CHARLES H. WELCH
28
grandfather appears to have been of a more sturdy build than I, as his portrait, reproduced further on, will show. I
know little of my great-grandmother except that she rather coddled her son, my grandfather, much to his undoing
however, for I understand he was rather a gay lad and often came home the worse for his night out.
There are two incidents that I feel worth recording about my great-grandfather which, though not on a high
spiritual plane, nevertheless reveal some integrity of character.
In a street just off the High Street, now alas bombed and rebuilt, and just opposite the ancient Guild Hall, my
great-grandfather, John Welch, ran what would have been an equivalent to a garage today, horses, and not cars
however being his care. One day a lady of the county called upon him and told him that her nephew was putting up
for parliament, and said that she expected John to give him his vote. `But my lady', said John, `I am a liberal, and I
shall vote liberal'. There was no secret ballot it must be remembered in those days. `Well John' she replied, `You
know what will happen if you do'. John knew full well, and IT DID. She withdrew her patronage, her friends did
likewise and John Welch's business failed. I am not concerned about political parties, but I am glad my forbear was
not intimidated in a matter of conscience and integrity.
As a set off over against what might be misrepresenting him as of too stern a nature is the other incident. John
Welch was in the habit of visiting the local inn to meet his cronies of an evening, and always took with him a clay
pipe, with which he enforced his point of view, but he never smoked in his life. He could be both adamant to the
extent of financial loss, and yet tolerant, where essentials were not involved. Great-grandfather's vote and clay pipe
stood for something. Before the collapse of John's business, it seems that my grandfather, his son, was in the habit
of going to the tailors, ordering a suit, and having the bill sent to his father. The only time my father, his grandson
as a boy, heard a bad word from his grandfather's lips, was on these occasions, when upon receiving yet another
unpaid bill he said `damn it!'
My grandmother on my father's side was a lady of Quaker stock, and as a boy, my father lived during his first
few years in Orchard Place, Heavitree, Exeter, but at the time of the opening of the great exhibition in Hyde Park,