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Skating on thin ice
The classic image of a Victorian winter scene is
plenty of snow, a hard frost and open-air skating on
the local pond. I am not sure about the snow, but as
for the rest of it, this image became reality on
Christmas Day in Horsham back in 1874. Throughout the
Christmas period there had been a really cold spell,
and the local paper reported that skating had been
carried on 'most vigorously' at Warnham Mill and other
ponds in the area.
There was plenty to do during the festive season, and
the town's socially-minded were looking forward to the
forthcoming New Year's Eve Ball, organised by the
Horsham Terpsichorean Society, and the first event in
its calendar. The venue was the Corn Exchange Assembly
Rooms, with a first class quadrille band, and tickets
were just 4s (gentlemen) and 3s (ladies). The
organisers claimed that 'arrangements are as nearly as
possible perfect, and a most enjoyable night may be
thoroughly relied on'.
But meanwhile the sharp winter conditions were there
to be taken advantage of, and there was plenty of
skating to be done. Warnham Pond 'was a scene of gaity
and animation' with good, thick ice and crowds of
skaters - together with the less adept, slithering and
sliding about the place. So popular was the spot that
many sacrificed their Christmas lunch to get on the
ice, and the local presumed 'presumed that Mr W Albery
of 49 West Street has made a good harvest with his
skates'.
It was also noted that certain 'dilapidated looking
individuals' did a steady trade renting out chairs for
onlookers on the bankside, but, unlike in previous
years, there were few vendors hawking refreshments
such as oranges, chestnuts and the like. This may well
have been because one unfortunate caught a cold a year
or so earlier; all his stock tumbled onto the ice and
his oranges slid and scattered everywhere – with the
result that unscrupulous skaters got lots of free
fruit and he ended up badly out of pocket.
While the ice was generally in good condition, one
foolhardy youth took it upon himself to test an area
which had the deepest water and the thinnest surface.
He insisted on skating near the bridge 'spanning the
narrow channel connecting the large pond with the
smaller one', which everyone knew to be unsafe. There
was no cracking of the ice to give early warning –
which he may have been banking on - and he suddenly
plunged in 'up to his eyes'. But help was at hand (no
doubt older and wiser skaters had been on the watch),
and thanks to a handy ladder which they laid across
the hole he was hauled out.
Once back on firm ground, the lad's demeanour rapidly
altered. Any terror he may have felt changed to bad
temper, and 'vexed at his plight he used language
which sounded curiously in the mouth of so young a
person'. A clip round the ear, followed by a hot bath,
sounds like the right medicine for this fellow.
One result of his stupidity was to put everyone else
in a panic, and there was a stampede to get off the
ice. Within three minutes the pond was clear. But
things soon got back to normal, and by the afternoon
it was business as usual. Apart from this incident
there appears to have been only one other Christmas
casualty, when a young shop assistant at GH Sendall's,
the Middle Street butcher, took a tumble and
dislocated his shoulder.
Many years later, in 1908, the pond was as busy as
ever. Charles Lucas of Warnham Court had given his
permission, and there was two days' good skating in
early January. The ice was in splendid condition, and
on the Sunday it was said that there were no less than
1,000 people on the pond, with hundreds more on the
bank. What a splendid scene it must all have been.
There was skating on Birchen Bridge and other smaller
ponds in the area as well, but on Sir Merrik Burrell's
Knepp Castle pond another unfortunate crashed through
the ice. He was an Ashington man, and likely as not
would have drowned if not for the initiative of an
onlooker, who leapt out of a car and with the help of
ropes managed to get him out. Both rescuer and rescued
were soaking wet and freezing cold, and they repaired
to a nearby cottage for warmth and a change of
clothing. The former, a good swimmer, was deemed to be
'very plucky'.
Later again my father and his young friends remember
days (and nights) on Warnham Pond in the 1920s, when
they were teenagers. Cars were lined up in the field
next to the pond, and as evening descended their
headlights were switched on, so that they shone across
the ice. With young Phyl Copnall (daughter of the
well-known local photographer, and a skilled swimmer
and skater: she told me recently 'I haven't skated
since I was 80'), they were taught to skate by an
exotic and remarkable figure. Mr Hayden was a
Canadian, a big man and good looking. He lived in
Albion Terrace, ran a removal business, and bowled
about in a Bentley. But the most remarkable thing
about him was that he only had one foot. The other had
been lost in the Great War, and he had to manage with
a wooden substitute - but despite all this he taught
Phyl Copnall to dance on the ice, and was clearly no
mean performer himself.
Winter time at Warnham was a social place to be.
Collyer's played inter-house hockey matches on the
ice, and school was not a priority – to the pupils at
least - if there was a hard frost. Glaysher's from
Middle Street set up a bench on the ice, to attend to
any running repairs that the skates might need, and
with most of the town's youth there, there must have
been a great spirit about the place. Even up to the
1950s it was still a popular place, and I used to
spend many an hour on the ice. There is absolutely no
substitute for skating in the open air, in the
country, and the far stretches of the pond, up by the
reed beds and water channels, were particularly
enjoyable spots.
But it all came to an end. One morning in the 1950s I
went up to Warnham Pond to check the ice, but it was
covered with an inch or so of water, and clearly not
fit for skating. But later that day two local young
men did venture on, and both were lost.
After that tragedy there was no more skating on
Warnham Pond. |
