1. Frank Linsly James – Killed by an elephant 1890
Frank
James was the son of wealthy American merchant Daniel James, a founder partner
of the firm Phelps, Dodge & Co, who moved to Liverpool in 1831 to run the
British side of the business and where James was born in 1851. With apparently
no need to earn his own living Frank spent his adult life as an adventurer and explorer,
travelling in Sudan, Somalia, India and Mexico and sailing his steam yacht, the
Lancashire Witch. He wrote accounts of his African explorations in ‘Wild
Tribes of the Sudan’ (1883) and ‘The Unknown Horn of Africa’ (1888).
He was killed during an expedition to Gabon in 1890. On the 21st April, to
celebrate his 39th birthday, Frank went hunting in the bush with his best
friend Ethelbert Lort-Phillips. When the pair unwisely enraged a bull elephant
by taking pot shots at him with their rifles, they were charged by the angry pachyderm;
Frank was gored in the chest by the elephant’s tusk and died of his injuries within
the hour. Ethelbert managed to narrowly escape without serious injury.
This
account of the accident is from the Western Daily Press of Friday 30 May 1890;
LATE
MR FRANK JAMES. Detailed accounts have now reached this country with respect to
the accident by which the late Mr Frank James lost his life at Gaboon, in West
Africa. It appears that Mr Lort Phillips was the only one with him at the time
the fatality and it is believed he must have been in the act of firing when he
was transfixed by the elephant’s tusk, death resulting in about an hour.
Phillips himself had a narrow escape, having been twice charged in the dense
jungle by the same elephant after his rifle had been rendered useless by his
inability to withdraw the empty cartridges from the barrels, as they had become
swollen and sticky in consequence of the soaking they had received from the
heavy rain. The funeral of Mr James took place yesterday at Kensal Green.
Frank’s
body was taken to Southampton on the Lancashire Witch and then
transported to Kensal Green where his funeral took place on Thursday 29th May. He
left a fortune declared to probate as being worth £100,009, 5 shillings and 1
penny (but not including any of his assets in the USA), probably the equivalent
of around £20 million today. He left several large bequests to charity
including £5000 each to the Hospital for Incurables at Putney and the Cheyne
Hospital for Sick Children at Chelsea. He also left £500 to the captain of his
yacht and £10,000 to his best friend Ethelbert, along with a lifetime annuity
of £1200 a year.
2. Captain Henry Charles Le Blanc Newbery–
killed by an avalanche of coal 1865
Captain
Newbery was a 33-year-old officer in the 51st Madras Infantry of the
Honourable East India Company who was on home furlough at the time of his death.
On the evening of the 16th May 1865 he was making his way home to Randolph Road
in Maida Hill, passing by Paddington Station, when an avalanche in a pile of
coal in the yard of Lilleshall Coal Company brought down the coal yard wall on
top of him. The following account is from the Sun (London) of Friday 19
May 1865
The
Fatal Accident to Captain Newbery, Yesterday afternoon Dr. Lankester held an
inquiry at the Bank of England Tavern, Church-street, Paddington, into the
death of Capt. Henry Charles Le Clame Newbery, of the 51st Madras Native
Infantry. The deceased was 33 years of age, and a son of the late Col. Newbery,
of Park-lane, Hyde-park. He had been on furlough from India, and while
proceeding home by the road leading from Praed-street to Bishop's-road,
Paddington, a boundary wall which was attached to a coal depot connected with
the Great Western Railway fell and caused his death. Mr. A. Newbery, a brother
of the deceased, said he saw Capt. Newbery in the hospital after the accident.
At that time he was sensible, but could give no account of the accident. In
answer to the coroner the witness said that everybody of whom he had made
inquiry knew that sufficient care was not taken with regard to the wall. Mr. S.
Woodman, house surgeon at St. Mary's Hospital, said that deceased was brought
in about half past 6 o'clock on Monday evening. He was suffering from severe
wound on the left eye. The frontal bone was fractured, and the back part of the
head was much injured. His death was not caused by any operation. He had made a
post-mortem examination and should say the immediate cause of death was
exhaustion from the shock the deceased sustained, coupled with the injuries.
Police-constable Fisher, D 293, deposed to seeing the wall fall down, about
half-past 6 o'clock on Monday evening. The wall was near to the gates belonging
to the Great Western Company. On hearing a noise he went to the spot, and found
a man's hat in the road. The coals inside the wall had fallen down, and some
persons began at once to clear them away. Witness, finding that the gentleman
whom he had seen passing disappeared, concluded that he was buried under the
coals. The people removed two or three feet of coal before they could get to
deceased, a circumstance which induced the coroner to remark that it was a
marvellous thing how he could have survived at all. A cab proprietor, named
Hogben, was called, and said that he was waiting for the express train, and saw
the wall fall. He had often called the attention of a person he supposed to be
connected with the railway to the dangerous condition of the wall, but he had
never known it to fall before. It was a mere parting wall, one brick thick. The
jury expressed a wish to know what was the quantity of coals placed against the
wall; and Mr. John Scott, who described himself as an agent of the Lilleshall
Coal Company, was called, and promised that if the inquiry were adjourned he
would be prepared with the fullest information. He thought about 40 tons of
coals had fallen, and he attributed the accident to vibration caused by the
railway trains. The coroner, addressing the jury, said they had heard enough to
show what was the nature of the accident, but a great deal of evidence must
necessarily be forthcoming, and an adjournment would be indispensable. The inquiry
was then adjourned until 10 o'clock on Monday, the 29th inst.
Harold Maxwell-Lefroy
3. Professor Harold Maxwell-Lefroy– the
entomologist, poisoned by pesticide in his laboratory 1925
During
Harold Maxwell-Lefroy distinguished academic career he was Entomologist for the
Imperial Department of Agriculture of the West Indies 1899-1903, Imperial
Entomologist in India 1903-12, Honorary Curator at the Zoological Gardens
1913-25 and Professor of Entomology at Imperial College Entomology at Imperial
College London from 1912 until his death. He was also the founder of the firm
Rentokil. He was deeply interested in pest control and at the time of his death
was trying to find a way to kill house fly larvae using poison gas.
On
Saturday afternoon, the 10th October 1925 the Professor bid goodbye to his wife
at their home in Stanhope Gardens, South Kensington and went off to his lab at
Imperial, not much more than a ten-minute walk away. At the inquest on his
death his colleague gave evidence on the events of that afternoon:
Mr
Francis Maclean Scott, a friend of deceased, said that on the Saturday he
noticed the professor staggering, and spoke to him about it. Deceased said, “Yes,
I have had too much,’’ meaning the vapour. The professor had told him he was
experimenting on the larvae of house flies. He was trying to destroy them with a
vapour, which he called wood oil. Later he said ‘‘The little beggars have got
the best of me this time.” Subsequently the professor said he would have to go
back to the college to lock up the larvae. Witness accompanied him, and in a
chamber he pointed to a bottle on a shelf, and remarked— ‘‘I am not going to
touch that, because if it fell we should not survive for a second.’ Deceased
afterwards saw witness off.
(Aberdeen Press and Journal - Saturday 17 October 1925)
The
story is continued in the Daily Express of Monday 12 October 1925
When
he failed to return to dinner his wife went to the laboratory about eight
o'clock to look for him. She was met by the caretaker, who was positive that he
had gone. Mrs. Lefroy went up to the laboratory to make certain. The door was
shut, but she could hear the heavy breathing of a man in a stupor. Opening the
door she found her husband lying unconscious. He was at once removed to
hospital, where his wife, in great anxiety, has remained beside him. The state
of his lungs on admission to the hospital supports the view that the professor,
who is famous as an experimenter with gases, had inhaled a noxious vapour.
There was a strong smell of some mysterious gas in the room. His lungs were so
full of a thick frothy liquid that he was on the point of suffocating, and he
had to be held upside down to enable them to clear.
Professor
Lefroy, who is forty-eight years of age, narrowly escaped with his life last
March when he inhaled some of the deadly and odourless Lewisite gas which would
have been used against the enemy had not the war come to an end in 1918.
He
died four days later in hospital.
4. Henry Taylor – the pallbearer,
killed by a coffin 1872
Since
being featured on the BBC News website in December 2013, in an article called
‘10 truly bizarre Victorian deaths’, the accidental death of pall bearer Henry
Taylor at Kensal Green has become something of a minor internet phenomenon,
helped no doubt by a lurid illustration from the Illustrated Police News
showing the moment of Henry’s demise.
In
their account of the accident, which occurred on the 19th October, the Police
News explain “the day being damp, the foreman directed the coaches with the
mourners to proceed to the grave by the foot-way, and the hearse across the
grass towards a grave-digger, who was motioning the nearest way. The coffin was
moved from the hearse and being carried down a path only three feet six wide,
by six bearers, when orders were given to turn, so that the coffin, which was
what is known in the trade as a four-pound leaden one, should go head first.
While the men were changing, it is supposed that the deceased caught his foot
against a side stone and stumbled; the other bearers, to save themselves, let
the coffin go, and it fell with great force on to the deceased, fracturing his
jaw and ribs”. Henry was not killed instantly; he was taken to University
College Hospital where he finally died of his injuries five days later.
Sheldon
Goodman from the Cemetery Club, feeling that poor Henry deserved to be
remembered for more than simply dying beneath a coffin, carried out some
research and discovered that he was a verger and undertaker of the Camden
Chapel (a chapel of ease for St Pancras New church) and lived at 86 Camden
Street with his wife Charlotte and their 8 children. He was 66 years old at the
time of his fatal accident and he was buried, not at Kensal Green, but in the
eastern side of Highgate Cemetery.
5. Robert Higham – a gravedigger who
died on the job 1926
In
the days before mechanical diggers became the norm in cemeteries, grave digging
was tough, physical, dangerous work and serious accidents, even fatalities,
were not uncommon.
In January 1926 51-year-old Robert Higham of
Felixstowe Road, Kensal Rise, returned to work at the cemetery after a couple
of weeks absence due to bronchitis. On Tuesday the 12th January Higham was
working with George Crock digging a common grave in the southern part of the
cemetery. Crock was at the bottom of the grave with his spade, deepening the
already 19-foot-deep hole even further, and Higham was up top, winding up the
buckets of earth as Crock filled them. When Crock paused his excavating and
glanced up, he saw Higham’s head hanging over the side of the grave and
staring, unblinking at him. Realising something was wrong Crouch climbed out of
the grave and ran to get help. Someone was sent to get Dr. McElroy from his
surgery on the Harrow Road but Higham was dead before he arrived. In Dr.
McElroy’s view death was due to a cerebral haemorrhage. No post-mortem was
carried out, Dr. McElroy’s opinion obviously deemed sufficient evidence of the
cause of death; at the inquest the coroner recorded a verdict of ‘death by
natural causes’.
6. Clara Vestris Webster – immolated
onstage at Drury Lane 1844
On
the 15th December 1844 the 21-year-old dancer Clara Vestris Webster had been
appearing in the 'Revolt of the Harem' at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane when
her dress caught fire on stage and she burst into flame in front of a full
house.
The
Weekly Chronicle
reported the incident under the headline 'Frightful and Fatal Accident to Miss
Clara Webster';
An
intense excitement was created at Drury-lane theatre, on Saturday night last,
by the ignition of the dress of Miss Clara Webster, which we regret to add was
attended with the most serious consequences to this accomplished actress. In
the 'bathing scene' which occurs in the second act of The Revolt of the Harem
the gas which lights up the transparent gauze-work intended to represent the
water caught the dress of Miss Webster, and in an instant, she was completely
enveloped in flames. The terror was universal—the ladies in the boxes were
aghast and screaming, while the poor girl rushed shrieking round the stage. In
her agony she seized upon Mdlle. Plunkett's dress, which had also kindled.
Fortunately, the Frenchwoman, possessing more presence of mind, avoided the
dangerous contact, and escaped the approaching danger. When first the dress of
Miss Webster was discovered to be on fire, the whole corps de ballet, who were
on the stage with her, closed round her almost simultaneously and as if by
instinct, to crush and extinguish the flames; but, terrified at the appearance
which almost simultaneously presented itself, they retreated, and she rushed
forward alone towards the front of the stage. At this moment a man sprang from
the wing of the stage, and throwing himself upon the young lady, threw her
down, and extinguished the fire by rolling upon her.
Clara
died two days later on the 17 December at her apartments in Upper Norton Street
in Marylebone (now Bolsover Street). The funeral at Kensal Green took place on
Christmas Eve. Again, the Weekly Chronicle:
The
whole of the funeral equipments were white, an arrangement which had the effect
of materially increasing the melancholy interest occasioned by the progress of
the cortege through the western districts of the metropolis on its way to the
cemetery The funeral reached Kensal-green about half-past two o'clock, and upon
arriving at the chapel, the body... was placed on a bier in the centre of the
chapel, where it remained during the first portion of the service, and by means
of which, at the ordinary period, it was lowered to the catacombs beneath. The
body was contained in a leaden shell, encased in an outer coffin, which was
covered with black cloth, and studded with silver plated nails, but otherwise
nearly devoid of ornament. On the centre of the lid was a plate bearing the
following inscription:—" Clara Vestris Webster, obiit December 17, 1844,
aetat 21."
The
newspaper also reported that Clara's stay in the catacombs was to be only a
temporary measure while a mausoleum for her was constructed in a 'sequestered
part of the grounds'. But this never happened and to this day she still lies in
the catacombs.
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7. John Phillips Potter – the dangers
of dissection 1847
John
Phillips Potter was just 29 when he died on the 17th May 1847. He
was a promising young surgeon, mentored by one of the greatest surgeons of the
age, Sir Robert Liston, he was already Demonstrator of Anatomy at University
College and Assistant Surgeon at University College Hospital. Sir Robert had
asked his protegee to dissect the body of the circus performer Harvey Leach who
had donated his body to the surgeon. Leach, who was also known as Hervio Nano, the
American Dwarf and the Gnome Fly, was only 3 foot 5 inches tall and suffered
from congenital deformation of the bones of the leg in which the tibia of the
right leg was missing and the femurs of both legs almost entirely absent. According
to Sir William Fergusson he “was one of the most remarkable gymnasts of his
day. Notwithstanding the distortion of his lower limbs, he had marvellous power
in his feet. As an arena horseman he was scarcely excelled whether in sitting
or standing He walked and even ran fairly well, and his powers of leaping,
partly from his hands, partly from his feet, were unusual, yet his lower limbs
were so short that as he stood erect on the floor, he could touch it with his
fingers.” Leach was apparently hoping that Liston would have his body embalmed
and displayed in a glass case in the University museum and did not expect to be
dissected. Phillips Potter was apparently in something of a hurry when he
carried out the dissection on the 22ndd April and he carelessly managed to
puncture the skin on his knuckle with one of his instruments during the post
mortem. Thinking nothing of it he finished up the dissection and then went
about his business as normal. The next day the wound was red and inflamed but
still nothing much to worry about, the anatomist thought. Bell's New Weekly
Messenger of Sunday 06 June 1847 gives the following account of what happened
next, drawn from a much longer article in the previous weeks Lancet;
The
Dangers of Dissection. —ln the death of Mr. John Phillips Potter, F.K.C.S.,
Demonstrator of Anatomy in University College, and Assistant Surgeon of
University College Hospital, have record melancholy and disheartening instance
of brilliant talent and promise blighted in the bud. For some weeks before his
illness, he had been assisting Mr. Liston in dissections, which were always
done early in the morning, and on the 22d of April, was engaged in taking a
pelvis, with diseased hip-joint and abscess, from a subject, and being pressed
for time, received some very small puncture on the knuckle the forefinger,
which was disregarded at the moment, but on the following day it became
painful, and after the early morning dissection, he came home, complaining of feeling
chilly and very unwell. The little wound was inflamed, and the swelling and
redness soon extended up the arm to the axilla and side of the chest,
accompanied with severe pain, and great constitutional disturbance. After two
days symptoms of great depression came on, accompanied with complete jaundice,
and other dangerous symptoms, which led his medical attendants, Mr. Liston, Mr.
Travers, Dr. Watson, and Dr. Brodie Sewell, almost to despair of his rallying.
It was thought advisable make two deep incisions in the seat of pain, in hopes
of finding matter, but none issued from the wound. Stimulants were
administered, and he rallied considerably, but on the 17th exhaustion again
came on, and death relieved him from a state of great suffering.
Over 200 people, mainly colleagues and medical students at University College, attended Phillips Potter’s funeral at Kensal Green on Saturday the 22nd May.
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8. Herbert William Allingham – the
dangers of operating 1904
An
interesting detail on Herbert William Allingham’s memorial is the figure of his
German wife, Fraülein Alexandrina Von der Osten, reclining on a large cushion,
clutching a bunch of lilies in her right arm, a loyal lap dog laying on her
left, apparently on her death bed. She died in January 1904 after being an
invalid for several years. Her husband died barely ten months later in November,
committing suicide in a hotel room in Marseille at the age of 42.
Allingham
was a talented surgeon and teacher who trained at St George’s Hospital (long
before it moved to Tooting, when it was still at Hyde Park), went on to work at
St Marks and the Great Northern Hospitals before returning to St George’s as
Elected Assistant Surgeon. He was also Surgeon to the Household of King Edward
VII and Surgeon in Ordinary to the Prince of Wales (later King George V). As well as practicing and teaching he wrote
several well-regarded books and articles on surgical procedures. In its
obituary the British Medical Journal said that “he had, in an exceptional
degree, the qualities most important for a successful operator. He was always
perfectly cool, quick to decide, and extraordinarily quick to carry out.” In
1903 he was operating on a ‘puzzling rectal condition’ when he gashed open his
thumb. The mysteriousness rectal condition soon explained itself when the
patient developed the unmistakable symptoms of syphilis. Much to Allingham’s disgust
he developed the same symptoms a few days later.
When
his beloved wife died early the following year Allingham’s grief gradually
froze into apparently incurable depression. In November, heartbroken and
syphilitic the doctor set off on a long holiday to Egypt in a forlorn attempt
to cheer himself up. In Marseille he succumbed to despair after an evening of
enforced jollity dining with friends at the Hotel du Louvre. Alone he returned
to his room to compose a letter of apology to the hotel manager for any
inconvenience caused by using his establishment as a place to die before
injecting himself with a fatal overdose of morphine. His body was found next
morning by the hotel staff.
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9. Baron Farkas Kemény – the revolutionary
patriot who died of heartbreak 1852
Can
someone die of a broken heart? Thomas Wakley, celebrated surgeon, founder of The
Lancet and coroner for Middlesex certainly thought so. At his 1852 inquest into the death of the Baron
Farkas Kemény, he told the jury that had never seen “a clearer case in which a
poor creature had died of a broken heart”.
In
1852 the Baron Farkas Kemény was a hero of the 1848 Hungarian revolution, at 55
a man of mature years, battle hardened and stoical in the face of adversity,
who had lost his fortune and his place in society fighting for the liberation of
his country from the Austro-Hungarian empire and now lived in exile, in
poverty, in London. Kemény, who once, at the battle for Piski Bridge, held off
a superior force of 15,000 Imperial Austrian troops with a ragtail regiment of
1100 irregular soldiers and 100 Hussars, and who, more than once, saved the
life of his commanding officer, General Józef Bem, was dealt his mortal blow by
an article in the Daily News casting aspersions upon his honour and
financial integrity. The offending article, an open letter written by a
supposed friend of Hungary, the lawyer and political theorist Joshua Toulmin
Smith, questioned what Kemény had done with £520 raised by charity and entrusted
to him for the relief of fellow Hungarian refugees. Reading the piece at his
lodgings in Foley Place, Fitzrovia, the shocked, and totally innocent, Baron
had collapsed into the arms of his secretary, begging him to call for
assistance. By the time help arrived in the form of Mr John Geldard, surgeon of
Great Portland Street, he was already dead. Unable to save his patient Geldard
instead performed a post mortem and told the inquest that “in the
pericardium he found 1 ½ oz. of coagulated blood, which had escaped from the
heart through a rupture in that organ, both ventricles and the valves of which,
however, were in a perfectly healthy state. Death had resulted from the rupture
of the heart…”
It
wasn’t until the 1990’s that medical science finally came to agree with Thomas
Wakley that heartbreak can kill when Dr. Hikaru Sato and his team at Hiroshima
City Hospital identified what came to be known as Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy or
broken heart syndrome. With symptoms similar to a heart attack, triggered by
massive surges of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol, the syndrome
can stun the heart, causing the left ventricle to enlarge and pump poorly. In a
rare complication affecting less than 1% of sufferers the syndrome can cause
fatal cardiac ruptures such as the one that affected Baron Kemény.
10.
Major
Charles Gustavus Jones – killed by his cavalry pistol 1843
On
Saturday 18 February 1843 Coroner Thomas Wakley opened an inquest on Major Charles
Gustavus Jones, who had died the previous Thursday at his home in 33 Upper Montague
Street, Marylebone. As was usual in those days, the inquest was held in the
nearest public house, in this case the Montague Arms at number 3, Upper
Montague Street just 15 doors away from the deceased’s former home. Before
hearing the evidence of witnesses, the jury were instructed to walk to number
33 to view Major Jones’ body, which had a sizeable wound to the left side of
the head.
The
Major was a veteran of the Peninsular War, where he had received a sabre wound to
his head at the Battle of Sahagún in 1808, and of Waterloo. He was a friend of
Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland; the Duke gave away the bride when
Major Jones married in 1818 and later appointed him as his Aide-de-Camp when he
became King of Hanover in 1837. At the time of his death the 61-year-old Major
had retired from military life and from his duties as a courtier and was living
quietly with his family in Marylebone. The first witness called to give
evidence was James Sanctuary, the Major’s footman, who told the inquest that on
the previous Thursday he had called to the Major’s dressing room and asked to
clean a brace of large cavalry pistols. The major had already dismantled one of
the guns which was lying in pieces on the table. Sanctuary told the court that
the Major had instructed him to get on with cleaning the pistol on the table
while he dismantled the other, remarking “that he was afraid that he should
have some trouble with the other pistol, as it was loaded with large shot.”
Whilst Sanctuary rummaged in a closet for the pistol case the Major added that
he “had had those pistols many years, and liked them very much, as they were
given to him by a nobleman, and he had used them in France, Germany, Spain, and
Portugal, in shooing foxes.” The household were preparing to travel to Germany
to stay with the King of Hanover and the Major asked Sanctuary if he was ready
to pack his clothes so that they could set off that morning. As the footman
could not find the pistol case the Major told him not to bother and handed him
the dismantled pistol to clean. As he turned away to find a cloth there was a
loud bang and the Major slumped face forward in his chair and onto the floor. Sanctuary
screamed for help and the Major’s son was the first to respond, turning his
father over and then sending the footman to fetch a surgeon. But Major Jones
was already dead, killed by the stock of the pistol exploding when the trigger
had been pulled accidentally.
Wakley
questioned Major Jones’ son and asked him if he believed that his father had
deliberately shot himself. “l not believe so, so help me Heaven,” was the
reply, “My father was in excellent health and spirits, and more so at his
intended journey upon a pleasure trip to visit the King of Hanover, which he
was much delighted.” Mr Wakley told the jury that he no doubt, from what he had
heard, that this was a case of accidental death. The jury concurred.
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