“In the name of God, Amen …”
Few documents begin with words more familiar to the family historian.
For centuries they marked the opening of thousands of English wills, each one representing the final thoughts of an ordinary person whose life would otherwise have slipped quietly into obscurity.
Some belonged to wealthy landowners, others to craftsmen or labourers. Together they form a remarkable record of family life across the generations.
Within the annals of the Lincolnshire Archives, one such document survives; that of my six-times great-uncle, Joseph Grummitt, a yeoman of Hacconby, Lincolnshire.
Written on 29 September 1740, it is far more than a legal instrument. It is the last conversation Joseph would ever have with his family.
The first impression on reading the ancient document is one of quiet dignity.
“I Joseph Grummitt of Haconby in the County of Lincoln Yeoman being weak in Body but sound and well disposing mind in memory & understanding (thanks be to God therefor) Do make and ordain this to be my last Will and Testament in manner and forme following that is to say…”
Across the parchment flows the elegant hand of the clerk who prepared the document. Every line is carefully formed in the flowing secretary script of the period. Yet, when the writing reaches its conclusion, the beautiful penmanship gives way to something far more personal. Beside the wax seal appears a simple cross.
That single mark tells us almost as much about Joseph as the words themselves.
It reminds us that eighteenth-century England was still a world in which many successful farmers conducted their affairs without the ability of writing their own names. Literacy and intelligence were not the same thing.
Joseph may have left the elegant handwriting to a professional clerk, but the land, the livestock, the household and the welfare of his family were his responsibility alone.
The will describes Joseph as a yeoman.
Today the word is seldom heard, yet in Georgian England it carried considerable meaning. A yeoman occupied a respected position within rural society. Neither gentleman nor labourer, he was usually a substantial farmer with property, livestock and sufficient standing to employ others.
Villages such as Hacconby depended upon men like Joseph. They formed the backbone of Lincolnshire’s agricultural community.
The document opens with words common to almost every will of the period.
Joseph declares himself to be “weak in body,” yet “of sound and disposing mind.”
The phrase appears almost formulaic, but it reveals a man confronting reality. He knew that his health was failing. Before anything else, he wanted there to be no doubt that every decision contained within the will represented his own considered wishes.
What follows is not a catalogue of possessions so much as a father’s careful plan for the future.
His greatest concern was plainly his wife, Katherine.
“I give and Devise unto Katherine my Loving wife All my Lands Tenements & Hereditaments within the aforesaid boundaries situate lying & being at Morton and Hanthorpe in the said County of Lincoln for and during the terme of her naturall life and after her Decease I give & Devise them forever unto my Eldest son William Grummitt and his Heirs for ever …”
Joseph entrusted her with his household, his possessions and, most importantly, the care of their children. He clearly believed she possessed both the judgement and the character to guide the family after his death.
Yet his practical nature is equally evident. Should Katherine remarry, the arrangements would change, ensuring that the inheritance intended for his children remained protected.
Reading those clauses today, one can almost hear the measured voice of a husband attempting to provide certainty in an uncertain future.
The family group sheet explains why Joseph devoted so much attention to these arrangements.
William, his eldest surviving son, had only recently entered his later teenage years. John, Robert and young Joseph were younger still, while Elizabeth, the youngest child mentioned in the will, had been baptised only five years earlier. None had yet reached full adulthood.
Their father must have realised that they would grow up largely without memory of the man whose careful planning sought to secure their futures.
One clause particularly catches the eye.
“I give unto my Daughter Elizabeth the sum of Twenty pounds over and above her share of the One Hundred and Twenty pounds and also I give her all the Household goods and Linnen that were her Grandmothers.”
Here Joseph grants his daughter Elizabeth an additional legacy of twenty pounds over and above her equal share of the estate. To modern eyes this may appear modest, but in 1740 it represented a substantial sum.
Whether intended as a marriage portion, compensation for some earlier arrangement, or simply as an expression of particular affection, we cannot know. The will remains frustratingly silent. Yet silence itself invites thoughtful speculation and reminds us that every historical document preserves only part of a family’s story.
The document also contains a poignant reminder that life in eighteenth-century England was often fragile.
Joseph and Katherine had already buried one child. Their daughter Mary was baptised and buried during the same year, 1726. At a time before disease could be adequately understood or prevented, such losses were heartbreakingly common.
It is impossible to know how deeply that bereavement influenced Joseph’s determination to protect the children who survived him, but it is difficult not to imagine that it weighed upon his mind.
Finally, at the foot of the will, three witnesses added their names: John Clay, Mary Wilson and James Digby.
They were ordinary members of Joseph’s community, yet for one brief moment they stepped into history. They watched as Joseph acknowledged the document as his last will and testament, then added their own signatures—or, in one case, a mark—to confirm that everything had been properly done.
Little could they have imagined that almost three hundred years later a descendant would read those same names with curiosity.
Joseph died later that year.
The will was subsequently proved, allowing Katherine to administer the estate according to his wishes. His property passed into the next generation, his children grew to adulthood, and life in Hacconby continued much as it always had. The fields were ploughed, the harvests gathered, and another generation took its place.
To many people, a will is simply a legal document.
To a family historian, it is something far richer.
In this case, it allows us to hear, however faintly, the voice of a man born in the reign of William III, living through the early Georgian age, whose greatest concern in the closing days of his life was not wealth or reputation, but the welfare of the family he loved.
Nearly three centuries have passed since Joseph placed his mark upon this parchment.
His farmhouse has long since changed. The fields he knew have been ploughed countless times.
Those who witnessed his will are themselves forgotten.
Yet because this single document survives, Joseph Grummitt is no longer simply a name upon a family tree.
For a moment, through faded ink on ageing parchment, his voice is heard once more.
