Caroline’s depression in 1880/1 had undoubtedly shaken the family standing. She was now a very frail woman, grey and withered. She had, in these brief months, gone through a sad transformation at the end of which she had gone from being a graceful eagle to a timid sparrow. The heartache she endured too, by the actions of Samuel her now only surviving son, had caused a great rift in the family, as her late husband Moses reciprocated his anger onto his younger children, punishing them in his absence. But Moses’ death in April 1880 left a hole in Caroline’s heart deeper than any reconciliation could fill.
Samuel, however, was a busy man himself. He had his own family now, which was growing. He and his wife had produced more siblings for Moses born 1874, and Caroline born 1876. In February 1881 came James Wertheim, and later that year in November came Samuel Henry. Then, finally two years later came Thomas. But Samuel was about to experience an unknown grief, and a heartbreak of his own, when on the birth of Thomas in 1883, his wife Elizabeth haemorrhaged in their home in Ebbw Vale. Samuel and his young children watched in horror. There was so much blood, Samuel sent the children upstairs to avoid some sort of mental implications on them, but the outcome it seems had already been decided. Elizabeth died very soon after, whilst Thomas was merely a day old. She was thirty-three years old, and died on April 15, and the Wertheim’s mourned yet another life cut short.
Samuel felt alone. Exhausted by a frail enthusiasm to keep his family afloat, he often wandered at night whilst leaving his children in the house, with Moses and Caroline keeping watch, though they were barely children themselves. It is interesting how this family seemed to cope with death, or rather, not cope. The deaths of many children had taught Moses and Caroline harsh truths about life and poverty. Yet, when it came to the end of a life longer lived than a child’s, they seem to be a family who find that very difficult to deal with. And as the remaining children grew up, the Wertheim’s of Bristol dispersed into their own collective pockets.
Samuel was still grieving though, and in the autumn of 1883 he received a letter from his brother-in-law, Bart Gidley, telling him that should he be willing, his mother wished to see him and the grandchildren she still had not met. Withered by grief himself, tired of old grudges and in need of a piece of home, he agreed, and Samuel took his children back to Bristol for a “holiday”, sometime in late 1883. This comes from a family relative who says she can remember her granny Caroline talking about going to see her granny shortly after her own mother died. It therefore must be the case, that Samuel had settled his old ways, and had made peace with his mum after almost thirteen years. Blood he thought, would always be thicker than water in the end. In this case the tragic happening is that somebody’s end had to manifest in order for him to see it. In a small way this teaches me that no matter what disagreements I may have with my own parents, they still brought me into this world. I am still bound to them for life and beyond.
The holiday was a bittersweet one for Samuel. Seeing his mother in such a weak disposition added to his pain and disappointment with life. He was now a man who sought a legacy, a real turn around. Sadly, he would never get it. But when talking to his mother and visiting his fathers grave he must have been overcome with regret at the muggings and the robberies he had committed, even if they were ever to help his family in dilute poverty. Who knows?
This was actually the last time Samuel saw his mother, even though it was the first time in over a decade. She was so delighted to see her grandchildren I probably could not describe the moment, so I shall refrain. It must have been a moment of happiness in amongst such a bleak and pale-toned family. But Samuel and Caroline had made their peace, and it was just as well. Around eight months later, Caroline suffered a stroke, when she was roughly sixty-six years old. But she was not alone. She was of course living with her daughter Rebecca, and her husband Bart. With them she woke, and slept, and she was as comfortable as she could have been, given her paralysis. When she was ready, she passed from this life into another, and was reunited with Moses. Her death certificate states that Caroline died 126 years ago today, on June 13 1884. It also states she was 64 years old, which must be incorrect because this would place her birth around 1820, and she was baptised in 1817, on the same day as her sister Hannah. So she is more likely to have been approaching her 70’s.
Caroline was buried in Arnos Vale Cemetery, in a plot shared with a man I have never heard of. His name was Frederick Anderson. I have yet to confirm whether or not this grave has a headstone. It is one of the largest cemeteries in the country.
With Caroline’s passing, this story in Bristol ends, in most parts. She is without a doubt another example in my Family Tree of a woman whose strength can only be described as fierce, if not unrelenting. With her death, Bart and Rebecca moved out of Windsor Terrace, and into Green Street. The Wertheim story now moves solely to Wales, and I will continue to tell the story of Samuel and in particular his daughter, Caroline. Caroline born 1876, is my great, great grandmother, and had an interesting story of her own to tell.
That in mind, Samuel’s life was not done with yet. His odd actions had by no means not ended!
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