Great Train Crimes: Murder and Robbery on the Railways (18 page)

Spilsbury undertook the post mortem. Death was due to compound fractures of the skull and injuries to the brain. The weapon was a blunt and heavy instrument, perhaps a jemmy, which was never found. The police put out pleas for help in the local newspaper, the
Kilburn Times
. Detective Inspector Deighton was in charge and announced, ‘The police want to know if anyone saw a man rush either out of the station or into the other train. He was about five feet eight inches, or five feet nine inches in height, and was wearing a light overcoat, bloodstained and a trilby hat.’

The inquest was held on 3 March, but was adjourned until 9 April, where it was held at St John’s School room. There was not much of substance to add to the meagre details already known. A man in the next compartment recalled hearing a noise in the compartment next to his, presumably between Baker Street and Wembley Park. The motive had probably been robbery, because it was thought that there might have been about £3 in her handbag, which was found in the compartment, having been rifled through. It was also thought that the killer was a man in his early thirties.

Frederick Baker, assistant superintendent of the London Transport Passenger Board, had been on the train in question and recounted:

Just as we were passing through West Hampstead station, I heard a scream, some thuds and a man yelling as if he were laughing. I thought it was some youngsters fooling about; and I didn’t attach much importance to the noise.

At Wembley Park, he heard a man shouting for a guard. He went to the compartment where the noise was coming from and saw Mrs Meadmore. He also saw the killer escaping and gave chase, but was unable to find him. Dr Cogswell wound up the inconclusive inquest and Detective Inspector Richardson announced that the police would continue their investigation into the murder. They also looked at other instances where women had been attacked on that line in recent times, including one where a female railway clerk had been attacked for money.

The police theory, which seems reasonable enough, was that after the murder the killer had left the compartment at Wembley Park as fast as he could and was the man seen by the three others. He then caught the train on a nearby platform, the 8.21 from Aylesbury, which left Wembley Park at 8.25, and so returned to Central London. It is assumed he took the weapon with him, which must have been a small, but heavy, item, easily concealable in a pocket. A minute search was made of the track between Finchley and Wembley Park, but nothing was found. In all likelihood, he was a complete stranger to Mrs Meadmore. Her husband knew of no one who would want to have injured his wife. He may well have been desperate for any money he could find, and seeing a single and vulnerable woman alone in a railway compartment he took his chance. He may have entered the compartment at Finchley. Anyone who had seen a nervous or agitated man on the train from Aylesbury to Marylebone was urged to contact the police. Whether anyone did or not, the result was inconclusive, for no one was ever charged with this murder.

‘I had a clear view of his face with a horrible expression
of horror and terror.’

Whilst most attention in April 1945 and the following weeks was upon the international situation, with the imminent defeat of Germany, the suicide of Hitler and Victory in Europe, domestic drama still had its place.

On the Saturday afternoon of 21 April 1945, three people were intent on their own business on the platform of West Croydon station, whilst they awaited the arrival of the next train to London Waterloo. It was about 2.50 pm. The oldest of this trio was Ronald Lonsdale, a 52-year-old factory worker, then residing in Derby Road, Croydon. The others were Frank Hutchinson, a 33-year-old glass blower, ‘a thick set, fair haired man’, and Margaret, his wife, both of whom hailed from Birkbeck Road, Kendray, in Barnsley. It was the old story of the eternal triangle. This one would end in tragedy.

On this occasion there was a scuffle between the two men. The result was that Lonsdale fell in the direction of the approaching train. Frank Mutter, the driver of the oncoming train recalled seeing him with his arms and legs outstretched and falling in front of the train, ‘I had a clear view of his face with a horrible expression of horror and terror.’ David Gravotte, a 12-year-old lad, was leaning out of the window and saw the two men struggle, a lunge and then a fall. Lonsdale was killed by being run over by the train. Betty Whitfield, a Battersea librarian, also saw what had happened.

At 8 pm that night, at Croydon Police Station, Detective Inspector Albert Bastable saw Hutchinson, who was ‘in a bad state of nerves’ and informed him, ‘You know who I am. I have seen the body of Ronald Lonsdale, and you will be charged with wilfully murdering him by pushing him under a train at West Croydon station.’ Lacking much money, Hutchinson was granted legal aid in order to provide himself with a barrister. Meanwhile he was remanded in custody for 14 days.

The inquest took place on 25 April before Dr Beecher-Jackson, the coroner. The dead man’s widow, Mrs Clara Lonsdale, told the jury that her husband left their marital home at Upper Sheffield Road, Barnsley, about nine weeks before, apparently in order to find work in London. However, he only wrote to her at the beginning of April to let her know that he had found a job in Croydon. Dr David Haber, a pathologist, announced that death was due to shock and haemorrhage caused by multiple injuries as inflicted by the train. The inquest was adjourned and the police appealed for any witnesses who could assist them in the investigation.

Much of the background to the case was made public at the magistrates’ court hearing at Croydon on 7 May. Mrs Hutchinson had left her family early on 19 February 1945. Initially, her husband did not know where she had gone. In March she wrote to her husband. She was very sorry that she had left him and apologised for the terrible effect on their children that this must have caused. Hutchinson wrote back to her care of Streatham post office. He told her that he forgave her behaviour, asked her to return and hoped that they could have a fresh start. She replied that she could not face her family again after what she had done.

Hutchinson was undeterred. Because of heart troubles, he gave up his glass-blowing job. He was now free to find his wife and seek employment elsewhere. He came down to London in the week before Easter. He was unable to find her, so returned home. Then he tried to find a job in London, so he would have more chance of locating his missing wife. On 16 April, he went to the Powers Automatic Factory in Aurelia Road, Croydon. Here, he asked for Bob Lonsdale, who worked there. Lonsdale saw Hutchinson and said, ‘I am glad you have come; Margaret is not well.’ The two men arranged to meet at 5.15 pm, after Lonsdale had finished work, in order to pursue their conversation.

The two met and Hutchinson saw his estranged wife. She seemed happy to return to him and they went back to Crofton Park, to live together for the next four days. Yet on 20 April she left him again and returned to where she had been living with Lonsdale in West Croydon. Her husband followed her. She suggested that he should go to Plymouth to find work, while she decided what she should do. Lonsdale was told of this decision. Various discussions took place between the different parties.

On 21 April the three were in a pub at 1 pm; possibly the one at the corner of Derby Road. They had three drinks each, ‘we were quite amicable’ and then went to West Croydon station, just opposite the pub. This was so that Hutchinson could take a train to Waterloo and then change for a Plymouth train. Mrs Hutchinson then began to walk off. Hutchison later said, ‘We went down on the platform and we stood talking. I moved about because I could not keep still, being impatient. I looked around and saw my wife walking off down the platform on her own.’ It was then that Mrs Hutchinson made her decision, ‘On the platform I decided to go with my husband because I feel sorry for him.’ Lonsdale ran after her and brought her back. She was tearful. There was a brief exchange of words between the three, with Lonsdale first addressing Hutchinson: ‘She is going back to her digs.’

Mrs Hutchinson replied, ‘I think it is better for me to go back to the kids’.

‘You can’t go back and leave me. I love you too much to go without you’.

Hutchinson then stated, ‘Now then, Bob, I have acted like a gentleman. Now be sensible and we will all get on the train.’

‘You can’t get on the train.’

It was now that the 2.19 train from Epsom was slowing down in order to stop on the platform. It was 2.40 and it was then that Hutchinson pushed Lonsdale and the latter fell in front of the train and was killed. Hutchinson reported the incident to William Tidy, a ticket collector.

Mrs Hutchinson, in court, gave a brief summary of events. She had married Frank in 1934. They had three children since then (in 1945, one was aged 11, one 10 and the youngest was 8). Then the Second World War intervened and, as with so many other women, changed her from being a housewife and mother into a war worker. In 1942 she was working in the same factory as Bob Lonsdale, a married man. They began an affair and, unable to withstand the barbs of local gossips, fled together to Croydon where they were unknown. Mrs Hutchinson made a comment about the fatal afternoon, ‘I thought they were going to start fighting and turned away. I heard someone scream – it was all in split second.’ She added, ‘I was anxious to get my husband back and he wanted his wife back.’ The court decided that Hutchinson should be sent for trial at the Old Bailey.

On 7 June, Hutchinson pleaded not guilty to the charge of murder. He stated that his wife had been living with Lonsdale in Croydon and that
On 7 June, Hutchinson pleaded not guilty to the charge of murder. He stated that his wife had been living with Lonsdale in Croydon and that

Hutchinson then explained that Lonsdale had tried to stop his wife from boarding the train. Hutchinson then told the court:

I pushed him and said, ‘Get out of the way. We are getting on the train’. I pushed him in such a way that he would fall away from the train. I am quite sure I did not mean to push him onto the train. I wanted to get on it with my wife. At the time I pushed him he was trying to get between us and the edge of the platform to keep us from the train.

The judge announced that a man was entitled to protect his wife, and that Hutchinson had not meant to kill Lonsdale. The jury agreed and found Hutchinson not guilty of murder. He walked from the court a free man.

Was Hutchinson saved from the gallows by the morality of the time? After all, he was seen as the injured party and Lonsdale was guilty as an adulterer and wife snatcher. Clearly, though, Hutchinson had not set out to kill anyone. The worst he should have been charged with was manslaughter, not murder, as there was no intent beforehand. What seems to have happened is that Lonsdale decided to stop the Hutchinsons from boarding the train and there was a scuffle. Hutchinson pushed the older man away. It was Lonsdale’s misfortune that he fell in front of the train and was killed. Arguably, this was Hutchinson’s fortune, for it removed his rival in his wife’s affections. Fortunately for him, the jury was sympathetic towards him, very possibly rightly so.

‘You know about my previous trouble, don’t you?
I did a murder in Germany.’

Despite copious notices on railway stations and trains warning that any assaults on railway staff will be treated most severely, it is unusual for railway staff to be actually killed in the line of duty. Passengers, of course, are another matter. This case is an exception to the general rule to date (another is the shooting of George Gardiner at Kilburn station in December 1942).

Geoffrey Charles Dean was born in Weymouth in 1920. He had been apprenticed as an engineer on leaving school, but the Second World War intervened. During that conflict, he served in the Airborne Division, in operations in Norway in 1940 and at Arnhem in 1944. He was particularly proud of his achievements in the former and kept a framed certificate at home. In 1946 he married Margery Ruth and by 1952 the couple had a 5-year-old daughter. It was said, ‘He just lived for his family’. Since 1947 they had lived in a flat in a house on the Guildford Road, Ash, Surrey. From April 1949 he was employed by British Rail and worked at Ash Vale station from February 1951. His brother-in-law described him thus, ‘a very quiet, steady, decent fellow, very conscientious at his job’.

The unexpected drama into which he was unwittingly thrust began to unfold on Wednesday 20 August 1952. Norman Thompson was a railway clerk, who had worked at Ash Vale for only 16 days. He was at the station’s enquiry desk late that morning, between 11 and 11.30. It was here that one James John Alcott, a young fireman (born on 13 October 1929) employed by the railways for the past year and a half, came to the counter. He asked about local trains from Victoria to Dover.

Alcott returned there on the following day, at about 5 pm. He wanted
to use the booking office’s telephone. As a railway employee who showed his pass, he was allowed to do so. He rang the Motive Power Department, Bricklayers’ Arms Depot, London. The telephone call concerned a fitter called Turner who had been injured in an accident there. The man had been hurt by clinkers thrown out of a passing engine. Alcott said that they would ring him back, but didn’t.

Mortimer Harrington, a porter employed at Ash Vale, recalled seeing Alcott in the staff room at 6.30 that evening. The two had a chat, but Alcott didn’t mention his injured friend. Harrington had seen Alcott before and presumably felt relaxed with his presence. John Wright, another porter, also spoke to him, and recalled ‘he had a sheath knife . . . he was cleaning his nails with it . . . he said he had got it for his young nephew’. No one thought it was unusual for anyone to carry such a weapon, or even, to have it as a present for a young relation. Richard Hill, a signalman, talked with Alcott; the latter speaking about his trips to France to see his wife, who was French. Alcott left before 7.