t anything like the muscular strength for this agricultural work. But it will come in time.
March 24. Started at 5.30 again, but am really tired tonight for the first time. Have been grading potatoes and heaving the heavy sacks about, which have chafed my hands and arms. Knuckles rubbed through. Hotter still to-day. Lambing has commenced and am picking up a good deal about the sheep &c. Was rather depressed to-day by finding it almost impossible to carry a hundredweight (111) of potatoes on my back. Mr. Roseveare tries to cheer me by saying it will come and couldn’t be expected &c, but, as some of the bags of grain at harvest time weigh about 2 to 2 ¼ cwt., it is none too cheering. O my Winny can I do it? Can I carry out our schemes or shall I be too inefficient? Will they fail because of me? And anyway we shall be handicapped for want of capital if we have to dip into our £1000 at all. It has been fine all day and tonight it is so brilliant as to be almost terrifying. Venus glared from the sky whilst the moon, just over full rose glaring in the East. It is unusual to have such clearness that quite small stars show on, or near the horizon, but so it was tonight, many appearing to be lights appearing to be burning on the tops of the Chalk Hills.
. . . and now, as I go to bed and stroll over to the window to look towards where you perhaps too are looking & send you a good night kiss through space, I see Venus so low as to be red but still a fierce light like another moon. And away to the left, over the Pine trees, are grouped the belt of Orion, the 3 stars being horizontal, as on that night about 9 years ago, when you and I walked back to my Mother’s house of Bondage, along the Clay Hills of Sydenham after seeing the Bluebird. It was the first great thing in London I had taken you to. We then were also preparing for a “Great Adventure”. Then also was it (112) the following of an ideal against all manner of opposition & warning. May this Second Great Adventure turn out as well as the first—Well do I remember my Mother coming to me with tears in her eyes & imploring me not to be so silly, that you, you my Own Soul who have helped so to keep me up, would drag me down; and how she came again & said she had dreamt of how we had come back to her in a year or two in rags & implored her to help us—and then how my brother tried to make out that I knew nothing about you, & gave me his opinion of you, which was not good. Certainly, he apologised later, years later, when he saw his mistake—and still we went straight ahead & came out just as we had hoped & dreamed. May we do the same now. We have no parent now opposing us, but Leo’s attitude is very similar to his 9 years ago—God, help us in our Great Adventure!
We are now accepted for the Sachem and so should sail about the 16th Saturday week. Now suddenly our departure seems to have leapt upon us! Well, this Little Lone Adventure looks like coming to an end. This I expect is the last time I shall come down this Maidstone-Ashford line.
Have just rushed through the Chalk Hills at Coucham; spent the afternoon helping to sow clover on Oats & harrowing it in, and then attended at the castration of little pigs. After tea spread 5 “lumps” of manure on the meadow opposite, in 40 minutes! “Summer time” has come into operation, much to farmers’ annoyance. Milking in the morning has to be done by candlelight again—Still I’m not getting up at present for early morning milking, as it is not necessary.
6 April: Very short handed today, so volunteered to do the milking myself together with the woman who comes in, so as to free the usual milker for tractor work in connection with the potatoe (sic) planting. Got the cows in early & milked 6 out of the 10; so that was not so bad—Have been attending the castration & tail cutting of (115) the lambs. What a shocking process this is—I suppose I shall get used to it—Have really picked up a very fair working knowledge of sheep with the exception of the summer clipping etc. also shearing—I shall leave tomorrow for home—
9 April: Fontenoy Rd., Balham. The Little Lone Adventure is ended. Came back to-day from Hothfield Station as usual. The train was slow instead of fast on account of the coal strike—The Roseveares were all very pleasant; Mrs. R. made a large saffron cake for me to give to you and the old man drove me to the station, inviting me & you back should we be hung up on account of strikes & have nothing better to do—Well I trust our big adventure will go as well as the little one, which has been a success—I feel as if I really have a skeleton knowledge of mixed farming on which to hang the details as I come to them. I ruled out forms relative to each different stock, and others for the different field crops, & I have managed to fill these in in a great many cases (116) from conversations. Yesterday was a special Leg (Lag? So far I am unable to confirm this term.-Shep.) Sale at Ashford, and 56 of the Legs I have been minding the last few weeks, went in. There were 44 wethers & two Ewe Legs—Got them in alright and left them in their pens—Met Mr. R. in the town & returned with him to the market to interview the auctioneer about the price and to be introduced to him as Mr. R.’s representative at the sale in the afternoon. The auctioneer, Harry Judge, recognized my name, as the same as my brother’s, at Tenterden, whom he knew well. Asked him to remember me to him. I expect Leo will be surprised to hear of me at Ashford Market and “looking very well” as Judge said—Took R’s bicycle to get back with, &, after attending to a sheep about to lamb, & having dinner, cycled back with the boy to attend to the sale. The prices were bad, & so the wethers were brought in, and, after a reasonable time, we got them out and drove them home in the boiling sun. The weather still continues hot in the sun although a high wind from N.E. makes it disagreeable in the shade—Well now that chapter is closed, in fact the chapter on England is nearly done now—
Tuesday. We intend, if not stopped, to go up to Liverpool on Friday afternoon, having just received advice that a tender leave Princes landing stage at 10-10:30 Saty morning—By the by, I have forgotten to mention how Roseveare informed me of the Cooperative Society the Farmers round there have formed for mutual help, and dealing as they do in Kentish apples and having their own stall at Covent Garden, to keep their staff going in (118) the winter, they deal in foreign apples also—He suggested that in this I might be of use to them & to myself as agent for them in N. S. Their stall is the “Kent & East Sussex Farmers Ltd.”, and a letter to Roseveare there would always find him wherever he was. I think I must go & find the stall one day this week if I can spare the time & have a business chat—
Thursday 14 April. No time to find stall at Covent Garden. Sudden rush occasioned by telegram last night, which came whilst you were still out having a permanent curl put in your hair, saying the Sachem was going on Friday at 5:30! This was confirmed this morning & so we must depart at about 2, leaving Euston at 3:45 for Liverpool. What of the future?

The Marriotts sailed from Liverpool on April 15th 1921 and sailed to Halifax, via St. John’s Newfoundland, to begin a new life in Nova Scotia, settling at Port Williams and purchasing a farm known as The Planters’ Barracks, now a heritage site. It was an apple farm, and eventually, when the market for apples collapsed, Jack tried his hand at raising foxes and later sheep. In the end, he became a Canadian Customs Clerk, an artist, musician, raconteur, photographer and more. Arriving in Canada in 1921 his life was to become one of eccentricity, tragedy, and great adventure.