New Website
As of October 15, 2012, this Tumblr page shall no longer be updated. All future content can now be found on:
http://www.danielklongman.com
We hope to see you there

New Website

As of October 15, 2012, this Tumblr page shall no longer be updated. All future content can now be found on:

http://www.danielklongman.com

We hope to see you there

Disorder in the Court
The city’s County Magistrate court at Islington was the setting for two rather remarkable scenes back in April, 1924. That month featured the trial of Francis McKenna, a young man only in his twenties, who had been charged with causing criminal damage to a shop in Linacre Road in Litherland. As the trial drew to a close and Mr. McKenna certified medically insane, he climbed up on to his chair and leaped over the rails out of the dock.  As he landed audible waves of discernible terror rang out from the public gallery and he himself began screaming and hollering uncontrollably. “How long are they putting me away for?” he shouted and he made some effort to make contact with a woman at the back of court. Constables quickly secured the man and he was swiftly removed. The previous Tuesday the prisoner had smashed a plate glass window valued at approximately £25. He told the arresting officer he did not know why he had done it. That charge was now withdrawn and Mr McKenna found himself on his way to the Mill Road Infirmary for a indeterminable spell of medical observation.
That week also saw the trial of another unhinged reprobate who, during his trial,  grabbed a baby through the rails of the dock and kissed it many times while it’s mother sobbed and wailed pleading for him to stop.

Disorder in the Court

The city’s County Magistrate court at Islington was the setting for two rather remarkable scenes back in April, 1924. That month featured the trial of Francis McKenna, a young man only in his twenties, who had been charged with causing criminal damage to a shop in Linacre Road in Litherland. As the trial drew to a close and Mr. McKenna certified medically insane, he climbed up on to his chair and leaped over the rails out of the dock.  As he landed audible waves of discernible terror rang out from the public gallery and he himself began screaming and hollering uncontrollably. “How long are they putting me away for?” he shouted and he made some effort to make contact with a woman at the back of court. Constables quickly secured the man and he was swiftly removed. The previous Tuesday the prisoner had smashed a plate glass window valued at approximately £25. He told the arresting officer he did not know why he had done it. That charge was now withdrawn and Mr McKenna found himself on his way to the Mill Road Infirmary for a indeterminable spell of medical observation.

That week also saw the trial of another unhinged reprobate who, during his trial,  grabbed a baby through the rails of the dock and kissed it many times while it’s mother sobbed and wailed pleading for him to stop.

London Road
Here we see London Road in the early years of the 20th century, in more popular times. The famous Owen Owen store is on the left and shoppers are browsing the length of the street. From Prescot Street in the far distance, a tram draws near.

London Road

Here we see London Road in the early years of the 20th century, in more popular times. The famous Owen Owen store is on the left and shoppers are browsing the length of the street. From Prescot Street in the far distance, a tram draws near.

Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II)
There is no doubt that here on Merseyside we have a strong passion for our region and its long and ancient heritage, and Dingle-born reader John Harrison is living proof. His fascination with local history began at an early age when he was taken to see The Grange, an 800 year-old granary in Aigburth Hall Avenue. In the years that followed he spent many hours in record offices delving into old books and seeking out historic manuscripts to feed his curiosity for the past. More recently John has been forced to leave his job in the creative sector due to problems with rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes and asthma, but he has refused to allow his health difficulties to stand in the way of his passion. “I do what I do despite being in great pain every day,” says John, “I admit it is a struggle, but I am just so determined and enthusiastic about Liverpool’s roots.” John is the first local historian to teach at the newly restored Florence Institute in the Dingle and he has been a speaker at the Toxteth Town Hall Heritage Open Days for the past three years, as well as contributing to Radio Merseyside’s Big History Weekends. As further testament to his zealous determination John has recently released a new DVD entitled Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II) which displays many evocative images of the L8 area dating from the late 19th century through to the 20th. It features numerous shots of old streets, pubs and tenements in and around Toxteth which would otherwise be confined to memory. It is his third local history DVD and is just one of a number of on-going community projects John is currently involved in. Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II) can be found at the Florence Institute in Mill Street, News from Nowhere bookshop in Bold Street and the Museum of Liverpool at the pier head. If you have any memories or any of your own images of the L8 district John would love to hear from you. His email is Yanish2002@hotmail.com

Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II)

There is no doubt that here on Merseyside we have a strong passion for our region and its long and ancient heritage, and Dingle-born reader John Harrison is living proof. His fascination with local history began at an early age when he was taken to see The Grange, an 800 year-old granary in Aigburth Hall Avenue. In the years that followed he spent many hours in record offices delving into old books and seeking out historic manuscripts to feed his curiosity for the past. More recently John has been forced to leave his job in the creative sector due to problems with rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes and asthma, but he has refused to allow his health difficulties to stand in the way of his passion. “I do what I do despite being in great pain every day,” says John, “I admit it is a struggle, but I am just so determined and enthusiastic about Liverpool’s roots.” John is the first local historian to teach at the newly restored Florence Institute in the Dingle and he has been a speaker at the Toxteth Town Hall Heritage Open Days for the past three years, as well as contributing to Radio Merseyside’s Big History Weekends. As further testament to his zealous determination John has recently released a new DVD entitled Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II) which displays many evocative images of the L8 area dating from the late 19th century through to the 20th. It features numerous shots of old streets, pubs and tenements in and around Toxteth which would otherwise be confined to memory. It is his third local history DVD and is just one of a number of on-going community projects John is currently involved in. Memories of Liverpool 8 (Volume II) can be found at the Florence Institute in Mill Street, News from Nowhere bookshop in Bold Street and the Museum of Liverpool at the pier head. If you have any memories or any of your own images of the L8 district John would love to hear from you. His email is Yanish2002@hotmail.com

This great magic lantern slide shows the superb entrance to Birkenhead Park. This view is extra interesting as it depicts long-lost lawn areas, not just cobbles, in the foreground.

This great magic lantern slide shows the superb entrance to Birkenhead Park. This view is extra interesting as it depicts long-lost lawn areas, not just cobbles, in the foreground.

Abomah
In January, 1912, you could have popped along to Reynolds Exhibition in Lime Street to meet Abomah - ‘the tallest woman in the universe’ Said to be 6 feet 10.5 inches.

Abomah

In January, 1912, you could have popped along to Reynolds Exhibition in Lime Street to meet Abomah - ‘the tallest woman in the universe’ Said to be 6 feet 10.5 inches.

Flannel trousers anyone? Only 6/11 at the Grand Clothing Hall in Toxteth. Hopefully the sale is still on.

Flannel trousers anyone? Only 6/11 at the Grand Clothing Hall in Toxteth. Hopefully the sale is still on.

I was recently contacted by reader Alan Clay who wished to share some very interesting details regarding the life of his truly heroic ancestor. Alan’s great grandfather, William Liversage was born in 1864 at a humble property adjoining the Ferry Hotel in New Brighton. As a youngster William entered the joinery trade but the call of the Mersey became too strong and he took up work as a deck hand on our river’s early pilot boats. His career blossomed with great variety and he went on to become the town’s official pier master. However it was whilst William was still in his teenage years that he volunteered  himself into the New Brighton lifeboat crew. It would be a role he would maintain until the very end.
Alan said that he had discovered a number of incidents in which his relative courageously saved the day.  On one such occasion the cry of “man overboard” roared across the crowded deck of the ferry boat 'John Joyce' as it sat alongside the New Brighton landing stage. There was a great commotion when people realised a woman had fallen and life buoys were immediately thrown into the waters. “There is a newspaper clipping which describes how my great grandfather actually grabbed a buoy, threw himself in and swam out towards the drowning passenger. He managed to take hold of the woman and keep her afloat until a rescue boat arrived”
Alan also mentioned another incident in which his ancestor played a crucial role. On August 18,1919 William had travelled over to Liverpool on the ferry when he noticed a boy fall into the river from the floating bridge. It was Albert Hughes, eight years of age and  a resident of the city’s Wilton Street. He was quickly being swept out to sea by strong currents and swallowing a lot of water. Quickly disembarking William pushed his way through the early evening crowds and plunged into the water, fully clothed to swim out and save the stricken child. ” He dragged Albert to the shore-side and it was touch and go whether the boy would survive. Fortunately, he did and after a check up by a doctor he was free to return home to his family later that evening. “
William died in 1923 aged fifty-nine after one final act of heroism.  In the December of that year he had been called out to a rescue and oversaw the loading of a lifeboat. The evening was particularly stormy and although he did not go out in the vessel himself, William was exposed to the elements for several testing hours. About a week later the events of that night took their toll and William exhibited symptoms of what would become a deadly bout of pneumonia. He left a wife and five young children. He is buried in Rake Lane cemetery, Wallasey.
" I’m very proud to be related to such a valiant man" says Alan. "I only wish we could have met."

I was recently contacted by reader Alan Clay who wished to share some very interesting details regarding the life of his truly heroic ancestor. Alan’s great grandfather, William Liversage was born in 1864 at a humble property adjoining the Ferry Hotel in New Brighton. As a youngster William entered the joinery trade but the call of the Mersey became too strong and he took up work as a deck hand on our river’s early pilot boats. His career blossomed with great variety and he went on to become the town’s official pier master. However it was whilst William was still in his teenage years that he volunteered  himself into the New Brighton lifeboat crew. It would be a role he would maintain until the very end.

Alan said that he had discovered a number of incidents in which his relative courageously saved the day.  On one such occasion the cry of “man overboard” roared across the crowded deck of the ferry boat 'John Joyce' as it sat alongside the New Brighton landing stage. There was a great commotion when people realised a woman had fallen and life buoys were immediately thrown into the waters. “There is a newspaper clipping which describes how my great grandfather actually grabbed a buoy, threw himself in and swam out towards the drowning passenger. He managed to take hold of the woman and keep her afloat until a rescue boat arrived”

Alan also mentioned another incident in which his ancestor played a crucial role. On August 18,1919 William had travelled over to Liverpool on the ferry when he noticed a boy fall into the river from the floating bridge. It was Albert Hughes, eight years of age and  a resident of the city’s Wilton Street. He was quickly being swept out to sea by strong currents and swallowing a lot of water. Quickly disembarking William pushed his way through the early evening crowds and plunged into the water, fully clothed to swim out and save the stricken child. ” He dragged Albert to the shore-side and it was touch and go whether the boy would survive. Fortunately, he did and after a check up by a doctor he was free to return home to his family later that evening. “

William died in 1923 aged fifty-nine after one final act of heroism.  In the December of that year he had been called out to a rescue and oversaw the loading of a lifeboat. The evening was particularly stormy and although he did not go out in the vessel himself, William was exposed to the elements for several testing hours. About a week later the events of that night took their toll and William exhibited symptoms of what would become a deadly bout of pneumonia. He left a wife and five young children. He is buried in Rake Lane cemetery, Wallasey.

" I’m very proud to be related to such a valiant man" says Alan. "I only wish we could have met."

Court Room MayhemOn the night of February 2, 1891 Police Constable John Mountfield made his way up Market Street, Birkenhead and on passing the Caledonian Hotel the familiar yet unwanted tones of Elizabeth Formstone tickled his finely-tun
ed eardrums. The Egerton Street resident was drunkenly staggering up the road towards him shouting foul-mouthed obscenities with every step. Mountfield had had plenty of experience dealing with this woman before and was fully aware of Miss Formstone’s vast criminal history. She had been before court no less than seventy times for a variety of offences and was now complaining of P.C Challoner’s latest summons against her. Constable Mountfield told her to quieten down and go away. He had a beat to manage and did not wish to waste any more time on her. She bawled a few more offensive terms out into the ether before stomping off into the pub.  It was only a short while before P.C Mountfield was called into the Caledonian himself on the pleas of the manager who wished him to eject his latest patron for her abusive behaviour. Struggling through several slaps and even a few light punches, Mountfield secured the screeching woman in handcuffs and took her away to be locked up. On signing in at the desk Miss Formstone seized an opportune moment to fly at the arresting office, biting him on the hand. Ignoring the pain Mountfield grabbed the abusive drunk by the hair and dragged her into a cell to calm down.  The next day Elizabeth was brought before Magistrate Preston on a charge of being a drunk and disorderly prostitute. He immediately recognised her remarking that she was one of the worst women he had ever had to deal with. “Two months hard labour for each” declared the magistrate. “Four months!” the prisoner exclaimed on hearing the verdict. “Yes, four months.” “Well, by the living Jesus Christ! she announced. Court officials gasped in shock at Miss Formstone’s disrespectful  comments and an officer rushed up to remove her from the stand. He however failed to arrive in time to prevent her from grabbing a policeman’s helmet resting nearby and launching it directly at Magistrate Preston. Luckily for him, it ricocheted off the front rail and flew towards the reporter’s bench without injury. There was quite a sensation as Miss Formstone was dragged kicking and screaming from the room.

Court Room Mayhem

On the night of February 2, 1891 Police Constable John Mountfield made his way up Market Street, Birkenhead and on passing the Caledonian Hotel the familiar yet unwanted tones of Elizabeth Formstone tickled his finely-tun

ed eardrums. The Egerton Street resident was drunkenly staggering up the road towards him shouting foul-mouthed obscenities with every step. Mountfield had had plenty of experience dealing with this woman before and was fully aware of Miss Formstone’s vast criminal history. She had been before court no less than seventy times for a variety of offences and was now complaining of P.C Challoner’s latest summons against her. Constable Mountfield told her to quieten down and go away. He had a beat to manage and did not wish to waste any more time on her. She bawled a few more offensive terms out into the ether before stomping off into the pub.

It was only a short while before P.C Mountfield was called into the Caledonian himself on the pleas of the manager who wished him to eject his latest patron for her abusive behaviour. Struggling through several slaps and even a few light punches, Mountfield secured the screeching woman in handcuffs and took her away to be locked up. On signing in at the desk Miss Formstone seized an opportune moment to fly at the arresting office, biting him on the hand. Ignoring the pain Mountfield grabbed the abusive drunk by the hair and dragged her into a cell to calm down.

The next day Elizabeth was brought before Magistrate Preston on a charge of being a drunk and disorderly prostitute. He immediately recognised her remarking that she was one of the worst women he had ever had to deal with. “Two months hard labour for each” declared the magistrate.

“Four months!” the prisoner exclaimed on hearing the verdict.
“Yes, four months.”
“Well, by the living Jesus Christ! she announced.

Court officials gasped in shock at Miss Formstone’s disrespectful
comments and an officer rushed up to remove her from the stand. He however failed to arrive in time to prevent her from grabbing a policeman’s helmet resting nearby and launching it directly at Magistrate Preston. Luckily for him, it ricocheted off the front rail and flew towards the reporter’s bench without injury. There was quite a sensation as Miss Formstone was dragged kicking and screaming from the room.
Snapshot Shopper
I’ve been working on a new project this week - Snapshot Shopper. Basically I’ve been visiting shops and asking to take pictures of the interior. This isn’t really something we can appreciate now as much as our descendents hopefully will in the future. I find it frustrating that our own ancestors failed to take many images of the inside of the shops they frequented back in the day. There are pictures, but they often only the frontage taken from out in the street. This new project takes that extra step through the front door in order to reveal what’s within.  It’s very early days yet and only Facebook-based for the time being. That said, I am looking into how to make one of those Word Press sites which should be more accessible and be an improvement design-wise. For now, please feel free to take a look at: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Snapshot-Shopper/517064768319151?ref=hl

Snapshot Shopper

I’ve been working on a new project this week - Snapshot Shopper. Basically I’ve been visiting shops and asking to take pictures of the interior. This isn’t really something we can appreciate now as much as our descendents hopefully will in the future. I find it frustrating that our own ancestors failed to take many images of the inside of the shops they frequented back in the day. There are pictures, but they often only the frontage taken from out in the street. This new project takes that extra step through the front door in order to reveal what’s within.

It’s very early days yet and only Facebook-based for the time being. That said, I am looking into how to make one of those Word Press sites which should be more accessible and be an improvement design-wise. For now, please feel free to take a look at:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Snapshot-Shopper/517064768319151?ref=hl

The Lucky Numbers
In 1834 it was thought Lady Luck had paid a fortuitous visit to our shores but the events of that year were not all as they seemed. It was then when a Liverpool merchant sat quietly in his parlour meditating upon the affairs of his business. Deep in thought he stared intently into the flames of the fireplace. To his astonishment, a series of numbers began to appear within the burning embers of the iron grate. Perplexed, he moved in for a closer look and sure enough there were definite digits in sight. He called over his wife who to the joy of his sanity agreed that she too could see them and wondered what mystical force could create such a vision. The man also pondered over the unworldly significance and he quickly realised that there was a lottery afoot. The draw had an eye-watering jackpot of £30,000. He searched across the city, and then across the country to track down the ticket inclusive of the numbers which had been magically revealed to him. Incredibly the lucky ticket was found. Draw day came and it was with great excitement that the trader made his way to the lottery office to await his financial fate. His feeling of absolute gut-wrenching disappointment can only be imagined as his so sought-after ticket proved to be utterly worthless. Several weeks later, when the painful memory of the whole affair was slowly beginning to fade, the unlucky gambler happened to cast his eye towards the burning fireplace once again. For a second time the very same numbers began to manifest before him. This time however a logical explanation could be determined. The grate had been purchased from the Carron foundry in Scotland and the numbers - they were nothing more than the pattern code of the model. The very same digits could be found stamped onto the back of thousands of fireplaces across the land. It can be presumed the merchant felt somewhat foolish upon this amusing realisation. 

The Lucky Numbers

In 1834 it was thought Lady Luck had paid a fortuitous visit to our shores but the events of that year were not all as they seemed. It was then when a Liverpool merchant sat quietly in his parlour meditating upon the affairs of his business. Deep in thought he stared intently into the flames of the fireplace. To his astonishment, a series of numbers began to appear within the burning embers of the iron grate. Perplexed, he moved in for a closer look and sure enough there were definite digits in sight. He called over his wife who to the joy of his sanity agreed that she too could see them and wondered what mystical force could create such a vision. The man also pondered over the unworldly significance and he quickly realised that there was a lottery afoot. The draw had an eye-watering jackpot of £30,000. He searched across the city, and then across the country to track down the ticket inclusive of the numbers which had been magically revealed to him. Incredibly the lucky ticket was found. Draw day came and it was with great excitement that the trader made his way to the lottery office to await his financial fate. His feeling of absolute gut-wrenching disappointment can only be imagined as his so sought-after ticket proved to be utterly worthless. Several weeks later, when the painful memory of the whole affair was slowly beginning to fade, the unlucky gambler happened to cast his eye towards the burning fireplace once again. For a second time the very same numbers began to manifest before him. This time however a logical explanation could be determined. The grate had been purchased from the Carron foundry in Scotland and the numbers - they were nothing more than the pattern code of the model. The very same digits could be found stamped onto the back of thousands of fireplaces across the land. It can be presumed the merchant felt somewhat foolish upon this amusing realisation. 

The Slip of a RopeIn November 1816, a most miserable accident occurred to pub landlady Mrs Oaks as she walked across the cobbles of Exchange Square. On the afternoon of the 12th a gang of workmen had been employed to carry out some building work on one portion of the Exchange. They were in process of hoisting a heavy beam through an open window by means of a rope when Mrs Oakes neared the gate to the public office. This was directly beneath the foreboding, wavering beam and by some dreadful chance, it was at this precise moment that the beam slipped free from its support and crashed down in an oblique descent right on top of her. Mrs Oaks herself then fell to the ground amidst a torrent of her own blood, dying almost immediately. She had been the owner of a tavern near St Paul’s Square only moments away from the scene.

The Slip of a Rope

In November 1816, a most miserable accident occurred to pub landlady Mrs Oaks as she walked across the cobbles of Exchange Square. On the afternoon of the 12th a gang of workmen had been employed to carry out some buildi
ng work on one portion of the Exchange. They were in process of hoisting a heavy beam through an open window by means of a rope when Mrs Oakes neared the gate to the public office. This was directly beneath the foreboding, wavering beam and by some dreadful chance, it was at this precise moment that the beam slipped free from its support and crashed down in an oblique descent right on top of her. Mrs Oaks herself then fell to the ground amidst a torrent of her own blood, dying almost immediately. She had been the owner of a tavern near St Paul’s Square only moments away from the scene.

The Wrong Baby

In the early years of the twentieth century many residents on Merseyside still suffered with the poor and insanitary housing conditions left behind by their Victorian predecessors. In February 1906 two Anfield families fell victim to their squalor when an outbreak of fever descended upon their homes. As a result a child from one of the properties was removed to a fever hospital and the same was done at the other. As expected both families were keen for a healthy outcome and spoke with the doctor on numerous occasions to ask how the recovery of their little ones was coming along. In due course one of the mothers was told that her child had fully recovered and that they were fit and healthy enough to go home. Naturally she was overjoyed, but something was amiss. In the days that followed suspicions were beginning to set in and she wondered whether child in her arms was actually the tot to whom she had given birth. In a state of fret, she contacted the hospital in case there had been some administrative mix-up and sure enough she was told that the child she now coveted did indeed belong to another family. Panic set in with the realisation that the fate of her own baby was now unknown and the woman became deeply upset. Doctors sought to calm her down and rectify the error but her hysteria only escalated when it was discovered that her biological offspring had in fact passed away five weeks earlier. That child had been grieved over by a family who it had never known, each member oblivious that their real kin was alive and well. On hearing of the tragic yet wonderful mistake the once mournful mother from the second property rushed to the address of the deceased baby and rejoiced as she clasped her living offspring lovingly once again.

The Wrong Baby

In the early years of the twentieth century many residents on Merseyside still suffered with the poor and insanitary housing conditions left behind by their Victorian predecessors. In February 1906 two Anfield families fell victim to their squalor when an outbreak of fever descended upon their homes. As a result a child from one of the properties was removed to a fever hospital and the same was done at the other. As expected both families were keen for a healthy outcome and spoke with the doctor on numerous occasions to ask how the recovery of their little ones was coming along. In due course one of the mothers was told that her child had fully recovered and that they were fit and healthy enough to go home. Naturally she was overjoyed, but something was amiss. In the days that followed suspicions were beginning to set in and she wondered whether child in her arms was actually the tot to whom she had given birth. In a state of fret, she contacted the hospital in case there had been some administrative mix-up and sure enough she was told that the child she now coveted did indeed belong to another family. Panic set in with the realisation that the fate of her own baby was now unknown and the woman became deeply upset. Doctors sought to calm her down and rectify the error but her hysteria only escalated when it was discovered that her biological offspring had in fact passed away five weeks earlier. That child had been grieved over by a family who it had never known, each member oblivious that their real kin was alive and well. On hearing of the tragic yet wonderful mistake the once mournful mother from the second property rushed to the address of the deceased baby and rejoiced as she clasped her living offspring lovingly once again.

A Jeweller’s Jump
The fresh winter morning of January 13, 1905 was the setting of a most extraordinary moment; one which given the choice many Liverpool pedestrians would rather not have witnessed. At about ten o’clock that day shoppers in the vicinity of Lime Street casually went about their business all with collective thoughts as to the happy new year ahead. Their blissful optimism was brought a depressing end as the figure of a partially-dressed man was seen to fall some forty feet down to the pavement from a third story window. The ambiance of Lime Street soon became awash with terrified screams and unadulterated confusion. The man in question was later revealed to be fifty-seven-year-old Israel Philips, a well-known jeweller based at the building - number 57. Crowds called out for assistance and an ambulance was quickly dispatched. However as Mr Phillip’s plummet concluded when his skull hit the flagstones death was instantaneous. His fatal jump was deemed to be suicide.

A Jeweller’s Jump

The fresh winter morning of January 13, 1905 was the setting of a most extraordinary moment; one which given the choice many Liverpool pedestrians would rather not have witnessed. At about ten o’clock that day shoppers in the vicinity of Lime Street casually went about their business all with collective thoughts as to the happy new year ahead. Their blissful optimism was brought a depressing end as the figure of a partially-dressed man was seen to fall some forty feet down to the pavement from a third story window. The ambiance of Lime Street soon became awash with terrified screams and unadulterated confusion. The man in question was later revealed to be fifty-seven-year-old Israel Philips, a well-known jeweller based at the building - number 57. Crowds called out for assistance and an ambulance was quickly dispatched. However as Mr Phillip’s plummet concluded when his skull hit the flagstones death was instantaneous. His fatal jump was deemed to be suicide.



The Swingboat
Just over a century ago a small fun ground based in Bootle’s Selwyn Street was the scene of a most unfortunate accident. On Thursday September 21, 1911 youngster William Duncan from nearby Brewster Street had been playing on the swingboat with two other boys when something small fell from his pocket. He stooped down to retrieve the item but on raising his head was struck by the swingboat as it descended back towards him. The contraption crashed into his face, striking him hard in the jaw inflicting the most awful injuries. So bad was the damage the thirteen-year-old died from his injuries before even reaching the Stanley Hospital

The Swingboat

Just over a century ago a small fun ground based in Bootle’s Selwyn Street was the scene of a most unfortunate accident. On Thursday September 21, 1911 youngster William Duncan from nearby Brewster Street had been playing on the swingboat with two other boys when something small fell from his pocket. He stooped down to retrieve the item but on raising his head was struck by the swingboat as it descended back towards him. The contraption crashed into his face, striking him hard in the jaw inflicting the most awful injuries. So bad was the damage the thirteen-year-old died from his injuries before even reaching the Stanley Hospital

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Daniel K Longman

The tumblr of Daniel K. Longman. Liverpool Echo Columnist. Author of Merseyside history. Updates via Daniel K Longman @ Twitter and Facebook

 

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