Blood on the Tracks: A History of Railway Crime in Britain (2 page)

The Exhibition was open from May to October 1851 and it contained 13,000 exhibits and was visited by 6.2 million people. The railways brought them from the four corners of the British Isles, largely in special trains at incredibly cheap prices. Many of these British visitors had rarely left the districts in which they were born, and the very idea of a visit to London, let alone a tour of such an Exhibition housed in a building which itself was the product of the latest technology, would have been something simply inconceivable for earlier generations. They were awed, educated and entertained by what they saw – a hugely mind-broadening experience. The Great Exhibition, a symbol that Britain was about to enter its historically brief period of world domination, was also a symbol of the contribution made by the railways to economic and social advancement.

While there were aspects of the railways that could be described as demotic, for example the way they allowed people from all walks of life and all parts of the country the chance of a cheap visit to the Great Exhibition, elsewhere railways emphasised social classes and gradations. A journey by rail was likely to provide stark evidence of how the well-to-do could afford to live in far more pleasant surroundings than many of the industrial workers who often had little choice but to dwell cheek by jowl with the noxious and polluting mines, mills, foundries and other workplaces in which they were employed. This starkly brought the observer face to face with the reality of the ‘two nations’ idea that exercised the conscience of many upper-class Victorians.

The comfort and service provided for the traveller by the railway companies varied greatly with the price he or she was prepared to pay. Accommodation
on trains was strictly divided in the early days into first, second, third and, in one or two cases, even fourth class. This segregation was repeated in station facilities such as waiting rooms, leading to immortal messages in frosted-glass windows such as ‘third-class women’s waiting room.’

The Crystal Palace in Hyde Park, housing the Great Exhibition of 1851. The exhibition owed much of its great success to the railways who provided cheap inclusive fares to make it possible for people from right across Britain to visit it, many of them making their first trip ever to London. For some, it was the first time they had been away from home.

The larger railway companies were among the very biggest capitalist business concerns of their time. In that sense, they provided a forerunner to the immense multi-national companies that bestride the globe in the twenty-first century. They were bang up to date in that the ownership, which was mostly in the hands of shareholders, was divorced from the everyday control which was exercised by professional managers – another feature of modern capitalism. These people were the top dogs in the railway employees’ very hierarchical structure.

Some historians have even seen elements of feudalism in the way in which these companies organised their labour forces. Everyone knew their place within the scheme of things but realistically that is where the parallels with feudal society ended. A railway worker who kept a clean disciplinary record had a job for life if he wanted it. He had the possibility of promotion and employment with some social status attached to it, especially enjoyed by grades such
as locomotive drivers and firemen. However, wages and conditions were often extremely poor and hours were long, even by the standards of the time.

The absolute priority given to safety issues was cited as the reason why there was a substantial degree of militarism present in the way in which railway companies organised their labour forces. A railway worker clocking on was ‘reporting for duty’; the job he held was a ‘post’ at which he remained until relieved; and a worker liable to be disciplined might find himself ‘on a charge.’ The need for operational safety and the sheer scale of their operations required the maintenance of comprehensive and meticulous paper records, and for that reason the railway companies demanded a high level of literacy from its workforce and encouraged them to take their education further. However, the first major trade union in the industry had the revealing name of the ‘Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants.’ There was little that was paternalistic in the relationship between the railway companies and their labour forces.

Railways from the start provoked deep anxieties and deep opposition. Many saw railways as essentially unnatural, as being by their very nature inimical to established ways of doing things, but also harmful to human minds and bodies. Trains, it was claimed, would damage crops and prevent hens laying their eggs, they would suffocate people travelling through tunnels, or, equally, the tunnels themselves would collapse pulverising the luckless passengers. Hundreds would die as the result of boiler explosions or as trains hurtled off the tracks and plunged over the edge of viaducts.

From another angle, it was averred that the lower orders would become fractious and discontented by being able to travel around. John Ruskin, vigorously attempting to keep railways out of his beloved Lake District, predicted ‘the certainty…of the deterioration of moral character in the inhabitants of every district penetrated by the railway.’ Mind you, when we read that Ruskin on his wedding night was apparently so horrified by the unexpected sight of his wife’s pubic hair that he could not consummate the marriage, it becomes difficult to take anything he said very seriously.

The initial, almost primeval, fears and neuroses stirred up by the railways gradually changed their nature over the course of the nineteenth century, as even those who opposed them realised that the railways were here to stay. As they developed, they became an ever more potent symbol of modernity and the threats that modernity posed. The scale and complexity of their operations, the sublime nature of their major engineering feats (think, for example, of Stockport Viaduct dominating the town and the valley of the River Mersey), the manifest power and speed of the locomotives – all these had the power both to fascinate and to appal.

The railways seemed to encapsulate the forces of mechanisation, of organisation and industrial progress that were the very essence of emerging modern civilization. For good and for bad, or so it was seen at the time.

For many there was evil in this emerging new world, and the railways provided abundant evidence of it. Railways conveyed passengers at previously undreamed of speeds. Those people were, at least in the early days, trapped in small wooden boxes which shook them about, assaulted their senses and rendered them completely at the mercy of forces over which they themselves had no control. One critic described a railway traveller as a ‘living parcel’, merely being consigned or sent from one place to another.

The railways intruded into the environment. Their smoke, their whistles, the puffing of their locomotives, the clanging of buffers and the squeal of wheel flanges – all these created an appalling and unacceptable cacophony. Whole districts were demolished for their stations, sidings, sheds and marshalling yards. The verdant countryside was torn up to allow the passage of the iron horse and the tracks, without which they could not move. Tunnels burrowed under mountains, the cuttings and embankments changed the changelessness of the British countryside forever, and lofty viaducts reared up over valleys overawing the mere people who lived and worked below. Even time was hijacked. Gone were the one-handed clocks of the past to be replaced by railway time across the whole country, and a plethora of timetables, instructions and regulations. Man had created this beast; man was in danger of being taken over by it.

While the railways required order and discipline in their employees, and indeed in their passengers, railway installations and especially stations from the start attracted all manner of human detritus, not least that element bent on criminal enterprise. Particularly in those happy days when even small wayside stations had waiting rooms with roaring fires on cold winter days, stations could provide warmth and shelter. Many of today’s unmanned stations offer cold comfort – even for paying passengers. A bus shelter on a railway platform is an admission of bad faith.

However, the large stations of the past could almost have been designed with society’s drifters in mind. Some provided open access to covered space twenty-four hours a day. That had to be much better than dossing under the stars in sub-zero temperatures. No wonder that, whether big or small, railway stations over the best part of 200 years have been gratefully utilised by the homeless and the friendless in order to snatch an hour or two of sleep or shelter.

Major railway stations such as big city termini have also attracted a diverse stream of people operating just inside, or often most definitely outside, the law. Those offering freelance but illicit porterage services, for example female prostitutes and rent boys; procurers and procuresses; touts of all sorts; robbers; cadgers; those bent on sexual assault eying up their potential victims; cowboy taxi operators; con men looking for gullible marks; rich men, poor men, beggar men and thieves.

Big cities, especially London, have long attracted inward migration from the provinces. In many cases those who have been drawn to London have been
bright, resourceful and energetic people, often young, who have found multifarious rewarding opportunities in the maelstrom of economic, commercial, cultural and other activities which is the life of the capital. For them the streets may not have exactly been paved with gold but they certainly brought them good fortune.

Another layer of incomers were those with skills that maybe attracted less remuneration, who perhaps left the provinces because of a shortage of economic opportunities. Substantial numbers of unemployed miners left South Wales in the depression of the 1930s and moved to London, in many cases to become milkmen. London offered them a better future. The size of London, the wealth generated there, its anonymity and the opportunities it offered for crime have attracted ‘career criminals’, many of whom have found rich pickings.

Unfortunately London has also always attracted the vulnerable and dysfunctional. For example, young people perhaps trying to get away from physical or other types of abuse at home; the bored and disaffected; drug addicts; people trying to escape from something (they do not necessarily know what); those restlessly seeking adventure or hoping that life in ‘The Smoke’ will kick-start their dreary lives. The best that many of them could look forward to is a succession of low-paid and menial jobs while living in squalid accommodation. They might be just as well off had they stayed in the surroundings that they knew and could deal with. Many of these drifters have certainly not been well equipped to deal with the dangers and temptations offered by the metropolis. Many were, and still are, lured into the sex trade.

This hotchpotch of humanity has tended to arrive by train, especially at King’s Cross and Euston stations, evidence that many have come down from the north of England and from Scotland. The problems facing such new arrivals were dealt with by Michael Deakin and John Willis in a riveting but disturbing television documentary made in the 1970s and followed up by the book
Johnny Go Home
. They featured scared, callow, lonely and vulnerable arrivals, some of them literally children, and the reception committee of predatory low-life characters apparently ready to ‘befriend’ them as soon as they got off the train. The Transport Police know what goes on and can keep this activity under some degree of control but they cannot prevent it. It is almost as old as humanity itself, and it is certainly as old as London.

As a boy, one of the authors ranged far and wide throughout Britain in the quest to underline every engine number in his Ian Allan
ABC
. He did pretty well in that self-appointed task but fortunately his interest did not end there. Even at the age of twelve or thirteen as he travelled around, frequently absenting himself from school in order to do so, he began to ask questions which seemed to flow naturally from these trips.

Why might March, a small Fenland town in Cambridgeshire, have what some said were the largest railway marshalling yards in Western Europe? Why did some small settlements, no more than villages, have two or more railway stations? Why
was there no major railway station in what could reasonably be described as central London? Why was it that Manchester, a large provincial city, had four major railway termini, all of which were on the periphery and most definitely not in the centre of the city? Why was Bristol’s main station called ‘Temple Meads’ when there was not a blade of grass in sight? And why was it Carlisle ‘Citadel’ or Hull ‘Paragon? Was the latter such a brilliant station? Who was the ‘Doctor Day’ of Doctor Day’s Bridge Junction Signal Box just outside Bristol? He wanted to know the answers to these, and a thousand other, questions.