The Stillingfleet Tragedy

Written by Neil Adams, Archives Assistant

‘Not a dry eye was to be seen, and the dreadful shrieks and sobs of the bereaved widows and the fatherless, in passing the habitations of the sufferers, were such, as to beggar all description – truly it was the scene of desolation’ (Yorkshire Gazette)

Shortly after one in the afternoon of the 26th December 1833 a party of church singers departed Stillingfleet with instructions from the vicar, Rev. David Markham, to sing the “Christmas Hymn” to the wealthier farmers and townspeople of neighbouring settlements. Of the 14 in the party that set out, 11 would be dead by nightfall. What befell them would quickly garner national notoriety as the “Stillingfleet Tragedy”.

We can establish what happened to the singers that day through the witness testimonies given at the subsequent coroner inquest (reported at length in local newspapers), and from a handful of parish records now held at the Borthwick Institute. These latter records include a contemporary account of the tragedy transcribed into a Baptism Register in 1890 (PR/STIL/121); a set of church notes written towards the turn of the 20th century by the then vicar, Canon A Grimston (PR/STIL/49); and an 1896 manuscript history of the parish of Stillingfleet written by Sir Clements Markham, a relative of the incumbent at the time of the incident (PR/STIL/48).

For Canon Grimston the tragedy which struck Stillingfleet that day in 1833 was ‘perhaps the saddest in all its history’. The party of singers, requiring transportation to the outlying townships, assembled in a boat belonging to one of the party, the fisherman John Turner, and proceeded along the River Ouse to Moreby and Acaster Selby. At approximately 4:30 in the afternoon they sought to disembark near the Stillingfleet Landing to advance on foot to Kelfield. It was at that point that they encountered the coal-laden barge Perseverance being towed upstream by a horse on the riverbank. Confusion as to how to pass the barge ensued and, within a matter of moments, they became caught in the tow rope. Turner’s boat capsized and its passengers were pitched into the cold waters of the Ouse. Two men, John Fisher and Richard Toes, were pulled from the water by the bargemen whilst another, George Eccles, ‘saved himself by swimming, supported by the oars of the boat’.

For the remaining 11 passengers there was no deliverance. They were buried together under a churchyard monument paid for by a local landowner, Mr Bielby Thompson of Escrick. The Burial Register (PR/STIL/13), recording their burials on 29 December, noted their names and ages as William Bristow, 55; Thomas Webster, 44; Clarissa Sturdy, 17; Elizabeth Buckles, 15; John Turner, 55; Jane Turner, 16; Christopher Spencer, 36; Henry Spencer, 44; Elizabeth Spencer, 14; Sarah Spencer, 16; and Sarah Eccles, 16. Tragically the entries for Sarah Spencer and Sarah Eccles noted that they had been ‘accidentally drowned and not yet found’. They never were. 

An Inquest was hastily arranged for the following day, Friday 27 December, at the local White Swan Inn. It was here that the principal witnesses in the case, including the three survivors George Eccles, John Fisher, and Richard Toes, and the barge’s hauling man, Stephen Green, gave evidence. Eccles informed the jury that he and Fisher had been rowing the boat to position their vessel on the off-side of the barge but that John Turner had instructed them to keep to the inside channel. They defended their actions by stating that ‘Turner was accustomed to the river, being a fisherman, and it being his boat, we complied with his directions’. Stephen Green reported that he heard shouts from the boat to slacken the tow rope, something Eccles corroborated, so as to allow the smaller vessel to pass over it. The speed of the current however prevented the rope from sinking, forcing John Fisher to attempt to lift the rope over their heads:

‘I saw danger, and caught hold of the line, and lifted it up, in order to clear it from the boat, and throw it over our heads. In consequence of the boat running down so very fast, the line caught hold of the side of the boat, and threw her over, and we were all instantly pitched into the river’

He and Toes survived by holding onto the rope. Eccles, who held on to one of the oars, saw the boat rolling over several times before it passed out of sight downstream. Some of the victims were found shortly afterwards but others ‘were found one by one, washed up at different places during the succeeding days’. The inquest made clear the fortitude of those involved in the search parties:

‘The men employed in dragging for the bodies worked incessantly until after dark last night, when they discontinued their search…too much praise cannot be bestowed upon these individuals, whose exertions to find the bodies was great indeed’

In closing the inquest the jury returned a verdict of accidental drowning, with the coal barge being fined a deodand (a forfeiture to the crown in the case of causing death) of 1 shilling. 

For those immediately affected by the events it was a horrifying ordeal. Not only were a number of the victims directly related (Henry Spencer was father to Elizabeth and Sarah, and brother to Christopher; the boat owner John Turner was father to Jane; and Sarah Eccles was daughter to George) but the small and closely knit nature of the local community meant that few parishioners were not personally affected. It is likely that many of the jury, who had to inspect the bodies in the homes of the deceased, knew the victims. The impact on the relatives was likewise devastating; the jury noted that the ‘the lamentations of the bereaved relatives broke through the ears with horror’. The repercussions were particularly hard for the Spencer family, with the Yorkshire Gazette reporting that:

‘the disconsolate widow, who has a child at the breast, is left with eight children, and is herself in a delicate state of health, having recently been a patient in the County Hospital’

Yet for historical researchers the tragedy that struck Stillingfleet in 1833 can also provide insights into a world usually obscured by a lack of surviving documentary evidence. We rarely hear the voices of the labouring classes of this period, instead more often than not having to rely on formal and often perfunctory records like the parish registers which were written about, rather than by, them. But in the inquest testimonies we have a rare chance to hear the voices of the individuals involved.

Indeed it is only through their testimonies, delivered only a day after the harrowing affair, that we know the sequence of events that led to disaster. George Eccles reported that he and John Fisher were rowing to get the boat to the off-side of the barge but were countermanded by John Turner. We are similarly informed by Stephen Green that the crew of the boat initially called for him to tighten the rope so as to provide space for them to pass under but he refrained, recognising the danger of sweeping the passengers into the river by doing so. The subsequent call for the rope to be slackened was executed but the strong current prevented it sinking and the efforts to push the rope over the boat were thwarted by its weight. To their credit, the survivors did not apportion blame either to Stephen Green or even to John Turner, perhaps out of respect for their deceased companion.   

For modern readers the incident also shines a shocking light on the contemporary lack of safety precautions and prescribed rules which, if followed, would likely have prevented the tragedy. From the outset several factors conspired to doom the parish singers. John Turner’s boat was described as being ‘of rather small dimensions’ and they were battling against strong river currents and a sky that was darkening to the point that ‘it was with difficulty that the towing rope could be seen’. The rowers of the boat, Eccles and Fisher, were not watermen and were ‘quite unacquainted with managing the boat’. Their predicament was only compounded upon the encounter with the barge. Its owner, John Jewitt of York, noted his surprise at the smaller vessel trying to enter the inside channel (‘they ought to have been on the off side’), whilst the hauling man Stephen Green received inaudible and subsequently conflicting demands. John Fisher stated at the Inquest that ‘Turner called out for the rope to be slackened, and he called for it to be tightened’. Ambiguity, confusion, and the ensuing panic sealed the fate of the smaller boat.       

We can also interpret the incident within the context of the deepening class structures of the 19th century and the expectations placed on the working populace by their professed “betters”. Many of those who died, including Henry and Christoper Spencer and Thomas Webster, were agricultural labourers, as were the three survivors. Despite the dangers posed by the strong river currents and seasonal weather the vicar still expected them to ‘visit the principal farmers within the parish’ on one of the few days of the year they were free of their labouring obligations. Resentment towards the incumbent was not recorded but may well have been a very understandable reaction among the bereaved families.    

The recording of the incident also challenges our assumptions about the accuracy and veracity of historic documents, even those seemingly formal or unbiased in nature. On the one hand we are confronted by clear errors. Despite Sir Clements Markham’s belief that for the parishioners in 1896 ‘it [the tragedy] is as fresh in their mind as if it occurred yesterday’, the oral tradition and the written documents he relied on couldn’t prevent mistakes creeping into his account. He stated for example ‘that every soul was drowned’ in spite of the survival of three of the passengers. The claim that all were lost in the accident was similarly repeated in Canon Grimston’s notes, which also describes the party that set out as being 11; he had originally written 13 but then struck that number through, suggesting confusion between the total size of the party and the number of the deceased. 

Moreover we must also recognise that oral testimonies and written records are created by individuals with their own biases and subjective viewpoints which they inadvertently or intentionally seek to impress upon their listeners and readers. As such we must be ever conscious of these narratives and the motivations behind their construction (as well as how those narratives are received and interpreted by subsequent readers and audiences). Despite the unsafe commands issued by John Turner, none of the survivors sought to blame him at the Inquest, perhaps impelled by a wish not to upset relatives and friends who they likely knew in the parish. Similarly Sir Clements Markham’s praising of the actions of the vicar following the tragedy (‘constant and unwearied in his helpfulness and active sympathy’) may reflect the truth or perhaps a wish by a relative to exonerate him from any share of the blame for what transpired that day. 

On the one hand the surviving documents help us understand the tragic events that struck the church singers of Stillingfleet on the 26th December 1833. They reveal the names, ages, and professions of the deceased and, through the witness testimonies and later historical accounts, we can piece together the sequence of events which ended in disaster. Yet the records also present us with the realisation that historical documents are never transparent windows into the events of the past. They must instead always be interrogated to understand the nature of their construction, and the obligation is on the researcher to remain vigilant.