"Don't let go of my hand, as someone is standing upon my face," whispered six-year-old Charlie Dixon to his big brother Alfie.

As child after child tumbled on top of the pair, crushing the breath from their chests, Alfie felt an overwhelming tiredness as he tried to cling on.

Minutes later, he was pulled barely conscious from the tangled heap of bodies.

Little Charlie, however, was one of 183 youngsters who died that day.

"It was billed as 'The Greatest Treat for Children Ever Given,' but it became one of Wearside's worst tragedies," said local historian Carol Roberton.

"It sent a tremor of horror across the world, for the world had never known such a tragedy involving children as the Victoria Hall disaster."

The day of June 16, 1883, dawned bright and warm. A perfect day, in fact, for a performance by The Fays, of Tynemouth Aquarium, at the Victoria Hall.

Promises of talking waxworks, living marionettes, conjuring tricks and a Great Ghost Illusion had led to a huge demand for seats, with about 2,000 sold.

But what excited the young audience most, however, was the announcement that "Every child will stand the chance of receiving a handsome present".

"There was little opportunity for parents to accompany their children, as tickets for adults cost three old pence, which most couldn't afford," said Carol.

"And so there were no adults to restrain the happy, excited children who raced from the gallery to make sure they did not miss out on winning a new toy."

Tragically, a door at the bottom of the stairs had been bolted ajar, leaving just enough space – 22 inches – for one person to squeeze through at a time.
Within seconds, the narrow gap was choked. Soon, the excited youngsters were reduced to a struggling heap, with children being crushed layer upon layer.

The Sunderland Echo reported at the time: "Children tumbled head over heels, one on top of the other. Shrieks and screams vibrated through the staircase.

"The heap of writhing humanity became higher and higher, until it became a mass of struggling and dying children over six feet in height."

Those rescuers first at the scene managed to pull a few through the gap to safety, including young Alfie Dixon, but dozens more suffocated.

Another lucky youngster was George Graham, 11, of Hedworth Street, who was the first boy to run down the stairs just before the fatal crush.

He said at the time: "When I got to the door, I found it was fast. I took my little brother in my arms and went upstairs again as fast as I could.
"I set my brother on a windowsill and so saved our lives. I stopped there a long time, but then I had to step over dead bodies to get downstairs."

The disaster left Sunderland in mourning. Many families lost two or more children that day, and all 30 from one Sunday School party were killed.

Councillor Errington said at the time: "A man and a woman rushed into the hall, and the man eagerly scanned the faces of the dead. Without betraying any emotion, he said with his finger pointed and his face blanched: "That's one."

"Pushing on two or three yards, still pointing, "That's another." Still walking on, pointing to the last child, he uttered: "Good God! All my family gone." I thought his heart would break, as he could not find tears to relieve him."

News of the disaster spread through the town like wildfire. As
anguished parents made their way to the hall, so the first victims were being brought out.

Their battered little bodies were laid out at the Mowbray Park Hotel, as well as in the park grounds, to await identification.

In one case, a little girl was stopped as she walked along Tatham Street, carrying her dead sister home. A passer-by called for a cab and paid for it.

In another, a father carried a dead child in each arm from the hall. "Utterly unnerved, he fell to the ground with his melancholy burden," reported the Echo.

There were also several sad instances of mistaken identity, according to Councillor Errington, as some of the children had been so badly crushed.

"One parent took home a boy and, after arriving there, found it was the body of a neighbour's child," he told the Echo two days after the disaster.

"In the meantime, his own boy was found apparently recovering, but he died later in hospital."

There were, however, several instances of miraculous escapes, including that of little crippled girl Georgina Cole.

Although the 11-year-old was one of the first to leave the gallery, and became caught up in the stampede, she used her crutches to stop herself being crushed.

No-one was ever blamed for the bolting of the door, despite two
inquests being held, although a lack of caretakers to "preserve order" was criticised.

The tragedy did, however, prompt the passing of legislation to provide crush doors which opened outwards at all places of public entertainment, which still stands today.

Today, the Victoria Hall is long gone – after it was destroyed by a German parachute mine in World War Two.

But the young victims continue to be remembered with a memorial in Mowbray Park, paid for with donations following the disaster.

Carol, who successfully campaigned in 2000 to have the memorial returned to Mowbray Park after it was moved to Bishopwearmouth Cemetery, said: "It was a disaster on a scale to haunt the memories of Wearside families for years to come, and those who lost their lives should never be forgotten."

Read more in today's Echo