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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.