On the 27th of December, 1836, heavy snowfall accumulated on the chalk cliffs above the
town of Lewes, in the UK. An avalanche was about to take place – the deadliest avalanche
in the history of the UK. Moreover, this avalanche would take place in England – a country
with no history of avalanches, and in Lewes, a town situated at sea level, far away from
any mountains, and which had never once experienced an avalanche before.
The town of Lewes in East Sussex is a traditional English market town, and serves as the judicial
centre for the county of Sussex, with the county council, police force and fire service
all based there. Today it is home to around 17,000 people. It is situated in a gap in
a broad range of rolling chalk hills known as the South Downs. Chalk hills rise on either
side of the town, with Cliffe Hill on the eastern side forming a dramatic, steeply-sloping
backdrop to the town. In the 1800s Lewes was a considerably smaller,
but still very prosperous town. The textile and brewing industries had a strong presence
there, and its position on the banks of the River Ouse made it perfect for shipbuilding
and trade. The winter of 1836 was a harsh one. Temperatures
plummeted across the country, and roads were often blocked by snowdrifts. With mail coaches
sometimes unable to get through, postmasters in some cities authorised the use of steamships
to carry mail instead. The weather was particularly severe across the South Downs, with strong
winds and heavy snow. From Christmas Eve onwards the snow was unrelenting, with drifts piling
up until they were well above head height. As the days passed, snow built up on the peak
of Cliffe Hill, gradually forming a massive cornice. A cornice is a structure that forms
when winds blow snow over a sharp peak or edge. Some snow sticks, and this gradually
builds up over time into an overhanging edge. Cornices are fragile, and liable to break
– as such mountaineers are at pains to give them a wide berth, ensuring that they do not
venture out on top of them, or walk close by underneath.
The cornice that formed on the top of Cliffe Hill was a massive one – some accounts from
the time estimate that it was as much as six metres (or 20 feet) in height. It was also
unstable. On the evening of the 26th of December, a large portion of it broke off and plummeted
downward, smashing into an uninhabited timber yard. The force of the falling snow destroyed
a cabin, and buried the yard almost entirely. Though nobody was harmed, locals who witnessed
this collapse were understandably alarmed – all the more so because a row of cottages
lining a street called Boulder Row stood directly below the remaining cornice.
Some local men went to these cottages, to try and persuade the inhabitants to leave.
It was arranged that, until the storm passed, the residents of Boulder Row could shelter
in the town’s workhouse… but few who were offered this refuge decided to take advantage
of it. The workhouse was a cold, uncomfortable and unpleasant place to be. With gale force
winds and snow still falling, they were reluctant to leave the shelter and warmth of their familiar
cottages – particularly when they had children or young people with them who might be vulnerable
to the cold. The next morning, the 27th of December, a
man named Robert Hyam made one final attempt to persuade residents to leave. He went door
to door, speaking to people one-on-one. In a few cases he even took residents by the
arm and tried to lead them out of their homes, and out of danger. Unfortunately, in most
cases, they simply refused to go with him, and quickly returned to their cottages.
At 10:15am Hyam heard a loud noise from up above, and quickly turned and ran. He was
just in time. The remainder of the cornice gave way, rolling downhill in a massive avalanche,
landing directly on the cottages of Boulder Row. Seven cottages were completely buried,
with 15 people still inside. A later report in the Brighton Gazette described
the moment when the avalanche began: “Although the sight was fearful in itself,
no one anticipated danger to the houses immediately beneath. Mr Morris ... saw that the impending
mass had slightly moved, and a crack was here and there to be observed - he saw it coming
- he gave the alarm - it moved first gradually - then increased in velocity - till it fell
with unprecedented violence and dashed to ruins seven houses. The screams of the affrighted
inhabitants told the awful tragedy." Another report in the Sussex Weekly Advertiser
described how the mass of snow lifted and then crushed the flimsy cottages at the base
of the hill: “The mass appeared to strike the houses
first at the base, heaving them upwards, and then breaking over them like a gigantic wave.
There was nothing but a mound of pure white.” A rescue operation began immediately. In 1836,
in Lewes, in the middle of a vicious snowstorm, there was little chance to call for help from
beyond the town, and so local townspeople took on the work of digging through the hardened
mass of snow to look for survivors. On its journey down the hill, the snow had
picked up mud and rocks. In places it was now hard packed, making it difficult to dig
through… and meaning that the people buried beneath were at risk of suffocation as well
as hypothermia. While hundreds of townsfolk dug through the snow, others climbed up onto
the ridge to watch the remnants of the cornice, prepared to shout a warning should the snow
appear to shift again. After hours of digging, seven survivors were
pulled from the snow. The last, a man named John Bridgeman, had only just been pulled
from the snow when a further, smaller collapse took place, instantly reburying him and his
rescuers. He was forced to endure a further six hours trapped beneath the snow before
he could be dug out again. On finally being rescued, he was able to point rescuers to
the exact location where he believed his next door neighbour was buried. They quickly located
her, but by that time it was too late, and she had passed away.
After this point, no further survivors were found. Eight bodies were recovered from the
wreckage of the cottages, including one woman who had reportedly fled when first warned
of the avalanche, but then run back to her home to try and rescue her children just moments
before the cornice gave way. As the Sussex Weekly Messenger reported:
"The unfortunate woman on the first alarm had escaped, but, rendered desperate by the
strong affection of a mother, rushed back to her house to save her other children, when,
shocking to relate, the avalanche poured down upon the whole family, and buried them alive.”
The dead were eighty-two-year-old William Geer, forty-five-year-old Phoebe Barnden,
forty-two year old Mary Taylor, thirty-four year old Susan Hayward, twenty-eight year
old M A Bridgman, twenty-five year old Jane Boaks, fifteen year old Joseph Wood, and 11
year old Mary Bridgman. The houses on Boulder Row had been home to
some of the poorest people in Lewes. In the aftermath, townspeople contributed to a fund
to help support their recovery and rehoming, and to pay for the burial of the dead. All
but one of them were laid to rest in a communal grave in the nearby South Malling parish churchyard,
where a tablet bearing their names was installed. The severe winter passed. The snow melted.
The wreckage of the cottages was cleared away, and for many years they were not replaced.
There were several more relatively harsh winters throughout the 1800s, but it soon became clear
that the weather conditions which had caused the avalanche were incredibly rare. New houses
and businesses were built on the site of Boulder Row.
The approximate location is now a street called South Street. Situated there is a pub which
dates back to 1840, and which has traded under the name The Snowdrop Inn since that time.
This name is a reference to the disaster – one of the most destructive events to take place
in Lewes in the town’s long history. Since the Lewes avalanche there has not been
another similarly deadly avalanche in England. Some deadly avalanches have taken place in
the more mountainous regions of Scotland and Wales, but these remain a relatively rare
occurrence. Though the geography of Lewes is still very similar to what it was in 1836,
it is considered extremely unlikely that this unique and strange disaster will ever be repeated.