Genealogy for the Heath family's of Saffordshire and surrounding areas.


Postby Denise E Johnson » Tue Jun 04, 2019 11:28 am

Have registers or lack of registers caused some confusion on Noah Heath the Poet?
Noah Heath was baptised on the 30th October 1768 at Burslem the son of Thomas Heath and Elizabeth. Noah’s first married Mary Day on the 19th July 1789 at Newcastle-under-Lyme St Giles. His second marriage was to Ann Lees on the 25th December 1803 at Norton in the Moors St Bartholomew. On the subscribers lists in the Miscellaneous Poems by Noah Heath there is a Moses Lees listed in 1823, and a John Lees listed in the 1829.
Thomas Heath the first child of Noah and Mary was baptised on the 7th March 1790 at Burslem St John. Seemingly Thomas died young.

Ellen Heath the daughter of Noah Heath and Mary Day was baptised on the 26th August 1792 at Burslem St John. Is this the Ellen Heath who is on the subscribers list for the book Miscellaneous Poems by Noah Heath published 1823.
A Stoke-on-Trent Methodist Layer Preacher for than 50 years Mr Arthur George Cooper, of Guildford Street Shelton, has died at the age of 75, and the funeral on Saturday was attended by many of his colleagues in the Hanley circuit.
Mr Cooper who retired some six years ago from a clerical post at the Eastwood Sanitary Pottery, was a descendant of Thomas Cooper who led the Chartist Riots in 1842. He was also a relative of Noah Heath the potter poet.
Prior to cremation at Carmountside a service was held at the Charles Street Methodist Church which he had been a devoted worker for many years.
Staffordshire Advertiser 19th March 1954
Staffordshire Sentinel 23 July 1923
The Rector of Hanley has received a donation of £1 from Mr William Cooper, of Shelton in memory of his great grandfather, Noah Heath, the Sneyd Green Poet, along with a poem written by the latter 100 years ago, and published in the 1st volume of his poems in 1823. It is an interesting poem and a curious coincidence. The poem is as follows.

Hanley Bells
Noah Heath 1823
What thrilling music is this I hear,
That sounds so melodious, and floats through the air
Now rising now falling, now softer it swells
Tis the soft sounding music of Hanley Church Bells.

When England triumphant on Waterloo’s plain,
Drove the pround vaunting Frenchman to France once again;
They rang them so eagerly ‘till ready to break,
And the steeple’s foundations were made for to shake.

When the bride and bridegroom in wedlock are bound,
The ringers complete a double round;
They sound so distinctly, and seem to repeat
The words, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Sometimes for amusement the ringers agree,
To cheer up the village with peals two or three;
It diffuses delight to the country around
The rocks, hills, and valleys re-echo the sound.

But hark! The sad sound of a passing bell goes,
For a soul just departed how solemn it flows;
So for mirth or sorrow, there’s nothing excels,
The sweet sounding music of Hanley Church Bells.

Staffordshire Sentinel the 30th November 1928 The Potters Poet.
Crocks and Crazes Staffordshire Sentinel 27thn October 1928 Noah Heath’s poems were published in two volumes at the office of the “Pottery Gazette,” Hanley, the first being dated 1823 and the second 1829. A great grandson of the poet, Mr William Cooper, of Shelton, has kindly shown me these books of poems, which reflect in homely lines the life of the Potteries in the late 18th and the early 19th Centuries.
There was a mistake in the Staffordshire Sentinel for Noah Heath’s volume II printed in 1829 was in fact printed by Brougham in the Market Place Burslem.
The man of the name of the “potter poet” has been mostly aptly attached, however, is Noah Heath, who was born in Sneyd Green in 1780 and whose verses dealt with the life and manners of his time and district. He wrote a poem on bull baiting which he doubtless witnessed outside the Bull’s Head at Sneyd Green.

The stake being fixed and marked out the ground,
And the vulgar spectators were gaping around,
“O, yes I” cries the bull-ward I’ th’ midst of the crowd,
To the audience around thus he bawls out aloud:
“I’m to give notice to all, young and old,
To keep at a distance, and not be to bold,
Ten yards is the distance to keep from the stake,
And plenty of, sport we’ll be sure for make,
Here’s a good beaver hat, and brass collar likewise,
For the best dog that runs for to claim as a prize,
Three puts at the nose, if none pins him at three,
The prize shall be due unto Roger and me.”
The sport now begins, and the game they pursue,
And hell upon earth now exhibit to view.
With yelping and shouting, now “Toss I” is the cry,
Till the noise of the vulgar ascends to the sky.
Toss misses his hold, and aloft now he goes,
For vengeance now falls on the innocent foes,
His belly ripp’d open, and from the death-wound
His warm smoking entrails now fall to the ground.
“Boom, room,” now they cry, “for old Sampson’s bitch, “Nettle.”
Whom none can surpass for true courage and mettle
But while she was running, the tinker’s bitch, “Rose,”
Stole slily behind, and caught Roger by th’ nose.
Round and round now they go, all confus’d in a pother;
Some tumble down this way, some up the other.
Rough Robin, quite drunk, and devoid of all care,
Got hurt by the bull and toss’d up in the air,
“B your eyes,” to the tinker, the bull-ward now cries,
“And b you again,” thus the tinker replies.
-So to combat they went, and exchanged a few blows,
But the latter declined with a sad bloody nose.
The bull breaks the rope, and for home again makes,
And nocks down whole standings of ginger-bread cakes,
Such, such are the fruits of the bull-baiting sport;
And such do the laws of our nation support;
Black eyes, bloody noses, torn waistcoats and breeches,
Lost lives, broken limbs, and a thousand vain speeches.

But knowledge informs us that brutes for our use
Were never design’d for such cruel abuse;
And time will no doubt such vain practice destroy,
That man to more wisdom his time may employ;
That the bull with the herds unmolested may reign,
And graze the sweet herbs of his own native plain.
This is believed to have taken place at the Bull’s Head.

On the other side of the Trent and near where the old Abbey once stood and listen with him to the songs of the birds here, by the lonely hillside of old Bagnall, or Stanley, where little of human life was to be seen or heard, and muse on the wild loveliness of nature. To hear the lark as rises from the bogs of the moor, is always a feast indeed. The toils of the potter in his unhealthy workshop – shut out from the breeze of the hills, - were compensated by a few hours’ to the lark of Wetley Moor. Hear what our poet says:-

Now spring appears the village nymphs and swains
Select gay flow’rs and walk the verdant plains.
Now bright Aurora streaks the eastern skies;
The dawn appears, the herds and flocks arise
The feathered choir again resume their strain.
Till echo sounds from woodland grove and plain.
The sprightly lark begins his morning song,
The sweetest songster of the serial throng.
Now up he mounts, now flappers with his wings,
And with sweet notes his Maker’s praises sings
The serial warblers, as they mount on high,
Unite in vain his carols to outvie.
The village swains admire him, and have vow’d
No nightingale e’er sang more sweet and loud.
Again he mounts, nor does his carol cease
Till every bird is hushed to perfect peace.

In rural fields, where lambkins play,
And warblers hail the rising day;
Where opening flowers their sweets exhale,
And lose their fragrance in the gale;
Of all the flowers of Flora’s train
That deck the hedgerows or the plain –
Of all the flowers that nature blows –
There’s none so sweet as the Wild Eose.
Well might the poet thus explain,
Who wrote with such enrapture flame,
“Go, Eose, my Chloe’s bosom grace:
Might I supply that envy’d place.”
But when the rose that deck’d the fair
Was nourish’d up with tender care.
While in the fields in humble state,
Unnotic’d by the rich and great;
Nor help or nourishment receives
But that which simple nature gives.
Of all the flowers which nature boasts,
Or spices sweet from India’s coasts;
Nor India’s spice nor flower that grows
So fragrant are as the Wild Eose.

The early information on Noah Heath the Poet in a book titled Romance of Staffordshire, by Henry Carlos Wedgwood written in the latter half of the nineteenth century. (This information may over the years have led to some confusion).
Around 1780 Noah Heath was born. He lived in Sneyd Green near Burslem and Hanley Staffordshire. There is no recording of a baptism around that time in the registers. Noah lived with his father whose trade was a potter.
Noah Heath attended the Free School in Far Green which was built by Mr Adams of Birches Head Farm. Noah’s father also let him attend the Methodist Sunday School in Sneyd Green where he learned to read and write. The teacher was Peter Tock. Is this the Peter Tock who married Rebecca Lewis in 1767 at Stoke-on-Trent St Peter Ad Vincula, and was buried on the 11th January 1825 at Hanley St John aged 86. So it is possible that Peter Tock may have taught both father and son.
Also Noah attended the Methodist Sunday School. The first of the poems about the Sunday School was written for the Charity Sermon.
Around 1780 Noah Heath was born. He lived in Sneyd Green near Burslem and Hanley Staffordshire. There is no recording of a baptism around that time in the registers. Noah lived with his father whose trade was a potter.
Noah Heath attended the Free School in Far Green which was built by Mr Adams of Bircheshead Farm. Noah’s father also let him attend the Methodist Sunday School in Sneyd Green where he learned to read and write.

Indulgent friends, accept my humble strain,
Ye kind supporters of the youthful train,
Who laid the basis of this grand design,
And bade fair science through our realms to shine.
In early youth, e’en in our infant days,
Ye taught us how to walk in virtue’s ways,
To fly from vice, of folly to beware,
And heav’n propitious smil’d upon your care.
As the young tender saplings of the grove,.
Cultur’d by art, and nourish’d from above,
So may we all by virtue’s rules be taught,
And freely drink the pure religious draught
May heav’nly grace our youthful steps attend,
And every heart with due submission bend
To the blest Guardian of both age and youth,
That humbly walks in piety and truth.
Long did we wander in night’s dark-some space,
Wild and bewilder’d void of ev’ry grace;
Till heav’ns blest mandate bade the gloom depart,
And dawning grace smil’d on the infant heart.
To high perfection now we daily rise,
Ever esteemed by the good and wise;
Returning thanks sincere to God and man,
First institutors of so wise a plan
With grace and truth, with fervency of prayer,
With contemplation, watchfulness and care,
So may we shine in virtue’s sacred road,
An honour to our country and God.

Thrice blessed the day when fair science and truth
First beamed in the bosoms of innocent youth;
And blessed be they who the work first began,
That grand institution, the Sunday school plan,
Once darkness and ign’rance o’ershadow’d our land,
And wild superstition would go hand in hand;
The untutor’d children on each Sabbath day,
Like beasts of the desert would oft go astray.
But see the bright day star, the gospel now shines,
It cheers the believer, the sinner refines;
The children of virtue make it resound,
Till the Sunday schools echo the nation around.
Ye masters and pastors unite with accord,
And train up your flocks in the fear of the Lord;
See the wisest examples before them to view.
And may they with all care these examples pursue,
As the sun lights the moon, and the moon’s friendly light,
Shines round the whole globe, and illumines the night;
So may heavenly light shine on each teacher’s heart,
And each teacher the same to the scholar impart,
Ol go on and prosper, go on to the end,
Kind heaven invites you, and will you befriend,
The angels will sing their sweet anthems of joy,
And welcome your souls to blest mansions on high.

Noah served his apprenticeship as an operative potter. Noah Heath also worked for the potter Joseph Mayer, as a modeller and mould maker. While working at Joseph Mayer’s Noah was bitten by a dog and Mr Mayer persuaded him to have the wound cauterised, which caused paralysis leaving him lame for the rest of his life. There is a Joseph Mayer who was a subscriber to Miscellaneous Poems by Noah Heath printed in 1823. On the 1841 and 1851 censuses there is a Joseph Mayer a merchant who was living High Street Hanley. On the 28th June 1860 there was the death of Joseph Mayer of High Street aged 85 who was buried at Hanley St John on the 4th July 1860. Seemingly Joseph was a very wealthy man leaving £200,000 in property and real estate.

On the 5th and 6th December 1822 there was a great storm which did considerable damage. At that time Sneyd Green contained between sixty and seventy houses, out of fifty were more or less damaged and one poor woman lost her life.
Old Eolus with anger our island survey’d
The wind from his bags with a vengeance display’d
Loud roar’d the rough blast through the gloom of the night,-
The Tillage all ruin and all in a fright.
Some seized with horror, some trembling in fear,-
Each visage turned pale, and each show’d despair,
The tottering old cottages stripp’d by the shock;
Till the very foundations appeared to rock.
And now the midnight hour arrives,
Usher’d with tempestuous breath;
Hope no longer now survives,
Every moments threats with death
The angry clouds from the Atlantic rise,
And winds with double fury beat the skies.
Hark! hark! what a terrible rumble,
The ceiling is fallen to the floor,-
The chimney now falls in the jumble,
And so does the wall at the door.
The wicket is dashed in pieces,
The paling lies flat on the ground,-
Without the dread hurricane ceases;
We must in the ruins be found.
O save us, Lord I O save us now, they cry,
Have mercy on us, or we surely die.
Now for a while the tempest sleeps
And a few moments silent keeps.
Now flattering hope revives again,-
But all delusion,-all in vain,
A sudden gust again is here,
Louder, stronger, more severe.
Doors are shaking,-
Windows breaking,-
Roofs are flying, Shrieking, crying,
Till the whole fabric into ruins lies,
And the good Mistress in the conflicts dies.
The wind it listeth where it blows,-
But whence it comes, or where it goes,
Is left a mystery to explain,
And still a mystery must remain.

Wolstanton Spire now makes a pompous show,
And now Newcastle in the vale below:
Then Keel appears well planted on all sides,
The ancient seat where Walter Sneyd resides;
Now Trentham Park must truly be confess’d
And Yarlet Hill appears amongst the rest:
On Stafford Castle now we gaze our fill,
Or view the moving sails of Mear Heath Mill;
Another scene we cannot but remark,
The high conspicuous land of Fenton Park.
Now Hanley and the Church are plainly seen,
Besides the Poets’ Cottage at Sneyd Gren,
Next Burslem Town presents the curious eye,
Where manufactories superbly rise;
Yet one of these with truth must be confess’d
To shine pre-eminent above the rest;
The model’s grand, the architecture good,
And founded by the worthy Enoch Wood,
Now turning round, a Moorland view to take,
Old Norton and the Church a prospect make;
And last to Biddulph we direct our eyes,
Where the Old Castle all in ruin lies.

The 1823 book of Noah Heath’s Miscellaneous Poems sold around four hundred and thirty five copies and Miscellaneous Poems Volume II sold around three hundred and fifty copies.

Noah and Mary’s third child Noah Heath was baptised on the 22nd March 1795 Burslem St John.
Noah Heath son of Noah first marriage was to Ann Marsh on the 17th July 1815 Norton le Moors Staffordshire.
Sometime between their marriage and the baptism of their son Noah and Ann Heath were living in Swansea.
Thomas Heath baptised 22nd January 1819 Swansea, South Wales.
Noah Heath baptised 28th April 1921 Swansea St Mary living 1851 Shelton Staffordshire.
Mary Heath baptised 24th September 1823 Swansea St Mary.
Ann Heath baptised 15th February 1826 Swansea St Mary Noah Heath a widower second marriage was to Elizabeth Harris 27th July 1833 Swansea St James.
By the 1841 census Noah Heath was back living in High Street upper Hanley with Ann Heath and Isaac Heath.

Noah Heath and Mary Day had at least two more children Isaac baptised on the 6th August 1797 Burslem and Thomas baptised a few days later on the 13th August 1797.

Sources Romance of Staffordshire, by Henry Carlos Wedgwood, Poet’s England 8 Staffordshire, and Find my Past.
Denise Johnson
3rd June 2019.
Denise E Johnson
Posts: 87
Joined: Mon May 12, 2014 4:24 pm

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