Something Hidden by Nick Blackstock
As I wrote yesterday, the theories which floated round the identities of the dead children were legion. There had been an inferno after the crash (the train lighting was still powered by gas), so some remains were difficult to identify. In fact a coroner’s inquest pronounced a verdict of accidental death on one man based purely on circumstantial and witness evidence. Therefore the first question asked was, had these children really been on the train? Once again witness statements and clothing (including remnants of school uniform) seemed to confirm this. A school motto ‘Luce Magistra’ was found on the remnants of one garment. This was (and is) the motto of a girls’ school near York and, since the train started from Leeds, it was a first line of enquiry. The school very firmly denied all knowledge. Over the years, droves of amateur sleuths must have passed this way and I know from experience that eighty years on, the school is still sensitive about the unfortunate conjunction of events.
Of course all this happened in an era of empire, when many parents lived and worked abroad while their offspring were educated here. A great many theories sprang up around this particular fact: kids packed off to friends/relatives; breakdown in communications, family disputes etc, etc. The fact remains that, in subsequent years, no distraught parents returned from abroad, demanding to know where their children were. It was never tenable as a theory. Some families have always been poor at communicating, but with not so much as a Christmas or birthday card over the years, alarm bells must have started ringing somewhere.
The mystery also generated an avalanche of letters to newspapers. It was from amongst these that the truly ‘off the wall’ suggestions emerged. One was that a ventriloquist had been a passenger with his dummy sitting beside him (thus being mistaken for a child). The suggestion was that the unfortunate ventriloquist had perished and his wooden dummy was totally destroyed. No explanation was ever proffered as to how the dummy managed to present his ticket and pass muster with the inspector. But if true, it must have been a class act. Yet another ‘explanation’ was that a jockey was on the train (still, apparently, dressed in his racing silks, which in turn were mistaken for a school uniform}. I could go on, but I won’t!
To this day no solution to this mystery has been found. Almost ten years after the event, a woman came forward claiming that the children were her two brothers. Since it was accepted that the children were a boy and a girl, her claim was dismissed and her story not followed up.
Of course, as in all good mysteries, myths started to take shape. A local solicitor was supposed to have crucial information which he died without divulging. Two years after the accident, a chief Constable of Bristol disappeared. He was found dead in a London hotel with his throat cut, allegedly after speaking to the same solicitor. Perhaps the most persistent story was that, several times a year, a woman dressed in black arrived in a limousine. Apparently she laid flowers at the memorial in the local churchyard and these visits lasted until the late forties. Also, as in all good mysteries, no one attempted to speak to her.
So there we have it. A fascinating real life mystery, never solved and by now probably unsolvable. Which is all very well but, based on these bare initial facts, I had a novel to write. The thirties were a fascinating decade so, without revealing the plot, tomorrow I plan to say more about where and when most of the action takes place. Of course, I’ll be happy to take questions, but on the question of Charfield, it’s no good asking me who these children were. I just haven’t a clue.