The 1953 Essex Flood Disaster E-Book

Patricia Rennoldson Smith

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 210

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

On a stormy evening in January 1953, Peggy Morgan kissed her five-year-old son goodnight, blissfully unaware of the impending catastrophe. Before sunrise the next morning the North Sea had destroyed her home and Peggy was a childless widow. There had been no prediction, no warning. Men, women and children lost their lives in Essex on that fateful night and the lives of survivors were changed forever. The lucky ones awoke when ice-cold seawater burst through their doors and windows. Those not so lucky slept on towards death. This book captures, in the words of the survivors, the essence of life in the low-lying coastal areas before the disaster. Those who lived tell how, with dogged determination, they prevailed against unimaginable adversity: their stories of courage and fortitude are told simply and without self pity. And for the first time those who died have their story told. Illustrated with many previously unpublished photographs, the awe-inspiring and heartrending stories of survivors and victims of the 1953 Essex floods are told here for the first time.

Leseprobe

THE 1953 ESSEXFLOOD DISASTER

THE PEOPLE’S STORY

THE 1953 ESSEXFLOOD DISASTER

THE PEOPLE’S STORY

PATRICIA RENNOLDSON SMITH

In memory of Peggy.

First published 2012

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2013

All rights reserved

© Patricia Rennoldson Smith, 2012, 2013

The right of Patricia Rennoldson Smith to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 9458 6

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

  1.   Harwich

  2.   Wrabness, Mistley and Manningtree

  3.   Bramble Island

  4.   Clacton and Walton-on-the-Naze

  5.   Jaywick

  6.   St Osyth and Point Clear

  7.   Brightlingsea

  8.   Wivenhoe

  9.   Mersea Island

10.   Tollesbury

11.   Heybridge and Maldon

12.   Bradwell

13.   Althorne and Hockley

14.   Burnham-on-Crouch, Foulness and Havengore

15.   Wallasea and Creeksea

16.   Great Wakering

17.   Southend-on-Sea and Leigh-on-Sea

18.   Canvey Island and Benfleet

19.   Tilbury

Will it Ever Happen Again?

Recorded Deaths Due to the Flood in Essex

About the Author

Bibliography

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, thanks to the people of Essex, who have made this book possible by telling me their experiences during that dreadful time; you may not find your name in the text, but you are part of the story, so thank you! My life has been enriched by meeting you, by learning more about Essex history, and by discovering the fascinating secret parts of Essex where I found you.

To everyone who kindly supplied photographs for the book, please accept the accreditation as my grateful thanks.

For draft checking and advice on specific areas, special thanks to Ray Plummer of the Guild Hall, Harwich; Peter Wright of Jaywick; Sean O’Dell of St Osyth; Margaret Stone of Brightlingsea; Kevin Bruce of Bradwell; John Threadgold of Great Wakering; and Graham Stevens of Canvey Island.

For their assistance, advice and encouragement, my thanks to Anne Kemp-Luck at the Guild Hall, Harwich; Brenda Dixson and Brenda Oliver of Jaywick; Peter Gant and John Rowland of the Manningtree Museum; Nick Lee and Phyllis Hendy of St Osyth; Robert Shotton of Brightlingsea; my friend Pearl Perriman of Barling; and Mark and Rosemary Roberts of Paglesham.

To Janet Penn and Councillor Ray Howard, both of Canvey Island; Nicola Pontius and the staff of Canvey Library; and Martin Canter for the Quaker records.

To Bob Crump of Foulness Heritage Centre and the people of Foulness; Becky Wash of the Essex Police Museum; James Melley of BBC Essex; Peter Edwards of the RNLI; Ken Crowe of Southend Museum; Stephen Nunn of Maldon; the staff of the Essex Record Office; and Patrick John of Rochford.

Many thanks to my friend Margaret Hurst for draft reading and typing.

Finally, to my wonderful family, my husband Brian, and to Lesley, Alan, Rob, Nadine and sister Margaret for checking, advising, typing and listening to my endless flood talk.

INTRODUCTION

Several books have been written about the 1953 flood but this is the first to capture the impact on the people affected. The story is told through the memories of those caught in the disaster.

Hilda Grieve’s The Great Tide, published by Essex County Council in 1959, was the first account of the Essex flood. It is still the default reference work for students of the event and I give thanks for the availability of that excellent work. My friend Peggy lost her husband and young son in the Canvey flood and though part of her story appears in The Great Tide, Peggy did not speak of the tragedy for almost thirty years. Hers was one of the many heartrending accounts of survivors recounted to me. Young at the time and now elderly, their memories are fresh, vivid and searing, yet they have delighted me with their generosity and entertained me with their down-to-earth good humour. Their wish is that their memories are recorded as part of the nation’s story.

Over the centuries, the low-lying coastal areas of Essex have frequently suffered flooding. But by 1953, large-scale residential development on marshland resulted in thousands more people being at risk, especially since many dwellings were of a type and construction least likely to withstand the surge. On that fateful afternoon, tide watchers along the coast noted the weak ebb – a sure sign of trouble – but nobody anticipated how high the next incoming tide would be. That night the North Sea surged in a fury over and through the sea walls. There was no central flood warning system, and the early loss of phone lines halted the passage of messages down the coast. More fortunate residents were alerted when seawater burst through their doors as they slept, or when neighbours shouted above the storm. Those not so lucky slept on towards death.

Saturday, 31 January 1953 was the night of a spring tide, but long before high water, a deep atmospheric low pressure system above Scotland raised the water levels. When the water entered the North Sea, a gale-force northerly wind whipped up and increased the height of the swell, resulting in a wall of water being driven south. As it funnelled into the bottleneck between England and Holland, this North Sea tsunami reached a height of at least 10 feet above the expected height of the spring tide. The rotation of the earth then deflected the water towards the British Isles.

The violent surge swept down the east coasts of Scotland and England and up the eastern river estuaries, causing havoc in its wake. Martin Golledge, a police officer in Chelsea, saw water lapping over the Thames embankment fifty minutes before high tide. London was saved from serious flooding when sea walls were breached on Canvey and floodwater released into Essex.

The county had been ‘on standby’ throughout the war years and immediately leapt into ‘blitz’ mode. Families left their flooded homes, often with nothing more than the clothes they stood up in. False teeth, spectacles and babies’ bottles were left behind, but in a few hours, particularly between midnight and 2 a.m., relief was organised: the schools opened, staff and helpers were in position, and warmth, food and clothing provided. The Harwich Town Clerk later wrote, ‘It is a privilege to pay a tribute to the other chief officers for their patience, fortitude and powers of organisation and improvisation in adversity, and to the other officers and employees for all their hard work and unfailing keenness at all times since the flood’.

The Essex Coroner said that with so many people involved it was nothing short of a miracle that there were not more deaths, but the miracle was achieved by the tireless work of organisations such as the police, fire brigade and ambulance services. Countless volunteers also donated their time and energy to work long, hard hours in dreadful conditions to alleviate the suffering. Some groups are mentioned in the text. Any omissions are unintentional – all are deserving of praise.

The 1953 flood was the worst peacetime disaster ever to strike Britain. One hundred and twenty people died in Essex as a direct result, and other lives were shortened by the trauma. Many survivors and rescuers will bear the scars of what they witnessed for the rest of their lives. Official reports, written at the time, however, record the selflessness and stoicism of the people. In the midst of the catastrophe which befell them, residents from Harwich to Tilbury acted on their own initiative and spontaneously worked for the good of all.

This is their story.

Patricia Rennoldson Smith, 2012

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I have made every effort to trace copyright and apologise to anyone I may have inadvertently missed. I can assure you this is an error on my behalf and can be rectified by the publishers if you would care to get in touch.

1

HARWICH

The sea is a close neighbour to the people of Harwich. They know all her moods, are prepared for the unexpected, and accept what she throws at them. But on Saturday, 31 January 1953, a gale-force, screeching wind battered the shore all day, and the hardy Harwich folk, still up and about in the evening, looked anxiously at the rising tide.

The town of Harwich lies on a narrow peninsula jutting out into the mouth of the River Stour and looking towards Shotley in Suffolk. It is the northernmost point of the Essex coast.

The old town, with its many ancient pubs and fine Georgian and Victorian houses, experienced flooding on the night of 31 January, but it was the Bathside area which bore the brunt of the onslaught. Bathside was protected from direct attack from the sea by a clay bank, and between the bank and the residential streets there was a muddy marsh basin, where locals kept their chickens and pigs.

The spring high tide was predicted for 12.52 a.m. that night, with a height of 5.6 feet. But when Mr Waters, the Harbourmaster, checked the height of the water at the quay at 9.20 p.m., he was concerned enough to go immediately to the police station to report that the tide would be exceptionally high. When he returned to the quay at 10 p.m. the water was up to the top of the wall; 4 feet above the expected level, with more than two hours to go until high tide. The police were not unduly concerned but they informed the Harwich fire brigade and, following normal procedure, warned the Clacton police, who, at 10.13 p.m., alerted Chelmsford. Chelmsford immediately advised New Scotland Yard.

At about 10.40 p.m. fisherman Carter, becoming concerned about the strong winds, set out from his home in Alexandra Road to secure the boat he kept moored at Gas House Creek, but at the sea wall he realised he would not make it to the creek and rushed home, warning neighbours as he went.

By 11 p.m. waves were pounding the sea wall at Bathside and breaking over it. The wall was holding, but water was flowing across the mud towards the animal huts. The police had begun warning residents, some of whom replied that they’d ‘seen it all before – nothing to worry about’.

But half an hour later most of Harwich was under water and worse was yet to come. Just after midnight a second great wave burst over the sea wall. The wall gave way, and a tidal wave stormed across Stour Road into Bathside. The shock to the residents was incalculable, and not all would survive.

A map of Harwich in 1953. (Reproduced from the 1953 Ordnance Survey Map courtesy of Essex Record Office)

The home of Mrs Brennan in Ingestre Street was the first house in the track of the wave. She heard a noise like an explosion; the house shuddered as the windows and the front door burst in with a torrent of icy water. Though sturdily built of brick, the walls of two houses in Alexandra Road were demolished that night and the party wall of two adjoining houses in Kings Head Street collapsed.

At 11.30 there was no water in Alexandra Road, but Carter, after alerting his wife to the danger, went to warn a neighbour whose children slept in the basement. Minutes later he heard his wife scream and saw water pouring down the street. He ran for the safety of his home just as floodwater burst into the front and back doors simultaneously.

Fisherman Carter was one of the residents of Harwich who recorded memories of that night. He wrote, ‘I decided to leave the house as I was afraid it might collapse. I carried one of my children to dry ground through about 2 feet of water. (Carrying) the second child it topped my thigh boots and then with my wife on my shoulders getting her feet wet. My height is approximately 6 foot. I went back for the dog and had to swim both ways. All this happened in five to ten minutes.’

Alexandra Road from the level crossing. Note the water mark on the wall. (Courtesy of Harwich Town Council)

Miss Harrington and her sister were warned by Mr Carter that the wall had given way, and fifteen minutes later the force of the rushing water broke open the back door. By twelve o’clock the ground floor was flooded and there was 18 inches of water upstairs. Here they huddled, cold and wet, until daybreak, when, looking out of their window, they saw in the road ‘all kinds of little boats and amongst them hampering their progress – dead chickens, debris and swimming pigs’.

Mr Pearl Lofts and his wife, Elsie, managed the Anchor Hotel on the corner of Stour Road and Albemarle Street in Bathside, close to Gas House Creek. Mr Lofts, recognising the danger signs, went with his wife into the cellar to secure the beer barrels at about 11.30 p.m. Mrs Lofts recalled that half an hour later she heard a noise from outside and water started to flow into the cellar. Pearl took her hand and said, ‘Come on Else,’ and then she was washed away from him. The water came in through the outside cellar door so fast that Elsie was swept up the cellar steps and out through the door in seconds. Pressure of the rising water then slammed the door shut and made it impossible for her husband to get out. Mrs Lofts remembered ‘being up there, but there was no stairs, just water up to the ceiling’.

The water was approximately 14 feet deep in the cellar and though many attempts were made, Mr Lofts’ body could not be recovered until Tuesday afternoon, when police broke through the floor above the still-flooded cellar.

The Anchor Hotel, Bathside, where Mr Lofts drowned in the cellar. (Courtesy of Harwich Town Council)

The Bruce family home, where three people died in 1953. (Author’s collection)

Just a short distance away, another tragic story was unfolding involving 68-year-old Walter Mallows, of Vansittart Street, a would-be rescuer, and the Bruce family, who lived round the corner at No. 15 Albert Street. The Bruce’s home, a ground floor council flat, was 3 feet below street level. The door was on the side, the upper flat being accessed by a door and stairs at the front.

Mr and Mrs Bruce went to bed in the room at the front at 10.30 p.m., but about an hour later were woken by what they thought was heavy rain hitting the windowpane. Mr Bruce looked out of the window and saw a torrent of water pouring through the front gate, down the step and encircling the front of the flats. They quickly dressed. Mr Bruce later recalled that he, ‘Went to the kiddie’s room, picked up Richard, opened the side door and took him round the front of the building and up to the flat above, where I left him. The water was then around my knees. I went back down to the flat to get Janet out of bed.’ There, his wife was waiting in waist-high water, holding baby Pauline. Each carrying a child, they fought their way through the water to the side entrance, but when the door was flung open, Mrs Bruce became terrified by the sight of water surging along the narrow side passage. She could not move. Trying to encourage her, Mr Bruce stepped out into a torrent of turbulent water up to his neck, and, still desperately clutching Janet, was swept helplessly towards the railway embankment behind the flats. He lost sight of his wife and baby daughter – and never saw them again.

Between the back of the flats and the railway line, floodwater was trapped, and at least 7 feet deep, but father and child survived.

Unfortunately, Mrs Bruce did not. PC Harold King was on duty that night and at 12.15 was outside No. 15 Albert Street. There, in the front window of the Bruce’s flat, he saw a man he knew. The man was Walter Mallows. At about 11.30 that evening Mr Mallows had told his son that there would be flooding and that he would go and help anybody who needed it. He headed for Albert Street.

The police constable later stated that he could see quite plainly the three people in the room. Mr Mallows was kneeling on the windowsill with his head partly out of the small fanlight window. He called out, ‘Sergeant get us out. There is a young woman in here with a small child.’ The woman was standing by his side at the window, holding the child in her arms, in approximately 4 foot of water. The police constable later explained what happened next:

I at once tried to reach these trapped persons but the swirling and cascading floodwaters and the steep slope leading to the flats from Albert Street made this quite impossible for me. The water was so strong and was rising rapidly. I appealed to the occupants of the upstairs flats to lower sheets or a rope and enquired of several persons where I could locate a boat but unfortunately no boat could be obtained.

The water by this time was 5ft deep at road level and, having assured myself that I could do no more to save these unfortunate people, I battled my way against the swirling waters and debris to a level crossing at Ferndale Road, where I saw the water cascading over the railway lines towards Fernlea Road. I made my way along the railway lines to the rear of those flats but could see no person about. The swirling waters made it impossible for me to enter the flats via their rear garden.

Later that morning, fireman William Walpole was part of the crew of a rowing boat manned by a Petty Officer and two boys from HMS Ganges (the Royal Navy training ship at Shotley). Passing No. 15 Albert Street, he saw the body of a man hanging head and arms downward from a ground floor window. The water was level with his hands. He was apparently dead. The man was later identified as Mr Mallows. The men eased the body out of the window and took it to Stour Street, where a Special Constable was collecting the dead.

PC Finch was on duty in Harwich, assisting in the recovery of the bodies of flood victims on Monday, 2 February and, at 2 p.m., he reached the Bruce’s flat. The water was still halfway up the wall and the police officer was forced to climb in the front room window. There he found the bodies of Mrs Bruce and her 16-month-old daughter, Pauline. He noted that the water level had reached approximately 6 inches from the ceiling.

Mr Aynsley was fortunate in being woken by a rat-atat-tat on the door of his home in Grafton Road, Dovercourt. Like his neighbour, fisherman Carter, Mr Aynsley recorded what happened: ‘I got up and, looking out of the window, saw a dark figure hurrying up the street. I shouted after him and he yelled back in the teeth of the gale something unintelligible, but I heard the words “sea wall”. I found that the back of the house, which backed onto the embankment, was flooded to about 3 foot while the front, which is higher, was dry. With the coming of the dawn, looking out of the front window, I saw water rolling up the street almost like the Seven Bore. We could hear the screams of those trapped in Bathside, but were powerless to help’. The clocks in Bathside had stopped at 12.20 a.m.

‘I’m not catching many fish!’ (Artwork by Mike Maynard)

Mr Aynsley added, ‘The view from the back window was even worse. Where normally we saw the railway embankment, a road, and beyond that the sea wall, and then the river; now, there was nothing but water from our house right over to the Suffolk side, just an odd tree top sticking out. A scene of devastation.’ The water eventually rose to 6 foot at the back of the house and 14 foot at the front. Down the road, a boy was hanging out of a bedroom window with a piece of string and a bent pin on a stick, shouting to all and sundry that he wasn’t catching many fish.

Until this time the 6-foot high railway embankment had formed a barrier protecting the rest of Harwich from the floodwater. No one imagined the bank would be overtopped. Most people on the other side were asleep, unaware of any danger; but the speed, height and force of the surge took all in its path.

In Fernlea Road, immediately behind the railway, Mr and Mrs Byatt were awoken by a tremendous roaring noise, caused when the water crashed over the railway embankment into the depression between the railway and the main road. This turbulent maelstrom joined the water surging from the north, east, and west. It was assumed that the level would drop when the tide ebbed, but at 1 a.m. floodwater was trapped in two pockets, and Harwich was in darkness.

Those who could escape made their way, wet through in their bed clothes, to the police station. One man rushed in with a chicken under one arm and a rabbit under the other. ‘Where shall I put these?’ He was told to put them in the basement, but after a short time the basement and ground floor were flooded and the animals had to be moved. The water in the police station eventually rose to a height of 7 feet, and the officers had to leave the station via a window into a boat, to carry out their operational duties.

Rear of Fernlea Road. Note the flood mark above the window. (Courtesy of Harwich Town Council)

Harwich was flooded from The Quay to the junction of Main Road and Barrack Lane. No rail service operated between Harwich Town and Parkston Quay stations until 24 February, as railway lines were washed away and the three local stations were flooded. The floodwater in Dovercourt reached as far as The Drive and Hall Lane. In Parkston, 150 homes were flooded to a depth of between 1 and 7 feet, and the flood spread to cover the marshes and fields below Oakley.

Mrs Winchester and her husband, the Harwich Town stationmaster, went to a dinner and dance at Parkston Quay that night. When they left the hall they were amazed to find floodwater up to their knees, and were forced to shelter at a friend’s house until the tide turned. Mrs Winchester later recorded:

We set forth with a torch towards Harwich Station in knee-deep water. The holes where the ballast had been washed away and the debris piled up made it a nightmare journey. Suddenly one of my husband’s legs went into a hole under the water, wire became entangled round his leg and he lost his footing. After an endless time I managed to get him free of it and on we went. There were dogs, chickens, cats and pigs carried with the tide, some dead, some alive. The pigs were swimming well until caught up in debris. Their shrieks I shall always hear. Suddenly, a convoy of coffins surrounded us, from the undertaker’s yard beside the railway line. We’d stood still a few moments, to rest and regain breath and my husband decided that if we got into a coffin we might push ourselves along. I strongly opposed the idea. But then my leg went down a hole and I was dragged away from my husband. I went so quickly! No doubt it was the tide. After a time he managed to get me up and a short rest ensued. Then I hung onto a coffin for dear life.

How thankful we were to see the Harwich signal box. The water was much deeper there and I was glad to be helped up the steps. I couldn’t speak for several minutes but I heard Foreman Cooper, a grand old Suffolk man, exclaim ‘Where the devil ha yar bin too together? I’ve bin round and round yar house a knockin and a bangin, nobody answered, only tha ode dawg a barkin’. I found later that Cooper had fallen into the water and it had shaken him considerably. I was told there was 5 feet of water between the box and my home, and there I had to stay.

As dawn broke we saw six Trinity House men struggling along the line with water up to their waists. They told us they must get to Trinity House and get the boats out to rescue people. From another direction, the fishermen were lifting boats over the debris to be near when it became sufficiently light to commence rescue work, and the boys from the Ganges Naval School were doing likewise. Their efforts were almost superhuman.

Mrs Winchester was taken to the home of train guard, Mr English, in Dovercourt. ‘What comfort to change my clothes and sit in an armchair by the fire with a cup of tea.’ Mr Winchester set off to arrange bus transport while the train track was under water, and returned with Mr English at about 7.30 p.m., ‘hungry, tired and covered with mud, but content in mind that in spite of all difficulties transport was still maintained’.