A badly judged affair – the Bermondsey funeral that ended in chaos

You must have seen all those adverts for simple cremations on the television - no big send off, no flowers and no traumatised, weeping loved ones. The days of all those big, expensive and quite Victorian send-offs are dwindling as we go further into the space age (which in itself sounds dated!)

These days when a distinguished Judge expires you may find his obituary in the Times but often the funeral is usually a low-key affair. That wasn’t so for Richard Russell, a rather eccentric and flamboyant eighteenth century Justice of the Peace. He wanted his big death day to be something to remember, and it certainly was – for all the wrong reasons, writes Debra Gosling…

If you walk up Tower Bridge Road you’d be forgiven for missing Tanner Street. It’s a rather small, winding byway that starts at Dockhead and ends at Bermondsey Street. Originally called Five Foot Lane, it was renamed Russell Street – after Richard Russell.

Russell sat at Union Hall in the Borough, meting out justice on all the local bad lads, drunks and ne’er-do-wells. And despite upsetting quite a few locals he bravely lived in the area he served, on the corner of Tanner Street and Bermondsey Street.

In fact, he came from a family of Woolstaplers so he wasn't short of a bob or two. He paid his servants good wages and dug deep into his pockets to support the parish charities.

Despite his good intentions, he had a rather blunt and outspoken character, which often got him into hot water! He liked the finer things in life and collected art for his substantial and graceful Bermondsey abode. However on September 30 th 1784 Russell shuffled off to that great courtroom in the sky.

In his will, he doled out wads of cash to various charities, which included a young girls’ asylum and the Magdalen Hospital for fallen women. And in a brave attempt to take it with him, Russell used his money to ensure his funeral was a lavish affair. It was akin to Margaret Thatcher arranging her own state funeral.

He wanted his own monument erected in the parish church, St John’s Horsleydown, and bequeathed an annual four guineas for the sexton to give it a polish now and again.

Russell demanded the best casket and carriage, decorated with plumes, flags and velvet. He gave fifty pounds each for six young women of the parish to act as pallbearers; another four young maidens were required to strew flowers in front of the cortege; Reverend Grose was left a hundred pounds to write a fitting epitaph and another hundred was allotted for bread and meat to give to the parish poor. Good old Richard, he had thought of everything.

The day of the funeral saw scores of locals lining the streets to get a glimpse of the extravaganza. Parish constables cleared the way, as the girls, dressed in white silk, scattered flower petals along the route. But chaos ensued. The tiny streets of Bermondsey were not built to accommodate so many people at once.

St John Horsleydown Credit: Southwark Libraries

As the cortège neared St John’s the crowd surged forward, forcing the flower maidens to be manhandled over the people’s heads into the church. The female pallbearers struggled with the heavy coffin and it bobbed and dipped its way through the portal. If this wasn't bad enough, a crowd of yobs pushed their way into the church.

Once inside, the rector attempted to deliver his sermon over the shouts and boos of the invading crowd. No one took their hats off, fighting broke out, the rector’s leg was kicked and the visiting vicar of Bermondsey had his pockets picked. Many fainted as the temperature rose. Complete chaos.

When the hoi-polloi had left, peace was restored and Russell’s body was interred in the vault. When his family returned to the house for the wake they were met by his effigy swinging from a makeshift gallows. How dreadful.

We can only suppose that the battered rector’s pride was hurt more than his leg – Russell’s monument was never erected in the church - so the poor old sexton missed out on his four-guinea cleaning job!