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Overview
A safe mode of transport today, the railways were far from vehicles of sleepy commute when they first came into service; indeed, accidents were commonplace and sometimes were a result of something far more sinister. In this fresh approach to railway history, Rosa Matheson explores the grim and grisly railway past. These horrible happenings include memorable disasters and accidents, the lack of burial grounds for London's dead, leading to the 'Necropolis Railway', the gruesome necessity of digging up the dead to accommodate the railways and how the discovery of dynamite gave rise to the 'Dynamite Wars' on the London Underground in the 1880s and 1890s. Join Rosa as she treads carefully through the fascinating gruesome history of Britain's railways.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780750957014 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The History Press |
| Publication date: | 05/05/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 13 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
| Age Range: | 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Death, Dynamite and Disaster
A Grisly British Railway History
By Rosa Matheson
The History Press
Copyright © 2014 Rosa MathesonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7509-5701-4
CHAPTER 1
THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF THE UNFORTUNATE MR HUSKISSON
The opening of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway was a momentous day. Indeed, it was a day that changed the world, as it heralded the 'Age of the Railways'. At the opening of this 'great national work' on the morning of 15 September 1830, the scene at Liverpool's Edge Hill Station was one of colour, festivity and triumph. 'The numbers congregated were immense and popular expectation was excited to the highest degree', stated the Guardian, some three days later. Indeed, Liverpool was full to bursting, so eager were the people of the nation to witness this great event. 'Never was there such an assemblage of rank, wealth, beauty and fashion, in this neighbourhood.' The Staffordshire Advertiser reported, 'It was computed that not less than 500,000 persons were assembled throughout the whole line.' 'A Railer', an invited guest, writing in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, captures that breathless and unbelieving atmosphere:
There was a feverish conspiracy of pleasure, of curiosity, and perhaps, beyond what many chose to express or encourage, of solemn forebodings, of secret presentiments, of those qualms and misgivings of all sorts and sizes, which are wont to haunt timid minds when placed in situations to which they are unused.
Whilst another guest passenger, Fanny Kemble, famous and popular actress of the period, author and anti-slavery campaigner, recalls, 'The most intense curiosity and excitement prevailed, and though the weather was uncertain enormous masses of densely packed people lined the road, shouting and waving hats and handkerchiefs.'
It had not always been thus. The coming of the railway and the huge high-wheeled steam 'monsters' had not been to everyone's liking. Large numbers of the population were against it and afraid of it for many reasons. Canal owners and boatmen feared for their livelihoods, as did coachmen and the owners of the horse-drawn stage coaches. Country folk were worried for the welfare of their livestock when the trains roared past spouting smoke and fire. Would the animals drop dead with fright? Would the cows' milk dry up? Would the cinders set fire to the land?
Many, scientists and physicians amongst them, were worried for the people's health; could they cope with such noise, and travel at such speeds? Would they lose their senses? Would they become physically impaired or even 'done to death' by such an experience? Such was the consternation that, as they worked to lay the 31 miles of track between the first ever intercity termini in Liverpool (Crown Street) and Manchester (Liverpool Road/Water Street), the workmen – the navvies – were abused verbally, and even physically, with bricks and stones. It is said that the company secretary slept with a gun on his bedside table.
Little wonder then, at the relief, the joy and celebration of this wondrous and hard-fought outcome of man's scientific (and political) endeavours. Such an occasion demanded all the pomp and ceremony, splendour and élan the directors of this new, prestigious railway company could muster, and they proudly rose to the occasion. They were determined to get things right, and planned the event with military precision. They put together an 'Orders of the Day' to inform guests what would happen, what to do and when to do it, so that all would run smoothly and without incident. Just as importantly, they also informed the travellers of what not to do, and it was the disregard for the latter that caused a great tragedy and changed 'a scene of gaiety and splendour into one of horror and dismay'.
ORDERS OF THE DAY
LIVERPOOL SEPTEMBER 15TH 1830
The Directors will meet at the Station, in Crown Street, not later than Nine o'clock in the Morning, and during the assembling of the Company, will severally take charge of separate Trains of Carriages to be drawn by different Engines as follows:
NORTHUMBRIAN Lilac Flag
PHOENIX Green Flag
NORTH STAR Yellow Flag
ROCKET Light Blue Flag
DART Purple Flag
COMET Deep Red Flag
ARROW Pink Flag
METEOR Brown Flag
The men who have the management of the Carriage-breaks will be distinguished by a white ribbon round the arm.
When the Train of Carriage are attached to their respective Engines a Gun will be fired as a preliminary signal, when the "Northumbrian" will take her place at the
Head of the Procession; a second Gun will be fired, and the whole will move forward.
The Engines will stop at Parkside (a little beyond Newton) to take in a supply of water, during which the Company are requested not to leave their Carriage.
At Manchester the Company will alight and remain one hour to partake of the Refreshments which will be provided in the Warehouses at that station. In the Furthest warehouse on the right hand side will be the Ladies' Cloak Room.
Before Leaving the Refreshment Rooms a Blue Flag will be exhibited as a signal for the Ladies to resume their Cloaks; after which the Company will repair to their respective Carriages, which will be ranged in the same order as before and sufficient time will be allowed for everyone to take his seat, according to the number of his Ticket, in the Train to which he belongs; and Ladies and Gentlemen are particularly requested not to part with their Tickets during the day, as it is by the number and colour of the Tickets that they will be enabled at all times to find with facility their respective places in the Procession.
To help celebrate this memorable occasion, the 'great' and the 'good' of the land had all been invited – the Prime Minister (the Duke of Wellington), Mr Home Secretary (Sir Robert Peel), a Prince, a Marquis, Viscounts, Earls, Dukes and Lords and Ladies, as well as a Count, an Admiral and a Bishop, many 'Sirs', Ambassadors, VIP dignitaries, business men of repute and those in the 'fashionable' echelons of Society, such as the aforementioned actress, Fanny Kemble. There were, perhaps ironically, also three medical persons amongst the guests – Mr Joseph P. Brandreth, a surgeon of Liverpool, Mr Hunter, a surgeon of Edinburgh Hospital, and Dr Southey, of London, (all of whom, according to Brandreth, were later to play a significant role in the unfolding drama).
The Right Honourable William Huskisson, MP (11 March 1770–15 September 1830), a director of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway Company, was, at the time of his death, the locally popular Liberal representative for Liverpool. He was an active leader in the movement towards Free Trade; and had been the President of the Board of Trade from 1822–28. It was whilst he was in this post that he offered to resign, when the House of Lords failed to pass a bill to give Manchester its own Member of Parliament. Wellington called Huskisson's bluff by accepting his resignation. Huskisson had been publicly humiliated, and relations between the two men were cool and distant thereafter. Charles Greville, a respected and well-placed contemporary diarist of the time, wrote of Huskisson:
There is no man in Parliament, or perhaps out of it, so well versed in finance, commerce, trade and colonial matters ... As a speaker in the House of Commons he was luminous upon his own subject, but he had no pretensions to eloquence; his voice was feeble, and his manner ungraceful ... In society he was extremely agreeable, without much animation, generally cheerful, with a great deal of humour, information, and anecdote, gentlemanlike, unassuming, slow in speech, and with a down-cast look, as if he avoided meeting anybody's gaze.
Greville described Huskisson as, 'about sixty years old, tall, slouching, and ignoble-looking', and remarks on his 'peculiar aptitude for accidents', whilst Simon Garfield indicates that Huskisson was a permanent 'accident waiting to happen'. He cites him falling from his horse, his carriage and even from his bed! Significantly, Huskisson had 'dislocated his ankle in 1801 and was in consequence slightly lame' and had also 'fractured his arm three times, the last time leaving him slightly impaired'. Everyone knew that Huskisson had been in ill-health for some time and, at the Opening, was still suffering from the consequences of having to attend the lengthy funeral service for King George IV in June. Thomas Creevey wrote to a friend following the accident:
Calcraft tells me that Huskisson's long confinement in St George's Chapel at the King's funeral brought on a complaint ... that made some severe surgical operation necessary, the effect of which had been, according to what he told Calcraft, to paralyse, as it were one leg and thigh, which no doubt, must have increased, if it did not create, his danger and [caused him to] lose his life.
He goes on to remark that Huskisson's arrival 'was unexpected', as he had actually written to say 'his health would not let him come'. Garfield, however, also believes that, on the fateful day, Huskisson was not just in 'poor health' but that he was not as bright and perky as he should have been, being 'slowed-down' and 'hung-over' from an over- enthusiastic 'Eve-of-Launch' party.
The cortège of trains was assembled and ready to carry the passengers – around 600 persons. The eight locomotive engines, had all been constructed at the Stephenson works, and all, undoubtedly, tried and tested to ensure maximum and smooth performance on the great day. From Samuel Smiles, we learn who had the particular honour of driving these impressive 'mechanical beasts' on this special day. He writes:
The 'Northumbrian' engine, driven by George Stephenson himself, headed the line of trains; then followed the 'Phoenix', driven by Robert Stephenson; the 'North Star', by Robert Stephenson senior (brother of George); the 'Rocket', by Joseph Locke; the 'Dart', by Thomas L. Gooch; the 'Comet', by William Allcard; the 'Arrow', by Frederick Swanwick and the 'Meteor', by Anthony Harding.
The names of these men, and the names of their engines, would not only become household names of their time but were destined to become part of the fabric of British railway history.
The Duke of Wellington (known to have little love for the railways), Sir Robert Peel, Huskisson, and a number of other distinguished persons, were to travel with the directors at the head of the cortège. They rode in a 'truly magnificent carriage' with finely decorated ornamental sides, and a 24ft long canopy mounted on gilded pillars with rich crimson drapery, and 'the whole surmounted by the ducal crown', constructed so that it could be lowered for the tunnels. There was a central ottoman for seating, and the whole 32ft long by 8ft wide carriage was carried on eight gigantic 'large iron wheels'. Huskisson, and other VIPs, were in a carriage on one side of the Duke, with a band of musicians in a carriage on the other, all hauled by the 14 horsepower Northumbrian on the south line. Being the sole train on this line (the L&M Railway was the first twin-tracked railway) ensured that the Prime Minister would not be delayed or entrapped should any other train break down. The remaining trains would travel in order on the northern line: Phoenix with five carriages, North Star with five carriages, Rocket with three carriages, Dart with four carriages, Comet with four carriages, Arrow with four carriages, and Meteor with four carriages. The Duke's train would 'lead the way' and then allow the other trains to catch up and, at times, overhaul him. So was the plan. It took some time to muster but, when the Duke finally entered his carriage, a single gun was fired, and all was set in motion. Shortly before 11 a.m. the entourage got underway, slowly at first, rolling downhill to the tunnel at Edge Hill, but soon they were travelling under their own steam 'swifter than a bird flies'.
The opening of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway was a day of many 'firsts'. Not too long after setting out, some 13 miles (21km) out of Liverpool, quite near to Parr, the first collision occurred between passenger trains – a rear-end shunt. 'A Railer' recorded it in detail:
One of our engine's [the Phoenix] wheels, how I know not, contrived to bolt from the course – in plain words, it escaped from the rail, and ploughed along upon the clay, with no other inconvenience than an increase of friction, which damped our speed, and with the additional application of the break, soon brought us to an anchor. The engine, however, behind us, not being aware of our mishap, came pelting on at a smart pace, without receiving its signal for checking motion in time. Accordingly, those on the look-out hastily called on their fellow-passengers to be on their guard, and prepare for a jolt, which took place with a crash upon our rear, sufficiently loud and forcible to give an idea of what would happen, if by any strange chance it had charged us with the unrestrained impetuosity of its powers.
Those who looked for harbingers of doom could be forgiven for thinking that this was one such; however, the engine was soon righted on the rails, and with no casualties, the journey continued.
Parkside Station was located in an isolated rural area (17 miles (27 km) from Liverpool), but it had been designed for future expectations, and built as a water stop and junction station for proposed connections with the Wigan Branch Railway and the Bolton & Leigh Railway, so it already had multiple lines of rails in place. A leaflet, given to those travelling on the trains, explained this and advised that:
The apparatus at which the water is supplied is worth looking at ... we recommend the inspection to take place from the carriages There are here five lines of rails, and the excitation arising from the approach of a carriage will generally so confuse a person not accustomed to walk on the railroad, as to make it almost impossible for him to discern which line it is coming on.
Unhappily, this advice went unheeded. This was the only scheduled stop en route and, by the time they had reached there, the passengers had been travelling just under an hour. Many, some fifty men it is quoted, despite the slight drizzle, felt in need of a 'stretch' and, no doubt, a chance to chat about this wonderful phenomenon. Huskisson, at the suggestion of William Holmes, MP, that it may be a good time to effect a reconciliation with the Duke, approached the Duke's carriage and offered his hand. It is said the two men shook hands 'warmly'. What happened next has become an iconic moment in railway history, often wrongly written up as the 'first death' on the railways.
With so many present, there are several eyewitness accounts to this infamous event, which are recorded and reported with various interpretations. One is from Lady Wilton, who was travelling in the same carriage as the Duke of Wellington and, therefore, close to the point of action. She later graphically told Fanny Kemble what she thought had happened:
The engine had stopped to take a supply of water, and several of the gentlemen in the directors' carriage had jumped out to look about them. Lord Wilton, Count Batthyany, Count Matuscenitz and Mr Huskisson among the rest were standing talking in the middle of the road, when an engine on the other line, which was parading up and down merely to show its speed, was seen coming down upon them like lightening. The most active of those in peril sprang back into their seats; Lord Wilton saved his life only by rushing behind the Duke's carriage, and Count Matuscenitz had but just leaped into it, with the engine all but touching his heels as he did so; while poor Mr Huskisson, less active from the effects of age and ill-health, bewildered, too, by the frantic cries of 'Stop the engine! Clear the track!' that resounded on all sides, completely lost his head, looked helplessly to the right and left, and was instantaneously prostrated by the fatal machine, which dashed down like a thunderbolt upon him, and passed over his leg, smashing and mangling it in the most horrible way.
The 'fatal machine' was the engine Rocket, under the control of the unfortunate Joseph Locke. Although the winner of the Rainhill Trials – a test for speed and reliability – it was an engine with no brakes. In order to stop, its reverse gear had to be engaged, a practice that took time to accomplish, and on this occasion there was not enough time. It bore down upon the hapless man, knocking him from his tentative hold on the carriage door to the ground, where he landed with his leg bent over the rail – the engine wheel ran over it.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Death, Dynamite and Disaster by Rosa Matheson. Copyright © 2014 Rosa Matheson. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Acknowledgements,Introduction: Railway Accidents,
DEATH,
1 The Melancholy Death of the Unfortunate Mr Huskisson - first 'famous' railway death,
2 The Accident at Sonning Cutting - a mere 'slip'!,
3 'Bring Out Your Dead' - the Necropolis Railway,
4 'Unburying' the Dead - a nineteenth-century occupational hazard,
DYNAMITE,
5 The Dynamitards,
DISASTER,
6 Hexthorpe - A Race Day 'Special',
7 The Tay Bridge Disaster,
Bibliography,
Copyright,