27 March 2011
It is census time again, when the Office for National Statistics attempts to count us, something they do in the UK every ten years. This is ostensibly to find out more about who we are as a nation, but I think it is done to help genealogists of the future trace their ancestors, a gift to up-coming generations of Who Do You Think You Are programme makers.
Surprisingly, the official census website doesn’t confirm my theory. Instead it says that the statistical information collected in the March 2011 census will help the government and local authorities plan, fund and deliver the everyday services we all need. It doesn’t go as far as to say how the questionnaires will ensure that everyone gets their fair share of increasingly meagre resources available for housing, education, healthcare and transport, but perhaps they don’t know!
What the people included in the first census of 1801 probably did not know was that the purpose of the exercise was military. The government of the day wanted a headcount taken so that they would know how many men could be mobilised if the threat from France became real and Napoleon invaded. Under these circumstances, I can see that this information was useful, but it is interesting to note that Parliament did not pass the 1800 Census Act, which led to the first official census of England and Wales being taken on 10 March 1801, without much debate. Apparently, they were concerned that such measures would infringe the individual liberty of the King’s subjects.
Sweeping aside considerations of human rights, censuses have been carried out ever since, with the exception of the war year of 1941, and after 100 years they are made available to the public. Sadly, most census returns for 1801, 1811, 1821 and 1831 were not preserved, only some have been found, but from 1841onwards (up to 1911) they are there for us to plunder. We can see, for example, who was living at Buckingham Palace with Queen Victoria on census night in 1841.
The 1841 census was carried out in June, but because so many itinerant workers were sleeping rough at that time of year they were not recorded, so it was decided future census should be taken in March or April. Other changes have been made, in addition to basic information including name, gender, marital status, age, occupation and birthplace of individuals at the property, the 1851 census asked whether occupants were ‘deaf and dumb’, or ‘blind’; the 1891 whether ‘lunatic, imbecile or idiot’.
What the authorities did with this information I can’t say, but it gives genealogists today a wonderful portrait of a family at a particular time and place and enables us to uncover different generations of a family. For example, we know that in 1861 Henry Hubbard, bricklayer, lived at 38 North Road, Preston (district Steyning) with his wife Caroline, one daughter, two sons and a sister; ten years later Henry and his wife had seven sons and one daughter, 1881 ten sons and two daughters; then in 1891 one of Henry’s sons – James Hubbard, plasterer – became the head of the house and lived there with his German wife. In 1901 the address was occupied by George Smith, wheelwright; and in 1911 Edwin Warnett, wheelwright. The census also gives demographers insight into the movement of people around the country, especially the shift from country to urban living that took place in the middle of the 19th century.
Reading old handwriting on the census forms can be tricky and there is no guarantee of accuracy. Inconsistencies can be the result of errors made in transcription from enumerator’s form to census book, which is the original record we can view images of today, the enumerator not spelling names or places correctly, or just downright lies. The early census forms often came as an unwelcome piece of officialdom and people deliberately ‘misled’, perhaps to cover up unconventional family relations, the fact that they were co-habiting, that they had a lodger the landlord didn’t know about, or the wife did not want to reveal her true age. (The number of women describing themselves as between 30 and 40 is always significantly less than the number of women who claimed they were 20-30 ten years before). And these ‘discrepancies’ continue: with as many as 6,480 people in Brighton and Hove (2.8% of the city’s population) indicating their religion as Jedi in the 2001 census!
The rules about sharing sensitive, personal information contained in the census are very strict. Interested parties, TV programme makers included, will have to wait until 2111 to see what we have to say about our circumstances this March, just as we had to wait until 2011 to find out if suffragette Emily Davison really did managed to get herself onto the 1911 census record as a resident at the Palace of Westminster by hiding there in a broom cupboard on census night.
Who knows what revelations will be uncovered in years to come. For now, I urge you to complete your forms on 27 March, not just to make the Office of National Statistics and government planners happy, but future generations of your family looking to complete their family tree.
