Rollo Richards, however, was an anarchist. He declared himself to be one. He was born in 1861 in Clapham, so was a local man. He was a member of his local ‘Educational Society’ – a euphemism for anarchist group. He was not a man in the first heady rush of youth. In August 1894, when he started to wage war against ‘the Establishment’ and planted a series of bombs to blow up Post Office property, he was, in fact, thirty-three years old. Somehow, he evaded capture and was not apprehended for these ‘felonies’ until early March 1897. When eventually arrested, he was found by the police to be somewhat eccentric and rather strange, given to ‘wild, obscene language’. He was also found to have bomb-making apparatus in his room. In April, he was tried at the Old Bailey for causing an explosion by gunpowder likely to endanger life, found guilty and sentenced to seven years penal servitude.59 All this is significant because it is believed that the bombing of Aldersgate Street Station was in retaliation for Rollo Richards’ harsh sentence. It is even more significant because it led to the first terrorist death on the Underground.
The 1880s had been the decade of the ‘Dynamite Campaign’ on London’s railway stations and the Underground. It had created havoc, fear and injury, but had not yet brought about death. All that was to change on the evening of Monday 26 April 1897, when the unsuspecting men and women of London were making their way home from work via Aldersgate Street Station.60 The station was not one of the original seven stations when the Underground opened in 1863, but was added when the Metropolitan Underground line was extended out from Farringdon Street. Aldersgate Street Station opened in 1865, on the site of 134 Aldersgate Street which, at one time, had a building that bore a sign boasting, ‘This was Shakespeare’s house’. Whilst a Subsidy Roll (records of taxation) from 1589 shows that a William Shakespeare was indeed the owner of the property, there is nothing to indicate that it was the William Shakespeare, famous playwright.
Dastardly Outrage on a London Train
------------
BOMB EXPLODED IN A CARRIAGE
---------------------
ONE MAN KILLED
NINE INJURED. 61
If we disregarded the first word, dastardly, the headline could relate to happenings in recent living memory. This headline, however, relates to an incident at Aldersgate Street Station in an earlier century.
Why Aldersgate Street Station? Well, it was an extremely busy station because it had four sets of rails which were used by a number of companies: the Metropolitan District, the Great Western Railway, Great Northern, the Midland, and London, Chatham & Dover. It was also a terminus for local trains. It is, however, apparent from the findings, that it was not the station itself that was targeted, but rather one of the trains that passed through the station, although one is left with the feeling that some thought went into the choice of this station in particular. The layout of the station meant that an explosion here, or in its approach tunnels, could create enormous chaos, confusion and damage, not just to one train but to several others – and so it proved. The Metropolitan train on which the bomb was planted was ‘blown to pieces’ and a London, Chatham & Dover Company train, standing across the platform on the southern side, was ‘badly wrecked’.62 In the immediate aftermath, escaping, panicking passengers could easily have been mowed down by other trains entering the station, as a ‘down-train’ was indeed about to do, as they clambered and crossed the numerous rails seeking safety on the other side. Whoever had planned this ‘dastardly outrage’ was obviously familiar with the Underground, and certainly achieved the mischief and mayhem intended – although maybe not as much as they had hoped for.
The train was proceeding eastward around the ‘Circle’ from Farringdon Street and was, therefore, on the northern side of the station at around 7.10 p.m., a time when passenger traffic was particularly heavy. The explosion occurred in the centre compartment of a first-class carriage as the train drew up at the platform in the station. It blew out the gas lamps on the Metropolitan side, plunging the station into semi-darkness. A report in Lloyds Weekly Newspaper, 2 May 1897, gives a graphic description of the scene:
The wrecked carriage, still attached in its original position to the train, looked a remarkable object. The roof and sides of the carriage had completely disappeared; but the body of the carriage was secure, though badly damaged. The aperture made in the centre of the compartment was V-shaped, the upper part being the widest. The flooring in the centre presented a huge hole, blackened and jagged at the edges. It was nearly round, and was about three yards in circumference. The case of one of the ceiling lamps of one of the wrecked compartments was all that was left by the explosion, the force of which had hurled it upwards, but, still adhering to the gas-pipe which runs along the roof of the coaches, it had fallen over the off side of the next compartment, where it remained suspended at a level with the window strap. The glass in the train was wrecked, while the adjoining metals [track] were strewn with woodwork and debris.
Such was the force of the explosion that timber from the carriage was hurled upwards and became embedded in the roof of the station some fifty feet above. Station Master Dow, interviewed immediately after the event by a member of the Press, was able to give an early eye-witness account:
‘I was standing just here (by the bookstall on the central platform). Just as the train drew up I was sensible of a terrific explosion. My first impression was that something had come through the glass roof, for it was the splintering of glass which I first understood. Then all was confusion. Passengers came out from the carriages screaming.’63
It is rather an understatement, as other first-hand reports show:
There was a deafening report and a flash, which is described as being like the explosion of a small mine … [it] created an indescribable scene of wreck and alarm …
Some of the glass from the roof commenced to fall with alarming noise, and crashed onto the platforms, staircases and metals … glass panels in the doorways and passages of the station were blown to pieces … portions of the wrecked carriage being hurled across the station … several passengers being similarly treated …
… the sufferers lying about the station, in various positions, cut and maimed in various ways. One man’s leg looked as if it had been shattered, and other persons were bleeding from various parts of the body. 64
Another company employee, the ticket examiner, described his experience of the explosion, ‘It seemed as if I was lifted upwards several times and dropped violently on the ground … I don’t want another sensation like it.’65 The noise was such that it was ‘heard in Farringdon Street Station on the east and Moorgate Street Station on the west and inquiries were instantly wired through as to what had occurred.’ 66
Upon learning the circumstances, railway officials and City police, headed by Superintendent Mackenzie, soon arrived, the latter with ‘street ambulances with them’. Nobody was in the carriage. The platform, however, was full of people waiting unsuspectingly to board the train, and many were injured, from flying timber, glass and other carriage debris, at least ten severely and one mortally.67
The following is a list of those who were reported injured and taken off to St Bartholomew’s Hospital by ambulance or cab:
William Hall, aged 22, of 3 Cambridge Street, Hyde Park
Paul Geogi, 35, of 27 Shepherd’s Bush Road
Sarah Ship, aged 50, C Block, Polygon Buildings, Clarendon Square, St Pancras
William Daniel, 33, of 30 Abdale Road, Shepherd’s Bush
Arthur Spawforth, 33, of 94 Fordwych Road, Brondesbury
Theophilus Trustrum, 35, of 17 Albert Road, Forest Lane, Stratford
Mr Nelson, of 12, Portland Terrace, St. John’s Wood
Arthur Washtell, 14, of 29 Stanmore Street, Caledonian Road
Simon Israel, 22, of 22 Latimer Street, Stepney
The first seven mentioned were admitted as in-patients.68
A plain clothes City police officer, Police Constable 801, John Sutton, was on duty at the station at the time of
the explosion. He was also injured, suffering cuts to his right leg and left thumb. Like the others, he was transported to St Bartholomew’s Hospital for treatment, then to the City Police Hospital in Bishopsgate Street.69
The poor man whose leg was shattered was to make it into the record books as ‘the first death on the Underground caused by a terrorist bomb’. Harry Pitts had been quickly transferred to the hospital, but died of his injuries around 11 p.m. that night. Pitts was born in Devon on 27 June 1861, the son of a millwright, but at the time of his death was residing at 31 Wickham Road, Coleraine Park, Tottenham. He was foreman for Mr F. Ayres’ Aldersgate Street firm, and he left behind a wife and three children. Later, a fund was raised by his company and its employees to assist his family. (The jury of the inquest also donated their fees and made a subscription towards the fund.)70 His brother identified his body at the inquest, which opened on 30 April and was immediately postponed until the representatives of the government’s Explosive Department had finished their examinations of the train (which had been moved to a siding at Moorgate Street Station) and could be present.
So, what exactly happened? Well, in truth, no one knows exactly, since no one was ever apprehended for this crime and no confession were ever made. The first immediate thought was that there had been an accident, probably caused by the explosion of the gas cylinder, which provided gas for lighting. This was now located not on top but under the carriage; however, the stationmaster reported that there had not been any particular smell, and certainly not that of gas. Further examination showed that the gas cylinder was still intact, but did have an indentation from the outside, where something had exerted great pressure upon it. Examination by Colonel Sir Vivian Majendie, Her Majesty’s Chief Inspector of Explosives, and his assistant Captain Thomson, showed that the explosion had spent the major thrust of its force in a downward direction, rather than spreading longitudinally and upwards.
It would appear that Majendie is referring to the detonation wave here, not the expanding gases. Both would occur with a detonation. When a stick of explosives is ignited the detonation progresses from the detonator end, down or along the stick. If the stick(s) were laying on their side the progression would be longitudinal and, because it was on the floor, the easiest direction for the gases would be upwards. If the sticks were standing upright then the progression would be down the sticks of dynamite (assuming the detonator was at the top). This would give a downward thrust. In either case, the gases generated would have to expand, throwing debris in a hemisphere and hence hitting passengers on the platform.
When the inquest into the death of Henry (Harry) Pitts was resumed at the City Mortuary on Monday 24 May, several witnesses gave evidence. Joseph Howard, the driver of the train, told the court that it had ‘resembled the discharge of a cannon, followed by a cloud of splinters, wood, glass, dust and smoke’. He was complimented by the coroner on his ‘presence of mind in sounding his whistle to stop another approaching train the moment the accident happened’. This action had probably saved a great many lives.71 Police Constable Larker, who had aided Pitts, reported that he had found him ‘lying on the platform … opposite the shattered carriage’.72
Dr Calverly, who had care of the nine wounded who were admitted into hospital, informed the court that there was no metal present in any of the wounds.
The last and ‘most important witness’ was Colonel Majendie, who had, by now, considerable experience with bombs on the Underground. He gave his verdict that ‘the explosion was not due to gas or steam’ but rather ‘a high explosive’ and that this ‘was not in a metal case’, but that it had been ‘ignited on the floor of the carriage’. This was the fourth Underground explosion, the main difference being that this was effected in the train itself and set alight by a fuse. James Hardy, the head guard, corroborated this when he reported that ‘as they were coming out of Farringdon Street station a porter called out that there was smoke coming out of one of the carriages’.73 The porter was one C.S. Martin, whose statement was reported in The Times:
As the 6.59 train was leaving the station … he noticed smoke coming from a first class compartment. He opened the door and tried to pull the mat out as he thought it was on fire, but owing to the increasing speed of the train he failed to do so. He called out to the rear guard … [but] he was unable to see the cause of the smoke.’74
A ‘modern-day’ Majendie suggests a possible scenario:
It is probable that the dynamite used for the bomb was fired using safety fuse. This is a cord with a black powder (gun powder) core that burns at a steady rate. At that time production was a bit haphazard so a user would normally take say a foot or better a yard and light it. He would then time the burn rate to hence calculate how long a fuse was needed for the time delay required. The made up bomb would have a few 8oz sticks of dynamite, a plane detonator (blind tube, probably aluminium or copper but if improvised it could be any tube that was closed at one end) with the safety fuse crimped into the detonator. To fire the bomb it would be lit using a match, or maybe a cigar, and placed into the carriage. The burning mat would then be lit by the dropped match (or cigar) or from the burning safety fuse (think modern Chinese firework delay fuse but a lot longer and larger diameter).
Colonel Majendie concluded that this was ‘an outrage of formidable character and the most despicable nature’. The jury returned a verdict that ‘Pitts had met his death … by a bomb or some other explosive maliciously placed in the carriage by person or persons unknown’ and, the coroner summed up, ‘… that amounts to wilful murder’.75
All information was passed to Inspector Melville of the Criminal Investigation department who proceeded to make further inquiries into ‘the mysterious occurrence.’ Despite the efforts of the railway and police authorities no one was ever arrested, let alone tried for this murder. It has remained ‘person or persons unknown’.
Notes
1 Although this was not the case for its use in warfare, and it is said that it was the realisation that his name would always be linked to war, death and carnage that prompted Nobel to leave his money to help promote peace
2 August Spies, the editor of an anarchist newspaper in Chicago, in 1886, put it into words, ‘A pound of dynamite is worth a bushel of bullets’, ‘The Anarchists: For Jihadist Read Anarchist’, Economist, 18 August 2005
3 Andrews, Cyril Bruyn, 1937
4 ‘Farringdon Road’, Survey of London, Vol. 46, South and East Clerkenwell, pp. 358–84, 2008, http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=119427
5 Bennett, Alfred Rosling, London and Londoners in the Eighteen-fifties and Sixties, 1924, http://www.victorianlondon.org
6 St James’s Gazette, 16 February 1894: 3 – ‘Words and Deeds’ cited in The Conradian
7 ‘The Anarchists: For Jihadist Read Anarchist’, Economist, 18 August 2005
8 Hoffman, Bruce, ‘Terrorism in History: Terrorism’s Tactical Resonance: The Fenian Dynamiters’, Journal of Conflict Studies, Winter 2007
9 Irish World, 4 December 1875 (New York), quoted in Kenna, Shane, ‘The Fenian Dynamite Campaign and the Irish American Impetus for Dynamite Terror 1881–1885’, Student Pulse – Online Student Academic Journal, Vol. 3, No. 12, 2011
10 Hoffman, Bruce, 2007
11 Kenna, Shane, ‘The Fenian Dynamite Campaign and the Irish American Impetus for Dynamite Terror 1881–1885’, Student Pulse – Online Student Academic Journal, Vol. 3, No. 12, 2011
12 Ibid.
13 Ibid.
14 Leeds Times, 14 April 1883
15 The Times, headline
16 L&NWR Journal
17 The Times, 14 September 1880
18 L&NWR Journal, as taken from Illustrated London News, 25 September 1880
19 Illustrated Police News, Saturday 18 September 1880
20 Ibid.
21 Bristol Mercury, Thursday 16 September 1880
22 Mary Forsyth, L&NWR Journal
23 The Times, Wednesday 15 September 1880
2
4 Whitbread, J.R., The Railway Policeman, Harrap & Co., 1961
25 Neele, G.P., Railway Reminiscences, McCorquodale & Co. Ltd, 1904
26 Ibid.
27 Ibid.
28 The Times, 16 September 1880
29 Ibid.
30 The Times, 29 September 1880
31 My italics for emphasis
32 Norman Pattenden, in L&NWR Journal, quoting Neele
33 http://www.btp.police.uk
34 Dundee Courier, 11 December 1883
35 The Morning Post, 1 November 1883
36 The Freeman’s Journal, 11 December 1883
37 Illustrated Police News/The Standard, 1 November 1883
38 Ibid.
39 Dundee Courier & Argus, 1 November 1883
40 Freeman’s Journal, 1 November 1883
41 The Standard, 1 November 1883
42 The York Herald, 1 November 1883
43 Freeman’s Journal, December 1883 and Dundee Courier, Tuesday 11 December 1883
44 Sheffield Daily Telegraph, 11 December 1883
45 Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 4 November 1883
46 Shields Daily Gazette, 8 November 1883
47 Pall Mall Gazette, 26 February 1884
48 The Times, 26 February
49 The Times, 27 February
50 Ibid.
51 Ibid.
52 Ibid.
53 ‘Spear break van’ obviously refers to a van with a ‘brake’ system for the guard to operate. What is intriguing here, is why it has its own particular name as against the normal ‘brake van’. Alan M. Levitt (New York) of the R&CHS says, ‘the term “spear break van” (or a variation of it) appears ten times in the transcript of the trial … from the context it can be deduced that there were “regular” break van vehicles in use. In addition, there were ‘”break compartments” in third-class carriages. The latter were considered as “spear” or extra – available for use when it was less convenient to use the “regular break vans”. To peek at the word formation, break evolved into brake by the reformation of ea into a, and adding a final e to the root. Reforming the ea of spear into a and adding a final e to the root, one has spare’
Death, Dynamite and Disaster Page 12