Findon Village Antiquities www.findonvillage.com

THIS IS FINDON VILLAGE — www.findonvillage.com created by Valerie Martin, contains scenes from her home village of Findon, West Sussex, U.K.

FINDON’S CHRISTMAS SNOW OF 1836

Originally published in Along the Furlong in December 2004

At the beginning of the 1800s, a gentleman by the name of John Evans wrote about nearby Worthing (just to the south of Findon). His writings were contained in two volumes and the full title of his work was —

"PICTURE OF WORTHING: TO WHICH IS ADDED AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADJACENT VILLAGES, AND OF THE RIDES AND EXCURSIONS IN ITS VICINITY!"

An intriguing sketch of 1814 of a busy beach scene at Worthing four miles to the south of Findon.

John Evans wrote in 1814 how Worthing was a good spot to bathe all the year round due to its agreeable climate...

Bathers are to be found here at Christmas, a circumstance almost exceeding credibility: but it has been observed that here snow never continues long, though it may at the same time cover to a considerable depth other parts of the country.

This is rather contradicts the fact that in January 1814, the Arundel River (known to us as the River Arun), froze. Deer died in their dozens at Michelgrove in Findon. In some places the snow drifts were said to be 20 ft. deep. To give you some idea of the weather conditions, this was the last year that a Frost Fair was held on the River Thames in London.

The Sussex coast may have sometimes enjoyed a good climate all of the winter ....but not always.

At nearby Broadwater (just to the south of Findon), the inhabitants' Annual October Fayre was curtailed by an unusually heavy snowfall in 1836

The following month, a hair-raising storm ravaged Findon on 25th November 1836. The weather was described as a two-hour hurricane and caused widespread damage. In nearby Worthing, a property situated in the High Street and several cottages in Heene lost their roofs. Slates were whipped off the old Town Hall roof in South Street. The inclement weather brought down the giant chimney on Carter's Brewery also. Bathing machines on the shore were smashed to bits. It is recorded that it was dangerous to be on the streets due to the amount of debris flying wildly through the sky.

This is the story of the Christmas coach running through Findon. I have discovered that as December waned in the winter of 1836, the bitter treacherous weather hardened in the village. The trees in the village were stiff with rime. On Saturday, Christmas Eve, it grew dark and the sky became heavy with cloud apparently confirming the old shepherd’s forecast for a white Christmas. A few snowflakes swirled around the brown smoke curling from the chimneys of the houses silhouetted against a sludge-green scarred hump of Church Hill.

The villagers looked out of their windows and saw snow falling as a mysterious fuzziness silently crept up and engulfed the downs. Unhurried flakes began to outline the trees overhanging the tracks. Nepcote Green and the fields leading down to the village became blurs under a blanket of snow. It was going to be a white Christmas after all.

Blasts of wind swept up the valley driving the snowflakes in hurrying multitudes. It was a tremendous snowfall, which practically submerged the community. The Christmas melody of St. John the Baptist church bells rang out over the scene. In the comfortable Gun Inn, the village folk sat talking by the light of the cosy log fire.

I understand that the snow was so deep in Worthing in 1836 that the horse drawn coach could not depart for its journey on Christmas Morning. During the winter months there was one coach scheduled to travel up from the coast to London each day and one down (there were three extra coaches in the summer season). William Colee and James Mitchell (died 14th June 1860) drove the horses operated these Worthing to London coaches.

William enjoyed relating the story of how the Londoners travelling on his coaches would always say they could smell the sea when they passed through Washington. In reality it was the aroma of seaweed that met their nostrils. This had been carted up from the shore at Worthing and used as fertilizer on the market gardens inland. It must have been quite a sight to see the horses break into a trot to get their wagons of seaweed up the steep, loose shingle with their brasses jangling and the drivers shouting encouragement.

That Christmas the coach due to return from London to Worthing set off with James Mitchell holding the reins on the box seat.

Thomas Norton was the ostler at the Red Lion in Ashington in 1836, (there is a Red Lion in that village to this day), and he did not bother to prepare the relief horses because he assumed the London coach would not turn out in such weather. Instead he sat in the comfort of the inn's parlour where he continued to sup and play cards with his post boys for "gin hot", (a heated infusion of the aforementioned distilled spirit and beer). One of the post boys ventured out into the yard just before 3 p.m. and returned in haste shouting that Jim Mitchell with the London coach and its four grey horses were approaching the inn through the blinding snow.

Thomas leapt up and hurried to the stables to prepare the relief team. The only passenger to alight from the London coach was a soldier on his way home and he trudged away in the snow.

The well-laden coach set off once more towards Findon with fresh horses. Up to now no thought of danger had occurred. The team resolutely attempted to boldly charge the snowdrifts and the coach swayed from side to side. It took a terrible pounding. The horses slithered and snorted in the icy lane, their breath lying like that of dragons on the evening air. With great difficulty the new team made heroic progress and ascended Washington Bostal. As they struggled to approach the lodge gates of Highden House the poor creatures gave up and could make no further headway in the deepening snow as the carriage stuck fast in a drift. It was numbingly cold under a greying sky. The blizzard gathered force; its gusts were paralysing and the clouds closed in and densely overspread the sky. The main road ahead was blocked with snow right up to the top of the hedgerows as if to choke them.

The petulant bitter wind blew in the faces of the snorting horses as Jim Mitchell, with his cape flapping and awry, extricated himself and alighted. The cold sliced his cheeks as he battled to unharness his tired greys with the intention of taking them to safety. Man and beasts stumbled miserably the half a mile southwards to the warmth and shelter of North End Farmhouse where the team was soon safely ensconced in the stables. In their wake, the tracks they had made were soon obliterated by the drifting whiteness.

The abandoned coach was firmly stuck in the drift and appeared forlornly frozen for perpetuity. Mist enveloped the trees and rolled down the slopes, dissolving and condensing by turns so that the coach was at one moment clearly seen and the next, entirely hidden from sight.

All roads in Findon remained impassable and the village was almost submerged. In parts of the community it was said that the snow was as high as a tall man's head. Tradesmen venturing out sometimes disappeared completely in the snow, their goods and all.

After a few days, commodities began to run short in Findon and, in turn, the housewives bitterly complained. There was hardly any food to put on the table to feed the families. The village was severed from the rest of Sussex. The local farmers in the neighbourhood banded together and sent forth their men. With the help of the villagers (wielding any tools they possessed) a carriageway was carefully chiselled from the six-foot deep road blockage. One hundred men were employed on the great snow project of 1836 and it was their supreme efforts that eventually cleared the residue of the great blizzard and a passage was finally cut to place Findon on the map again.

James Mitchell's equipage was snowbound and stuck fast for eight long days before it could be rescued and continue its relatively short journey to the coast that memorable Christmas.

Some of the Findon villagers met a different snow in 1836. During that year there had been a sudden wave of emigration to what seemed a new Promised Land. Thirty-seven people had emigrated to Canada from Findon because of lack of agricultural employment for the men — a large proportion from a population of around 545. They were villagers such as Thomas Clemons with his wife and nine children; William Berry and his wife and six children; Reuben Lillywhite and his wife; John Hunter and his wife; James Dale and his wife; George Lillywhite, his wife and two children; Daniel Lillywhite, his wife and two children; Luke Clemons; Edward Berry; and two children of Daniel Lillywhite’s wife belonging to Tarring Parish.

The emigrants had departed under sanction of the Commissioners at a cost of £200, which had been either collected or borrowed, from the Exchequer Office or from private individuals. It is wondered how they fared their first winter in Canada in 1836 compared with that of the community they had left behind.

Continue if you would like to read about Grey Point's Christmas Parties.

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