Norfolk Railway Tunnels: Cromer.

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Postcard showing Cromer around the turn of the 19th Century. Picture: Public Domain.

Most people know something about Cromer; a few know quite a lot! It is a seaside town well settled in the English County of Norfolk and once the small inland village of Crowmere, before gaining prominence as a seaside holiday resort in Victorian times. It is said that the writings of Clement Scott, are often attributed as one reason for Cromer’s popularity as a holiday resort during the nineteenth century.

Other reasons for Cromer’s popularity as a holiday resort during the nineteenth century were largely down to the development of a North Norfolk rail network which began around 1877 to service such places as Cromer – a resort also well-known for Cromer Crabs, Cromer Golf Course, Cromer Hospital, Cromer Lifeboat & Henry Blogg, Cromer Lighthouse and the never-to-be-forgotten Cromer Pier. But in this article, we concentrate on the local railway network, which includes one more hidden gem which will surprise those who believe that the County of Norfolk is completely flat. Cromer, in fact, has a tunnel, which normally would not be necessary if there were no hilly terraine to tackle. That tunnel still exists – although neglected and almost forgotten ever since the Midland & Great Northern Joint Railway (M&GNJR) line, which connected Cromer to Mundesley and North Walsham via Cromer Links Halt, Sidestrand, Overstrand and Trimmingham, closed down. However, when this line first opened, it did so in two sections – North Walsham to Mundesley opened in July 1898 and Mundesley to Cromer opened in August 1906 – thus completing the line; this latter section followed an Act on the 7th August 1896 which authorised the M&GJR to build on from Mundesley to Cromer, but passing south of Cromer and curving back to approach the town from the west.

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An Illustration of the M&GNJR line, from North Walsham, leaving Overstrand (right) and curving round to approach the then Cromer Beach station from the west. Photo:Wikipedia
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An Illustration of how the Cromer section (top right) fitted into the Norfolk railway system around 1900. Take note of the relatively short section that links Cromer with North Walsham – drawn as a ‘fishbone’.

Cromer once operated up to four railway stations at various times over the years, that of Cromer Beach, Cromer Links Halt, Cromer High and, latterly, Roughton Road – all within an apparent complicated rail system which became simplified when closures took their full effect. Now the town has just two – Cromer (former Cromer Beach) and Roughton Road which opened in 1985, near the site of the former Cromer High station. Roughton Road came into existence following the town’s growth as home for a growing number of Norwich commuters. This particular expansion was, of course, in complete contrast to the 1950’s and 60’s closures which followed the fall in traffic caused by Cromer’s decline in popularity as a holiday destination after World War II. At that time, there were also closures of many other Norfolk railway lines. The knock-on effect of this was that an inevitable early decision was made to concentrate all Cromer passenger traffic towards, and from, a single station. This was to be the former, and centralised Cromer Beach station, built in 1887 for the former Midland and Great Northern Joint Railway (M&GNJR). This station was simply renamed ‘Cromer’.

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The former Cromer Beach Station. Photo: Public Domain.
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Old Postcard Cromer Beach Station and its extensive number of rail tracks at the time. The inclusion of ‘Beach’ in its name was to hightlight the station’s actual position at Cromer. The station became simply ‘Cromer’ in 1969 and today there are just two tracks, one each side of the platform. Dwarfing today’s station is a supmarket, plus other retail outlets.
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The former Cromer High Station. Photo: Public Domain.

Cromer High lay high on the outskirts of the town, and opened in 1877 as the terminus of the once Great Eastern Railway (GER) main line from London. Cromer High was one casualty when the cuts came, and it closed as a direct result of the rationalisation, despite the station having far better facilities than the more central Cromer Beach station down below. Cromer High was simply inconveniently situated high above and on the edge of the town.

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Cromer Links Halt. Photo: Steven Gorick.

Then there was the Cromer Links Halt railway station, on the M&GNJR, which became yet another casualty when the line closed. Located near to Sidestrand the Halt opened in 1923 to serve a nearby golf course. Costing £170 to build it was located in a wood with the path to the station running up the embankment. The Halt was part of this little-used extension line from Cromer to North Walsham via Cromer Links Halt, Sidestrand, Overstrand, Trimmingham and Mundesley.

 

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Sidestrand Station
Much like its counterpart at Cromer Links Halt, Sidestrand consisted of a simple wooden platform capable of accommodating one coach. Hidden away at the end of a public footpath, the station did not have any ticket-issuing facilities, and these could only be purchased on the trains. The halt had been opened in an attempt to increase revenues on the line by further exploiting the tourist potential of “Poppyland“, but in the event it only lasted seventeen years and closed along with the section of the line between Cromer and Mundesley in 1953. Photo: Wikipedia.
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Overstrand Station
A postcard showing that much of the M&GNJR  line at Overstrand was on an embankment, and the reach the ‘long-island’ platform entry was via a white-tiled sloping subway, in the centre of this view, with its frosted-glass roof.

Overstrand station opened in 1906 and was much used in the summer months by holidaymakers. It closed along with the rest of the line in April 1953.

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Trimingham Station
Here and the Overstrand the stations were built by C.A. Sadler of Sheringham; both stations were of the same brick and terracotta design with the corrugated iron roof extending over the canopy.
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Mundesley-On-Sea Station
To cater for the crowds of holiday makers – who, by the way, never materialised – this station was spacious with four platforms, two signal boxes and its own engine shed.
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A 1907 map showing the North Walsham to Cromer section of the Norfolk and Suffolk Joint Railway (in dotted blue/yellow) and connecting lines

The Cromer Tunnel.

It was along this M&GNJR line at Cromer, and just before Cromer Links Halt, where the ‘Cromer Tunnel’ was built in the late 1880’s. At just 61 yards long, this last remnant of the long-defunct Cromer Beach to North Walsham railway line, once ran beneath the, also defunct, Cromer High to Norwich route. This tunnel is still Norfolk’s only remaining former ‘standard gauge’ railway tunnel which can be seen on the Overstrand side of the main A140 road at the Northrepps. During the Second World War, the local Home Guard set up a spigot mortar base about 70 feet inside the tunnel, should the Germans have ever invaded.

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The Cromer Tunnel today. Photo: Anthony Weeden

Clearly visible in some photographs of the tunnel are posts along the left-hand side which once carried signal cabling, while set into the wall on the right, were two safety shelters, or portals, for anyone working in the tunnel seeking to protect themselves from approaching trains. Both tunnel portals are still open today, but undergrowth and modern housing in the area make access to the tunnel difficult.

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Roughton Road Railway Station
Roughton Road railway station is located on Roughton Road in the southern outskirts of Cromer. It is the station between Cromer and Gunton railway stations on the Bittern Line.
  © Copyright G Laird and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Nowadays Cromer is served only by the Bittern Line service, which runs from Norwich to Sheringham, stopping at Roughton Road and Cromer stations.

FOOTNOTE: On a final note about Norfolk tunnels, there is today a third tunnel to mention – and still used today! However, this was only created in 1990 with the arrival of the Bure Valley Narrow-Gauge Railway that follows the route of another former ‘standard-gauge’ railway line which ran between Hoveton and Aylsham, and beyond – but not anymore. When the Aylsham Bypass was built, the old level crossing was demolished and a short Tunnel passing under the A140 built. So when anyone says that Norfolk is too flat for tunnels – then the answer must be Rubbish!

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Bure Valley Narrow-Gauge Railway Tunnel. Photo: Evelyn Simak

THE END

Sources:
Handscomb, M., & Standley, P., Norfolk’s Railways, 1992
Weston, C., Norfolk Archive.

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ Site which publishes only informative and/or educational items deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where necessary, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with such owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. NTM&M never attempts to claim ownership of such material; ensuring at all times that, at least, any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to our sources are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

The Corsbies — A Family of Clerks!

Charles Dickens, writing in April 1835, describes running into a fellow office clerk:

“He was a tall, thin, pale person, in a black coat. He had an umbrella in his hand – not for use, for the day was fine – but, evidently, because he always carried one to the office in the morning.”

This particular story would not have been written without the help of a professional archivist, someone who proved instrumental in bringing together information about the somewhat obscure Corsbies’. Never heard of them? Well, that would not be at all surprising since theirs is not a house-hold name. In fact, they would have remained within the sphere obscurity had not this diligent archivist brought them back into the light. Up until that point, the name Corsbie lay hidden in time-worn files, scrap books, photograph albums – company magazines and board minutes; most detail having been kept for a very long time in dusty draws before digitisation came along. Theirs is a simple story which offers a glimpse into what office life of the past was like, particularly for the generations of Corsbies who all worked, at some point, as humble clerks before rising up their own particular career ladder. However, they did have one thing in common – apart from the surname; they all had the distinction of having worked for one of the most famous and greatest Insurance companies ever to have once existed – Norwich Union.

“In 1792, Thomas Bignold helped in the creation of ‘Norwich General Assurance Company’ and was appointed its secretary. He left there in 1797 to found the Norwich Union Fire Insurance Society with support from local shopkeepers and in 1808 he founded the Norwich Union Life Insurance Society. After 1815 the post war recession began to bite and claims against the Society increased; initially he resisted many of those claims – some legitimately but some not so. Eventually his sons collaborated with the other directors to force him to retire. In retirement he became increasing eccentric forming a business to make shoes with revolving heels: this venture pushed him into bankruptcy and he eventually into prison. He died in 1835. It was in 1821 when the companies founded by Thomas Bignold, and which had operated in competition, merged under the Norwich Union name.”

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Samuel Bignold in 1852.
Born in Norwich in 1791, Samuel Bignold was the third and youngest son of Thomas Bignold and his wife Sarah, widow of Julius Long. He was educated at schools in Norwich and Bury St Edmunds.
From 1814, he worked as secretary for the Norwich Union Fire Insurance Company and from 1818 had the same office at Bignold House for the Norwich Union Life Assurance Society; both companies founded by his father, Thomas Bignold. The Bignold’s and their office staff used Bignold House as the companies’ head office when they merged. Samuel died at Bignold House in 1875 and was buried at St Margaret, Old Catton.

The Corsbie family were from Norwich and several generations of them worked for the Norwich Union for well over a century. Our archivist’s research discovered that the Corsbie family, from Joseph Clarke Corsbie downwards, amassed more than 370 years of combined service for the Company. Joseph himself joined the Norwich General Assurance Company in 1810. and when company moved to its Surrey Street office in Norwich, Joseph went went with it. He joined the rest of the office staff who would then work in Bignold House, the actual family home of Samuel Bignold, the then Secretary of the Company.

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Bignold House Surrey Street, c1897

In November 1819 Samuel Bignold wrote a set of rules for his clerks which would have been in force when Joseph Corsbie arrived in Surrey Street. According to those rules, office hours were from 9 o’clock till half past one, and from half past two to 6pm. Staff who were late in the morning or after lunch were fined 2d for each 5 minutes they were late. Clerks were also fined for tending the office fire:

“The office fire to be attended to by Mr Driver, or the junior Clerk, and any Clerk who may assume his duty shall be fined 3d. Clerks are permitted to warm themselves at the Fire in Office hours, but only one at a time to be at the fire and no Clerk is expected to remain there longer than may be sufficient for Warming himself.”

Clearly Samuel suspected that without such a rule his clerks would spend too much time chatting while warming themselves at the fire. Despite these strict rules it seems that clerks at Norwich Union were generally content with their lot, and most spent their entire working lives with the company. When Samuel Bignold was knighted in 1854 he took the clerks from the Norwich Union Fire and Life Societies out for a meal to celebrate and at least half of the forty clerks who attended had reached more than 26 years’ service with one or other of the companies.

During following year of 1855, Joseph Corsbie presided over a meal of Norwich Union clerks to celebrate the Queen’s Birthday and by that date he was the oldest clerk in the establishment. Joseph spent 50 years working for Norwich General and Norwich Union and was granted his retirement by the Directors in January 1860, when he was awarded an annuity ‘in consideration of his long service’. He received £130 per annum, the equivalent of around £130,000 in today’s terms. According to the Board’s minutes, Joseph had not been fully able to attend to his duties for two years before he retired, and he died in September 1861 after a long and painful illness.

Joseph was not the only Corsbie to be working in Surrey Street in 1821. In June of that year his nephew, Dennis Tooke Corsbie, took a position with the Norwich Union Life Insurance Society. According to a staff list, Dennis retired in August 1874 as managing or chief clerk, having clocked up an impressive 53 years’ service with the Society. During his time with the Norwich Union he would have been involved in the take-over of the Amicable Society, the world’s oldest mutual life insurer, which happened in 1866. Dennis may also have been responsible for starting an Easter tradition which was carried on by his successor as chief clerk, George Holmes. According to the memoires of another staff member, Henry Butler, Mr Holmes would call all the staff together at noon on the Thursday before Good Friday and give them each a glass of sherry and brown and white biscuits known as ‘fair buttons’. At one o’clock the office would close and all the clerks would go to the fair at Tombland.

The next generation of Corsbies to join Norwich Union arrived in the 1850s. His name was Henry Webster Corsbie, son of Joseph; he joined the Fire Society in 1852 but left in 1865. Henry had been involved in a court case in 1857 after he was ‘struck’ in the face by a certain William Tuck who was angry that other Norwich Union clerks had cancelled the periodicals they usually purchased from him. During the case, Tuck claimed that the clerks, who followed the Conservative political views of Sir Samuel, had turned against him after he had voted for the Whigs in the local elections.

In 1853, Henry’s brother, Horace Webster Corsbie, joined the Life Society and went on to work for the Life Society for 38 years’, retiring 1891 and by which time he was earning £350 a year. Presenting him with an inscribed timepiece from the Directors, Mr Forrester said:

“…… throughout your forty years’ service you have born an unblemished character, distinguished by integrity of purpose, devotion to your duties, courtesy to the higher officials and kindness and sympathy toward the other members of staff”.

In his response Horace thanked the directors for the gift and the generous provision for his retirement and said he ‘could look back upon nothing but kindness during his long connection with the society, both from those now in office and those who have been long in their graves’.

The 1850s also saw Henry John Abs Corsbie and his brother Charles James Abs Corsbie, sons of Dennis Corsbie, join the Norwich Union Life Society in 1854 and 1856 respectively. There would have been five Corsbies in the employment of the two societies in May 1862 when each clerk was given £5 by the management to go and visit the Great Exhibition at Kensington which was also insured by the Fire Society.

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The Great Exhibition of 1862 at Kensington, London. Image: Wikipedia.
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Reproduction of Great Exhibition Policy, c1863.

In 1871 the names of the four Corsbies then working for the Life Society featured in an illustrated letter which was presented to Sir Samuel Bignold to mark his 80th birthday.

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Illustrated letter to Samuel Bignold on this 80th birthday, 1871
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Close-up view of life clerk names on  the 1871 letter.

The names of Horace, Henry John, and Charles also appear on a list of staff who attended Sir Samuel’s funeral in January 1875. Samuel Bignold died in the Surrey Street office which was also his family home and, according to contemporary newspapers, on the morning of the funeral hundreds of people filled the pavements of Surrey Street wanting to pay their respects:

‘As the time announced for the starting of the procession arrived, the Market-Place and approaches to Surrey Street became almost impassable by reason of the thousands who had there congregated.’

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Norwich Market Place, 1890s

Twenty-five carriages were included in the funeral procession which followed a route along Rampant Horse Street, the Market Place, London Street and Queen Street, through Tombland and along Magdalen Street to the family vault at Catton. All Norwich Union staff attended the funeral and they were allocated places in the carriages in order of seniority of service. Charles Corsbie should have been in coach three with his brother and cousin but instead watched proceedings from the window on the office stairs as he was too ill to attend. The staff list notes that he died the following month.

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List of clerks attending Samual Bignold’s funeral, 1875

Charles Corsbie was only 34 when he died and had still spent nearly twenty years working for Norwich Union. As for his brother, Henry John Abs Corsbie, he was first appointed an inspector for the South Eastern Region in October 1884, at which point his salary was raised to £225 pa with 2nd class rail travel and an allowance of 12s 6d for each day he was away from Norwich. Henry is the first of the Corsbies to be clearly identified in a photograph (see below) which was taken in around 1900. Apparently, he was still working for Norwich Union when he died, aged 73, in 1909 and the notice of his funeral refers to ‘upwards of 55 years’ service’ with the Society.

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Norwich Union inspectors, c1900.
Henry John Abs Corsbie sits second from the left in the centre row.

The next generation of Corsbies to join Norwich Union were the grandsons of Joseph Corsbie. In total, five of his grandsons began work for the company between 1877 and 1889. The first was Arthur Benjamin Corsbie who joined the Policy Department of the Fire Society in May 1877 and died in service just over two years later. In January 1882, Horace Frank Corsbie, the eldest son of Horace Webster Corsbie, joined the Life Society on a princely salary of £20 per annum. His time with Norwich Union coincided with the introduction of a Thursday half-holiday for clerks and the arrival of the office telephone, but he left in December 1891, eventually working as a municipal clerk. Next to join was Horace Frank’s younger brother, Ernest Benjamin Corsbie, who joined the Policy Department of the Fire Society in April 1883. The notice of his death in the staff magazine records that he also worked for the Loss Department, Accounts Department and Secretarial Department before being appointed head of the Marine Department. He moved to London with the department and died in service there in July 1917. Ernest also contributed to the social life of the office, he was auditor for the staff football club and wrote articles for the staff magazine, which is probably why his photograph appears in the magazine’s photograph album.

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Ernest Corsbie, c1900.
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Ernest Corsbie at his desk, c1900.

Also joining in 1883 was their cousin Walter Lewis Corsbie, who’s application letter he sent asking to join the Fire Society still exists in the archive collection. He was 22 years of age when he applied and had already served out his apprenticeship with Dexter & Moll the ‘old established family linen warehouse’ based in Upper Market Norwich. By the time he applied to join Norwich Union Walter was working at Henry Snowdon’s Drapery in Bridge Street, Norwich and, according to his letter, was looking for employment with a shorter working day. As seems to have been standard in application letters to the Society, he made it clear that he was not looking for a particularly high salary.

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Walter Lewis Corsbie’s application letter, 1883.

By the time Walter joined, Norwich Union Fire had already established a compulsory staff Superannuation and Benefit Fund which had opened the previous year. Each member of staff contributed 2% of his salary to the scheme and in return received a guaranteed pension and guaranteed payments to his widow and children if he died in service. The fund also provided medical attendance for each member of staff. This benefited the company by helping reduce time off for sickness and benefited the members of staff who could have access to a doctor, which might otherwise have proved too expensive in a time when there was no National Health Service.

It also provided an unanticipated benefit for future archivists as detailed reports were made each year about which staff had been attended by the doctor and these were recorded in the fund minutes. The reports contain fascinating information about staff who were working for Norwich Union during this period and what illnesses or injuries led to them having time off work. According to the reports, Walter was attacked with influenza on 3rd Feb 1890 and suffered with severe inflammation of the lungs but recovered sufficiently to return to the office on 31 March. However, he had suffered from symptoms of heart disease for several years which became rapidly progressive after this and ‘he was obliged to give up work on June 25 and finally succumbed on 8 August.’

The last of the third generation of Corsbies to work for Norwich Union was Louis Frederick Corsbie, the brother of Ernest Benjamin and Horace Frank. He had initially ignored family tradition and taken a position in April 1886 with Norwich and London Accident Insurance Association, a company which was later absorbed by Norwich Union. He obviously saw the error of his ways and in July 1889 left Norwich and London Accident and started work for Norwich Union Fire. According to the staff magazine, he spent the first ten years of his service in the Fire Policy Department before moving to the Fire Loss Department where he remained until he retired in 1930. He was known as ‘Uncle Louis’ to many of his contemporaries and was described as ‘a man of equable and genial temperament and popular with his colleagues’. He was an enthusiastic bowls player, secretary and librarian of the orchestral society from 1896, and played second violin in the office orchestra. His name appears in many concert programmes for the orchestral society and he was photographed with the orchestra in around 1902.

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Norwich Union Orchestra, c1902.
Louis Corsbie sits at the extreme right of the front row with the violin bow facing downwards between his legs.

Both Louis and Ernest were working for the Fire Society when it celebrated its centenary in 1897 and the staff received a 10% bonus, double that handed out a decade earlier to mark the Queen’s Golden Jubilee. Ernest can be found in this staff photograph taken for the centenary but for some reason Louis is missing.

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Norwich Union clerks at the anniversary garden party in 1897. Ernest Corsbie stands at the extreme right of the fourth row from the front.
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Norwich Union staff group photograph from around 1905. Ernest Corsbie is standing left of centre of the front row.
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Norwich Union staff outing, c1910.
Louis Corsbie sits third from the right on the back row

Both the names of Ernest and Louis Corsbie also appear in a booklet presented to George Oliver Clark on his retirement in 1905.

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George Clark’s retirement album, 1905
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A page from George Clark’s retirement album showing  the signatures od Ernest and Louis, 1905

A fourth generation of Corsbies started at Norwich Union when Harold Gordon Corsbie joined the Life Society in March 1900. A great grandson of Joseph Corsbie he appears in this group photograph of Life Society staff, looking much younger than his 18 years.

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Norwich Union life clerks, c1900
Harold Gordon Corsbie sits extreme right of front row.

Harold Gordon Corsbie can also be identified in two cartoons produced to mark the move of the Life Society into its new offices in Surrey House in 1904. Here he is moving with his typewriter across the road to his new abode.

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New Exodus cartoon showing move to Surrey House in 1904. H.G. Corsbie is the sixth image from the left carrying his typewriter. The unidentified cartoonist has exaggerated Harold’s small stature.

Harold stayed with the company until at least 1914 and cashed in his company life policy in 1924 before emigrating with his family to Australia the following year.

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H.G. Corsbie is in this photograph of staff taken in the Surrey House garden around 1910. He stands on the extreme right.

Harold was still with Norwich Union when these decorations were put up in Surrey Street to mark the coronation of George V in June 1911. The banner spanned the street between the head offices of the two societies and Harold probably had to pass under it to get to work.

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Surrey Street decorations for the coronation of George V, 1911.

It is also likely that he is somewhere in this photograph of life office staff in the Marble Hall of Surrey House at around the same date.

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Staff in the Marble Hall of Surrey House, c1911

By 1911 another Corsbie had joined the Fire Society across the road in Bignold House; her name was Elsie Gertrude Corsbie who joined the society in 1911 as a typist in the fledgling typing section. The Fire Society had first employed women in the Norwich head office in 1906 and the board minutes of 7th February that year record the decision to form a Typing Department:

“consisting of six lady typists with a member of the current staff to be appointed superintendent to act as an intermediary between the typists and the departments.”

The staff member chosen was Percy Noverre whose family had a long association with Norwich Union and who had come to insurance late in life having been a dancing master in Norwich (the family was well known in dancing and the Noverre ballroom in the Norwich Assembly Rooms was named after them). This photograph shows Percy and the lady staff, including Elsie, in around 1914.

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Norwich Union typing department, c1914
Elsie Corsbie stands at the extreme right of the back row. Percy Noverre sits front centre.

According to the memoires of another long-serving member of staff, Geoff Hart, Percy Noverre’s role was to prevent fraternisation between the clerks and the lady typists.

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Geoffrey Hart’s reminiscences from a staff magazine of 1938.

Elsie was Joseph’s great granddaughter, the daughter of Ernest Corsbie, and she moved to London with her father and the rest of the Marine Department during the First World War. The war may well have been the reason Elsie never married. When war ended, she returned to Norwich to the Secretarial Department where she spent some time as personal secretary to Sir Robert Bignold, the 5th generation and last of the Bignolds to run Norwich Union. She remained with the department until 1948 when she retired after 37 years’ service. Elsie was the last Corsbie to work for Norwich Union and her retirement ended an unbroken 138 years of family service.

There was, however, another descendant of Joseph Corsbie who worked for Norwich Union. His name was Geoffrey William Cecil Corsbie who joined Norwich Union Fire in April 1935, and was the 5th generation of Corsbies to join the society – and the great-great grandson of Joseph Corsbie. Geoffrey worked in the Workmen’s Compensation Department and died in 1944 at the early age of 28. The notice of his death in the staff magazine indicates that he was never physically very fit and remembers his skill on the piano accordion and his ability to mend all things mechanical, especially watches and clocks.

THE END

Source:
Gratitude and thanks to Anna Stone of Heritage.Aviva who made this blog possible. She contributed most of the information and supporting images contained herein; exceptions are annotated otherwise.

 

9. Christmas: Chilling Tales!

Possibly the most famous story about telling stories in all of English literature begins on Lake Geneva, Switzerland, in June 1816. During a historically wet, cold and gloomy summer – 1816 would become known, in fact, as “The Year Without a Summer” – two of the leading poets of the age, Lord Byron and Percy Shelley, were vacationing near each other, Shelley with his then-future wife Mary and her stepsister Claire Clairmont (who was, in fact, pregnant with Byron’s child at the time), and Byron with his friend and physician John Polidori (who would go on to write what is now often referred to as the world’s first vampire novel).

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Percy Shelly, Mary Shelley and Lord Byron

There were no excursions in the woods or on the lake, no romps through fields. The days were cold and dreary and spent indoors, and Byron, inspired by a volume of ghost stories he had received from a friend, decided that each of his companions should write a ghost story. Polidori struggled with one about an old woman who peeks through keyholes on unspeakable acts. There is no record of Claire Clairmont even trying. Percy Shelley was never really one for narrative and he, too, quickly gave up the ghost, so to speak. Byron came up with a partial tale about a vampire that would eventually serve as the basis for Polidori’s novel.

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Mary Shelly

Only Mary Shelley succeeded, with a tale that began: “It was on a dreary night of November…” When the story later became the novel Frankenstein, the author changed the story’s opening to “December 11th, 17–.” Clearly, in spite of the inspiration coming in summer, the frigid weather had a dramatic effect on her, transporting her and her tale to the depths of winter. And so the novel begins in the Arctic, with “stiff gales” and “floating sheets of ice”, and ends with Frankenstein’s monster, doomed to a slow death, receding into the distance on an ice floe. Frankenstein is, in essence, a winter’s tale.
Fankenstein (Rex)

The notion that cold, snowy days are the best for stories designed to frighten and appal us goes back at least to the early 17th century. In Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, written in 1611, Mamillius says: “A sad tale’s best for winter. I have one / of sprites and goblins.” But it was in the Victorian era that telling ghost stories became an indispensable custom of the Christmas season – indeed, the genre’s popularity had been dwindling somewhat until writers such as Wilkie Collins and Elizabeth Gaskell breathed new life into it. Families relished the chance to gather around the hearth on Christmas Eve to try to scare one another half to death with tales of mysterious, menacing apparitions or, in one story by MR James, a master of the genre, a “vengeful ghost boy… with fearfully long nails”. The practice even finds its way into Christmas songs. A verse in “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” mentions “scary ghost stories” right alongside singing to neighbours and hanging mistletoe as the very substance of the season.
leech-a-christmas-carol

One of the most familiar examples of the Christmas ghost story is Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, which he wrote in 1843 as a way of cashing in on the renewed demand for the form. The novel amounts to an acknowledgement of the ghost story’s seasonal ubiquity. It’s not just a ghost story that one could tell at Christmas, but – with Scrooge sitting in his armchair as his life’s story is unfurled before him – it is a story about ghost stories at Christmas, a kind of meta-Christmas ghost story, if you will.

A Christmas Carol
‘A Christmas Carol’ – Frightfully good!

The Turn of the Screw, the US Anglophile Henry James’s own take on the Christmas tale, published in 1898, operates in much the same fashion, structured as it is to position its readers by the Yuletide hearth listening to tales of horror. It begins: “The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as on Christmas Eve in an old house a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to note it as the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child.” If the last words of that sentence don’t cause your hair to stand on end, you’re probably simply not susceptible to ghost stories.

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The Turn Of The Screw
“He presently produced something that made me drop straight down on the stone slab”

The tale, which relates a series of strange events that befall a young governess, centres on the supposed – and that word is key – possession of a boy by the spirit of a hostile figure named Peter Quint. To begin with a recounting of the telling of the story around a fire on Christmas Eve would, James decided, be the most effective context for the story’s macabre twists and turns, part of a framework designed to make the whole somehow more believable, more unsettlingly so – to ensure that the chill sinks deep down into the reader’s bones.

Maybe the impulse to thrill each other with these tales of the grisly and supernatural is spurred by Halloween; as the leaves die off and fall to the ground before disappearing, we observe a holiday that features witches, ghosts and demons – a veritable festival of the dead. That sets the mood and liberates the spirits which accompany us through the following months as the days get colder, and Jack Frost stretches his fingers across the window pane. Winter is tantalisingly terrifying, and it’s undoubtedly to do with its nearness to death – for, in the days before antibiotics, these were the months that would claim the most lives.

We relish the sense that our warm, happy homes, with their firmly closed doors and crackling fires, can keep death’s frigid hand from our throats. So the writing that truly haunts us is almost always set in cold, barren landscapes. Consider this from Edgar Allan Poe’s narrative poem “The Raven”, the tale of a lover’s death and the agonising chant of an avian visitor, who tells the narrator, over and over, that his departed love will appear to him “nevermore”: “Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December / And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.” Or this, from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s long poem “Christabel”, ostensibly about a ghostly visitor and replete with unnerving omens, which served as an influence for Poe’s eerie tales: “The night is chill; the forest bare / Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?” The list goes on.

Tenniel-TheRaven
‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe. Image: Wikipedia.

One of my favourite winter tales is the short story “Silent Snow, Secret Snow” by Conrad Aiken, published in 1934. It is about a boy who lapses into a state of schizophrenia, a condition which – due to new and deeper scientific investigations in the early 20th century – captured the public imagination with stories of hallucinatory voices and “unnatural” behaviour. The dream world into which Aiken’s protagonist slips becomes – silently, slowly, inch by inch – engulfed in bright white. The most terrifying aspect of the story is how quietly it proceeds, how the snow seems literally to settle in the reader’s mind, exerting a chilling, mesmerising pressure much like that experienced by the boy himself: “The hiss was now becoming a roar – the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow – but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.”

And we’re all familiar with the story told in The Shining – whether in Stephen King’s original novel or Stanley Kubrick’s film adaptation – with the vast blanketed spaces surrounding the Overlook Hotel, and their eerie, transforming solitude. As Jack Torrance loses his grip on reality, the mood darkens and the tension increases in line with the dropping temperature and the rapidly layering snow. The result is perhaps the world’s most celebrated case of “cabin fever”.

Even a story that isn’t intended to be scary, such as James Joyce’s “The Dead”, from 1914’s Dubliners, distils haunting effects from its winterscape. The final scene is the telling of a story, narrated by the main character’s wife, about her first love, a man named Michael Furey, who died for her love by standing outside her window in a snowstorm and contracting pneumonia. The main character, Gabriel Conroy, listens to the melancholy story, in which his wife reveals that she never truly loved him, while he stands at a window himself and watches the snowflakes “falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead”. So apt is Joyce’s tale for this time of year that, until 28 December, the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse at Shakespeare’s Globe in London is staging a candlelit reading of the short story as part of its Winter’s Tale season, with Joyce’s words, read by the actor Aidan Gillen, set to an unsettling piano score played by Feargal Murray. This is the second year in a row that the Wanamaker has hosted an adaptation of the tale; it’s becoming something of a tradition.

How many other scenes have we read in which characters observe the snow through a window? Time and again, writers have called on wintry images to evoke feelings of dread, emptiness, loss, and isolation. But the trope can also be used to reverse effect – to emphasise the warmth of the fire and the comforts of the home, as in this passage from the French writer Jean Giono’s Joy of Man’s Desiring, published in 1936:

“The fire roared. The water boiled. The shutter creaked. The pane cracked in its putty with the cold… There was a beautiful morning over the earth. The sun was daring to venture into the sky… The enlightenment was coming from the warmth, the fire, the frost, the wall, the window pane, the table, the door rattling in the north wind…”

Winter’s ability to capture our imagination is at its strongest precisely when we are the farthest removed from its more harmful aspects. Take this passage from Eowyn Ivey’s 2011 story The Snow Child, set in a frozen Alaskan landscape in the early 1900s: “Through the window, the night air appeared dense, each snowflake slowed in its long, tumbling fall through the black. It was the kind of snow that brought children running out their doors, made them turn their faces skyward, and spin in circles with their arms outstretched.” The jovial imagery belies its melancholy context, for Ivey’s novel is about an elderly man and wife who are unable to conceive a child and who live with their grief in a hostile landscape – often brutally so. In a rare moment of levity and togetherness they construct a little girl out of snow. The next morning, they find that she has become real – as if by magic. The story, which combines one of nature’s most deep-seated anxieties about fertility, or its lack, with a primitive distrust of intruders and that which cannot be rationalised, is based on an old Russian folk tale; Ivey’s retelling demonstrates how enduring the appeal is of these icy tales, for writers and readers alike.
frankenstein_pg_7

In some ways, the stories by which we love to be unsettled are also a form of preparation – often for the very worst. Curled up in a favourite armchair, we still ourselves against the things we know can harm us. When the weather outside turns gloomy or threatening, we can crank up the heating and lighten the burden of our thoughts by turning to fantastic tales designed to mask the things that scare us most.

That summer of 1816, during which Mary Shelley and the others invented ghost stories, would turn out to be the party’s final carefree season. The travellers returned to England to find that Mary’s half-sister had committed suicide; Percy Shelley’s first wife, pregnant with his child, drowned herself a few months later. Shelley’s son from his first marriage died of a fever in 1818. In the next few years, Percy and Mary Shelley would have two children, neither of whom would reach their second birthday. Percy Shelley and Lord Byron themselves would both die within the next 10 years. Sometimes, the frightening stories we tell each other are not nearly as horrifying as the events that real life holds in store for us. In this sense, the effect is twofold: the tales transport us from our everyday anxieties at the same time as they enable us to confront them, however obliquely; they are a means to exorcise our demons by acknowledging them – in a homely environment.

But the secret lure of these tales – of the horrifying creatures we call into being, the ghosts that stalk us, and the demons that we discover at work within our own minds – is that, while the stories themselves are fictions, the underlying dangers they conjure up, and the thrill that we feel in confronting them, are in the end quite real:

Think of that on a winter’s night!

THE END

Text by Keith Lee Morris, 21 December 2015. Courtesy of the Independent Newspaper. Keith’s 1916 novel was ‘Travelers Rest’.

This is the last in the Christmas Series, so may we wish each and every reader a very Happy and Contented festive season; along with our best wishes for 2020.

Source:
https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/christmas-ghost-stories-a-history-of-seasonal-spine-chillers-a6782186.html
Feature Image: Dark deeds: in Dickens’s work, as this illustration from ‘Little Dorritt’ shows, winter nights are a time for skulduggery ( Getty )

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items which are considered deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where possible, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. Nevertheless, please rest assured that any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to sources, are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

A Norwich Hospital That Moved On.

This blog was inspired by an essay by J K Edwards back in 1967 when he looked back at the changes that had taken place at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital during the time it was located at its old city centre site on St Stephens Street. However, I was initially thrown by his opening sentence when he wrote: “To understand the matter of the chimney we have to go back 200 years”; but from there on, things began to fall into place with a concluding, but all too brief, explanation at the end.

Hospital
The Norfolk and Norwich Hospital in 1959. Photo Credit: Archant Archives.

He considered that both Norwich and the County of Norfolk prospered during the 18th and early 19th centuries and their peoples increased yearly in numbers; however – and according to modern thinking, living conditions were bad then, even for thrifty working-class people where there was only a small margin between being able to “manage” and being forced to depend on charity. Also, the philosophy of the times was hard:

“God had created the high and the low, work was part of the process of salvation, and only if you were diligent and God-fearing would all be well in this world and the next”.

Unfortunately, accident and disease, along with horse-drawn traffic and squalid living conditions produced plenty of each, either of which could bring even the most deserving family to the verge of starvation:

“What confusion and distress must enter a family when the father is overcome with one of the innumerable accidents and how deplorably wretchedness is increased when sickness visits any member of the family”, wrote one contemporary author.

Hospital (Original)2
The Original Norfolk and Norwich Hospital of 1771-72. Photo: Public Domain.

The first firm proposal for a hospital for Norfolk and Norwich was made at a public meeting called by a Mr. William Fellowes, of Shotesham, in 1770. But even before then, certainly before 1754, Fellowes and a local surgeon by the name of Benjamin Gooch joined forces to set up one of the very first cottage hospitals in the country – and in Fellowes’s his own village of Shotesham by the way! He was, after all, Lord of the Manor and owned almost all the land and houses thereabouts but, at the same time, he did care for the people in his charge.

Hospital3 (Fellowes)
William Fellowes of Shotesham (1706-1775) by Joseph Highmore. Original Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo Credit: ArtUK.
Hospital5 (Benjamin-Gooch)
Benjamin Gooch. Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo: (c) Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation.

The idea of a new hospital for Norwich was, in fact, a late-comer in the wave of provincial hospital building, which had begun in the 1730’s. Certainly, by 1744, there was pressure for the City to have one of these new voluntary hospitals, although impetus was lost after 1761 when Thomas Hayter, Bishop of Norwich and a leading advocate, moved to a bishopric in London. Enter William Fellowes who was the one to call this open meeting in 1770, the moment when subscriptions were opened – kick-started by a fund-raising concert in Norwich Cathedral.

Very soon the Norwich City Council came on board when it made the St. Stephen’s site available at only a nominal rent, thus enabling the first steps towards fulfilling a dream. Subsequently, the sentiment towards the scheme was so great that funds of some £13,000 was raised, building plans adopted and the fabric fitted and furnished in little more than two years. In this way, a much improved Norfolk and Norwich Hospital came to the city.

The building was constructed in the form of a great figure ‘H’ and it had many of the characteristic features which, at the time, was considered very satisfying – red brick, beautiful proportions, large well-placed windows and a most imposing front porch and doorway; it “justifiably generated a great deal of local pride”. It therefore followed that when the hospital took its first seven in-patients in November, 1772, the event was marked by a celebration in the city.

Hospital (Edward Colman)
Edward Colman (d.1812), Assistant Surgeon (1790-1812). Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo Credit: ArtUK.

The original rules of the hospital, as outlined by Edwards, threw an interesting light upon charitable attitudes of the times. It would appear that since public subscribers had provided the hospital, donors naturally expected to be able to see that their money was being well spent. A gift of two guineas brought governorship for a year and one of 20 guineas brought the same for life. All governors in turn had to visit the hospital every day for a week and:

Hospital (Jonathan Matchett)
Jonathan Matchett, Physician (1773-1777) by an unknown artist. Portrait with the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital. Photo:  ArtUK.

“walk through the wards with White Wands in their hands and enquire of the patients whether the Physicians, Surgeons, Matron and Nurses had attended them agreeably, and enquiry of the Matron and Nurses whether the patients had all conducted themselves decently.”

Hospital (Gallstones)
Woman suffering the cholic etching by G. Cruikshank, 1819. Photo Credit:  Wellcome Library

One of the main local troubles was “the stone” for which people had to be “cut.” The stones extracted were kept in a special chest-of-drawers and put on public display; and so successful was “cutting” that after 20 years or so the chest was crammed so full that another had to be ordered. In fact, whatever the limitations and dangers, the hospital dealt with 12,000 people by the end of the 18th century and of these “upwards of 7000 have been dismissed in perfect health.”

On this subject, Dr. Benjamin Gooch’s accounts of ‘bladder stones’ are particularly interesting for he, along with John Harmer of Norwich,  were the leading lithotomists of the first half of the 18th century when bladder stones in Norfolk were reputedly to be more common  than anywhere else in the country. The Norwich Gazette, of 14th July 1746 (2071/2) reported one instance of a stone removal operation, which was conducted by John Harmer, with Benjamin Gooch assisting:

“On Sunday last (June 8th) was cut for the stone by Mr John Harmer surgeon in this city, John Howse, a gardener from Poringland aged 48 years, from whom he extracted a stone of prodigious magnitude; measuring 12 inches one way and eight the other and weighed upwards of fourteen and a half ounces; and is said to be the largest ever extracted from any person who recovered the operation, as this man is likely to do, not yet having had a bad symptom” ….. and a week later:

“John Howse …… is in a final way of recovery and is judged to be out of danger. Mr Harmer has cut for the stone upwards of 170 persons, and that with as much success as any man living, but never extracted one so large before.” (Norwich Gazette 21/7/1746).

As an aside:- John Harmer is buried in Stoke Holy Cross churchyard, his monument bears carvings of his lithotomy instruments.

Benjamin Gooch said of the operation:

“It was found impracticable to extract the stone through a wound of common size, which the operator had made, or to break it by the force of the forceps, therefore at his desire I divided the parts occasionally, as he continued gentle extraction. The stone was of hard texture and was covered by a substance like spar of a considerable thickness on many parts of its surface.”

The wound remained in a foul and bad condition and was made worse by the continued wetting of urine which prevented applications from healing it. The poor unhappy sufferer’s secret of how he managed to survive is revealed next. He [the patient] tempted a little favourite dog to lick the parts. It became such a habit for the little dog that whenever his master laid down and uncovered them he [the dog] immediately set to work with his tongue; this gave the sufferer a pleasing sensation; “As long as he lived his dog was his surgeon”, and the wound kept tolerably clean and easy “to his great comfort and satisfaction” as he [John Harmer] often told Gooch.

Hospital (Operation)2
Early 18th century surgeons performing a dissection, circa. 1730. Photo Credit: Wellcome Library

People today often question the effectiveness of medical treatment during years long past and, of course, there were many deficiencies. But it was the 18th century that brought forward many new ideas, like ventilation, sanitation and cleanliness. Equally, there were some people who held advanced views on many things. The then matron of the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital was judged to be “most unusually able” and as a result the hospital acquired a reputation for being “kept very neat and clean, not crowded with beds and well ventilated.” True, the floors were sanded in exactly the same way and for the same reasons that public-house floors were until comparatively recently, but they were swept daily and entirely washed each week. This by the standard of the times was cleanliness amounting almost to mania. One can doubt, too, the efficiency of medicines and surgery of those days, for drugs were very few and surgery without antiseptics was dangerous. Even so, cold baths, enforced rest, clean living conditions and dieting cannot have failed to be beneficial. As for surgery, the risks were perhaps fewer than we imagine.

The early years did, of course, present their problems. How to advance surgically was always difficult; but it was not unknown for the bodies of executed murderers to be provided for the hospital and doubtless there were other sources too – this helped. But money was always scarce and, in 1788, someone conceived the idea of a ‘Grand Musical Festival’ to help the Hospital’s Fund; this particular event was to be much grander than previous funding raising concerts in aid of the hospital. It proved such an enormous success that it was repeated three years later; after which it was decided to make the festival a permanent function, using St Peter Mancroft Church in the morning and St Andrew’s Hall in the evening. In 1824 the Norfolk & Norwich Triennial was founded. This event, known as the ‘Triennial’ continued for almost one hundred years, presenting a programme of concerts in St Andrew’s Hall. In time, the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital and the Triennial went their separate ways but, importantly, they both continued to flourish.

Hospital2
The Norfolk & Norwich Triennial at St Andrew’s Hall late 19th century. Photo: Public Domain.

If you had walked along St Stephen’s Road in 1967 – going away from the city – you would have seen the then new hospital chimney on the right, “rearing up like a rocket launcher, monstrous, a thing of no beauty”. Clearly, Edwards hated its massiveness and the domination it exercised over that part of the city of Norwich. But, in his opinion, the chimney symbolised progress – in medical science, in humanity and in ideas – but, equally, “one had to weigh-up the balance of advantages”. He concluded that all these developments were “well on the side of progress”.

 

Hospital4 (Fellowes_Plaque)
The large plaque once dominated the first floor of the St Stephens Street side of the then enlarged narrow side of the 1927 rebuilt outpatient building. Fellowes is shown in a bust length portrait in contemporary costume and wig. The bust rests on a ledge with an inscription identifying him set into a classically inspired field. There are no obvious surviving images of Fellowes for the sculptor to have followed. Photo: The Recording Archive.

THE END

Blog based on the following Source:
https://www.eveningnews24.co.uk/views/two-centuries-of-progress-in-making-norwich-well-again-1-5300545

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items which are considered deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where possible, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. Nevertheless, please rest assured that any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to sources, are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

 

 

Norfolk: A Hidden & Forgotten Railway.

Amongst the list of Victorian British railway pioneers you will not find the name of William Betts (1810-1885), principally because he was not a ‘major player’ – today’s terminology! But he was certainly important, around the mid-19th century, as far as the local community that lived and worked in the Scole Parish in Norfolk were concerned. Betts was also the diving force behind the development of his 400-acre market garden business there, together with the design and construction of his very own railway system which serviced that business. His railway, built very much to his design of its route and its waggons, has been referred to as either the ‘Frenze Farm Railway’ and ‘The Scole Railway’ – whichever one prefers perhaps! Either way, we have here a story of William Betts, along with some detail of the geographic structure and layout of the parish community in which he once conducted his business.

Scole Railway (Frenze Beck)
The Ford across the stream leading to Frenze Hall. Photo: © Copyright John Walton and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

The present-day Scole Parish is in the local government district of South Norfolk. To the south it is bordered by the River Waveney and the neighbouring County of Suffolk, with the town of Diss facing it from the west. This parish now contains not just the village of Scole, but also Billigford, Thelveton and Frenze – not forgetting the deserted village of Thorpe Parva. Indeed, in Betts’s time, the Parish was known as ‘Scole with Thorpe Parva and Frenze’, but reverted to simply ‘Scole’ when in 1935 the parishes of Billingford and Thelveton were abolished and were joined to Scole. The village of Frenze – in earlier times Frense, Frens or Frence and locally pronounced as ‘Fi-renze’ – stands in a picturesque spot on the banks of Frenze, a fast-flowing tributary of the larger river Waveney.

Scole Railway (St Andrews)
The ancient church of St Andrew at Frenze Hall, near Diss in South Norfolk. More info here: www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/frenze/frenze.htm. Photo: Carol Gingell.

William Betts himself, was born in 1810 to parents Thomas Betts (1783-1847) and Sarah (nee’ Smith 1784-1855) who produced a total of eight children. William became a businessman and brick manufacturer and was married to Julia Wildman Sparling on 30 March 1843 at All Saints Church, Colchester. Then, in 1844, he became Lord of the Manor of Frenze, within the parish and patron of St Andrew’s Church and becoming, along with a Mr Browning, the chief landowners at Frenze. Betts also had extended family connections there – along with his dreams!

Scole Railway (Frenze Hall)
Frenze Hall, near Diss in South Norfolk. Built in the early 17th century, the hall and it’s estate was purchased by William Betts in the 1860s and it’s 400 acres of land were converted into vast market gardens supplying London with fresh vegetables. To service the estate, Betts built a standard gauge railway which connected to the mainline at Diss and ran eastwards to Scole and north above Frenze hall, covering around 7 miles in total, with branches leading off in several directions to cover the whole estate. William Betts also owned two brick fields in the area and, in the 1880s, added the brick facade to Frenze Hall using his own wares. Photo: Carol Gingell.

By around 1861, Betts was in the position to buy the Frenze Hall Estate from his uncle Sheldrake Smith – but, apparently, did not live in the Hall itself. Instead, in 1863, he bought ‘The Court’ (see Map, bottom L/H corner) from a William Ellis and this became his home. The Court, once stood between Vince’s Lane and the railway line, but has long been demolished. Concurrent with his property acquisitions ran his ‘master plan’ of transforming the Estate’s 400 acres from agricultural fields into a vast market garden. Large barns and other ancillary buildings were to be built, in conjunction with the building of his railway, a system that would allow him to export his fresh vegetable produce direct to London by way of a connection to the Great Eastern Railway system at Diss station.

Scole Railway (lost-scole-railway-line)2
This track across the fields near Diss, in South Norfolk was once part of the Scole Railway, built by William Betts in the 1860s to service his vast market gardens at the Frenze Hall Estate. The standard gauge rail line ran between the main station at Diss and the Scole Inn to the east, and above Frenze hall to the north. This part of the track ran between Dark Lane, along Millers lane to towards Scole. Photo: Carol Gingell.

The railway would transport his produce to London daily, and to avoid empty runs back to Norfolk, the returning wagons would be filled with fresh manure from the City’s streets and stables; this would be spread on the land. But manure would not necessarily be the only commodity delivered back to the market garden; some train wagons returned filled with coal and delivered direct to the brickworks located just behind Diss station; these brickworks had been created by William Betts to both enhance the value of his line, but also to provide materials for the building of his workers’ houses in and around Scole. As owner of Frenze Hall, he also saw to it that his red bricks encased the 17th century timber-framed Hall with a façade, resulting in the present-day ‘late Victorian’ external appearance protecting its much older oak-framed structure more-or-less intact inside.

Scole Railway (Map_ Carol Gingell)
Map of the Scole Railway which was built by William Betts to service the Frenze Estate in South Norfolk. Photo: Carol Gingell.

As for the railway track itself; this was of standard gauge, which allowed his trains to run straight on and off the Great Eastern line. In total, the length of the Frenze Farm/Scole Railway network reached approximately seven miles, including a number of sidings near the Great Barn on the Frenze Estate, where the produce was sorted and packed. According to Christopher Weston, the route of Betts’s railway began at Diss station, from behind the Jolly Porter’s Inn (closed 25th October, 1973) in Station Road. The line headed east to Dark Lane, where it branched east and north, via a turntable. Then the eastern branch continued to buffers behind the Scole Inn public house, with two more branches leading south to Betts’ brick fields, then north to Nab Barn and several sidings. Here, again was where the produce was sorted and packed. From Dark Lane, the northern branch went to Frenze Hall Farm, before crossing the river and ending at buffers near the Great Eastern line. Yet another branch below Frenze Hall continued to a field known as ‘Scotland’.

 

(Adove Photos) This girder rail bridge crosses the river at Frenze Hall. It was once part of the Scole Railway which was built by William Betts. This northern branch of the railway, from Dark Lane, took the line up to Frenze Hall farm before crossing the river over this bridge and ending at buffers near to the GER line at Diss station. Photos: Carol Gingell.

William Betts owned the Frenze Hall Estate until his death in 1885 and, as his son had already pre-deceased him, the entire property was put under the management by the Court of Chancery while his affairs were sorted out. The manager was a Thomas W. Gaze, auctioneer and land agent who became the tenant of the Estate from 1886. Gaze not only took over the Frenze Estate but closed the market garden and railway, which was said to be under capitalised by then. He also arranged for the line to be pulled up before running the subsequent two-day auction of the entire estate’s equipment, horses, railway track and locomotives. The rail lines were sold for scrap to George Archer of Yarmouth, with some track syphoned off by thieves. The two locomotives, (one a 2-4-0 saddle tank, manufactured by Brotherhoods of Chippenham and the other, an 0-4-OT made by Hughes of Loughborough), raised £20 each and were shipped to India. In 1898 the Frenze Estate was eventually purchased by the neighbouring Thelveton Estate.

Scole Railway (Great Barn)
More evidence of the vast market gardens and the Scole railway established at Frenze Hall  in the 1860s by William Betts. This is marked on contemporary maps as being the “Great Barn” and the rail line ran directly behind it. Given the huge arched doorways, one wonders whether this could possibly have been used as an engine or maintenance shed for the locos? A large water storage tank was housed at the barn, fed by underground pipes which led from a pumping station that Betts built near to the river. Nearby stood the large Lay’s Barn, also built by Betts, and used for sorting and packing of produce from the market gardens. Lay’s Barn is no more, the site on which it stood is now occupied by a handful of 1960s built houses. The Great Barn has been renovated as small office units as Diss Business Centre, run by South Norfolk District Council.Photo: Carol Gingell.
Scole Railway (Farm)
When William Betts purchased the Frenxe Hall estate in the 1860s, he expanded the farm at the hall. This range of barns looks to be contemporary with that expansion and are certainly marked on maps of the time. These were no doubt used in connection with the 400 acres of market gardens established here by Betts. In the background is the small church of St Andrew’s – no longer used regularly but still consecrated and under the care of the Churches Conservation Trust.Photo: Carol Gingell.
Scole Railway (Derelic Building)
Another legacy of William Betts ownership of the Frenze Hall Estate in the late 1800s. A sadly derelict barn on the farm. One map of the railway which Betts built to service his market gardens shows that a section of railtrack led directly into this building. The track certainly ran along the rear of the farm, over the river and on up to buffers near to the GER mainline above Diss. Photo: Carol Gingell.

As an aside, the Frenze Hall estate was a RAF Bomber Command ‘Splasher Six’ site during World War II; its transmissions guiding aircraft missions. Radio equipment was installed inside a collection of single-deck buses and huts in one of the fields. The transmissions frequently interfered with local BBC radio, resulting in complaints from the populace. During the war bombs did fall at Frenze but the Hall and St Andrew’s Church were undamaged. Finally, ‘Splashers’, operated by the RAF in the East Anglia area during this period were: Splasher 4 – Louth; Splasher 5 – Mundesley (near Cromer); Splasher 6 – Scole (S of Norwich); Splasher 7 – Braintree; Splasher 10 – Windlesham and Splasher 16 – Brampton Grange.

Scole Railway (Splasher Six)
A derelict building in the grounds of Frenze Hall which is believed to have been one of those built during WW2 when the hall was used as a Splasher Six Beacon site. Frenze Hall was one of a series of transmitting bases along the east coast which helped to guide returning aircraft back to base. The Thorpe Abbots airbase was just up the road. Photo: Carol Gingell.

Today, you would be hard pushed to trace the once busy Scole Railway – unless, of course, you were an archaeologist! Again, according to Christopher Weston, it was back in 2015, that work was scheduled to begin on the construction of a new care home in Diss; however, ahead of this an archaeological dig was permitted, with unbelievable results. As digging progressed, floors, ovens, brick kilns and even traces of railways sidings were found. Then, not too far from today’s Diss mainline station, hidden railway sidings were located. These did not, initially, seem unusual but opinion soon changed when further research revealed that this was only part of something much bigger and it was just the brick kilns, which were thought to have been used for the 19th century’s housing in Diss. The railway sidings discovered were eventually confirmed as being part of the 7-mile private railway network built by William Betts.

Scole Railway (Betts Grave)
The memorial stone over the grave of the Betts family at St Andrew’s Church at Frenze, Diss, in Norfolk. William Betts, born December 1810, died June 1885. Sadly, the memorial shows that William’s wife Julia Wildman Betts, and his two eldest sons, William and Edward, predeceased him. Census returns show that William and Julia also had six daughters and another son. Photo: Carol Gingell.

So, Dr Beeching of the 20th century could not be blamed for the closure of the Scole Railway; although he was certainly responsible for Norfolk losing numerous miles of its railway track and dozens of stations during the early 1960’s. Neither did he have his hand in the closure of numerous ’Light’ or ‘Narrow-Gauge” railways in Norfolk, built to commercially transport goods across estates, through private land, for RAF use and for other industrial purposes. Finding these could be a project for someone interested in discovering evidence of pioneering engineering some of which, like the Scole railway, have long been hidden in the Norfolk landscape.

THE END

Sources:
‘The Scole Railway’ by N.A. Brundell and K.J. Whittaker, published in The Railway Magazine April 1955; ‘Waveney Valley Studies’ by Eric Pursehouse, published by the Diss Publishing Company in 1969. Also, ‘Branches & Byways of East Anglia’ by John Brodribb.
Photos:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/28466597@N04/albums/72157637874175125/
https://www.flickriver.com/photos/28466597@N04/sets/72157637874175125/
www.blennerhassettfamilytree.com/Frenze-Hall,-Norfolk.php

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items which are considered deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where possible, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. Nevertheless, please rest assured that any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to sources, are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

A Tram Journey of Delight!

 The Norwich Museum Service has, somewhere in its store, a small section of a Norwich tram-line which was salvaged at a point when the city’s tram system was being torn up and replaced by buses. To see such relics may be tempting to write a history of the trams that once ran on such lines, but this approach has already been more than adequately covered by other authors. Maybe, and this again would surely not be a first, we could simply take a step back in time and imagine a journey in one of the old Norwich trams along one of the city’s seven routes.

Norwich Journey1
Two Tram lines from the old tram network in Norwich. Phto: Norwich Museum Service.

But first, a little background detail would help whilst we decide on which route to take:

Robert_cecil
Robert Gascoyne-Cecil
  • The year was 1900, the 3rd Marquess of Salisbury, Robert Gascoyne-Cecil was Prime Minister, Queen Victoria was just about still on the throne.
  • Norwich’s tram network opened on the 30th July 1900 and was operated by Norwich Electric Tramways Company. Its network was extensive, covering seven routes and stretching as far as Mousehold Heath to the North, Trowse to the South, Earlham Road Cemetery to the West, but then only as far as the Norwich Railway Station to the East.
  • After 35 years of operation, the tram network closed on the 10th December 1935 and was purchased by the Eastern Omnibus Company, who bought the network simply to clear the way for its new bus service.
Norwich Tramway (Map - Plunkett)
The Norwich Tramway network as drawn by George Plunkett of Norwich.

So, let us imagine that we alight at Norwich Railway Station, at Thorpe Road in the east of the city, and intend to journey to a relative, or two, who live almost at the far end of the Dereham Road, by Merton Road and not far from Waterworks Road.

TRD (Thorpe Station circa1890)
Norwich Railway Station, circa 1890. Photo: Public Domain.

The first road of any significance that we travel is along Prince of Wales Road, an impressive road that was built as a direct link between passengers alighting from the railway station and the city.

Bank Plain5
Prince of Wales Road circa 1900 with the cart heading towards the city centre. In the far distance, on the left by the trees will soon be built the Railway Mission, to the design of Edward Boardman. Photo: Archant Library.
Bank Plain6
The little Railway Mission Chapel with its Art Nouveau frontage, designed by Edward Boardman, and built between 1901 and 1903 specifically to connect the railway station with the heart of the city. Photo: Simon Knott/Norfolk Churches.

We pass more than a few impressive buildings, including the new the Royal Hotel, only three years old in 1900 and also designed by Edward Boardman. Opposite is Hardwick House, built of Bath Stone some 34 years earlier than the tramway system and is of a grand neo-classical stone structure which presides over Agricultural Hall Plain. It competes with the Royal Hotel for looks because it is considered one of the city’s most architecturally elaborate buildings – said to resemble a tiered wedding cake. Designed in 1865 by the London architect, Philip Charles Hardwick (in partnership with his father), it had opened in January 1866 as a new premise for the Harvey and Hudson Bank and continued to be known as the Norwich Crown Bank

Four photos showing, left to right, the Royal Hotel, Hardwich House,
Agriculural Hall and Barclays Bank. Photos: All by George Plunkett.

 

Agriculural Plain
The Royal Hotel (on the left) in 1905. It closed its doors as a hotel in the 1970’s. Hardwick House and the Agricultural Hall on the right. Photo: Public Domain.
Bank Plain2
A rare postcard of the Roller-Skating Rink inside Agricultural Hall, circa 1905. Admission  was 6d and another 6d for the use of the skates. Photo: Philip Standley Collection.

At this point we swing right into Bank Plain and on via Redwell Street to St Andrew Street, passing St Andrews Hall on the right, and Suckling House on the left, which in 1900 was separated into several private residences that were in a state of disrepair.

St Andrew’s Hall (left) and Suckling House (right).

As our tram travels towards and along Charing Cross we pass Strangers Hall, beautifully preserved building that dates back to 1320 and was once the home to wealthy merchants and mayors when Norwich was in its heyday, but now a museum of local history since the 1930s. Though this building is a product of the Tudor period and dates back to around 1320, it may have been built for a merchant named Ralph de Middleton. Around 1450. William Barley rebuilt it, turning the structure on its axis to run parallel to the street, as it is seen. In 1530 the Lord Mayor of Norwich, Nicholas Sotherton, added a front door with the lovely carved porch and steps. Apart from that, the essential layout has hardly changed since the 17th century.

The name ‘Strangers’ was not given to the Hall until the 19th century, when the house was a residence for Catholic priests. By 1896 the priests had left, and Strangers Hall became derelict. A local developer planned to pull it down and develop the site but, fortunately, a Leonard Bolingbroke, solicitor and member of the Norfolk Archaeological Society, stepped in and purchased it. He filled the building with his own collection of antiques, and opened it to the public as a folk museum in 1900 – the very year when we passed by in a tramcar! At a time when most public museum were filled with rather dry displays of fossils and stuffed animals; the Strangers Hall museum was unusual; it featured objects from everyday life. Bolingbroke presented the Hall to the City of Norwich in 1922.

Stranger's Hall
Strangers Hall, today. Photo: Norwich Museum Service.

Many building were demolished or altered to make way for the new tram system. Norwich’s narrow, winding medieval streets were simply unsuitable for a mass transit system like a tram network. This is aptly demonstrated by the next stretch of our tram journey which takes us from Charring Cross on to St Benedict’s Street. The image below shows the approach to St Benedict’s Street just before the construction of the tram network.

Norwich Journey4
The building in this image is the pub ‘The Three Pigeons’, demolished to make way for the tram network, this pub was re-built across the street and became the Hog In Armour – which in turn became the Mash Tun.

The junction on which ‘The Three Pigeons’ public house stood was also where the 15th century mansion, belonging to the Quaker John Gurney, stood. The story goes that from the 7 September 1687 when John married Elizabeth Swanton, the couple lived there, and where a steep cobbled street ran down to his quay between St Miles bridge and Duke’s Palace bridge on the River Wensum.

John Gurney’s mansion was large and solid, commanding an important position at Charing, or Shearing Cross as it was also called – marking the ‘Plain’ where the main sheep-shearing had taken place for centuries. Such open spaces and town squares are still known in Norwich as ‘plains’ – (other examples passed through on this tram ride were Bank Plain and Agricultural Plain). A sketch is said to exist of the ‘Sign of the Three Pigeons’ in which the Gurneys lived, showing the large 15th century mansion standing in the fork of St Benedict Steet and West Wick Street. In John’s day these were called Over and Nether Westwyke. It was there where John’s wife, Elizabeth:

‘planted fruit trees in her garden and, living in the heart of the weaving industry, bought wool and flax, and handled distaff and spindles, though she could never have dressed her household in scarlett, and herself in purple, for quiet shades and pale colours were favoured by the Friends’.

Norwich Journey5
This image shows the same view just a few years later. The difference is stark, the whole area has been opened to the elements; the old, dark, narrow, cramped streets gone and the area is one of open space, light – and of course, trams.

The image above shows our tram about to head down St Benedicts Street, we will pass the Vine Tavern on the left hand side. Were we to look towards our right we would see the site of Bullards, brewer of much of Norwich’s beer. Here, some of our fellow passengers would likely to have vacated the tram on their way to work at the brewery.

Bullards Brewery
Bullard’s Brewery, leading down from Charing Cross and the beginning of St Benedict’s Street. Photo: George Plunkett.

St Benedict’s Street now houses a mix of alternative shops, restaurants, venues and pubs. In 1900 it was rather more conventional, but still housed a vast array of business’s. Keep in mind that St Benedicts Street is just 500m long, but consider this – we will pass a total of 14 pubs, 6 butchers and 3 tobacconists.

Ten_Bells_July_2011
The Ten Bells public house on St Benedicts. It is thought that its name refers to the belief that at one time, a person could stand on this stretch of the street and clearly hear the bells of ten different churches. Photo: (unknown)

As we travel these short 500 meters we would notice Frank Kirby’s bicycle shop at number 5 St Benedict’s Street, Brett’s furniture shop at number 12, and at Number 19, Cooke’s, a musical instrument seller. At number 56 will be Hugh Manes umbrella repair shop, at 63 the chemist and druggist, Edward Making. Then at number 98, William Burtles coffee rooms – 14 pubs and only 1 coffee shop. How things have changed!

Reads Fruiters
Number 92, St Benedicts – H. Read English & Foreign Fruiterers. Photo: Norwich Museum Service.

As we neared the end of St Benedict’s Street we will see St Benedict’s Church, a thriving local Church, and also the remains of St Benedict’s Gate. Unfortunately, these were totally destroyed in World War Two, during the Baedeker raids of April 1942.

St Benedict's Gate 1934
St Benedict’s Gate site, south side view in 1934.
In the raid of April 1942, all the wall shown in the photograph was blown down, but the gatehouse abutment still stood, albeit considerably cracked and out of true, on the very edge of a large bomb crater. Because of its condition it was later entirely cleared away, and so the last remnant of the gates belonging to the city’s fortifications was destroyed as a result of enemy action. Photo: George Plunkett.

The Kelly’s Norfolk guide of 1900 lists the shops, pubs and other businesses which were operating on St Benedict’s Street during that time. This list would make interesting reading for those who research such things:

1 – Mapperley colliery company. 2 – Vine Taven (PH), 3 – Joseph Crossfield & Sons soap manufacturers, 4 – Alexandra (PH), 4 – Joshua Webster – Book retailer, 5 – Frank Kirby – Bicycle dealer, 6 – George Ashfield – Baker, 7 – Herbert Mutimer – Dairyman, 8 – Arthur Sulivan – Wholesale confectioner, 9 – Lewis & Emmanuel Ecker – Outfitter, 10 – Walter Cox – Provision dealer, 11 – Frederick Fitt – Corn merchant, 12 – John Brett – House furnisher (Jonathan Brett and sons), 13 – Albert Golding – House furnisher, 14 – George William & Sons – Curriers, Lord Howe yard and shoe warehouse, 15 – John Brett – House furnisher, 16 – Home & Colonial Store Ltd, 17 – Issac Leverton – Picture frame maker, 18 – John Yallop – Greengrocers, 19 – Arthur William Cooke – Musical instrument seller, 20 – Charles Hansell – Fish & Chip Shop St Lawrence Church, 21 – W Moore – Draper, 22 – Mary Ann Mitchell – Greengrocers, 23 – W Moore – Draper, 24 – Arthur Loker – Hairdresser, 25 – Arthur Gardinier – Tobacconist, 26 – George Cooper – Dining rooms, 27 – Robert Boast – Working jeweller, 28 – Christopher Martins – Butcher, 29 – Alice Sussams – Greengrocers, 30 – Stead & Simpson Limited – Boot and shoe warehouse, 31 – Joshua Calver – Baker, 32 – Frederick Newby – Butcher, 33 – Thomas Cooper – Pork butcher, 34 – Prince of Wales (PH), 35 – Susannah Borking – Shopkeeper, St Margaret’s Church, 36 – Saunders shoe manufacturers, 37 – W Moore – Draper, 38 – George Loynes – Greengrocers, 39 – James Tate – Confectioner, 40 – Charles Barnett – Draper and house furnisher, 41 – Charles Lindsey – Pork butcher, 43 – George Kidd – Tobacconist, 45 – Henry Coldham – Pork butchers, 46 – Three Kings (PH), 47 – Frederick Wiley, Greengrocers, 48 – Benjamin Olley – Tinplate worker, 49 – Daniel Drake – Mineral water manufacturer, 49 – Queen of Hungary (PH), 50 – Annie Holland – Fishmonger, 51 – Albert Farrow – Greengrocers, 52-54 – Walter Mace – Boot and shoe manufacturer, 53 – Maria Powell – Hairdresser St Swithins Church (Closed), 55 – Curl Bros – Drapers, 56 – Hugh Manes – Umbrella repair, 57 – William Smith – Ironmonger, 58 – Plough (PH), 59 – William Adams – Butchers, 60 – Alfred Ketteringham – Greengrocers, 61 – Danish Dairy Co, 62 – William Robert Rose – Newsagents, 63 – Edward Making – Chemist and druggist
64 – Margaret White – Fishmongers, 65 – Stag (PH), 66 – Eliza Bird – Fruiterer, 67 – Beehive (PH), 68 – W Hinds – Rope and twine manufacturers, 69 – Colman & co ltd – Wine merchants, 70 – Henry Sutherland – Newsagents, 71 – The Crown (PH), 72 – George Douglas – Grindery dealer, 73 – G Gamble – Pawnbroker and clothier, 74 – George Blower – Marine store dealer, 75 – Wallace King – Ironmonger, 76 – Thomas Gooch – Tobacconist
77 – Barclays Bank, 78 – Ten Bells (PH), 79 – Walter Nickalls – Fishmongers, 81 – James Cowling – Butcher, 80-82 – Scott & Cousins – Boot & Shoe Factory, 83 – William Bilby – Hairdressers, 84 – George Lawrence – Basket maker, 85 – Robert Baldwin – Newsagents, 86 – Cardinals Cap (PH), 87 – Valentine Luscombe Narracott – Baker, 88 – Leach & Tooley – Decorating supplies, 89 – Fountain (PH), 90 – Walter Browne – Lithographer, 91 – Harcourts (PH), 92 – H. Read English & Foreign Fruiterers, 94 – St Benedicts Church, 96 – Arthur Lemmon – Baker, 98 – William Burtle Coffee Rooms, 100 – Scott & Cousins – Boot & Shoe Factory, 102 – Thomas Dunmore – corn and flour merchant, 104 – James Fletcher – confectioner, 106 – White Lion (PH), 108 – John Palmer – Saddler, 110 – Charles Pimm – Greengrocers, and 114 – Edgar Banger – Photographer. Whew!

From this point, the tram will enter Dereham Road and the biggest difference we will see, between the period of our imagined journey and the present day, is the lack of cars. In 1900 fewer than 1% of the population has access to a motor car. Those not traveling by tram or by horse would likely be walking, the pavements were busier places in 1900!

Dereham Road (1908)
Derham Road in 1908. Photo: Public Domain.
Dereham Road
The view back towards the city as our tram approaches the end of our journey. Photo: Public Domain

Our journey reaches its end about half a mile along Dereham Road, just before Merton Road. With the journey over, you now have a short walk to the home of your relatives. Amaze them with the copy of a similar tram journey – to be made in Norwich, two year hence, in 1902. Just think – you can show them this film on your laptop, by just clicking on the following link as supplied by the:- East Anglian Film Archive !

THE END

Inspirational Sources:
https://shinealightproject.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/a-journey-from-the-royal-hotel-to-dereham-road/
https://www.britainexpress.com/counties/norfolk/norwich/strangers-hall.htm
http://www.norwich-pubs-breweries.co.uk/norwich_pubs_today/norwich_pubs_today.shtm#
https://www.tramwayinfo.com/Tramframe.htm?

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items which are considered deserving of wider exposure. In pursuing this aim, the Group endeavours, where possible, to obtain permission to use another owner’s material. However, for various reasons, (i.e. identification of, and means of communicating with owners), contact can sometimes be difficult or impossible to established. Nevertheless, please rest assured that any known and appropriate ‘credits’ and ‘links’ back to sources, are always given in our articles. No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

SS White Swan: Gorleston’s Wreck!

From the southern end of the old Yarmouth harbour it is an unhindered route past Gorleston and down to Lowestoft, and indeed beyond. If, instead, you prefer to remain near rougher water then turn inshore and walk along the line of the concrete pier, towards the breakwater and the confusion of shallow water that performs there, known locally as the cauldron. Here, the waves rebound from both the pier structure and breakwaters and, dependant on wind and current direction, waves can come from at least three directions almost simultaneously, often forming a quite spectacular ‘clapotis’ (the lapping of water – French). Of course, if you choose to head further southwards from the cauldron, you are more than likely to see surfers, swimmers, kite surfers and wooden groynes. Then, a little further beyond, and a little offshore, a red buoy bobs above the surface movement of the water. It is there for a reason; it is there to mark the wreck of the once proud north country collier, the SS White Swan, which sank at that spot in 1916.

White Swan2
The Cauldron, between the old Yarmouth harbour and  Gorleston beach. Photo: EDP.

It was on the 30 September 2018 when Peggotty, of the Eastern Daily Press, set his own imagination to work as he passed this spot at an approaching low tide:

“At the south end of our sands, midway between the water’s edge and the warning buoy marking the remains of the wrecked collier White Swan from 1916, two heads appeared to be bobbing in the gentle sea, apparently without anybody on the shore nearby keeping an eye on them. As we drew closer, my concern increased because the number of swimmers now had risen to four, then six. Safety in numbers is reassuring, but I made sure my mobile phone was switched on, just in case…… Happily, my apprehension was groundless. There were no swimmers! The “black heads” on which I had kept a watchful [eye] were, in fact, the tops of some skeletal remains of the White Swan, the numbers increasing because the ebbing tide was revealing them.”

White Swan4
A remaining small section of the former SS White Swan. Photo: Unknown at present.

The SS White Swan was once a collier, owned by J. A. Dixon and T. N. Sample of Newcastle and built in April 1903 by the Blyth SB Company Ltd. She was a single screw ship, measuring 287.3 ft long with a 43.2 ft beam and weighing 2,173 gross tons. During the early part of November 1916, the White Swan, the only ship owned by the company at that time, was loaded with coal at West Hartlepool before leaving en-route to Greenwich, London. It was during this voyage, on the 17th November 1916 to be precise, that a violent storm erupted off the east coast of Norfolk and the ship’s Master, in his wisdom, decided to ride out the storm by sheltering off Scroby Sands. However, the ferocity of wind and waves had other ideas, causing the ship to drag her anchor and be driven relentlessly on to Gorleston beach – despite the frantic efforts of the crew to secure her.

White Swan3
The SS White Swan beached on Gorleston sands.

The collier’s eventual grave was to be on the low water mark of the beach, side on to the waves where her back was broken. The combination of the furious weather and the position of the ship, so close inshore, meant that it was impossible for the Gorleston lifeboat to come to the rescue of either ship or crew and it was left to the local lifesaving ‘rocket brigade’, together with their Breeches Buoy, to attempt to save the 22 seamen. For some thirteen hours the atrocious conditions frustrated their attempts to deliver the vital ropes across to the White Swan. Eventually, after several attempts, a total of four ropes did find their target and the ship’s crew were able to secure them. From that point, the ‘hand over hand’ rescue of all the seamen on to the beach took place and, whilst there were no casualties at Gorleston, the loss of the SS White Swan, the only vessel operated by the Swan Line, caused the company into liquidation. According to a newspaper of the time, there was:

“a great gale which raged with a violence, the equal of which could scarcely be recalled by some of the oldest helpers in the work of rescue from wrecks at sea along the coast.”

What remains of the former SS White Swan is still part of the Gorleston beach scene, exactly as witnessed by Peggotty; and after over a century of withstanding many subsequent storms and flood surges. For the presence, this answers any question as to the fate of the SS White Swan following the storm of 17th November 1916. It is still in the sand on which it was driven, worst for wear and broken down into much smaller pieces, some timbers still showing above low water. At one time, fishermen would tell unsuspecting anglers that the wreck’s position was a rich spot to cast a long line without getting it snagged by the skeleton.

White Swan6 (Tony Ramsay)
Some timbers. Photo: Tony Ramsay)

From other unsuspecting visitors, alarmed to see someone in apparent distress offshore, would come the occasional alert. This would trigger the usual efficient response from the emergency services who would rush to the scene – whether they suspected a false alarm or not. In 2016 for instance, the wreck’s centenary year, the local coastguard was alerted to an unknown object in the water thereabouts. In response, a seven-man team was sent to check out the report and found it was just part of the wreck; on that occasion, they logged the incident as “a false alarm with good intent.” Later, a spokesman said that whilst false alarms were quite common, “calls which turned out to relate to a 100-year-old shipwreck are rare occurrences.”

White Swan1
The buoy at high tide. Photo: EDP.

THE END

Sources:
https://www.edp24.co.uk/features/white-swan-sank-in-north-sea-at-gorleston-1-5709159
https://wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?70222
https://www.wrecksite.eu/ownerBuilderView.aspx?302
https://swscroby.wordpress.com/2016/11/16/the-white-swan/
Banner Heading Photo: By Campbell A. Mellon Wreck of the “White Swan”

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

The Delights of Domestic Lighting!

The history of domestic lighting has been governed by economics, but also by snobbery and tradition, and occasionally by a dangerous desire for novelty. So wrote Lucy Worsley.

If, for one moment, you think the subject of domestic lighting is dull then just think about life without artificial light; and remember, somewhere in all that was a basic need, which has remained ever since artificial light was first discovered – snobbery and novelty came later. Before then, changes and improvements to the differing forms of lighting were necessary, but this was a gradual process, evolving over many centuries. It was not until the late 19th century when one of the biggest changes in domestic life emerged – the development of, and from, electricity; a ‘miracle’ that happened from the moment its power was switched on.

Early Light (Hogarth)
Photo: Night in the early 18th century, as painted by William Hogarth. Photograph: Bridgeman Art Library.

Rushlights/Rush-Candles:
For starters – take rushlights. For centuries past, they were the poor person’s light-source of choice. They were made by soaking the dried pith of the rush plant in fat or grease, building up the layers so as to create a rather scrawny candle. For several centuries rushlights were a common source of artificial light for poor people throughout the British Isles. They were extremely inexpensive to make, as pointed out by English essayist William Cobbett who once wrote:

“This rushlight cost almost nothing to produce and was believed to give a better light than some poorly dipped candles.”

These long, gently-curving lights were balanced in special holders, and to double the illumination, both top and bottom would be ignited – ‘burning the candle at both ends’ as we still say! One of the earliest printed descriptions of rushlights was written by English antiquary John Aubrey in 1673; then in 1789, Rev. Gilbert White gave a detailed description of rushlight making in ‘The Natural History and Antiquities of Selbourne’.

*The boat-shaped vessel (above), used to hold the fat etc. for coating rushlights, was sometimes called a ‘grissit’.

It was, in fact, well into the third or fourth decade of the 19th century that many labouring families could afford nothing better than rushlights; made at home and, apart from fire-light, had been the one means of lighting for all the preceding generations. In the summer, the common rushes were collected by women and children and peeled to leave all but a narrow strip, which was left to strengthen the pith; these were hung up in bunches to dry. Fat of any kind was collected, though fat from salted meat was avoided if at all possible. It was melted in boat-shaped grease-pans that stood on their three short legs in the hot ashes in front of the fire. They were of cast-iron made for the purpose. The bunches, each of about a dozen peeled rushes, were drawn through the grease and then put aside to dry:

“You peels away the rind from the peth, leaving only a little strip of rind. And when the rushes is dry you dips ’em through the grease, keeping ’em well under. And my mother, she always laid hers to dry in a bit of hollow bark. Mutton fat’s the best; it dries hardest.”

*These two delightful images of making rush candles at home, showing the rushes being peeled and soaked in salt-free melted lard. Photos: By Geoff Charles 1909-2002. Copyright: National Library of Wales.

Rushlight holders were mostly of the same pattern, particularly as to the way the jaws held the rush; the chief variation being in the case of the later spring holders – in these, the jaws were horizontal; although, the usual and older patterns had the jaws upright, their only difference being in the shape and treatment of the free end of the movable jaw and the shape of the wooden block. The counter-balance weight was formed either into a ‘knob’ or a ‘curl’. Occasionally, it had the shape of a candle-socket and later, when tallow dipped candles came into use, the counterbalance was made into an actual candle-socket. There were several kinds of tall rushlight holders to stand on the floor, both of wood and iron. The iron ones nearly always had a candle socket in addition, indicating a later date, and the same kind of spring arrangement to ‘allow of the light being adjusted to the right height. Unless all of iron they nearly always had the cross-shaped block for a foot.

Early Light (Rushlight)5
These holders were sometimes called ‘a sconce’. It was three and a half, or four foot high and stood on the floor. When the rushlight was burning, it had to be ‘snuffed’ now and again with an iron scissors to make it burn brighter. Photo: Public Domain.
Early Light (Rushlight)4
Table Holders

Apart from the effort of actually making rushlights, which was a greasy job, many would say that the work of servicing the lighting, thereafter, was not suited to the fingers of the mother at her needlework. ‘Mend the light,’ or ‘mend the rush‘ was the signal for one of the children to put up a new length. A rushlight, fifteen inches long, would burn for about half-an-hour. Then, two crossed pins would extinguish a rushlight and often, when cottagers were going to bed, they would lay a lighted rushlight on the edge of an oak chest or chest of drawers, leaving an inch over the edge. It would burn up to the oak and then go out. The edges of old furniture were often found to be burnt into shallow grooves from this practice.

Rush-candles, on the other hand, should not be confused with rushlight. A rush-candle is an ordinary candle (a block or cylinder of tallow or wax) that uses a piece of rush as a wick. Rushlights, by contrast, are simply wicks which were not separate from the fuel. As for the expression ‘the game’s not worth the candle’; this implies that lighting a candle felt like burning money itself. Then there was the twenty minutes, a familiar unit of time, for which one rushlight lasted; this often needed to be exploited, like the housewife who might have invited village neighbours over to share a rushlight for an interval of gossip, or hurried knitting.

Candles:
Although candles are one of the oldest light sources, they have not changed fundamentally throughout history. Every candle is basically a mass of wax or some other fuel through which is embedded a wick which, when lit, produces light – Simple! They are still used for illumination, although sometimes in the past were used as a means of getting a degree of heating. Early nomadic tribes were first to make candles in Europe and these were made from tallow or animal fat because olive oil became almost non-existent when the Roman Empire fell. Thus, candles made from tallow were to spread across Europe and into Britain.

Early Light (Candle)
Beeswax Candle.
Early Light (George II_Candlesticks)1
George II Candlesticks.

It was like this until the 18th century when whaling began. It was found that spermaceti, crystallized oil of sperm whale, could replace tallow. It produced brighter light and was available in great quantities and did not produce a bad smell – unlike tallow. After that, some other materials were found that did not involve the hunting of whales – like colza oil which was derived from turnip and oil made from rapeseed that also gave smokeless light. In the 1850s, James Young refined paraffin wax by distilling coal. Paraffin wax is white wax that burns clearly, did not have bad odour and was cheap so it could be produced in great quantities. Because of that, it became common commodity in households.

Early Light (Night Watchman)
The Midnight Hour. Night street scene in which a man steals the candle from the lantern of the sleeping night watchman in his sentry box. Two lovers embrace from a window, which the man reaches with a ladder. And two men break into a silversmith’s shop. Photo: Museum of London.

However, it was only the rich who could afford the profusion of beeswax candles. In large households, a daily ration of candles was often included in employment conditions, and the fate of candle-ends was hotly disputed: they were the preserve of senior servants, who would sell them to supplement their wages. Yet there was another, cheaper alternative.  The tallow candle was made from animal fat, ideally sheep or cow, because ‘that of hogs …… gives an ill smell, and a thick black smoke’.  The art of creating the longest-lasting blend was very valuable, and in 1390 tallow chandlery was listed among the foremost crafts of London.  Tallow candles had a horrible brown colour and made a dreadful meaty stink.  Despite this, desperate people would eat them in times of famine for the calories they contained.

Early Light (Tallow_Chandlers'_Hall)
Tallow Chandlers’ Hall, Dowgate Hill, London.

Apart from the unpleasant smell, the great drawback to tallow candles was the need to snuff.  Their wicks had to be trimmed every few minutes or they smoked.  And, in an age of candles, fire-light and timber-framed houses, accidents were common.  Once in seventeenth-century London a servant named Obadiah illicitly took a candle up to his bedchamber.  There it fell over and burnt ‘half a yard of the sheet’.  But the quick-thinking Obadiah woke a fellow servant, and together they ‘pissed out the fire as well as they could’.

Chateau de Versailles - Galerie des Glaces
The Hall of Mirrors at Versaille. Photo: Wikipedia.

The Interiors of the rich, lit by candle-light, were designed to magnify the limited light available.  The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles was the first room in history to be illuminated to something approaching the light-levels we’d find safe and pleasant today.  Its ubiquitous glass reflected candle-light so effectively that the French court began for the first time to hold regular evening parties. In prosperous Georgian drawing rooms, there was likewise silver or sparkle everywhere.  The gold rims of plates, the silver of keyholes, even the metallic embroidery on waistcoats: all were intended to aid the eye and maximise candlelight.  In fact, a lady’s silver dress had the effect of making its wearer gleam.

Oil Lamps:
Early Light (Oil Lamp)2The light, bright colours of candle-lit Georgian interiors would be replaced by rich, dark hues in the Victorian age. These Deeper tones helped hide the soot produced by oil lamps, which began to replace candles in the later eighteenth century.  ‘I have seen houses almost filled with the smoke from lamps, and the stench of the oil’, one footman recollected.  In grand houses, lamps required a new room for the cleaning of their glass shades.  The Duke of Rutland at Belvoir Castle had a trifling 400 for his hard-working servants to polish.

Early Light (Oil Lamp)3
An Argand oil lamp illustrated in the 1822 portrait of James Peale by his brother Charles Wilson Peale. In this design the reservoir for the thick colza oil supplies one light only and is urn-shaped. The shade is probably silk (Detroit Institute of Arts, USA/Bridgeman Art Library

Gas:
Yet the oil lamp would soon be superseded by gas, and if we are looking for someone to blame for the substance, it may as well be William Murdoch. We know that the flammability of coal gas had long been established and in 1735, Dr John Clayton of Wigan had entertained the members of the Royal Society in London by telling them of how he had burned a few pieces coal, released its “spirit”, and captured it in animal bladders; then, to the great amusement of his friends, set it alight. However, it was Murdoch who, in Britain at least, pioneered the practical use of this party trick for the purposes of lighting. As an early steam buff, he worked out how to produce and store coal gas so that, by 1792, he was able to light his house in Redruth, Cornwall. Darkness – our primordial dread – had lost its dominion with the emergence of gas lighting.

Gas made its debut in London when an entrepreneur, named Frederick Windsor, organised a public demonstration of the new lighting for George III’s birthday in 1807.  People both marvelled at and feared the properties of this ‘illuminated air’.  Windsor reassured potential clients that gas is even ‘more congenial to our lungs than vital air’. By the 1840s, gas began to make a tentative appearance in the urban home.  Gradually it became a middle-class must-have.  A contributor to the Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine even recommended that parties ‘must always be given by gas light ….… if it be daylight outside, you must close the shutters and draw the curtains, the better to show off your ‘gasoliers’. But that was not all, gas must have provided a quite stunning improvement to people’s ability to read, write or sew in the evenings with minimal effort.

Early Light (victorian)
Victorian Drawing Room. Photo: Public Domain.

Nevertheless, gas had many drawbacks, despite its greater illumination qualities. There were frequent explosions, and it replaced the oxygen in the air with black and noxious deposits.  The aspidistra, became a hugely popular plant in the home because it survived well in oxygen-starved conditions.  Victorian ladies frequently fainted partly because of tight-lacing, but also because of a lack of oxygen in their gas-lit drawing rooms.

As an aside: – Many middle-class houses traditionally had a pendant light by the bay window of a bedroom. It was not there to principally illuminate a dressing table, but to prevent a person’s shadow from being cast on to the closed curtains when undressing, and thus being seen from the street. Instead, the shadow would be cast only on to the interior walls and away from ‘prying eyes’. away from the outside. This innovation was not confined to the gas era, but carried on with the emergence of electricity and well into the 20th century.

Electricity:

Early Light (Electrity)1
Victorian Electric Lamp

The arrival of electricity in the 1880s caused quite a stir with those who could afford the installation, for it was immensely expensive – and therefore terribly chic!  A light bulb would cost the same as the average week’s wages, and you needed your own home generator.  Several Fifth Avenue millionaires installed generators in their houses in New York of the 1880’s, and Mrs Cornelius Vanderbilt even went to a costume ball as an Electric Light.  But these early enthusiasts always ran the risk of accidents; like the very same Mrs Vanderbilt who, after her electrical system caught fire, not only panicked, but had it taken out.

Cost was not the only reason that the widespread adoption of electricity was delayed for many years; another significant factor was that there was no such thing as a standard generators – different brands had different outputs. This meant that many towns had differing currents, and manufacturers were reluctant to develop light fittings because there was no uniform national market for their products. It was not until the National Grid was created in the 1930s that electricity achieved ubiquity. Of course, this bright white light, which saw off the night and was enormously convenient, ensured that we lost something significant: the art of entertaining ourselves in low light levels, conversation, singing and storytelling. All these, and probably much more, were all the casualties of this modern technology.

THE END

Sources:
www.lucyworsley.com/a-quick-history-of-domestic-lighting/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rushlight
www.victorianweb.org/technology/domestic/1.html
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/oct/31/life-before-artificial-light
Jekyll, Gertrude ‘Old West Surrey: Some Notes and Memories’. London: Longmans, Green, & Co, 1904.
Banner Heading Photo: https://www.oldhouseonline.com/interiors-and-decor/guide-to-victorian-lighting

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

Kings Lynn, Cordite and Conkers!

In another post, we talked about ‘Hunstanton’s Great Secret’ which was pivotal in changing our fortunes in the Great War. Yet other towns also played a vital role in the conflict and no story is more fascinating than that of Kings Lynn: although experts still debate the exact impact of the facts given below on the outcome of the war, it is a remarkable story in several ways, not least as an example of ‘thinking outside the box’ when faced with a problem that at first appeared to defy resolution. It is all about cordite, conkers and the future inaugural President of Israel.

What is cordite?:

Cordite had been used by the British Army as a propellant for shells and bullets since 1889 – previously, black gunpowder had been used. A vital ingredient of this was acetone, along with nitro-glycerine and gun cotton. Pre-war production involved huge quantities of birch, beech and maple which, through a process of dry distillation known as pyrolysis, produced the cordite. As demands increased manifold at the beginning of the war, Britain was forced to seek imports from America, a state of affairs clearly unsustainable given the success of the U-boat campaign. By 1915 there occurred a ‘shell crisis’ when British guns were limited to firing only a few times each day.

Kings Lynn (Custom House)1
Kings Lynn. Photo: Courtesy of Stephen Browning.

Enter Lloyd George, Chaim Weizmann, the Queen and lots of boy scouts:

It was at this time that the Ministry of Munitions was set up under future Prime Minister, David Lloyd George, who asked renowned Manchester University chemist Chaim Weizmann to look for alternative ways to produce acetone. He set to work and came up with a new anaerobic fermentation process that used a bacterium, which came to be called ‘Weizmann Organism’, to produce large amounts of acetone from various foodstuffs including grain, maize and rice. Two new factories were built to build upon this success, one at Holton Heath in Dorset and the other at Kings Lynn. They were very successful, producing between them enough gallons of acetone – about 90,000 a year – for the British armed forces.

Kings Lynn1
Photo: Courtesy of Stephen Browning.

Problems occurred in 1917 as grain and potatoes became scarce because of German U-boat operations. Weizmann was asked to perform yet another miracle and he began experimenting with the common conker. As this looked very promising, the government launched a nationwide scheme to encourage youngsters and adults alike to gather as many tons as possible. Kept keen by the payments of 7s 6d (37.5p) for every hundred weight, 3000 tons were collected for the Kings Lynn factory. It is part of folklore that even the Queen joined in at her Sandringham gardens. Much was sadly left to rot as school children proved too adept at this task.

Kings Lynn2
Photo : Courtesy of Stephen Browning.

Production began in April 1918 but there were many teething problems and not as much acetone was produced as hoped for. Production ended after about three months but by then the war was clearly being won.

First President of Israel:

Chaim Weizmann’s contribution to the world continued after the war: he became the first President of the state of Israel which was established in 1948. He died in 1952.

Kings Lynn3
Chaim Weizmann. Photo: Encyclopedia Britannica

THE END

Sources:
Text by kind permission of Stephen Browning via:

Kings Lynn, cordite and conkers


Photos: By Daniel Tink, except where otherwise acknowledged.

NOTICE: ‘Norfolk Tales, Myths & More!’ is a ‘non-commercial’ and ‘non-profit making Site which publishes items of ‘general interest’ only. It endeavours, where required, to obtain permission to use other copyright owner’s material; however, for various reasons, identification of, and means of communicating with, owners can sometimes be difficult or impossible to establish. Nevertheless, please rest assured that the appropriate ‘credits’ are always given in our articles, and no violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intentional.

The 1914 Raid on Great Yarmouth.

At 16:30 hours on the 2nd November 1914, a German battlecruiser squadron, consisting of the battlecruisers SMS Seydlitz, Von der Tann and Moltke, along with the slightly smaller armoured cruiser SMS Blücher and four light cruisers SMS Strassburg, Graudenz, Kolberg and Stralsund, slipped moorings at its base on the Jade River and left Willhemshaven behind as it entered the North Sea.

Yarmouth Raid (SMS Kolberg)
The former SMS Kolberg in French service as Colmar during her deployment to China in 1924. Photo: Wikipedia.
Yarmouth Raid (SMS Stralsund)
The former SMS Stralsund in French service as Mulhouse. Photo: Wikipedia.

In command was Admiral Franz von Hipper who’s orders were to lay mines off the coast of Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft; and also to shell Yarmouth. Two other squadrons of German battleships were to follow slightly later and lie in wait for any British ships that might be lured into giving chase. These two squadrons of the German High Seas Fleet would be waiting in relatively safe waters near Germany; from there they hoped to pick off any small or isolated British ships.

Yarmouth Raid (Hipper)
Admiral Franz Ritter von Hipper. Photo: Wikipedia

There was, however,one overriding consideration behind the orders given to Admiral Hipper. In October 1914, The Kaiser had given orders that no major fleet action was to take place; therefore the Imperial German Navy had to seek other ways to attack the British fleet, knowing that the Royal Navy had more ships than Germany, so it was clearly inadvisable to enter into a fleet-to-fleet engagement. Germany also knew very well that the British Navy’s strategy was always to keep the greater part of its Grand Fleet together, so it would always have superiority whenever it engaged an enemy. These were the reasons why the Germans looked to attack British ships individually or in small groups. They attempted to achieve this by a policy of raiding British coastal towns. After a disastrous first attempt to rig the Thames with mines backfired, East Anglian seaside resorts were chosen as their prime targets. The Germans hoped to encourage the British to alter the disposition of its ships in order to protect these coastal towns. This would give Germany increased chances of catching any isolated ships; its preferred choice of engaging with the British.

Yarmouth Raid(Jade Bight)
Map of Germany’s Grand Fleet base, showing the mouth of the Jade River at Varel, the Jade basin and Wilhelmshaven. Photo: Wikipedia.

By midnight of the 3rd November, Hipper’s assault squadron was sufficiently north to be passing fishing trawlers of various nationalities, then by 06:30 hours on the 3rd November, it sighted a marker buoy at ‘Smith’s Knoll Watch’; this allowed ship’s captains to determine exact positions before closing in on Great Yarmouth. No one in the squadron knew what sort of opposition it was likely to meet; and may not have known that the Yarmouth coast was being patrolled by just the minesweeper HMS Halcyon and the old destroyers HMS Lively and Leopard. In reality, these three ships posed little threat to the German squadron, but they did go some way to disrupt German plans while remaining relatively unscathed in the forthcoming skirmish.

Yarmouth Raid (HMS_Halcyon)
HMS Halcyon, a ‘Dryad-class torpedo gunboat’ – once described as “perhaps the smallest and least formidable vessel that ever crept into the ‘Navy List'”. She was launched in 1894 and was put up for sale before World War I. She was recommissioned in 1913 and was converted to a minesweeper. Photo: Wikipedia.

It was about 07:00 hours when Halcyon spotted several large warships emerging from the early morning mist. She manoeuvred to challenge whilst, at the same time, radioing a warning of the presence of the German ships, which had began to open fire on Halcyon. HMS Lively, which had been some 1.7 nautical miles behind, quickly closed up and started to make smoke to protect Halcyon. The Germans continued to fire several salvos of shellfire at both HMS Halcyon and Lively, first from their small guns before bringing in their larger guns. However, because of the smoke-screen, plus the effect of the German guns firing-off almost simultaneously, their firing was less accurate than it might have been because it was difficult for each ship to see the ‘fall of shot’ and correct their aim. It was approximately 07:40 hours, when Hipper ceased firing at both ships, and chose to direct, what some believed was, a salvo of a few ‘half-hearted’ shells at the town of Great Yarmouth; it would appear that the German commander still wanted to be seen carrying out his orders in full. However, it was a gesture that proved completely ineffectual since the squadron’s aim remained poor and all its shells fell harmlessly on the town’s beach. At least, the assault maybe allowed for German mine laying to be completed?

Yarmouth Raid (Smoke Screen)
Laying down a smoke-screen. Photo: Public Domain.

Whilst all this was going on, a response to Halcyon’s radio warning was being carried out. The destroyer HMS Success moved to join both Halcyon and Lively, while three more destroyers, in harbour, began raising steam. The submarines HMS E10, D5 and D3 were also in harbour, but moved out immediately to join the chase. Unfortunately for the D5 submarine it met her fate 2 miles south of South Cross Buoy which lay off Great Yarmouth. She was sunk by a German mine, laid by SMS Stralsund moments earlier. Only five members of the D5 crew survived and these included her commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Godfrey Herbert.

Yarmouth Raid (Submarine HMS_D5)
HMS D5 – one of eight D-class submarines built for the Royal Navy during the first decade of the 20th century. Photo: Wikipedia.
Yarmouth Raid (HMS_Arab_Lively)
A British B-Class Topedo Destroyer, similar to HMS Success. Photo: Wikipedia.

Despite the initial shock of seeing enemy ships so close to the British coast, Great Yarmouth residents, the local newspaper and politicians, both locally and nationally, were unimpressed by the half-hearted attack. An eyewitness account recalled by the Eastern Daily Press remarked: “If it was a bombardment of the town it was a very poor half-hearted effort,” which served only “to cause breakfasts to be left almost untouched”. Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, later described the German raid as a “silly demonstration”. He was also to add that: “The last thing it seemed possible to believe was that first-class units of the German fleet would have been sent across the North Sea to disturb the fisher-folk of Yarmouth.”  Arthur Hungerford Pollen also wrote of the ineffectual attack by saying:

“Private letters speak of salvoes falling short and over in the most disconcerting manner, and of the ship being so drenched with water as to be in danger of foundering. One man was lost through a fragment of a shell”.

By 08:30, HMS Halcyon had returned to harbour in order to provide a report of what had happened. This had the effect that at 09:55 hours, Admiral Beatty was ordered south with a battlecruiser squadron and squadrons of the Grand Fleet following from Ireland. However, Admiral Hipper was already 43 nautical miles away, heading home. At almost the same time the two other German squadrons that had been ordered to lie in wait, spent the night in Schillig Roads where the ships encountered heavy fog the following morning and had to await better visibility. It was also in the early hours of 4 November when the commander of the SMS Yorck, – which was travelling from Jade Bay to Wilhelmshaven – misjudged these weather conditions, with the result that his ship veered off-course to enter a German minefield where it struck two mines and sank in shallow water. A number of the crew survived by sitting on the wreck of the ship, but at least 235 men were killed. After the end of hostilities in 1918, the wreck would be slowly and progressively dismantled, (that is, between the 1920s and 1980s), so as to reduce the navigational hazard it posed.

Yarmouth Raid (Yorke)
SMS YORCK (German Armoured Cruiser, 1905-1914) passing under the Levensau Bridge along the Kiel Canal. Print dated about 1910, although the photograph may well date much earlier. Original Photo: by A. Renard of Kiel, Germany. Wikipedia.

In the aftermath of the attack on Great Yarmouth, Admiral Hipper was awarded an Iron Cross but refused to wear it, feeling little had been accomplished. However, although the result was far from spectacular, other German commanders were heartened by the ease with which Hipper had arrived and departed and were encouraged to try again on 16 December 1914 when a German Fleet, which included Hipper, targeted the towns of Scarborough, Hartlepool, and Whitby – but that is another story! Back at Great Yarmouth however, there was also the lack of reaction from the British, but this had been due partly to news, that same morning, of a much more serious loss at the Battle of Coronel in Chile; plus the fact that Admiral John Jellicoe, commander of the Grand Fleet, was on a train returning to his ships at the time of the raid. Then, according to Winston Churchill:

“the British could not believe there was nothing more to the raid than briefly shelling [Great] Yarmouth – and were waiting for something else to happen!

Yarmouth Raid (marine parade 1910)
Great Yarmouth Marine Parade 1910. Photo: Public Domain by credit to Broadland Memories.

Great Yarmouth would suffer more seriously at the hands of the Germans later in the war – the town is believed to have been the first to suffer a casualty from an aerial bombardment, during a zeppelin attack on 19 January 1915.

Yarmouth Raid (Zepplin Attack_EDP)
General post card of Zeppelin raid. Photo Credit: EDP

THE END

Sources:
https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/100-years-on-from-germanys-first-attack-on-british-soil-the-day-the-great-war-disturbed-the-fisher-9835231.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raid_on_Yarmouth
https://www.edp24.co.uk/features/great-yarmouth-s-lucky-escape-and-the-failed-bombardment-1-3830399
Banner Photo: Great Yarmouth Central Beach 1904. Public Domain

NOTICE: Wherever possible, this ‘non-commercial’ Site endeavours to obtain permission to use other copyright owners material. However, please note: No violation of any copyright or trademark material is ever intended.