Murder of a Wife at Ashburnham, Near Hastings
A shocking murder of a wife was committed on Sunday, at Ashburnham, a village near Hastings. Near the village is a quantity of land called Gardener’s Farm, which is farmed by an old man named Stubberfield and his son Jeremiah. The son, who is married, has a separate residence about sixty yards from that of his parent. There were living in the same house with the son, his wife Matilda, their son, Mary Deeprose (a companion to Mrs Stubberfield), and several farm labourers and servants. The boy, eight years old, who occupied the same room with his parents, states that early on Sunday morning he saw his father kneeling upon his mother, and squeezing her throat. Hearing his mother say, “Oh!” feebly, as is in pain, he said to his father, “Your hurting mother.” “You hold your tongue,” replied the father, “I’m only tickling her.” The boy again made a similar remark, upon which the father said that if he didn’t hold his tongue he would “see to him.” Stubberfield then dressed himself, and having kissed his wife and child, went down stairs. The boy immediately aroused the other inmates of the house, who were soon in the bedroom of the murdered woman. The police were sent for, and in a short time, some two hundred persons were scouring the neighbourhood in search of Stubberfield, and it was not till the afternoon he was discovered, and then he was making his way towards home. He had secreted himself in a pit, and tried to drown himself, but could not do so, for he always floated on the top of the water.
A dreadful deed, as you may read,
I am going to unfold,
A base and cruel murder,
That will make your blood run cold;
At a village called Ashburnham,
A few miles from Hastings town,
Where the family of the Stubberfields
Was known for miles round.
Jeremiah Stubberfield killed his wife,
At Ashburnham, we see,
Which caused many a tear both far and near,
The Sussex tragedy.
There lived old Farmer Stubberfield,
An aged, wealthy sire,
At Gardner’s Farm, and near him lived,
His son, named Jeremiah;
Who had a wife, Matilda,
Virtuous, good, and kind,
Who had a son, and her companion,
Labourers and servants, too, we find.
On Sunday morn, the twenty-third of May,
The little boy, but eight years old,
Saw his father squeeze his mother’s throat,
Most awful to unfold;
He called unto his father,
While trembling with fear,
Saying, oh, cruel father,
You are killing mother dear.
The murderer kissed his wife and child,
After that he did slay,
Then placed his coat upon his arm,
And from the farm did stray;
The servants and the labourers,
Went to the fatal bed,
And there beheld Matilda
Quite cold, and lying dead.
They did pursue the murderer,
They in numbers went along,
Searched the hedges and the ditches,
Dragged the rivers and the ponds;
But late on Sunday afternoon,
As they in numbers on did stray,
They saw him wandering to his home,
Where his murdered wife did lay.
He says he dearly loved her,
A kind, good, and tender wife,
Oh, whatever could possess him,
To take away her life;
It has caused great excitement,
Far round the country,
A farmer’s son the murder done,—
The Sussex tragedy.
To end this dreadful tale of woe,
Confined within a gaol,
Lies Jeremiah Stubberfield,
In anguish to bewail;
He loved his wife, far more than life,
He her corpse sweet kisses gave,
He has brought his aged parents,
In sorrow to the grave.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.