A quick follow up to highlight one of the hundreds of tiny tragedies.
So on 8th October a family set out together on a journey. Their son had been approved for an emigration visa to the US, and they were off to Southampton (via London) together.
Now I should explain at this point that one OTHER way Harrow is unique for an accident at that time is that we don't just have the accident report. We have a LOT of the original supporting documents.
This includes scrawled patient lists, police notes from the scene etc.
As a sidebar, it's worth noting that we only have these because of another piece of luck:
They were chucked in a skip during a big cleanout at the RAIB in the 70s. But someone there realised they were historically important and pulled them out.
Today, they're in Harrow museum.
Among these notes are lists of victims, often scrawled at the time, and what hospitals they were sent to. And then, elsewhere, notes on who did and didn't survive at the scene or at hospital.
So back to our family, travelling south with hope for this kid's future and sadness at seeing him off. His mum and sister are with him, as well as uncles etc.
And then...
disaster.
They're in one of the carriages badly affected.
From the hospital lists, we can see that our emigree escaped unscathed, or at least walking wounded.
Most of his family didn't. There was a death. And, almost worse, they were separated in the aftermath with his relatives being sent to different hospitals in different locations.
Now imagine being that guy.
Your dream of emigrating is in front of you. You have a ticket for the boat. You're from a poor family. Maybe they even helped you scrape together enough money for your new life.
Maybe some of those travelling down helped you with that money. Now, in the chaos, you don't know who is definitely alive and who isn't.
Because they're all in different hospitals and you probably don't know where. And this is pre-mobile phones.
But the boat isn't going to wait
From the emigration records, we know that this young chap then had to make what must have been the HARDEST decision of his life.
He left the scene. He rushed South. He managed to catch that boat. He took his one chance to get to America.
I cannot imagine having to make that choice. To have to decide, in the middle of a disaster, with those you love dead or potentially dying, whether you still go or not.
Maybe one of his surviving travel partners helped him make the choice. I hope he had someone to talk to.
But leave he did.
He caught that boat. He built a new life in America.
But the burden of making that choice must have sat on his mind forever. And not knowing who lived and who died, for that long trip, must have been hell.
I know all this, btw, because many moons ago the TV show Heir Hunters were trying to track down relatives of one of his siblings. They'd worked out one had died in the accident.
When I went through the records, the full picture of what happened to that family became clear.
BTW as some of you were asking, if you really do want to buy me a coffee, then you can do so here.
Please don't feel you have to though, and do make a charity donation instead as a priority. ko-fi.com/garius
So people asking for a bit more info. I'm not really in the business of naming victims etc. (hence my vagueness up thread). Unless it really adds something, it just feels disrespectful.
I will tell you a bit more about the family though.
Our émigré was James Robinson from Wigan
His sister (Joan Woodall) was also on the train and was injured. D.C. Above is Don, her husband.
Another example of tiny tragedy is below. This is one of those "where are we sending people?" sheets.
Note they haven't been able to work out how Don and Joan are related.
Now here's where we get into ANOTHER of my passions. Because also on the train was John's brother - a certain Bob Robinson.
Bob Robinson, from Wigan? Well as I'm sure you ALL already know (😜) that's actually the legendary British wrestler Billy Joyce. wrestlingheritage.co.uk/billy-joyce
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I don't know how to make it clearer than that. I am default, videogame NPC looking motherfucker. And most of my later life heroes are women I should have heard about, as a kid, and didn't.
That makes me beyond angry. I was robbed.
And we need to stop that happening for boys now
It's not fucking woke. It's not "liberal".
It's just basic fucking facts.
I was brought up to believe I should be the best person I should be. And sexism robbed me of so many examples of how I can be that. And it made me think I wasn't allowed female heroes.
You can see from the picture just how awful it was. Made worse by old wooden carriages splintering on impact, and carriages crushing up under the bridge at H&W, which still bears scars today.
But after the disaster two pieces of luck: Who was on the train, and where it happened
I've taken the piss out of Newcastle United plenty over the years, like many fans of other Prem clubs.
But it's ALWAYS been with an undertone of respect for what that club means to Newcastle, it's history and the passion of its fans.
The Saudi takeover is a slow death of that.
I get why so many fans want it. It's been SHIT being a Newcastle United fan for years. Been hard from the outside watching Ashley create a status quo of self-funding crapness.
But it's swapping that for a short term high, at the cost of ANY future as a community club.
And yes I know he's a trained lawyer. I know his parents worked hard to get where they did.
But that doesn't stop Raab being a beneficiary of privilege. In the same way I am for various reasons. My parents were working class. They worked HARD to give me a chance to be middle.
And, like Raab, I'm a generic, white British male. Which brings with it a whole RANGE of boosts in life.
But that's why it fucking infuriates me when people like Raab see any discussion of this as an attack on them.
Did an awful lot of research onto the background of this appearance for the article i never wrote on Rod Hull/Emu and the fridge-throw
Something to note: this was Pryor's first TV interview since his near-death accident. Everyone around him was walking on metaphorical eggshells.
Pryor insisted he was fine (although he was heavily scared under the layers of makeup), but was still struggling to get himself back into a normal place (or as normal as it ever got for him).
ELIZABETH: Big Liz calling Admiral. Big Liz to Admiral. Squawk.
ANNE: Admiral Squawking.
ELIZABETH: Pigs on the 25 and a bear in the air. No knowledge.
ANNE: Roger Roger. Going high.
ELIZABETH: Stick Mimms rondey.
ANNE: Rog. Two bars out.
ELIZABETH: Clear roads
ANNE: Clear roads
HAMMOND: I can't fucking believe you talked me into this.
GRAYLING: It's fun! And I needed a driver's mate
HAMMOND: It's not fun Chris. I'm only doing this because it's the only way I'm getting to a Calais beermart
GRAYLING: Want to try the CB?
HAMMOND: No
GRAYLING: You meet all sorts on the road you know.
HAMMOND: Oh I'm sure.
GRAYLING: All sorts.
HAMMOND:
GRAYLING:
HAMMOND:
GRAYLING: I one saw Matt Hancock in a layby. He was-
HAMMOND <interrupting>: DO NOT fucking finish that sentence Chris, I swear to god.