H ZIGMUND

On a miserable, wet afternoon in the summer of 1980 the body of a 56-year-old man was discovered under very strange circumstances, lying on the top of a coaltip in the small town of Todmorden, in West Yorkshire. In a society that has come to take violence for granted this is not, in itself, so startling. But, in fact, the appearance of-and the very name of-the dead man was to spark off a controversy and argument the likes of which this small, Pennine mill-town had never known. Indeed, in some circles, it was to become dubbed as Yorkshire's murder mystery of the century, and not a few people were to speculate that the answer lay not on this Earth, but a long way off it!
The victim was one Zigmund Jan Adamski, a coal-miner born in Poland, who had been a British citizen since the Second World War. In 1951 he married Leokadia (or Lottie) and from 1960 onwards they lived very happily in Tingley, a village not far from Wakefield. Adamski was not a well man. He suffered from a heart complaint, narrowing of the coronary arteries, probably due to his chronic bronchitis but possibly to another, undiagnosed, lung disorder. He had been receiving some medical treatment, to which he was apparently responding well. He had never had a heart attack.
Lofthouse Colliery, the pit at which he worked, was due for closure in 1981 and Adamski had applied for an early retirement. This was not so much because of his own ill-health, but primarily because his wife, who suffered from multiple sclerosis, was confined to a wheelchair. Adamski obviously worried about leaving her alone during the day and wanted to have more time to look after her. However, his application was turned down by the Coal Board-which must have made him somewhat despondent. Ironically, the board did have a change of mind and granted the application-but the letter came just a couple of days too late for Adamski. While the emotional blow of this rejection might be considered relevant to subsequent events, it seems that Adamski accepted the board's decision philosophically. Superficially at least, he did not behave as if upset. Christopher Zielinski, a close and long-standing friend of his , spoke of the last time he saw him alive - Wednesday, 4 June 1980. They had a drink together, but Adamski went home early to take care of Lottie. He appeared to be his usual self . Mr Zielinski describes the Adamski marriage as happy and regards it as unthinkable that Zigmund would have voluntarily left his wife to fend for herself in view of her physical condition. There were other factors that strongly argued against Adamski having motives to engineer his own disappearance. On Saturday, 7 June he was due to give his god-daughter away in marriage. He was very much looking forward to this. Also, the Adamskis had staying with them, on a long visit from Poland, Zigmund's cousin and her son. They had been made very welcomed, and on Friday, 6 June Zigmund and his cousin had gone into Leeds on a shopping trip. Returning from Leeds early in the afternoon, Zigmund and Lottie, Zigmund's cousin and the boy, ate lunch together. Then, at about 3:30PM, Zigmund announced he was going down the road to the local shop to buy some potatoes. He walked out into the sunshine and had a quick, cheery word with a neighbor as he strolled down the street. Nobody was to see him alive again. His whereabouts were to prove a mystery-then on the afternoon of Wednesday, 11 June his body was to be found on a coaltip at Todmorden. What happened to Zigmund Adamski? Why did he vanish so suddenly and mysteriously? Why was he found in Todmorden, over 20 miles from his home, in a place where, so far as it is known, he had never been before? How did he manage to get on top of that pile of greasy coal, which was beside a railway line that was in constant us? These, and many other questions, contributed to the genesis of a baffling mystery-which the West Yorkshire police have never solved. The body of Zigmund Adamski had some peculiar features. His shirt and his watch were missing but all his other clothing was intact. He had also not, apparently, been sleeping rough in the last five days that he had been missing. There seemed to be one day's growth of beard, and he had eaten well, although forensic examination showed that he had not eaten on the day the body was found. Traces of grime and superficial scratches (possibly from the coal ) were in evidence, but none of them appeared substantial enough to suggest he had been involved in any kind of struggle. It was also apparent that the body had been exposed to the pouring rain for at least a day. However, the most unusual aspect of the body's appearance was an irregular path on the back of his head, neck, and shoulders where the skin had been burnt off. There were also traces of greasy substances on this patch, possibly an ointment used to treat the wound. This 'burn' was to become a major feature in the controversy that followed. Its precise cause-although attributed to some sort of corrosive agent-was never identified. Trevor Parker, the son of the owner of the coalyard, was the person who first discovered the body, at about 3:45 PM. The yard had been empty since 8:15 AM, when, in Mr Parker's opinion, the body had not been there . However, the yard gates were left open, in case any lorry deliveries were made. As it happened, none were, that day. On finding Adamski the police and an ambulance were summoned. Two officers from the Todmorden Force, PC Alan Godfrey and a colleague (who does not wish to be named), arrived at the scene at 4:10 PM. On seeing the strange burn they immediately suspected a crime; and so the police investigation began.