Off to the Gillows

When it comes to manufacturers of quality furniture there are few names to rival that of Gillow and Co. of Lancaster, and, no doubt, our reader will have heard of them already -- especially if they watch the Antiques’ Roadshow, because various examples of Gillows’ work crop up from time to time on it, usually at extremely high prices.
“What’s this got to do with the Fylde and Wyre Antiquarian?” you might be asking. “After all, you said it yourself – Gillows of Lancaster, the clue’s in the name there. Lancaster might be just up the road from the Wyre, admittedly, but, strictly speaking, it’s still not part of it.”
All right, keep your hair on baldy! I’m just getting to that. You see, what a lot of people don’t realise is that Robert Gillow (born 1704, died 1772, founder of Gillow and Co. of Lancaster) was actually a Singleton lad.
He didn’t hang around for long, ‘emigrating’ to Lancaster in 1720 to begin his apprenticeship as a joiner. Nonetheless, he was Singleton born, and that’s good enough for me. So stop being pedantic and grow up.
Let’s have a look at one of his pieces, shall we? This is a mahogany bookcase (or, at any rate, a drawing of mahogany bookcase, because we weren’t sure how the copyright stood) originally belonging to Mrs Hutton Rawlinson who purchased it from Gillows of Lancaster on the eighteenth of June 1772.


So, what do we know about Robert Gillow’s early years, as a fully-fledged Fylde-born-un? Well, his father, allegedly, played a part in the Jacobite rebellion and was, by way of consequence, locked up in Lancaster Castle, where Robert joined him so as to be close at hand if necessity called. (He didn’t join him in the castle, obviously, just in Lancaster in general.)
Right, I’m quoting from some website or other here – possibly Wikipedia, I’m not sure, I should have taken better notes: “…Robert Gillow's education in carpentry began during his time as a ship's carpenter. He is also credited with having travelled to the West Indies and brought back one of the first recorded shipments of mahogany into England.”
Fancy a drawing of some chairs, the finely carved details of which, like the bookcase, have been lost due to the fact that I couldn’t be bothered spending time drawing them up properly?


Gillow’s first venture into business was in 1727, when he went into partnership with a fellow apprentice called George Haresnape. The business didn’t last long. Three years after it had been set up, it was closed again, Haresnape finding more suitable employment in Liverpool as a slave trader.
Undaunted, Gillow opened his own cabinet making firm close to the Judges’ Lodgings on Castle Hill. The building’s still there, as the illustration of the entrance below sort of testifies:


In brief then, otherwise we’ll be here all day, when Robert Gillow died in 1772, his sons Richard and Robert (he might have been good with mahogany, but he was lousy at inventive names) continued the business, the latter running Gillows’ London branch on Oxford Street.
By this point Richard had also apparently trained up an architect, who designed several notable Lancastrian building, including the Customs House on St George's Quay. In turn, when Richard shuffled off this mortal coil in 1811, his son, also Richard (still not terribly inventive with those names there) took over the business.
Gillows continued to grow, specializing in outfitting liners such as the Lusitania. Good old Queen Vicky also commissioned a few bespoke pieces and during World War I, they made munitions boxes from aeroplane wings and propellers.
Gillow and Co are credited with inventing the Davenport (for Captain Davenport no less), the billiard table (not, as far as we can tell, for Captain Billiard) and the expandable dining table.
Early pieces of work are stamped with the words: ‘Gillows Lancaster’ or ‘Gillow Lancaster’, and later pieces are stamped with ‘Gillow and Co’ or just the plain old, vanilla-flavoured ‘Gillows’
In 1903 the business was finally merged with S.J. Waring, and eventually taken over and closed in 1961.
During its time, however, Gillow and Co. was famous enough to appear in works by Thackery, one of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operettas, and some novel or other by Jane Austin.
There’s even a pub named after the original Robert, so we’ll end with an illustration of said building and a pint of Speckled Hen raised in his honour:

The Jacobites are Coming!

Perhaps the oddest thing about the two Jacobite rebellions (along with their consequent marches through the Fylde and Wyre) is that they barely receive a mention in most local history books. This might be down to the fact that the uprising is regarded by many as ‘not ancient enough to count as ‘interesting history’’ and by the rest as ‘too ancient to have produced any photographs that might feature familiar buildings.’

Whatever the case, to condense the history behind this subject into something more manageable, there were actually two insurgencies, the first being an uprising in 1715 of James III’s followers against George I, believing James to be the rightful heir to the throne. In this instance the Jacobites met with defeat at Preston, Henry Butler (of Rawcliffe Hall) and his son Richard both being supporters of James.

Richard was captured and died in captivity, fortunately escaping execution which, according to Baines’ ‘History of Lancashire’ would have involved being: “…severely hanged by the neck, not till….dead, but cut down alive, then their bowels to be taken out and burnt before their faces, their heads to be severed from their bodies and their bodies severally divided into four quarters, and these to be at the king’s disposal.” (Exactly what the king wanted to do with the body parts Baines doesn’t tell us.)

Fancy a gratuitously bloodthirsty etching?

Despite the ordeals faced by the Butler family, on the whole our Fylde and Wyre locals were indifferent to the Jacobite cause. According to Porter’s ‘History of the Fylde’: “Those insurgents who found their way into the district were treated with kindness, but no encouragement was given them to prolong their stay, either by professions of sympathy or offers of assistance in their insurrectionary enterprise.”

In fact Porter supplies us with an example of this neutrality: “The Scots who accompanied Prince Charles were so renowned for their voracious appetites that the householders of the Fylde prepared for their expected visit by laying in an abundant supply of eatables, hoping that a good repast, like a soft answer, would turn away wrath.”

Then again, of course, there always has to be one: “Mr Physic, of Poulton, was an exception to the general rule, and having barricaded his house, determined vigorously to resist any attack of the rebels either on his larder or his purse.”

As it transpired the Jacobites, or at least those determined to eat Mr Physic out of house and home, apparently never made it to Poulton. However, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. To return to the second insurrection, in 1745, during the reign of George II, another attempt to gain the throne was made, this time under the leadership of James III’s son, Charles Edward, or Bonnie Prince Charlie as he’s more familiarly known.

In William Thornber’s day there were still people alive who’d actually witnessed the Jacobite march through the Wyre and, as the good reverend informs us: “I have heard old Anna Dobson, of Poulton, when in her ninety-fourth year, relate how she accompanied her father to Garstang, with crowds of her neighbours, laden with provision for the royal forces, and how upon her arrival there, she beheld numbers of the Scotch (sic), enveloped in their plaides, reclining in the sun under the walls of the houses.”

Not everybody, however, was so ecstatic to see them. As Thornber continues: “John Miller, of Layton, gloried in telling a long story of these times, which always ended in lamentation for the loss of his clogs, which were taken from his feet by a bare-footed Scot, with, “Hout mon, but I mon tak’ thy brogues.”

During the second rebellion, as history recounts, the Jacobites once again met with defeat, this time at Derby.

On their retreat, as Baines’ ‘History of Lancashire’ informs us: “The speedy arrival of the Duke of Cumberland in Lancashire contributed essentially to the reestablishment of the public peace and confidence; and a number of stragglers from the fugitive army, who had loitered behind for the purpose of plunder, were taken prisoners by General Oglethorp’s dragoons on the sixteenth instant, and committed to Lancaster castle.”

Time for another quick picture.

And, according to Thornber: “Perhaps these stragglers, or some of their party, who were afterwards captured near the town of Garstang, were the persons who penetrated into this neighbourhood as far as Mains Hall, on their way to Poulton. Here they were received by Mrs Hesketh, the lady of the mansion, in the absence of her husband, William Hesketh esq. who had secreted himself, by the advice of a friend, on Rossall warren, fearing lest he should be suspected of favouring their cause, as he had in some way or other been connected with the affair in 1715.” Thornber shortly continues: “After they had been entertained in an hospitable manner, among other questions, inquiry was made concerning the wealth and respectability of Poulton; her (Mrs Hesketh’s) cautious answer, that it was composed only of huts, and was a mean town, preserved its inhabitants from their unwelcome visit, and the plundering rebels hurried their return to regain the main body.” Thus explaining why Mr Physic was never allowed the chance to test his barricade.

Legend has it that Bonnie Prince Charlie himself landed secretly on the Fleetwood Peninsula. There might even be some truth in the rumour. George Mould’s ‘Lancashire’s Unknown River’ tells us that: “Before Fleetwood was born Poulton was considered as the Wyre’s shipping headquarters. The custom house was there. There was an attempt to move activities nearer to the river mouth. There is record of the existence in 1744 of a quay for discharging ships called James Road in Higham Pool. The quay was 140 yards in length. It was six miles from the custom house at Poulton and therefore was regarded as useless and soon it must have fallen out of favour.”

The question is, of course, was this quay built for a more ‘short-term’ purpose? Ralph Porter’s ‘Personal Recollections of Fleetwood’ in 1928 recalls that, during the construction of Fleetwood docks: “There had been an attempt to fill up the gap known as ‘Jameson’s Hole’ but it didn’t succeed and they constructed a bank running from the railway embankment across to the river bank where now are the new oil works.” Jameson’s Hole could be found a little to the west of where the harbour wall now stands and might well take its name from Bonnie Prince Charlie himself, being, of course, James III’s son.

Want to know what Bonnie Prince Charlie actually looked like? No problem…we aim to please.

Yes…we’re not so sure that ‘bonnie’ was the correct adjective to use. Presumably it must have been a euphemism for something else.

‘So, where’s the archaeology?’ you might be asking. Well, returning, once again, to William Thornber: “In country towns, and remote villages, the squire concealed his plate and papers; the housewife, her pewter and store etc; and, we may conclude that the deposits of coin of the reign of Charles the First, found a few years ago in an old ditch at Carleton and in a wall of a house at the green, Poulton, were secreted during the restless times of which they bear the impress, when, being forgotten, or their owner dead, they were discovered when all knowledge of their existence had ceased.”

Are they any more Jacobite treasure hoards buried in secret locations around the Wyre? The sword that fell out of Bourne Hill during the straightening of Fleetwood Road might be one example. Trowels at the ready, folks…there might be a stash of Jacobite-connected archaeology left to uncover yet.