Local History

The history of the parish of Bradfield goes back many centuries; the church of St. Nicholas, High Bradfield is believed to stand on the site of an Anglo-Saxon place of worship. The hamlet of Ughill has connections with William the Conqueror and yeoman farmers from Normandy settled in that area. Parts of the parish also appear in the Doomsday Book. Several buildings are still standing which were connected to King John and the Knights Hospittallers of Jerusalem and are marked accordingly. Robin Hood or Robin of Loxley is another character associated with the Parish.

The parish is generally regarded as a rural farming area although industry has progressed over the years, such as coal, clay and gannister mining, stone quarrying and reservoir building.

Bradfield has a place in history when on March 11th 1864 Dale Dyke reservoir embankment above the village of Low Bradfield collapsed releasing 600 million gallons of water down the Loxley valley resulting in the loss of over 240 lives along with destruction and demolition of many properties along its course into Sheffield.

Oak woodlands were also cleared to provide timber for ships , reject timbers were used to construct houses or barns, often referred to as ‘Cruck Barns’ or ‘Cruck Houses’ where the timbers were supported on their own bases forming a whale jaw type structure and joined together by wooden pegs. Many of these buildings still survive.

The Industrial revolution took place on the Rivers Loxley, Don, and Rivelin which all pass through the parish at some point when small water powered mills produced steel in some form. Many of the villages and hamlets also played a part in the cutlery industry where small workshops were set up literally in their own premises or outbuilding

Organisations within the parish dealing with local history are:

Bradfield Parish Archives are open to the public every Thursday 9.00am – 4.30pm for any one to research social or family history.

Local History walks take place on a regular basis throughout the year.

Bradfield Historical Society
Bradfield Historical Society holds monthly meetings throughout the year usually with a speaker on a historical topic.

Stannington History Group hold monthly meetings throughout the year usually with a speaker on a historical topic

Sheffield and District Family history Society

The Great Sheffield Flood 1864

By the mid-1800s, Sheffield was firmly in the grip of the Industrial Revolution. An increasing number of people were moving into the Sheffield area to take advantage of the employment prospects in the giant, pioneering steel works, and the town was generally expanding. There was a growing desperate need of a continuous and greatly improved water supply to the town; and increasing pressure was being applied to the Sheffield Waterworks Company (SWC) to undertake whatever developments were necessary. The company (SWC) had established itself in 1830, and now, in response to the pressure, devised the ambitious ‘Bradfield Scheme’: a plan to build four large reservoirs in the hills surrounding Bradfield – about 8 miles to the north-west of Sheffield. The first was to be the giant (by those days’ standards) Dale Dyke Dam, and construction work commenced on 1st January 1859.

Between 1859 and 1864, work continued on the dam, and by late February 1864, only a few finishing touches were required to complete the embankment (work on the second dam – the Agden, had already commenced). The reservoir was now almost full – the water level being just a few feet below the overflow weir. On Friday the 11th. March 1864, at around 5.30 p.m., one of the ‘navvies’, William Horsefield, who had been working on the dam, was crossing the embankment on his way home after finishing work. The weather was quite stormy, as it had been for most of the day, so he crossed a little way down the embankment slope to avoid the heavy winds, and the spray that was being whipped over the top of the dam. A little way along, he noticed a crack running across the embankment. The ‘crack’ was only wide enough to enter one’s fingers, but it was of such a length to cause him some alarm. He immediately scurried off to inform some of his work colleagues – who were not yet quite out of sight; and ultimately, the Waterworks’ chief engineer, John Gunson, was sent for. Gunson, who lived next door to the Waterworks’ offices in Division Street, near Sheffield centre, some eight miles away, collected one of his contractors, John Craven, who lived nearby, and the two mounted the gig that was to carry them through the abysmal weather to the Dale Dyke reservoir. It was around 10 p.m. when they eventually arrived at the dam. After an initial inspection, Gunson concluded that the crevice was merely a surface crack – probably brought about by frost damage, or slight settlement of the new embankment; but to be on the safe side he decided to lower the water in the reservoir until such time as a more extensive investigation could be carried out. He discovered that the navvies had already opened the drain valves in an attempt to achieve this, but it was evident that this method would take several days to lower the water to a ‘safe’ level, so he instructed them to place some gunpowder and blow a hole in the side of the by-wash, thus quickly draining off a large amount of water. Several attempts with the gunpowder were made, but the rain and persistent spray thrown up by the increasing winds prevented its ignition. The time reached 11.30 p.m. and water was being liberally blown over the top of the dam. Gunson made his way back across the embankment to inspect the crack once more – it did not appear to have worsened, but as he glanced up to the top of the dam he was shocked to see ‘water running over like a white sheet in the darkness’. He later declared that it went ‘right under my feet and dropped down the crack’. He edged his way down to the valve house, located near the bottom of the embankment, to see if he could get some idea of the quantity of water passing over, which initially was ‘no great current’. As he arrived, one of his colleagues, suspecting something was seriously wrong, called down to him to ‘get out of the way’. Gunson looked up to see a breach appearing in the top of the dam. Feeling a sudden, violent, vibrating of the ground beneath his feet, he quickly scampered up the side of the embankment, luckily just in time, as a few seconds later there was a total collapse of a large section of the dam, unleashing a colossal mountain of water which thundered down the valley and on to the unsuspecting population below. Six hundred and fifty million gallons of water roared down the Loxley valley and into Sheffield, wreaking death and destruction on a horrific scale.

For two hundred and fifty people who lived in Sheffield and the hamlets in the valley below the dam, this was to be their last night on Earth. ‘Individual experiences were infinitely tragic, pathetic, and sometimes bizarre. The first person to drown was a two-day-old baby boy, the oldest a woman of eighty-seven. Whole families were wiped out; one desperate man, trapped upstairs in a terrace house, battered his way through five party walls to safety collecting thirty-four other people as he went; a would be suicide, locked in a cell, decided, as the flood poured in, that he no longer wished to die; one poor old man drowned alongside his sleeping companion a donkey; a husband put his wife and five children on a bed on which they floated until the water went down.’

After about thirty minutes the flood gradually subsided leaving a trail of destruction more than eight miles long: it was later described as ‘looking like a battlefield’.
In addition to the massive loss of life; total or partial destruction occurred to 415 dwelling houses, 106 factories/shops, 64 other buildings, 20 bridges and 4478 cottage/market gardens. Despite being one of the biggest man-made disasters in British history, and now being annually recorded in the Guinness Book of Records, few people today – even in Sheffield – know very little about the flood.