When Horace Thrower met George "Puddy" Solomon

 

I have only recently become intrigued by the fisherman from a time long ago, who made their entire livelihood from the herring fishing industry.  This fascination, no doubt, began as I learned more and more about our family history and those who sacrificed their lives trying to make a living while also feeding a nation through two world wars.  I recently purchased a book written by David Butcher which was titled, “Living From The Sea”.  In one particular chapter, Horace Thrower describes his life growing up in the early part of the 20th century and his encounter with another family fisherman, George
“Puddy” Solomon.  Both men, are connected through a common ancestor—Thomas Forster (1837-1888).  You may recall that Thomas Forster was also a fisherman and served as an Able-Bodied Seaman on board the drifter “White Rose” when it sank in a storm in 1888.  All hands were lost.

Horace James Thrower (1904-1990) was born in Beccles, Suffolk, England in 1904 to James Thrower and Marian Victoria   Butcher and left school early after success in the Labour   Exam.  He went fishing at 14 and spent the rest of his   working life at sea, most of it as second engineer on   steam and diesel craft. Horace is descended from Henry   Baldry (1670-1743) who was the 3X great grandfather of   Thomas Forster.  His lineage from Henry Baldry includes familiar names such as Whincop (Wincup), Beamish and Thrower.  He married Rose Hannah Beamish in 1928 and had two children:  Jean Rose Ellen Thrower and Glynn Brian Thrower.

George “Puddy” Solomon (1883-1956) was born in Barnby, Suffolk, England in 1883 to Arthur “Hoot” Solomon and Louisa Lawes.  George was a lifelong fisherman.  He lived in Kendal Road South Lowestoft. During WWI while in the Royal Navy Reserves he was the skipper of the steam Drifter Nelson. After the war he skippered (LT 703) Empire's Heroes for many years. After retirement he worked on pleasure boats on Norfolk broads.  He married Eliza Ann Saunders in 1903 at St. Margaret’s Church in Lowestoft.  Together, they had four children:  Lilian Gladys Solomon, Arthur George Solomon, Doris Louisa Solomon, and Leslie Friday Solomon.  Their daughter Lilian married William Adams, son of George “Pikey” William Welch-Adams, great grandfather of Gary Adams.

Here is the fascinating story of how Horace met George in his own words.

Horace Thrower

 “There wuz three boys an’ two gals in my fam’ly.  I wuz   the oldest one.  That wuz hard bringin’ up children then   an’ thass why I hetta go t’ work at 11—my mother   couldn’t manage too well on just my father’s money.    See, the only time a farm labourer got a bit extra wuz at   harvest.  At that time o’day they got £5 each for the   harvest, an’ even though my father wuz head cowman he   used t’ go inta the harvest fields as well.  His job wuz a   seven days a week on.  Once or twice, after I’d left   school, I did his job time he wuz ill.  He wuz laid up there for five or six weeks on one occasion an’ I stood in till he   got better.  That wuz a six till six job, that wuz!  There   were about 30 t’ 40 Friesians t’ see after an’ I helped the   second cowman do it.  You’d gotta milk twice a day an’   feed the calves an’ that.  Durin’ the winter time all the cows were in, under cover.  You hetta clean ‘em all out, put fresh straw in, feed ‘em.  We used t’ grind up cattle beet in a machine an’ go cut hay out o’ the stacks.  I tell yuh, you were never still all the time you were there!

“I used t’ just about live on that farm when I wuz a boy.  As soon as I come out o’ school I’d be there.  O’ course, I hent got far t’ go; that wuz just across the road from where we lived.  We were in one o’ Mr. Balls’s tied-cottages.  He used t’ treat us all right.  He used t’ give us eggs an’ skimmed milk.  Yeah, he wuz a real nice person an’ the rest o’ his fam’ly were nice as well.  A lot o’ the farmers at that time o’ day were a tight-fisted bunch, but not Mr. Balls.  He treated my father well.  See, my father wuz comin’ hoom one Sunday from Carlton Bell, after his dinnertime pint, when he wuz hit by a motorbike.  He lorst a leg in Norwich Hospital an’ he never worked no more.  That’d be round about 1930, when that happened; I’d bin at sea several year.  Do yuh know what? – Mr. Balls bought my father an’ mother a cottage at Gisleham for them t’ live in time they were alive.  Thass the sort o’ man he wuz.

“I went t’ sea because one or two o’ my friends had started goin’, an’ when they came hoom they’d got more money than what I had.  So I say t’ my mother one day, ‘I think I’ll go t’ sea.’  She say, ‘You’re not!’  Then my father say, ‘Let the boy go, Rachel.  He can hev a go at it.’  See, there wuz a lot o’ fishin’ people in Carlton  I used t’ take ‘em down t’ the harbour in the ow pony an’ trap, so I knew a bit about it.  An’ I’d bin out on one or two pleasure trips Hoom Fishin’ time.  I always enjoyed doin’ that.  You’d just go out for the night, you know, an’ you’d do one or two little odd jobs aboard.  I used t’ help the cook.  Yis, I liked it.  You got a bit o’ decent grub—an’ nice fresh air!

“In the end, my mother let me go.  The first boat I went in wuz the Nil Desperandum (LT 175).  Sam Riches wuz the skipper’s name an’ he wuz a Carlton man.  He dint live far from us an’ I went an’ asked him if I could go with him.  He say, “Yis, boy, that you can.  Come cook.’  So thass what I did.  I wuz cook about six weeks an’ then I went cast-orf.  We were down at Lerwick an’ the reason I give up bein’ cook wuz because I couldn’t git on with it.  You were always rollin’ about an’ yuh pots an’ pans used t’ fly everywhere.  You couldn’t keep nothin’ on the stove neither.  An’ when you were makin’ anything, you couldn’t stand an’ do it prop’ly because the galley wuz so small.  The blokes shew me what t’ do, but I use t’ make a mess of it sometimes.  I never could make a good job o’ the dumplins—you know, the light duff.  I could cook a herrin’ all right, though!  Yeah, they used t’ praise me up for my fryin’.  An’, o’ course, I wuz all right makin’ the tea.

“That wuz a lovely journey down t’ Shetland when I first went t’ sea.  The only trouble wuz I got terrible sea-sickness.  I laid in the little boat for two or three days.  If only I coulda got ashore, I shouldn’t have gone no more!  If we’d have stopped orf at Shields, I’d hev blinkin’ well walked hoom!  But after that week, that one week, I wuz right as rain.  I never wuz sick once after that.  But durin’ that week, oh—I dint hev nothin’ down me, so I couldn’t bring nothin’ up, only ow green slimy stuff.  That wuz blinkin’ horrible.  I couldn’t do anything while I wuz like that.  Somebody else hetta do the cookin’.  Mind yuh, the blokes all knew what it wuz like ‘cause they’d bin through it.  They were nearly all Carlton chaps an’ they helped me as much as they could.  If they’d bin strangers, that mighta bin different.

George "Puddy" Solomon

“After I got over my sea-sickness on that first voyage, I quite enjoyed bein’ a fisherman.  Yeah, I used t’ love it then.  See, when I got up on deck out o’ bein’ cook, I wuz as high as you like.  I could see what I wuz a-doin; I dint hev no blinkin’ ow ropes t’ worry about.  Nor yit the cookin’.  See, an’ from cast-orf I went t’ threequarter-share, then up t’ hawseman, which is one below the mate.  I did try for my mate’s ticket, but I wuz colour blind so I couldn’t pass for it.  After I’d done about four or five year in the Nil Desperandum, I went stoker in the Empire’s Heroes (LT 703).  The skipper’s name wuz George Solomon an’ he wuz a son o’ the man who kept the Carlton Bell—the first person I went t’ work for.  I wuz with him ten or a dozen year altogether.  I dint mind goin’ below ‘cause the work wuz a bit easier than up on deck an’ I got paid a threequarter an’ half-quarter share, which wuz only a half-quarter below hawseman.

“One thing I can still remember is my first Hoom Fishin’ in the little ow Nil Desperandum.  I think we made about £1,200 profit, which wun’t bad in them days.  I can’t tell yuh exactly the money I had t’ take up, but I know that wuz a decent bit--£24 or £25, somethin’ like that.  So, come Chris’mas time, I hed a bit o’ money in my pocket.  O’ course, I give my mother some an’ some I kept for myself.  After I’d bin fishin’ about three or four year, I bought myself a motorbike.  I used t’ go down t’ Low’stoft on that an’ leave it at Bird’s shop, where I did my pushbike.  I bought a Douglas, a belt-driven one.  Cor, dint I swank when I got that!  O’ course, there wun’t no drivin’ licence then.  No, you dint hev no licence, nor yit no road tax  You just hopped on an’ drove orf!”

Extract from Living from the Sea, David Butcher, pg. 88-92.