His older brother James (Jimmy) Smith was serving in the Royal Navy at the time of this photograph. Jimmy brought the little sailor suit home for Horace.
Horace was a corn miller, following the occupation of his father Samuel Smith & grandfather James Smith.
James had moved his family from Burnley to Blackburn about 1860, before the birth of Samuel, who
was recorded as 1 week old on the family's April 1861 Census Return for Old Mill Lane, Blackburn. Samuel married Elizabeth Alice Thornber and they had 6 children.
Horace was the youngest, born
in 1904 at 94 Hancock Street Blackburn, the house he inherited, and where he remained, apart from a short period of his life. He married Annie Whittaker, my grandma, in 1926 at Christ Church, Grimshaw Park, Blackburn.
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Here are two nostalgic poems about our grandad Horace, written by my cousin, David Smith.
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Horace
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I loved my grandad Horace.
He was the world to me.
He died when I was just sixteen.
His face no more to see.
Standing, waiting at the doorstep.
For Horace home off shift.
As he walked down into Hancock Street.
My heart would get a lift.
He was always doing something.
It didn’t matter what.
If Gran’ wanted something mending.
That’s exactly what she got.
I loved to smell tobacco.
From the pouch as he filled his pipe.
Made figures from pipe cleaners.
When I cried the tears he’d wipe.
We'd walk up onto Bank Top.
Hand in hand away we’d talk.
Or sit on the kerb beside the road.
With stones on the cobbles we’d chalk.
Sometimes tired out he’d sit fast asleep.
In the back in his favorite chair.
Waking only when false teeth dropped down.
And blocking off his air.
Mum laughed as she cleaned his glasses.
Of the flour dust from Ranks mill.
Saying, no he wasn’t going blind.
Your eyes are working still.
Most of all I miss my Grandad.
For what he was to me.
The rock I could depend on.
And the love he gave for free.
©DWSmith. 15/06/2008
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Grandchildren of
Horace and Annie Smith:
Carole, Janet, David, Lynne & Debra
>> Our Smith Ancestors >>
1-CAS/1-DAZ
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Grandad’s Watch.
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I have a watch that I don’t wear.
I got this watch for free.
But it’s the price paid for this watch.
That means the world to me.
Price paid was not in money.
This watch means more than wealth.
Each tick the sweat from work each day.
Each tock price paid in health.
The man that wore this watch of mine.
Working class till the day he died.
Had thoughts way beyond his time I know.
And dreams that he wished he’d tried.
In times past your only lot in life.
Was to do the best you could.
If you didn’t get the job you wished for.
Then any job was good.
I think of his frustration.
The waste of intellect.
But though he didn’t realise his dreams.
He always had respect.
I look down on this omega.
At the engraving, every crack.
I’d give the world and this omega.
To have my Grandad back.
© DWSmith. 07/12/08
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