“My 3x great grandfather William Jones was the youngest of eight children, born in 1754 in a Welsh inn. He died in 1834 as marshal of the King’s Bench debtors’ prison in Southwark in London, and left a huge fortune.
“William’s grandchildren knew very little about where he came from in Wales, or how he made his money. My father Ian loved history, and in the 1990s he decided to solve the puzzle.
“The challenge of researching someone with the Welsh surname Jones prompted Dad to employ a professional researcher. He discovered that William was born at the Cross Keys Inn, Llanfwrog, near Ruthin in Denbighshire.
“William’s parents, Thomas and Mary, died by his ninth birthday and there were no probate records to help us. How did a poor orphan boy become such a mercantile success?
“William presented us with an enormous brick wall, but when I took up the reins from Dad in 2010 I had the advantage of the internet and access to London archives. The search led me on a rollercoaster ride of discovery.
“I began in North Wales, and discovered that during William’s early years the rector of Llanfwrog was Thomas Hughes (whose grandson, also named Thomas Hughes, wrote the 1857 novel Tom Brown’s School Days). Hughes served as headmaster of Ruthin Grammar School too, from 1739 to 1768.
“A few years ago, I discovered the Old Ruthinian Association, and amazingly it had a list of attendees at a school reunion in 1786. William Jones, attorney-at-law, was listed.
“I was sure that this was ‘my’ William Jones because I’d found his name in the ‘Registers of Articles of Clerkship and Affidavits of Due Execution’ in 1773, which are held at The National Archives (TNA) in Kew. At the age of 19, after paying a fee of around £100, William had gone to Oswestry to train as an attorney under Robert Lloyd.
“I knew that William was marshal of the King’s Bench Prison, so I searched its records at the London Metropolitan Archives (LMA). One document detailed ‘William Jones, his accounts’ and contained a record of cash payments ‘by deed by my father’ until he was 27.
“Thomas Jones wasn’t poor after all, and left money for William’s education. It was so exciting to find a personal document like this hidden among the papers of the King’s Bench Prison.
“The next mystery I needed to solve was, how had William made his move from rural Wales to London? The answer came from a general internet search.
“In 1784, William was the prosecutor in a libel case against William Shipley, dean of St Asaph Cathedral, Denbighshire. He acted on behalf of Thomas Fitzmaurice MP, high sheriff of Flintshire and brother of former prime minister Lord Shelburne. This was a golden opportunity for the young attorney.
“Dean Shipley was charged with publishing a pamphlet that Fitzmaurice believed to be libellous and seditious. It had been written by the dean’s brother-in-law to highlight the need for electoral reform. The only thing that the dean had done was to pass it on.
“The case was scheduled to be heard at Wrexham, then postponed and held at Shrewsbury, where Shipley was convicted. An appeal was later heard in London, where he was acquitted of any wrongdoing.
“Involvement in such a high-profile case must have boosted William’s career. By 1789, he was admitted to the Inner Temple in London, which I found in its admission database, and the following year he became marshal and associate to the chief justice Lloyd Kenyon. In 1791, he was appointed marshal of the King’s Bench Prison, a lucrative position that he would hold for 43 years.
“How did he manage to gain this patronage? The appointment was in Lloyd Kenyon’s gift, who was an old boy of Ruthin Grammar School and the proposed judge at the aborted Wrexham trial.
“William married Mary Ann Boydell and they had nine surviving children. He died in 1834, leaving a mansion in Norfolk, a generous annuity for Mary Ann, and legacies to his children that totalled £3 million
in today’s money.
“William’s determination to join the ‘landed’ class was strong, and he achieved his goal through sheer ambition. However, he made a lot of money as marshal, and this is morally suspect because it came from inmates’ fees. Would I have liked to have met him? Perhaps on one of his good days.”