Floods and a riot - how it was in 1879

 Not true today, of course (unless anyone out there is 135 years old, in which case please get in touch) but it certainly was when that paragraph was written, back in the Watford Observer of August 25, 1928.

The paper goes on to publish a “graphic account” of what happened, culled from Henry Williams’s book History of Watford.

Considering the floods of February 2014, it doesn’t seem quite so dramatic now as it must have done then. Basically it rained for about seven hours – “an extraordinary downpour of rain, accompanied by loud peals of thunder and almost incessant lightning, continued without perceptible intermission”.

Not only that, but “between 10 and 12pm, flashes of sheet and fork lightning occurred continuously or with only momentary intervals and lit up our rooms so completely that every object around us was distinctly visible.” By about 3am, “the extreme violence of the storm began to moderate” and by 5am it was virtually over.

But all that water had to go somewhere and that Sunday, much of the area must have had residents looking for Noah.

“We hoped and believed that the worst was over, but it soon became apparant that such was not the case,” writes Williams. “The deluge of rain that had fallen during the night could not fail to leave its mark behind and before the day was over, it resulted in a flood such as in the memory of the oldest inhabitant of the parish had never before occurred.”

Among the highlights, if that’s the right word, of this flood occurred at “Berkhampstead” (that’s how they spelled it in those days) where “the river joins for the first time the Grand Junction Canal and the pound of the canal becomes the millhead of the lower mill”.

The report continues: “The residence that adjoins the mill was surrounded by water and a current about two feet deep rushed without let or hindrance through the rooms and passages to the ground floor.

“The flood gained volume as it proceeded onwards; a large portion of Box Moor was under water; at Frogmore End the turnpike road was flooded and all the low meadows were in like condition. Along the Hempstead valley, the pretty little Gade behaved itself in an equally unseemly fashion. I am informed by the Rev W.T. Tyrwhitt Drake that at Great Gaddesden floods of water poured down the hills in such extraordinary volume that ‘the road was knee deep’.

“By noon on Sunday, the flood had fairly reached Kings Langley and the whole of the lower meadows above Hunton Bridge were covered with water. At Hunton Bridge several cottages were invaded by the current and exit could only be effected through some of these by ladders.

“The meadows immediately above the mill may be described as a species of cul de sac, drained only by a culvert that runs at the back of two cottages, and thence at right-angles under the mill-head. This culvert was completely overpowered by the immense volume of water that pressed upon it; the meadows filled very rapidly; the water rose to the height of 5ft in the sitting rooms of the two cottages and in some places the meadows were fully eight feet under water.

“The current next forced its way into the road and a torrent about two feet deep continued to rush down it, between the mill and the workhouse opposite. At about 4.40pm a loud rolling noise almost resembling thunder announced the disagreeable fact that the culvert under the mill-head had been burst by the enormous power of the water and it became more than probable that the embankment under which the culvert passes would shortly give way.

“Workmen were immediately sent for, a dam was thrown across the mill-head as rapidly as skilled hands could work and when once it was completed all danger had ceased; but before this happy solution was attained only about a yard and a half of the bank remained intact. Had this trifling barrier been washed away, an inundation, attended with considerable danger and great damage to property, must certainly have ensued.”

In the same year, the Watford Observer notes, there was the Watford Riot, and if anything, this makes even better reading than the flood. A young woman, named only as “Newman”, lived with her uncle Mr Bradley, a linen draper of Watford. She went missing and a rumour soon got round that she had drowned herself “in consequence of the ill-treatment she had received from her uncle,” the report says, adding: “I never understood what justified this rumour.”

Anyway, the river was searched “and the body of the unfortunate young lady discovered in the water near the flour mill. It was taken out of the water and removed to the Leather-sellers’ Arms public house to await the inquest, which was held on the following evening.”

But the public, convinced that Mr Bradley had caused the death, decided to take the law into their own hands. Henry Williams takes up the story: “While the enquiry was taking place, a large number of persons collected outside the house and, from the threats and angry expressions used, it became evident they intended some injury to Mr Bradley.

“One man had a strong rope in his hand and an intention to drag Mr Bradley through the river was openly expressed. This having come to the knowledge of the police engaged at the inquest, they secretly removed him from the public house to his business premises in the High Street.

“When the mob that had largely increased, found at the close of the inquiry they had been thwarted in their design, they left in a body to his house near the High Street station and set up a terrific shouting and groaning, which brought such an increase of numbers that at about ten o’clock p.m. there could not have been less than 2,000 persons present.

“For some time they were content with shouting, but presently someone threw a flint at the top shutters and this was the signal for a general onslaught, which commenced in earnest, and in a short time every square of glass in the first floor was broken, and the shutters of the shop considerably damaged.

“Taking advantage of passing hay-carts, someone rushed forward and forced down one or two of the shutters, and immediately the stones fell thick and fast on the large plate-glass windows, and as the shutters gave way one after the other to the tremendous battery they received from bricks and stones, the whole of the valuable glass was smashed into thousands of pieces.

“Having demolished the front of Mr Bradley’s shop, the assailants next turned their attention to the private residence of Mr Bradley’s mother next door, and in a short time every square of glass in the front of the house was demolished.

“Between 11 and 12 o’clock the Honourable Reginald Capel, one of the magistrates, arrived and commenced to read the Riot Act, but some stones striking the wall unpleasantly near to his head, himself and the late Mr G Pope, who acted as Clerk on the occasion, retired to a more secure spot and left the mob to their work of destruction.

“The police were powerless to interfere in the presence of so large a mob and Mr Superintendent Isgate contented himself with advising the people to go quietly away.

“The riot was characterised by a peculiarity not often found at such scenes. There was no pushing or swearing; many females stood and looked on without having their feelings hurt by word or deed; indeed, the entire object the rioters appeared to have was to punish Mr Bradley for some supposed fault of his which, so far as I know, was never clearly understood by those who wished to know the true motive for the shameful and unwarrantable destruction of property that took place.”

According to hertfordshire-genealogy.co.uk, the dead woman, “Newman”, was  Jane Elizabeth Newman and “Mr Bradley” was Charles Percy Bradley, born in 1840 in Hereford. He was a draper at 175 High Street, long since demolished, but which appears to have been opposite Watford High Street station, along with number 173, where his father (Edmund Bradley, a musical instrument and cabinet maker) and presumably his mother lived. That was the way it was according to the 1871 census. But by 1881, two years after the riot, things had changed.

Perhaps not surprisingly the draper is now listed as George Longley (presumably the man Charles sold his business to when, post riot, he decided to leave town). Number 173 is also now occupied not by his father and mother but by Francis Septimus Bradley, his brother.

It’s not too big a jump to assume that between the 1871 census and the 1879 riot, Charles’s father had died and, not long after the riot, he and his mother took off for life somewhere else.

Incidentally, other newspaper reports of the incident give extra details. The report in The Graphic states that on the Friday after the Watford riot “another noisy mob collected outside Mr Bradley’s branch establishment at Rickmansworth, but were kept in awe by a number of special constables and a large body of police, which had been drafted into the town”.

On October 12, 1879, Reynolds News reported more about the possible reason for Miss Newman’s disappearance. It states: “Mr Bradley had a young woman as an indoor apprentice and as she did not return on Sunday night till beyond the stipulated time, she was locked out and slept at a friend’s.

“On Monday there was an altercation between her and her master, the result being that she left the house, and was shortly afterwards found drowned in the River Colne.”

A report on October 15, 1879, in the York Herald, gave the details of the case, adding, with regards the Rickmansworth shop: “Mrs Bradley and her children left by train for London, as advised by the police. On Saturday, the shop was closed.”

It was clearly major news. Reports of the riot appeared in many newspapers from The Times and the Morning Post to the Aberdeen Weekly Journal and the Bury and Norwich Post.