Robert Maurice Collins (1877-1924)
This is the only known photograph of Robert Maurice Collins. It was taken from a postcard of the Gorton Philharmonic Orchestra, for which he played the violin. It was taken in 1914 and it is clear to see that he is not a well man. This was probably due to spending a lifetime working in the mixing department of a rubber works in Manchester, and the inevitable polluted atmosphere.
Robert Maurice Collins was born on 30th September 1877 in Epworth, Lincolnshire, the home town of his parents, Robert Major and Ruth Collins. He was their eldest child.
This is the birth certificate of Robert Maurice Collins. No father's name is given, just 3 first names - Robert Maurice Collins. His mother is given as Ruth Thompson, not Collins, and his surname should have been Thompson. It was common practice at the time to record the full name like this when a person was born out of wedlock, omitting the father's name. As it stands, it does not provide legal proof of the father.
Other evidence of his parentage is: he was given the same first name as his father, even with the same initials; Robert was a family Christian name passed down from his grandfather and there was no evidence of the name being used in Ruth's family; he was given the same middle name as his father’s younger brother Morris (apart from the different spelling), who was also a witness at Robert Major Collins’s marriage, and probably the Best Man. (Note also that Robert Maurice’s name was sometimes spelt Morris, such as on the 1881 census return.)
Despite this documentary evidence, it is not definitive and was insufficient to prove that Robert Major Collins was in fact the father of Robert Maurice. Fortunately we have additional visual evidence to put the question beyond doubt. Robert Maurice’s daughter, Hilda, knew both men and told me that they strongly resembled each other. They both had the Collins genetic “look” of: a small mouth; deep-set, asymmetric eyes; and eyebrows that fell down slightly on the left hand side. This appearance was passed down to all their children, and even on to me, the great-grandson of Robert Major Collins. Physically, they were both tall and slim, and both resembled Albert Collins, Robert Maurice’s eldest son. This was only possible because Robert Major and Robert Maurice were father and son.
Robert Maurice Collins married Ada Froggatt on the 21st December 1901, when they were both 24 years old. She was born on 25th June 1877 at 9 Camplin Street, Ardwick. Her family moved regularly around the borough and, at the time of the wedding, lived at 256 Viaduct Street. This was just around the corner from Meadow Street and faced the railway viaduct, so they had a front seat view of the constantly passing steam trains.
Ada’s parents were Henry and Elizabeth Froggatt. They were both born about 1840, and married at St John’s Church in Manchester, on Christmas Day in 1869. He was born in Sheffield, the son of Henry Froggatt a labourer, and was a also labourer for most of his life, but sometimes a carter. Her mother Elizabeth was born in Manchester, the daughter of Henry Cowburn, another labourer, though it has not been possible to establish his origins. Henry and Elizabeth’s other children were Henry, Alice, Mary, and Frederick.
St Thomas’s Church in Ardwick, Manchester, taken from the Manchester Photographic Archives. Robert Maurice Collins and Ada Froggatt married here on the 21st December 1901. The picture shows the back of the church, with its distinctive tower. looking towards Ardwick Green, one of the few public open spaces in the borough, but not close to where they lived. The picture was taken in 1956, though the scene would not have changed much over the years. The church was built in 1741 at a time when Ardwick was a rural village outside the town of Manchester.
By the 19th century, much of the heavy industry of Manchester was centred on Ardwick, and it abounded in factories, warehouses, railways and closely packed housing. The congestion in the area was at its peak at the turn of the 20th century, at the time when our family lived there. The compensation was that there was plenty of work available in the area, so they enjoyed a reasonable standard of living at their level.
Robert Maurice Collins was known as Bob and, on their marriage certificate, both he and Ada were described as India Rubber Workers, living at 222 Tipping Street, Ardwick. He worked in the rubber-mixing department, at Moseley’s Rubber Company, which was also on Tipping Street, so they must have worked in the same factory. They were married nearly six years before their first child, Albert, was born on 24th July 1906. Ada probably continued to work until this time, and help set them up for married life.
A picture taken from the Manchester Photographic Archives of houses numbered 230-234 Tipping Street, Ardwick, taken in 1902. Robert Maurice and Ada Collins lived at number 222 at this time. This grey scene, with the distant buildings disappearing into the gloom, was typical of the austere Manchester landscape. There were many square miles of Victorian houses similar to this these, intermingled with large factories. Robert Maurice and Ada spent their lives living in an atmosphere grossly polluted with smoke and noxious fumes from thousands of factory chimneys and millions of domestic coal fires. It was a totally opposite world from the Collins’s family roots in the rural East Riding of Yorkshire.
After Albert, their next five children arrived at approximately two-year intervals: Hilda 1908, Ada 1910, Alice 1912, Fred 1914 and Elsie in 1917. So it seems that they deliberately delayed starting their family. As Bob worked in the industry, they probably had access to modern rubber products, so they could have been amongst the first generation to plan their family, establishing themselves as a married couple first. They were also more adventurous with the children’s names and chose fashionable ones, showing that other external influences now prevailed, rather than following the traditional family Christian names that have been repeated throughout this history.
Bob was a tall man, with dark hair and a small, dark moustache. He was a good musician and could play both the piano and violin. He may have been self-taught with a natural talent, as there could not have been any money for lessons, or it could have been passed down from his parents. He played the violin with the Gorton Philharmonic Orchestra and, occasionally, in a cinema orchestra in Manchester providing background music to the silent films. No doubt this was a useful extra source of income.
By 1914, Bob and Ada Collins had moved to 8 Clifford Street in West Gorton, Manchester, a small insignificant street.
Clowes Street was a shopping street close to Clifford Street. This photograph was taken in about 1920 and is a typical local scene of the period. The large round building is the public library on the corner with Gorton Lane and Belle Vue Street. It was an important local facility in the days before the radio or television. There is no traffic and one man is even walking down the middle of the road towards us, by the side of the tramline. The boy on the left has a hoop which was a popular toy, and he would propel it along with a stick. Notice the cobbled street, the mothers pushing their coach-built prams, all the adults wearing a hat, the boys in short trousers, and the girls in smocks. It must have been a reasonably warm day, as the children are not heavily clothed, but the picture has the typical Manchester gloom.
Bob and Ada Collins, and their family, would have spent many hours shopping in Clowes Street and similar streets in the surrounding area. Most shopping then was bought from small, family owned shops such as these. Shopping was an almost daily routine for the housewife as it was impossible to keep fresh food for long in days before everybody had a refrigerator or freezer. Manchester city centre was only a tram ride away and special purchases could be made there, but most people did not make the journey often.
The Clifford Street house was in about the centre of the terrace, facing south and had a single bay window. I can remember the front door opened straight into the parlour, with the main part of the room to the left and the door to the kitchen straight ahead. The stairs ran up between the parlour and the kitchen. The only source of running water was a cold water tap in the kitchen over a Belfast sink. At some time, a gas fired geyser was installed to provide hot water. The kitchen door led to a small back yard with the outside toilet, fortunately this was connected to the main drains. There were three bedrooms upstairs, but no bathroom. Bathing was a weekly ritual in a galvanised iron bath in front of the fire, with several of the children taking turns in the same water. At other times, the bath hung on the wall in the back yard.
The parlour was about 12 feet (4 metres) square, on the left-hand wall was a large fireplace topped with a high wooden mantelpiece inset with a mirror, that reached almost to the ceiling. This was flanked on both sides by floor-to-ceiling pine cupboards built into the alcoves. They had long drawers beneath, and it was all painted in a dull, dark brown. Net curtains covered the window to stop passers-by looking in, and both the door and windows were draped with heavy, dark curtains to keep out the winter draughts. The room was full of furniture, with two large easy-chairs, a table and dining chairs in the bay window, and other pieces of furniture, including a piano on the wall opposite the fireplace. There was one central electric light so the room appeared gloomy and dingy. It is hard to imagine that Bob and Ada raised six children in such a small house. It must have been very cramped, but this was commonplace, and there were much larger families living locally in the same accommodation.
Ada Collins (née Froggatt) was born on 25th June 1877 at 9 Camplin Street in Ardwick. This photograph was taken on 6th September 1933, when she was 56 years old, on holiday in Blackpool. She was about 5 feet 3 inches (1.60 metres) tall and, as she grew older, became increasingly stout, an indication that she enjoyed her food. She had a pleasant personality, with a ready sense of humour, and always had a small bar of chocolate to give to her many grandchildren when they visited.
For the photograph, she was probably wearing her “Sunday best” clothes. Working class people spent most of the week dressed in their working clothes, and saved their newest clothes to wear to church on Sunday or for special occasions.
Manchester was a thriving city and there was little unemployment, even when the economy was at its worst around 1930. So most working class people enjoyed a decent standard of living at their level, though they would never consider themselves to be “well off”. Their annual summer holiday in a boarding house in Blackpool for a week was one of the high spots of the year. Here they spent their days on the beach and their evenings at a show or the cinema, just as we would today.
Bob Collins was 36 years old and employed as a labourer in an iron works when my father, Fred Collins, was born on 29th April 1914. There is no evidence that he served in the armed forces during the Great War, but he is unlikely to have volunteered at his age with a young family to support. By 1916, when conscription was introduced for men up to age 41, he was probably in a reserved occupation as many industrial workers were more valuable to the war effort in producing the materials and armaments for the troops in the front line. Alternatively, he may have been unfit for service, as were many men from the large, polluted cities. With the fumes he encountered in his job, it is highly likely he would not have been fit enough for active service as a soldier.
This is a photograph of Albert Collins, taken in about 1930 when he was in his mid-20s. Family knowledge has it that Albert strongly resembled his father and grandfather, both in appearance and stature. We don’t have a picture of his father, Bob (Robert Maurice) and this may be the closest we will ever get to an image of him.
There used to be a hand-coloured photograph of Bob at home when I was a child in the 1950s. It was on a glass panel, but was not framed. I always thought that it was my father, Fred Collins, as it looked very much like him. It always puzzled me though, because the person in the photograph had a small dark moustache and looked older than my father. The glass photograph got broken in about the mid-1950s and was thrown away. It was the only picture of Bob, and Fred was very upset about losing it.
Bob died just short of his 47th birthday, on the 19th September 1924, when he was again working at Moseley’s Rubber Works. His death certificate gives the reasons for his death as septicaemia and acute arthritis of his left hip. He must have died from an infection that became septic. It was common then for people to die from infections that would not heal. Drugs such as antibiotics had not yet been discovered and there was no treatment.
He must have endured the acute arthritis in his left hip for a considerable time for it to be listed as a cause of his death, and he was probably already finding it difficult to walk. It is hard to imagine the pain and suffering he would have endured, especially in an arduous factory job. Aspirin was the only medicine available and he then probably suffered from the stomach problems that result from taking it. There were no disability pensions then, and his arthritis and general condition must have been of great concern, as it was likely he would have to stop working eventually. The family believed that the working conditions he endured in the rubber works contributed to his early death. It may have been a contributory factor but the heavy, arduous work was probably more to blame.
Moseley’s Rubber Works on Tipping Street, Ardwick, from a photograph taken in 1969 held in the Manchester Photographic Archive. It was one of the largest rubber factories in Manchester, and there were many other buildings on the site other than this production building. Bob Collins worked here for most of his life as a labourer in the rubber mixing department. He must have been laid off from time to time, as he also worked at Macintosh’s factory occasionally, and in Failsworth. Not only that, in April 1914 he was a labourer in an iron works. This gives some indication of the insecurity of employment and how men had to move around between employers to maintain their wages. They were all paid hourly and were given very short notice if they were no longer required. Fortunately, in Manchester at the time there was always plenty of work, and perhaps he moved around himself to get better wages.
Rubber was a very important material and the major plastic available at the time. Everything was based on natural latex rubber imported from Malaya, but this has few direct uses. Latex rubber has to be mixed with sulphur and heated (a process known as vulcanisation) to give it strength, elasticity and resistance to heat, electricity, chemicals and abrasion.
Bob would have been mixing latex with varying amounts of sulphur, and other chemicals, to produce rubbers with different properties. This would have been a very heavy job, moving and lifting large, heavy casks full of raw materials. Also, sulphur and latex are very pungent materials and, when heated together, give off extremely smelly, sulphurous, toxic fumes. So perhaps the work was better paid. When safety precautions and protective equipment were basic, working in such an environment, must have been extremely uncomfortable and hazardous. The fumes were released directly into the atmosphere, and living in the vicinity of a rubber works would also have been unpleasant. Perhaps that is why they moved from the area to West Gorton where they could get far away from the factory.
Albert (aged 18), Hilda (16), Ada (14), Alice (12), Fred (10) and Elsie (7) were all living at home when Bob died. Fortunately, the elder children were already working and could support their mother, Ada Collins. At some stage, Bob’s younger brother, Jesse, came to live with them, and he supported her when the children left home. Jesse Collins remained a bachelor all his life and died in about 1936, when he was about 50 years old. The story would have ended there, except...
Robert Maurice Collins was never known by the surname Thompson, and his children believed it was his mother’s maiden name. That is how it remained until the 9th February 1950, when a Miss Sarah Ann Thompson died in Brighton. A notice later appeared in the Sunday newspaper “The News of the World” seeking Jesse Collins of Manchester, as a possible beneficiary. Part of the correspondence is shown below.
The solicitor eventually did not recognise their claim (as their father was born illegitimately) and there was some possibility that he was not the son of Robert Major Collins. The estate was only worth £251 - 6s - 2d, and it would have to be split between six families, so the potential costs stopped them pursuing their possible inheritance further.
Hilda Collins remembered Sarah Ann Thompson visiting her mother when she was a child. She was a kind, stout lady who worked in service; she wore a bonnet and gave the children a farthing each. Her will does not mention Jesse Collins specifically, but it does mention her cousin living in Epworth, who must have died and the solicitor was seeking the next of kin. Hilda believed that she was a half-sister to her father Robert Maurice Collins, but it has not been possible to prove this.
This means that Ruth Waite (Thompson), their grandmother, may have had other children from her first marriage to Thomas Thompson - none of which was known in the Collins family. Further research has been impossible because I have been unable to find a marriage certificate for Ruth Waite and Thomas Thompson, nor a death certificate for Thomas Thompson.
A picture taken in the 1920s showing Gorton, Manchester on a Sunday morning. It must have been in the winter time judging from the smoking chimneys. It is not possible to say exactly where the photograph was taken, but this would have been the typical scene in Clifford Street where the Collins family lived. The bay-fronted houses even look similar. The closely packed terraced houses were built in the nineteenth century for working class people to rent, housed a large population, and were home to many large families living in cramped conditions.
Notice the overall murky appearance of the scene, fuelled by millions of domestic coal fires, factory chimneys and emissions from every type of heavy industry. It needed the Clean Air Act of 1957 to improve things and, even then, it took several years to become effective. Also notice the lack of anything natural, there are no trees, gardens or green spaces in this typical, northern industrial landscape of the time.
THE CHILDREN OF ROBERT MAURICE AND ADA COLLINS
My father, Fred Collins, has a page to himself.
Albert Collins was the only child to move away from the area. Like many young men of the time, he joined the army to get away from his industrial roots. He enlisted in the Grenadier Guards and became a trombonist in the band. He also played the piano. No doubt his musical education was provided by his father, and he was the only child to inherit any of his father’s musical abilities.
Albert met his wife Violet in London; she came from the Camborne area of Cornwall, and was serving as a maid at Buckingham Palace. He left the army in the 1930’s and they settled in St Ives, as she refused to live away from her home county. Initially he got a job as a commissionaire, but it was a very depressed area and there weren’t many jobs available, so he was in and out of employment. His mother often sent him money to help keep them going. There was plenty of work in Manchester, so Albert periodically returned home leaving Violet in Cornwall. He never really liked living in Cornwall, as it was so far away from his family. Eventually he joined the St Ives police force, having waited for years for the opening, and worked for them until he retired.
Many of the family spent their holidays with Albert and Violet in St Ives over the years (especially in the 1950s), even though it was a very long train journey to the south of Cornwall. He died there on 13th September 1960, aged only 54, yet another family member to die young, totally different from his ancestors who lived to ripe old ages.
Alice Collins married Harry Wilkinson on 29th August 1934. Harry was an interesting character and well known locally as a professional boxer. He boxed as a lightweight under the name of Archie Wilkie (Archie was his nickname), had 164 professional fights, and won 140 of them. He was only knocked out once, in a catch-weight competition against the British middleweight champion, who was much heavier than him. Harry once beat the British lightweight championship contender, but never got a chance at the title himself, for which he blamed his manager. In old age, Harry got senile dementia, but he could still remember all the statistics from his boxing days.
Alice Collins married Harry Wilkinson on 29th August 1934. The other people are, from the left: Elsie Collins, unknown (possibly Harry’s sister), Geoff Diggett (who was married to Alice’s eldest sister, Hilda), Harry, unknown tall man, Alice, Ada Collins and an unknown woman. Notice the quality of the women’s dresses and hats, giving a clear indication that, although they were working class, they had a good standard of living because they all worked.
Alice did not like Harry to fight and never went to watch. He gave up shortly after they married after losing a fight, and because he was having increasing trouble with his eyes. He didn’t earn much money boxing, but it did help to set them up at the start of their married life. As he had no trade, he became a porter on the railways. For the next 50 years, he worked between London Road Station (now Piccadilly), Mayfield Station, and the local station at Ashburys.
Alice and Harry both had a light, easy sense of humour and were perfectly matched. They were always laughing and joking, and had a happy family life with their two children, Roy and Graham. They lived for about 15 years in Gorton Road, opposite Clifford Street. In the early 1950s, they moved to a pleasant semi-detached house with a garden in Wythenshawe. Alice and Harry were the ones who remained the closest to Albert in Cornwall, and often visited him and his wife Violet. Part of this was because Harry worked on the railways and got free travel for the long train journey to St Ives.
Harry Wilkinson was the happiest man in the world, with a ready smile and a joke, and could make a penny appear by magic from behind any child’s ear. All the children loved him, especially me. Alice smoked all her life and died in about 1980, and Harry (who never smoked) died on 6th August 1985.
Hilda Collins married Jeffrey Diggett in about 1930. They settled locally before moving to a semi-detached house with a garden in Northenden, South Manchester. They had three children, Robert, Geoffrey and Cynthia. She died on 2nd August 1985.
Ada Collins married Donald Stuart. They lived in Clifford Street across the road from her mother, and had three children, James and Linda being two of them.
Ada Collins married Donald Stuart in about 1937. The 2 people on the left are unknown (probably members of the Stuart family). Fred Collins is on the right, dressed in his own wedding suit (he was married on 26th December 1936). Next to him is his youngest, Elsie Collins.
Elsie Collins was the beauty of the family, and became the local May Queen when she was about 15 years old. She later married Arthur Sugden and they had a child called Kenneth. Unfortunately, she died on 3rd September 1945 of leukaemia, when she was only 26 years old. Arthur trained as an accountant, and became a Captain in the Royal Artillery in the Second World War. He later remarried and had a successful career, becoming the Chief Executive Officer of the Co-operative Wholesale Society in 1974, and was later knighted. Alice and Harry Wilkinson always kept a photograph of Elsie on their sideboard and maintained close touch with Arthur.
Their mother, Ada Collins, continued to live in the same house at 8 Clifford Street in West Gorton after her children left to get married. In total, she lived in the house for over 54 years, and for almost 25 years of that she was a widow. She died on 17th July 1949, at 72 years old, and was cremated at the Manchester Crematorium a few days later. She didn’t have enough wealth to justify making a will, and the family met, in the traditional manner, to divide up her effects after the funeral. Albert took their father’s violin as he was the only musical person in the family.
Ada Collins on a hot summer’s day on holiday in Blackpool in about 1943, when she was about 66 years old. She is with her daughter Alice Wilkinson, and her sons Roy (left) and Graham (middle). Roy Wilkinson later became an office worker for a local engineering company in Clayton. He may have been the first member of our family to work in a “white collar” job. Unfortunately, he suffered from chronic asthma throughout his life, and he died in the late 1980s, at about age 50. Graham Wilkinson was a very shy boy, and worked as a bank clerk, finally becoming a Bank Manager in Stafford. He also died young, on 26th May 1993, from a sudden heart attack when he was only 53 years old.