The World's First Mid-Air Rescue

On 9 July 1908, the Longton Park Fête was in full swing and as well as the numerous stalls, funfair rides and other amusements put on to beguile the crowds that flocked to the park, there was another attraction, a parachute descent was to be performed by Captain Auguste Gaudron’s team. Thrilling as this was in itself, spice would be added to the display by the descent being made not by men, but by two young women, an experienced parachutist, Elizabeth ‘Dolly’ Shepherd and a novice named Louie May. In fact, Louie May should have made her first jump the day before from a new large balloon known as the ‘Mammoth’, the biggest then in Britain. The balloon and its passengers had indeed gone up, but it had been too windy to make the jump and to console the disappointed crowd Captain Gaudron had announced that they would try again the next day. He added that they would be joined overnight by the famous Dolly Shepherd who was doing a jump elsewhere that day, but that tomorrow she and Louie would make a double descent. Sure enough, Dolly arrived in Longton later that night and though initially surprised that Louie’s jump had not gone ahead, she was happy to join her for her maiden descent. 

L to R: Dolly Shepherd and Louie May

This morning the day seemed perfect; the sun was out and there was no sign of the high wind that had spoilt the jump the day before. At Captain Gaudron's request Dolly and Louie went out early and mingled with the spectators to drum up interest. This they could do without even trying. Dolly was an attractive brunette and Louie a pretty blue-eyed blonde and both of them were practically clad in – for the time – rather daring, masculine-looking blue knickerbocker suits styled loosely after a midshipman's uniform, plus matching caps that certainly attracted a lot of attention. So too again did the Mammoth which Gaudron’s men now began filling with gas and this soon towered high over the park and stood waiting for its passengers.

However, the weather again spoilt their plans, this time with a short but heavy downpour of rain that suddenly and rather unexpectedly caused the Mammoth to sag and then collapse. There were urgent cries from Gaudron’s team and announcements over a loudspeaker, “No smoking please. Gas is escaping.” The spectators moved back a safe distance and watched the balloon in dismay. Sensing the frustration of the onlookers, seemingly robbed of yet another chance to see the lady parachutists, Captain Gaudron now turned to Dolly and asked her if she had brought her smaller balloon with her from her previous performance. Luckily, she had left it at the train station, so a pony and trap were immediately sent to collect it while the Mammoth crumpled into an untidy heap and Gaudron’s men went in to check it over. The problem was soon identified as a faulty top valve that had been leaking and it had only needed the weight of the rain to cause its collapse. 

All was not lost, though, for Dolly’s balloon, though much smaller in size was quite capable of lifting two people. There was no basket underneath, instead the parachute hung down beneath the balloon and the parachutist would be suspended at the bottom in a sling-like seat into which she was tied with a belt, whilst holding onto a trapeze bar. Keeping track of her altitude with an aneroid barometer on her wrist, once the correct height had been reached, the parachutist would then tug on a cord that would release the parachute via a simple mechanism. The mechanism would also cause a valve on the balloon to open, venting the gas and thus sending it back to earth. These ‘solo’ balloons were normally reserved for more advanced parachutists and it was unusual to send a first-timer up under them, maiden jumps usually being accomplished from a basket, but as that was no longer an option and with Dolly as a willing chaperone, Captain Gaudron felt confident enough to let Louie go up with her.

When the balloon arrived it was immediately hooked up to the gas pipe and the canvas soon began to swell up into a large globular shape, the ground staff holding it down with ropes attached to the netting that covered the balloon. It was no hardship to rig it for two parachutes, one on either side to balance it up, though a second release mechanism had to be hastily improvised for Louie’s chute and this worked perfectly. Then the two women were carefully fastened into their slings and held onto their trapeze bars while the balloon was held suspended above them. With all of the delays it was now 8 p.m., and a huge crowd had gathered to watch. Captain Gaudron now gave the order, “Let go!”, the ropes were released, the two women ran forward to get under the balloon as it leapt into the air and were suddenly lifted off the ground, Dolly setting off with a jaunty wave of the silk Union Jack that she kept for such occasions.

The plan was for the balloon to climb to a height of 4,000 feet before the two women pulled their release cords; they would then float to earth within view of the thousands of spectators. However, that height came and went and no descent was made. Instead the balloon kept on climbing higher and drifting out of sight. By this time the spectators as well as Captain Gaudron and his people, had realised that something had gone wrong. Alarmed, Gaudron soon set off in urgent pursuit of the errant balloon and its two passengers, leaving the crowds in Longton Park to slowly disperse and go home, troubled by the turn of events and anxiously awaiting news of the fate of the two female aeronauts.

Something had indeed gone badly wrong. High in the sky above North Staffordshire away from the eyes of the assembled spectators, a scene of high drama was taking place, against which even the excitement and danger of a normal parachute drop paled into insignificance.

Initially, the ascent to 4,000 feet had been trouble free and as Dolly later recalled, Louie had been delighted with the experience. When they did eventually reach the required height, Dolly as the more experienced parachutist called time and waited to see Louie release her chute and start her descent before she did the same. It was just as well that she did, for when Louie reached up and pulled on her release cord, nothing happened; the improvised mechanism that worked so well on the ground had jammed. Pulling herself over via a connecting rope, Dolly tried to release her companion's parachute but to no avail and the balloon carried on ascending, passing through the cloud layer and into the clear sky above to a height of 11,000 feet. At this height the air was thin and it was getting cold and Dolly realised that the only way that they would both escape from their increasingly perilous situation would be to risk making the drop back to earth on her parachute. Using the connecting rope to pull them together once more, she now told her frightened companion what they needed to do. Painfully aware of the two mile drop below them, Dolly held them together while Louie carefully unfastened herself from her sling and the two women wrapped their arms and legs around each other tightly before letting the defective 'chute swing away. Hoping that her own parachute release still worked, Dolly reached up and pulled the release cord and was rewarded instantly by the sight of the the balloon apparently leaping away from them as they plummeted earthward. For a few nerve-wracking seconds the parachute struggled to open, but as they exited the clouds and hit heavier air Dolly felt a familiar pull and looked up to see the parachute fully deployed above them, arresting their fall to what she hoped was a survivable speed.

A wildly exaggerated newspaper illustration of the

incident. Not only are details of the rescue incorrect

but in reality Dolly and Louie's knickerbocker 

suits were much more practical.

Swinging down out of the evening sky on their single parachute, the two women now found themselves suspended over a vast tapestry of green fields, woods and little villages. The prevailing winds had taken them south-east of the Potteries in the direction of Uttoxeter. Dolly, though, was not so much concerned about where they were, but how to land safely, as with Louie restricting her movements, there was no way of steering to a softer landing spot and the ground was rushing up much faster than normal. As they neared the ground, for the first time in the entire episode Dolly felt a pang of fear and cried out in alarm, as they seemed to be heading directly for a road, the hard surface of which might prove fatal at this speed. Luck, though was on their side and moments later they thumped down into the soil of a farmer’s field,  Dolly hitting the ground first and falling backwards as Louie, still holding on tightly, landed on top of her. The impact felt like a hammer blow for both of them and Louie immediately jumped to her feet, crying that all her teeth were knocked out. In fact she was unharmed and when the initial shock had passed, the two of them burst into peals of hysterical laughter out of sheer relief at having survived such a terrifying but remarkable adventure. 

Though Louie was fine, Dolly remained lying on her back and did not move. She felt that she had injured herself quite badly and that she needed to stay where she was until help arrived. Moments later a portly farmer appeared followed by his wife and children, then another farmer and his family, all of whom had seen the parachute coming down. They immediately offered to help Dolly to her feet but she begged them to leave her alone and call for a doctor. One of the farmers, Charles Hollins then took charge and a man was sent off to Shelton to get a doctor. The women now discovered that they had landed at Field Farm, three miles from the village of Leigh and 14 miles from Longton where they had begun their balloon ride.

When the doctor eventually arrived he immediately appreciated that Dolly had sustained a serious back injury and had her carefully lifted into a door provided by Farmer Hollins in lieu of a stretcher. She was then transported back to the Hollins’ farmhouse where she would find herself laid up for the next 8 weeks. Here, under the doting care of the Hollins family and the watchful eyes of a couple of local physicians, who treated her with mild electrical therapy, Dolly made a remarkable recovery and to the surprise of many within a couple of months of her accident she was not only walking, but parachuting once more.

Dolly continued with her parachuting career until 1912, when during one of her solo ascents, she claimed to have heard a voice telling her quite clearly not to come up again or she would be killed. Utterly convinced, once she had landed safely she announced to Captain Gaudron that she was giving up parachuting and immediately returned to London, where for a time she worked in her aunt’s shop. During World War One, Dolly served as an ambulance driver on the Western Front. Occasionally, she was called upon to use her driving skills to chauffeur army officers around the front; one of these she later married and finally settled down. True to her word, she never did another parachute jump.

Decades later, though, in her twilight years, the old parachutist did mix with like-minded people once more. She was famous now not only for her pioneering achievements in parachuting, but also because she was a record holder, being officially recognised by the Guinness Book of Records, for making the world’s first mid-air rescue. As a result she was honoured by invites from the Parachute Regiment’s Red Devils and the RAF Falcons display teams and despite the ethereal warning from above not to go up again, in 1976, the elderly Dolly took advantage of her latter-day fame to take a ride up in an aeroplane with the Red Devils, to watch them perform a sky dive, but it was her last journey up into the clouds. Dolly Sedgwick, nee Shepherd, died in 1983, just a few weeks short of her 97th birthday. 

As to what became of the other actor in that famous first mid-air rescue, Louie May, Dolly could not say. Captain Gaudron and Louie had returned to London during Dolly’s convalescence and she never saw her again. She later heard that Louie’s fiancé was livid when he discovered what she had been doing and that he had immediately spirited her away from the crazy world of parachuting and the dangerous company of Miss Dolly Shepherd.

Reference: Dolly Shepherd, When the Chute Went Up, pp. 129-151 : Uttoxeter Advertiser and Ashbourne Times 17 june 1908, p.8 and 1 July 1908, p.5.

A Fatal Case of Elephant Teasing

The incident as depicted in The Police Illustrated News.

In the past it was common practice for the animals of travelling circuses to be lodged at local inns if the stables were large enough to accommodate them. In April 1872, Bostock and Wombwell’s circus was at Hanley for the Wakes and on the morning of Saturday 13th, a small group of children were feeding bread and nuts to one of the circus elephants in a passage leading to the Angel Inn. Its keeper, Thomas Hurley, was standing a few yards from the young female elephant, waiting for the key to the stable. He had driven the children away several times but they kept coming back and now while Hurley was distracted, one of the children, George Stanton, decided rather unwisely to play a prank on the elephant by feeding her a stone. Immediately and without warning, the elephant - normally a very gentle creature - went mad and lifting the boy in her trunk she crushed him against a wall with her head and tusks. Mr Hurley turned on hearing the screams from the children and shouted out, at which the elephant dropped the boy and he was carried away. George Stanton suffered wounds to his head and back and had been badly squeezed by the elephant. He died from his injuries on Sunday evening.

Reference: Staffordshire Bugle, February 1993

The Curious Quadrupedal Company

For some weeks during the winter of 1852-1853, the locals in Hanley and Longton in the Potteries were treated to a number of visits from a Frenchman, Monsieur Desarais (or Desaris), with his troop of highly trained dogs and monkeys. His was one of many such travelling shows that trod the boards of the town halls or theatres up and down the country during the mid-nineteenth century. Often these shows were unsophisticated by modern tastes, but in an age where opportunities for popular entertainment were scarce, even the feeblest efforts were appreciated.

Monsieur Desarais’ show seems to have been better than most if reports of the time are anything to go by. In one short piece a reporter described exactly the performance he witnessed. After noting his astonishment at the animals’ performances and the skill of Monsieur Desarais as an animal trainer, the reporter continued.

‘This curious quadrupedal company, educated to a high pitch of perfection in the histrionic arts, and costumed to suit their respective characters successfully perform many of the conventionalities of daily domestic life. The supper scene, or monkey banquet, served by a monkey gentleman-in-waiting, a brother monkey the presiding genius of the table, with all the precision of fashionable conviviality, speech excepted. This was a rare treat in itself. A variety of curious evolutions followed, the dogs and monkeys habited as ladies and gentlemen waltzing to music, playing at leap-frog. A dog ascending and descending a double-ladder, with a monkey clinging to his back; one poor fellow industriously performed the rare treat of trundling a barrel up an inclined plane, wagging his tail to his master, apparently highly pleased at his success. The balancing tricks, by two dogs; and the performance of a solo by a “Jenny Lind” of the canine species, to an accompaniment on the violin followed by a hurdle race, in which the dogs were steeds and the monkeys, in full costume, were riders, caused roars of merriment.’

Overall, Monsieur Desarais’ sojourn in the Potteries was a great success, except, that is, for one unfortunate little incident in Shelton on Christmas Eve 1852. This was reported by the same paper, but far more glibly under the title, ‘Novel Mode of Evading Toll’.

The report described how Monsieur Desarais was passing through the Shelton toll gate in his small close carriage, drawn by four of his favourite dogs, when Mr Dixon, the gatekeeper came out of his house and demanded the toll. Monsieur Desarais refused to pay and a heated discussion ensued as to why the toll was necessary. Becoming angry and seeing that he was getting nowhere with the irate Frenchman, Mr Dixon seized some of Monsieur Desarais’ property in lieu of the toll, but this only made matters worse. Monsieur Desarais seeing his property confiscated in such an unceremonious manner yelled, “Then I’ll pay” and opened his carriage door as if to get the cash. No sooner was the door open than out leapt a large formidable-looking monkey, who as if instinctively protecting his master looked as if he were about to attack Mr Dixon. At that moment, though, the gatekeeper’s wife who had been keeping her eye on the altercation rushed out carrying a pistol. The sight of the gun so alarmed the monkey that he threw his tail around his owner’s neck and with a ferocious grin of horror shot back into the carriage. Whether the monkey’s actions had been choreographed by Monsieur Desarais we will never know, but he did not escape the toll keeper, for as the report concluded, ‘Monsieur, with his dogs and monkeys, left the toll-gate keeper to his reflections and his umbrella as a pledge.’

Reference: Staffordshire Potteries Telegraph, 1 January 1853

Diary of a Bad Boy

On the morning of Wednesday 8 April 1908, the curious adventures of Moses Newell a somewhat grimy but innocent-looking 13 year old boy, were related to the Magistrates Mr J. P. Pratt and Mr P. Elliott at Fenton Police Court when he was brought before them on the charge of stealing a purse containing 11s, 4½d that belonged to his mother who lived at 17 Park Lane, Fenton.

Newell had left home on the previous Saturday and nothing had been seen of him until early that morning when he had been discovered sleeping in an ashpit behind Clarence Street, Fenton. Of the stolen money only 1s, 4d was found on him along with a small diary, some cigarettes and a few other items. The magistrates were left in no doubt as to the boy’s guilt or about what he had been doing with the money over the last four days, as the guileless youngster had been good enough to keep an account of his crime and his subsequent adventures in his diary, which were read out to the court. It was an exacting record of nothing less than a sustained eating and spending tour of the Potteries towns.

‘Saturday – Left home at dinner-time, having stolen a purse containing 11s, 4½d. Went to Hanley market, and had a twopenny potato pie, a cup of tea and a penny cake. Bought a purse and then two ha’penny books. Went into another cake shop and had another cup of tea, and stopped there until the theatre was open. Went to the Theatre Royal “Fourpenny Rush,” came back to Fenton, and slept in ashpit.

Sunday – Went to Longton and into cake shop. Had two penny herrings, a pen’orth of bread, a pint of tea. Cost me 4½d altogether. Went into icecream shop, and had a pen’orth of icecream, a ha’penny “cornet,” a penny drink, and then a wafer and another pen’orth of icecream, and a penny drink with icecream in it. On Sunday afternoon went into same cake shop, and had two-pen’orths of Yorkshire pudding and a cup of tea. Came back to the icecream shop and had some more icecream, and stayed playing. Went back to ashpit.

Monday – Got up at a quarter to seven, walked to Hanley, bought a ha’penny book, went on car to Burslem. Bought a purse. Went into cake shop, but they had nothing ready. Walked round the stalls, and had a pen’orth of toffee. Went into cake shop. Had a cup of tea. I fetched some coal for her and she gave me a penny, and I had another cup of tea and some sandwich. Bought two ha’penny books – “Dick Turpin” and “Robin Hood.” Went to Longton again. Cost me threepence going and threepence to go to the theatre. I had a bottle of “pop,” two oranges, and I paid for another boy threepence to go in and gave him twopence. He bought some “fags” and fetched me some.

Tuesday – Got up about seven. Got a car and went to Longton cake shop. Had two-pen’orth of meat, two-pen’orth of bread, and a pint of tea. I stopped in the cake shop until dinner-time. Had a penny bowl of soup and another pint of tea. Got a car to Hanley and thought I would go to theatre, but did not. I got a car again and went to Burslem. Went in another cake shop. Bought a penny bowl of soup, ha’porth of bread. I had a pen’orth of tea and went to Drill Hall (Poole’s entertainment), and paid twopence to go in. Bought a pen’orth of chocolate, ha’penny wafer, ha’penny glass of “beer,” and had another pen’orth of chocolate. When I came out I had a penny bottle of “burdock.” Got on the car to Hanley, and came to Fenton and got in the ashpit again.’

On the morning of Wednesday 8 April, though, young Newell’s spending spree came to an inglorious end when he was woken by a woman throwing ashes on him. Newell told the court that at first he thought it was a cat and then he thought it ‘as a fowl pecking him.’ The woman got hold of him and pulled him out of the ashpit and gave the boy a cup of tea. The authorities soon learned of his discovery and he was subsequently arrested by PC Ford for the theft of the purse.

After hearing the excerpts from Newell’s diary the magistrates remanded the boy for a week in order that a home might be found for him. A week later on 15 April, he was brought before Magistrates Mr Harold Wright and Mr A. Edwards at Longton on the charge of having wandered abroad without proper guardianship. His mother Fanny Williamson said that the lad was beyond control and that whenever he did something wrong he stayed away from home. The previous September and October he had disappeared for two months and could not be found. He had eventually come back, but had been away since then. On Saturday he ‘had been found in the pigeon place’, but later that day he had again absconded, this time with his mother’s purse and money. The woman was evidently at her wit’s end with the boy and the Stipendiary Magistrate Mr Wright said that the best thing to do was to send him to Werrington Industrial School until he was 16 years old. 

Little is known of Moses Newell’s later life, though after serving his sentence he moved out of the area; at the age of 16, in the 1911 census, he was recorded as working as a servant on a farm in Ruthin, Wales. Neither the Medal Rolls nor the Commonwealth War Graves records for World War One list his name, so this artful dodger seems to have managed to slip away again.

Reference: Staffordshire Sentinel, 8 April and 15 April 1908.