Crime on the Canals

By Anthony Poulton-Smith

A look at the history of crimes along Great Britain’s canal network, from the author of The Origins of English Pub Names.
 
Throughout our islands’ history, we find tales of thieves, smugglers, thugs, and murderers. Books have been written retelling tales of bandits, footpads, highwaymen, et al, attacking the lone traveler, the horseman, the coachman, shipping line, locomotive engineer, lorry or van driver, and even pilot. Yet for almost two centuries, the majority of goods have travelled on Britain’s famed canal network. This also attracted felons of all kinds, and yet these many tales had been ignored, until now.
 
Within these pages, all manner of crimes are covered. From murders to muggings, parental problems to pilfering, arson, assault, smugglers, counterfeiters, and even road rage (albeit canal-style). But it is not all morbid and misery. Humor also plays a significant part in these tales. Why would a hungry man steal the inedible? Follow the policeman on foot chasing down a thief on board the narrowboat. Discover what really does lie beneath the waters of the canal. Learn canal etiquette, the hardships, the kindness, and the cruelty.
 
From an author whose fascination with etymology has produced many books on origins of place names, leading to an interest in the historical modes of travel across our islands, this book is the latest to follow old routes and those found along them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781526754790

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Canal System

James Brindley’s name is synonymous with canals. Commissioned by the 3rd Duke of Bridgewater, he solved the problem of bringing coal from mines at Worsley to Manchester. Now known as the Bridgewater Canal, it is considered to be the first British canal of the modern era.

Brindley’s design made a great difference to canal building in three ways. Firstly, he changed the way canals were built. To him the answer was to reduce the amount of earth being moved and, considering the labour-intensive methods of the time, this made perfect sense. Instead of building embankments he used the natural contours of the land. While this does mean a more circuitous route, it cuts down on the number of locks, thus reducing bottlenecks, and does not result in an increase in travel time. Secondly, he avoided cuttings, preferring to tunnel. This would not have proven popular with boatmen who needed to ‘leg’ their way through the tunnel as their horse made its way over the top. More importantly, he developed a method of puddling clay, which produced a water-tight clay used for lining canals.

Before long Brindley’s improved reputation saw him commissioned to produce other canals. His plan was to link the four largest rivers of England: the Mersey, Severn, Thames and Trent by canals and thus open up the interior to navigation. The coming of the railways put paid to his vision. However one factor, which has largely been overlooked, is his role in aiding the development of the region known as the Potteries. While the ceramics were made prior to the canal, these fragile wares benefitted greatly from the smooth transportation system and continued to do so even after the coming of the railways. Before his death in 1772 Brindley had headed the construction of 365 miles of canal, including the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal, the Coventry Canal, the Oxford Canal and many others. He achieved this in just thirteen years.

Trivia and railway buffs across the land will recognize the date of 1 January 1948 as the end of the ‘big four’ independent railway companies, which were replaced by British Rail. Yet few understand this nationalization of the railways extended to every port on the coast and on the rivers, too. This also meant the nationalization of Britain’s canals and shows how these apparently quite unrelated means of transport not only often follow similar routes but also share many aspects of their histories.

Today’s airports and ports are highly security conscious. Even standing on railway stations we hear constant reminders to not leave luggage unattended. This is not a modern problem, having been an issue since thirteenth-century custom’s officers levied a charge on goods. By the eighteenth century, taxation had risen to a point where smuggling was rife. This era produced the traditional image of the smuggler complete with his ever-present foe of the excise man in tricorn hat and armed with a pistol.

As the canal and river systems were developed, they provided an opportunity for some to make a little extra money. We have all heard how something ‘fell off the back of a lorry’ and prior to the internal combustion engine, other goods and wares would just as easily have fallen off a narrow boat. Indeed, it was much easier to do so with a boat for the journeys were longer, plenty of quiet spots could be found along the canals and, most importantly, there was a perfect hiding place. A barrel or valuable item dropped overboard en route could be picked up at a later date, providing the place was marked well enough to be found.

Today there are more than 4,000 miles of navigable inland waterways in the United Kingdom. This includes canals, non-tidal rivers, tidal rivers, large lakes, deep lakes, lochs and estuaries. Half of this distance, almost 200 distinct stretches, could be considered to be canals, either purpose-built or canalized rivers. Travelling the canal network in the United Kingdom is tantamount to stepping into a living museum. This museum gives access to 2,700 listed structures, fifty scheduled monuments, and five UNESCO world heritage sites standing alongside the towpath.

Over the last 250 years the canals have seen plenty of crime. Robbery, theft, assault, smuggling, child cruelty, manslaughter and murder have made the headlines over the years. In the following pages, all these and more will be examined. We will look at the stories behind the crime, the locations both then and today, the investigations, the trial and, where applicable, the sentence.

Chapter 2

1826 William Hancock

People of a certain age will recall jocular remarks suggesting any large load was always being moved by Pickfords. This name, synonymous with moving house, is still used for removals and storage around the country. However, few will be aware that the earliest Pickfords’ loads were on water, not on wheels.

Zachary Langton, a partner in Pickfords, had employed William Hancock to work as a boatman on one of the company’s fly boats. He had been employed for some three or four years when, on 3 August 1826, he was arrested and charged with theft.

Fly boats were forever busy, working both day and night. The following events began to unfold at around 9pm in the evening. Thomas Wise, a porter working for Pickfords, saw a bale of cloth delivered to the warehouse. He noted that it had come from the Castle Inn, Wood Street and was to be shipped to Mr Slater at Knutsford. It contained seventy-six yards of kerseymere, a fine woollen fabric with a close nap, produced in fancy twill weaves and was earmarked for shipping on the Liverpool boat. Wise saw Hancock carrying the bale across the warehouse, something he should not have been doing, and resting it against the door.

Wise then left the scene and went to the clerk, Edward Powner. The two men conferred and, as Wise had suspected, overheard that the package should be heading north for Knutsford, although Hancock’s boat was departing in the opposite direction bound for Leicester. Returning to the warehouse he discovered the bale had disappeared. Crossing to the door, Wise saw Hancock carrying the cloth to his boat. In his haste, he dropped the cloth into the water but retrieved it and put it on the boat. Watching him cross back to the warehouse, Wise asked: ‘What are you doing? What was that splash?’ Hancock said it must have been a block falling into the water, although he had not seen it. Wise and Powner then called the boat back. Not only was the kerseymere discovered there but a second roll was found, this of broadcloth.

Summoning the police, a Constable Moore took statements from all employees working that evening. While nobody had witnessed the second roll of cloth being pilfered, a porter by the name of John Church reported how Hancock had given him a sixpence to ‘get a drop of beer’. It was safe to assume it was at this point the broadcloth disappeared. On 14 September, William Hancock was brought before the assizes, charged with stealing nineteen yards of broadcloth worth £15 and seventy-four yards of kerseymere valued at £22. Found guilty, William Hancock was sentenced to be transported for seven years.

Records show he left on 13 June 1827, one of 160 convicts on board the Layton. They arrived on 9 October 1827 at Van Diemen’s Land, now known as Tasmania. This is the last record ever found of William Hancock. Whether he survived his sentence, returned home or stayed in Australia to begin a new life is unknown.

Chapter 3

1833 Thomas Bodle

Sunday, 1 February 1833 did not turn out to be a good one for boatman Thomas Bodle. As with so many of his profession, he worked hard and drank with equal enthusiasm. After travelling south from Shipley in Yorkshire to London to collect a load of coal for his employer, Mr Munday, he set out that evening to sample the night life, just as businessmen in the capital do to this day.

He started out at the Windsor Castle at around 6:30pm where he drank more than three quarts of porter and a glass of gin. Opposite him a man named Turfrey seemed keen to sell him something. At 11:30pm he moved on to the Macclesfield Arms, where he had another glass of gin and a port wine – once again joined by Turfrey – before being told he had had enough and it was time to sleep it off. After settling his bill, he counted his money and knew he had some eight or nine shillings in silver and one-and-a-half pennies in copper before leaving.

Sleep he did, but in a chair at the City Arms. However, on waking he could neither remember what he had drunk nor whether Turfrey continued to shadow him. Nor could he recall how long he had slept or when he left. Indeed the next thing he remembered was walking over the bridge and feeling rather ‘fresh’ when approached by Turfrey and a man named Harding. At this point the bemused Bodle seemed to think they were going to escort him to his boat, for even when quite sober in court three weeks later he recalled telling them his boat was at wharf number thirty-three.

Turfrey and Harding each grabbed an arm and marched Bodle off, but only part of the way. Then Harding knocked him down and took all the money from his breeches before throwing him down a hole. Bodle was in too great a stupor to know where he had landed, and indeed, knew no more until he arrived at the station house the next morning.

Luckily for the victim, police officers Epps and Cook could fill in the gaps for Bodle. Seeing him walking between Harding and Turfrey, PC Epps thought it odd and followed. During this time, the constable heard one of them – he thought it was Turfrey – say how they would ‘do him in’. He lost sight of the two men for a while, during which time he sought the assistance of PC Cook, but eventually he stopped Harding and Turfrey and ordered them to help them search for Bodle, although they insisted his whereabouts was a mystery to them.

Despite their denial they soon found him in the cellar of a partially built house and ordered Harding and Turfrey to retrieve him, which they did. With one pocket turned inside out, it was clear he had been robbed and both suspects were immediately arrested. Bodle posed more of a problem and they sent for a cart to carry him as he was making no sense whatsoever, although at that time they could not be sure whether this was due to drink, being dropped down the cellar or both.

Bodle’s testimony conflicted on a number of points with those of the witnesses called from the three public houses. Both John Groome, waiter at the Windsor Castle, and Nicholas Lucraft, landlord of the Macclesfield Arms, spoke of Bodle drinking more than the man remembered and, if his singing and conversation were anything to go by, he was much more the worse for drink than Bodle’s account would have suggested. Rachel Jones, landlady of the City Arms, even remarked on how it had been Turfrey who had tried to get a room for Bodle as an act of kindness, but she had had to refuse the request.

With Bodle too drunk to remember anything with clarity, PC Epps had quickly seen the danger the man faced and followed as closely as possible without the risk of being seen. This brought the officer within four or five yards of them at one point when he clearly heard the prisoners speak of robbery and murder. Without the constable’s testimony it seems 24-yearold John Turfrey and Samuel Harding, 28, would probably have got away with it and Thomas Bodle may well have died that night in the cellar.

The actions of the constable saved one life and arrested two who had stolen the veritable pittance of eight shillings and seven pence halfpenny. Found guilty, both men were sentenced to hang. However, as with more than half of those condemned to be executed, their sentences were commuted. Both men were transported to Australian penal colonies for life. John Turfrey arrived in New South Wales on 3 November 1833 with 299 other convicts aboard the Aurora after a