Here in Postman’s Park is the memorial to Mary Rogers, aged 44 years, who died on Maundy Thursday, 30th March 1899, having given up her life belt and voluntarily going down on a sinking steamer.

The Stella, a steamer belonging to the South Western Railway Company, had left Southampton and was heading for the Channel Islands. Mary was a stewardess on board who had been employed as such for sixteen years. As the steamer approached Guernsey, it was caught on the Casquet rocks and its steel bottom was ripped open.

Six lifeboats were launched with women and children taking priority as passengers. From her muster post, Mary calmly guided all the ladies to the side of the ship, placed lifebelts on all those who had none, and helped the women into the small boats. Finding one lady left without a lifebelt, Mary removed her own and gave it to her, ensuring she had a seat in a lifeboat. Despite encouragement from passengers and crew, Mary refused her own place in the boat for fear of it becoming overloaded. She lifted up her hands and was heard to say, ‘Lord, have me’.

Sadly, one of the lifeboats capsized and the ship sunk within twenty minutes. 75 people, including 19 crew members drowned but 106 people were saved, although fifteen hours passed before they were rescued. There was an enormous amount of publicity given to the disaster and to the bravery of Mary Rogers. A fund was established to support the elderly father and two children she left behind which reached £570. Of this, £500 was given to the family members and the rest financed this second memorial which can be found near the waterfront in Southampton.

N.B. The black and white photographs are the copyright of the British Library.

In Postman’s Park, the memorial celebrates Elizabeth Boxall, aged 17, who, amongst the other heroes celebrated here, holds the sad record for the longest period between the incident in which she saved a child from a runaway horse and her subsequent death. History has more to say about Elizabeth’s treatment at the London Hospital than her act of bravery.

Elizabeth was one of eight children who lived in the family home in Bethnal Green. In July, 1887, a commotion was heard in her street caused by a child in the path of a runaway horse. Elizabeth rushed out of her home and threw herself onto the child, thus saving it from any harm. Unfortunately, the horse kicked our heroine causing an injury which failed to heal. In a matter of weeks, she was barely able to walk and a fall sustained on 9th October necessitated hospital treatment.

At the London Hospital a partial amputation was made to her leg without either her permission or that of her parents. The hospital staff claimed to have discovered a cancer in Elizabeth’s thigh and in December a second amputation was made. After this, Elizabeth was taken to a convalescent home in Folkestone. For months,Elizabeth suffered agonising pain and eventually died on 20th June, 1888. The cause of death was given as shock precipitated by the second amputation.

At the inquest, Elizabeth’s father stood up and claimed the hospital had practised unnecessary butchery on his daughter. For a working class man from London’s east end to openly criticise the establishment was unheard of and although he was shuffled away from the court, the newspapers picked up the story. A great furore followed and the indignant director of the hospital made a statement that was both defensive and aggressive saying Elizabeth would have died from the cancer in any case. It was as if the initial bravery had been almost forgotten.

This area of the City of London is rather dispiriting: modern architecture has swamped the very soul of the place, each relentless monstrosity bearing a lowly plaque declaring the former site of this or that which would’ve been far more interesting. One of the missing buildings in what was the old walled city was the site of the former headquarters of the General Post Office; hence we visit Postman’s Park a sparse patch of greenery that was once the graveyard of St Botolph’s without Aldergate in which, today, small people have been brought for a breath of ‘fresh’ air. It seems dull and inconsequential but herein lies a secret.

Here is a sad but glorious monument by the artist, George Watts, conceived to honour those who died whilst saving others and who might otherwise have been forgotten.

I’m beginning what I hope will be a mini series with Thomas Simpson who died of exhaustion after saving many lives from the breaking ice at Highgate Ponds on January 25th, 1885. Recent severe frosts had succeed in hardening the ice on many ponds and lakes in London but they were still deemed insufficiently safe for skating. No-one took any notice even though the police had been deployed to try and stop activity. It was a lost cause: 300-400 skaters were recorded in Regent’s Park.

There were seven ponds in Highgate Park outside Lord Mansfield’s estate and around 4pm, when many had gone indoors for tea, there were still around 200 folk skating on the second pond. Suddenly, there was a huge noise as the ice cracked and gave way. Loud shouts and screams prevailed as nine people were immersed. Three were initially pulled out by a special constable.

Thomas Simpson was an itinerant labourer; a well-known character from a local farm, aged in his late forties. Arriving on the scene, he dived in and successfully rescued a youngster. Not content with this act of bravery, he returned to the icy waters but, suffering from the cold and from exhaustion, he was unable to save himself. Another volunteer jumped in and brought Thomas to the shore but, too late. No-one, including a passing doctor, could revive him and when the ambulance truck arrived from Highgate, it was to take Thomas to St Pancras Mortuary.

It was a miracle that only three people drowned that day. The coroner gave a verdict of death by misadventure and The Royal Humane Society made a well-received call for the installation of efficient life-saving equipment which was, indeed, heeded by the aristocracy and the corporation.