by Joan Lock
Contents
Title Page
Prologue: ‘Where are you coming to!’
Chapter One: Today’s the Day!
Chapter Two: Collision
Chapter Three: Indescribably Hushed
Chapter Four: Yes, But How Many?
Plates
Chapter Five: The Vultures are Gathering
Chapter Six: Serious Accusations
Chapter Seven: Shameful Sunday
Chapter Eight: Burial Monday
Chapter Nine: Laid to Rest
Chapter Ten: Meanwhile
Chapter Eleven: What Are They Hiding?
Chapter Twelve: So, Who Was to Blame?
Chapter Thirteen: Other Views
Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath
Chapter Fifteen: A Deep and Lasting Sorrow
Chapter Sixteen: Acute Memory Loss
Chapter Seventeen: In Context
Chapter Eighteen: Unfit for Service?
Chapter Nineteen: Hisses in Court
Chapter Twenty: Life Goes On
Chapter Twenty-One: The Perils of Kissing
Chapter Twenty-Two: What Rule?
Chapter Twenty-Three: In Memoriam
Chapter Twenty-Four: Déjà Vu
The Casualties
Sources and Bibliography
Index
By the Same Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
‘Where are you coming to!’
The light is beginning to fade as the Princess Alice pleasure steamer sails up Erith Reach on her return to London. To warn approaching vessels of their presence, a lad puts a taper to the wicks of the red and green port and starboard warning lights, then hoists a white light on the masthead.
The band is thumping out a rousing, patriotic song, ‘We don’t want to fight, but by jingo if we do!’, which is intended to issue due warning to the Russians who may be thinking of invading Afghanistan. Despite being tired after a long day pursuing pleasure, the passengers sing lustily, in competition with several middle-aged and elderly ladies giving their all to ‘Onward Christian Soldiers!’
The children, boisterous earlier on, have begun to tire, worn out by a day on the river and amongst the attractions of the Rosherville Pleasure Gardens and the resorts of Gravesend and Sheerness. Some are asleep in their mothers’ arms, despite the couple having a noisy row over by the paddle box. Some mothers’ heads have also started to nod.
The Princess Alice follows the long, north-westward curve of the Thames as it approaches Tripcock Point. Ahead, to the right, are the surging flares of the monumental Beckton Gasworks, the largest in Europe. To the left, over the misty marshes, passengers can glimpse the distant lights of their next stop, Woolwich. A large, Cardiff-bound collier passes them going downstream, followed by a tug travelling so fast that the barge it is pulling lifts out of the water.
The band is now playing a jolly polka, ‘Good Rhine Wine’, and some of the young ladies try to dance to the lively tune. But the deck is too crowded for them to make much of a showing. When the tune finishes the musicians stand up, collect their instruments, and go below for a break.
The Princess Alice rounds Tripcock Point and enters Gallions Reach where, to the left, is moored The Talbot, a large, red-painted, gun-powder barge. Beyond her, a row of colliers wait to unload at Beckton Gasworks. After the jolly music ceases, all that can be heard is the swish of the paddles and the pounding of the engines. The evening is growing a little chillier.
Robert Haines, the double bass player, has been obliged to wait at the top of the stairs until there is room for him and his bulky instrument to descend. He doesn’t mind. He is interested in boats and the river life. But he does begin to wonder why that huge collier seems to be heading straight towards them? He shrugs. It will veer away in a minute, they must know what they are doing. He turns to go below.
Suddenly, there is a commotion up front. Warning whistles screech.
‘Ease her!’ a man’s voice shouts urgently. ‘Stop her!’ Then, frantically, ‘Where are you coming to! GOOD GOD! Where are you coming to!’
CHAPTER ONE
Today’s the Day!
Miss Susannah Law was a wealthy, middle-aged lady, and a generous one who had promised the poor women in her Clerkenwell Mission Bible Class a day out down the River Thames on the Princess Alice pleasure steamer.
Although August 1878 had been unusually wet, September dawned brightly, encouraging Miss Law to set the outing date for Thursday the 5th. But when she saw what a beautiful day Tuesday the 3rd was promising to be she changed her mind and sent messengers around to announce, ‘Today’s the day!’ Thirty women and several children turned up.
The cheerful early morning sun also inspired Mr Edward Leaver of Lambeth. He decided that this was just the day ‘for a blow on the river down to Sheerness’ for him and his four children.
Inspector King, of the Thames Police, was persuaded to complete his week’s holiday in a similar manner and took along his wife and two children, his mother, his father (a naval pensioner with a wooden leg), and his brother.
It was no sudden decision for Miss Maria Scholz, German governess at the Queen’s College Institution for Young Ladies in north London. As a reward for their good work she had long ago set the date for taking eight of her pupils, ages eight to thirteen years, down the river on the Princess Alice. The parents of three of the girls were half a world away. Thirteen-year-old Rosa Hennessy’s father was a surgeon in India, while the parents of 14-year-old Fanny White and her 13-year-old sister Eva, were in Shanghai.
Many passengers boarded the popular paddle steamer at 10.30 a.m. at Swan Pier by London Bridge, others a little later at North Woolwich, which sat opposite the historic town of Woolwich1. At that time North Woolwich, on the marshy north bank of the Thames, had only a sprinkling of houses and a pub, the last of London’s pleasure gardens and the terminus of the north London railway line.
Many who boarded the Princess Alice here had already braved the train journey from Islington, Clerkenwell, Dalston and the East End, despite the recent terrible rail collision at Sittingbourne in Kent. Railway accidents were frequent occurrences and passengers were becoming increasingly nervous about them. What a relief to be gliding down the river on a pleasure steamer, a much less dangerous and more pleasant way to approach the attractions of Kent, ‘the garden of England’.
True, there had been an accident on the Thames on this very spot a year ago when, in a fog, a boat had overturned while carrying workmen from Woolwich to North Woolwich. Nine men had drowned. But the Princess Alice was a large and sturdy, professionally manned, paddle steamer – quite a different matter.
Most of the Princess Alice passengers were upper working class or lower middle class; many were women and children: facts that would influence their fate later that day. One or two were higher up the social ladder. Among these was Mr Samuel Lowry, ‘a gentleman’ from Highbury, who was in the habit of amusing himself by taking trips on the river.
All were welcomed onboard by the captain, 47-year-old William Grinstead, who was considered to be one of the most experienced and careful of the captains employed by the London Steamboat Company. This was now a leading firm in the Thames pleasure-boat business, having been formed two years earlier from an amalgamation of several smaller firms. The royal names (the Duke of Teck, the Duke of Cambridge, the Princess Maud and the Princess Alice) of the boats created an aura of glamour and respectability.
Princess Alice was the second daughter of Queen Victoria, and had been a tower of strength to her mother as Prince Albert lay dying. But none of this weighed on the minds of the happy crowd boarding the vessel named after her. It was a lovely day and they were going to have fu
n.
The bright day had persuaded Captain Grinstead to bring along his wife, Jane, elder brother, Charles, and 14-year-old son, John. Even the company’s superintendent, Mr William Towse, was coming with his wife, eight children, mother-in-law, children’s nurse, a cousin and a friend.
The scene down at the Millwall Dock that morning was a less happy one. Captain Harrison, the master of the 890-ton Tyne collier, Bywell Castle, was trying to get his ship released from the dry dock where it had been repainted. Congestion was delaying his departure. His way out was blocked by other vessels and he was all too conscious that he had to get back home to Newcastle-upon-Tyne to pick up a cargo of coal bound for Alexandria in Egypt. As part-owner of the vessel, he was particularly aware that wasted time was wasted money.
Captain Harrison had already paid off his regular crew, intending to sign on a new one when he got back to Newcastle. For the journey home, he had taken on some temporary men or ‘runners’. He did not view these men as inferior to the regular seamen. On the contrary, he thought them ‘a superior article’ being steady, sober and dependable men who would rather not be away from their wives and families for long periods. They were also cheaper to employ than keeping on a full crew.
The captain was not familiar with the Thames, his usual route being from Newcastle to the eastern Mediterranean and back, so Dix, a Thames pilot, was onboard, although, strictly speaking, there was no obligation to hire one. They just had to wait for their way to be cleared, hoping that by the time it was, they would not have missed the evening ebb tide.
After leaving North Woolwich, the Princess Alice steadily steamed its way down towards the Thames Estuary, first passing the Essex marshes and the monumental Beckton Gasworks. Despite this distraction, much of the talk onboard was of the Sittingbourne railway disaster. An express train bringing trippers and holiday makers back from Ramsgate, Broadstairs, Margate and Sheerness, had collided with a freight train that had been shunted into its path. Five passengers had been killed and many seriously injured. The newspapers graphically described mangled bodies strewn across the track and luggage, picnic food and toys spilling from torn carriages.
The Princess Alice’s ultimate destination was Sheerness, where the Thames opened out to the sea. Here, Londoners could paddle on the beaches, breathe air many times fresher than that of their city, saunter along the pier and promenade and watch the white sails and black smoke of the ships entering the Thames as well as the ferries shuttling back and forth from the Continent.
However, many passengers intended to disembark earlier at the port and resort of Gravesend, which offered many of the attractions of Sheerness apart from the sea breezes. Or, earlier still, at Northfleet, for the famous Rosherville Pleasure Gardens.2 Here, they were welcomed by a billboard quoting a line from a popular music-hall song:
ROSHERVILLE GARDENS
The Place to Spend a Happy Day!
Listed beneath were some of the many attractions on offer; these included an Italian garden, an archery lawn, bowls, a maze, a lake with ducks, cliff walks, an aviary, a bear pit, a theatre, a baronial hall with food and dancing, a floral bazaar, a shooting gallery, a fortune-telling booth, a photo saloon and an exhibition of the skeleton of a whale which had strayed into the Thames.
The setting of these pleasure gardens was extraordinary: twenty acres of disused chalk quarry bounded to the rear by cliffs and to the front by a Thames-side promenade from which the busy river traffic and the distant Tilbury Fort could be viewed.
The gardens, a favourite cockney haunt, had inspired music-hall songs, were mentioned in novels and in a Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera.3 There was a Rosherville perfume and even a poem about the gardens, by Reverend G. Crolly, which began:
If in London streets you grill
All is cool in Rosherville
If in London time stands still
He wears wings in Rosherville
And so on for twenty more similar couplets.
Unsurprisingly, quite a number of the Princess Alice passengers decided that, indeed, Rosherville was where they would like to spend a happy day. After all, the vessel did not arrive at Sheerness until 3 p.m. and would be leaving again at 4.15 p.m. Meanwhile, they would be enjoying the many delights on offer in the pleasure gardens: dancing, dining, attending the music hall, taking a turn at archery or just appreciating the lovely flowers and scenery.
Quite a number of the passengers boarding at Sheerness for the return journey had been holidaying at the resort. Among these, were young P.C. Cornelius Briscoe, his wife, Jane, their 5-year-old daughter, Sarah, and 18-month-old son, Benjamin. Back in Dalston, Briscoe was something of a local hero, having recently won both the Humane Society and Bow Street Awards for rescuing a drowning child from the Regent’s Canal.
When the smart little pleasure steamer reached Gravesend Town Pier at 5.55 p.m. Hopgood, the regular helmsman, went ashore. He had already asked the captain if his friend, John Eyres, could substitute for him, so that he could have a night off. The captain agreed. A decision that was to have far-reaching consequences.
By the time she left Rosherville, at about 6.30 p.m., the Princess Alice was packed. Not only had some of those holidaying at Sheerness and Gravesend decided to return to London this safer and more pleasant way than by rail, but many who had come down for the day on the sister ships, the Duke of Teck and the Duke of Cambridge, had opted to return on the Princess Alice. She was, after all a smarter, faster, more popular boat and was leaving a little earlier.
The twenty-three mile journey back to London was scheduled to take just over two hours along a river which wound its undulating way north-westwards. Firstly, it passed the new Tilbury Docks, then large tracts of marshland punctuated here and there by factories and warehouses; a riverside situation was a great advantage when it came to transporting goods.
Back at Millwall Dock, the Bywell Castle’s path had at last been cleared and she had begun to make her way out of the outer dock. Alas, as she did so, a barge drifted across her path and there was a collision. Fortunately, the damage to the barge proved minor and the collier was allowed to continue on her way. With the aid of a line attached by a waterman, she was pointed downstream. Her lights were lit and she was on her way towards the sea at last. She was under the control of Dix, the pilot, while Hardy, one of the runners, was acting as lookout – a necessary precaution when the ship’s raised forecastle meant that the helmsman had no clear view ahead or astern.
Erith was one of the busier riverside towns on the Princess Alice’s route home. Once a popular resort, it was fast becoming industrialized. As if to compensate for the parade of factories and warehouses on their journey, as they rounded the left-hand curve into Halfway Reach, passengers saw one of the river’s most impressive sights: Crossness Pumping Station. This handsome, Romanesque building in cream, red and black brick, boasted an adjacent, free-standing chimney resembling a particularly tall and slender Florentine campanile.
Londoners were both proud and grateful for what the Crossness Pumping Station represented. Proud because it looked so splendid and because its four rotative beam engines (named Victoria, Albert, Alexandra and Albert Edward) were the largest in the world. Grateful because the new system carried sewage away from central London and emptied it in this backwater. This ‘Sewage Palace’, as Londoners dubbed it, was as magnificent inside as out. Its twin, Abbey Mills Pumping Station, on the north side of the Thames, was equally exotic to look at but, unlike Crossness, was not visible from the river. However, its outfall was just around the next bend, Tripcock Point, in the stirringly named Gallions Reach. Right next door, in fact, to that other British engineering feat, the Beckton Gasworks.
At about 7.35 p.m. there was still sufficient light for Mr Henry Reed (an Oxford Street stationer who had left an assistant in charge of his shop) to make out the features of his niece in a photograph shown to him by his wife, but not enough for him to read the inscription on the back.
The Reeds noticed a kindly gentlem
an sitting a few rows behind them on the upper saloon deck who was showing great interest in the toys which a group of still-lively children brought him to admire: dolls, tops, trumpets and picture books.
Young and pretty Miss Emma Eatwell had been persuaded by Mr Huddart, the proprietor of the Half Moon Street Hotel in Mayfair, to come for the day trip. She had found him rather heavy going and retreated below decks but was now trying to get back to their place in the bows.
Children of the workers at Lawes chemical manure factory at nearby Creekmouth on the River Roding were enjoying themselves mightily. It was their Treat Day. Swings had been hired. There had been running and jumping competitions followed by a delicious tea in their schoolroom, then final rides on the swings and more energetic indoor games complete with party masks and paper hats. The party was still in full swing at 8 p.m.
Meanwhile, onboard the Princess Alice, there was the competition between passengers singing the patriotic song, ‘We don’t want to fight but by jingo if we do!’, and the hymn-singing middle-aged and elderly ladies (possibly the Bible-class party led by Miss Susannah Law and her younger sister, Jane).
Some passengers turned to watch the passing, Cardiff-bound collier and a tug going so fast that the barge it was pulling was lifting out of the water.
Robert Haines, the double bass player, who didn’t mind being held up at the top of the stairs when the band went below for their break, was shrugging and turning to go below.
All was quiet except for the pounding of the engines and swish of the paddles. Suddenly, Mr Henry Reed heard a commotion up front and climbed onto a seat to get a better view of what was happening. He was promptly told to sit down. Edward, the elder son of the Leaver family from Lambeth, also heard the disturbance and dashed out of the saloon where they had been sitting. A frightened Emma Eatwell rushed up to the saloon deck.
