Story Category: Legacy

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

The William IV Gate

As St. Swithin’s day approaches on the 15^th we finish our true tale of a weather disaster from February 1852. If you missed the first two parts you can recap on the events of Sunday night or Monday night .

Given the difficulty of closing The William IV Gate the night before Bill Snow decided against opening it on Tuesday and retired to his warm rooms.

The weather on Tuesday 10 February 1852 was very unsettled. Bill only opened the eastern gate and huddled in his Lodge against the squalls. Late in the afternoon the bad weather intensified, and the skies turned black. Hail, rain and sleet followed and passers by took shelter in the gateway, just as they do today.

The wind blew in gusts from all directions and as the crowd grew, there was laughter and embarrassment as the ladies skirts were blown. Just before four o’clock, the rain became horizontal while sunlight picked its way through the mist creating dancing rainbow effects. Then an almighty gust blew.

In his Lodge Bill heard a loud rumbling noise like thunder followed by a loud bang.

Outside, Mrs Langridge and her two daughters were enjoying the dramatic storm but as she too heard the noise, she called to her little girls, “run, run” as she saw the gate collapse inwards.

Amidst loud screams, she saw with horror that although her youngest had escaped, her 12 year old had been caught by the gate as it fell, knocking her unconscious, bleeding and left lying partially under the gate, injuring her feet. Most horribly, it was clear that other people had also fallen and lay crushed under the gate.

In silence, the men struggled to lift the gate and the injured were removed. The gate was let down again, injuring another in the process. One of the injured was a young woman and the other a gentleman, both severely wounded.

A doctor was called for and one of the men ran across the gate, but it being wet he slipped and fell heavily. Picking himself up he ran to get the well known and respected doctor ,Mr John Lawrence Senior, who lived nearby at Grand Parade, and was the late Surgeon to the Sussex County Hospital. He asked for his urgent assistance to a dreadful accident, and jumping into his carriage, Mr Lawrence was there in under half a minute, soon joined by his son John Lawrence junior, the then current House Surgeon at the Hospital.

Meanwhile Mrs Langridge, wife of the Sussex Clerk of the Peace was bemoaning the injuries to her 12 year old daughter. A man lay in great pain with badly damaged legs – he was Mr Sherriff, a gentleman who lived in Lewes Crescent. Not only were both bones of his right leg broken near the ankle, but also his chest had been badly bruised and his collarbone broken.

But most pitiful of all was a young woman of about 30, recognised by many as Martha Mitchelson, the only daughter of a gentleman who lived at 10 Grand Parade. Her father was called for. Mr Lawrence called for brandy and water and administered it to the young girl, who quickly revived. Then they gave the same to Miss Mitchelson who although conscious did not appear to revive, but said that she was dying.

Passing on to Mr Sherriff, the brandy was gratefully received but he urged both father and son to attend to the ladies and not mind him. He went back to the child and finding that she was much recovered, ordered her to be removed to her father’s house at 5 Marlborough Place where he briefly attended her, bathed her face and wrapped her in warm blankets.

He returned to the scene where his son was attending Miss Michelson. Seeing that she appeared to be incapable of moving neither legs nor arms, and complaining of severe back pain, they diagnosed a broken back and internal bleeding. Her father arrived in less than 10 minutes and rushed to his daughter’s side. “Father” she said, “I am dying”. He turned to Mr Lawrence and asked if this could be true. Sadly, both father and son agreed that she would be dead within 5 minutes. In fact, she lived less than that and was gone.

Both Mr Sherriff and young Miss Langridge survived their injuries. The inquest which followed on Wednesday evening and Thursday morning concluded that there was no undue negligence to be attached to any of the players in this sad affair and that the cause of this melancholy accident was a violent and sudden gust of wind acting on a damaged section of the gate.

They recommended that all the cast iron hinges be replaced by more suitable wrought iron to prevent a reoccurrence of this tragedy. Despite this adjudication, the Surveyor, Mr Stickney, was compelled to resign.

The account of this appalling incident was constructed from detailed accounts and evidence given to newspaper reporters and to the inquest which soon followed, all of which were printed in the pages of the Brighton Herald and the Brighton Guardian. Both of these publications can be found in Brighton History Centre.

John Cooper, Volunteer & Training Manager

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

As St. Swithin’s day approaches on the 15^th we continue with the second part of our tragic true weather story from February 1852. Catch up with yesterday’s instalment if you missed it.

At the end of the first instalment, Bill was desperately tying to find help after the gate fell off its broken hinge, fortunately he came across a duty policeman and enlisted his assistance. The two men managed to push the gate back into position and closed the second gate against it. With the bolts shut, the gates were safe for the Sunday night.

On Monday morning of the 9^th February 1852, Bill Snow surveyed the scene of The William IV Gate and considered his next move.

The William IV Gate

At 8.30 he reported the event to Lewis Slight, Clerk to the Town Commissioners – a man of considerable reputation. It was Slight who, almost single-handedly, and against much opposition had been responsible for the purchase of the Royal Pavilion only two years before for the bargain sum of £50,000.

Mr Slight listened to Bill with patience, and once he had established that Bill himself had not been injured, he reassured him that it had simply been an accident, was not his fault and that he should report the matter to the Surveyor’s office.

Finding no one at their desk, Bill returned to his Lodge, and with the morning fine and calm, he was able to open both the gates as usual, although the broken gate hung at an awkward angle, leaning against the wall. About ten minutes past ten, Bill was visited by Tom Oddy, an assistant in the Surveyor’s office. He had seen Mr Slight and heard about the broken hinge and been told to get it fixed immediately.

He and Bill examined the gate, and though he had no sense of imminent danger, said that he would issue an order from his office straight away.  At 10,30, using his official counter-foiled order book, he sent off an order to John Packham & Sons, iron-founders of Western Road to ‘Take off gate North Lodge of Pavilion, repair hinge and re-hang the same’. He gave this to a messenger, David Taylor, and told him to tell Mr Packham to get the job done immediately. But although the order was received, the verbal, urgent message was not.

By this time the Surveyor Richard Stickney had been told of the events surrounding the gate and seeing that an order for repair had been made, decided not to get involved. Later, he was to regret this, thinking that he should perhaps have given instructions that the gate was to be removed and leant against the wall, and that in hindsight, the hinges should have been made of wrought iron and not cast.

Meanwhile, Lewis Slight bumped into the contractor John Packham who told him that the order for repair had been received, but that nothing yet had been done and that his man was busy on Tuesday, but would attend on Wednesday. Whatever Lewis Slight thought of this delay, it was of little value to Bill Snow, who by the end of the day was faced with the difficult job of once more closing the gates.

He approached the Pavilion and asked Mr Edwards who was in charge of a group of workmen if they could lend a hand. Bob Newnham, a bricklayer together with another three workmen went over to help. With the aid of a lever they managed to get the gate into position. They placed wood underneath the gate to help support its weight, and a six-foot length of deal against it and jammed the end into the ground. Though Bill was happier with the gate now secured more safely he regretted that no one had come to repair the gate on that day.

Read the final instalment of the story tomorrow when Bill’s regrets turn to horror…

John Cooper, Volunteer & Training Manager

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

As St. Swithin’s day approaches on the 15^th we present a true tale of a weather disaster. From the 13^th we take a look at a tragedy in three parts…

As Bill Snow emerged from his residence in the Lodge under the North Gate of the Royal Pavilion grounds on Sunday February 8th 1852, into a raw and gusty night, the weather was probably very much on his mind. It had been a harsh winter, with considerable loss of life. Rainfall throughout the country had been high with reports of disastrous flooding. In Brighton the winter had been bitterly cold, wet and windy, and on that evening, a gale was blowing.

The William IV Gate

As Porter to the North Gate, it was Bill’s responsibility to close the two huge gates of the Pavilion grounds, every evening at 5.30pm. At the time, the North Gate and its two lodges were only 20 years old, having been built in 1832 with Portland Stone to the orders of William IV at a cost of £3000. The Brighton Town Commissioners had bought the Royal Pavilion in 1850, and Bill had only been in his job for 17 months.

The wooden gates were high and ponderous, made of solid oak; each was thirteen feet high, seven and a half feet wide and three to four inches thick. They had been hung on Collinge’s Patent hinges made of cast iron, a superior construction which meant that in normal conditions, the gates, as heavy as they were, could be opened and closed with ease.

That evening, normal conditions did not apply. As Bill Snow stepped out of his snug Lodge and unbolted the western gate in an attempt to close it, a huge blast of wind tore the gate from his hands, threw him to the ground with great violence and the gate slammed against its stop.

The hinges, being made of cast and not wrought iron, were in fact liable to break under adverse conditions, not envisaged by the builders. And on this occasion, the topmost hinge snapped with a loud crack. The gate sagged alarmingly, and Bill ran to the Palace for help…

Find out if Bill finds the help he needs in tomorrow’s part of the story.

John Cooper, Volunteer & Training Manager

This is a legacy story from an earlier version of our website. It may contain some formatting issues and broken links.

Midsummer’s Eve usually relates to European celebrations that accompany the Summer Solstice, either on the actual solstice or between June 21 and June 24, depending on the culture.

The celebration predates Christianity and is thought to be related to ancient fertility practices and ceremonies performed to ensure a successful harvest. With the conversion of Europe to Christianity, the celebrations were adapted to honour St. John the Baptist. Some pagan customs still persist, such as the bonfires, which originally were believed to ward off evil spirits, and the focus on nature, which harkens back to when plants and water were thought to have magical healing powers on Midsummer’s Eve.

One such plant believed to have magical properties was calendula (marigolds) which flowers at the beginning of most months. Calendula has numerous mythological properties, such as the ability to strip a witch of her will, or wreaths of marigolds hung over a door would prevent evil from entering. They are specifically picked at Midsummer for their supposed healing properties.

There are a number of marigold species preserved in the Booth Museum collections, however the focus of this blog entry is an pressed example of Calendula officinalis – the Pot Marigold. Although commonly found in Southern England, this example was collected in St Petersburg, Russia.

I chose this particular specimen for its link to the world of medicine. It was collected sometime between 1800 and 1819 by Dr Alexander Crichton. Born in Edinburgh in December 1763, he qualified in Leyden, The Netherlands, in 1783, and worked as a surgeon in several European cities, including Paris, Stuttgart andVienna before moving to London in 1789 and joining the Royal College of Surgeons. By 1791, he had retrained as a physician and held the position of physician at Westminster Hospital from 1794 – 1801.

In 1803 Crichton was offered the position of physician to the household of Tsar Alexander I of Russia, and was evidently trusted as he was made personal physician to the Tsar and the Dowager Empress, as well as becoming the head of all medical services in Russia. He held the position until his retirement in 1819, gaining a number of Russian and Prussian honours on the way.

His position and travels across Europe allowed him to indulge his other passion for the natural world. During his time abroad, he collected a large number of plants, of which our humble Calendula makes up a tiny part of. These plants were all lovingly pressed and preserved in leather bound hardback albums.

One of Crichton’s volumes of plants

Crichton probably had ready access to Calendula in his career, as it was traditionally used in a number of remedies. Modern pharmacological studies have shown fungicidal, anti-viral and anti-inflammatory properties in calendula extracts. It is also used in a number of treatments for acne and dermatitis, however studies are inconclusive on its effectiveness.

Crichton returned to England after his retirement, and died in Sevenoaks in 1856. His grandson, Col. E.D. Crichton donated seven volumes of plants, as well as a huge number of geological samples to the Brighton Museum collections. The majority had been collected by his grandfather during his travels.

Lee Ismail, Curator of Natural Sciences