Lost beneath the ice
It's the cold winter of 1813 and in Manchester the River Irwell has frozen over. A school teacher named Lavinia Robinson has gone missing. Will she be found?
Warning: This story contains references to suicide
The winter of 1813-14 was the coldest ever seen by those who lived through it — so severe the River Irwell in Manchester froze over.
The big freeze began on 16 December — the day that Lavinia Robinson went missing.
The mystery of her disappearance would grip the public imagination for two desperately cold months.
A school teacher, Lavinia had been making plans to marry her fiancé Mr Holroyd, a surgeon, just after Christmas. Where had she gone?
Lavinia’s life had already been remarkable.
At the age of 12, her mother Frances Robinson had died. Five years later, she lost her father, William.
Taught by the Moravians in Fairfield, she set up a small school in Bridge Street to help the local children in between looking after her five sisters and three brothers.
Aged just 20, Lavinia met and fell in love with Holroyd, whose surgery was also in Bridge Street, where her sister Esther lived.
A new life beckoned in the suburbs away from the black river.
The story goes that on that fateful Thursday evening in 1813, the couple were staying at Esther’s house.
Lavinia wanted to spend the evening discussing her wedding plans. Esther was to be her chief bridesmaid.
Later that night Holroyd and Lavinia, wrapped up in a black beaver bonnet and mantle, went out for what the bride-to-be thought would be a romantic walk in the moonlit streets.
But in the morning, Esther discovered her sister had not gone to bed.
Then she found a note in Lavinia’s handwriting on the parlour table declaring her innocence from Holroyd’s accusations. What could it mean?
Searching the streets, Esther could not find her sister. That morning, the Irwell was frozen from bank to bank.
Holroyd told Esther a story. During their late night walk, they’d had a row.
He believed she was secretly planning to marry another man.
After scandalising her with the accusation, he made the shock decision to cut off their engagement.
But being a gentleman, he said, he had left her safely outside her sister’s door and wished her goodnight.
Christmas came — and went. The couple’s planned wedding day, 12 January, also passed. Lavinia was still missing.
On 18 January, an advert appeared in the Manchester Mercury offering a reward of 30 guineas for information.
‘She was of fair complexion with long, light-brown hair,’ it said. ‘She had on a fawn-coloured twilled stuff dress, a pink and yellow silk handkerchief on her neck, a black beaver cottage bonnet.
‘Her family and friends feel the most painful anxiety to obtain some intelligence of this unfortunate young lady.’
A week later, the borough reeve and constables added another 70 guineas to the reward money — worth around £9,000 today.
People began to suspect that the frozen river held Lavinia’s secret.
Men began walking on the ice and trying to peer beneath the glassy surface and breaking through with pickaxes.
There was no news until after 5 February when the ice on the River Irwell finally started to melt.
Two days later, a man named Mr Goodier told the constables he had seen a body surrounded by shards of ice on a sandbank at Barton, three miles from Bridge Street.
She had ‘icicles gemming her hair in the place of orange blossoms,’ he said.
Trapped under the ice for nearly two months and preserved by the freezing temperatures, Lavinia’s body had finally risen to the surface.
She was identified by the initials L.R. on her clothing.
It appeared that the mystery had been solved.
‘We can now most assuredly say that she is no more,’ one newspaper said.
‘It was on a sandbank near Mode Wheel, about three miles down the Irwell, that her body was found.’
On the night she had gone into the river, the ice had thawed just enough for her to go under the surface.
But it was so cold that by the morning the Irwell was covered in ‘thick, ribbed ice’.
One Victorian writer called Lavinia ‘the Manchester Ophelia’.
But Lavinia’s story took a new turn.
In his interview with the constables, Holroyd later admitted he had abandoned Lavinia not outside her home but in the dark outside the New Bailey Prison on the far side of the bridge.
A witness said he had seen the surgeon strike Lavinia and that she had placed her arms around him as she pleaded for him not to leave her.
‘Believe me — but you won’t,’ he heard Lavinia say. ‘I do not care if you murder me if you’ll believe me.’
Public feeling in Manchester was running high after these reports emerged and everyone expected Holroyd to be placed under the spotlight at the upcoming inquest.
Had he abandoned Lavinia to her fate or even pushed her into the river?
But, unable to discover exactly how she had died, the inquest jury recorded an open verdict.
Holroyd was called to give evidence but was told by the coroner he did not need to answer any questions in case he incriminated himself.
Facing no blame from the inquest jury, Holroyd was free to get on with his life and to find a new fiancée.
He said in a statement his accusations against Lavinia had afterall been incorrect.
But people living around Bridge Street had other ideas.
After the inquest, they smashed the windows, shutters and panels of the door of his house and began throwing stones at him in the street.
Then, he disappeared — with rumours circulating that he had fled town.
A newspaper hundreds of miles away, the Shrewsbury Chronicle, reported on 14 March that Holroyd had taken his own life.
He had died from taking poison, it said, after trying to drown himself in the Stafford Canal.
But rumours about him were still circulating in Manchester up to eight years later.
‘He is wandering the Earth,’ the rumour mongers said. ‘Like a modern day Cain.’
Lavinia lies buried in the now grassed-over St John’s church yard just a short walk from the river.
The gavestone was still visible when a journalist went to look for it at the start of the twentieth century before the church was demolished.
It is now a quiet garden where office workers sit at lunchtime in the summer months.
The stone is gone but the inscrption was recorded by one Victorian writer who visited the cemetery more than half a centrury after her death.
‘Lavinia departed this life 17th of December 1813, aged 20 years,’ it said.
Beneath those words was a poem:
More lasting than in lines of art
Thy spotless character’s imprest;
Thy worth engraved on every heart,
Thy loss bewail’d in every breast.
A sad story
The cold weather this week made me think of Lavinia Robinson.
I read about her story some time ago in a remarkable nineteenth century book full of tales about old Manchester lent to me by a good neighbour of mine, Phil.
The book’s Victorian author described Lavinia as the Manchester Ophelia after a character who drowns in William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
The author was romanticising what was really the very tragic death of a young woman after she was treated so horrifyingly by the man she loved.
Strangely in the newspaper articles I read from 1813 while doing some further research, the first name of Lavinia’s fiancé is never mentioned.
He was only known, far too respectfully, as Mr Holroyd. He also seems to have gotten off incredibly lightly at the inquest.
But it does seem that Lavinia’s death genuinely touched a lot of people in Manchester.
‘The burial of Lavinia was witnessed by sympathising thousands — for she had become the adopted daughter of the public and, for the time being, she seemed allied to nearly every home in the district,’ the author of the book fittingly wrote of her.
Some 52 winters after Lavinia’s death, he paid his own visit to St John’s churchyard to look for her grave and record the inscription.
Today, there is a small metal plaque on the bridge over the Irwell at Bridge Street where Lavinia plunged under the ice.
Telling the story of Manchester and Salford’s great river, sadly it doesn’t mention her.
But hopefully her story won’t be forgotten.
Take care this weekend if you’re out and about in the cold weather.
What a beautifully written story Dean. There must be dozens and dozens of unknown stories from the past in towns and cities.
How very sad Dean, the Irwell holds many secrets and stories long forgotten, I'm sure. Thanks for seeking them out and sharing them with us. Take care.