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Wright Family Background. Langham, Suffolk UK
Langham, near Bury St Edmunds,--- in county Suffolk UK.
The ancient medieval centre of Bury St Edmunds provides a background to the early
village of Langham that was about 15 miles away and was the village from which the
Wright family originally came.
Edmund was crowned King of East Anglia about 850AD. He led an army against the invading
heathen Danes and was martyred in 869AD. Later in 1020 a body of Benedictine monks
became custodians of what became a shrine and the monastic Abbey of St Edmunds was
founded. A large gateway formed a division between the Abbey and the non-conforming
townspeople. With the destruction of the Abbey (today the ruins are part of a lovely garden)
the area became the site of the Cathedral Church of St James and also the Church of St Mary.
(The latter contains the tomb of Mary Tudor, sister of Henry V111 who would have demolished
the original Abbey.)
The country town of Langham about 15 miles away became part of the early cottage industry
involved in spinning and weaving fleeces imported from France across the English Channel.
While the town of Langham where the Wrights lived was spared the massive industrial
expansion of the Victorian age, we know that during the demise of the cottage industry the
Wright family suffered great hardship and poverty. As his second stationing appt., the Primitive
Methodist minister, Rev John Gibbon Wright from the neighboring county of Norfolk, was
sent to Bury, St Edmunds in 1846-7. Henry Wright (Snr) and Mary Ann had been Wesleyan
Methodists but they had hosted a small meeting of Primitive Methodists in their home at
Langham until a chapel was built.
The arrow points to Langham about 15 miles from Bury St Edmonds
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In their plight, Rev Wright encouraged the Wright family to emigrate to South Australia. Rev
Wright himself was intending to go to South Africa but the Methodist Conference unexpectedly
sent him to South Australia and he ended up in the Salisbury Primitive Methodist Circuit where
once again he found himself ministering to the Henry Wright (Snr) family.
Contributed: Dorothea Magor,& Edwin A (Ted) Curnow, 2019.
Dorothea Magor, daughter of Howard and Thelma Magor
(nee Wright) visited Langham in 1987 and photographed
‘Honey Suckle Cottage’, believed to be the old Wright home
along with other features of the area.
Further insights see the following:
(1) See Langham Revisited (below) -- Dorothea Magor’s trip to Langham 1987
(2) ‘Pioneer Preacher, Rev J. G. Wright-Primitive Methodist Evangelist, His early life and times at Salisbury
S.A. 1864-66, 1873-75.’ Digital copy, 2018. E. A. Curnow. p9, p19. Salisbury Historical Society, Uniting Church
Historical Society.
(3) ‘Pioneering Para Plains’ E.A. Curnow, 2007, Uniting Church Historical Society,p44-46
Thought to be the old Wright residence at Langham, Suffolk. UK
The old propped up apple tree would have seen many generations come and go over the years.
Photo: Dorothea Magor 1987
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Langham Revisited -- Dorothea Magor’s trip to Langham 1987
Having spent an academic year in California in the Los Angeles area in 1986-87, I
returned to Australia via England. A high school friend who had married an Englishman lived
in the St. Albans area at the time had invited me to visit them. Arriving in July it was high
summer, and the weather and country were beautifully green and fresh. With considerably
cooler summer temperatures than both South Australia and California, the lush green of
everything growing, it was really hard to grasp that it was the height of summer.
Days were long and beautiful with sunrise about 4.45 and sunset about 9.20, with long
periods of dusk both morning and evening. I spent the first week around St. Albans trying to
grasp the antiquity of everything around me. St. Albans was full of Tudor houses, and as I
remember it, cobblestone streets, at least in some parts. The foundations of the cathedral date
from the fourth century, having been built on the site of the death of the first British martyr,
and named after him. The church my friend attended was a ninth century flint-stone building.
Nearby was a genuine Roman mile-stone marking the distance from St. Albans as one travelled
on the old Roman road. Walking home from St. Albans one day, with my head reeling, I walked
along a Roman path, with a beautiful wall nearby which was also built by the Romans. I stopped
at a small museum of Roman artefacts and watched university students who were on the nearby
dig, seeking more evidence of Roman times. Then, still on the Roman path, I admired the green,
green grass on the hillside on the opposite side of the road. A family was picnicking there,
enjoying themselves and taking no notice of the of the ancient dig or pathway nearby. Then, to
further blow my mind, a jet flew over as it came into Heathrow, and nobody took any notice
of that either. How does one live within such history and modernity and take it all so casually?
Several days later I went into
London on the Tube and found a coach
going to Bury St. Edmunds, the town in
Suffolk near Langham, the area from
which the Wrights had come. Arriving in
the mid-afternoon I walked down the
street with the older buildings
overshadowed by twentieth century
office blocks. Finding a bookshop, I
opened the door, and stepped down into the old-style shop. I discovered that I needed to wait
for a commuter bus to Ixworth where I had booked a B&B for two nights. The assistant then
Bus drop-off Bury St Edmunds
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suggested that I walk down the street a little further and explore the ruins of the nearby Bury
St Edmund Abbey while I waited for the bus.
Sure enough, I discovered
the gateway, a huge building
which covered the actual gate
through which a coach and horses
could easily drive. The towers on
each side had several rooms in
them, sometimes used as prison
cells. I believe the wall
surrounding the Abbey had been
wide enough to drive on, and the
size of the gateway certainly gave that impression. Everything but the gate and a small section
of the wall had been destroyed by Henry VIII, but even the ruins were impressive. In one part
of the wall still standing there were windows, for people had actually lived within the walls
and I was told that Mary, Queen of Scots had been held in the wall for some time.
Within the Abbey grounds the remnants of
everything had been named; the vegetable garden,
the medicine garden, the infirmary, along with
many more sites. The Abbey area was huge! As I
wandered, I tried to imagine life as it had been, but
without much success. In my reverie I came across
what seemed to be the only wall left standing –
apparently the eastern wall of the church, with the
shape of its circular window still apparent. There,
there was a notice telling the world that it was
before the high altar of this church that the Lords of
the country had sworn an oath that they would force
King John to sign the Magna Carta. I think it also
included a date by which it should be done.
Soon after five p.m. the bus arrived, and I was
on the short trip to Ixworth. My accommodation was
upstairs in the old court-room. While I was having a light meal, the bells in the church just
behind the court-room began to ring, so I went to investigate. The bellringers were most
Abbey Gateway , Bury St Edmunds
Mary Queen of Scots was confined
within the walls
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hospitable, explaining the art of bell-ringing to me and the role of the bells in the town. One of
the men even took me up the ancient spiral stone stair-case to see the actual bells and how they
turned as they were rung. After some more chatting I returned to the courthouse for the night.
Next morning, I was
up early to set off on my
day’s walk to visit Langham
and then come back to my
courthouse accommodation.
The morning was beautifully
fresh and sunny. The sky was
blue and the birds were
singing. The country
consisted of green fields on
gently rolling hillsides. Each
field was fenced with darker green hedgerows, and farm-houses were dotted here and there. As
I walked, I revelled in both the weather and the beauty and peace of the country-side. After an
hour or two I reached the village of Langham. Not being sure where to go, and seeing a notice
on the gate of the rectory, I went in to enquire where the church was.
Having received the instructions I needed, I continued walking until I reached a
farmyard gate. The church was on
top of the hill in the middle of the
field. There were several black and
white cows standing at the gate,
but I decided I could open it
without them getting out, so in I
went, and up the hill. This was the
church where our ancestors had
worshipped. It was where some of
them had been married, while
some were presumably buried in the
surrounding grave-yard. The graveyard was thick with very healthy, very tall stinging-nettles,
so I decided not to look for any graves or headstones. The church was built of stone and
appeared to be in good condition. Regular church services were no longer held there, although
it was still being used for several special services each year. The stone step into the porch was
Walking Track between Ixworth and Langham
The Langham Anglican Church 1987
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worn down by the generations of worshippers. The wooden
step into the actual church was equally worn. Never having
entered such an old church I felt very small and humbled as
I thought of the generations who had trodden those steps and
so noticeably worn them down.
It was in this church in the 1770s that two William
Wrights had each married their own Elizabeth. I have been told that one of these couples is part
of our family, but that, regrettably, there is no way of knowing which of them we belong to. I
had been told where the key should be, and was keen to go right into the church. However, I
was unable to find the key, so regretfully I turned away to begin the walk back to Ixworth.
The village houses
were quite scattered, and as
I walked, I wondered
which had been the home
of our family. Some had
beautifully thatched roofs
and bright white walls,
with lovely flower gardens
in front of them, while
others were substantial
buildings with tiled roofs,
but not quite so picturesque
as the others. Coming to a
Langham Anglican
Church
‘The Porch step was
worn down’
Walking track Ixworth to Langham
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turn in the road, I came across
a woman working in her front
garden. We chatted for a
while and during the
conversation I asked if she
knew where the Wrights had
lived. She was a little hesitant
at first, but pointed out a
house two or three houses
beyond where we were
standing. Leaving her, I
walked on, photographing
the house she had pointed out as I walked past.
The morning was well gone by now, and I cannot remember if I had lunch or not, but
that does not matter. I still had several miles to walk, and as I left the village, I found myself
back among the green fields with their dark green hedgerows. Nearing Ixworth I came to a
bridge over a creek, and right there, there was a water-mill. Going in, I was shown over it, and
given a demonstration of how how they had used the power of the running water to lift the bags
of grain off the drays into the first-floor level of the mill, and then into the hopper which also
used the power of the water for
grinding the grain. On the
ground floor water- power was
again used, this time to move
the bags of freshly ground
flour. The actual mill-pond had
a base of clay put down during
Roman times. This clay base
made the pond water-tight and
prevented the water from
seeping away during periods of
little rain. The whole thing was most impressive.
The only people I met during the day were the rector, the woman in her garden, the
miller, and a family which came in to see the mill while I was there. The only buildings I saw
‘ The woman pointed out a house, two or three houses beyond
where we were standing’ Photo: Dorothea Magor 1987
Pakenham Water Mill, Suffolk
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were farm and village houses, the church and the mill. The only traffic I saw was the car the
family had used to drive out to the mill.
I had expected to see mills, or the remains of mills of the Industrial Age which played
such a large part in the development of Britain, but there was nothing of that nature, just green
fields, hedgerows and cows, several village houses, and as great sense of peace. I have since
decided that the trade of fleece and cloth between France and Langham was not part of the
Industrial Age of the factory mills but the earlier era of the cottage industry which had been so
important to the people in the villages. It may also account for all the substantial houses I saw,
including the one I photographed as being the home of the Wrights, as they would have required
storage for new fleece, space on which to work with it, and somewhere to store their finished
product until sending it away. When the factory mills were built there would have been no
work for those who had worked in the cottage industry unless they migrated to the towns where
the mills were being built. If they did not migrate to the mills, or own land, they had to move
to make a living, even going overseas to find a new life.
When talking to the bell-ringers the previous evening I had been invited to a Bible
study, so after some tea I walked to a cottage of a widower who lived on his own in Ixworth,
where I was warmly invited into the kitchen to join the members of the group. A heap of
magazines was shifted and I sat down on a chair which seemed to be very ancient. I thoroughly
enjoyed the time we had had together. After the study the woman who was with us invited me
home for a cup of tea. We left the village and walked down the road in the late dusk to a double
cottage built many centuries earlier. It had been two two-roomed cottages, but a door had been
put in, making it one cottage. There was no key, just a latch with its leather thong. We bent our
heads and entered the cottage through its low doorway. A huge fireplace took up almost all of
one wall. Originally each two-roomed cottage had consisted of this room and a bedroom.
Together we walked back to the street which ran through Ixworth. There she pointed
out the diagonal brick-work on the ridge of the hotel roof - some of the earliest of its kind in
the country. Standing on the brick-work were some very strange pottery figures, again very
old. Walking to the court-house, she pointed out a fleur-de-lis on a wall near a door. It had been
the identifying mark of accommodation for French pilgrims coming to Bury St. Edmund as
they walked from the coast to the Abbey where the saint had been buried. She then escorted
me to the courthouse, we said goodnight, and I went in to bed. Next morning, I was up early to
catch the commuter bus into town to connect with the coach into London where I found a coach
to Cornwall in search of some information about the Magor family.