So this should be a short blog. Unfortunately there's more to say about this place than there are images to show, because it's just an ice house, situated in some small-ish Shropshire woodland. For those who don't know, an ice house was where food was kept in the pre-electrical era. In the winter people would put loads of ice in there, which would then last for quite a while, allowing for the storage of perishable food.
That's right. Today I'm talking about a rich person's fridge.
But these guys are fairly historically significant. This was the fridge of the Anstice family, and they lived in a great big house that was only spitting distance from here, now tragically torn down but fortunately preserved through old photos.
(Photo from 1912, so not mine, obviously)
It was a William Anstice who moved to Shropshire and began working with his uncle, William Reynolds. Their precise relationship isn't quite as straightforward as uncle and nephew. William Anstice's parents, Robert and Susana, were from Bristol but had eloped. Susana had a sister, Hannah, who was William's aunt, and Reynolds married her.
But Reynolds dad was the brother of Hannah's mum, making them cousins. He was William Anstice's cousin as well as a marital uncle. And that's really to be expected at this point. We can't have a story about rich people without a sprinkle of incest. It saves money at Christmas when a couple share grandparents.
Reynolds father Richard was actually a grocers apprentice from 1749 to 1756 when he left Bristol and married Lady Darby, daughter of Abraham Darby. The Darby's, for those who don't know, are the people who built the titular iron bridge of Ironbridge. The family claws are deep in the industrial pie.
I'll throw in a picture of Richard Reynolds, just to fill out the blog.
(Richard Reynolds, husband of Lady Darby- photo not mine, obviously)
He looks like he's standing in a queue and thinking of murdering the person in front making smalltalk with the cashier instead of just taking their fucking shopping and leaving. We've all been there, buddy.
But he was apparently a really nice guy. It's alleged that he gave away at least £10,000 a year to orphanages and other charities. He didn't stick around Shropshire for long, heading back to Bristol in 1804.
And that's okay. This story isn't really about him. It was his son, William Reynolds, who ran the prosperous Madeley Wood Company. He can be credited with inventing the inclined canal plane, allowing boats to be conveyed to different water levels. He had already worked closely with William Anstice's father, but it was William Anstice who took over his business when Reynolds died.
(William Anstice. Image not mine, obviously.)
With William Anstice in control, the Madeley Wood Company went from strength to strength. He moved to this mansion in the 1820s, having his old home demolished to build a gasworks in 1839. So this was his ice house, the most prominent reminder that he was ever even here.
It was here that William Anstice raised six children, William Jr, Joseph, John, Penelope, Robert and Charlotte.
Joseph is notable for being a professor and a published author, but he died when he was just 28, just six years after being appointed chair of classical literature at Kings College in London.
His brother Robert died relatively young too, at the age of 40. He was ordained in 1846, and a gifted mathematician, publishing articles on combinatorics and the motion of pendulums, all of which are a little over my brainless head. It's said (and I don't understand a word of this) that he gave examples of two rotational Kirkman triple systems that remained the only ones known until 1971, but despite being unmatched until a century-and-a-bit after his own death, he was still modest, finalising his paper with the comment "too much space has already been devoted to such trifle."
He didn't live here as an adult, but he sure knew these woods as a child, so here's a photo of him too.
(Robert Anstice. Picture not mine, obviously.)
William Anstice took over pretty much all of the mineral extraction in the vicinity, owning collieries, mines, tramways, brickworks and ironworks. He's credited with many of the industrial ruins that are scattered around the area, including the blast furnaces and brickworks at Blists Hill. An old publication makes mention of him building a furnace on "Blissers Hill" in 1832, and then two more in 1840 and 1844.
Today, Blists Hill is a museum in the form of a rather quaint Victorian town. Visitors can walk around, mingle in a Victorian pub, visit a Victorian chemist, eat bread from a Victorian bakery, attend Victorian school and visit a Victorian fairground, and all the staff are in character and very knowledgeable. The only thing it's lacking is an accurate child mortality rate.
But there's still a few bits and bobs dotted around that are remnants of the areas real life industrial history at the hands of William Anstice, and I'll include a few shots of my favourite bits, just to fluff out the blog a bit.
One feature that fills me with intrigue is this old mine. I'd have to crawl but if that gate wasn't there, you'd have to pay me to stay out.
An old inclined trainline. I'm pretty sure it's been restored, but the ruins at the top are pretty authentic.
It goes right over the street and I would love to climb along it. According to old maps, this tramway would have led to the nearby Meadowpit colliery.
But back to William Anstice's fridge!
Yes, it's easy to forget that this is what I'm talking about today, because this is literally all there is. And I know it's hardly the adventure that we're used to seeing here.
But I kinda love it. It's tucked away in the woods, minding its own business, but it plays with the imagination a bit. If we didn't know that this was just an ice house, we could imagine that it's some sort of hobbit house or super villain lair. The truth is absolutely more boring than what this things aesthetic leads us to think. It's easy to imagine children playing around here, using this as some sort of fortress.
William Anstice died in 1850, and his son John took over the company, and also this house. John married his cousin Jane Poole, whose father was the brother of John's mother, Penelope Poole. The interbreeding is actually a common occurrence in this family. It's not surprising in these rich families but here we have the Telford Multiplier, so it's less family tree, more family spirograph.
The 1841 census shows that John and Jane had originally been living in Much Wenlock, with their young children. George was born in 1853, followed by another William two years later. Robert Henry would be born in 1843, followed by John Arthur in 1846, Elizabeth in 1849 and then Richard in 1850. And upon inheriting the business, John moved his family back into the house he had grown up in, along with his six servants who probably saw the ice house more than he did.
(John Anstice- Image not mine, obviously.)
Curiously, John's second son William falls off the face of the Earth, not appearing in any more census data. It's possible that he passed away in infancy.
John and Jane would have two more children, Laura in 1852 and another William in 1853, further supporting my theory that the other William died. And having birthed eight children, Jane died in the house at the age of 48.
Curiously of all her children, I've only been able to find shots of Laura, and none of the others.
(Laura Anstice- photo not mine, obviously.)
Laura may not be a big cheese in the Madeley Wood Company, but she grew up in the mansion here, so she absolutely deserves her mugshot here too. She once sat around the same dining table and bit into the same chicken that had been stored in this ice house. Thinking of it like that, it's pretty mindblowing.
And then the home gained an additional member in 1859 when John remarried. His new wife was Sarah, and she was 23 years younger than him, being 26 when he was 49. At this point she was closer in age to his son George, who was 22. But at least she's not related to him this time, right? And whatever scandal that may have arisen from such an age gap seems to be overshadowed by John's industrial brilliance and his other philanthropies. It seems the Anstice's were rather saintly for a bunch of rich people. John's father had abolished child labour in his factories, and John himself would pay for his employees funeral expenses if any happened to lose family or die themselves. He even attended and wept at his employees funerals. He saw his employees as humans, and that is a rarity, even today. The manager in my last job made me take my father's funeral out of my annual leave, and it really didn't bring out my productive side for that company. There is a lesson there. I think if we're being overshadowed in humanitarianism by the freakin' Victorian era, the same one that threw people into lunatic asylums for being depressed, then you know society is fucked.
John Anstice and Sarah had two additional children to add to their already considerable brood. These were John in 1862 and Helen in 1863.
I don't know why he had another John. He already has a son named John, but I guess he wanted one named after him from his new wife too. I don't know what happened to this other John, but we do have a mugshot of his sister, Helen.
(Helen Anstice. Photo not mine, obviously.)
John Anstice died in 1867. It was such a loss to the community that a memorial fund was raised and a community hall was built in his name, opening in 1870. There's also the Anstice Workman's Social Club, established in his name in 1866, and probably a whole bunch of other examples of the Anstice legacy sprinkled around the area.
And the Anstice children seemingly had no resentment to their step-mother Sarah, who was almost the same age as the oldest of their entire brood. She remained a widow in the mansion here long into her older years, until the 1911 census reveals that at the age of 78 she just buggered off to Torquay. But for the most part, she had to raise Little John and Helen herself, with help from some of her step-children. It seems George, Elizabeth, Laura and Richard were still in the mansion with her, according to the 1871 census, and George would stay with her the longest. But the census data from the time does specify that he was deaf and dumb, so it's likely that Sarah was his carer as well as his step-mother.
But there is evidence that some drama and bad blood did emerge, and may even be the driving force behind Sarah's move to Torquay, because the only child who got anything in her will was her daughter Helen, who inherited all of her books, ornaments, linen, furs, pictures, horses, wine, furniture, clothing, diamonds and trinkets, as well as land in Torquay. Although it does say that her own son John, and her stepson Richard Anstice could live in the property in Torquay, if they paid rent to Helen. It is curious that they are the only sons who get even a smidge of recognition.
It's entirely possible that with the death of George in 1900, Sarah felt that nothing was tying her to this house anymore, and with resentment between her and her step-kids, she just fucked off.
A quick stroll from the ice house is this little ruin, purported to be an old engine house, also part of the Madeley Wood Company and thereby just as relevant. It's all just a scar of the areas former industrial glory.
The Madeley Wood Company, without a leader after Johns death, was taken over by his brother William at first, but he died in 1881, and so John's sons, John Arthur and Richard took the lead. John Arthur was the mayor of Much Wenlock too, and he attended the coronation of Edward VII and Alexandra in 1902.
According to the 1881 census, the mansion was still occupied by Sarah, still a widow, and her step children, George, John Arthur, Richard, and her own son John. The girls had all left to get married and have their own children.
But by the 20th Century, after George's death it was only Richard who was actually living with her. John Arthur, while running the company, lived elsewhere with his wife Agnes. And then finally Sarah left for Torquay and wrote a very Helen-heavy will. It sure is intriguing.
And then it all went downhill, both for the mansion and the company, and it was all heralded by John Arthur's son, the first of many bitter blows. And because he fought in the first world war, we have a photo of him too.
(Soldier John- photo not mine, obviously)
Things apparently got hard for the Anstice's after the war. There was a bit of a mining subsidence that coincided with the loss of their son, and according to some unverified rumours, the mansion had a fire.
John and Richard sold the company in 1918, marking the end of an era that had spanned several generations of their family history, and the mansion was apparently demolished in the 1920s, leaving only the ice house and a few other bits dotted around.
And that's pretty much all I've got. It's not exactly the most impressive adventure. But my tales of derring-do are not quite derring-done. I'm tying up a few loose ends here in Shropshire while the larger adventures happen over on my travel blog.
Because while I do love a good chunk of history, and a good story, I'm not deluding myself. I've basically just written an essay about a fridge. And how many of the Anstice's ever actually saw it? Surely this is the realm of the servants? But it still blows my mind that food was stored here, and that this food was eaten by the people I've spoken about today, stretching back over numerous generations. It's just a massive shame that the mansion didn't also survive into the present day. If not for the ice house, you'd never know it was ever there.
So were the Anstice's neuro-spicy? Almost certainly. There's just too much non-conformity to societal expectations mingled with absolute genius in whatever they were passionate about, be it industrial or mathematical. Had they not been born to wealth, they absolutely would have been bullied in school and in their regular adult work life, by people with no personalities who live off their successes today, but left to their own devices couldn't even sharpen a pencil. If anything the industrial revolution shows us what brilliant minds can do if we let them be brilliant minds. But let's be honest, I'm talking to wall on that one.
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I'm just a blogger and an urbexer, and I want to post my stuff on the internet, okay? Not everything needs to be a war.
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Thanks for reading!
