52 Ancestors 2026 Week 13 - A Family Pattern
🍺 “At the Sign of the Crown”: A Family of Publicans Across the Generations
As I’ve traced my family history, a pattern has emerged — not just one publican, but a whole constellation of them, scattered across branches and centuries. These were men and women who kept the hearth warm, the ale flowing, and the community connected. Their pubs were places where news travelled faster than the post, where travellers found rest, and where neighbours shared both joy and sorrow.
Here is the cast of characters — ancestors in my tree who stood behind the bar, along with the world they lived in and the pubs they called home.
🍻 James & Ann Crowhurst of The London Trader, Rye
4th great‑grandfather & 4th great‑grandmother
If there is a single story that captures the spirit of this family tradition, it is the partnership of James Crowhurst (1778–1827) and Ann Cottingham (1774–1840) — a husband‑and‑wife team who ran one of Rye’s most historic inns, The London Trader, for more than two decades.
🍺 James Crowhurst: Publican of The London Trader (at least 1808–1827)
James appears in Rye records as the publican of The London Trader from at least 1808, continuing until his death in 1827. This places him in the heart of Rye’s maritime world — a bustling port town where fishermen, merchants, smugglers, and travellers all passed through the doors of the town’s inns.
The London Trader would have been a lively house: a place where sailors drank their wages, where gossip from the harbour spread like wildfire, and where the rhythms of the tides shaped the rhythms of the day. Smuggling was rife in Rye and was part of the infamous Hawkhurst Gang's area, but I can find no evidence of smuggling linked to The London Trader
🍺 Ann Cottingham: Landlady of The London Trader (1827–at least 1831)
When James died, Ann didn’t just keep the family together — she kept the business alive. Her records show:
1828 – Landlady, London Trader Inn, Rye
Aug 1831 – Landlady, London Trader Inn, Rye
These entries confirm that Ann held the licence for at least four years, and likely longer. Women publicans were far more common than people assume, and Ann’s long tenure shows she was capable, respected, and trusted by both the licensing authorities and the community.
🏛️ Historical context: The London Trader in the early 1800s
The London Trader is one of Rye’s oldest inns, with a history stretching back centuries. In James and Ann’s time, it would have served:
sailors and fishermen from the busy harbour
merchants trading along the Channel
travellers moving between Kent, Sussex, and London
locals gathering for news, meetings, and markets
Rye was a place of constant movement, and The London Trader sat right at the heart of it.
The Old Borough dates back, at least, to the 16th century
when it was known by the sign of the “Blue” or “Blew Anchor”. The earliest
reference to the Blew Anchor is in 1592 when it was kept by a carpenter John
Hammond. By 1728 it had become the
London Trader, named after a type of coastal vessel plying between the south
coast ports and London. It was then owned by the Corporation and rented to the
landlord for £3 5/- a year.
🍺 William Morris (1781–1858) & Alexander Duff Butchers (1804–1891)
Publicans of the Royal William, Camber
Another branch of the family tree leads us to Camber, just 4 miles along the coast, and to a pub with a name as bold as the coastline it served: The Royal William.
🍺 The Royal William, Camber
Camber in the early 19th century was a small but strategically important coastal settlement, shaped by fishing, maritime trade, and the shifting sands of the Romney Marsh. Inns in such places weren’t just drinking houses — they were essential infrastructure for:
fishermen and boatmen
coastal traders
labourers working on sea defences
travellers moving between Rye, Lydd, and the Marsh villages
The Royal William would have been the beating heart of this community: a place where storms were waited out, where news from the sea arrived before it reached the town, and where the rhythms of tide and trade shaped daily life.
🍺 William Morris: First Publican of the Royal William
William first appears not as a publican at all, but as a ship’s carpenter aboard the Royal William. It was only in 1807, after stepping ashore, that he opened a small wooden public house tucked into the dunes opposite what is now Rye Golf Club. He named it after his ship — the Royal William — though locals soon called it simply “the Old Billy.”
What makes William remarkable is not just that he was the first licensee, but that he held that licence for 51 years. Half a century of pouring ale, settling disputes, welcoming seamen from Rye Harbour, and anchoring a tiny coastal settlement that was still more sand than village.
William Morris, husband of my 4th great‑grandmother Elizabeth Butchers, appears as a publican at The Royal William during the early 19th century. His tenure places him in the Georgian–Victorian transition, when inns were still central to parish life. His establishment likely hosted:
inquests
parish meetings
hiring fairs
gatherings of fishermen and marsh workers
William’s role would have made him a well‑known figure in Camber — someone who kept order, offered hospitality, and served as a bridge between the parish and the sea.
🍺 Alexander Duff Butchers: Later Publican of the Royal William
Alexander, my 3rd great‑grandfather, William's Step-son, followed in William’s footsteps at the same inn. His long life (1804–1891) meant he witnessed enormous change: the decline of the coaching era, the rise of the railway, and the increasing regulation of public houses. Alexander ran the pub into his 70's
Running the Royal William during the Victorian period meant:
complying with stricter licensing laws
serving a growing number of seasonal visitors
hosting workers involved in sea‑wall and harbour projects
adapting to the new expectations of a “respectable” Victorian pub
Alexander’s presence at the Royal William ties our family firmly to the maritime culture of Camber — a place where land, sea, and community met.
🍻 Thomas Wadey (1859–1924)
Publican of The Liverpool Arms, Brighton (1903–1913)
By the time Thomas Wadey my Great Great Uncle was pulling pints, Brighton was booming. The railways had transformed it from a modest seaside town into a fashionable resort, drawing crowds of day‑trippers, holidaymakers, and workers from across Sussex and London. And right in the middle of this lively, ever‑changing city stood The Liverpool Arms, the pub Thomas ran for a full decade.
🍺 The Liverpool Arms, Brighton
Thomas held the licence for The Liverpool Arms from 1903 to 1913, a period when Brighton’s pub culture was thriving. The city’s inns and alehouses served:
railway workers from the busy Brighton station
fishermen and labourers
visitors heading to the Palace Pier or the seafront
The Liverpool Arms would have been a bustling, noisy, sociable house — the kind of place where regulars knew each other by name and where the landlord needed a firm hand and a friendly manner in equal measure.
🏛️ Historical context: Brighton’s Edwardian pub scene
The early 1900s were a golden age for Brighton’s public houses. Breweries were expanding, licensing laws were tightening, and pubs were becoming more structured, more organised, and more central to working‑class leisure. A landlord like Thomas would have been responsible for:
keeping order in a busy urban pub
managing brewery deliveries
hosting darts, cards, and local clubs
serving a diverse mix of locals and visitors
His decade at the Liverpool Arms shows he was trusted, capable, and well‑established in the Brighton community.
✨ The Hastings Family of The Bricklayers Arms, Hailsham
🍺 Henry Hastings (1847–1918)
Publican of The Bricklayers Arms (before 1872–1918)
The story of Mary Burchett (1849–1937) 1st cousin 4R becomes even richer when we look at the man she married — Henry Hastings, a long‑standing publican whose tenure at The Bricklayers Arms in Hailsham spanned more than four decades.
Henry was already running the pub before his marriage in 1872, and he remained its landlord until his death in 1918. That’s over forty years at the helm of a single establishment — a remarkable stretch in any era.
The Bricklayers Arms would have served:
agricultural labourers from the surrounding Wealden farms
brickmakers and tradesmen
townsfolk visiting Hailsham’s busy cattle market
travellers passing through on the Lewes–Eastbourne road
Henry’s long tenure suggests he was a respected and steady figure — the kind of landlord who knew every customer by name and kept the pub running like a well‑oiled machine.
🍺 Henry Obadiah Hastings (1874–1954)
Succeeded his father at The Bricklayers Arms (1918–at least 1939)
When Henry Hastings died in 1918, the pub didn’t leave the family. His son, Henry Obadiah Hastings, stepped in and continued the tradition. He appears in the 1939 Register still running The Bricklayers Arms, confirming that the Hastings family held the licence for well over half a century.
Running a pub through the interwar years meant navigating:
returning soldiers
rationing and shortages
new licensing restrictions
the social upheaval of the 1920s and 1930s
Yet Henry Onadiah kept the pub open and thriving, maintaining its role as a cornerstone of Hailsham life.
🍺 After 1939: Moving On
By 1945, Henry Obadiah had moved on from The Bricklayers Arms. Whether he retired, relocated, or passed the licence to another family is still a thread to pull — but his long stewardship ensured that the Hastings name remained woven into the pub’s history.
🏛️ Historical context: The Bricklayers Arms, Hailsham
Hailsham was a bustling market town known for rope‑making, agriculture, and livestock markets. A pub like The Bricklayers Arms would have been a vital meeting point — a place to exchange news, negotiate work, and unwind after long days in the fields or workshops.
The Hastings family didn’t just run a pub; they ran a community institution for more than 60 years.
🍺 Other Publicans in the Family
🍻 John Ditton (1788–1862)
Publican of The Ship, Rye Harbour (c.1820–1862)
The life of John Ditton, husband of my 3rd great‑grandaunt, adds another strong thread to this tapestry of publicans — one rooted firmly in the maritime world of Rye Harbour. From around 1820 until his death at the age of 72 in 1862, John ran The Ship, a harbour‑side inn that served as a vital meeting point for sailors, fishermen, labourers, and travellers moving along the Sussex coast.
🍺 The Ship, Rye Harbour
Rye Harbour in the early 19th century was a place of constant movement: fishing boats coming and going with the tides, coastal traders unloading goods, and workers engaged in the never‑ending battle to maintain the harbour mouth and sea defences. An inn like The Ship was more than a drinking house — it was the social and practical centre of harbour life.
The Ship would have served:
fishermen returning from the Channel
boat crews waiting for tides and weather
labourers working on the harbour walls
merchants and coastal traders
locals gathering for news from the sea
John’s long tenure — more than forty years — suggests he was a respected and steady figure in this tight‑knit maritime community. His gravestone has the inscription "For many years Landlord of The Ship Inn of this Parish."
🍺 Stephen Welsted (1840– )
Publican of The Red Lion, Snargate (1871–1874)
The Welsted branch of the family also produced its own publican in Stephen Welsted, who ran the Red Lion at Snargate between 1871 and 1874. Though his tenure was brief compared to some of my long‑serving ancestors, it places him at the helm of one of Romney Marsh’s most characterful and historically rich pubs.
🍺 The Red Lion, Snargate
The Red Lion is a classic Marsh pub — isolated, atmospheric, and deeply tied to the rhythms of rural Kent. In the 19th century, Snargate was a small, scattered community surrounded by grazing land, drainage ditches, and the wide skies of the Marsh. A pub like the Red Lion served as:
a gathering place for farm labourers and shepherds
a refuge for travellers crossing the lonely Marsh roads
a venue for local meetings and informal trade
a social anchor in a sparsely populated landscape
Running such a pub required a steady temperament and a familiarity with the Marsh’s unique character — its weather, its isolation, and its tight‑knit community.
🏛️ Historical context: Romney Marsh pubs
Romney Marsh inns have long been associated with:
sheep farming
smuggling lore
isolated rural life
strong local identity
The Red Lion itself is one of the Marsh’s best‑known historic pubs, and Stephen’s years there place him firmly within this distinctive landscape.
🍺 Why So Many Publicans?
📌 Stability
Running a pub offered steady income and housing — the publican often lived on the premises.
📌 Community Standing
Publicans were respected figures, trusted to keep order and maintain hospitality.
📌 Family Continuity
Pubs often passed through families, or skills were shared between siblings and cousins.
📌 Personality Fit
It takes a certain kind of person to run a pub: sociable, organised, calm under pressure. Perhaps that trait runs in the family.
🍻 A Legacy Poured Across Generations
These ancestors didn’t just run pubs — they shaped the social life of their communities. Their establishments were places of warmth, connection, and continuity. Even if the buildings have changed or vanished, the stories remain, and the legacy of hospitality runs through the family like a well‑poured ale.
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