Blood on the Tracks E-Book

David Brandon

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2010

Beschreibung

Between 1835 and the 1850s, railway mania blossomed around Britain. Crime emerged as the railways developed, at first opportunistic crimes such as fare evasion and robberies, but gradually more inventive forms evolved, notably the minor clerk Redpath in the 1850s, whose shameless cooking of the books to live the high life exposed the lack of any kind of accountancy across the railway industry. The first train murder was not until the 1840s, and sparked great fear of foreigners as a German was charged and hanged for the crime. The outcry resulted in the communication cord being introduced to the railway carriages, so that no longer would they exist as completely separate spaces and passengers could alert the driver to any assault within. This fascinating history covers all varieties of crime on the railways and how it has changed over the years, from assaults and robberies, to theft of goods, murder, vandalism, football and other crowd activity, suicide on the line, fraud and white collar crime, and also looks at the use of railway crime in film and literature.

Leseprobe

BLOODON THE TRACKS

A HISTORY OF RAILWAY CRIME IN BRITAIN

DAVID BRANDON AND ALAN BROOKE

CONTENTS

Title Page

Introduction

Chapter One Assaults and Robberies

Chapter Two Murder on the Line 1840-1900

Chapter Three Railway Financial Fraud

Chapter Four Murder on the Line 1900-2000

Chapter Five Assorted Crime

Chapter Six The Work of the Transport Police

Chapter Seven Crime and the Railway in Film and Literature

Railway Crime on the Screen

Copyright

Stockport Viaduct. This view gives some idea how the viaduct over the Mersey Valley dominates the centre of Stockport.

Introduction

Communication is a necessity for civilised societies. The earliest such societies were located in the valleys of great rivers such as the Nile and the Indus. The water of the rivers provided the means for irrigation and thereby the development of agriculture; they also provided the means of transport and communication for these early civilizations. The inhabitants of these societies learned how to use draught animals for agricultural purposes. However, they found what they had developed was threatened by barbarian enemies who, while not so advanced economically, had utilised the horse for the purposes of transport and particularly for warfare.

The speed of the horse, its relative intelligence and the ways in which it could be trained gave those who exploited it a huge advantage. It would not be unfair to say that, for a millennium and more, the horse was the key to economic, military and political power. The problem with the horse was the finite limits on its capacity and endurance. A horse could only go so fast, or a team of horses could only pull so heavy a load, or go at such a speed. A messenger could ride no faster from, say London to York in 1700, than his predecessor would have done in 1200. By the late eighteenth century, the then advanced world needed a new, more efficient and more powerful horse. This could only be a mechanical horse or, in that happy transatlantic phrase, an ‘Iron Horse’.

The invention of such a device was both a product of, and also a vital contributor to, that extraordinarily complex series of interacting processes which historians loosely – but conveniently – call the Industrial Revolution. This involved massive increases in humankind’s control over nature, in the output and productivity of human labour and the scale and complexity of human co-operation and social organisation. The Industrial Revolution set in motion many of the economic and social processes which characterise the modern world, not least the expectation in the advanced economies that citizens have the right to enjoy a more or less continuous rise in their living standards and expectations.

The Industrial Revolution and associated technical and scientific developments in agriculture, as well as changes in landownership, meant that a hugely increased and predominantly urban population was supplied with food by a drastically reduced rural workforce. Those innumerable small towns and villages, each a centre of its immediate economic hinterland, that had been so characteristic of pre-industrial Britain, either stagnated or grew and transformed into centres of industry.

In the towns a radically new social fabric developed. Long-established social inter-relationships were destroyed. For example, the old semi-paternal nexus between squire and tenant, tenant farmer and labourer, priest and congregation, master and servant became anachronisms. Society was dominated by less personal relationships, such as those of employer and employee and producer and consumer. Most of all, the Industrial Revolution saw the emergence of the modern working class or proletariat; workers who sold their labour-power in exchange for wages, sometimes being employed in workforces of hundreds or thousands in factories and mills.

In finding their needs totally at odds with those of their employers, they learned from experience that the only way to defend and develop their interests was by collective industrial action. Workers’ self-help, especially in the form of trade unions, gave expression to this. The bringing together of huge numbers of impoverished or poor people in the industrial towns created public health, public order and other issues which could only be addressed by radical changes in social policy. With the improvement in communications and the overall rise in real wages, production increasingly was for national but also international markets. The British economy became embroiled in a tangle of worldwide commercial and financial business transactions: it was the beginning of globalisation.

All this amounted to a revolutionary change in almost every aspect of life. Although some parts of the process can be seen to have started developing momentum as far as back as the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it was in the eighteenth and especially the nineteenth centuries that the processes matured. If just one factor had to be identified as critical to industrialisation and all its associated changes, it would have to be the invention of reasonably efficient steam engines.

They provided the power for mechanised forms of industrial production and, after much further trial and error, were a prime mover in the field of transport. The latter was, of course, the steam locomotive. The quite extraordinary rise of the railways in the nineteenth century was an effect of industrialisation and its associated changes, but it was also the cause of further massive economic, social and political change. In the words of Professor Harold Perkin, ‘The Industrial Revolution’s most spectacular achievement [was]: the development of the steam railway.’1

It is hard for us in the twenty-first century to appreciate the extent to which railways dominated land transport by the end of the nineteenth century. The statistics of their achievement are impressive. Between 1840 and 1870, annual passenger numbers rose from around 20 million to 336 million, and the amount of freight moved from 5 million to almost 170 million tons. Scarcely any town of any size was not served by one or more railway lines by 1900. The few towns that were never linked to the network either stagnated or actually declined even during the periods of sustained economic growth that made up much of the second half of the nineteenth century.

The railways also had a massive social, economic, intellectual and cultural impact. Processes of change from within and without are the dynamic of any society. The speed of change in Britain was enormously enhanced by the development of the railways. While some significant improvement to internal transport had been effected by turnpike roads and by canals, it was the railways that effectively ‘shrank’ the British Isles, and made that which was previously distant, close. The first simple lines usually connected quarries and mines to the nearest navigable waterway, and little interest was expressed in the conveyance of passengers. The success of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway in 1830 in benefiting the business communities of those cities was compounded when, to everyone’s surprise, it was found that there was also a demand for passenger travel, much of it just for pleasure.

The coming of the railways meant that a reasonably cheap form of transport was available throughout the land for moving minerals, raw materials and the products of industry. That was their prime purpose. The growth of significant business in moving people had not been foreseen and was a bonus. The very idea that people would travel in large numbers for pleasure would have seemed utterly ludicrous in 1700 when travel was relatively and absolutely slow, expensive, difficult and often dangerous. Within the next 150 years, however, large numbers of people, excluding all but the very poorest sections of society, were benefiting from the enormous broadening of horizons that much easier and cheaper travel brought.

The railways contributed enormously to economic and social change. They broke down rural isolation, they enabled labour and capital to be much more flexible and mobile, all factors essential for a modern industrialising economy, and they were part of the process of eroding family, local, district and national identities within Greater Britain. Railways undermined existing social and cultural practices. They greatly increased the speed with which ideas and information could be transmitted, and assisted the spread of the written word and of reading as an activity both with serious purposes in mind and just for simple pleasure.

From the early days of the railways, the idea spread that actually sitting in a carriage during a journey was intrinsically boring and that something needed to be bought in order to help while away the time. Bookstalls appeared, selling newspapers, magazines and cheap novels, and this material was consumed in almost exponentially increasing amounts as the century wore on. Those who considered themselves a cut above the common herd, however, deplored the quality of this popular printed matter. It was cheap, sensational and vulgar, they said.

Millions used the railways to travel to the Great Exhibition held in Hyde Park in London in 1851. This glorified international trade fair was believed by its organisers to be an aid to international amity through the forging of trading and other commercial links between countries across the world. It was also designed to be a shop window to show off the multifarious achievements of British industry. Not without good reason was Britain being described at the time as ‘the workshop of the world’.

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.

The man for whom £2 was a small price to pay for the pleasure of smoking a pipe.

As he continued travelling around, and additionally began reading books about railways, he became aware of aspects of economic history, economic geography, topography and local history. He became fascinated by major (and minor) civil engineering features such as viaducts and tunnels, bridges, stations and hotels. Why were the mouths of some railway tunnels given features reminiscent of medieval castles? Why did some stations have what he came to know as Tudor or Jacobean or Gothic architectural motifs? He became aware of geological factors in the location of railway lines and other installations, and also in terms of regional building styles and building materials.

Regional and local cultural differences impinged on his awareness – most starkly at Newcastle Central when he asked another spotter if he knew the identity of a Gresley A4 Pacific puffing away into the distance. The answer provided by the friendly native was so unintelligible that it might as well have been uttered in Swahili. It was the future author’s first brush with the Geordie accent. Via the medium of locomotive names, in particular those of the LMSR ‘Jubilee’ Class, he became aware of many obscure and far-flung parts of the former British Empire such as Bhopal, Bechuanaland and the Gilbert & Ellice Islands. He found out about great British sea dogs including Cornwallis, Barham and Tyrwhitt and battles such as Camperdown, Aboukir and Barfleur. Lastly, from the same class he was able to widen his vocabulary with the names of warships such as Indomitable, Impregnable and Implacable. Not bad for a class of 191 locomotives! A sense of curiosity and of needing to find out was stimulated. Fortunately this has continued and has made for a very interesting life.

This book brings together the authors’ interest in social history and the history of crime, both subjects on which they have a number of published titles to their credit, with their enthusiasm for, and knowledge of, Britain’s railways. They are particularly interested in the economic, social, political and cultural impact of the railways. This book is aimed at the general reader. It is necessarily selective and does not pretend to provide a comprehensive coverage of every type of crime committed on or around Britain’s railways.

1 Perkin, H. The Age of the Railway, 1971.

Chapter One

Assaults and Robberies

One early and enthusiastic historian of railways commented in 1851 that it was invariably safer to travel on the railway than to stay at home. Many of his contemporaries during the early years of the railways would not have agreed. Derailments, crashes and boiler explosions, for example, were unlikely to occur in the majority of homes, but were disconcertingly common experiences for railway travellers. So were spats with other travellers, as we shall see.

Travellers could rarely choose their fellow passengers. Antisocial behaviour resulting from overindulgence in alcohol led to many unsavoury scenes. Not the least of these occurred when men, with bladders clamouring for relief, exposed the necessary part of their anatomy in order to urinate out of moving trains. If the train was proceeding at speed, it was not unknown for passengers in carriages further down the train to find themselves subjected to a random shower of urine.

Many early railway carriages were, of course, open to the elements. Women especially, but also other men, could easily misconstrue the intentions of male travellers who started groping around in their nether regions in order to locate and extract their genitalia. Even this action, when intended for no more sinister a purpose than as the prelude to relieving themselves, was of course an infringement of public decency. A drunkard with a full bladder who was also believed to be a flasher or sex fiend really did not have a leg to stand on.

Many early passenger carriages contained a number of compartments, and the existence of this type of accommodation posed a whole world of problems for the sensitive traveller. The nature of the compartment meant that passengers were, by necessity, somewhat thrown together. In a crowded carriage there could be the most frightful situation of enforced physical intimacy, though those of a nervous disposition often found this easier to handle than the occupation of a compartment with just one fellow passenger. This stranger might turn out to be a robber, a sexual predator with curious or repulsive preferences, a homicidal maniac, a lunatic, a chain-smoker or a mind-numbingly tedious bore.

Robberies and assaults within the confinement of compartments were by no means uncommon. People felt trapped inside these small spaces, and although the vast majority of such journeys were completed without anything untoward happening, the reality that there was no easy way to stop the train, or even to contact a member of its crew, was a threatening one. Travellers therefore sometimes equipped themselves with weapons up to and including firearms before they embarked on train journeys. A traveller in 1854 admitted in a letter to a local newspaper that he never travelled by train without a loaded revolver in case he found himself tète-à-tète in an otherwise empty compartment with a lunatic or dangerous criminal on the run.

Before the days of lighting on trains, it was generally felt that tunnels were the places where assaults were most likely to happen. Advice to those alone in a compartment with only one other traveller was to be prepared for an attack by placing the hands and arms in the fashion best suited for defence. Ladies often had a hat pin at the ready. It was always felt that female travellers were more vulnerable to the various hazards of early train travel, especially those involving sexual or other forms of assault. For this reason some compartments were designated ‘Ladies Only’. Of course simply labelling a compartment for the use of women only did not prevent some determined male reprobate from jumping in when the guard’s back was turned. In Victorian melodramas the blackguard concerned would invariably proceed to subject his female victim to a fate worse than death.

Even railway employees were not above taking advantage of female travellers on their own. A guard of what later became the London, Brighton & South Coast Railway was dismissed in 1841 after he had very solicitously suggested to a female passenger that she move from one compartment to another which was more comfortable and reserved for ladies. He carried her bag for her, but then remained in the compartment when the train started and attempted to take what were coyly described as ‘certain liberties’ with her. She fought back, preserving her virtue, only to be ungraciously thrown out by the guard onto the platform of the next station at which the train stopped.

Many other horrors could await the female traveller in ‘Ladies Only’ compartments. She might have to put up with screaming or otherwise fractious mothers, children and/or babies, mothers breastfeeding (which was frowned upon by those who considered themselves genteel), women beggars and others with sob stories they needed to get off their chests. It was by no means unknown for prostitutes to ply their trade, particularly in otherwise empty ‘Ladies Only’ compartments. The especially determined ones thought nothing of ejecting a single female occupant and replacing her with the client of the moment. Ideally the trains involved in these activities were not stopping-at-all-stations trains on busy inner-city or suburban routes. ‘Ladies Only’ compartments finally disappeared in the 1970s.

Making the Best of It.

It was not unknown for men travelling in a compartment with just an unknown woman for company to find themselves on the other end of a ‘fate worse then death’ situation. For reasons best known to themselves women passengers sometimes maliciously concocted stories that the men concerned had made indecent comments or suggestions, or had molested or sexually assaulted them. If there were no witnesses, the man, even if he was totally innocent, might find that his guilt was almost taken for granted, and he could very well find himself undertaking a lengthy and very uncongenial prison sentence.

Over the years small numbers of men had found themselves being blackmailed by women who pretended they had been assaulted and threatened to inform the authorities unless the man concerned parted with money. A woman who had shared a compartment with a male dentist on a train from Watford Junction to London Euston alleged that he had indecently assaulted her. She unwisely informed the court that the dastardly fellow had smoked a pipe throughout the entire journey. The court rejected her evidence on the basis that pipe-smoking and sexual assault were two activities which could not be carried out at the same time. It did not help her case that neither her body nor her clothes had borne any evidence that an assault had been made. However, it is no wonder that some men studiously avoided entering a compartment containing a lone female traveller, just as some other men with evil intentions would have made a beeline for one. Over the years a number of women prostitutes did time for demanding money with menaces from lone male passengers on trains.

In 1875 one of the greatest sexual scandals of the nineteenth century hit the headlines. The British public has a keen and constantly salacious appetite for sex scandals, especially if they involve members of the social elite. The main player was Colonel Valentine Baker (1827-87), a well-respected and eminent professional soldier. He was forty-four years of age at the time. At Liphook in Hampshire Baker entered a first-class compartment of a train of the London & South Western Railway. It contained only one other passenger – a young woman called Kate Dickinson. She was attractive and from a well-connected and wealthy family. Perhaps unwisely, Baker engaged Kate in conversation.

As the train headed for London someone on the platform at Woking noted a young woman apparently hanging out of a carriage door. He notified the station staff and the train was stopped near Esher. Kate informed the police that Baker had ‘insulted’ her, a euphemism for sexual assault. Baker had to attend court to face a charge of ‘assault with attempt to ravish’. The scandal-mongers of the gutter press got to work with relish, unearthing real information and inventing imaginary stories as necessary, and publishing them to an extent that prejudiced Baker having a fair trial.

Unsubstantiated rumours circulated to the effect that this was not the first time that he had been implicated in this kind of thing. The papers made much of the fact that Baker had a brother who had earlier caused a scandal of a different sort when he married a young girl he had bought in a slave market, although this was hardly germane to the case under review. Baker was found guilty, but of assault rather than attempt to rape, sent to prison for a year, fined £500 and dismissed from the service. He spent much of his subsequent life gaining fame and honours as a mercenary soldier but he was never rehabilitated by society. Some people thought that the relative leniency of the law in dealing with him was evidence of the class bias of the courts towards those in ‘high places’.

Valentine Baker, who was forced into exile after the incident on the train, but who went on to rebuild a successful career for himself overseas.

Only members of the cloth seem to have been able to come through a compromising situation on the basis of their innocence generally being presumed. We shall never know exactly what was said or what went on when a young curate entered a compartment containing just a sixteen-year-old girl on a train of the Great Western Railway. The girl alleged that he had pulled her onto his knee, kissed her swan-like neck and whispered various intimate observations and suggestions into her ear.

The case went to court but the curate rejected all suggestions of wrongdoing on his part. He did admit that he had entered into conversation with the girl and had suggested that he might be able to get her a job playing the organ in his parish church. It was a most magnificent organ, he had boasted. Could this innocent comment have been taken as meaning something else? The court did not think so and the curate returned to his parish with his reputation unsullied.

In 1864 a gentleman sitting happily in the compartment of a London & South Western Railway train travelling between Surbiton and Woking was startled out of his ruminations when he found himself staring into a woman’s face a few inches from his, looking in from the outside of the rapidly moving train. He leapt to help what clearly was a maiden in distress. She was standing on the footboard of the carriage and clinging on for dear life, clothes and hair streaming in the wind. It was no easy matter to haul her to safety but fortunately some people by the side of the line spotted her predicament and alerted the guard who quickly brought the train to a halt.

A dastardly character by the name of Nash had earlier specifically selected and entered a compartment containing two female passengers, one of whom of course was our woman on the footboard, Mary Moody. Nash had attempted, with a marked lack of subtlety, to chat up the other woman but she had alighted at Surbiton. When this happened, Mary also tried to leave the carriage but she was a few seconds too late, and as the train steamed out on its way to Woking she found herself alone with the singularly unsavoury Nash.

He began to ask her a string of questions full of sexual innuendo. Maybe Mary’s silence inflamed his passion because he first embraced her and then attempted to assault her indecently. That was when Mary saw little option but to attempt to escape his clutches via the compartment door and the carriage footboard. Nash was arrested and was hauled up in front of the magistrates.

In 1892 Mrs Mary Siddals, an attractive mother-of-two, was the victim of a serious sexual assault on a Midland Railway train travelling between Burton-on-Trent and Tamworth. She was alone in the compartment except for a man dressed in black who, having attacked her, tried to throw her out of the moving carriage. She was able to cling on for a few seconds but eventually fell off and tumbled down to the bottom of an embankment, receiving serious injuries.

A man was arrested and charged with assault and grievous bodily harm. His rather feeble defence was that Mary had been hallucinating. Two other witnesses came forward who attested that the man in black had made similar attacks on them. His work as a preacher and teacher of the young cut no ice with the court, and he was described as a ‘sanctimonious hypocrite’ before being sentenced to two years’ hard labour, which most people thought was overly lenient.

Not all cases of sexual assault turned out to be that. A man entered a compartment on a train of the North Eastern Railway near Durham. The only other passenger was a plump and homely looking woman aged about forty who sat opposite him. The train was only just pulling out of the station when she suddenly jumped up and asked him what he meant by what he had just done. He protested that he had not done anything except sit and look out of the window. A few minutes later the same thing happened again. This scenario was re-enacted several more times before the train slowed for a station, by which time the man was convinced that his fellow traveller was totally mad and a public danger.