They soon found a house for rent on Midland Road in Masbrough, opposite the Masbrough Iron Works where William had found a job. Although a menial job it was better pay that at the pit and there was always a chance of some improvement. He was an underhand to the Head Puddler whose team of Puddlers used to stir and rake the molten iron in the rows of small furnaces keeping it molten until it was ready for the hammer. If he worked hard he could be promoted but usually it seemed that someone had to die or be sent to gaol before that happened.
Number 33, Midland Road was one of a row of brick built terraced houses. The red bricks had turned black with the grime being continually spewed from the ironworks chimneys which settled on and blackened everything. Myra found it to be a continual battle trying to keep it out of the house but it seemed able to permeate throughout the smallest crevice and settle on her shelves and ornaments. She missed the clean Greasbrough air and often wished she were back there and that William was still working at the pit. It was so different here. The people were a much rougher breed having come from all the surrounding areas to find work and seemed to be kicking and screaming to survive. She felt that they were lucky really, in that lots of families were in lodgings, sharing a house with one or even two other families, each family having one room for themselves and possibly several children. Their house had a front room as a sitting room and a back kitchen where they generally ate their meals. A staircase reached up to the two bedrooms one of which had a large double bed and an old wardrobe, both of which had been given to them by Williams’s mother. Little Annie, who was now two years old and toddling about and speaking her first words, slept in a cot in the other bedroom. Most of the furniture in the house had either been bought second hand or given by friendly neighbours whom they had met when they moved to Masbrough. It was comfortable and warm.
Between each pair of terraces was a dark passage running from the pavement at the front of the house to the give access to the rear of the house and the back door. In the back yard was a small building housing a midden, which served the needs of half a dozen houses. Opening the door revealed a wooden box on which you could sit. Cut into one of the cross planks was a large hole over which you sat and performed the daily evacuation of ones bowels. All the waste fell into an ashpit which was filled with ashes from the housefires and the whole thing emptied and swilled down once a fortnight.
Some of the local kids derived great pleasure from keeping and eye out to see who visited the midden, wait until they were seated and then throw a lighted newspaper into the ashpit singeing the bottom of the poor sod that sat there. The door would fly open, out would come someone with a steaming backside and the kids would scatter, laughing before they could be caught. At least the backs of the houses in Midland Road were open to a field beyond which lay Masbrough Common. Myra had learned to only hang out the washing if the wind was blowing from the direction of the common.
Looking out of the front window across the cobbled road you could only see a high wall which hid behind it the wheezing, stinking ironworks with it’s chimneys spewing black smoke, and steam rising from the squeezers and soakers where the white hot metal was formed into iron bars and being sprayed with water. The big steam hammers beating away throughout the day, their heavy thuds relentlessly shaking the ground and shaping the metal ingots into rails, girders and other ironwork required by other industries, particularly mining and the new railway. The neighbourhood was poor and it was only a stones throw from the new Midland Railway station which added one more source of noise and grime to the area as the steaming clanking trains went by pulling seemingly endless wagon trains full of coal.
William worked hard making enough wages to support the family as time went by. Myra fell pregnant again and presented William with a bouncing baby boy this time. He was baptized Alfred. Two years later, in 1859, along came Thirza, named after her grandmother. Life had been reasonably kind although it was always a hard slog. William had progressed at work and had been promoted to the position of a puddler and was getting fairly good wages. This allowed them to enjoy a little social life in their free time. Two or three nights a week, William would walk up to the Black Bull public house and quench his thirst after a hard day in front of those harsh furnaces with a few pints of ale and enjoy a tale and maybe a game of cards with his friends, some of who were workmates from the ironworks. He had taken to smoking a small pipe and would puff away quietly, laughing occasionally at some of the experiences being recounted by his friends. Occasionally, Myra would join him having asked one of the neighbours to look after the children for a couple of hours. Myra enjoyed these visits to the Black Bull, to be able to sit with her husband and sink a few halves of black stout. They would walk home arm in arm, both very slightly inebriated, her head resting on his shoulder. William would fall into bed professing that he was tired but she could always encourage him to make love.
She didn’t approve of some of Williams’s drinking friends. She thought they were ruffians and knew that some had been in trouble with the police. But William just said, “ Oh they are all right. Stop worrying.” She was concerned that he would get caught on one of the occasional evening’s that he went out poaching. The Game Law penalties were quite strict. You could get 3 months in gaol for a first offence if you were caught and convicted. All for a few rabbits which you could buy for a few pence in the open market down in town. “Just doesn’t seem to be worth the risk,” she would say.
One important thing that William had achieved in these last few years was to learn to read and write. He had attended the Mechanic’s Institute and they had provided the teaching. He was no great scholar, but it had helped him progress at work and he was thankful now for the extra effort he had put in to become literate. Poor Myra never had the time to learn. She had never attended school and now with three young children she hardly had any time for leisure and the need to be able to read and write never entered her head. “Who am I going to write to?” she used to say. However she had vowed that her own children would be schooled in the three ‘R’s as soon as ever they were able.  
In August 1865, another son was born and he was named after his father and his grandfather – William, a beautiful child with dark eyes and black hair like his mother but having the sharp features of his father. Now she had four mouths to feed  as well as herself and William. The eldest daughter Ann was now only eleven, still at school and too young to work.
Life suddenly took a downturn when the iron and steel industry went into recession and William was put on short time. This meant a drastic reduction in wages and they were soon beginning to struggle. William tried to get another job but so many men were affected by short time that there simply weren’t any jobs to be had.
Night poaching had been no more than an enjoyable hobby to relieve the boredom of the small amount of leisure time that he had available after his long working day. It offered a little excitement in avoiding the gamekeepers whilst producing a some goodness in the shape of a rabbit or a hare for the hotpot along with a few cheap vegetables. It was also a small source of income, for the neighbours were always willing to buy even though they themselves were struggling to survive and the customers at the Black Bull could be relied upon for a few coppers in exchange for a heavy rabbit. Instead of just going out at a whim, night poaching forays were well planned and they went in teams rather than individually, sharing the spoils of the evening between them. The most dangerous part was to be caught or recognised by the gamekeepers. Since there were few gamekeepers and lots of land it was fairly easy to escape even if any keepers came on the scene and so far, they had been lucky.
Although William and his friends generally planned their outings over an afternoon pint of ale in the Black Bull, it was at William’s house on Midland Road where the poachers generally assembled to pick up the nets and finalise the details of the foray. They would set off in twos and threes meeting up at the chosen spot. They had been to many different locations always avoiding being caught and laughing at some of the near misses when they had escaped the clutches of the keepers. However, now that more game was being taken from the owners, the gamekeepers had become more vigilant and every week there were reports in the local newspapers of convictions for poaching resulting in prison sentences for the guilty.

Silverwood October 10^th 1865

It was Tuesday afternoon and it had been raining but the sky was beginning to clear. William Sykes had met Jack Teale and Harry Bone in the Black Bull. Jack Teale was a long, lank and wiry man. He had small prying head, like the head of a weasel but, unlike the weasel’s, stubby and dark carried on a neck which for length might be called a gizzard. A lean, lithe, grizzly looking fellow, supple, agile with a leathery skin and sinewy. He was uncomfortable looking and not, calculated by his looks, able to promote a feeling of comfort in others. There was no spare flesh about this man. Bone and thew, and plenty of each being his characteristics and his black short beard, which is spread like the black stubble of a bean field over his small sallow face did not improve his features.
Henry Bone was married and had a family of five children. Under forty years of age, about five foot and six inches in height, sallow complexioned, angular in features, remarkably broad across the shoulders, and altogether bearing the appearance of a powerful and determined man although altogether an inferior sort of fellow. Broad across the chest like Sykes, and carrying his head well up and chest well out as did Sykes, and he had the same sturdy aplomb of bearing, but short and vulgar looking. He had a sallow pockmarked  complexion with little sinister eyes and he walked with cock sparrowy kind of strut.  He had nothing to redeem the mixture of coarseness and conceit which characterized him, and the bricklayer’s labourer sort of dress in which he usually dressed. His clothes made him look shorter and more ill looking than he was and were marked with clay.
In the smoke laden atmosphere of the public house they sat around a wooden table and planned the night’s foray. As they sat drinking their ale, they were joined by Bob Woodhouse, a powerful looking man, about five feet ten inches in height about 40 years of age. A stout, heavy man, with nothing of the criminal in his appearance. He looked something like a well fed gamekeeper or a well to do farm labourer. Broad shouldered, deep chested, with a fair paunch, clean shaven, quiet in manner and well dressed in a velveteen coat with metal buttons, and a waistcoat nearly as dark as that of his coat. He had the look of a well fed, well to do man with a self possessed contented expression and might pass in the street for a foreman of navvies or a keeper of a country public house. A low forehead topped with sleek dark hair, a large oval face fringed with a little dark whisker neatly cut, a Roman nose and a solid, stolid repose of expression being the characteristics of a head which matches very well with the aldermanic breadth and general fullness of the body on which it is placed.  He was rather fleshy than muscular and a stranger would scarcely suppose that he had either the activity or the inclination for a poacher’s life. He carried about with him a cosy, comfortable aspect, sufficiently tinged with sedateness to make one note the contrast between himself and his truculent looking partners in the practice of the poacher’s perilous arts.
Some years ago he had been the Landlord of the King’s Arms public house at the bottom of Doncaster Gate and was a pretty well known character in Rotherham. However, just after the murder of a Mr.Whittaker at Dalton Brook on the Doncaster road, Woodhouse was strongly suspected of having been concerned with that horrible tragedy. Shortly afterwards he left Rotherham and went to live somewhere in Lincolnshire, where, he had been in trouble on charges of poaching several times. About a year ago he had returned to Rotherham and was employed as a sub-contractor under Messrs. Chadwick and Thirwell. He lived in lodgings in Wellgate with his wife and family.
He greeted Sykes and Bone asking if they had decided where to go that night. Sykes told him that they had agreed that Silverwood would be place. Bone said that he would get Bentcliffe to come and Sykes would contact ‘Ginger’ Savage and Davy Booth. There would be seven of them. They were to assemble at William Sykes house and depart from there about seven o’clock.
What they didn’t know, was that in the early evening, John Hawkins, head gamekeeper in the employ of a Mr. Jubb, Solicitor and others who used to shoot this land, would make arrangements with fellow gamekeepers, William Lilley and Henry Machin to meet him at Silverwood that evening for the purposes of watching for poachers there. A friend called William Butler, who was a labourer was also asked if he wanted to come along and he had agreed to meet them there. They would arrange to meet about 8 o’clock at Silverwood, Hawkins going from his own house at Wickersley and the others from Ravenfield village.
The seven poachers assembled at Sykes’ house at about seven o’clock. First to arrive was Jack Teale, Henry Bone and Eddie Bentcliffe with his dog, a ferocious looking cross bred shepherd and greyhound, held firmly on a rope leash.
Eddie Bentcliffe lived at Rawmarsh where he co-habited with a woman who passed for some time as the wife of the late notorious Dan Dickinson, the highwayman who had been hanged for murder. Bentcliffe had a wife and four children living in Rotherham and the last that was heard of him by the police was when he was summoned before the Rotherham bench for neglect of family, on which occasion, although he had not worked for three months he was able at once to discharge all the demands of the parish and so escape being sent to prison. He was currently wanted at Castleford, on a charge of shooting a gamekeeper’s dog, during a night poaching expedition in that neighbourhood. A collier, only 29 years of age, he also, like William Sykes, was a strong powerful man with a barrel chest and muscular stature.
Next to arrive was Bob Woodhouse, closely followed by ‘Ginger’ Savage and Davy Booth who had been contacted by Sykes earlier.
‘Ginger’ Savage was 35 years old and worked as an excavator on the new railway. No one was sure of Ginger’s real name for he used many aliases. Here was a man who appeared to be possessed of a strong determination and muscular power. From his general demeanour, however, he could perhaps be taken for a man who would not of himself think of committing a major crime, though no doubt he would enjoy the pursuit of poaching.
Davy Booth was the odd one out. Much older than the others, being about 50 years of age and about 5 foot 6 inches in height. He was married with a wife and three or four children, the youngest being about 2 years old. He was a navvy and had been employed at the new railway which was in the course of construction between Sheffield and Rotherham. A man of apparently much less bold or daring temperament than the others, and one who would have to be led on to the committal of any great or serious crime. Davy was, in attire and appearance, so much like a fisherman that you might suppose he had just arrived from the coast. His complexion was a salt water colour, having a corrugated face, the length of limb, and the look of blended simplicity and strength that one expects to see among shrimpers and the crews of herring boats. It was a surprise to find him involved with poachers.
All the equipment was gathered together. Nets, staking pegs to hold the nets in position and although not expecting any trouble, each carried a heavy sycamore stick. Woodhouse reminded them all that if any of them were set upon by gamekeepers to shout “Hey up, they’re here” and that would be a signal to the others to run to the aid of the one being apprehended in order to gain his release.
After deciding the route they would take to Silverwood, Woodhouse, Bone and Bentcliffe left by the back door and went across a coal yard and up on the Clough Road. Bone and Bentcliffe were each carrying a net and sticks. Ten minutes later they were followed by Sykes carrying a net and ‘Ginger’ Savage and after a further ten minutes by Woodhouse and Booth carrying a further two nets between them. They would all take a similar route along the Clough Road until they came to the first gate, and then follow the foot path which takes the course of the side of the wall. They went along that until they got to what is called the Gin House Lane, down this lane and past Carr House Colliery. Here they passed two men standing near to some outbuildings which belonged to the colliery. After passing Carr House Colliery they crossed a turnpike road leading from Rotherham to Greasbrough, and here there was another man standing on the causeway. Woodhouse said, “Looks like a copper to me.” They passed on by him, however, a little further, going along the carriage road to the back buildings of Carr House and then Woodhouse sent Bentcliffe back to the other men who were following, to warn them not to come that way, as there was a person standing there who looked like a policeman. Bentcliffe turned and retraced his steps avoiding the man they though might be a policeman. Sykes and Savage met him, waited till Woodhouse and Booth caught up and then together proceeded on their way slowly, passing along a private carriage road and through field belonging to Carr House. They then went under a railway bridge along a private carriage road of Earl Fitzwilliam’s for a short distance till they came to Rawmarsh turnpike road and crossed it near Tate’s lodge After they crossed the road they went along the canal bank in the direction of Aldwarke. When they had got a little distance further, they waited for Teale and Bone and then together proceeded on their way to Aldwarke past the tall blast furnaces. As they went past the furnaces they each picked up furnace cinders, each as big as a man’s fist and as hard as glass and put them in their pockets. At Aldwarke they crossed the weir bridge and then they approached the lock, at which there are two or three houses. As they approached the lock, the seven men agreed to separate, three of them, Woodhouse, Sykes and Bone going on one side of the houses and the other  four round the other side. Near to these houses was a wire fencing which seemed to have been used originally as a rope for a colliery, and on passing these houses, Woodhouse was running his hand along this wire as he walked along. He caught his hand on a broken strand that was sticking up causing a deep cut on one of his fingers. He swore loudly and was overheard by the lock keeper. It was quite dark by now and Woodhouse was sure that lock keeper couldn’t see who it was that had swore. It also happened that there was another man named Brazener on the far side of the houses who saw the other four men pass on that side. Once past the lock houses the group reformed and passing through Dalton Brook headed up towards the fields close to Silverwood. It was quite dark, the moon occasionally peeping through the scurrying clouds affording glimpses of the fields and the woods in the distance. Sykes said, “It’s a beautiful night. I think we are going to have a good catch tonight.” Teale was heard to say, “Yes, they say that whenever two or three are met together, God will always do summat for ‘em.” The others laughed quietly at Teale’s remarks.
As they arrived at the first seed field, Teale, Bone, Sykes and Booth began to run out and stake the nets along the length of the west edge of the field that adjoined the wood. They commenced driving the field with a line and got three rabbits. Woodhouse, Savage holding the dog by a band, and Bentcliffe were in the fallow field below setting another net.
The four keepers had met at eight o’clock at Silverwood. They had placed themselves behind the perimeter fence of a wood adjoining the field belonging to farmer, Matthew Brown and they sat there quietly for almost two hours until about ten o’clock. Suddenly, they each heard the crack of stick being broken underfoot. Then they heard the footsteps of men going by the side of the wood and observed first one, and then two others go immediately past the spot where they were sitting. The four keepers rose to their feet and looked over the fence. Lilley called out, “Well, now is our time, let’s go” and immediately climbed over the fence, his stick brandished high over his head heading in the direction to the three poachers. He was followed by Machin and Butler and as they went towards the poachers, a fourth man appeared.
William Sykes looked up seeing shadowy figures in the darkness running towards them and shouted, “Hey up lads, they're here” as he saw the keepers approach. Teale was standing in front of him and as Lilley rushed forward to apprehend him, Sykes saw Teale’s arm rise and, almost as if in slow motion, bringing the heavy stick crashing down on Lilley’s forehead. Lilley dropped to the ground like a stone. Sykes reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the heavy stones they had picked up earlier. Teale was stood over Lilley repeatedly striking at his head. Sykes lunged forward and struck Lilley a mighty blow on his temple. Blood spurted out. Harry Bone was also beating him with his stick.
Bentcliffe, Savage and Woodhouse were running up the fields towards the noise of the fracas. Machin and Butler ran to Lilley’s aid but Sykes turned to Butler and felled him with one blow of his heavy stick. The other poacher’s had arrived now and were pelting Machin with stones and he ran off followed by Woodhouse and Bentcliffe. The head keeper, John Hawkins also ran to Lilley’s aid and was hit by a barrage of stones. He let go of Machin’s black retriever, turned and ran back into the wood and hid behind the fence. Woodhouse and Bentcliffe had been unable to catch Machin who had hared off in the direction of Ravenfield to get assistance. Woodhouse and Bentcliffe came back up the field to where Sykes was beating Butler unmercifully. Butler was crying out, “Have mercy on me. If you will spare my life this time I will promise you I will never come watching again”. Woodhouse grabbed hold of Sykes and said “For God’s sake, don’t kill the man,” pulling him away from Butler who lay bleeding on the ground. Savage had slipped the leash on Bentcliffe’s barking dog and it had attacked the keeper’s retriever making it howl in agony as it sunk its razor sharp teeth into its flesh.
Sykes was some ten yards away from where Lilley lay motionless. The moon was obscured by cloud and as he peered into the darkness he saw the shape of Woodhouse approach the spot where Lilley lay. He heard a blow delivered to Lilley by Woodhouse but could not see exactly where Woodhouse struck him. He heard Lilley moan faintly as the blow was struck and then there was silence. As Woodhouse came back towards him he said “Come away now lads”.
The keepers, Hawkins, Butler, Machin and the black retriever had all disappeared now in to the darkness each of them, no doubt, licking their wounds leaving Lilley prostrate on the ground.
The poachers collected up their nets and met together in the corner of the field. Realisation of what had happened was now beginning to sink in, especially to those who had not inflicted any blows to the keepers. Lilley was obviously badly injured and the others must have suffered some terrible injuries from the blows they had received. It seemed that the poachers were unscathed, none of them having suffered as much as a scratch from the keepers, except for Woodhouse’s hand which he had slashed on the rope fence by the lock house. Teale laughed out loud, “I’ve got the bastards hairy cap in my pocket.” It was a fur cap made from a catskin that Lilley had been wearing. Woodhouse said, “Better get rid of that, if the police catch you with it you’re likely to get done for this job.” Woodhouse said, “We’d better not go back the way we came. Let’s go over Herringthorpe way,” and set off through the wood in that direction followed by the others. They half ran, stumbling across Aldred’s pasture field just by Herringthorpe in the darkness, through Mr. Jubb’s fields and down to Badsley Moor lane. Here they stopped a moment. Woodhouse set off for his home in Wellgate and Davy Booth said he would lead the rest of them down by Canklow Wood corner, along a carriage road and then on to the Midland railway line leading up to Masbrough. It was about half past twelve when William Sykes got home. Myra and the children were all in bed fast asleep.  William sat in the chair and began to reflect on the events of the night and the possible consequences if they had killed the keeper.
It might mean the hangman. He tried to put it out of his mind but every time he closed his eyes he could imagine the bloodied face of the man they had beaten and left for dead in the field at Silverwood on that cold evening.