Loss and the River- some stories of Jackfield

 

Let’s go back to Jackfield now, Though it seems like we were here only yesterday. I hope the place feels familiar, and as you walk through the Tuckies, and past the Boat Inn- I want you to consider all those who were here before. What would their lives have been like? What were the defining factors of their world? There is so much to uncover- and that feels exciting. These riverbanks are full of stories (and even a few ghosts) so let’s cross over the Jackfield and Coalport memorial bridge and pause for a while. Can you feel them? This bridge has been a means of crossing the River Severn since 1922. It commemorates the 26 Servicemen of Coalport and Jackfield who lost their lives in the First World War- and what a wound such a loss would have left in a place so small. The absence of those twenty-six men at the dinner tables, workplaces and daily life of the community would have left Jackfield bereft. Loss is really what the following article is all about, that and the river- which has too often been the cause of such loss. Jackfield feels at the mercy of nature, after all the river Severn is prone to bursting its banks, with flooding- and even landslips common (like the 1952 landslide which reduced the area to a ‘ghost town’) for those living and working along the river, there was always the risk of loss. This is not to suggest that the threat lessens its impact- for grief is a raw and complex emotion. In the following article I want to explore two stories of those lost to the river, including a focus on Jackfield’s most profound- the Ferry Disaster of 1799.

The river has always weaved its way through the history of Jackfield- after all the village itself grew from a river port- serving as a means of crossing for nearby Broseley and Benthall. From the area surrounding the Boat Inn, the ferries made their journey- and have done for hundreds of years. The earliest recorded ferry was known as ‘Adam’s ferry’ and operated during the mid-seventeenth century. It’s believed Abraham Darby I was a passenger, on his many travels to the Quaker meeting house in Broseley. ‘Ferry Road’ gets its name from the Tuckies ferry which connected the communities of Jackfield and Coalport for 120 years before the memorial bridge was build. These ferries were fundamentally important to the local community- and industry, especially as a means of getting to work in places such as Craven Dunnill tileworks and the John Rose, & Co. China Works in Coalport. By the 19^th century they were regulated and could only operate between sunrise and sunset and were forbidden to run on a Sunday. The men who operated such vessels would have spent their whole lives on the river, and perhaps purported to know it like the backs of their hands. This is not to say that it was safe. Indeed by 1900 discussions regarding the future of the ferries was already being undertaken.  A letter to the editor from ‘The Wellington Journal ‘in 1900 read-

‘To THE EDITOR. Sir, — Is it not a great pity that the people living on each side of the river do not take steps to supplant the dangerous and inconvenient ferries with wire-rope suspension foot-bridges? The sites are eminently suitable for such, and these bridges have the great advantages of being very cheap, and at the same time pleasing to the eye. Very many have been erected in this country and abroad.’

This is an important snippet into the attitudes towards the ferries by the turn of the last century. It is especially poignant when looking at the events which inspired such a letter to be written.

Mr John Harrison was 72 in 1900. He’d worked on the ferry boat for over 20 years aiding the community in their daily crossings from the Tuckies to Coalport. He was a popular man and well liked among the community, and one can imagine a level of pride he felt in his work, especially managing with the physical demands of his work at 72. However, it was on the 20^th of January 1900 that John was to lose his life. The waters had been particularly treacherous that month and had swollen well past their banks.  Despite this the ferries continued to run- and John continued his work. He’d worked all day, and on his journey back home that night, he had an accident. He slipped whilst lighting the lamp and fell backwards into the river, being swept away by the fierce current.  Poor John didn’t stand a chance- he soon disappeared from sight. The accident was witnessed by Mr Henry Wild- who was a boatman and also a schoolteacher named Jane Ellen Blocksidge- who provided witness statements to the police.  Henry Wild recounted that after witnessing John’s accident, he- ran down the shore, and saw deceased’s hands disappear. It was impossible to rescue him, there was no boat near, and he could not swim to him’ due to the waters level. This must have been very distressing to witness. The next few days were spent searching the Severn and its banks, but John’s body was no where to be seen. Thus, the community resigned themselves to the fact he would never be buried.

41 day’s later, John Harrison’s body was found. A man known as William Henry Rogers was walking one Saturday near the river at Bridgenorth when he noticed something in the river. So, he stripped naked (presumably not wanting to ruin his clothes in the murky waters of the Severn) and swam the 150 yards, to bring the body back to the riverbank. It wasn’t long before John was identified, though very badly decomposed. After spending 41 days in the water, the power of the current was visible on his remains. The verdict for his death was ‘accidentally drowned’ and its particularly sad to think of a man who’d spent his life on the river, losing his life to it. Though it is some comfort to know that following his death public opinion was shifting to bring a safer alternative, which would be actualised 22 years later. Of course, this hadn’t been the first person lost to the river, as we shall soon see.

Let’s turn back the years now, watch the people come and go, and landscape change its shape, back to 1799. It’s a bit different here, but I’m sure we will be alright. I want us to turn our attention to one of the biggest losses of life Jackfield ever felt, the Coalport ferry disaster, which occurred on 23^rd of October 1799. The cause of such an accident has never fully been explained, which in some way adds to the tragedy- by not fully knowing the cause of such means the families of those who died were denied any real closure.

The night of the 23^rd of October 1799 was a particularly dark and foggy one. Forty-three of the workers at John Rose, & Co. China Works in Coalport had finished a long shift, and for many it was overtime so, by 9pm all they could really think about was getting home. Therefore, they followed the familiar route along the canal to the ferry, which was provided by Mr Richard Reynolds. This would take them across the river, to its south banks, and their homes at Jackfield and Broseley. It would have arrived around the area in which the memorial bridge now stands, not too far from the Boat Inn. Interestingly John Rose & Co. China works was a relatively new venture, having grown from the two recently amalgamated China works at Caughley and Broseley. This had driven an extra demand for ferries, to ensure that there was enough transport for the entire workforce.

Their journey home started rather well, although it was dark and very foggy, However halfway across the river, the ferry suddenly capsized in a part of the river which is notoriously choppy, with fast acting currents. There is some speculation that the sheer number of people who were on the ferry contributed to the accident, as well as the conditions, though I think there is no conclusive answer as to why the ferry capsized.  The terrified workers were soon plunged into the freezing waters and were swallowed by the fog and darkness.

The workforce had been made up of men, women, and children, several of them being under 13. They were exhausted from a day’s work, and many had never learnt to swim, which makes the situation even more tragic. Injured, petrified, and freezing many were swept away by the fierce current. Of the 43 victims, only 13 people escaped, the remaining 28 people were lost to the river. For the 13 people who escaped that night, I can imagine this was an experience they never got over-, and the ghosts of that night would have stayed with them. Its chilling to picture the sights and sounds of such an experience. Tragically, due to the darkness and fog it was impossible for the gathering crowds of friends, neighbours, and relatives to rescue the drowning or render any effective help. Thus, many of the bodies had to be recovered the following day, at a great distance from where the accident took place. Some remained in the water for up to a month, and unfortunately, a few people were never found. I can’t imagine how traumatised the families of the victims would have felt at the loss, especially without any tangible remains to bury.

 I don’t really like thinking of the past in numbers, as it feels rather cold. So, take a moment to imagine 28 individuals- like you or me, full of the complexities and simplicities of human life stood before you. Perhaps they’re smiling at you, or have something they’d like you to know, perhaps they look like people you know or are just getting on with day-to-day life, chatting as they follow the canal home.  Just try to picture them for a moment. Can you see them? They’re humans. They breathe and think, and hope, like us. I think its easier now to imagine the gravity of such a loss. It’s heart-breaking, isn’t it? When you walk the roads and pathways of the surrounding area, its hard not to think about the impact and human cost. The community would have been traumatised and bereft- just as they would be again 119 years later after the guns fell silent in Europe.

These riverbanks are full of stories, and I must confess I’ve barely scratched the surface. As I’ve said previously, the river has shaped this area’s history and unfortunately claimed many in its path. So, there is far more I could have said, and I suppose that’s the beauty of the past, you’re never truly done, are you?  If you ever find yourself in Jackfield- perhaps having a pint in the Boat Inn (Watch out for the devil) take a moment to think about John Harrison, and the 28 others. I think they’d like to be remembered.