My dear Dora – the Flood of 1927

Wreckage in front of no’s 21 and 22 after the 1907 storm: from the collection of the Gilchrist family.

There are no photographs of the 1927 flood or the aftermath available to us. However, a long, detailed, and affectionate letter written by Philip T. Gilchrist to his sister Dora has survived.

The letter is written three days after the main force of the storm hit Northern England on the 27th of October 1927. Wind speeds of almost 80mph were recorded in Ireland before driving a storm surge ‘of unparalleled height’ towards the Lancashire coast. The spring tides were reaching their highest and the destruction was tremendous with newspapers reporting it as ‘Britain’s worst storm of 60 years’

As it would be again in 1977, Fleetwood was worst hit, at least 6 people drowned as flood defences were demolished. Some 1200 properties were damaged and 10,000 people - 45% of the population of Fleetwood - were seriously affected.

There is an estimate that as much as 5 square kilometres of the Fylde peninsula was covered by 41 million gallons of water, in some places 3.7 metres deep (12 feet).

Morecambe and Heysham were badly hit with damage estimated at £40,000, approximately £3m in today’s value.

In Lancaster the Isolation Hospital located close to the river (Just beyond Williamson’s linoleum works) was flooded, with 3 TB patients who had been sleeping on the ground floor, drowned. A later report said the Matron had also drowned.

On the night of the storm Philip was 60 and living on the Point with his wife Katharine in Dolphin House, number 12. Dora is 50 and living in Liverpool with her husband the Rev. William Swainson, the vicar at Rainhill.

Passport photograph of Philip dated 1927: From the collection of the Gilchrist Family.

Dora in 1920: From the collection of the Gilchrist Family.

Philip, a landscape painter of considerable talent, uses his ‘artist’s eye’ to describe vivid scenes to Dora, so she can imagine what happened. And so can we, almost 100 years afterwards.

In the letter he writes.

‘Here is a scene - on the stones and scattered over the green and roadway before the “middle terrace” [Second Terrace] are piles of sofas, chairs, fire irons, cushions, biscuit tins, and chests of drawers with contents spread around, while busy people at each house are using spades, shovels, and buckets to clear the floors inside. Pitiful tangles of wire-netting, sticks and seaweed show where the little flowerbeds were. On the beach, also among rubbish, is Senior’s boat’.

With some edits, we follow and quote directly from the letter, but sometimes not in the strict order it appears, and do so only where linking his observations adds to clarity.

 The letter begins 

‘My dear Dora, I am tired and rather stupid and hardly know where to start’.

Philip collects his thoughts and continues.

‘The great tide took us by surprise. It was not until after dark that it came on to blow really hard. We had a crowded attendance at the Potato and Cake Competition in the Reading Room, which was a greater success than ever, and would be worthy of a long letter in itself’.

This is a real surprise.  In the Reading Room would have been long established fishing families, some of the men pilots on the river and sea with a lifetime’s experience of storms. Many would remember the great storm of 1907 twenty years earlier. We can only guess that the gale force winds identified in Ireland were a complete surprise.

And we would also like to see a letter about the potato and cake party. Minutes from the Reading Room dating from the same time describes a competition of cake baking skills of the women and the potato cultivation from the men. The winner of the best cake was Mrs Birkett – number 14 and the best potato was Mr Tom Smith - number 20 (but potatos in October?).

Back to the letter

‘What a night! Most of the doors, domestic and others along the front of Sunderland were burst in by the sea - in spite of man’s efforts - and some were smashed'.

The mess of wreckage and mud mixed up with furniture and household goods which Saturday morning discovered in the houses was a most distressing sight. It has to be seen to be realised.

 It is the worst storm that we have had - altogether more damage than the one of 20 years ago’.

Philip is referring to that storm of 1907 which did terrible damage to the Point. He believes the costliest restoration will be on the West shore where ‘great lumps’ have been taken out of the sea wall.

‘The Hall Garden is full of stones…. Arthur Townley took a lot of mud and wreckage out of the house where the benches were sprawling among rugs and oilcloth. We lifted the poor old clock which is badly knocked about - but it stood a battering before, and I think that it can be repaired all right’

The fish house steps and some of the net poles have gone. Mr. Smith is very ill again. Three of Smith’s boats went - one stayed by the big stump [largest of the wooden posts in the sand] beyond the Hall. One has been seen on the brakes [groynes?] outside in such a condition that it is not worth salvaging, and the third is lost.

Tom Smith (left) with William Townley: From the collection of Alan Smith

‘On the shore is poor old Tom Smith searching about for a few mussels spilled from a hole in the sack, while others of us who are most engaged in domestic work are clearing a pathway of stones and timbers and filling in holes.

The Reading Room was deep in water, but the piano remained an upright one and the billiard table was unmoved. The loud speaker was in the fireplace sticking up the chimney.

Poor old Mrs Turney was half crying - only the other day they had tidied up things for the winter and put the board in the doorway (all was broken in) - and now such a mess!’ 

Mr and Mrs Turney: From the collection of Elizabeth Hampson

Above, Julia Turney with her husband Alderman John Turney sitting on the stone wall on Second Terrace c1930. They had spent many summers at the Point living in number 17 known then as ‘Wavecrest’

Arnold Townley tried to keep his door shut [no16] with props and things, but it was burst open, and he was jammed behind it - then he and his wife sat on the stairs and half saw through the darkness their things being wrecked.

Arthur Townley, mentioned earlier and the uncle of Arnold Townley with his wife Mary and children outside number 16 c1905: From the collection of the Gilchrist Family

Birkett’s [no14] suffered worst of all. The house door of which Mrs B was so proud (had it specially done by painters who stayed there) was broken and all the lower rooms, pottery, carpets, furniture, churned round in mud and refuse and stones - paraffin oil tins emptied among it all. In the morning they had to spade the rooms out into a barrow and tip into a large hole in the road. Both Mr. and Mrs. Birkett have colds and are far from well - and this and drowned sheep on the top of it! 

‘Mrs Cuthill [no13] was badly hit too in her little shop, and the old bath house is wrecked - walls and roof only standing.

Mrs Cuthill with Arnold and William Townley outside number 13 c1932: From the collection of the Lancashire Archives

The coping stones of the ‘Ramper’ [The ramp leading from the shore to First Terrace] were torn off and some of them swept against Mason’s wall where the seat used to be.’

The photograph below shows the ramp up to the first Terrace and the facing side of number 11 where for years there was a long seat.

Ramp up to First Terrace: From the collection of Alan Smith

Then poor Alfred and Theo at the Moorings, No3 - sea front smashed and gate and several lumps of their paddock wall down - but it is the loss of hens and horrid jumble of water tubs, hen huts in a hopeless looking flood that takes the heart out of them’. Theo (Theodora) is Dora and Philip’s sister.

Theo and Alfred White 1917: From the collection of the Gilchrist family

‘Gravelly had a dreadful time. Tom had the turkey and a great number of young hens drowned. He has saved the pig by floating it on a sort of raft to the house, and now it is in the cupboard kind of place under the staircase! They are anxious, as you can understand, for the waters to subside. His piano stands on 2 boxes.

Captain Tom Gardner in the uniform of the Kings Own Regiment c1918: From the collection of Kris Needham

It was in the dark of course that Tom Gardner [Gravelly] saved his pig. Floating it, he pulled by an ear. When the raft came aground piggy refused to come off and walk, and Tom fell in the water - pulling his beast. As soon as the pig saw the light in the door of the house it made for it and there was no more trouble’.

 In this anecdote about ‘piggy’ Philip’s sense of humour shines gently through. We smile as we read. Approaching the end of the letter Philip describes to Dora how those with homes less effected by the flood were giving their full support to the recovery operations.

‘The people in the Lane have all been working as hard as the dwellers below - Tom Spencer clearing Harrison’s cottage and Mrs. Spencer and James and Tommy Gardner at the Reading Room while the Shirleys were putting to rights the wreckage and washing out Dr. Edmondson’s’.

These photographs introduce the villagers mentioned by Philip.

Tom and Elizabeth Spencer with children c1900: From the collection of Wilton Atkinson

They were living at number 3 the Lane, one of the pair of houses that Tom had built with his father James Spencer.

Thomas (left) and James Gardner c1935: From the collection of Wilton Atkinson.

Tom Gardner lived in the other of the pair of houses, number 2 Lane. His eldest brother James was on First Terrace in number 9.

Belle Gardner: From the collection of the Gilchrist family

James ‘Shirley’ Gardner: From the collection of the Lancashire Archives

The ‘Shirleys’ lived at the top of the Lane in the Summer House and been there for more than 25 years.

As he ends the letter Philip laments the damage caused by the storm, ‘Sunderland, so clean and tidy… etc and oh look now!’ But states firmly ‘all this damage etc – it has to be put right’  

Finally, knowing he has written a letter filled with bad news, he says kindly, ‘I hope this tale of woe will not depress you’.

 And ends,

‘We send our love,

Your affectionate brother

Philip.’

We express our sincere thanks to the Gilchrist family for allowing access to a personal letter which provides this startling first-hand account of the flood of 1927