If you’ve ever traced a family through census records, you may have hit a confusing moment: the same household, the same street, but a different house number? Or the same house number and neighbours, but a completely different street name? Did the family move? Did the census taker make a mistake? Often, the answer is simpler—and sneakier. The street numbers or name, or both, changed!
Confused about numbers
Street numbers changed far more often than we realise. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, many towns numbered houses sequentially along a street, sometimes looping back on the opposite side. Later, local authorities switched to the odd-and-even system. When that happened, every property could be renumbered overnight.
Census returns reflect whatever numbering system was in use at the time. That means a family might appear at number 12 in one census and number 38 ten years later, even though they never moved. Add new buildings, demolished houses, boundary changes, or street renamings, and numbers can shift again. Enumerators also worked from their own route, not official plans, so numbers were sometimes recorded out of sequence or approximated.
This week I faced this exact problem! Researching two Victorian properties in Guildford, Surrey, all now demolished, showed these challenges clearly. In the 1901 census, modern numbering was first evident. But looking back: in 1891, number 10 had the same occupier as 1901, number 9 appeared on a completely different return, and the number immediately before 10 was 5 — but 5 was occupied by the 1901 number 9 occupant!
Earlier censuses were even more confusing. In 1881, street numbers jumped from 2–5 (Pelham House) to 21–17, skipping 5, 9, and 10. In 1871, the street went 1–7, then jumped to 17 and 16. By 1851, only two properties existed at this end of Woodbridge Road, suggesting the others were built in the 1850s, as suspected.
Key takeaway: A changing street number doesn’t automatically mean a change of address. Look at neighbours, occupations, and household members—not just the number. Sometimes the house stayed the same; only the system changed.
Confused about street names
Street renaming was common in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Towns standardized addresses, merged villages, honoured figures, or replaced duplicate names. “Mill Lane” might become “Church Street” and later “High Road.” People didn’t move, but on paper, it looks like they did.
Census schedules were organized geographically, so a household’s position relative to neighbours is often more reliable than the street name. If a family seems to vanish, checking adjacent households can reveal they’re still there—just on a newly renamed street.
Street name changes also explain overlaps. Different names might appear in the same census year, depending on whether the enumerator used the old or new name. Maps, city directories, and council records are invaluable for untangling these transitions.
Another Guildford property illustrated this perfectly. Modern-day 61 Epsom Road was previously Vale Cottage. Comparing modern OS maps to early 20th-century maps showed the numbering was a later addition. The road itself was originally Merrow Road, appearing as such in earlier censuses. One enumerator even misnamed it as Epsom Road in 1871, while the previous and next census used Merrow Road — likely an enumerator oversight.
Takeaway: Census records don’t just capture people—they capture places in motion. Street name changes remind us that addresses are historical artifacts shaped by bureaucracy, urban growth, and time. Noticing these shifts can turn frustration into satisfying “aha” moments for researchers.
Sarah Pettyfer 