The UK 1921 Census was released on the Findmypast website on 6 January 1922. But brace for a census drought.
The UK 1931 Census was lost in a fire and the 1941 Census was cancelled because of the war, (although we do have the 1939 Register to refer to).
That makes the UK 1951 Census release to be in 2052. Very unlikely I'll be around for that one!
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| Avedis Keuleyan |
Occasionally, I stumble upon an Armenian in the newspapers who has made a difference to the lives of many people, and yet has been sidelined in our modern-day world.
Virginie
Keuleyan is a well-known name in Liverpool for her charitable legacy, but the
wider Armenian communities around the world are less aware of her philanthropy
and her Armenian family connections. Her charitable legacy is a quiet generosity influenced by the happiness and heartache she experienced in life. An exceptionally caring and compassionate woman, she wanted to help the people of Liverpool in recognition for the thoughtfulness shown to her and her beloved husband, Avedis.
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| Simple Balian Family Tree |
Virginie was born in Smyrna in 1872, the youngest of at least four children of Bedros Bey Balian and his wife Mariam nee Baliozian. Her siblings were:
[K]hosrov (later to become known as Christopher) born 1865
Armenag born 1867
Mihran born 1870
I am unsure at this stage when the family came to England, but certainly by 1883, Bedros was established in London as a tobacco merchant and cigarette manufacturer, trading from Paulet Road, Camberwell as the proprietor of the ‘Asia Minor Cigarette Company’. [1]
As far as I have been able to establish, there is absolutely no evidence available at the moment to suggest this Balian family are connected or related to the famous Balian family of architects. Of course, DNA testing would be the definitive factor to either confirm or dismiss this, but a well-regarded historian who also has specialist knowledge of the architect Balian DNA, has advised me he thinks the connection between the two families is very unlikely. However, should any Balian’s connected to the family mentioned here wish to consider DNA testing, do get in touch and I will be able to advise you of the best way forward to do so.
It is this Balian family in London that Calouste Gulbenkian used to visit regularly during his time studying at Kings College, London. Calouste witnessed fellow students being violent and causing trouble with other students, and although he was boarding in Ealing with Reverend Henry Belcher, along with three others, he was extremely homesick and unhappy. Calouste took to spending Saturdays with the Balians, it was a comfort being included in an Armenian family atmosphere. [2]
Bedros Balian was in Constantinople during some of this period in 1884, and it was his eldest son, Khosrov who had taken the “head-of-the-family role”, and who opened up the Balian home and hospitality to Calouste.[3] In 1885 Calouste briefly lived with them full-time, no doubt grateful for the normality of an Armenian family around him. [4] I’m uncertain exactly where the Balian family were located in London during this period, but electoral registers give Khosrov Balian living in Woodstock Road, Hammersmith in 1887[5], and later the 1891 census shows the whole family in Woodstock Road.[6] Mariam and her children were living there along with Mariam’s nephew Carnik Baliozian, son of her brother Garabed. By now, Khosrov had anglicized his name to Christopher, and he was listed as a Turkey merchant, Armenag was a merchant’s assistant and Mihran a solicitor’s clerk. Virginie is also on the census. There’s no mention of Mariam’s husband Bedros.
[K]hosrov aka Christopher Balian
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| Khosrov aka Christopher Balian |
He had briefly been in a partnership with his 22 year old nephew Carnik Baliozian, trading as C. Baliozian & Co., in London. In 1894 the business invited tenders to shipbuilders for “a new screw steamer for local Eastern Mediterranean trade. Dimensions: 120 x 18 x 11 with a forehold of 26ft., aft hold 18ft. One steam winch: a cabin with 15 beds; net tonnage 85, gross 125 to 130; must not consume more than three cwt. of coal per hour; speed to be 11 to 12 miles per hour. Particulars of a good second-hand steamer to be fitted for requirements, may also be sent.” Neither steam vessel ever materialized, and by 1895 that partnership was dissolved, because of young Carnik’s debts.[8]
An interesting side-note on Christopher is that in 1898, he was one of the volunteer watchers at the vigil of the coffin of Liberal Prime Minister William Gladstone, as it rested in the ancient surroundings of Westminster Hall, London.[9] A place recently in the news where her late Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II rested as the public paid their last respects to her. That an Armenian from Turkey was standing watch over a late British Prime Minister in the oldest part of the British parliament, was something of a great honour to him, and full of notoriety in the Armenian circles in London.
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| Christopher Balian was one of the watchers in the vigil of Mr. Gladstone, whose remains were lying-in-state in Westminster Hall, London |
In 1898 he was appointed a London Councillor for the Progressive party for St. Georges-in-the-East. He went on to seize an opportunity to show he was a “decent fellow” and was initiated in the London County Council Lodge of Freemasonry. However he was excluded from 1900.[10] Christopher’s ascension into London life was short-lived. By the spring of 1900 his inflated ego rather ran away with him, and resulted in a warrant being issued for his arrest.
The big story in Town, making headlines in the newspapers and providing society’s gossips endless material to toy with, was the audacious conduct of the London County Councillor, Christopher Balian. In late 1899 He had approached a jewelry and diamond specialist in Hatton Garden, London, called Nierses Nersessian, who was also a fellow Armenian and also a leading member of the Armenian community in London. He told him that as a member of the London County Council, he was: “intimate with some rich persons who belonged to that body, including Lords, Dunraven, Hardwicke and Farquhar. Balian made out these men wanted pearls and he could therefore put some good business in Mr. Nersessian’s way.” Knowing that he was a member of the London County Council, Nersessian had no reason to doubt the accuracy of Balian, and the jewel merchant let him taken some away on the understanding that he was going to show them to the potential customers. Balian made a series of visits to the Hatton Garden shop, taking away strings of pearls at different times and signing his name at the bottom of invoices, which were made out to the peers for whom he said he represented.
Balian really was quite the player and even claimed that he would take Mr. Nersessian’s brother to see Lord Dunraven. He told Nersessian he had made an appointment and in due course the brother went with Balian to see Lord Dunraven. Having arrived it seemed His Lordship had “forgotten” the appointment and was not there, but Balian said he would arrange to see the Lord on another occasion. All complete lies of course. He had never made an appointment, and there never would be a re-arranged meeting.
Nersessian pressed Balian for payment of the pearls he had taken away. Balian was constantly evasive. Nersessian wrote to their lordships and was informed by them that they had no knowledge of the matter. Finally, Mr. Nersessian consulted his solicitor who advised he should obtain an arrest warrant. By this time it was too late. Balian had pawned the pearls and received over £2,700 for the pearls, which were worth £5,000 retail. Greed got the better of him, his intention was to make big fast money as a speculator on the Liverpool Cotton Exchange,[11] unfortunately his gambling didn’t pay off, and he then apparently skipped the country. Police went to his business address, 19 St. Dunstan’s Hill where he operated as a dried goods merchant, as well as his home, which was shared with his mother and brothers, who were questioned about him but claimed no knowledge of his whereabouts. This situation would have caused untold embarrassment and shame on the family. Just a couple of weeks later Balian sent a resignation letter to the Council in which he said:
“I regret having to intimate that owing to ill-health and from the advice of my medical attendant, I have been obliged to place my resignation as a member of the Council in your hands. I am yours faithfully, C. Balian. Canary Islands.” The receiving councillors had a big laugh at this incredibly stupid note.
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| The WANTED notice for Christopher Balian |
It’s most unlikely he went to the Canary Islands, in fact it is most unlikely he actually left the country at all. He was an instantly recognizable character from wounds he received from fighting in Turkey. He had lost his left eye, and his eye-lid was permanently closed on that side of his face. It was claimed in newspaper reports he couldn’t go back to Turkey because he had fallen out in a big way with the authorities over there, and was likely to be arrested if he showed his face.
No further sign of [K]hosrov aka Christopher Balian surfaces until 1949 when his sister Virginie leaves a small bequest to him in her will. Finally, a burial record indicates that Hosrov Balian was buried on the 24th November 1950 at Kensal Green Cemetery, in the same plot as Mariam and Armenag; mother and two sons reunited in death. What is extraordinary, is that there is no death index reference to his death in the England and Wales Civil Registration Death Index. Meaning there is no death certificate. I took the liberty of speaking with the Armenian Church in London and asked them to check their registers for any burials for Balian in 1950, there was no record of any ceremony whatsoever. Moreover, even though there is a tombstone on the grave with inscriptions to Mariam Balian and her son Armenag, there is no mention of Hosrov on the stone. If it wasn’t for the fact there is a burial register index stating he was in the same plot as his mother and brother, it would be as if he didn’t exist. He appears to have spent his whole existence skimming under the radar of life, leading to his final resting place, almost anonymously, in Kensal Green Cemetery.
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| A montage of the three burial register entries |
Armenag Balian sometimes known as Arthur Balian
During the course of events concerning his brother Christopher and the stolen pearls, Armenag sued ‘The Times’ newspaper for libel. The Police “WANTED” notice for Christopher suggested that his brother Armenag, whose unfortunate nickname was “Darkie” was a person of dishonest and disreputable character because he was a bookmaker who frequented a particular establishment and was known to the police. The case was heard by Mr. Justice Wills in November 1900, who in summing up said “the question of libel depended very much on the meaning which the jury attached to the words, “well known to the City Police”. The jury found a verdict for the Plaintiff, and assessed the damages at £100.” Armenag was successful.
Armenag
picked up some further libel damages for the same argument in June 1901
from the People, Reynolds’s, the Echo
and East End News. He was awarded a further £200 by the Lord Chief Justice
and a special jury.[12]
Armenag married Ethel Amy Christine Weaver in 1917, although their children
were all born prior to this. The family
lived in Sinclair Gardens for almost all of Armenag’s life, he died in December
1938 and is buried in Kensal Green Cemetery with his mother Mariam and wayward brother
Khosrov aka Christopher who died in 1950, but without any show of recognition
on the plot.
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| Mariam and Armenag headstone, Kensal Green Cemetery Image via Findagrave.com. Image copyright of user: Rosemary. https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/240400070/mariam-balian |
After the death of Armenag, his widow Ethel went to live with her son and daughter, Serkies and Marie in Hazlitt Road, where she appears to have remained until her death in 1977.
Armenag
and Ethel’s children were:
Marie Kathleen Balian was born in April 1907, she remained a spinster
throughout her life. The 1939 Register states she was “incapacitated” living in
Hazlitt Road with her mother Ethel and sister Meriam. Marie died in 1967.
Serkis
Paul Balian was
born in February 1914, both he and his sister Marie Kathleen were baptized on
the same day; 14 November 1914 in West Kensington[13].
The 1939 Register notes him as Paul Balian, an aero engineer in Birmingham, but
the family home continued to be Hazlitt Road where his mother and sisters
continued to reside. In 1953 Paul married and went on to have three children,
all of whom survive today.
Meriem Balian was born 2nd March 1916[14].
She married in 1941 to Leslie Galbraith, she passed away in 2008.
Mihran Balian
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| Mihran Balian |
Like all his siblings, he was born in Smyrna. He appears to have grown up to be the more sensible and responsible of the brothers. Boarding with him and his mother Mary on the 1901 census was Mary Velge who was only 26 years of age and from the Straits Settlements in Asia. The Velge family were well known and respected in Asia, and were acquainted socially and commercially with the Armenians in Malaysia. Perhaps this connection led to Mary Velge boarding temporarily with the Balians in the hope a romance may blossom between her and Mihran. That, however, wasn’t to be, and by 1910 Mary was back in Penang marrying an engineer named Lucian Tesserant.
Meanwhile, Mihran put as much distance as he could between his own reputation and that of his thieving, double crossing brother Christopher. In 1903 he had married Elise Dayian not at an Armenian church, but at St. Barnabas Church in Kensington. By this time, his mother Mary had died in Sussex, and Mihran was living at Holland Road, Kensington, working as an accountant to a firm of solicitors, McKenna & Co. Given his brother’s brush with stolen property, abscondence, and subsequent WANTED notice, I do wonder how much McKenna’s knew; reputations where everything then, and Mihran’s family was tainted by Christopher’s actions.
Baby Lucy Balian was born in 1904 a year after their marriage and was baptized in the same church the wedding took place. By this time, Mihran and his family were living in Stanwick Mansions, West Kensington and by 1911 they had moved again, this time to Earls Court Road. In 1915 Mihran applied for naturalization to be a British Subject, he swore his Oath of Allegiance on the 9th February that year, at his own place of work, McKenna & Co. He was now British. By 1921 he was Chief Accountant at McKenna’s and the family were living at Lexham Court, Lexham Gardens, London.
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| Mihran Balian in 1895 at his peak in his cycling events |
From the late 1890’s Mirhan had a passion for cycling and there are a number of reports where he took part in events. In 1935 he wrote a book ‘Cycling, It’s Art and Pastime’ published by The Bishopsgate Press. Mirhan passed away in July 1947.
Virginie Balian and Avedis Keuleyan
Virginie would have been part of the household when Calouste Gulbenkian visited in 1884/1885. Although only a young girl of 12 or 13, it is an age where children take in every detail of their surroundings and household visitors, the Balian home was probably a very busy one, with visits from other Armenian community members living in London. With her father Bedros away in Constantinople, the role of head-of-the-family fell onto the shoulders of her eldest brother Khosrov aka Christopher.
With the Balian family’s reputation building positively in London, Christopher making strides in the commercial and political areas of London Life, it could be said the family were on a collective high as they approached a family landmark; a wedding.
Virginie Balian’s wedding in July 1894 was quite the occasion. Anyone who was anyone in the Armenian community of London attended. It would have been quite the spectacle and made even more unusual to see a temporary Armenian chapel made and erected inside Norris’s Hotel, in up-market Kensington for her nuptials with Avedis Keuleyan. It surely would have been a spectacular sight for hotel management, guests and the general public. The ceremony was conducted by Armenian Arch-Priest the Very Rev. S. Baronian of Manchester. Among the guests present were Lady Stevenson, Mrs. Francis S. Stevenson, Mr. C.E. Schwann M.P., and Mrs. Schwann, Mr. Edward Atkin, Mr. & Mrs. G.B.M. Coore, and many other friends of the bride’s family. A witness account of the ceremony said:
“It is rarely the fortune of Englishmen to witness the impressive ceremony of an Armenian wedding, and the large attendance at Miss Balian’s marriage attests the warm interest which is felt in this country for the most ancient National Church in the world, which has held together for sixteen hundred years a people whose attachment to the customs of their forefathers is well known. The wedding service of the Armenians is essentially congregational. On entering the temporary chapel at Kensington, the Arch Priest, habited in a rich crimson cope, and wearing a hood of black moiré silk asked the bride and bridegroom if they desired to enter into the blessed state of holy matrimony, and were aware of the importance of the vows they offered to take. Both answered in the affirmative. Dr. Baronian demanded of the whole congregation if they had heard the declarations of the contracting parties, to which the answer was returned, “we are witness”, whereupon the bridal hymn was chanted, and the bride and bridegroom were each crowned with a silken fillet of red and white silk, and their heads were inclined during the remainder of the service. After an address from the Arch Priest on the duties of the married state, in the course of which allusion was made to the feast at Cana honoured by the presence of Christ, and the miraculous turning of water into wine, Dr. Baronian blessed wine, and the bride and bridegroom alone drank it. Prayers were then offered for the happiness of the young couple, and the ceremony closed with the chanting of a hymn and the Benediction.”[15]
Avedis was a very successful cotton merchant in Liverpool. When Avedis Keuleyan was beginning in cotton, he was fortunate enough to come across James Briggs. Briggs took him into his Liverpool office of American cotton producer, Weld & Co., where he was a working partner and a representative of the firm. Briggs had served his apprenticeship with the Liverpool cotton firm of M. Belcher & Co., before joining Liverpool's Ralli Brothers. In 1899 he joined Weld & Co's Liverpool branch which was being established in this year. [16] His experience in the industry gave Avedis a welcome introduction and boost of knowledge to draw on and it wasn’t long before their business association turned to friendship.
In 1904 another one of those sensational court cases involving Armenians briefly took the public’s attention away from the ordinary and mundane of life. This time it was about Avedis. Headlined as an “Eastern Romance: A Story of Assassination, Prison and Bribery” it is one of the many heroic tales that have long been forgotten. I reproduce the entire story here.
A Romance of the East.[17]
By H.L. Adam.
Being the remarkable drama of real life which lay hidden behind a prosaic Chancery Court action. It is a story full of tragic happenings, including assassination, false imprisonment, and much intrigue, and throws a lurid light upon the administration of justice in Turkey.
“In the Chancery Court presided over by Mr. Justice Warrington there was heard an action in which an Armenian gentleman, named Avedis Kenleyan [Liz Chater note: this is regularly mis-spelt, and should read Keuleyan], claimed from the estate of Mrs. Balian, his mother-in-law, money expended on her behalf. In the court of the evidence Mr. Kenleyan was requested to name two Turkish officials whom he stated he had bribed in order to secure his freedom from a Turkish prison. This he refused to do, as such a course would imperil his life. Eventually he was induced to write the names on a slip of paper, which was placed in an envelope and handed to the judge, who gave his word that nobody else should see what was written. In the end a verdict was given for him for the amount claimed.”
The above report in a daily newspaper somewhat piqued my curiosity, for it appeared to suggest a very great deal more than it actually stated. It seemed to point, in fact, to a very romantic story, so I decided to investigate the matter. I succeeded in discovering the whereabouts of the Armenian gentleman mentioned, Avedis Kenleyan, who was residing with his wife at the London suburb of Shepherd’s Bush. I communicated with him by letter, and in response received a cordial invitation to visit him. It was on a Sunday evening that I found myself in a very prettily furnished apartment, in which the glittering taste of the East was the predominant feature, and Mrs. Kenleyan were present – both typical Armenians, and both young. For several hours I sat listening to the unravelling of one of the most remarkable stories of modern times which have ever been told. The gentleman was the narrator, and was occasionally prompted by his wife. The whole narrative was given in such a simple, unaffected manner that I have not the least doubt of its absolute truth. I think it best to present the story, as far as possible, in the words of Mr. Kenleyan himself, who was the chief actor in it.
My wife is the daughter of the late Mrs. Mariam Balian. A short while ago my mother-in-law had a brother, Garabed Baliozian, living in Paris and another brother, Matheos, living in Smyrna. The latter had sons and a daughter. Suddenly Garabed Baliozian died in Paris, intestate [Liz Chater note: although it was established he had at least £100,000 worth of assets in Turkey, this equates in 2022 to around £11 million]. It was known to Mrs. Balian that he had left property, but in what form and to what extent she was unaware. According to Turkish law this property would have to be divided, two thirds going to the nearest male heir and one third to the nearest female heir, these two being respectively Matheos Baliozian and Mrs. Balian. Matheos decided to take charge of the whole estate, administering it himself, and to this my mother-in-law agreed.
At this period the Armenian revolutionaries were very turbulent and serious trouble had arisen between their different factions, several murders having been committed by them even in England, at your place called Peckham. [On the evening of October 26th, 1903, Sagatel Sagouni, a wealthy member of the Armenian Central Committee at Peckham, was shot outside his lodgings at Nunhead. The assassin escaped. On the afternoon of November 4th, Aram Gregorian and Tigran Ismirian two other Armenians, were shot at Peckham Rye while on their way to a meeting. The assassin, finding escape impossible, turned his revolver on himself and committed suicide. He was an Armenian known as “Yorgie Yannie,” but this name was thought to be an alias.] Matheos in Smyrna was aiding the Government in suppressing the revolutionaries by giving them information concerning their whereabouts and intentions. This got to the knowledge of the Revolutionary Committee, and an anonymous letter was sent to Matheos warning him to desist from this line of conduct, as the affair could be no concern of his. This letter he ignored, whereupon a second letter was sent to him of a more threatening nature. This missive also Matheos heeded not. Finally he received a third letter, in which his life was definitely threatened. The document informed him that, unless he at once acceded to their wishes, one of the brotherhood, who had been selected for that purpose, would take his life.
Even this disconcerting communication Matheos stolidly ignored. One morning, however, about eight o’clock, he was walking to his office, when he was accosted by a strange man, who pleaded that he was in great distress through want of work and asked him if he could help him to obtain employment. Matheos walked on, taking no notice of the stranger. Suddenly the stranger produced a revolver and, taking quick aim, shot him twice in the head and body. The unfortunate Matheos fell to the ground, bleeding profusely, while his assailant made off at top speed. Before the bystanders, attracted to the spot by the firing, could get Matheos to his office, he had breathed his last.
The police did not take much notice of the assassin (the police of Smyrna rarely exert themselves under such circumstances), but a couple of men rushed from a café and threw two chairs before the fleeing man, which brought him heavily to the ground. He was then exhausted, and was easily secured. On examination he proved to be the same man who had sent the threatening letters, and it was discovered that he was well supplied with money to aid him to escape after killing Matheos.
The assassin was duly placed on trial, found guilty, and sentenced to imprisonment for life. You may be surprised that he was not sentenced to death; but executions are few in the land of the Sultan. Before an execution can take place it must have the acquiescence of that august monarch, who will rarely give his consent to the death penalty being carried out. The murderer, therefore, went to prison, and the last I heard of him he was having a very good time. This may also surprise you, but imprisonment under these circumstances is a mere farce, and the captives like it so well that they endeavour to lengthen in some way the period of their incarceration! While in prison the murderer of Matheos was allowed eight pounds a month by the Revolutionary Committee.
It now became necessary for Mrs. Balian to be represented by somebody in Smyrna, and I accordingly volunteered to journey thither on her behalf. To this, however, she demurred, thinking it too risky. But I assured her that I had influential friends, who would act on my behalf should ill befall me, and that my passport was in order, and at length she consented. I set off for Smyrna accompanied by my wife. Arrived there, I at once instituted inquiries, and soon discovered that there was as much as thirty thousand pounds in cash lying in the bank of Messrs. Munro and Co., of Paris and New York, to the credit of the estate. This unexpected information I at once cabled over to Mrs. Balian. Soon after this I was one morning sitting in the office of my solicitor at Smyrna, discussing the business, when a police officer called and informed me that the chief of the police desired to see me at his office. As this gentleman was – and is – a personal friend of mine, I had not the slightest hesitation in accompanying the messenger to the police head quarters. There I was conducted into a small room and kept waiting for some time. The chief’s apartments were on the first floor, but the chief himself did not appear, so I sat there patiently, expecting every moment to be conducted upstairs. Instead of this, however, another officer came in, and I was taken away to a district police station without seeing my friend.
It was then that I first began to have misgivings, and I inquired of my custodian what it all meant. By way of reply I received the staggering intelligence that I should have to proceed at once to Constantinople. I asked the reason, but the officer would not explain. Then I requested that a message might be sent to my wife to summon her. The message was taken, but when my wife arrived she was not permitted to see me. She prepared a few things for my journey, however, and sent them to me.
There is a very good service of boats running between Smyrna and Constantinople, a distance of something over two hundred miles. They are French and German vessels, but the ship I was placed on was a Turkish craft, which took very much longer over the journey. The reason for this I discovered after. Had I gone on board one of the other boats I could have refused to disembark, nor could the Turks have compelled me to do so, for I should then have been on foreign soil, so to speak.
At my own expense I was allowed a cabin, and a custodian accompanied me from Smyrna. It took us over three days to reach Constantinople, where we were met on the quay by two or three local police officers, and I was conducted through the streets to the police head quarters. Taken into a room, I was brought before an official of some sort, who put a few questions to me to confirm my identity. Again I made a request that I might be enlightened as to why I had been carried away in this high-handed manner, but no explanation was vouchsafed me. I was told to give up all the valuables I had upon me, which consisted of twenty pounds, a watch and chain, and other trinkets. I inquired the reason for this, and was told that there were people where I was going to whom this property might be a temptation.
My doubts and fears now became greatly intensified, and my mind was filled with a strange foreboding. I had left my Smyrna guard behind on the boat, and the police officers who then took charge of me handed me over, in accordance with the instructions of the official at head quarters – a kind of magistrate – to a gaoler, and I was taken to a prison adjoining. My gaoler was dressed in ordinary civilian clothes, minus collar and tie, but wore a badge on his coat lapel by way of uniform. We first went through a big wooden door into a small courtyard, then down a short flight of steps, through another door, when we came to an iron gate, with a long chain and keys attached. This place, I discovered, is what is called a “remand prison.” It had once been the stable of a Pasha, and was filthily dirty.
When we came to that forbidding looking iron door I think my alarm must have been depicted plainly on my face, for my gaoler proceeded jocosely to reassure me.
“There, there, little man; don’t be afraid!” he said “They all look like that when they first come here. You’ll be all right; keep up your heart.”
And with that remark he threw open the iron door, revealing a number of circular apartments, with a central corridor running through them. A mob of about one hundred and fifty prisoners greeted our entrance with looks of inquiry, for the arrival of a new inmate is always an event in this dreadful place.
“Let me see’ you’re from Smyrna, are you not?” queried my gaoler. “Ah, well, there’s a neighbour of yours upstairs; perhaps you know him.”
He led the way up a wooden staircase into a room. There was not a stick of furniture in it; only about a dozen rough shake-down beds for the occupants. It turned out, curiously enough, that I did know the Smyrna prisoner referred to by the gaoler, who, after ushering me in, returned down the stairs. It was fortunate for me that I met this man, for from him I obtained some valuable information concerning the place I now found myself in and the persons who guarded it. As I have said, it was nominally a remand prison, but the mockery of the word “remand” may be realized when I state that some of my fellow prisoners had been languishing in this pest hole between two and three years awaiting a trial! Others had disappeared and never been seen again. I have more to say concerning this point presently. The prison, I discovered, is used for the reception of all kinds of persons who may be regarded by certain individuals as “undesirable,” including those officials of the Royal palace who have fallen out of favour or may have been guilty of some indiscretion. The allowance of foods is two small loaves of bread a day and soup once a week. Prisoners may purchase other food from the outside, but to such an extent are the wretched inmates robbed by those who cater for them that they must be well supplied with money to be able to indulge in this luxury.
I was not allowed any writing materials, but managed to write letters in pencil on pieces of paper I had with me. At first, also, I was not permitted to receive any visitors, and if I required any of the money I had left with the officials I had to make written application for it, being careful to sign myself “prisoner.” The maximum sum allowed to be applied for at one time was three dollars, but a prisoner rarely received more than one dollar of this, the coin being thrown in to him, with the laconic observation “A dollar!” No amount of protest will bring the other two.
My first anxiety was to get into communication with some of my friends, and I was not sorry to learn from my fellow prisoner from Smyrna that first night that the gaolers in this estimable establishment were open to bribes. Inwardly resolving to lose no opportunity of availing myself of this means of getting into touch with the outside world, I fell into a troubled sleep. About midnight I was rudely awakened, and told to accompany a gaoler, who conducted me to an adjoining court. I can compare this building with your Newgate as it once was, with court and prison adjacent. In the apartment I was taken to I found, awaiting my arrival, a president (judge) five or six assistants (jurymen), and a secretary (prosecuting counsel). A prisoner is not allowed to employ an advocate to defend him. I was treated very roughly, and searching questions were put to me by the secretary, the present the whole time writing upon sheets of paper. I answered the questions to best of my ability, gave them my history, and told them that I was an ordinary commercial man, carrying on business at Liverpool. I also explained why I came to Smyrna, and so on. I was asked if I had ever been to Paris, and I said that I had.
“Why did you leave it?” demanded the secretary.
“Because I thought it better to do so,” I replied.
The secretary seemed to think he had caught me.
“Ah! But why?” he reiterated.
“Because,” I explained, “Paris is a place of pleasure, a place in which to spend money; the one does not appeal to me, the other I have not got. Therefore I deemed it advisable to quit Paris.”
This answer seemed to suffice. At the conclusion of my examination I was directed to sign what the president had been writing without being allowed to read it first, and was then hustled back to prison. This is a custom with them, I have found – suddenly to arouse a prisoner in the middle of the night and subject him to a rigorous verbal overhauling, with a view to getting him to commit himself in his then dazed condition. It is the French Criminal Code applied to Turkish laws. Altogether I was subjected to five of these examinations – the last one occupying five hours – each successive one being less brutal in tone than its predecessor, as my innocence dawned by degrees upon the unwilling minds of the officials. The first act I accomplished towards my own liberation was – by means of a bribe of ten shillings – getting a letter posted by the gaoler to a friend of mine in Smyrna, and thus starting a train of inquiries. I subsequently induced this same gaoler to post several other letters to friends for the comparatively small charge of a shilling each.
I think at this stage it will be as well if I make reference to some of the luckless prisoners with whom I came in contact during my period of incarceration. One day there was introduced into our room a young Greek. He had been there only a few days when he was taken away again. He was absent some time, and was then suddenly thrust back into my room in an unconscious condition. He lay in this lethargic state for some time, but at last regained consciousness. I then questioned him as to what had happened. This was his story. He was a money-changer, carrying on business not far from the prison. One morning, on going to his shop, he found the place in possession of the police; it had been broken into and the safe rifled, some hundreds of pounds being missing. The police promptly took the proprietor into custody, charging him with instigating the robbery! When he was removed from my room, as I have already described, he was taken away to be tortured into making a confession. He was flogged, beaten and spiked sticks, and scalding hot eggs were placed under his armpits. He was also strapped in a room beneath some dripping, scalding water, his position being so arranged that the water fell drop by drop upon that part of his head where the scalp was exposed through partial baldness. This maddening torture was continued for hours. During these cruelties he was repeatedly called upon to confess, but continued to protest that he was innocent. Then he was confronted with a bogus confederate, who told him to his face that he had bribed him to commit the robbery, but the victim of this twentieth-century inquisition still continued his protestations of innocence, until insensibility overtook him. Finally he was taken back to prison, as I have described. When I left he was still there, and one does not like to speculate as to what may have happened to the unfortunate man since.
Upon another occasion a new guest arrived, loaded with expensive jewelry, the value of which I estimated at about two thousand pounds. One diamond ring alone must have been worth quite five hundred pounds. I learnt that he was from the Royal palace, an official who had fallen out of favour, and whom it was deemed advisable to “remove.” He made a great disturbance, asking why he, who had always enjoyed such privileges in the palace, should be thus ignominiously treated. They put him in a room by himself but he continued to create a great disturbance, so he was taken away altogether. I afterwards learned that he was being subjected to the most unspeakable tortures, which, after the marks I saw upon the mangled body of the poor young Greek, was sufficient information for me, without being further particularized.
As I have said, many prisoners disappear altogether, and there can be no doubt that they find a watery grave in the Bosphorus.
I need hardly mention that all this was not calculated to add to my own personal comfort or ease of mind. At my fifth examination, however, the president was quite cordial towards me and assured me that there could not now be much doubt concerning my innocence, and that my release would not be long delayed.
“but,” said he, gravely, “I am afraid you will have to remain in prison for a few days longer for certain formalities to be observed.” Then, with a smile, he asked, “Are you comfortable there?”
I said that I was as comfortable as could be expected under the circumstances, and that I would prefer to be free. I then thought that this was a good opportunity to try and find out why I had been imprisoned, and told the president that I had a right to know. He agreed that I had, and proceeded to show me a telegram. It was written by a “Turkish Consul” (which is another name for a spy of the Sultan) in Paris to the Minister of Police at Constantinople, and ran something like this: “I have been informed that an Armenian named Avedis Kenleyan has arrived in Smyrna recently, that he is a member of the Revolutionary Committee, and intends to organize a wide system of revolt.” Upon the strength of this the chief of police at Constantinople wired to the head of the police at Smyrna: “Arrest Avedis Kenleyan and bring him under escort to Constantinople.” I began to see light.
After reading the telegram I was conducted back to prison where I was waited upon by two so-called “Brokers” – men who offer, for a monetary consideration, to mediate between you and the prison authorities with a view to your speedy liberation. At first I thought it was to be merely a friendly act, but when No. 1 broker asked nine hundred pounds as his price my suspicions were aroused, and I told him at once that I was not disposed to spend any money to obtain my liberty, because I had not got it to spend. Broker No. 2 was more considerate, and offered to accomplish my deliverance for five hundred pounds, but, like his predecessor, he went empty away. Soon after this my gaoler, who had noticed these visits, and who had exhibited a certain kindly consideration for me lately – his sympathy, no doubt, having been quickened by my numerous bribes – took me on one side and confidentially warned me against doing business with these “brokers.”
“They will take your money, but you will not gain your liberty.” He was good enough to explain.
I assured him that I had not the slightest intention of negotiating with them. I further mentioned that my release would be officially accomplished in a few days, and I referred to my interview with the easy going president. Then he became still more confidential.
“In spite of that, my young friend,” he said, impressively, “you may yet be here a very long time. I can assure you that this is a very difficult placed to get out of.”
The inherent truth of these words, after all that I had seen, struck me speechless.
“But there is a way out,” he continued, in an undertone. “Now, be candid with me, for I am willing to befriend you. How much are you really prepared to pay to secure your speedy release?”
I felt instinctively that this man was to be trusted, and that this really was a way out of the trouble. So said that I was willing to give a hundred pounds. He thought a few moments, and then said:-
“It can be done!”
“But first you must remember,” I put in, “that while I am confined here I am unable to obtain the money. If you release me, under an agreed arrangement, I can get the money from a friend of mine in Constantinople. But I must be released first.”
“It can be arranged.”
Saying which, he left me. He was absent an hour or two, when he returned and said
“Yes, it will be done. Remember, none of this money is for me. It will be divided between two officials.”
“Then”, said I, “for your trouble I will give you five pounds.”
He was pleased with my generosity and departed.
At two o’clock the following morning I was conducted to the court, where I was received by the secretary. One our two selves were present at the interview, and a plan of operations was arranged for my departure. My gratuity was to be equally divided between the secretary and a higher official, whose office I need not mention. A few hours later I left the prison in the company of an official, called at my friend’s house, obtained the money, and handed it over. Then some difficulty arose concerning my passport, which I had left behind in Smyrna. This was overcome, however, by their sending a detective with me, and so at last I got back to Smyrna. I had spent three weeks in prison, but my release was a record, for no prisoner had ever before been known to come out under forty days.
I soon discovered the whole truth of my mysterious arrest and imprisonment. The fact of my cabling to Mrs. Balian concerning the money at the bank came to the knowledge of the sons of Matheos, who had obtained the information by bribing the postal authorities. This incensed them against me, and one of them journeyed to Paris and endeavoured to obtain possession of the whole of the money. The bank, however, would not deliver up the cash without an investigation. At this stage of the proceedings the son encountered the “Consul”, or spy, and by means of a large bribe induced him to send the telegram I had seen in Constantinople – the object, of course, being to get me out of the way or even suppress me altogether. The message, as it reached my friend the chief of police at Smyrna, was an order without an explanation, so that he had to sink friendship to do his duty. Hence his non appearance upon the scene.
Immediately upon my return to Smyrna I set to work again to see that Mrs. Balian came by her own, and at length had everything in order. Three days after, however, Mrs. Balian died! The trustees refused to allow my claim against the estate, hence the action mentioned in the first paragraph of this story in which I was successful.
The trustee in the estate of Mariam Balian, was her son Mihran,[18] Avedis’s brother-in-law, and it was he who refused Avedis’s claim. One can only imagine the hurt and anger Virginie felt at this deliberate snub to her husband, particularly given everything he went through to try and secure the assets of Mariam’s estate at the risk to his own life.
This
whole incident is likely to have caused untold angst between Virginie and
Mihran, and perhaps she reflected that unhappiness in her will; she left his
family nothing from her estate. There was only a small share from her mother’s
estate directed to Mirhan’s daughter Lucy. There was nothing left to her jealous
and scheming Baliozian cousins Carnik and Vahan, and it must have been
extremely painful for her to learn that Carnik was directly involved in the
detention of Avedis, when her mother had so warmly and openly welcomed Carnik
into the family home to stay whilst he was in business in London between 1890
and 1897.
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| Statutory Estate Notice of Mariam Balian |
There’s some interesting pieces of correspondence in the Gulbenkian Foundation archives between Mihran Balian and Calouste Gulbenkian regarding the property of Mariam’s late brother Garabed Baliozian; property she inherited on his death, and upon her death, fell to Mirhan, as executor, to try and realise. This situation continued on for several years after the death of Mariam and later Avedis, whose attempts to help his mother-in-law almost cost him his life. I am once again grateful to Professor Jonathan Conlin for sharing his research notes with me in this matter. Anyone interested in this aspect of the story should consult the Calouste Gulbenkian Archives, but the following notes taken by Professor Conlin, clearly indicate Mihan’s focus and determination to gain this property spanned many years.
Correspondence from Mihran Balian (3 Earl's Court Mansion) to Calouste Gulbenkian, 18/5/14
Has been trying to recover part of estate of late uncle Garabed Baliozian in Turkey to which "we" are entitled. Calouste Gulbenkian will recall that when he bought Manissa Farm from Serko Baliozian a few years ago, Calouste Gulbenkian met with Mihran Balian and suggested "an offer to purchase a claim to a share of the buildings on the Farm standing in the name of our late Mother, which suggestion, for reasons with which I need not trouble you, was not then proceeded with." Now describes this property, consisting of flour mill, stables, offices and freeholder ground on which they stand. From title deeds is clear they have claim to 1/3 of rental for certain leased orchards, public house and gardens. Calouste Gulbenkian’s representative at Manisa is disputing claims. Suggests their lawyers meet.[19]
Balian to Calouste Gulbenkian, 20/5/14
Odd tone to this letter. CSG clearly has argued that MB's information/sources are incorrect, Balian happy to await further reports from Manisa. "For years past" has studiously avoided bothering CSG, "though, on one of two occasions, a very slight effort on your part, had I asked for it, owuld have proved invaluable and saved me and mine much!" Why say this? Ends by stating he trusts CSG will act, as he says, in fairness.
[Other, bland letters from Balian, unclear how issue was resolved.]19 above.
[Various letters from Balian 1915/1 complaining that Calouste Gulbenkian’s representative in Turkey refuses to accept properties whose sale they agreed on Calouste Gulbenkian’s behalf, and as CSG won't pay him under transfer is complete sale is abortive. Representative does not need Power of Attorney to accept.][20].
Mihran Balian to Calouste Gulbenkian, 17/4/19
Informing him of new London address, now 44 Longridge Road, in lieu of 243 Cromwell Road. "Though it appears unlikely that you should desire to communicate with me, I have thought it well, in case of such remote contingency, to write and say that my address is now as above." [21]
Avedis and Virginie continued to live in Liverpool where Avedis built up his cotton manufacturing business. They were able to lead a comfortable, and at times, extravagant lifestyle. The unexpected premature death at home of Avedis in December 1917 of a ruptured splenic cyst and heart failure[22] turned Virginie’s world on its axis. Virginie was sole beneficiary and executrix of his will, and Probate was granted to her a year later in December 1918.[23]
 |
| Extract from the Will of Avedis Keuleyan |
Every year, on the anniversary of his death, Virginie never failed to put a memoriam notice in multiple newspapers; local ones in Liverpool, and national papers such as The Times. It said the same thing on each occasion:
In loving memory of my beloved husband, AVEDIS KEULEYAN, of Liverpool and Smyrna, December 16, 1917.
My lips speak my words, and my smiles
Are for all friends to see;
But my heart, and my thoughts, and my tears
Are for thee; are for thee.
Although a woman of wealth and prosperity, Virginie remained grounded. She particularly cherished the friendship she had developed with a local young woman in Liverpool. Nellie Valance, a florist from a very modest background, found herself enjoying the company and companionship of Virginie Keuleyan. From the very first time they met in Nellie’s flower shop, the two women struck up a warm and unique friendship. Virginie and her husband Avedis regularly invited Nellie to their home in Coronation Avenue, Great Crosby, Liverpool where the three of would enjoy Sundays together. Even after Avedis died in 1917, Virginie continued to look forward to her friend’s visit; in Nellie’s recollections she said: “we used to joke and laugh a lot”.
Virginie’s retreat in the south of France was a house on a hill with fantastic panoramic views to the town below and uninterrupted sea views going for miles into the horizon. ‘Castel Florea’ in Villefranches-sur-Mer was Virginie’s sanctuary and hideaway following the unexpected and shocking death of her beloved husband Avedis in 1917.
 |
| Castel Florea, previously owned by Virginie Keuleyan Image courtesy of https://cotedazurfrance.fr |
She moved there permanently around 1927 and it was a home full of life and happy entertainment. There were many other Armenian families who had made their homes in the south of France and as the Keuleyan’s were well known and successful traders, there’s no doubt Virginie’s popularity continued there as it did in England. She employed a large number of staff and had a Russian chef. When Nellie was visiting Virginie in ‘Castel Florea’ he used to make special English dishes for her. From the private landing stage, situated at the foot of the house on a private section of the coastline, Virginie would take Nellie exploring around the beaches and coves nearby. Nellie was always a very welcome and regular visitor, Virginie enjoyed her company so much.
As idyllic and perfect as ‘Castel Florea’ was, life changed for everyone when WW2 broke out. Nellie recalls Virginie was taken prisoner by the Germans in Belgrade. She was interned and the occupying army smashed up ‘Castel Florea’. Nellie remembers “that left its mark on her.”
After the war, Virginie made only a couple of trips back to Liverpool and every year Nellie sent flowers to Virginie, towards the end, Virginie wasn’t able to respond and relied on her staff to describe them to her. Virginie died on 30th May 1951 at ‘Castle Florea’. Her remains were brought from the south of France to Manchester, and she was laid to rest in the Armenian section of the city Cemetery, side-by-side with her late beloved husband Avedis. A deeply religious person, the funeral was conducted according to the Armenian Church, the only non-Armenians in attendance were Virginie’s solicitor and Nellie.
 |
| Tombstone of Avedis Keuleyan. Southern Cemetery, Chorlton-Cum-Hardy, Manchester copyright of user: Bob the Greenacre Cat. |
 |
| Tombstone of Virginie Keuleyan. Southern Cemetery, Chorlton-Cum-Hardy, Manchester copyright of user: Bob the Greenacre Cat. |
 |
Grateful
to the volunteer contributors of findagrave.com whose daily uploads help all of
us attempting to piece our family history together. These images of the tombstone of Virginie
and Avedis Keuyleyan are situated at the Southern Cemetery,
Chorlton-Cum-Hardy, Manchester and are copyright of user: Bob the Greenacre
Cat.
https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/147460734/avedis-keuleyan
Nellie observed that little was known of Virginie’s work for charity in Liverpool. She did a lot of good work, very quietly, while she was living in Great Crosby. After her death, Virginie left a number of very generous bequests in her will, Nellie received £1,000, the equivalent amount at today’s values would be in excess of £30,000. Virginie’s housekeeper, Ann Stewart, also received a £1,000 legacy. There were others too of £5,000 each to the Liverpool Church of England Cathedral Building Fund and the same amount to be applied for charitable institutions or objects in Liverpool, to be distributed by her executors and trustees. The residue of her estate was also left to Liverpool based charitable institutions to be selected by her trustees. In essence, Liverpool had given her a good life, she’d had a brief, but wonderful marriage to Avedis, Virginie had embraced Liverpool as her home and she wanted to continue to help people in that city, long after she had died. This resulted in the creation of the Virginie Keuleyan Charitable Trust and it is good to see it is continuing to uphold and fulfil her wishes today.
Avedis’s early mentor, James Briggs and his wife became life-long friends, and Virginie remembered her friend May Briggs in her will. Unfortunately, May had died about a year prior to Virginie, but she wasn’t aware of that. James Briggs had retired from the cotton industry in 1916, when Avedis was at his most successful. The legacy to May Briggs had been a complete surprise; James hadn’t heard from Virginie for many years and had no idea she had remembered his wife in her will.
Additional legacies of £1,500 each were left to the
Royal Infirmary Hospital, Liverpool;
St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, London; and
St. Thomas’s Hospital, London
respectively to endow a bed in each institution in memory of her husband. A
further generous bequest was left by Virginie to her loyal secretary of 25
years, Agop Mardirossian, of Villefranche-sur-Mer of £20,000. Other staff in
the south of France were also remembered; Vincent Eghinian was left £2,000, and
her house servants Marie Antonnuicci and Jemima Antonnuicci were left £1,000
each. Also receiving £1,000 was Alice Khorasandjan of Athens; and Harriet
Mardirossian of Castel Florea, Villefranche, received £3,000. One hundred
Pounds was left to the Armenian Church for funeral expenses. The executors were requested to use a £500
legacy to ensure the grave of her and her late husband, and the monument erected on it was kept in
good order and condition. Fifteen thousand
Pounds was left on trust for the rebuilding, repairing, enlarging, altering,
furnishing and equipping the Armenian Church of St. James, Jerusalem. [view the
church here].
There were no children from her marriage to Avedis, but Virginie did remember two of her siblings and their children.
 |
| Extract from the Will of Virginie Keuleyan |
She left £5,000 to her elusive brother Hosroff aka Christopher Balian
She left £300 to her nephew Sarkis Balian, son of her late brother Armenag. To her nieces Maria and Merien Balian, daughters of her late brother Armenag, she also left £300 each.
When Avedis died in 1917 he left an estate valued at approximately £187,700, the equivalent values today would be approximately £9 million. When Virginie died in 1951 she left an estate valued at approximately £230,200, the equivalent values today would be approximately £7.5 million.
Today, the people of Liverpool quietly benefit from the thoughtful legacy bequeathed to them by the extraordinary and resilient Virginie Keuleyan who loved her husband and Liverpool passionately for the happy memories they gave her.
Post Script.
I have already stated there is no definitive
evidence this Balian family are related to the famous Balian architects. That has still yet to be investigated.
What I have found is that when Nicholas Balian (who WAS of the architect family
of Balians) died in Constantinople in 1859, he was possessed of property in
England valued at £450. Administration
of his English estate was granted at the Principal Registry in London on the 18th
October 1859, indicating that at some point during his lifetime, he had spent
time in England, something that has been overlooked in the history book reviews
of the Constantinople Balian’s.
© Liz chater 2022
[1] London Evening Standard 14 August 1883
[2] Book: Mr. Five Per Cent. The Many Lives of Calouste Gulbenkenian. Professor Jonathan Conlin
[3] Extremely grateful to Profession Jonathan Conlin, author of “Mr. Five Per Cent. The Many Lives of Calouste Gulbenkenian” who, through a short exchange of emails with me, generously shared some of his working
notes taken
during the research process for the book.
In particular I have been able to make the connection between Calouste
and the family of Bedros Bey Balian because of one particular short note.
Extracted from the files at the Gulbenkian Foundation LIS00416: It was a
flimsy-page outgoing letterbook, so there was the additional problem of fading. f. 23 Sarkis Gulbenkian, Istanbul,to Khosrov Bey Balian, London
7/?/1884?
Almost illegible, owing to fading. “How much did you pay for CSG`s food,
clothes, bedstead? I will pay all costs to your father Badroy Bey Balian
here in Istanbul. One Lira per a month enough as pocket money for CSG. ”
[4] Book: Mr. Five Per Cent. The Many Lives of Calouste Gulbenkenian.
[5] London, England, Electoral Registers, 1832-1965
[6] 1891 Census return
[7] National Archives, Kew. Naturalisation document.
[8] Commercial Gazette 8th May 1895
[9] St. James’s Gazette 28th May 1898
[10] England, United Grand Lodge of England Freemason Membership Registers, 1751-1921
[11] London Echo, 2nd April 1900
[12] Buckingham Express 15th June 1901
[14] 1939 Register
[15] Methodist Times July 1894
[16] Liverpool Cotton Industry, by Dr. Nigel Hall. www.liverpoolcotton.com Cotton Merchants and Importers
[17] The Wide World Magazine 1904
[18] Mariam’s will
[19] Gulbenkian Foundation Archives. LDN00068. Gen. Corr. B. 1913-4
[20] Gulbenkian Foundation Archives. LDN00089. Gen. Corr. B. 1915
[21] Gulbenkian Foundation Archives. LDN00141. Gen. Corr. B. 1919-20
[22] Death certificate
[23] Avedis’s will
