Runaway

Wednesday 6th June 1900 and railway guard Harry Cliff is in his van as the engine is detached for shunting. The train travelling to Walsall stopped at Hammerwich.

With no brake applied, the train began to roll down the incline. Telegraph message sent from Hammerwich to Lichfield City and points turned for the now hurtling wagons and vans sending them into a siding where they impacted with empty cattle trucks. Piled on top, littered all over, Harry Cliff's body was found in the very middle. He was just 40 years of age and lived at Stafford. The runaway train comprised 21 loaded wagons and 9 empties and was travelling at least 50mph. During the search they first spotted his feet and a part of his leg enabling rescuers to find the body fairly quickly.

Stafford Storm

June 19th 1861 and, in true British summer tradition, a huge thunderstorm raged over and around Stafford. At Aston Hall a "very valuable" horse belonging to Mr Lindop was, as the local press termed it, "killed by the electric fluid". The horse had been left out to graze in the field and, when the owners went to check on their animal, found the creature to be "complete jelly from the violence of the shock".

Note the press took pains to point out the owner was insured against such losses and the Norwich Union Fire Office promptly reimbursed him for his loss".

And Finally

Two words which have become the traditional introduction to that offbeat item at the end of the news. It is harmless, probably fun, and sadly sometimes involves water-skiing dogs. But this is not a modern phenomenon, for on April 3rd 1871 the Staffordshire Sentinel produced this gem - although in 1871 it was considered a very serious bit of reporting.

To the delight of Mr George Bridgwood of the Green, Stafford came the discovery of a mushroom some 12.1/2 inches in circumference. It was very well developed and grew in a spot not sheltered from the weather and growing in the asparagus beds.

You couldn't make it up - unlike the words 'mushroom' and 'asparagus', the etymology of neither word has ever been understood.

Burglary

November 1867 and in Stafford the delightfully named Constable Feavearyear is out on his nightly patrol when, in the distance, he hears the sound of a police whistle and rushes to the scene. He is somewhat perturbed to discover a reported burglary, an incident reported by none other than Mrs Feavearyear. While friends attempt to calm the distraught woman, a thorough search is made but the thieves were not apprehended, nothing could be found missing, and no damage nor sign of entry.

Eventually Mrs Feavearyear had recovered sufficiently to be questioned as to why the alarm had been raised. It transpired she had spotted thieves in the neighbouring property - the police station.

Train Crash

August 8th 1861 and near the canal bridge at Slade Heath the driver of a locomotive shut off steam as they approached Four Ashes. As they slowed the driver felt his engine riding roughly and thought they had broken an axle. Moments later the engine and tender left the track and came down the embankment, bringing with it tons of earth which buried stoker Richard Barnwell to the waist. Luckily the engine, which toppled over on to its right side, missed him by inches. Furthermore, another miraculous stroke of luck saw driver James Harrison thrown clear of the footplate and the remainder of the train, the coaches and passengers, remained on the line.

The driver went to retrieve the lamp and sent two men, including coroner Mr Collins, ahead to stop the mail train from Scotland at the station and prevent a crash. Meanwhile he and men from Standeford Mill, who had come to offer assistance, set about releasing the trapped stoker and convey him quickly to the infirmary. His injuries were severe and both legs had to be amputated, he had been scalded, with bruising and lacerations. Three weeks later, while seemingly on the road to recovery, he died.

At the subsequent inquest the coroner heard how two large pieces of timber, over twelve feet in length and three feet wide, showed wheel marks and splintering and revealed they were the cause of the crash. Evidence from the railway company told how this timber had been part of a load coming from Wolverhampton earlier that afternoon. As usual, they had been tied to the truck with an empty truck behind to catch any which worked loose.

The coroner suggested such practice was completely inadequate and an urgent review necessary.

Dog Problem

It is May 1861 and in the town of Stafford a large dog, the property of a Mr Bostock, leaps out and grabs at the nose of a passing horse crossing the railway bridge in Rickerscote Lane. Unfortunately the horse is pulling a trap driven by Mr Price of Gaol Square, he having hired the vehicle from a Mr Bishop. Worse still, Mr Price had his wife's sister and her child as passengers.

The horse, somewhat understandably, plunged and reared for some thirty yards before it finally managed to free itself from the jaws of the offending canine. It continued on, still kicking and thrashing violently, resulting in the occupants of the trap being thrown out. While the woman and her child escaped with a few bruises, Mr Price landed on his head.

The next report on the incident spoke of how Mr Price was still in hospital and had yet to speak adding that the horse was probably going to be shot. Nothing could be traced regarding any prosecution of Mr Bostock or of the fate of his mutt.

Insane Inclines

In 1857 Lord Shaftesbury published his supplemental report on the state of workhouses in England and Wales. Figures showed the number of 'insane, idiotic and imbecile inmates' at the various workhouses in Staffordshire numbered 239, of which 89 were male. In the county town of Stafford 7 males and 12 females were considered insane, this out of a total of 7,555 in England and Wales.

It was stated these numbers were not spread evenly throughout England and Wales, remote rural locations would have a much higher percentage than those in more populous localities. Furthermore, this was particularly true in the hilly parts of the country.

It seems altitude was considered a factor in 19th century insanity.

Health and Safety

Monday 19th June 1854 must have started out as a normal working day for John Hudson. On reaching the Shire Hall at Stafford he climbed the scaffolding as usual and was returning to where he had finished work two days earlier. He failed.

Moments later, having slipped through an opening in the scaffolding, he was falling back toward the ground. Such a fall would have been unlikely to have killed him, for this was no great height. Furthermore, his fall was broken by the window sill of the floor below. Hudson bounced off the sill, which threw him away from the building and he landed on the iron railings surrounding the building.

Unfortunately the decorative iron railings were topped by spikes and he landed on one. The spike entered one side of his face through the upper jaw and exited on the other side, just below his eye. Taken to Stafford Infirmary he survived to tell the tale and return to work.

In October 1968, almost fifty years ago, a damp and misty autumnal morning at Yardley Grammar School in Birmingham saw one pupil looking out for his best chum whose late appearance was highly unusual. By stepping up and standing on the low wall, this highly intelligent 12-year-old could peer over the top of the school railings and look along the street for his absent friend. He slipped. A railing impacted his face and he was concerned that there was a rather bad scratch across his most handsome face. He was mistaken.

The spike had actually entered the fleshy part of his face below the jawline and as he attempted to lower himself to the ground, had only succeeded in pushing it further into his face and exiting through the cheek. Luckily he managed to pull himself back up to where he had been standing on the wall and effectively lift his face back off the spike. Thinking now might be a good time to seek medical treatment, he sauntered off to the medical room where a mirror revealed two holes in the righthand side of his face and shortly afterwards an ambulance raced him to hospital. Doctors sewed him back together with, what he then thought, an impressive 39 stitches and then reported back to his parents how the railing had missed the artery by just a fifth of an inch (5mm to we youngsters).

Stand Back from the Platform Edge

April 13th 1857, and nearby the clock shows 6pm. Returning to the station yard, and his job in managing the engine shed, is 42-year-old William McCabe. Having gone home a couple of hours earlier for his tea at his home in Newton, he walked coming along the siding before encountering a shunting engine and thus crossing the up line to the engine shed on the opposite side.

Some twenty years earlier McCabe had lost his leg in an accident when it was crushed by a wagon on the Manchester to Liverpool line. Because of this he wore a wooden leg and no longer worked on the engines but employed in the 'stationary job' in the engine shed. Whether it was the shunter that distracted him, or perhaps the difficulty negotiating the lines with a wooden leg, likely both, but he did not take notice of the warning whistle and shout from Thomas Pattison, the driver of the shunting engine warning of the engine approaching him from behind on the main line. Seconds later he was dead.

Coming along the up line in reverse, tender first, the locomotive travelling at 6mph was but 10 or 12 yards away from McCabe when the shout went up. Hit by the buffer he fell, with his head across the rail. The wheels pushed him along for a short distance before severing his head completely. The first person to reach the body was the driver from another nearby shunter - this man was none other than William McCabe's eldest son.

The body was quickly removed to the Vine Inn, Newton where the inquest was held the next day. A verdict of accidental death was recorded. William McCabe left a widow and six children.

Beaten to Death

In July 1839 Richard Howe is arrested and remanded in Stafford Gaol awaiting trial on the charge of the assault of his wife Mary. It emerged surgeon Mr C Waddell had been seeing Mary for some two years but saw nothing untoward until 25th July 1838 when he saw her when she complained of severe pains in her head, chest and liver. She told the surgeon her husband had caused the swelling to her face, her abdomen and the difficulty in breathing. He diagnosed the problem as inflammation of the pleura.

Next day he returned to find her condition had worsened and, when he returned on the third day, he found her so ill that her life was threatened. Every single day he returned to check on Mary's condition, doing so until August 5th, by which time he considered her out of danger. Yet still Mr Waddell paid regular visits to check on her condition. On 3rd January 1840 he discovered Mary complaining of severe pains in her side and began the daily visits once more, until 21st January, the day of her death.

The post mortem revealed little but an inflammation to the lungs. Both Waddell and Dr Edward Knight of the General Infirmary agreed the death had been due to the injuries she sustained in July the previous year. The court subsequently heard how she had spoken of her husband as a man fuelled by drink, how he crushed her frail body, and pushed her face down against his own chest until she felt she would be asphyxiated. A neighbour spoke of their many rows. How she heard Richard say he would ensure she would "maintain him" and that Mary had replied she had always "maintained him in his idleness". This had resulted in Richard threatening "if you call me idle again I'll split your face!" Soon after she had heard a scream. When she went to see if help was needed she was ordered out by the husband, a scuffle ensued and the neighbour removed from the house, at which time her punched her in the face. Another witness, William Hall, said he had also suffered at the hands of Richard Howe.

The jury retired and found Richard Howe guilty of Wilful Murder. He was hanged for his crime.

Horse Play

On the evening of May 1st 1839, 12-year-old William Dicks had been apprenticed to Stephen Ingram, a surgeon of Stowe in Stafford. Dicks was in the stable bedding one of the mares when Ingram passed and heard the mare plunge. He entered to find Dicks lying on his side about five feet away from the horse's heels. The boy pleaded with him to help him up, saying he was frightened of the horse. Ingram, however, had watched the boy closely and replied "You rascal, you have been teasing the mare several times today".

However he took Dicks into his home and examined him. Clearly from the marks he had been kicked in the belly and had an impact mark on his head, likely from the resulting fall. He undressed the patient, put a poultice on his belly and dressed the head wound before putting him to bed. Later he bled the patient and also gave him a laxative - all perfectly reasonable treatments in early Victorian England. The boy was asleep by 8pm that night and awoke at 4am on the Friday morning when he reported having no pain in either belly or head. Ingram had slept in that same room to watch over him, he gave him more medicine on the Friday morning.

Ingram was out all day but returned at 5pm to find Dicks once again complaining of pains in his belly. He gave him more medicine before going to meet his mother who lived just 600 yards away, bringing her to see her son at about 6pm. In the intervening hour Dicks had moved and was found lying on his side under a hayrick. He maintained Ingram had placed him there despite the belly pains and had been there so long he was cold and very thirsty. He also said Ingram had said he deserved it as it had been his own fault.

Sarah Dicks was, as would be expected, a concerned mother and asked to take her son home with her. Ingram advised against it, so she summoned a Doctor Knight from Chartley who ordered young William be taken straight away to the infirmary. He arrived on the Saturday morning but, despite their care, died on the Monday morning. Post mortem revealed a severe wound to the head but deemed it was the lacerated bowel which had been the cause of death. The jury recorded a verdict of accidental death caused by the mare but censured Ingram saying he had not acted in any degree of professionalism or humanity considering his position.

Train Accident

On Saturday 3rd January 1885, 62 year-old blacksmith Francis Clay left home at 6:30am as he did most days. As a blacksmith he would tour the local farms to perform required tasks on site. He travelled on foot, always using a stick, and carried his tools with him to earn the money to support his wife, Emma, and their seven children - aged 17 right down to the youngest babe in arms. The next they heard was an hour later when a knock at the door told them Francis Clay was dead.

Hademore Crossing has only been provided with a bridge to cross the tracks in the 21st century, prior to that a level crossing sufficed for more than a century. At about 7am that morning the two signalmen, having manually set the gates to allow the train to pass, were conversing as the 6:20 from Stafford to Rugby passed them at about 45mph. As it did so they heard a thump and went to investigate and soon after a policeman was summoned.

At the inquest the three men revealed the gruesome evidence they uncovered that morning. The bloodied post at one side of the gate led them to the discovery of a body. The flesh had been removed from one hand, clothing thrown up and over the head. When they removed the blood-soaked clothing to identify the individual the discovered part of the face and head missing, with blood and brains smothered all over the top of the post. The remainder of the head was found on the other side of the gate lying on the road. Suspecting the identity of the man they continued to search along the line and, 60 yards away, they found the toolbox which confirmed his identity.

By the time of the inquest his wife had removed much of the evidence from the post at the side of the track. It seems Francis had attempted to cross after the gates were closed. This was not unusual, the signalman would often allow foot passengers across when the train was not in sight. On this morning they had not seen him, although there was plenty of light despite the early hour.

A verdict of death by misadventure was recorded.

Odd Parental Concern

February 1864. Man walks into Stafford police station, his attire showing him to work in engineering. Most worried as he found a letter with a summons addressed to his son. He simply did not understand what was being demanded. The clerk found it highly amusing as it read “Orders the person to appear on the 14th to answer the charge of stealing the heart of Amelia Smart. It was addressed to one J. Lovewell, who was to appear at the Court of Hymen, of which the father had never heard. “Of course not!” replied the clerk, “It’s a valentine!”.

Health and Safety

On Tuesday 23rd November 1858, Eli Meakin had been working on his father's farm at Whitgreave. Employed as a waggoner's boy, whilst driving the horses he is thought to have stepped over the horizontal shaft between them and the threshing machine. His action caused him to slip and he fell between the cog wheels. Subsequently found by a passer-by who, seeing the horses stopped and unsupervised, investigated and found the lad held quite firmly. The man released him but his chest injuries were appalling and he died shortly afterwards. Eli Meakin was just twelve years of age.

At the subsequent inquest the threshing machine was deemed to be dangerous for any driver, for the rods were secured in an improper position and the wheels unprotected. The owner of the farm promised the equipment would not be used again until the improvements had been made. Too late for young Eli whose demise was recorded as Accidental Death.

It seems unlikely the same verdict would be reached today. Further stories like this can be found in my Bloody British Histories: Stafford.

2013

As this will be my last post of the year and the media is full of what has happened in the last twelve months, I thought I would offer some thoughts of my own. Over the last twelve months or so, some five books in the Through Time series with my name on have been released. As the name suggests these compare modern images with similar views from yesteryear and below I offer a taster from these books, where the older view in each case date from around a century ago.

In these images from Tamworth Through Time we see identical views looking up the hill in my home town of Tamworth, with Tamworth Castle on the right. The road is known as Holloway because it was quite literally hollowed out by the constant passage of wheels, hooves and feet as they crossed the River Tame at what was for centuries the only bridge for miles over this river.



A view of Dr Samuel Johnson’s Birthplace from Lichfield Through Time. Born here in September 1709, he was a sickly baby and his aunt is held to have announced on seeing him for the first time how she ‘would not have picked up such a poor creature in the street’.



From Stafford Through Time come these views of Stafford Common Station. The old image is at it appeared in August 1968, with the modern view from below the bridge featured in the earlier picture.



Two very different scenes from Solihulll Through Time but taken from the same position. What is now Riverdale Drive opposite Malvern Park was previously the former Solihull Brickworks. However there is one remaining landmark, out of shot to the left in both these images, of a Post Office pillar box which is still in daily use.



When photographing English Riviera Through Time, my favourite part of the world, I was struck by something clearly evidenced by these images. First we see the village of Galmpton around 1907, the home of Agatha Christie is situated behind the camera. Note the sapling in the old image is the same tree as that dominating the modern view. This is also true of the background which is devoid of trees in the old image but, although largely hidden in the modern view, litter the scene today.



The same is true in this view of Anstey’s Cove where vegetation is the dominant feature in the twenty-first century.



As usual I would welcome any suggestions for themes or subjects, or even specific words to examine the origins, meanings and etymologies. I’d be delighted to hear from you. Meanwhile I shall take this opportunity to say to one and all a very Happy New Year and wish for you everything you would wish for yourselves.

A Writer’s Research

As the majority of my writing recalls events which happened before anyone I’ve ever known was born, it takes a great deal of research to produce the finished work. Personally I find all research to be enjoyable, although that for my recent release of Bloody British History Stafford published by The History Press was particularly enjoyable and I’m very much looking forward to producing further volumes.

In preparing the Stafford volume I ploughed through every local newspaper released for the area from the early nineteenth century until the end of the Second World War. I lost count of the number of reels of microfilm I saw scrolling past but soon learned where to find the relevant columns. This would have saved some time had I not been distracted by some of the reporting of the day. Some of the news items would hardly be considered worthy of even a mention today. The reporting style, too, was most entertaining. One story, covered in Bloody British History Stafford, concerns the large fire destroying much of the town centre in 1887. Many volunteers pitched in to aid the firemen, some being interviewed by the local reporter. I found the quotes most amusing. Such eloquence from witnesses regularly given free supplies of thirst-quenching ale during their rest breaks, with not even a hint of a grammatical slip.

Not suitable for inclusion in the book were a number of stories which I made a note of simply because I found them so entertaining. For example can we imagine a modern headline proclaiming how wondrous it must be to live in a certain terraced house as recently the combined ages of the four residents surpassed three hundred years!

With modern transportation methods meat is brought into our towns and cities in easily handled sizes to be trimmed and cut for the customer. Once the slaughterhouses were situated within the town, the animals brought in alive. Several stories were related regarding the cattle and their attempts to avoid the butcher’s slab, always assuming they knew of their destination. It was common for butchers to bring the animal to their premises, the beast led by a halter to its final destination. One butcher could not understand where all his halters were disappearing to, so instigated a thorough search of his servants’ rooms. He found the remains of the halters, each minus the ends, within the skirts. It seems his employee desired a very full skirt in the style of the day, however could not afford the metal hoops to fill them out and found a suitable replacement in the halters.

Escaped animals, presumably those not tethered by a halter, were quite commonplace. One evening in May of 1858, Mr Bridgwood, a butcher in Eastgate Street, lost control of a bullock. It ran into the yard of the New Inn where a young lady was targeted. She fled and escaped when a young child wandered into the path of the now rather angry bullock. The child was knocked down and would have suffered worse than the minor bruising had it not been for the intervention by a man who “seizing a large stick laying conveniently at hand, applied it with vigour to the forehead of the enraged brute.” Others managed to tether its legs, making it topple over and enabling them to break its legs, thus preventing it escaping and allowing the butcher to kill it where it lay – in the middle of Stafford.

However one narrative of Victorian pomposity appeared in an edition from May 1864. The newspaper reported how, while it was mindful a Smithfield (meat market) was a necessity, it was appalled that these creatures were still allowed to roam the streets on the way to the abattoir. It seems on the day of the May Fair two animals were highlighted as to why this must be dealt a most severe and final blow. Firstly one rampaged through the crowded streets until apprehended. However it was the second, a cow which attracted the most attention when it decided “to venture into the District Bank, perhaps in order to pay a call on the mayor.” There is no explanation as to why the mayor was in the bank, nor why they thought the cow may be seeking the man out. However it seems likely the mayor had done something to irritate the newspaper in recent weeks, or maybe he was just extremely unpopular. Yet things deteriorated shortly afterwards when, as the newspaper reported, “in the presence of both sexes of all ages the screams and dismay was apparent to all as it did the unthinkable – it calved. An indecent disgrace and disgusting filth for any town to be forced to endure.” A letter the following week echoed the editor’s sentiments in saying “in 1864 and within 130 miles of the Metropolis (London) this should be allowed to happen!” I still wonder how far from the Metropolis a cow would need to be to give birth in public and for it to be considered acceptable?

Incidentally, I shall be signing copies of Bloody British History Stafford at Waterstones in Stafford from 10am on Saturday October 19th 2013. Look forward to meeting you there.

I would welcome any suggestions for themes or subjects, or even specific words to examine the origins, meanings and etymologies. I’d be delighted to hear from you.

Bloody British History: Stafford

As part of the series Bloody British History, here is a glimpse at my forthcoming volume on Stafford. Not every story involves the spilling of blood and gore or even disease and pestilence as can be seen from the following excerpt.

During the nineteenth century shoemaking was among the major employers in the town. Many worked from home, for the work was mostly done by hand. Workers owned their own set of tools, keeping them in excellent condition and guarding them well. Clearly this was a significant investment and without such would be unable to work.

Thus when one Mr Singer made important improvements to the sewing machine people of Stafford had good cause to be worried. A job they had done by hand all their lives could now be mechanised and production increased greatly. This was fine for those who could afford the new technology but for the rest it spelled financial disaster. The workers could see no alternative but to take strike action.

Yet this could not be a withdrawal of labour in the modern sense but was indeed such in a very real sense for they left Stafford in their droves. Many went to Nantwich in Cheshire. Fairly close to their home town and, more importantly, somewhere the sewing machine had yet to reach. Hence they took lodgings in Nantwich, bringing with them their skills and earning much-needed cash.

Of course their former employers were suffering from a lack of quality but did manage to keep supply lines open with a smaller workforce who were able to produce shoes much faster even if of poorer quality, the new machines could stitch the uppers at some 1,500 to 1,700 stitches per minute.

Yet the manufacturers could not let this continue, poorer quality would eventually lose them business altogether. Customers would find other suppliers in Birmingham, Shrewsbury, Chester and Wolverhampton more than willing to step in. Stafford employers were at a loss to understand just why their workers refused to undergo minor retraining just to use a machine which would make their working lives much easier.

However they were not the only ones to feel the impact. Far harder hit were the families of those whose apparent move away from Stafford was simply to find work. The men found themselves work alright, lodgings were much easier to come by in those days, but the wage packets never found their way back to Stafford. Left without a breadwinner, Stafford suddenly found itself home to women with children rapidly descending into destitution. This was absolutely unacceptable and led to a Stafford shoemaker complaining of how their former workers were “taking the strike as an avenue to divorce”.

Not all shoemakers had deserted their hometown. Poaching was a common way to add to the meagre menus of the majority and, for those with the knowhow, their quarry could be sought directly. This left out the middle man and the only expense was in time and trouble. Oswald Beeman had been adding to his table for years, meaning more of his hard-earned cash as a shoemaker could be spent at the local pub instead of the butcher. With the strike he saw the opportunity to fill his pockets and simply spent more time poaching.

One Thursday in May, Beeman was in the grounds of Creswell Hall, his favourite hunting place. When he saw a keeper approaching he panicked and, as he attempted to unscrew his gun in order to hide the pieces in his voluminous pockets, managed to discharge his gun. Hit from point blank range, the bones in his left leg was utterly shattered above the ankle. Rushed to the infirmary he paid a high price for his illegal activities for that leg was amputated at the knee. Perhaps this was considered to be adequate punishment for there is no record of him ever being charged for his crimes.

Six months after the strike began to hit one manufacturer called a meeting with his competitors. Something had to be done to encourage their workforce back to Stafford otherwise not only would their families starve but they would soon be out of business. An agreement was reached whereby all would pay an extra penny on shoes and twice that amount on boots and welts if they return to work and accept the new technology.

As the workers came home to Stafford the businesses were saved and wives and children were no longer forced to beg for food. While no companies went out of business as a direct result of the strike, it is impossible to gauge whether their action did lasting damage either to the town or the industry.

As usual I would welcome any suggestions for themes or subjects, or even specific words to examine the origins, meanings and etymologies. I’d be delighted to hear from you.