The Kerr Pattern Company: Lincoln's Forgotten Foundry of Innovation

The Kerr Pattern Company building in 2009

Nestled on Rosemary Lane in Lincoln, the Kerr Pattern Company once stood as a quiet powerhouse of industrial craftsmanship. Though the building itself has vanished, its legacy remains deeply embedded in the city’s engineering heritage—and in the very foundations of the street it once occupied.

Meet the Founder: John James Kerr (1871–1948)

Born in Lincoln on 12 April 1871, John James Kerr was a master pattern-maker and inventive mind whose work helped shape Lincoln’s industrial output. He lived at 5 Tempest Street, just a short walk from Rosemary Lane, placing him at the heart of Lincoln’s working-class engineering community. Later, he moved with his wife Eliza (née Deacon) to Lismore, Wragby Road, Sudbrooke.

Kerr began his career with an apprenticeship in a local foundry, where he developed the precision and creativity essential to pattern-making—a craft that combines carpentry, metallurgy, and mechanical design. In March 1910, he leased premises on Rosemary Lane and founded the Kerr Pattern Company, producing industrial castings for a wide range of sectors.

Kerr passed away in 1948, but his legacy lives on in Lincoln’s industrial past. His work bridged traditional pattern-making with wartime innovation, and the site of his former workshop remains a ghostly monument to that transition.

From Biscuit Crumbs to Pattern Making: The History of the Site

Before Kerr’s name graced the building, the site had a rich and varied history:

• Pre-1909: Home to Kinetic-Swanton Co Ltd, an organ blower factory that closed in 1909

• Early 1900s: Briefly transformed into Henry Kirke White’s biscuit factory

• 1910s–1920s: Became a hub for precision engineering under Kerr’s leadership

Rosemary Lane was historically a working-class district, where factory workers lived and laboured side by side. The street itself sits atop a medieval graveyard, and archaeological digs have uncovered Roman pottery, medieval walls, and even 67 skeletons unearthed in a nearby cellar between 2003–2004.

The Kerr building stood among other landmarks, including the Wesleyan Day School (built in 1859), which later became a warehouse and now luxury apartments. This evolution—from education to industry to residential—mirrors Lincoln’s transformation over time.

By the 1920s, Lincoln had evolved from a market town into a global industrial centre, with thousands employed in foundries and machine shops.

The End

The  Kerr Pattern Company was owned by Philip Creasey until 1989 when it was taken over by Beevor Castings, the two businesses entered receivership in 1991.  

The building was demolished in about 2017.

Why the Kerr Pattern Company Still Matters

The story of John James Kerr and his company is more than a historical footnote—it’s a testament to Lincoln’s spirit of innovation. The Kerr Pattern Company played a vital role in the city’s engineering boom, and its legacy deserves recognition in local history and industrial heritage.

Footnote:  I have found a reference to a more balanced method of producing propellors by Kerrs, unfortunately I can not find more about this.  Is this true?  Do you know about this?

Duckering & Co. Ltd.: A Legacy of Lincoln’s Industrial Heritage

 

Duckering & Co. Ltd. stands as a proud symbol of Lincoln’s industrial heritage, representing over a century of innovation, craftsmanship, and resilience. From humble beginnings to engineering breakthroughs, the company’s story is woven into the fabric of the city’s economic and cultural development.

Origins of a Lincoln Iron Foundry

The journey began in 1845, when Richard Duckering partnered with Edward Burton to establish Burton and Duckering, an iron and brass foundry specialising in agricultural implements and kitchen ranges. Despite a devastating fire in 1847 at Waterside South, Duckering rebuilt and expanded the business, showcasing products like plough castings, fencing, and brass machinery components by 1856.

Growth and Generational Leadership

Charles Duckering 1841-1916

After Richard’s death, his son Charles Duckering took the reins, renaming the company and relocating operations to Waterside North—a site now occupied by the YMCA and a car park. Under Charles’s leadership, the foundry flourished, diversifying its offerings and becoming a fixture in Lincoln’s industrial scene. He retired in 1912, passing the business to his grandson, also named Richard Duckering.

Expansion into Locomotive Engineering

In 1920, the company became Duckering & Co. Ltd., a limited liability company with ambitions for growth. A major milestone came in 1930, when it acquired locomotive engineering drawings from Clayton Wagons, marking a bold expansion beyond traditional ironfounding.

Innovation and Retail Presence

While iron founding remained central, Duckering & Co. embraced innovation with products like corn grinding machines. In 1907, the company opened a hardware showroom on Monks Road, bringing its craftsmanship directly to the public.

End of an Era, Legacy Lives On

The company closed in 1964, ending a remarkable chapter in Lincoln’s industrial story. Yet its legacy endures—drain grates, manhole covers, and lampposts bearing the Duckering name still dot the city, silent witnesses to a bygone era.

Why Duckering & Co. Ltd. Still Matters

Duckering & Co. Ltd. wasn’t just a business—it was a symbol of adaptation, craftsmanship, and community impact. Its contributions to Lincoln’s industrial development continue to inspire, reminding us of the power of resilience and innovation.

Page Woodcock’s Wind Pills: Victorian Cure-All or Marketing Masterstroke?

Exploring Lincoln’s link to one of Britain’s most flamboyantly advertised patent medicines

In the bustling world of 19th-century patent remedies, few products captured public imagination quite like Page Woodcock’s Wind Pills. Marketed as a cure for everything from indigestion to gout, these “purely vegetable” pills weren’t just a medicinal offering — they were a spectacle of Victorian advertising ingenuity.

 Who Was Page Woodcock?

Page Dewing Woodcock, a Methodist chemist originally from Norwich, later made Lincoln his home. Known for his flair for promotion, Woodcock wasn’t content with quiet pharmacy work. He became a master of the printed sermon — crafting long, impassioned advertisements that read more like moral tracts than marketing copy.

His ads, often filled with religious overtones and dramatic appeals to the suffering public, drew both admiration and satire. Publications like Punch poked fun at his style, but the attention only helped fuel the popularity of his pills.

What Did the Pills Claim to Cure?

Wind Pills were marketed as a remedy for:

• Indigestion
• Liver complaints
• Biliousness
• Flatulence
• Disturbed sleep
• Heartburn
• Even gout

The appeal lay in their “purely vegetable” composition — a comforting promise in an age wary of chemical concoctions. Testimonials poured in, praising their effectiveness, though modern analysis suggests their success owed more to marketing than medicine.

Advertising That Floated Above the Rest

Woodcock’s promotional genius extended beyond the written word. One of his most memorable advertisements featured two boys dropping boxes of Wind Pills from a hot air balloon to a crowd below — a vivid metaphor for their widespread appeal. The imagery was colourful, theatrical, and designed to stop readers in their tracks.

These ads weren’t just selling pills; they were selling hope, spectacle, and a sense of belonging to a movement of self-improvement and moral health.

 Medicine or Myth?

Like many patent medicines of the era, Wind Pills walked a fine line between genuine relief and exaggerated claims. While some users swore by them, there was little scientific evidence to support their efficacy. Still, they remained popular across the UK, stocked in chemists and trusted by thousands.

Their success speaks volumes about Victorian attitudes toward health, trust, and the power of persuasive storytelling.

Lincoln’s Place in the Story

Page Woodcock's chemist shop on Lincoln High Street, demolished in the 1960s for the building of the Boots the Chemist Store.

Though born in Norwich, Woodcock’s later life in Lincoln ties this curious chapter of medical history to the city’s broader narrative. His presence here adds another layer to Lincoln’s rich tapestry of innovation, eccentricity, and civic life.

Final Thoughts

Page Woodcock’s Wind Pills were more than a remedy — they were a cultural phenomenon. Blending religious fervour, theatrical advertising, and the promise of relief, they offer a fascinating glimpse into the world of Victorian medicine and marketing.

Whether you’re interested in the history of health, the evolution of advertising, or Lincoln’s lesser-known characters, Page Woodcock’s story is one worth retelling.

A Chapel Lost, A Life Forgotten: The Story of Isabella and St Andrew’s

 The fall of St Andrew’s and the quiet legacy of Gaunt Street’s anchorite

At the time of the Reformation, Lincoln was suffering from 200 years of neglect. The Black Death and the loss of the Staple in 1369 had triggered a long decline in population—from about 4,000 in the mid-14th century to just 2,000 a century later. Once-thriving parishes were emptying, and by 1540, many churches had no parishioners. Formerly populated areas of Lincoln were reverting to agriculture, their stone buildings crumbling into the soil.

The Reformation had not only disrupted religious life but also dismantled the social and economic fabric of towns like Lincoln. The dissolution of monasteries removed vital sources of charity, education, and employment, leaving communities adrift. In response to this upheaval, an application was made to Parliament to unite the city’s dwindling parishes. An Act was passed in 1538 "for the union of churches in the city of Lincoln," authorising four men—John Taylor, Bishop of Lincoln; William Hutchinson, Mayor; George Stamp; and John Fowler—to carry it into effect.

A copy of the deed of union, dated 4th September 1553, records that the number of parishes within the city bail and close of Lincoln was reduced from fifty-two to fifteen. The process was swift and pragmatic, driven by dwindling congregations and the financial value of salvaged materials.

One of the doomed churches was St Andrew’s, which stood on the north side of the street now known as Gaunt Street. The Sutton family, prominent residents of the large house known as "John of Gaunt’s Place," petitioned the City Corporation to spare the church. They proposed to annex St Andrew’s as their private chapel and maintain it at their own expense. But the timber, lead, glass, and stone were worth money—and sentiment rarely outweighed salvage.

St Andrew’s Church stood behind the wall in the centre of the picture. The graveyard remained there until West (of West's garage) was built on the site in the late 19th century.  Drawing by E J Willson

The Corporation was resolute. The church was pulled down in 1551, and its materials were repurposed to repair the remaining fifteen churches. Some fragments may still survive, embedded in the walls of buildings that stand today.

Next to the church lived an anchorite named Isabella. Anchorites voluntarily withdrew from the world, living in a cell attached to or within a church, devoted to prayer and contemplation. Their entrances were bricked up, sealing them inside for life. Isabella’s cell would have been sparse—perhaps a small window for communion, a crucifix, and a stone floor worn smooth by kneeling. At that time, Lincoln had three anchorites: Isabella at St Andrew’s, another beneath the Bishop’s Palace walls, and one at Trinity Church near the bottom of Greestone Stairs. What became of Isabella after the church’s demolition is not recorded, but her story lingers in the silence of that vanished sanctuary.

Lincoln’s fortunes would not revive for another 300 years, until the rise of industry brought new life to the city. Men like Ruston, Clayton, and Shuttleworth transformed Lincoln into a hub of engineering and manufacturing. Where anchorites once prayed in solitude, steam engines roared and ironworks rose—marking a dramatic shift from spiritual retreat to industrial ambition.

List of the 52 churches and chapels in Lincoln at the Reformation, the ones mark with an asterisk survived, though many were damaged or destroyed during the English Civil War:

West's building on St Andrew's Graveyard

To view an 1885 map of the area showing St Andrew's graveyard on the corner of Gaunt Street Click Here 

To view a map of Lincoln's lost medieval places of religious worship click here

Hubbards Hills: A Love Story Carved into Lincolnshire’s Landscape

In the heart of Louth lies a place that’s more than just a beauty spot — it’s a living memorial to love, generosity, and civic pride. Hubbards Hills, with its winding paths and tranquil waters, owes its existence to one man’s devotion to his wife and his adopted town.

It all began in 1875, when a young Swiss teacher, Auguste Alphonse Pahud, arrived in Louth to teach French and German at King Edward VI School. He fell in love with Annie Grant, the daughter of a prosperous Withern farmer. They married twelve years later and settled at The Limes on Westgate, living a life of travel and quiet companionship.

But tragedy struck in 1899 when Annie died suddenly in London. Auguste was heartbroken. He withdrew from public life and, in 1902, passed away after writing a will that would shape Louth’s future.  His £25,000 estate — a fortune at the time — was entrusted to seven local men with a mission: honour Annie’s memory and give back to the community. Their decisions were visionary:

• A stained-glass window was commissioned for the parish church
• The Limes became the foundation of the Girls’ Grammar School
• A fund was created to support the poor in Withern
• And most famously, Hubbards Hills was purchased and transformed into a public park

The land, bought from Mr J. Ward for just over £2,000, included the lake and watermill on Crowtree Lane. Extensive tree planting followed, and the valley was carefully shaped into the green haven we know today — a process beautifully documented in David Robinson’s book The History of Hubbards Hills.

The Day Louth Celebrated

On August 3, 1907, the town came alive. Flags fluttered, bells rang, and thousands gathered to celebrate the official handover of Hubbards Hills to the people of Louth. The Mayor called it “the proudest moment” of his career. Children sang, bands played, and the festivities stretched from morning until a firework finale lit up the sky with the words: “May Louth enjoy Hubbards Hills — Goodnight.”

It was a day etched into memory — not just for the spectacle, but for what it represented: a gift of nature, freely given, to be cherished by generations.

 Stewardship Through the Years

After local government changes in 1974, care of the Hills passed to East Lindsey District and Louth Town Council. Despite good intentions, funding was tight and ambitious plans never materialised. By 2009, it was clear that Hubbards Hills needed a new chapter.

That came in the form of a dedicated charity, launched in April 2009. With a mix of councillors and passionate locals — including Philip Day, Allan Dunning, Michael Beaumont, Michael Moncaster, and Linda Cahalin — the charity took on the task of preserving and improving the Hills. A maintenance plan was drawn up with expert help, and today the site is supported by council funds and external grants.

Because Hubbards Hills isn’t just a park. It’s a love letter to Lincolnshire, written in trees and water, and signed by a man who believed in beauty, memory, and community.

A Lot of Activity at The Cornhill

Many years ago, when I started collecting pictures and books about Lincoln, this was one of the first postcards I bought.  Probably paid too much for it at the time but I was attracted by the colour and the image of Lincoln people going about their daily business.

It is often difficult to date old postcards within say 50 years, but the names of the businesses on this one allow us to date it within 8 years.  Using Lincoln trade directories I can see that Melbourn Bros were there by 1894 and moved to Brayford Head sometime before 1913.

Apart from Melbourn Bros there are two other businesses pictured which were there for at least the same period of time.  Joseph Hepworth and Son maintained their corner position from about 1890 until the 1980s when they became Next Plc.  Prior to that they were on the corner of High Street and Guildhall Street, where HSBC bank is now.

Peel Bros was a partnership between two corn merchants brothers, Alfred and Walter Peel.  Walter married Grace Melbourn, daughter of Newell Cecil Melbourn, wine and spirit merchant, in 1889.  Alfred married Amelia Robey, daughter of Robert Robey of Robey & Co, in 1885.  Alfred and Walters parnership was dissolved in 1906, Amelia acted as Alfred's attorney as he was seriously ill and died in 1907.  Peel Bros continued to trade from the Cornhill address until the 1950s.

There is a small sign with the word "HANSON" above the doorway next to Melbourns, that was John Robert Hanson, gun and cycle manufacturer.  Hanson moved to the Cornhill somewhere between 1897 and 1901, he died in 1904, at the age of 42, and there is no record of the business on the Cornhill in 1905 so it is probable that the business died with him.

The building with Corinthian pillars is the old Corn Exchange, built in 1848, it was soon found to be inadequate for the amount of the business that was conducted there.  In 1880 the new Corn Exchange was built to the left of the old building, the tower stood over the entrance.  In the mid 20th century, when not used as a Corn Exchange, it was a cinema and a roller skating rink.

To the right and at the back of the old Corn Exchange can be seen the "New" Market.  The rest of the picture is in heavy shadow but the Cornhill Hotel and the City Wine & Spirit Stores can be just made out.

Horse Fair at the Cornhill in 1910

The Cornhill in 1965 populated by Vauxhall, BMC group and Rootes group vehicles.

Houses at the Wood Yard

The company of H Newsum, Sons & Co was established in 1856 by Henry Newsum of Rotherham in Broadgate, Lincoln.   These works were destroyed by fire in 1879, the Drill Hall was built on the site, and Newsums moved to 17 Pelham Street.  By 1881 Newsums employed 121 men and 12 boys.  It was realised after World War I that the joinery works there were too small for the Company’s expansion plans and a green field site next to the West Common south of Carholme Road was acquired.   This was a large site complete with its own railway; read more about the railway here

The company continued to prosper until after World War II,   exporting 1,000 wooden prefabricated houses to South Australia and also to Ajax in Ontario, Canada in the early 1950s.  By 1956 the Company had vacated the site and moved to its other site in Gainsborough.  Gainsborough closed in 1968 bringing to an end a company of over 100 years old.

Associated Electrical Industries (AEI), later English Electric Valves, moved onto the site and remained there until 2007 when the site was sold for housing.  This was the end of manufacturing in this area of Carholme Road, Fisons having closed many years before.

Newsum’s Villas

Newsum Villas were built in 1920 on the northern perimeter of Newsum’s new joinery works.  One detached and eight 3 bedroom semi-detached houses were built for senior staff at the works.

Resident’s of Newsum’s Villas in 1932

Designed in a pseudo-Georgian style, the houses are well built in brick and well proportioned.  Sadly all the houses except one have had their neo-Georgian proportioned sash windows replaced with upvc double-glazed units that detract from the design of the houses.  The house in the photograph was in the process of being renovated when I photographed it in 2012 and has had its wooden windows replaced.