Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers
RAIL DISASTER
Rush hour trains collide in thick fog—many dead.
Tragedy struck office workers and Christmas shoppers on the evening of December 4 when two trains collided in thick fog under the Nunhead flyover. The 5:18 from Charing Cross to Hayes and the 4:56 steam train from Cannon Street to Ramsgate had been delayed by the poor weather. Coaches on both trains were packed, with passengers standing as well as sitting.
The Hayes train had stopped at a signal outside St. John’s at 6:20 p.m. when the steam train plowed into the rear coach. This was just the beginning of an unfolding disaster, which left more than 80 dead and 200 wounded.
The steam train swung to the side and struck a steel column of the Nunhead flyover, causing the bridge to collapse, crushing two coaches below. A third train, from Holborn Viaduct, was just approaching the fallen flyover, when quick action by the driver brought it to a halt, preventing further catastrophe. The coaches were derailed but no one on board was injured.
The rescue efforts of firemen, police, railway staff, doctors and nurses were hampered by fog and darkness. Worse still, the ruined bridge was in danger of falling further, crushing rescuers and trapped victims alike.
But through the long night of toil the army of volunteers continued to grow, with many local residents throwing open their doors to assist the injured. Eleven ambulances attended the scene, driving casualties farther and farther afield as nearby hospitals struggled to cope.
Local telephone lines became jammed by worried relatives as news of the accident spread. Hundreds of passengers were marooned in London for the night with the mid-Kent line completely blocked.
Many of the dead and injured were from Clock House and Beckenham. Passengers alighting at those stations were more likely to choose rear coaches because of their proximity to the station exits. It was these that took the brunt of the collision.
Southern Region authorities have launched an immediate inquiry.
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The North Kent Echo, Friday, December 6, 1957
1
June 1957
The article that started it all was not even on the front page, but was just a filler on page 5, between an advertisement for the Patricia Brixie Dancing School and a report on the AGM of the Crofton North Liberals. It concerned the finding of a recent study into parthenogenesis in sea urchins, frogs and rabbits, which concluded that there was no reason it should not be possible in humans. This dusty paragraph might have been overlooked by most readers of the North Kent Echo were it not for the melodramatic headline “Men No Longer Needed for Reproduction!”
The result was an unusually large postbag of mostly indignant letters, not just from men. One wounded correspondent, Mrs. Beryl Diplock of St. Paul’s Cray, deplored the article’s sentiments as dangerous and unchristian. More than one female reader pointed out that such a proposition was liable to give slippery men an excuse to wriggle out of their responsibilities.
There was one letter, however, that stood out from all the rest. It was from a Mrs. Gretchen Tilbury of 7 Burdett Road, Sidcup, and read simply:
Dear Editor,
I was interested to read your article “Men No Longer Needed for Reproduction” in last week’s paper. I have always believed my own daughter （now ten） to have been born without the involvement of any man. If you would like to know more information you may write to me at the above address.
The next editorial meeting—usually a dull affair involving the planning and distribution of duties for the week and a postmortem of the errors and oversights in the previous issue—was livelier than it had been for some time.
Jean Swinney, features editor, columnist, dogsbody and the only woman at the table, glanced at the letter as it was passed around. The slanted handwriting, with its strange continental loops, reminded her of a French teacher from school. She, too, had written the number seven with a line through it, which the thirteen-year-old Jean had thought the height of sophistication and decided to imitate. Her mother had put a stop to that; she could hardly have been more affronted if Jean had taken to writing in blood. To Mrs. Swinney, all foreigners were Germans and beyond the pale.
Thoughts of her mother prompted Jean to remember that she needed to pick up her shoes from the repair shop on the way home. It mystified her why someone who seldom left the house should need so many pairs of outdoor shoes. Also required were cigarettes, peppermint oil from Rumsey’s and kidneys and lard if she could be bothered to make a pie for dinner. Otherwise it would just be “eggs any which way,” that old standby.
“Does anyone want to go and interview Our Lady of Sidcup?” asked Larry, the news editor.