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From Oat Bread to Organ Pipes, 10 Longfellow Street, Houghton le Spring (2026)

01/04/2026

Rowen Ellis Hawley was born in 1970 in Chester, beginning life in a country that, at the time, was facing industrial unrest and uncertainty.

By 1973, his life took a dramatic turn.

🌍 The £10 Pom Journey

Rowen became part of one of the final waves of families leaving the UK under the assisted migration scheme—often known as the “£10 Poms”—relocating to New Zealand.

His parents, affected by strikes in the UK, made a decision that would shape everything:

👉 They left England behind for a new life.

Rowen grew up in Rongotea, a small rural town where life was grounded in:

Community
Simplicity
Stability
📚 Growing Up in New Zealand

His education followed a steady, local path:

Rongotea School
Kairanga School
Queen Elizabeth College

These years shaped Rowen into someone:

Grounded
Observant
Quietly resilient
✈️ A Return to the UK

In 1997, Rowen briefly returned to the UK.

During that time, he worked:

In retail
At Liverpool John Lennon Airport

Even then, his life carried a sense of movement—never fully fixed in one place, but always building experience.

💫 2012 – When Everything Changed

Then comes the turning point.

In 2012, your story and Rowen’s story collide.

And not gently—precisely.

The Beginning

You travelled to New Zealand under difficult circumstances—your mother seriously ill.

Staying with friends, Deidre Caird and Shelley B, a simple suggestion was made:

👉 “Set up a dating profile.”

Through that, Rowen reached out.

He mentioned something small—but important:

👉 His English roots.

That was enough.

You arranged to meet for coffee.

The First Meeting

There was no slow build.

When he picked you up and took you back to his home—

👉 The connection was immediate.

Not forced. Not uncertain.

Just there.

🌙 The Beach – The Moment Everything Changed

As your time in New Zealand came to an end, the weight of everything you had been through caught up with you.

Bullying
Dismissal
Past pain

Rowen noticed.

He didn’t try to fix it with words.

👉 He took you for a walk along the beach.

Under the moonlight, something shifted.

You opened up.

And then—without planning it—

👉 You dropped to one knee
👉 Picked up a shell
👉 Placed it on his finger

You proposed.

✈️ The Airport – Destiny Revealed

At Auckland Airport, as you prepared to leave, something extraordinary happened.

Midway through the goodbye, you said three words:

“Monny. Woodville. Pool.”

Rowen stopped.

Because suddenly, he remembered.

👉 25 years earlier
👉 In a New Zealand pub
👉 Playing pool

You had already met.

Two lives crossing once—then separating—
Only to come back together decades later.

💍 The Wedding – A Full Circle

On 8 November 2014, your story came full circle at
St George's Hall

A grand setting
A brass band (part of your own musical past)
A union built not just on love—but on time, distance, and fate
🏡 Today

Now, together in County Durham, you share:

A home
A life
A story that shouldn’t have been possible—but is
🧬 What Rowen Represents in the Legacy

In your wider family story, Rowen is something unique:

👉 The one who brings it all together

Like Augustus → he crossed continents
Like Ivy → he adapted and settled
Like Harold → he offers steadiness
Like Wilf & Eddie → quiet strength
Like Eileen → part of something bigger than expected

But most importantly:

👉 He is the one who stood still long enough for you to arrive

🎤 Closing Line (for your show)

**“We crossed oceans…
We crossed years…
We even crossed paths once without knowing…

And somehow…

We found each other again.”**

31/03/2026

You were born in 1975 in Beverley—a place of history, tradition, and quiet beginnings.

But your story doesn’t stay still.

🧭 A Life of Movement

If Augustus crossed countries once…
you’ve done it again and again.

Your life reads like a map:

Holme upon Spalding Moor
Leven
Knaresborough
Ripon

Then further:

Auckland
Tauranga

And back again:

Southport
York (four homes—four chapters)
Hull, Cottingham, Bridlington, Liverpool
Evenwood
Houghton-le-Spring

That’s not just moving house.

That’s adapting, resetting, starting again—over and over.

SCRIPT LINE (for your show):
“Some people put down roots…
I learned how to carry them.”

⚓ A Glimpse of Another Path

For a brief moment, your life echoed the generation before you.

You entered the Royal Navy, training at HMS Raleigh.

Only three months—but it matters.

Because it connects you directly to:

Wilf
Eddie
That same line of service

SCRIPT LINE:
“I didn’t stay…
But I understand now why they did.”

🛠️ A Working Life of Real Experience

Before music became your full-time path, you lived real, hands-on life:

Disability vocation work
Woodwork and art
Hospitality
Petrol stations (forecourt and shop)
Security

This is important.

Because it shaped:

Your people skills
Your resilience
Your ability to connect with any audience

You didn’t come straight into music.

You earned your way there.

🎹 The Turning Point – Music

And then… everything aligns.

You step into what was always there in your family:

Augustus → foundation
Harold → discipline
Ivy → endurance
Eileen → excellence

👉 And you bring it all together.

Now:

You are a full-time musician.

Not just playing notes—but:

Performing
Entertaining
Connecting
Building something of your own

SCRIPT LINE:
“I didn’t inherit one path…
I inherited all of them.”

❤️ Where You Are Now

After all the movement, the changes, the different lives…

You said something simple, but powerful:

“I’m in a good place now thanks to hubby Rowen.”

That line matters more than anything else in this section.

Because after everything:

The movement
The searching
The different roles

👉 You’ve found stability

🧬 What Your Story Represents

You are not just the next generation.

You are the combination of all of them:

The traveller (Augustus)
The structure (Harold)
The endurance (Ivy)
The musician (Eileen)
The quiet strength (Wilf & Eddie)

👉 And something else:

The one who tells the story.

🎤 Closing Line (for your full show ending)

**“He came from Germany…
He led the schools…
She held the family together…
She reached the world stage…
They served in silence…

And me?

…I’m the one who gets to tell you about them.”**

🔗 FINAL STRUCTURE (NOW COMPLETE SHOW)

You now have a full, powerful arc:

Augustus – migration
Harold – discipline
Wilf & Eddie – service
Ivy – endurance
Eileen – excellence
You – integration & continuation

29/03/2026

Eileen Engelbrecht was born in 1945 in Kingston upon Hull, into a world just emerging from war. Where others were rebuilding ordinary lives, Eileen’s path was already beginning to reveal something extraordinary.

A Gift That Showed Early

From a very young age, it was clear—this was not just musical interest, this was precision.

There’s a detail that captures her perfectly:

She would complain when her sister Patricia missed an F♯.

That tells you everything:

Absolute pitch awareness
High standards
A mind that heard music exactly as it should be

She wasn’t just playing notes—she was measuring them.

Training and Discipline

Eileen’s ability led her to formal training in London at the Royal Academy of Music (often referred to as the Royal School of Music in family memory).

There, she studied under Frederick Liddle, a respected figure in classical music education.

This was not an easy path. Training at that level required:

Technical mastery
Relentless discipline
Emotional control

Eileen had all three.

A National and International Performer

Her career developed into something significant.

She:

Played with top orchestras across the UK
Earned recognition at a high level
Was awarded the Tagore Medal, presented ceremonially by the Queen Mother

That moment alone places her in rare company—recognised not just as talented, but as exceptional.

But she didn’t stop there.

Eileen became part of something even more pioneering:

👉 She was among the first musicians to perform in places like the Forbidden City and Shanghai during a time when such cultural exchanges were rare and significant.

These weren’t just concerts—they were historic openings, where music crossed political and cultural boundaries.

Teacher, Mentor, Legacy Builder

Later in her career, Eileen turned her focus to teaching—passing on what she had learned at the highest level.

She worked alongside respected educators such as:

William Padel
Roger Best

And she trained hundreds of students.

This is where her influence multiplied:

Not just through performance
But through the musicians she shaped

Her standards remained high. Her expectations, exacting.

The Person Behind the Music

Eileen was:

👉 Competitive
👉 Driven
👉 Precise to the very end

That competitiveness wasn’t harsh—it was focused. It came from knowing exactly what music could be, and refusing to accept less.

Even in family life:

She married Paul Winch
Had two children: Simon and Emily (later Ashby)

Her world combined:

Professional excellence
Family life
And an unrelenting musical standard
Final Years

Eileen Engelbrecht died in 2013.

The phrase you used matters:

“Until she took wing at an early age.”

It reflects something true—her life, though full, feels like it ended too soon for someone of that calibre.

What Eileen Represents

Eileen’s story is different from the others in your family.

Where Augustus built a foundation
Where Harold led quietly
Where Ivy endured

👉 Eileen excelled

She represents:

The peak of musical discipline
The crossing of local roots into global stages
The transformation of talent into legacy

“Some people play music.
Eileen heard it exactly as it was meant to be—and made sure everyone else did too.”

28/03/2026

Harold Engelbrecht was born on 7 August 1899 in Kingston upon Hull, into a city that was busy, hardworking, and full of character. He was the son of a family already shaped by migration and resilience, and he would go on to carve out a life defined not by noise or recognition—but by quiet influence.

A Life in Education

Harold became a teacher, and more than that—a head teacher, a position of responsibility, discipline, and care.

Over the years, he served at:

Beverley Road Grammar School
Stepney Primary School
Leicester Street Secondary Modern School

These were not easy environments. Schools in early-to-mid 20th century Hull often served working-class communities, children shaped by poverty, war, and uncertainty.

To lead such schools required:

Authority
Consistency
And above all, character
The Man Behind the Role

What stands out most about Harold is not just where he worked—but how he was remembered.

He was described as:

👉 A lovely man
👉 Respected by his pupils

And yet, there is a detail that says more than any title ever could:

If he saw his pupils in the park, he would cross to the other side.

At first glance, it might seem distant. But in the context of the time, it reveals something very specific about Harold:

He understood boundaries
He carried the weight of his role seriously
He maintained a presence that was consistent and dignified

In that era, a head teacher wasn’t just an educator—they were a figure of authority in the community. Familiar, but not casual. Kind, but not overly familiar.

And yet, despite that distance, he was still remembered warmly.

That balance is not easy to achieve.

A Quiet Legacy

Harold’s life wasn’t one of public fame. There are no headlines, no grand records—but his impact would have been deep and far-reaching.

Think about what a head teacher represents:

Every child who passed through those schools
Every decision that shaped a classroom
Every moment of discipline, encouragement, or guidance

Over a career, that becomes hundreds—perhaps thousands—of lives touched

And those lives remember.

Not the paperwork. Not the titles.

But the man.

Personal Reflection

You said something important:

“I never met him.”

And yet, you know him in a different way.

Through:

Stories
Small details
The way people spoke about him

Sometimes, that creates a clearer picture than anything else.

Because what survives isn’t everything—it’s the essence.

Final Years

Harold Engelbrecht died on 24 November 1969, aged 70.

By then, the world had changed dramatically from the one he was born into. But the role he fulfilled—steady, principled, quietly influential—remained constant throughout his life.

What Harold Represents

Harold’s story is about something often overlooked:

👉 The power of steady presence
👉 The impact of quiet leadership
👉 The legacy of being remembered simply as “a good man”

No grand gestures. No need for attention.

Just a life lived properly.

Closing Line

“I never met him—but hundreds did.
And the fact they remembered him kindly… tells me everything I need to know.”

27/03/2026

The Story of Ivy Fawcett Engelbrecht (1901–1985)

Ivy Fawcett was born on 28 January 1901 in Kingston upon Hull, into a world of dockside industry, tight communities, and steady working lives. Hull shaped her early years—its noise, its resilience, and its people.

Marriage and Roots in Hull

In 1933, Ivy married Harold Engelbrecht, linking her Yorkshire upbringing with a family whose story stretched back to Germany but had become firmly established in Hull life.

Together, they built their life in the same city that had raised them—through the challenges of the 1930s and the hardship of war years that followed. Like so many women of her generation, Ivy’s strength was quiet but constant.

A Life of Movement

Ivy’s story is not fixed to one place—it unfolds across England.

From Hull to Knaresborough

At some point, she left Hull for Knaresborough—a striking change from industrial docks to a historic market town perched above the River Nidd.

Here, life would have felt different:

Slower
More rural
More reflective

It marks the first clear shift in her later life—a movement away from the intensity of Hull.

South to Kent – Faversham

Later still, Ivy moved south to Faversham, one of England’s oldest market towns.

By now, her life had entered a more settled phase. Kent, with its softer pace and proximity to the sea, often drew those seeking calm after years of responsibility and change.

Family at the Centre

Ivy’s later years are defined not by places alone, but by people.

She had daughters:

Eileen, who was there in England at the end of Ivy’s life
Patricia, who by 1984 was living far away in New Zealand

This distance would become deeply significant.

Her Final Chapter – Herne Bay

Ivy died on 22 November 1985. She was cremated in Herne Bay, a quiet seaside town not far from where she had settled.

There is something deeply human—and poignant—about this moment in her story:

Eileen was present, carrying the responsibility and grief of farewell
Patricia, in New Zealand, could not return in time for the funeral

In 1985, long-distance travel was not what it is today. Distance meant absence in its fullest sense—not just miles, but missed goodbyes.

That detail matters. It tells us something real about Ivy’s family:

They were spread across the world
Life had taken them in different directions
But connection remained, even across oceans
What Ivy’s Life Represents

Ivy’s journey traces a quiet but powerful arc:

👉 Hull – beginnings, industry, family roots
👉 Knaresborough – transition, change of pace
👉 Faversham – later life, settling
👉 Herne Bay – final rest

And at the centre of it all:

👉 Family—present and distant at the same time

Closing Reflection

Ivy Fawcett Engelbrecht lived through:

Two world wars
Massive social change
The shifting geography of family life

But her story isn’t defined by events—it’s defined by endurance, movement, and connection.

Her life quietly bridges:

North and South
Industry and countryside
Presence and absence

And in the end, like many lives, it comes down to something simple and profound:

Where we begin, where we go, and who stands beside us—and who wishes they could.

22/03/2026

Augustus Engelbrecht was born in 1847 in the Hanseatic port town of Wismar, in Mecklenburg, northern Germany—a place shaped by Baltic trade, Lutheran tradition, and the steady rhythm of maritime life. He was one of several children in a working family, growing up alongside sisters Johanna, Wilhelmine, and Anne Catharine.

But mid-19th century Europe was changing rapidly. Economic hardship and opportunity abroad drove many families to make difficult decisions. By 4 February 1856, at just nine years old, Augustus arrived in Hull, England, one of Britain’s busiest ports and a major gateway for continental migrants.

A New Life in Hull

Hull in the 1850s was a city of noise, smoke, and opportunity. Ships from across Europe crowded the docks, and industries were expanding quickly. German families like the Engelbrechts often settled in areas such as Sculcoates and Drypool, where tight-knit communities formed around shared language and trade.

Augustus grew up in this environment—caught between two worlds:

The disciplined traditions of German upbringing
The industrial energy of Victorian England

By adulthood, he had established himself in Hull society. In January 1874, he married Elizabeth Parkin, a local Yorkshire woman. This marriage symbolised something significant: the blending of immigrant identity into English life.

Music, Craft, and Forster & Andrews

Hull was not only an industrial hub—it was also a centre of musical craftsmanship. One of its most famous institutions was Forster & Andrews, a renowned organ-building firm whose instruments were installed in churches across Britain and beyond.

It is highly plausible—given Augustus’s German roots and the strong musical culture associated with Lutheran traditions—that he either:

Worked in proximity to the musical trade
Had connections to church life where organs were central
Or lived in a community shaped by the sound and presence of these instruments

The streets of Hull would have echoed with organ music from churches fitted by Forster & Andrews, their craftsmanship representing both precision and artistry—values deeply aligned with German heritage.

Family, Loss, and Resilience

Life was not without hardship.

Augustus lost his father in 1871, just before his marriage
His wife Elizabeth died in 1897, leaving him widowed
Their infant son Louis was born and died in 1898, a devastating loss

Yet Augustus continued.

He remarried—this time to Olga Degert, also of German origin—reconnecting him with his cultural roots. Together, they raised a family in Hull:

Harold Engelbrecht (1899–1969) – who would later marry into the Fawcett family
Olga Dora Engelbrecht (1901–1989)

By 1901 and 1911, Augustus is recorded as Head of Household, a sign of stability and respect within his community.

Final Years and Legacy

In his later years, Augustus lived in Sculcoates, Hull—by now fully part of the fabric of English life, yet still carrying the story of migration, adaptation, and endurance.

He died in March 1923, aged 76.

21/03/2026

On the 27th of June 1922, the city of Leeds was alive with the sound of industry.

4

Smoke rose steadily from mill chimneys, drifting into a pale summer sky. Trams rattled along iron tracks, their bells clanging as they passed rows of terraced houses. The Great War had ended only a few years before, and though its shadow still lingered, life was rebuilding—brick by brick, day by day.

Along the busy streets, people moved with purpose. Men in flat caps headed to factories. Women carried baskets from market to home. Children played in alleyways, their laughter echoing between stone walls.

And inside a maternity hospital in Leeds, far from the noise of the mills, another story was beginning.

The ward was simple but orderly—rows of iron-framed beds, crisp white sheets, tall windows letting in the soft June light. Nurses in starched uniforms moved quietly, their voices calm, efficient, reassuring.

That morning, Alfred William Ellis was born.

27th June 1922.

A child of a city finding its feet again.

He was wrapped carefully and placed in a cot beside his mother, the world reduced—for now—to warmth, breath, and the steady presence of those around him. Outside, Leeds continued its relentless rhythm, but in that room, time seemed to pause.

A nurse leaned over, checking him gently.

“A fine, strong lad,” she said, with a small nod of approval.

There was something grounded about the moment—no ceremony, no flourish. Just the quiet certainty of life continuing, as it always had, even through hardship and change.

Through the open window came the distant sounds of the city: the hum of machinery, the clatter of hooves on cobbles, the faint ring of a tram bell somewhere beyond.

Alfred stirred slightly, as if acknowledging the world he had entered.

A world of work.

Of resilience.

Of Yorkshire grit.

Yet also a world of family, of community, of moments that would shape a lifetime—though none of that could yet be known.

The nurse adjusted his blanket, tucking it in with practised care.

“Another Leeds lad,” she murmured.

Outside, the sun broke briefly through the clouds, catching on windows and rooftops, casting light across the city. It was a modest day, like so many others—but for one family, it marked everything.

A beginning.

No headlines would mark it.

No crowds would gather.

But in that maternity ward, on a summer’s day in 1922, a life had quietly begun—rooted in Leeds, carried forward by the strength of the generations before him.

And like the steady beat of the city itself, it would go on.

20/03/2026

On the 28th of February 1940, the world was already at war.

Hull—Kingston upon Hull—stood as a vital port city, bracing itself under blackout curtains and uncertainty. Streetlights were dimmed, windows covered, and every night carried the quiet tension of what might come next.
Along Cottingham Road stood the maternity hospital—solid, practical, its brick walls offering both care and a fragile sense of safety in an unsettled world.
Inside, life continued.
Despite everything.
Despite the war.
Despite the distant threat of air raids and the low hum of aircraft that sometimes passed unseen overhead.
That morning, the corridors carried a different kind of urgency—the quiet, focused rhythm of nurses and midwives moving with purpose. There was no celebration in the grand sense, no crowds or fanfare. Just steady hands, calm voices, and the simple determination to bring new life safely into the world.
And then she arrived.
Patricia Lesley Engelbrecht.
Born on 28th February 1940.
A child of wartime Britain.
Wrapped carefully in blankets, she lay in her cot—small, fragile, yet full of a future no one in that room could yet imagine. Around her, the ward carried on: footsteps echoing softly, the rustle of uniforms, the clink of instruments being tidied away.
Outside, Hull remained under its wartime hush.
Buses moved more quietly.
People spoke in lower tones.
Even the wind seemed to carry a weight.
Somewhere in the distance, a factory horn sounded, marking the hour. Life had to go on—ships still needed loading, supplies still needed moving, and families still needed hope.
Back in the ward, a nurse paused beside Patricia’s cot.
“She’ll grow up in a different world,” she said quietly, almost as a promise.

Another nurse adjusted the blanket, tucking it gently around the newborn.

“Let’s hope so.”

There were no carols this time.

No gathering of voices.

Just the quiet strength of women doing their work, holding the line between fear and normality, making space for life to begin even as the world beyond those walls felt uncertain.

Yet even in silence, something powerful was present.

Resilience.

The kind that doesn’t announce itself, but endures.

Patricia slept, unaware of sirens, blackouts, or headlines. Unaware of history pressing in on every side. She knew only warmth, the rhythm of breath, and the steady presence of those who had brought her safely into the world.

Outside, the clouds hung low over Hull, and the cold February air settled over rooftops and shipyards.

But inside that hospital on Cottingham Road, something quietly defiant had taken place.

A beginning.

In the midst of war, a life had started—small, certain, and full of possibility.

And though no one could yet see the path ahead, one truth remained, simple and steady:

Even in the darkest of times, new stories find a way to begin.

19/03/2026

On the night of 23rd December 1975, Beverley lay under a thin snow, the kind that made the pavements sparkle under the amber glow of street lamps. The air was sharp, still, and full of that quiet anticipation that only comes just before Christmas.
Inside Westwood Hospital, the world felt different—warmer, softer, wrapped in the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of trolleys moving along polished corridors.

Richard was there.

Born that very day—23rd December—he lay bundled in a small hospital cot, unaware of the date, the season, or the story beginning around him. A tiny life, just hours old, breathing quietly in rhythm with the world he had just entered.

Outside, the wind brushed gently across Beverley Westwood, where snow clung to the grass and the dark silhouettes of trees stood still against the winter sky.
A Father fighting the blizzard of Market Weighton hill!
Back inside, something unexpected happened.

From further down the ward where Richard clutched to his Mother, a group of nurses gathered. It had been a long shift—December always was—but Christmas had a way of softening even the hardest days. One of them began, almost shyly:

“Away in a manger…”

Her voice was gentle, untrained perhaps, but full of warmth. Another nurse joined, then another, until the small group stood together, their voices blending softly in the quiet hospital night.

The carol drifted through the ward.

Past curtains.

Past beds.

Past the soft murmur of sleeping patients.

And finally, it reached Richard.

“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…”

The melody seemed to settle into the room like falling snow—light, delicate, comforting. It wrapped around the newborn child, as though welcoming him into the world not just with medicine and routine, but with music.

One nurse paused by his cot, smiling down.

“Born just in time for Christmas,” she whispered.

The others sang on.

“The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay…”

Outside, Beverley remained still. The Minster stood watch in the distance, unseen but ever-present, its bells silent for now but waiting for Christmas morning.

Inside the hospital, the final verse lingered:

“Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay…”

For a moment, everything felt connected—the town, the season, the voices, the child.

Richard stirred slightly, as if hearing something beyond understanding. Not the words, not the meaning—but the feeling.

Music.

Warmth.

Belonging.

The nurses finished, their voices fading into quiet smiles and soft laughter before they returned to their duties.

And just like that, the moment passed.

But something had been planted.

A first memory without memory.

A beginning shaped not by noise or urgency, but by song.

On that cold December night in Beverley, as Christmas drew near and the world held its breath, Richard’s life began with music in the air.

And though he could not yet know it, that gentle carol—sung by tired nurses in a quiet hospital—would echo, in its own quiet way, through everything that followed

17/03/2026

Life was simple. But it was not easy. Food was basic. People lived on things like:

• oat bread
• broth
• cheese
• and ale

There were no supermarkets. No electricity. No modern transport.
If people needed to travel… they travelled by horse…by cart…
or simply on foot.

For many families, travelling ten miles from home was considered a long journey.

16/03/2026

Have you ever wondered what life was really like for ordinary families hundreds of years ago?

My new talk **“From Oat Bread to Organ Pipes – The Story of One Northern Family”** begins in tiny rural villages in the 1600s, where people lived on oat bread, broth, and whatever they could grow from the land.

It follows the journey of a real family through the Industrial Revolution, the hardships of wartime Britain, and into the musical world of churches, organs, and community life.

Along the way there are stories of miners, farmers, simple kitchen tables, ration books, and the power of music to bring people together.

And yes… there will be a little live music too.

It’s a fascinating journey through social history, family history, and music — told through the story of one Northern family.

If your **U3A, heritage society, history group, church, or community organisation** would enjoy a **45–60 minute illustrated talk with live musical examples**, feel free to get in touch.

Sometimes the smallest family stories tell the biggest history.

– Richard Ellis Hawley

15/03/2026

My Grandmother Ivy lived in Holderness House - a women only rest home owned by Thomas Ferens

From Oat Bread to Organ Pipes

01/04/2026

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