‘A Coalbrookdale Suicide’- Some Thoughts

Whilst researching another project, I stumbled upon the following story, and since then- I’ve found it hard to get out of my head.  The headline reads basic, in that matter-of-fact Victorian tone- ‘The Coalbrookdale Suicide- December 1842’. Certainly, it didn’t convey the full tragedy of the event, which I met upon reading. The suicide of William Maybury – described as a ‘youth of eighteen’ at the time of death is a heart-breaking piece of Coalbrookdale’s history, and it left me wanting to know more. I wanted to try and uncover the events that could lead to such a young man’s death, in fact I was preoccupied with a whole manner of questions, that despite further research are yet to be answered (which motivates me to continue my search). Though I have found the events reported as far away as Sydney New South Wales, I’ve found it hard to find anything about the life of William Maybury and the men who were with him on the night of his death. Nevertheless, this inspired me to share this story and to discuss the impact William’s death would have on the community. Though I cannot tell you about the person he was, I don’t want him to be forgotten.

Often when I engage with Shropshire’s history, I come across accounts of tragic death, violence or suicide, and William Maybury’s suicide is one which has definitely affected me, leaving me wishing someone could have helped him. I am not a historian of psychiatry or mental illness, so I cannot discuss the specifics of his condition, the best I can do is recount the story with empathy. There is something so inconclusive about it, so groundless and the tragedy is amplified by the public display of self-violence among peers. William Maybury ended his life in one of the most violent ways imaginable- as we shall soon see, which is as shocking today as it would have been to contemporary audiences. We aren’t given any insight into the boy before his suicide, any of the complexities and simplicities which made him who he was are lost to the past. I wish we could be given some insight into him in happier times. There is something about the phrase ‘a youth of eighteen’ which reminds us of how much life he had left to live. This brings to mind another heart-breaking suicide I’ve read about, that of a little girl. Almost a year after William Maybury’s death in 1842, a child committed suicide in Ketley in 1843. The newspaper doesn’t state her name or age- she is known simply as ‘James Colley’s daughter’. Certainly, there would have been a time when people would have known who ‘James Colley’s daughter’ was- but I think she deserved to be named. The newspaper states that her mother sent her to get coal from the local pits, but she didn’t return at her usual time. Her brother saw her on the way back from work and told her she’d get ‘a good hiding’ for being late. The thought of being physically chastised terrified the girl, so she took off her bonnet and pinafore then threw herself into the pit. After a search, her body was recovered from a 200-foot-deep pit, and her remains were in a very bad way. Its horrible to imagine the fear this poor little girl went through to think that death was more of an option that facing those who waited for her at home. This is a sad example of the realities for many growing up during this period. It’s hard not to get emotional when imagining that little bonnet and pinafore, left on the ground for adults to find. It’s as if she believed her clothing had more value than her life.  The idea of such ill treatment saddens me, and you cannot help but think about all the life she was yet to live. Perhaps William had been exposed to similar fear, we can only speculate.  Let us turn to William Maybury’s suicide now, as recounted in various newspapers.

Its worthy of note that Coalbrookdale is a village in the Ironbridge Gorge- Shropshire. Historically it has played a significant part in the development of Iron ore smelting. Its landscape was dominated by blast furnaces, roaring forges, smithies, and busy factories- which caused the whole gorge to glow red with the throngs of industry. This was the world William would have been familiar with, the place in which he called home.

It is said that William Maybury had been doing some work for an engineer known as William Jenks at the local forge, with David Williams (described only as an elderly man) his father and a man called John Salisbury. The payment for this work had been ‘over two gallon of ale’ which after a long day at work the men decided to settle down in the forge and drink together. They were drinking amongst themselves and seemingly having a good time- as by 10 o’clock they had drunk six quarts of ale. It was after this that William began to show signs of being distressed and is described as taking ‘several liberties’ with John Salisbury- setting upon him and biting him, including biting at his face and nose. David Williams and William’s father pulled him off of the man and told him off – chiding him for his seemingly bizarre behaviour. After being told off William became hysterical- bursting into tears and muttering things under his breath. Before any of the men could find out what was wrong – William Maybury seized the ‘gate’ -the mechanism which disengaged the water and caused the machinery and hammer to move- and he threw himself under it. The hammer struck several blows on poor William before the shocked men could shut the machine down and aid him. John Salisbury was the first to act- but by the time he turned the machine off it was clear that William Maybury’s skull was crushed, and anything that William Maybury had been once was no more.

Little more is said about such a traumatic episode in Coalbrookdale’s history. The inquest took place the following week at the end December (meaning that if my dates are correct- William ended his life on Christmas Eve – adding further tragedy to these sad events) in the large room of the Rodney inn – Coalbrookdale. They concluded that William’s death had been caused by ‘Temporary insanity’ and closed the case. But this wouldn’t have been the end of things for William’s family and friends- or for the men who witnessed his death. They would have spent a lifetime trying to understand that night, reliving the events that took place in the forge. What does ‘Temporary insanity’ really mean? It’s a phrase that poses more questions than it answers.  In a society ruled by the ‘stiff upper lip’ coming to terms with such trauma would have been a stifling and difficult process. They would have felt guilt, and shame and the myriad of feelings associated with grief.

As I mentioned previously the story of William Maybury was reported as far away as Sydney New South Wales under the headline ‘The doings of Beer!’ In the ‘The Teetotaller and general newspaper’ which focuses heavily on the evils of alcohol. I am not here to wax lyrical in such a way- or say that alcohol was the sole cause of William taking his life, human beings are complex, and he certainly deserves more dignity than being a stock character or poster boy for the temperance movement. He was someone who was loved, he had hopes and dreams and worked hard, but for whatever reason he felt like he had to take such an extreme act. I find the whole affair incredibly sad.

By the end of the 19^th century, people began to understand that suicide was not so much an illness, but a symptom – a response to the challenges posed by living in the modern world, and perhaps this is how William’s death should be seen. We will likely never know what motivated him to act in that moment, but it was a symptom of the challenges he saw when navigating the world in which he lived.  I wish there was more that I could say about William Maybury. I feel like there is an empty space, a gap where the person should be- that the narrative should somehow continue. It was such a quick, violent end that it leaves one questioning how this could be. I imagine this is a similar feeling to how the community felt- and no doubt such a profound loss would have been felt for the rest of his family’s life.

In the 19^th century - Coalbrookdale’s vast industrial landscape was often described as ‘Hell On Earth’ due to the sights and sounds of industry. The blast furnaces were never out, and the whole gorge was bathed in fierce red light- and perhaps, for some people, it felt more like hell than home.