The Great British Train Robbery
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This podcast brought to you by Ring. With Ring cameras, you can check on your pets to catch them in the act. Izzy, drop that. Or just keep them company. Aw, I'll be home soon. Make sure they're okay while you're away. With Ring. Learn more at ring.com slash pets. August 8th, 1963. A mail train heading south from Glasgow to London stops for a crew change just before 3 o'clock in the morning.

On comes Jack Mills, a 57-year-old rail work worker and our driver for the evening. Jack is a stand-up man, the best you'll ever meet. He's never done a wrong thing in his life. He's never lied, gotten drunk or violent, or said a cruel word to anybody. He respected the law and took his job very seriously. In Jack's hands, the mail always made it to London.

A London-bound mail train may not seem like a juicy robbery target, at least not today. But in 1963, it was the most lucrative thing you could hit. That's because electronic banking wasn't a thing yet. If you wanted to send somebody money or make far-off bank deposits, you did so by mail. Jack's mail train contained hundreds of bags and thousands of envelopes, many of them filled with cold, hard cash.

Specifically, the second car behind the engine was reserved for HVPs, or High Value Packages. On any given day, this car could contain upwards of 300,000 pounds, or about 5.2 million pounds in 2024. But August 8th wasn't a normal day. It was a Thursday, specifically. The Thursday after a national bank holiday.

Scotland and Ireland are the only countries in the UK that recognize the first Monday in August as a national holiday. It's simply called the Summer Bank Holiday. That meant that the banks in Glasgow were closed on Monday, August 5th, 1963. Mail piled up, especially in the high-value train car.

Instead of carrying 300,000 pounds, it was carrying 2.3 million pounds, or about 43 million pounds today. Jack knew this as well as anybody. So, when he came upon a stoplight in Cheddington, a village about 36 miles outside of London, he knew something wasn't right. He stopped the train and dispatched his co-engineer, David Whitby, to call the signalman and ask about the delay.

David walked from the train to a stationary telephone across the tracks. He picked up the phone, but the signal was dead. Somebody had cut the line. That's when a masked man appeared behind him and threatened, "If you shout, I will kill you!" Over a dozen masked men in well-tailored suits emerged from the darkness and boarded the train. They threw David down a steep ditch and boarded the engine car. Jack put up a fight, but he was quickly overwhelmed.

One of the men bludgeoned Jack with a wooden club, causing his head to bleed. There were 12 cars in total, but the robbers were only concerned with the first two, the high-value cars. They detached the last 10 cars and left them idling in Cheddington. They forced Jack to drive the remaining cars to Bredago Bridge, about half a mile further down the track. There, they formed a human chain, unloading 120 bags of mail.

They placed the bags on a truck and drove to a remote farm about 30 miles away. The remaining robbers escaped in matching Land Rovers with identical plates. They reconvened with their loot about an hour later. It was 4 AM. Jack was semi-conscious, slumped over in the lead car with a gaping wound in his head. It would be 20 more minutes before somebody raised the alarm.

It was considered the crime of the century. The most brazen robbery in British history. 16 masked men boarded the mail train and were gone within the hour. They split the money evenly, each taking home £150,000 or £2.6 million today. But just because they pulled off the crime of the century doesn't mean they got away with it. They say good help is hard to come by. It's true and honest work.

even truer, in the criminal underworld. It's hard to trust people who steal for a living. A crude double-cross put police on the gang's trail. Some evaded capture. Others escaped from prison. A handful served their time while a select few got away scot-free. The story produced some of Britain's most iconic criminal figures. There was the mastermind, Bruce Reynolds. The fugitive, Ronnie Biggs.

Mr. Hollywood, Buster Edwards, and the mysterious Ulsterman, whose identity is still debated. Over a dozen accomplices helped them execute the greatest train robbery in British history. And they would have gotten away with it too, were it not for a gloating game of Monopoly. Part 1: The Mastermind Bruce Reynolds grew up in Gants Hill, a small suburb in East London.

His mother died when he was young, and his father remarried shortly after. Bruce didn't like living with his father and stepmother, so he spent most of his time with his grandparents. He was only 10 years old when World War II broke out. His earliest memories were of Nazi planes peppering the city with bombs and machine gun fire. Bruce dropped out of school at 14 years old.

He tried to live the straight and narrow, but found himself drawn to the criminal underworld. His thick-framed glasses gave him this sophisticated look, as if he'd balance your bank account before robbing you blind. Bruce was in and out of juvenile prison. He spent two weeks in the British Army before going AWOL and returning to life as a petty thief. He got busted again in 1957 for stealing £500 from a bookkeeper.

He served three years and was back on the streets in 1960. Bruce began stealing and selling antiques. He worked with other petty thieves around London, forming his own small gang. One of them nicknamed him Napoleon for his leadership qualities. His gang struck big in 1962 when they stole £62,000 from a security van at Heathrow Airport. They also attempted a small mail train robbery, netting them only £700.

Bruce was desperate for a career-defining job, like an artist looking for his muse. That's when he learned about the mail train to London and all the money stashed inside. Part 2: The Man from Ulster Bruce Reynolds had a man on the inside. It's unclear if he knew the informant's real name or if the informant wanted to stay anonymous. He was a postal worker who knew everything about the London-bound mail train.

He knew where it stopped, where it picked up, and how one could easily rob it. He spoke with a heavy Northern Irish accent. So, Bruce and his gang referred to him as the man from Ulster, or more simply, the Ulsterman. It's not clear how the Ulsterman came to meet Bruce Reynolds. 16 Robbers tells 16 versions of the same story. It sounds like word spread that Reynolds was looking to hit the mail train.

The Ulsterman simply had a bone to pick with the railroad. He'd been working security on the train for about a year. He noticed that few measures were in place to protect the money in the high-value car. For example, only three post-train cars had locks, alarms, and iron bars. However, they were out of service as of 1963. Radios were also deemed too expensive.

to the postal workers and security guards. It was only a matter of time before someone robbed the defenseless train. Some believe the Ulsterman, though a good, God-fearing Irishman, was trying to prove a point. Bruce began planning the robbery months in advance. He enlisted three men to hammer out every minor detail.

They were Gordon Goody, Charlie Wilson, and Buster Edwards. While Bruce and his team were experienced thieves, none had much experience with trains. He needed outside help from a band of accomplished train robbers. A man named Roger Corddry was brought aboard to rig the trackside signals. Roy "The Weasel" James was the primary getaway driver.

Brian Field, a crooked solicitor, was to buy the farmhouse hideout the gang would eventually use after the robbery. Several other men played the roles of enforcer or getaway driver. One of the last people to join was Ronnie Biggs. Like Bruce, he grew up during World War II. He was a petty criminal looking for underground fame.

He met Bruce Reynolds in prison, and they remained in touch once upon their release. It's unclear how often they worked together before the train robbery. Ronnie caught wind of the job while working in an old man's home. One old man in the home was a retired train driver who needed some extra cash. Ronnie considered it a sign, and he introduced the man to Bruce Reynolds. Because of his age, he was simply known as "Pop" or "Old Pete."

His true identity remains a mystery. Bruce liked the idea and brought Ronnie Biggs and old Pete aboard. The robbery was slated for Wednesday, August 7th. That's when the Olstermen came back in. He told the team there'd be more money if they waited until Thursday the 8th. The Monday before was a bank holiday, meaning there'd be extra mail on the train that wasn't delivered.

They could hit it on Wednesday for 300,000 pounds or wait until Thursday for 2.3 million pounds. Our gang of greedy thieves opted for the latter.

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Paid non-client endorsement. Compensation provides incentive to positively promote Acorns. Investing involves risk. Acorns Advisors LLC and SEC registered investment advisor. View important disclosures at acorns.com/crimehub. - Part three, the crime of the century. Mail trains had been in service since the mid 1800s. Things were extremely simple at first. Postal workers would sort the mail in transit. Then the train would stop at each station to exchange outgoing and incoming mail.

This, however, took a long time. So, they devised a way to transfer the mail without stopping the train. Hooks and nets were rigged on the platform and the train cars. Incoming mail hung from the side of the train and was grabbed by baskets on the platform. Outgoing mail hung on the platform and was grabbed by baskets on the train.

This is all to say that the mail train rarely came to a full stop en route from Glasgow to London. And if it did stop, it was never in the middle of nowhere. Bruce's team chose an isolated spot on the West Coast mainline to rob the train. It was at a place called Sears Crossing.

between the Leighton Buzzard and Cheddington stations. The electrician, Roger Cordray, covered the green track light with a glove. He then rigged a battery to the red light, making it glow in the early morning hours. Just after 3 a.m., our engineer, Jack Mills, furrowed his brow and stopped the train. He sent his second man down to see what the holdup was. Something was very, very wrong. "If you shout, I will kill you," a man's voice said.

The second man stood ice cold. Meanwhile, postal workers were none the wiser. The train may have stopped, but they were still sorting as fast as possible. It's not like they would have seen anything had they looked out the window. The robbers moved like ghosts in the night. They were in the lead car within seconds. Jack fought back, only to be cracked over the head with a wooden club. He was dazed, bleeding, but not unconscious.

Several men uncoupled the worthless cars, leaving only the engine and the two high-value cars. Now, it was Old Pete's time to shine. But there was a problem. Old Pete was very old. He'd been retired for many years and didn't know how to drive these newer model trains. The gang had to think fast. They got Jack Mills back on his feet and ordered him to drive the train about 800 meters up the track to Berdago Bridge.

There, several getaway cars and a large truck were waiting for all the mailbags. When they arrived, the gang subdued and handcuffed all the postal workers in the high-value car. Then, they formed a human chain down the embankment. One by one, they unloaded 120 out of the 128 mail sacks. In all, it took between 15 and 20 minutes. They told the postal workers not to move for 30 minutes after they left.

Then, they departed in identical Land Rovers with matching license plates, meant to confuse any possible witnesses. Police arrived around 5 am to find several bound postal employees and a cleaned out train. Our robbers made off with 2.3 million pounds, or about 43 million pounds in today's money, but they wouldn't be free for long. Part 4: A Rousing Game of Monopoly

Monopoly dates back to 1903, when an American anti-monopolist named Lizzie Maggie invented what she called the Landlord's Game. It was supposed to be an educational tool, a way to explain the negative aspects of concentrated wealth and private monopolies. Her game had two sets of rules. There was the anti-monopolist set, which rewarded all players for generating wealth.

Then, there was the Monopolist set, which rewarded a single winner for dominating the board and crushing their opponents. We all know which version of her game became more popular. The Parker Brothers, an American toy and game-making company, came along in 1935 and bought Maggie's patent for $500. That would be about $11,000 today.

Since then, Monopoly has sold more than 275 million copies, largely thanks to Hasbro absorbing the Parker brothers in 1991. Maggie died in 1948 at 81 years old. She never made another penny off the Landlord's Game or any future version of Monopoly. You could say she's the real robbery victim in this tale.

21 years after Maggie's death, Bruce Reynolds, Ronnie Biggs, and the boys played a rousing game of Monopoly at a farmhouse in Buckinghamshire. They'd spent the last hour driving down back roads and listening to police chatter over the radio. Getaway driver Brian Field had purchased the farm two months before the robbery. Leather Slade Farm was the perfect hideout.

It was isolated from the road and roughly 27 miles away from the train. It was run down and unassuming. Nobody would ever come sniffing. They'd be too busy searching up and down the UK. The first thing our robbers did when they arrived was divide the money. The amount each robber and low-level associate got differs depending on who you ask. The general agreed upon total is £150,000 for each of the 16 gang members.

Minor associates received several drinks or smaller cuts of cash. To pass the time, some of the robbers played Monopoly. But instead of using the game money, they used the money they'd stolen from the train. They all drank and ate together and laughed about pulling off England's greatest heist. They saw a future in which they all got away with it. Then everything changed. They turned on the radio. The room fell quiet.

Their hearts sank as low as they'd ever been. Before leaving the scene, one of the gang members told a postal worker not to move for half an hour. The police and press interpreted that to mean the gang was within a 30-mile radius. Leather Slade was only 27 miles from the scene. The cops could be there at any second. The gang scrambled to pack up, clean up, and leave. Associates arrived in vans to bust the robbers away from Leather Slade.

It was up to Brian Field and a man known as Mark to finish cleaning. The gang paid Mark 10,000 pounds to torch the farm before he left. The weekend came and went, and there was no news of a farm fire in Buckinghamshire. On Monday, the paranoid gang members grew worried that Brian and Mark hadn't torched the place like they were supposed to. On Tuesday, August 13th, the gang learned the truth.

Mark took his 10,000 pounds and skipped town, never to be seen or heard from again. He never burned the barn. Despite their best cleaning efforts, their fingerprints were still all over the scene. Meanwhile, a herdsman had seen some strange activity at Leatherslade and called the police. They found the truck and land rovers used during the robbery. Someone had painted them yellow but failed to light them on fire.

The farmhouse was trashed, like some college kids had thrown a wild multi-day party. Police found sleeping bags, mail sacks, and torn envelopes. Finally, they found the Monopoly board game. The robbers' fingerprints were all over the pieces. The second break in the case came from an informant who was willing to snitch on the gang. He knew about the robbery, but had been arrested before the heist.

He believed talking to the police would help lessen his sentence. Police relied on him and a second informant, a woman who was close to the gang, to put all the pieces together. They had 18 tentative names to match with the fingerprints lifted from Leatherslade. Police arrested the train robbers one by one. By 1964, they had enough evidence to bring 12 of them to trial. A few successfully fled the country, and some were never caught.

The original masterminds, Bruce Reynolds, Charlie Wilson, and Buster Edwards, managed to evade capture. Charlie fled to Canada, while Bruce went southwest to Mexico. Buster remained in the UK for a year before joining Bruce in Acapulco. But life on the run wasn't like you see in the movies. Budgeting wasn't one of their many skills.

Part 5. The Ballad of Ronnie Biggs.

Back in England, Ronnie Biggs was captured and sentenced to 30 years for armed robbery. Police had found his fingerprints on a bottle of ketchup left at Leatherslade. He was sent to Wandsworth Prison but didn't plan on sticking around. On July 8, 1965, Briggs escaped after spending 15 months in jail. It was a warm summer afternoon and the prisoners were let outside for exercise.

That's when a furniture van pulled alongside and tossed a rope ladder over the 30-foot wall. While several other prisoners distracted the guards, Biggs and three others ran for the ladder and scaled the wall. Biggs paid a significant but unknown sum for someone to smuggle him to Paris. There, he got plastic surgery, hoping to change his look. His wife and children joined him in France shortly after.

Next, they fled to Australia, alternating between Sydney, Melbourne, and Adelaide. By then, Biggs had spent nearly all of his robbery money. Most of it went toward plastic surgery and paying people to smuggle him between the UK, France, and Australia. He worked odd jobs until 1969 when news spread that Biggs was living in or near Melbourne.

It forced him to flee once more, this time to Panama and then Brazil. His wife, however, couldn't take it anymore. She stayed behind with their three sons and was ultimately cleared of any charges.

She divorced Biggs in 1974 after discovering that he fathered a child while hiding in Rio de Janeiro. She went on to sell her life story for 40,000 pounds. She became an editor, publisher, and journalist, and participated in a five-part docu-series about her and Ronnie's life on the run. Sadly, their eldest son died in a car crash in 1971. He was only 10 years old.

As for Ronnie, he wound up recording an album in Rio and enjoyed life without worrying about extradition. You see, Brazil had a law on the books that prevented the extradition of Brazilian parents. Ronnie had impregnated a stripper, which, by law, made him a dad. Ironically, the very child that cost Ronnie his family saved his freedom. Even though Biggs played a minor role, he became the face of the Great British Train Robbery.

This never sat well with fellow robbers like Gordon Goody. "Bigsy was an arsehole," he told English reporters. "I didn't like him. No one did. His one job was to bring a train driver, and he brought a guy who couldn't do the job. They had to go and sit in the car. Even the ones who pulled him out of prison had brains way out of Bigsy's league."

Ronnie's acclaim extended far and wide, even in Brazil. It was hard for a world-famous train robber to find steady work. Few people wanted to hire him. To make money, Ronnie began hosting barbecues in his yard. Guests would pay to eat and be entertained by Ronnie and his tales of daring robbery. It's unclear how Ronnie told the story, but we imagine it didn't involve him sitting in a car with Grandpa.

Biggs spent the 70s and 80s spitting in England's face. They knew exactly where he was, but couldn't do anything about it. So, they got clever. In March 1981, a band of British mercenaries kidnapped Biggs. They planned on taking him back to England, but their boat broke down off the coast of Barbados. The Coast Guard arrived and towed them back to port. Like Brazil, Barbados had no formal extradition treaty with the UK.

Biggs went back to Brazil while the mercenaries headed for England empty-handed. To rub it in their faces, Biggs made a movie called Prisoner of Rio in 1988. It revolved around the kidnapping plot, with Paul Freeman portraying Biggs in the film. You might know him as René Belloc, the antagonist from Raiders of the Lost Ark. While being held captive, Biggs' Brazilian son, Michael, went on TV and pleaded for his father's release.

The head of CBS Records saw the interview and invited Michael to join a children's pop group and TV show called "The Magic Balloon Gang". Think of them like the Brazilian Wiggles. Within a year, Michael's band had sold over 200,000 records. They were touring non-stop and were on TV Monday through Friday. Money poured in. Far more than Ronnie ever made robbing trains or telling his inflated stories.

He and Michael flew on private planes, stayed in swanky hotels, and relaxed on yachts. According to The Independent, they even bought a private island. But then it fizzled out as quickly as it came. Michael outgrew the children's group, they'd spent all the money, and were now hosting barbecues and telling stories for $60 a head. By 2001, Ronnie's health was failing. He was 72 years old, having spent the entire second half of his life on the run.

He'd had three strokes and three stomach ulcers. He lost the ability to speak and had to rely on a spelling board in the hospital. Ronnie had 28 years left on his 30-year sentence. He knew he'd be arrested and imprisoned immediately upon returning to England, but he also knew he'd receive free healthcare in prison. He told the Sun newspaper that he wanted to come back,

The newspaper paid Michael £20,000 plus expenses to fly his father back to London on a private jet. All he had to do was give them an exclusive interview. Michael has always denied that Ronnie came back for free healthcare. He wanted to be an Englishman again. He wanted to enjoy one last pint at the pub before he died. Fans wanted to see Biggs set free due to his age, ailing health, and minor celebrity status.

Others, including John Mills, the son of train driver Jack Mills, wanted to see him rot. Jack never recovered from his head injury. He returned to work briefly in 1964 but could only perform light tasks. He retired for good around Christmas of 1967 and died of leukemia in 1970. His family has always blamed his premature death on his brain injury. John told reporters,

Biggs' wife reportedly made £65,000 after selling her story. As for Jack Mills, he was paid £250 for his version of events. To this day, nobody knows which of the robbers struck Jack in the head. Biggs was released from prison two days before his 80th birthday.

They let him walk on compassionate grounds as he was sick and on the verge of death. He lasted four more years before dying in 2013. Coincidentally, he died only hours before the BBC broadcasted a two-part series called The Great Train Robbery, starring Jack Gordon as Ronnie Biggs. Part 6. The Last of the Robbers The mastermind, Bruce Reynolds, was the last of the robbers to be caught and imprisoned.

He and his family bounced between Mexico and Canada before finally returning to London in the late 1960s. He went by Keith Hiller and tried to lead a normal life with his family, but the urge to see his old friends in London got the best of him. Police learned that Keith Hiller was Bruce Reynolds and arrested him in November 1968. Bruce pleaded guilty so his family wouldn't be charged with aiding and abetting.

He was sentenced to 25 years in prison, but was released in 1978. Bruce couldn't avoid crime upon his release. He began laundering money for drug gangs in South London and also sold meth on the side. He was jailed again in the 1980s for three years. By the 90s, Bruce was living on income support in a small London flat. He died in a sleep in 2013 at 81 years old.

Buster Edwards had been hiding in Mexico with Bruce until 1966. The money quickly ran out, and his family was terribly homesick. So, Buster made a deal with Scotland Yard and returned to England to serve his time. He spent the next nine years in jail, opening a flower shop upon his release. In 1988, a romantic crime comedy called "Buster" was made about the robbery and his life.

Phil Collins of Genesis portrayed Buster Edwards in the movie. Behind the scenes, Buster was depressed. He longed for his criminal days. Civilian life wasn't scratching that itch. According to local bartenders, he became a heavy drinker. Some believe Buster is the one who hit Jack Mills. Perhaps he couldn't bear the guilt after Jack died. Meanwhile, he was making money off the movie and chumming it up with Phil Collins.

In November of 1994, Buster's brother found him hanging from a steel girder inside a garage in South London. His death was ruled a suicide. Gordon Goody sat down for an interview in London two years before his death. All of the robbers had done plenty of interviews, but his was extra special. He would finally reveal the elusive Ulsterman's identity. According to Gordon, he was a God-fearing man from Belfast named Patrick McKenna.

Patrick was 43 years old when he allegedly took part in the robbery. He'd been working for the London Mail train and knew everything there was to know about it. Gordon claims he learned Patrick's name after picking up a glasses case. Patrick had gone to buy ice cream and accidentally dropped the case. When Gordon picked it up, he saw the name Patrick McKenna etched inside. Patrick was long dead by then. His family was shocked and flabbergasted when the news came out.

They said Patrick was a quiet, churching-going man who worked happily at the post office until his retirement. He never robbed any trains, nor knew any robbers. He was, however, known to complain about the mail train's limited security. That's why some think he joined the heist to send a message. After the Great Robbery, security on London-bound mail trains got much tighter.

If Patrick did participate, his family claims he would have donated his cut to the church. That, or it was stolen from him. He never would have spent a dime on himself. Other names have been floated regarding who the Ulsterman might be. In 2019, a retired detective came forward, claiming a man named Sammy Ulsterman was the Ulsterman. Sammy was a known associate of Bruce Reynolds and the gang.

The Ulsterman name likely came from a mispronunciation of Osterman. In 2023, another Belfast man named Gerald McMorrin was accused of being the Ulsterman.

He worked security for the General Post Office in August of 1963. He would have known about the mail car and its lack of security features. Like Patrick McKenna, Gerald's family denied that he had any involvement. He'd been dead since 1999. The last of the robbers was Robert Welch, who was 94 when he died in 2023. He was a brutish man hired to keep the postal workers in check.

Many believe he knew who hit Jack Mills. If he did, the secret died with him. As of 2024, all of the Great British Train Robbers are dead. The mail car involved in the robbery was displayed for seven years. Then, the police took it to a scrapyard in 1970 and burned it. The Monopoly board and a five-pound note used by the robbers are currently framed and displayed at the Police Museum in Berkshire.

As for the Monopoly pieces, they fell into the hands of a great train robbery collector. He became friends with Biggs and Reynolds, who signed many of his items. His prized possession was a "Get Out of Jail Free" card signed by Bruce Reynolds. He put his collection up for auction in 2015. Experts believe it could be worth over £100,000.

Police never recovered most of the money stolen during the Great Train robbery. It was either laundered, spent, or given away to friends and family members. Between all the books, movies, articles, and songs, our robbers and associates made more money off the robbery than what they stole in the first place. And they weren't the only ones. Big's wife cashed in when she sold her life story. The collector hit the jackpot after selling his collection of signed Monopoly pieces.

Those who got away, like Old Pete, the Ulstermen, and other unknown accomplices, likely invested the money or passed it on to their children. As the saying goes, "Crime doesn't pay." If this story proves anything, it's that sometimes, crime pays handsomely.