Ten Views of a Landslip A personal appreciation and analysis of the Great Bindon Landslip in its historical and scientific context Peter Lincoln © Peter Lincoln & Lyme Regis Museum Detail from: View of the Axmouth Landslip from Dowlands – Plate V of Ten Plates etc., Mary Buckland, 30 December 1839 (LRM) Prologue The Land-slip has now become an object of so much curiosity and interest, not only to the idle tourist, but also to the philosopher and geologist, that some description of it in a compact and collected form, appears desirable and indeed absolutely necessary. P.O.H. Sidmouthiensis A Guide to the Landslip Near Axmouth Devonshire1 Coincidence has a powerful effect on the human imagination. Explanations based on the incontrovertible laws of probability are often less appealing than those invoking the occult or a vague feeling that ‘it was meant to be’. From the time of the Ancient Greeks the enterprise we now call ‘Western science’ has worked to establish rational causes for seemingly inexplicable natural events. But old habits die hard, and throughout history catastrophic events have been interpreted as punishments for sin or portents of a greater reckoning to come. The 1839 Christmas landslip or ‘earthquake’ at Bindon a few miles to the west of Lyme Regis on the South Devon coast, was no exception. It was a time of great change and uncertainty, a time of political reform. Cholera and insurrection were in the air, and now God was speaking. For many it could be no coincidence. This account of the event and the people connected to it is inspired by two more mundane coincidences occurring over a century apart. The remarkable circumstance that two renowned Victorian geologists were quickly on the scene made this an important event in the history of science, and the unexpected discovery of the later involvement of my own early and influential teacher gave the project a distinctly personal dimension. It was a project that truly began when I discovered the book. In 1840, the publisher John Murray produced a slim, but large-formatted volume comprehensively entitled Ten Plates comprising a Plan, Sections, and Views representing the changes produced on the Coast of East Devon, between Axmouth and Lyme Regis by the Subsidence of the Land and the Elevation of the Bottom of the Sea.2 The company, whose list included Jane Austen and Lord Byron, often favoured works that affected the way humankind perceived the world and its place in it. Ten Plates was by no means the firm’s first or only scientific work. Earlier in the decade it had issued the three volumes of Charles Lyell’s seminal Principles of Geology, and twenty years later it was to publish Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. Ten Plates was nothing like these great publications, either in scope or importance. Nevertheless, it was significant, for it was the first publicly available account of a spectacular geological event that was based on truly scientific principles. When the great Axmouth landslip occurred, William Daniel Conybeare and William Buckland, two of the leading geologists of the day, happened to be within five miles of the site and wasted no time before attending the scene. Ten Plates is a comprehensive report of the event itself and the findings of their investigations. It is a beautiful document of great scientific and cultural value. The Ten Views in this essay give a different perspective. They are a collage of studies using dramatic re-construction, reportage, biographical notes, correspondence and 1 P.O.H. Sidmouthiensis, A Guide to the Landslip, near Axmouth, Devonshire, (Sidmouth, 1840), 3. 2 William Conybeare et al., Ten Plates … etc., (London, 1840). Ten Views of a Landslip by Peter Lincoln © Peter Lincoln & LRM 2021 2. even a little memoir. The intention is to create a picture of this important and, in its day, widely reported incident in English history, setting it into the context of its time and exploring its resonances down to the present. Ten Views of a Landslip 1. First Views: The Witnesses It is past midnight on Christmas morning 1839.3 Farmer Chappell has bid his guests goodnight and gone up to bed, leaving his parlour maid to tidy away the empty flagons. He will rest easy, satisfied that he has ‘done aright’ by his nineteen men and their wives.4 As he prepares for sleep, a half-remembered verse of rhyme runs through his head: The pond-rous Ashen Faggot from the yard The jolly farmer to his crowded hall Conveys with speed; where, on the rising flames (already fed with store of massy brands), It blazes soon; nine bandages it bears, And as they each disjoin (so custom wills), A mighty jug of sparkling cyder’s brought, With brandy mixt to elevate the guests.5 For they have indeed been burning the ‘ashen faggot’ at the farmhouse, and, as each of the withies binding the bundle burnt through and snapped, traditional toasts were raised and much good cider was drunk.6 The old stories were retold, and also recent gossip: local indiscretions, tales of tricks played on gullible farm boys by older men… and, of course, there was talk of the weather – the rain that had been a constant nuisance since harvest. Someone had mentioned the cracks opening in the fields along the clifftop, but since there are often cracks in the land round here, it is nothing that Chappell needs to worry about – Bindon is a full half mile from the cliff. He will sleep soundly. As the farmer prepares for bed, farm labourer William Critchard and his wife, Charlotte, are making their way home. Will’s legs are unsteady and he is glad of his wife’s supporting arm. They have been the guests of his master at Bindon Farm. As they negotiate the stony pathway down the cliff side towards their house, Will’s foot fails to find solid ground. He lurches forward with a loud curse. Will knows this path; for two years, he has passed this way morning and night on his way to the fields. He is sure there shouldn’t be a step here. He struggles to regain his footing, leaning heavily on his wife. 3 The dramatizations of the events of Christmas 1839 are based on contemporaneous reports recorded in the ‘Geological Memoir’ by Rev. W.D. Conybeare in Conybeare et al., Ten Plates etc. and in George Roberts, An Account of and Guide to the Mighty Land-slip of Dowlands and Bindon, (Lyme, 1840). Dialogue is imagined. 4 Based on 1851 census information. 5 1795 – Anon., from www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk. 6 The West Country tradition of burning a specially constructed bundle of ash sticks in the hearth on Christmas Eve has been revived in recent years at the Harbour Inn in Axmouth, see Devon Talk, Winter 2005, 13, and Neil Henty, Burning the Ashen Faggot, (2008). Ten Views of a Landslip by Peter Lincoln © Peter Lincoln & LRM 2021 3. Charlotte Critchard curses the gallon or so of cider that her husband has taken in the last few hours. But she too is surprised by the new step in the path and, her mind being less befuddled, she starts to worry. She and Will are proud of their home. It’s two years since the farmer built it for them on a flattish depression in the area they call the Undercliff. Rock Cottage is one of a pair, its partner occupied by another Bindon labourer and his family. A further neighbour occupies the single cottage a hundred yards or so to the west. Though the houses are isolated, this is a wonderful place to live, surrounded by orchards and small copses set among the uneven ground of the Undercliff. However, just this last fortnight strange things have started to happen - lumps of plaster have fallen from the ceilings, and the doors and windows have become hard to open, and once opened, almost impossible to shut. ‘It’s just the new house settling down,’ Will had reassured her. Charlotte was not so sure - she’d seen the cracks in the cliff above them. But now she tries to put these disquieting thoughts from her mind. It is very late and she encourages her husband to hurry home to bed. When they reach the cottage Charlotte’s mother, still awake despite the lateness of the hour, meets them at the door. She had been left to care for the children, and she is agitated. ‘There’s something coming upon us,’ she cries. ‘The house is cracking up.’ Her son-in-law, suddenly sleepy from his walk in the clear air, dismisses her concerns. ‘It’s alright Mother, it’s late. We’ll look in the morning,’ and so saying, he makes his way, unsteady, up to bed. Barely three hours later Will, stretched out on his back, mouth agape, is roused from sleep by a loud crack. It is cold, and dark, and his head is hurting. He turns onto his side and pulls the blanket over his face. For an hour he lies still and uncomfortable, listening. His bladder is full, and that together with the steady succession of lesser creaking sounds, makes further sleep impossible. At five o’clock discomfort prevails; thinking first to relieve himself and then to investigate the strange noises he staggers down and pushes at the front door. It is jammed. He applies his shoulder, but to no effect. Looking about, he sees the hazel stick hanging amongst the coats on the back of the door. He takes it down and pushes it between door and frame.