Forged in ice: the Smith who started it all
1883 - 1937
The story of Durham Ice Rink is deeply intertwined with that of the Smith family. It begins with the dynamic, unique and sometimes described as ‘eccentric’ John Frederick James Smith—affectionately known as 'Icy.'
It was his passion, ambition and determination that gave rise to the building by the river that so many of us regarded as our ‘second home’.
In the following decades to come, thousands of skaters—hockey players, figure skaters, and families—would step onto the ice Icy dreamed of. They wouldn’t know his story, but they were all part of his legacy. Every hockey game played, every routine skated, every child taking their first wobbly steps on the ice—it all began with one man’s dream.
Born on the 15th May, in 1883 in the village of Lartington, nestled deep in the rolling Teesdale countryside, John was the 13th of 14 Smith children, a family who had for over a century remained true to their name by forging out a career in iron, generation after generation.
Tragedy in Teesdale
As a child, young Icy, along with his siblings spent winters skating on the frozen ponds of the village, just outside of Barnard Castle. Frustrated when the ice inevitably melted, it was perhaps on one of those bitterly cold Teesdale mornings that the idea first sparked:
‘What if the ice never had to melt?’
But one winter, the ice didn’t just disappear—it tragically took a piece of ‘Icy’ with it.
One cold February evening in 1901, the young Smith and his family waited at home for two of his older brothers, Edward (23) and Ernest (21) to return. They had gone out together earlier that day headed in the direction of the ponds, promising to be home by 4:30 that evening. But as the sun dipped behind the hills and the fire crackled, concern set in. The door never opened.
When a search party was sent out at 2am, their worst fears were confirmed. Hours later, two hats—soaked and frozen—were found floating near the jagged edge of broken ice. Both brothers had fallen through. Neither made it home.
For most, that kind of loss would have been the end of their love for the ice. But for Icy, it planted a seed—an unshakable idea that skating could and should be something more, something safer. Maybe, in the future, he could somehow go part-way to putting things ‘right’.
From iron to ice
While young J.F.J. Smith dutifully joined the family blacksmithing business, it didn’t take long for his maverick spirit to push him in a different direction. The idea of crafting something that would last 30 years before needing to be replaced frustrated him.
“What needs making and replacing every single day?” he wondered.
The answer? Ice.
In the early 1900s, keeping things cold was no simple task. Massive blocks of ice—harvested from the frozen Baltic Sea—were shipped from Norway to England, stored in underground ice wells until needed. Fishmongers, butchers, and grocers relied on this expensive, labor-intensive process to keep their produce fresh. Even today, if you look closely along Durham’s riverbanks, you can still spot the remains of an old ice well.
John saw a better way. At just 24 years old, and with mechanical refrigeration still in its infancy, he set out to build an ice factory in Barnard Castle. The operation ran 24 hours a day, producing a ton of ice daily—a crucial supply for the likes of local butchers, who would collect the blocks, smash them into pieces, mix them with salt, and use them to chill their slaughterhouse iceboxes.
But making ice wasn’t just physically demanding, it was also a lonely business. John - now nicknamed ‘Icy’ by the locals - quickly realised he couldn’t keep it going alone.
Finding a business partner, however, was no easy task. Many dismissed the business of ice-making as a “crazy scheme”—too new, too risky. If Dragon’s Den had existed in 1907, Icy may well have made quite the memorable contestant.
Then came along a young Miss Ann Stevenson. Born in the County Durham village of Witton Gilbert, Ann, daughter of a publican was ambitious in her own right. At 24 years old, she married John in 1908, but she wasn’t just Mrs. Smith. She was also his business partner, rolling up her sleeves -or perhaps more fittingly, bracing herself for the cold- to help grow their fledgling ice empire.
And grow it did. After World War I, demand soared, and a second ice factory was opened in nearby Darlington. The Smiths and their young children settled in the town. Business was booming. But for Icy, this was just the beginning.
Arrival in Durham
Icy Smith wasn’t just a shrewd businessman—he had a passion for politics, innovation, and pushing boundaries. In 1928, at the age of 45, he was elected Mayor of Darlington for a one-year term. But true to his restless nature, he didn’t stay in one place for long. He relocated once again—this time to Fyndoune, a ten-room property surrounded by orchards near Sacriston, just a few miles outside Durham.
Meanwhile, his ice empire was growing once again. Icy opened his third ice factory, setting it up just down from Durham’s Blagdon’s Leather Works, a towering, foul-smelling industrial giant that loomed over the Millburngate part of the city. Today, the area is home to the modern and swanky Odeon Cinema and Riverwalk complex, but back then, it was a rough place. Despite sitting in the shadow of Durham’s magnificent cathedral and castle, it was a district filled with heavy industry, smoke-filled air, and pockets of slum housing.
Still, for an ice factory, it was the perfect location.
But across the river, something else caught Icy’s eye and got the old entrepreneurial cogs whirring..
A forgotten mill and a spark of genius
A few hundred meters downstream from his factory—on the opposite bank of the River Wear—stood an abandoned building with centuries of history. Locals called it Market Place Mill, but its origins stretched back to 1183, when it was known as Bishop’s Mill.
For centuries, the mill had harnessed the fast-flowing currents of the Wear, grinding corn, then later crushing tropical hardwood to produce dye. It sat over the Mill Race, a man-made channel that diverted water from the river, passing through the mill before rejoining the Wear near The Sands, effectively creating a mini island.
By the early 1930s, the mill had outlived its usefulness. Once part of a sprawling Victorian carpet factory, it now sat idle—surplus to requirements. When it was put up for sale, Icy moved fast.
To most, it was just another disused industrial site. But Icy saw opportunity.
Electric dreams
Icy reverted the mill’s name back to ‘Bishop’s Mill’ and set about transforming the medieval structure into something revolutionary.
Instead of milling grain, it would generate electricity for his ice factory—powered by the river itself. The weir directing the water flow was modernized, and the centuries-old machinery was ripped out, replaced with a massive turbine and generator. Durham’s past was now fueling Durham’s future.
At the time, the mill complex was much larger than the single-storey, pantiled-roof building that many would later associate with the ice rink.
His eldest son, John James, soon moved into the mill complex with his family. But getting from the mill to the ice factory was a long trek - up through the town, over Framwellgate bridge and back along the Millburngate side of the river. Instead, customers visiting the ice factory on the other side would often ring a bell, and a member of the Smith family would cross the river - somewhat precariously -by walking along a pipe spanning the Wear to attend to their customers on the other side.
An end of an era and a bold new vision
By the late 1930s, household and commercial refrigeration was on the rise, spelling the beginning of the end for the traditional ice trade. Icy knew the days of selling blocks of ice were numbered.
Yet he was never one to sit still.
In 1937, ever the inventor, he became the first person to illuminate Durham Cathedral and Castle with experimental floodlights - rigged up from the roof of his ice factory. While seeing the world-famous building illuminated at night in all its glory is an everyday thing now, for people living in the city at the time, it would have been a truly spectacular sight.
But Icy had a bigger idea, one that had been forming in his mind since childhood.
Maybe now was the time to finally turn that lifelong dream into reality.
