The History of Ashton Court by Bill Thomas (supplied by Elizabeth Thomas

THE HISTORY OF ASHTON COURT

(The text of a talk written and performed by the late Brother Savage Bill Thomas and kindly given to us by his widow Elizabeth) I expect that many of you have spent some happy hours in Ashton Court – that magnificent open space to the south of the city – or perhaps visiting the seventeenth century mansion, which is now open to the public for banquets, weddings and conferences. As you know, all sorts of events now take place in Ashton Park – the Balloon Fiesta, for one. They have held pop concerts there, there have been special days for Senior Citizens like us, and, of course, there are two pitch and putt golf courses and some pleasant walks where you can enjoy the views right across the village of Long Ashton, as far as Dundry.

Well, it was not always so. Not always a free and open park for all of us to enjoy. Not until the City Council bought the park in 1946, and then the mansion thirteen years later. Until then, it had been known as the Smyth Estate, or even, in deference to one of the last owners, Lady Emily Smyth, simply as ‘Lady Smyth’s’.

Now – is it ‘Smyth,’ or ‘Smith’? How is the name pronounced? How do you say it? What is the general opinion? Well, I mostly hear people saying ‘Smyth’. I suppose it’s logical. The ‘y’ in the middle seems to indicate that it should be pronounced like that, but what I can tell you is that the family called themselves ‘Smith,’ and they got very touchy if anyone addressed them as ‘Smyth’. Anyway, I have always said ‘Smyth,’ so that is what I am going to stick to.

So, as I say it – it was not until 1959 that Ashton Court was open to us all. Until then, the common folk had been kept out by a wall, eight feet high, which was called ‘the seven mile wall,’ and it ran right round the estate. Actually, it was only five miles, but it must have seemed longer to any poacher trying to get in! Much of that wall still remains, although it was built as long ago as 1820. Actually, that wall did not enclose the whole of the Smyth property. Oh dear, no. They owned land and property far beyond that.

I expect a lot of you have been in the lovely room in the house known as the Music Room? It is a long room with many windows overlooking miles of countryside. The Smyths owned most of what you can see from that room. They owned many farms, umpteen houses and cottages, acres of woodland and, very importantly, at least fifteen coal mines. South Bristol had several coal mines in Victorian times. The last one, Ashton Colliery, closed in 1907. That is by the way. The point is that the Smyths were seriously rich.

Of course, there had been a house on the site of Ashton Court Mansion since Saxon times. It had been owned by one wealthy nobleman or another, but in 1549 the Smyth dynasty began. A Bristol merchant named John Smyth, who was twice mayor of Bristol, bought it as well as the manor of Ashton. And from that date, the Smyth fortune prospered. As well as the property at Ashton, they held estates in

Gloucestershire and Scotland and also, over the years, acquired houses in London. Yes, they were seriously rich.

How rich? Well, by the 1880s, income from the coal mines alone was nearly a million in today’s money, and rents from farms and property in and around Bristol was even more.

An example – in 1880, Sir Greville Smyth was able to spend £50,000 on his natural history collection – probably two million pounds in today’s money. Incidentally, most of that collection was taken over by the city museum, and you can still see it there.

Anyway, you can see how much wealth was involved when, in 1853, a convicted horse thief came close to defrauding them of everything they possessed.

So, this is the story of Tom Provis, the son of a Wiltshire carpenter, who had been sentenced to hang for horse stealing as a boy, but reprieved because of his youth. He spent time in prison, then eked out a living in various ways (acting as a so-called ‘oratory lecturer’ was one of them), and finally made his bid to become the master of the Ashton Court Estate and fortune.

The Great Ashton Court Fraud started when a letter from a solicitor arrived at the mansion, addressed to ‘Arthur Way.’ Now Arthur was the guardian of an eleven year old boy named Greville Upton. Greville had just inherited the whole of the Ashton Court estate through his grandmother, who was one of the Smyth family. He later changed his own name to Smyth. Anyway, here is his guardian receiving an official letter which said, in effect – ‘Remove yourself and the boy and all your household and servants from the estate – you are all trespassers. The long lost heir to the Smyth fortune has arrived to take his rightful place as the Lord of Ashton Court.

Arthur Way was stunned. Who was this long-lost heir who no-one had ever heard of? Where had he come from? How strong was his claim to be the rightful heir, the true owner of the Smyth millions?

He did not have to wait long for an answer. A couple of days later, two men hammered on the front door of the mansion, demanding to be let in to see Arthur Way. One of the men was a lawyer with documents in hand, and the other was a tall, gaunt, shrunken-cheeked individual in his sixties calling himself Sir Richard Smyth.

In reality, this was Tom Provis, the master con man. Before he let them in, Arthur Way got two or three burly servants to stand by. Then he had the pair admitted. He listened patiently to what the lawyer and Sir Richard had to say – and what they said was a rigmarole of why Sir Richard was the rightful heir. And then the lawyer added ‘Hand over the keys to all the property and we will give you two hours to get yourselves and all your servants and your personal possessions off the estate. Sir Richard is taking over.’

Arthur Way quietly put his watch on the table. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do’, he said. ‘I’ll give you one minute to get out.’ But the pair did not budge and so the servants picked them up bodily and threw them out of the house. But if Arthur thought that was the end of the matter, he was very wrong.

‘Sir Richard’ – the fake Sir Richard – claimed to be a lecturer in Oratory, and he certainly must have had the gift of the gab, because he told his tale to the world and large numbers of people believed him. He got support from influential people in Clifton and Bristol and became the hero of the hour. One of his supporters provided him with a house in Sion Hill, among the nobs, and tradesmen like butchers, bakers and tailors flocked to give him credit, anticipating favours to come when he came into his fortune. He brought his wife to live with him Sion Hill, and on a Sunday they would process to church with a footman behind carrying a bible, while they acknowledged the tributes of the local people.

And his next move, with the aid of his supporters, was to engage some of the top barristers in the country – two of them QCs – to bring an action in the High Court at Gloucester Assizes. He wanted the court to eject the Smyths from the estate and confirm that he was the true owner. The Smyths were terrified that they were going to lose everything, and they too engaged the absolutely top barrister of the day, a man named Sir Henry Thesiger QC, along with three other QCs to defend themselves against ‘Sir Richard.’

The case caused a huge sensation all over the country. The newspapers of the time were full of it. The court was packed with gentry from all over the southwest. Every big landowner was concerned to see whether this man from nowhere could take over the Smyth wealth and status.

Well, Tom Provis had cooked up a wonderful story to back up his claim. He was, he said, the son of a Sir Hugh Smyth who had died about thirty years before. Though Sir Hugh had married twice, there had been no children of these marriages. ‘But’ said Tom, ‘there had in fact been another wife – a marriage in Ireland when Sir Hugh was a very young man, and he was the product of that secret marriage and so was the heir to the estate. ‘Why hadn’t anybody known about the marriage?’ ‘Well,’ said Tom, or Sir Richard, as he was called in court, ‘his mother died in giving birth to him and his father hushed everything up because he wanted to marry again – to the daughter of the Bishop of Bristol, and he believed that if she knew he had a child she wouldn’t have him.’

‘Sir Richard’ said he had then been handed over to a carpenter in Warminster to be looked after. When he was a lad, he went to sea, was shipwrecked and lost all the family papers he had which could have proved who he was – and it was only now that certain things had come to light which could prove his claim.

He produced all sorts of documents – very authentic-looking. And a family bible in which his baptism and a certificate of his mother’s marriage was recorded. Now you have to remember that in the days when Sir Richard was born, there was no official national register of births and marriages. What records there were, were kept in Parish Registers and then, not very accurately – or, especially in family bibles, they were signed by the officiating minister. So, it was not unusual for proof of a marriage to be found in that kind of way. And Sir Richard did produce a family bible with all the

necessary signatures in it. What is more, a number of quite respectable people came forward to back him up.

Sir Richard had gone to great lengths to cook up his tale. For instance, he made trips to Ireland and went to a place called Castle Bernard. This was where he said his mother had come from. He went around getting to know the local people and made such an impression on them that they believed his tale of being the Smyth heir. So much so that he was entertained by one of the local aristocrats, the earl of Bandon. He made friends with the local vicar and promised to give him a fat living in England as soon as he came into the Smyth estate. And then he wheedled out of this vicar a copy of a signature of a previous minister – and it was that signature he forged to make his entries in the family bible. It all looked really genuine. Arthur Way, though had not been taking the threat to the Smyths lying down. He hired a private detective to look into Sir Richard’s background. He himself went to Ireland – to Castle Bernard – and found that Sir Richard had invented a family into which he said Sir Hugh had married – they just did not exist. But it all had to go to court, not easy. The fraud was so cleverly contrived.

‘Sir Richard’ told his tale to the court, witnesses were called to say he was who he said he was, the documents proving his claim were produced and so was a lot of family jewellery bearing the crests of his mother’s family – a brooch with her name on, Jane Gooken – and a ring with engraving which showed she had been married to Sir Hugh Smyth thirty or fifty or more years ago.

Under cross examination in the witness box, the fake did not do too badly, but the jewellery was his undoing, and led to the most extraordinary revelation. As I said, the case caused a huge sensation, and the national papers carried big stories about it. On the fourth day of the trial, the Times carried a description of the jewellery which Sir Richard had produced. A jeweller in Holborn, London, got his copy of the Times that day, saw the description of the ring, and recognised it.

Now this is interesting. That jeweller wanted to get in touch with the Smyths before the trial ended, and it was nearly over. What was he to do? Well, the electric telegraph had not long been invented. It was used mainly by the railways. But this jeweller must have rushed to a telegraph station and sent the following message to the Smyths’ barrister. He received it while he was on his feet in court. The message said ’Ask the plaintiff (that is Sir Richard) whether he came to my shop three months ago and had a ring!’ This ring was the one which Sir Richard had said belonged to his mother over fifty years before. The question was put to Sir Richard and there was a deathly hush in the court, waiting for an answer. He was caught. If he denied it, the jeweller could prove he was lying: if he admitted he had had the jewellery engraved and faked himself he was done for. Sir Richard turned deathly pale. His voice faltered. His words came out in a whisper, but what he said was, ’Yes, I did.’

He knew the game was up. His bid for the Smyth fortune was over. He was immediately arrested and later put on trial for perjury. They proved he had bought

the family bible himself, they showed he had forged all the documents because the paper they had been on had not been made until long after they were supposed to have been signed. But worst of all, they proved clearly that he was Tom Provis and not Sir Richard Smyth. They even called his sister to give evidence against him. ‘Do you say I am your brother?’ he asked her. ‘Yes, I do, Thomas,’ she replied. ‘Did your brother ever have anything like this?’ he said, and turned to show his hair worn in a pigtail. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, Thomas, you never wore your hair like that when you were at home.’

In the end, he was found guilty of perjury and despite a pitiful plea for mercy, he was sentenced to be transported for twenty years. Two years later, he died. The Smyths presumably gave a huge sigh of relief at their escape, and continued to enjoy their vast fortune.

And they prospered mightily. Not only in a financial way, but in climbing the ladder of society – and therein lies the story (or was it just idle gossip?) of a Royal Scandal.

But let me set the scene for you. You will remember that when Tom Provis made his bid to steal the estate, the owner was an eleven year old boy who became Greville Smyth? He had a cousin called Emily Way, who came from a poor branch if the family. So, he did not meet her until, as a young man, he came across her by chance while on a touring holiday. She was married to a man twice her age, but she and Greville fell in love and had an affair, and the result was a baby daughter. Divorce being out of the question in those days, Emily continued to live with her husband but continued her affair with Greville for twenty years, until, in 1883, Emily’s husband died and she and Greville married. So, at last, Emily Edwards, as she had been, became Lady Smyth. By now, the Smyths had reached the peak of society, and the cream of the gentry were visiting Ashton Court, including, no less, the Prince of Wales, the one who became Edward V11. Ostensibly, he came for the shooting, but according to widespread and very public stories, his aim was not so much for game birds, but one particular game bird, Emily. In a superb book on the Smyths by local historian Anton Bantock, he stated that local people would point out abodes in Long Ashton which were said to be used by Lady Emily and the Prince for their liaisons – including a cottage on the site now occupied by Redwood Lodge. And some will hint at people still living in the area with Royal blood in their veins. The fact is that these stories were widespread in south Bristol, most of which was owned by the Smyths. The servants in the house told of seeing Emily and the Prince (later, when he became King), together in a way that showed what was going on. One of Emily’s maids, in her old age, said that Emily and the King always had adjoining rooms in the house.

A friend of mine who was born in Ashton and whose grandfather was a shoe repairer, swears that throughout his childhood, it was an accepted fact that Emily and King Edward VII had been lovers.

Well, whatever the case, those years coming up to the end of the Victorian age were the peak of the Smyth destiny. After that, there was a slow, and sometimes sad, decline. Greville, Lady Emily’s husband, died in 1901, and Lady Emily became the mistress of Ashton Court, somehow acquiring the title of Dame Emily.

Despite the fact that times were changing, Dame Emily was still a commanding figure in the area. She could be seen around the roads of Clifton and Long Ashton, a large, imposing figure, ostrich plumes fluttering in her hat, driving in an open carriage emblazoned with the Smyth coat of arms, coachman at the front and footman in the rear.

It is recorded that when she went to church in Long Ashton, the villagers gathered at the side of the road to pay their respects, and in the church, the congregation stood while she progressed down the aisle, with a footman behind, carrying her bible on a purple cushion. You have to remember that people were not just paying tribute to the Grand Dame of Ashton, they were keeping in with their landlady. But harder times were coming. When Lady Emily died in 1914, the value of the estate was put at just under a million pounds – forty to fifty million pounds today. She had been one of the wealthiest women in the country. But the First World War, death duties, supertax, the drift away of servants and land workers to factories and the forces, all meant the end of an era was near. Whoever inherited, would never be the same Lady Bountiful.

Well, the person who inherited was Esme, Lady Emily’s illegitimate daughter. At the time she took over, she was a big, awkward-looking woman, over six feet tall, and unpredictable to the point of eccentricity, at times. But she fulfilled her role quite well, although there were some strange stories about her, such as the time she went into the snake house at Bristol Zoo and wrestled with a boa constrictor. But she was also a very talented photographer, of international acclaim. She was well known in Long Ashton, of course, and entertained notable people including, on one occasion, the Duke and Duchess of York (later King George VI and Queen Elizabeth). But she spent some years at her Scottish castle, and during the First World War, Ashton Court Mansion was used as a hospital.

And the fortune dwindled. Land was sold off, coal mines closed. At one time, more than thirty servants were employed in the house. Towards the end, it was down to three.

The death of the Honourable Esme Smythe, as she was known, brought to an end the reign of the Smyth family at Ashton Court. Death duties were assessed at £897,000 and the heir, a man named Cavendish, was glad to sell the park to the City Council. A huge auction of the family effects was held at the mansion. Everything had to go. Altogether, the estate had to sell fourteen farms, eleven large houses, eighty cottages, two public houses, ten smallholdings and acres of woodland. In effect, they sold the whole of Long Ashton village.

The auction sale of the household goods lasted eight days. And it included a 204 piece Minton dinner service, a ninety piece Worcester service and a Wilton carpet ninety feet long. It all went, right down to a set of copper jelly moulds which I expect went for next to nothing, but would be collectors’ items today. Bedsteads, books, a valuable picture, tons of canteens of cutlery, the organ from the music room, all went – and the house fell into disrepair, until the Council bought it – they have partly restored it. It is still not complete. The Smyths have gone. I wonder if some ghosts from the past are left in the house. Certainly, the servants always swore that there were ghosts there – a Sir John Smyth who died in mysterious circumstances had been seen wandering along the corridors and peering into windows. Soldiers stationed at the house during the war swore they had seen a little old, crinolined lady on the staircases and one servant was terrified by a top-hatted apparition that appeared in a gateway and then vanished into the ground.

Well, I have been to Ashton Court many times to have lunch, and I have never seen a ghost. Mind you, I have seen plenty of spirits, but they have all been in a glass, being drunk with great enjoyment!