Blood on the Tracks: A History of Railway Crime in Britain (17 page)

In the early days of the railways a few enterprising characters tried forging their own railway tickets, not always successfully. It is said that nature abhors a vacuum and the railway industry owes an enormous debt of gratitude to Thomas Edmondson (1792–1851) who, around 1840, successfully filled a vacuum by developing a ticketing system which was very widely adopted, both at home and abroad. His invention rendered the forgery of railway tickets much more difficult.

Many early ‘authorities to travel’ had consisted of forms in which the relevant details were filled in by hand and were easy to forge. Edmondson was a clerk in the booking office of a wayside station on the Newcastle &
Carlisle Railway. He invented a system of pre-printed card tickets containing all the necessary details of each journey booked. Each ticket had its own unique sequential number, distinguishing colours could be used for different classes or types of travel and each ticket was stamped with the relevant date by a machine into which the ticket was inserted. The ticket acted as a receipt which clearly denoted the journey involved and the numbering of each ticket assisted in the process of bookkeeping. These tickets remained in general use until well into the 1960s and their last use by British Railways was in 1990.

In 1875 a gentleman travelling on the Midland Railway from Leicester to St Pancras was arrested at Kentish Town when he was unable to produce a ticket. The staff concerned must have been somewhat heavy-handed and as a result the traveller hit one of them. Upon arrival at the police station the ticket, which the passenger had vehemently claimed he had bought in the normal way, was found. Cleared of the accusation of fare evasion, the focus then turned to the excessive use of force by the railwaymen involved and the magistrates chastised the Midland for employing people who used violence so freely.

In American hobo folklore there are all sorts of stories of people bumming free journeys by ‘riding the rods’, these being part of the appendages to be found under boxcars. This hair-raising way of avoiding the expense of a ticket was rare but not unknown in Britain. In the late nineteenth century there were a few cases, such as the man who had managed to travel under a carriage hanging on to its brake gear all the way from Holyhead to Chester, and another who did a similarly hazardous and uncomfortable trip from Euston to Rugby, in both cases on the London & North Western Railway.

In 1938 a passenger was prosecuted for riding on the roof of an overnight train to Scotland. He had been carousing with friends and was more than a little drunk before deciding to hitch a free ride. He quickly sobered up once he realised what a hazardous situation he had got himself into and indeed he almost fell off several times when the carriage gave a sudden lurch. Suitably chastened, he made his way down to the platform at the first stop only to face a hostile reception from station staff and the railway police. He was fined.

The printing of tickets by passengers is a fine example of self-help but one not approved of by the railway authorities. One man produced very high-quality tickets in the 1930s but was found out after the Second World War when he submitted a ticket bearing the company name ‘LNER’ when the railways had just been nationalised. Counterfeit and foreign coins have been used in ticket machines but technology has gradually reduced the possibilities of this kind of fraud. Providing the wrong name and address is also a criminal act. Railway-users have been prosecuted for doing so.

1
Beaumont, R.
The Railway King
, p.255.

2
Quoted in Bailey, B. George Hudson,
The Rise and Fall of the Railway King
, p.153.

A Murder on the train up to Town

I
t was just after midday on a January morning in 1901 when Mrs Rhoda King entered a third-class compartment of a train of the London & South Western Railway at the main station in Southampton. The train was bound for London Waterloo. It was due to stop only at Eastleigh, Winchester and at Vauxhall which was just short of Waterloo, and where all the passengers’ tickets were inspected. Vauxhall was ideal for Rhoda because it was much closer to Battersea – where she was going to visit her poorly sister – than Waterloo was.

Rhoda had a husband and children but she was a strong-minded sort and quite used to travelling long distances on her own at a time when some women at least were becoming more assertive and independent. She left Southampton as the only occupant of the compartment. Such single occupancy was viewed by most travellers with mixed feelings. Many of them enjoyed being on their own and they resented anyone else entering the compartment and intruding on their ‘territory’.

Many passengers, however, and not only women, were more unhappy about sharing a single compartment with just one other male stranger. He might make unwanted advances, or worse. He might be intent on robbery. He might simply be an incredible bore who would relentlessly inflict his life story on the captive audience so conveniently provided by the compartment type of carriage. If two or more passengers entered the compartment then these scenarios were immediately rendered much less likely.

Soon after leaving Southampton the train pulled into Eastleigh where a giant of a young fellow joined Rhoda. He gave her a friendly enough nod
and she smiled back, rather admiring his height and his powerful build. He looked quite a man. She felt inclined to engage him in conversation but did not want to appear too forward. The opportunity to follow up their brief salutation passed and each remained silent as the train proceeded on its way. It was not far to Winchester, where a third person entered the compartment. This was a Mr William Pearson who looked just like a well-set-up farmer, which is not surprising because that is exactly what he was. He was clearly worth a bob or two and the young man’s eyes must have lit up.

Now our young man who had got in at Eastleigh went by the name of George Parker, and while there was much about his appearance that attracted women he was a thoroughly bad lot. He was twenty-three and had managed to cram a fair amount of skulduggery into his short life. He had been in the army but had been dishonourably discharged after a brief career punctuated by various unacceptable misdemeanours. He was wanted by the police in connection with an act of theft at the Lyceum Theatre in London’s West End where he had worked.

Now he was returning to London after enjoying several days of robust rumpy pumpy with an older married woman from the Eastleigh district. She had been at the station to see him off and observers were surprised by just how passionate the couple’s embraces had been. This activity, of course, unlike the others, was not a disciplinary matter nor was it punishable by the law, but it does suggest that Parker was a young man who took his chances where he could find them.

He was chancing it now, being on the train with a ticket which authorised him to travel only as far as Winchester. For him this was a mere technicality. Living life according to his own standards – to the full – he was permanently strapped for cash. He was hanging around trains looking for someone to rob, and by doing so hoping to get at least short-term surcease from his money problems. He had bought a revolver with robbery in mind.

The three passengers sat in the compartment apparently studiously ignoring each other. In fact Rhoda kept sneaking admiring glances at the good-looking Parker. He in turn was eyeing up Pearson and had come to the conclusion that he looked just the kind of person who was worth robbing. Pearson for his part looked at no one in particular. He dozed and sporadically gazed out of the window.

Parker decided that he would rob the rustic-looking gentleman sitting opposite. If he resisted, then he would have to be shot and killed. Dead men tell no tales. Since dead women also tell no tales, he would have to do the same to the woman. This was a shame because he had spotted her eyeing him up and rather felt that he would like to take the acquaintance further. She did not look as if she was carrying much money though.

Parker noted that the train was passing Surbiton and that the deed would have to be done soon or not at all. As the train was approaching Clapham
Junction Parker pulled out his gun and with no more ado shot Pearson, killing him instantly. Next he fired at Rhoda, winging her on her face, and then hurled the pistol out of the window at Nine Elms as the train was slowing for the Vauxhall stop.

He quickly rifled through Pearson’s pockets. Even before the train had drawn to a halt Parker had leapt out onto the platform, rushed to the barrier, shoved the ticket which he had removed from Pearson’s pocket into the ticket inspector’s face, and before the latter had recovered from the sudden whirlwind that overwhelmed him Parker was running full tilt down the ramp to the street level.

By this time, Rhoda, bleeding profusely but not seriously injured, had raised the alarm. Various he-men took off in hot pursuit of the rapidly retreating Parker who tried to hide, but his pursuers quickly found, seized and overwhelmed him. Parker appeared at the Old Bailey, was found guilty of murder and executed at Wandsworth Prison on 19 March 1901.

From a distance of more than a century, one is left pondering over the essential stupidity of Parker. Riding around on trains with no intention of paying the full fare was one thing but thinking that he could get away with robbery and commit murder on a train was completely different. However, this is a kind of myopic arrogance often found among murderers who convince themselves that they are so clever that they are somehow immune from the fate of ordinary individuals.

Murdering for Coal

Birmingham is one of those places that contradict the admittedly rather glib and simplistic generalisation that rapid urban and industrial growth in Britain was a result of the coming of the railways. Places such as Middlesborough, Crewe, Barrow-in-Furness and Springburn in Glasgow come readily to mind in support of this assertion. Birmingham, however, was the hub of England’s canal system and a leading industrial centre from the eighteenth century well before the coming of the railways. It went on to become a major centre of the railway system.

A prime contender for the title of least-loved station in Britain is Birmingham New Street. East of New Street and visible on the north side of the line from trains leaving Birmingham for such places as Leicester, Stansted Airport, Derby, Sheffield, Coventry and London Euston is a grand building standing in glorious isolation in distinctly dystopian surroundings. This is the former Curzon Street station, the original terminus of the London & Birmingham Railway.

It opened in 1839 and was designed by Philip Hardwick as a counterpart to his Euston station in London fronted by the famous Doric Arch. It has
somehow managed to evade the modernising barbarians who did for the whole of the old Euston, good bits and bad. Curzon Street closed to regular passenger traffic when the more convenient New Street was opened in 1854. It became part of a large railway goods depot being used as offices until 1968.

Coal has been described as ‘black gold’, and while actually having more utility than gold it is nevertheless generally regarded as less valuable. In the age when it was the only major source of domestic heating it was frequently stolen – sometimes by opportunist individuals who wanted to cut down on their fuel bills but also by professional thieves who found a ready sale for cheap coal on the black market – no pun intended.

In 1901 coal had been disappearing from wagons in coal merchants’ sidings at Curzon Street. Not the odd lump but entire sacks. This is the reason why a detective officer in the London & North Western Railway’s police force was patrolling on the evening of 10 August. His name was Hibbs. He knew the area well and realised that he was almost certainly up against professionals because the thieves had so far evaded all attempts by the police to catch them. Hibbs was well aware of the danger that went with his solitary patrol but he was experienced and had a whistle which he hoped would bring quick assistance if needed.

He spotted three men dragging sacks of coal out of the depot and called on them to stop. They abandoned the sacks and ran off along the nearby canal with Hibbs in hot pursuit. Realising that he was on his own, they turned to face him. Hibbs drew his truncheon as all three of the thieves went for him. It was a brave action but it proved to be an unwise one. It was never a fair fight and he was knocked down and rendered unconscious by a heavy blow to the back of the head. Callously they then picked him up as if he was no more than a bundle of rubbish and threw him into the canal where he drowned.

The Coroner’s Court returned a verdict of ‘wilful murder by persons unknown’. The London & North Western Railway offered a reward of
£
100 for information leading to the conviction of those responsible. The police already had three young local men in custody but they needed more evidence. Some of the witnesses who had come forward had complained of anonymous threats and clearly felt intimidated. Would they be prepared to testify in court? The civil police felt sure that these were the three men responsible but the evidence was largely circumstantial and would be unlikely to stand up in court.