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No. 147 December 2015<br />
<strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong><br />
NICHOLAS CONNELL on<br />
the Further Adventures of<br />
the Detective Inspector<br />
LINDSAY SIVITER on<br />
the Masonic Career of<br />
Frederick Abberline<br />
From the Archives:<br />
Sweated London<br />
by GEORGE R SIMS<br />
JAN BONDESON’S<br />
Murder House Casebook<br />
NINA and HOWARD BROWN<br />
Victorian Fiction by<br />
DINAH MARIA MULOCK<br />
Ripperologist 118 January 2011 1
Quote for the month<br />
“Seriously I am amazed at some people who think a Pantomime of Jack the Ripper is okay. A<br />
play by all means but a pantomime? He was supposed to have cut women open<br />
from throat to thigh removed organs also laid them out for all to see.<br />
If that’s okay as a pantomime then lets have a Fred West pantomime or<br />
a Yorkshire Ripper show.”<br />
Norfolk Daily Press reader Brian Potter comments on reports of a local production. Sing-a-long songs include “Thrash Me Thrash Me”.<br />
Ripperologist 147<br />
December 2015<br />
EDITORIAL: THE ANNIVERSARY WALTZ<br />
by Adam Wood<br />
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF<br />
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR EDMUND REID<br />
by Nicholas Connell<br />
BROTHER ABBERLINE AND<br />
A FEW OTHER FELLOW NOTABLE FREEMASONS<br />
by Lindsay Siviter<br />
JTR FORUMS: A DECADE OF DEDICATION<br />
by Howard Brown<br />
FROM THE ARCHIVES:<br />
SWEATED LONDON BY GEORGE R SIMS<br />
From Living London Vol 1 (1901)<br />
FROM THE CASEBOOKS OF A MURDER HOUSE DETECTIVE:<br />
MURDER HOUSES OF RAMSGATE<br />
by Jan Bondeson<br />
A FATAL AFFINITY: CHAPTERS 5 & 6<br />
Nina and Howard Brown<br />
DEAR RIP<br />
Your letters and comments<br />
VICTORIAN FICTION:<br />
THE LAST HOUSE IN C-- STREET<br />
by Dinah Maria Mulock (Mrs Craik)<br />
REVIEWS Jack the Ripper- Case Solved, 1891 and more!<br />
EXECUTIVE EDITOR<br />
Adam Wood<br />
EDITORS<br />
Gareth Williams<br />
Eduardo Zinna<br />
REVIEWS EDITOR<br />
Paul Begg<br />
EDITOR-AT-LARGE<br />
Christopher T George<br />
COLUMNISTS<br />
Nina and Howard Brown<br />
David Green<br />
The Gentle Author<br />
ARTWORK<br />
Adam Wood<br />
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Ripperologist is published by Mango Books. The views, conclusions and opinions expressed in signed articles, essays, letters and other items published in Ripperologist<br />
are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views, conclusions and opinions of Ripperologist, its editors or the publisher. The views, conclusions and<br />
opinions expressed in unsigned articles, essays, news reports, reviews and other items published in Ripperologist are the responsibility of Ripperologist and its<br />
editorial team, but do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the publisher.<br />
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The contents of Ripperologist No. 147, December 2015, including the compilation of all materials and the unsigned articles, essays, news reports, reviews and other<br />
items are copyright © 2015 Ripperologist/Mango Books. The authors of signed articles, essays, letters, news reports, reviews and other items retain the copyright of<br />
their respective contributions. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or otherwise circulated<br />
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constitute copyright infringement as defined in domestic laws and international agreements and give rise Ripperologist to civil liability 118 and criminal January prosecution. 2011 2
The Anniversary Waltz<br />
EDITORIAL by ADAM WOOD<br />
The thing about anniversaries is that there’s something to be found when you need one. As we<br />
publish this edition of Ripperologist, on 31 December 2015, it’s 127 years to the day that Henry<br />
Winslade recovered the body of Montague Druitt from the Thames at Thornycroft’s torpedo works,<br />
Chiswick. And tomorrow will be the 126th anniversary of James Kelly’s escape from Broadmoor.<br />
It’s doubtful that Mark Galloway was contemplating these events when he hit upon the idea of bringing together likeminded<br />
people to meet and discuss the Ripper crimes over a pint or two, but that’s exactly what he did late in 1994.<br />
His most excellent plan quickly captured the imagination of many and the Cloak and Dagger Club was formed, with a<br />
ten-page Pilot Newsletter published to mark the first meeting on 3 December, making us 21-years-old this month. And<br />
boy, do we feel old...<br />
As the Club grew so did the newsletter, being renamed Ripperologist magazine with Issue 5, December 1995 - making<br />
it 20 years of publication under this name with Rip 147.<br />
And ten years ago this month we<br />
ran the gauntlet by relaunching as<br />
an electronic journal, our last print<br />
edition being Rip 61, September 2005.<br />
It’s fair to say reaction in the Ripper<br />
community was ‘mixed’, with many<br />
posts from the likes of ‘Outraged<br />
of Tunbridge Wells’ expressing<br />
their opinions on Stephen Ryder’s<br />
Casebook: Jack the Ripper site.<br />
By happy coincidence, 2016 sees<br />
Casebook itself celebrating its 20th<br />
birthday. Over the years Casebook<br />
launched many innovative, free<br />
platforms for Ripperologists such as the message boards, chatroom and the Jack the Ripper Wiki.<br />
While that site continues to house the largest collection of transcribed Ripper-related newspaper articles and other<br />
crucial content, perhaps the platform for most discussion today is JTRForums.com, run by Howard Brown and which -<br />
you’ve guessed it - in September this year celebrated an anniversary of its own, ten years since doors opened.<br />
Elsewhere in this issue, How Brown describes those heady early days and the well-oiled machine which is the message<br />
boards of JTRForums today.<br />
To finish this numbers-based editorial of exactly 1,888 words (it’s not really, but did you start counting?), here’s a look<br />
to the future... we’ll be publishing the 150th issue of Ripperologist in August 2016 - perfectly timed to coincide with<br />
the 128th anniversary of the Autumn of Terror. In fact, we anticipate publishing the special edition on the anniversary<br />
of Polly Nichols’ death.<br />
We’re planning something very special to mark the occasion, so keep reading future issues to make sure you don’t<br />
miss out... Finally, the team at Ripperologist wish every single one of our readers good health and happiness in the New<br />
Year. Thank you for your support over the past 21 years.<br />
Left to right: Pilot issue; the first electronic Ripperologist; our 100th edition<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 1
The Further Adventures<br />
of Detective Inspector<br />
<strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong><br />
By NICHOLAS CONNELL<br />
Since the publication of the last edition of The Man Who Hunted Jack the Ripper several new<br />
sources have come to light that provide new information on <strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong>, the former head of<br />
Whitechapel CID.<br />
Upon retiring in 1896 <strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong> was interviewed by several newspapers including the News of the World<br />
who boasted that their feature on his involvement in the Jack the Ripper investigation would ‘place before the<br />
public facts they never before learned, and to clear up a volume of curious misconceptions which were made by<br />
theorists, learned and unlearned, who took a deep interest in the crimes at the time of their committal.’<br />
The News of the World journalist justifiably described <strong>Reid</strong> as ‘one of the most remarkable men ever engaged in<br />
the business of detecting crime.’ They met at <strong>Reid</strong>’s home and when sat at the drawing-room table the journalist<br />
bluntly asked the detective: ‘Tell me all about the Ripper murders.’ 1 <strong>Reid</strong> responded by opening a cabinet drawer<br />
that contained ‘assassin’s knives, portraits, and a thousand and one curiosities of criminal association.’ Among<br />
the criminological ephemera was ‘probably the most remarkable photographic chamber of horrors in existence.’<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> owned a set of Jack the Ripper victim photographs which he spread out on the table before telling the tale<br />
of the Whitechapel murders:<br />
‘The first Ripper murder was one which is not<br />
generally associated with the series. This was<br />
the Brick-lane murder, committed on a bank<br />
holiday in 1888. A woman named Smith was met<br />
by a man in Brick-lane who carried a walkingstick,<br />
and committed a most terrible outrage<br />
upon her.’<br />
It is impossible to repeat the description of the<br />
outrage. <strong>Reid</strong> proceeded –<br />
News of the World, 12 April 1896<br />
‘The woman, strange to say, made no cry, and<br />
raised no alarm. She took a scarf from her<br />
neck, bound up the terrible wound, and quickly<br />
walked round to George’s-yard, some distance,<br />
and told some of her female friends what<br />
had happened. Seeing her fainting condition,<br />
these women took her walking to the London<br />
Hospital. Here she retained consciousness for<br />
some time, but could give no description of the<br />
man who assaulted her. She died the next day.<br />
This was the only woman who lived after seeing<br />
the Ripper. She could afford us no information<br />
about him.’<br />
1 Presumably the interview took place at Stepney Buildings, Stepney, the address given in <strong>Reid</strong>’s pension papers (PRO, MEPO 21/25).<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 2
So you never obtained a description of the man from anyone?<br />
‘Never. Indeed that the murderer was a man, is only an inference from the fact that no one but a person<br />
believed by the women themselves to be a man could have been taken by them to the secret haunts in<br />
which the murders were all committed.’<br />
All the murders were committed in secret haunts?<br />
‘Yes, all the murders were upon women of the most degraded class, and in the darkest, most secret<br />
places, inaccessible to the police, where the murderer was taken by the women themselves. This is<br />
an important point, in reviewing the crimes, that it was evident in every case the women themselves<br />
selected the place of their death. The murderer never took them to these places. He was always taken<br />
to them by his victims who knew and selected dark, hidden spots for their own purpose. This, also, is<br />
why I maintained always that respectable women never had anything to fear from the Ripper.’<br />
And the next murder?<br />
‘The next murder was the one which has been recorded as the first Ripper case. This was the notorious<br />
Buck’s-row murder. In this case the woman was believed to have been murdered about one o’clock in<br />
the morning. She was found with her throat cut and on the post-mortem examination taking place it<br />
was found that her body was [sic] been cut about in a brutal, haphazard manner with a knife.’<br />
And what connection had this case with the previous one?<br />
‘The answer to your question is an explanation of the whole theory of the murders. The idea that the<br />
murderer was a mad surgeon, or a man with any knowledge of the anatomy of the human being was a<br />
most ridiculously inaccurate one. The murderer was mad beyond a doubt – a homicidal maniac. He had<br />
no method, nor did he exhibit any acquaintance of the human frame. He was simply seized with a frenzy<br />
the moment he was alone with the women, hacked and tore at them in his frenzy, with no intent but<br />
the satisfaction of a horrible passion for destruction. There were other murders in the district during<br />
the period which were not Ripper murders.’<br />
And herein lay the distinction between the ordinary murders and the others, if I am right in putting<br />
the question so?<br />
‘The cases which I am discussing with you as the Ripper murders all displayed one peculiar form of<br />
violation and an interesting fact was that the hand of the one madman could be traced through a series<br />
of nine murders, each one displaying a gradation of more intensified frenzy. Every fresh time the mania<br />
seized the murderer his passion became more horrible in its satisfaction. The mutilation in the Buck’srow<br />
case was exactly of the same nature as that inflicted upon the woman who died in the hospital;<br />
but in the second and all succeeding cases the throat of the victim had been cut before the mutilation.<br />
Take another case. There was the George-yard murder. A cabman coming down the stairs of some<br />
dwellings at four o’clock in the morning found the body of a woman named Tabrun [sic] lying half in<br />
the doorway of a passage in the building. Her throat was cut and she had been stabbed in 39 places.<br />
She had been dead over two hours. The doctor who examined the body said the stabs appeared to have<br />
been inflicted with a bayonet. A woman known as Pearly Poll said she and Tabrun were in company the<br />
evening before with a private soldier and a corporal, and that the corporal went away with Tabrun. We<br />
had two parades at the Tower of London of the Coldstream Guards, and one at the Wellington Barracks.<br />
At each place Pearly Poll picked out a different man as the one she had seen, but in each case the books<br />
of the barracks proved that the men she picked out were indoors during the whole evening and night.<br />
As a matter of fact Pearly Poll was not a trustworthy witness. We never obtained any clue in this case,<br />
nor anyone in any subsequent case able to afford us the slightest information that was of use.<br />
To enable you to understand the difficulty surrounding the next case I need to explain that in the East<br />
End of London it is a common thing for men of means to farm houses. This is to say they rent houses in<br />
which they do not live themselves, and let out every room of a house to tenants of their own. The front<br />
door of such a house is always unbarred, and no person living on the premises has a right to interfere<br />
with anyone using the front doorway, or the passages or stairs. Yet the police have no power to enter,<br />
as the place is the private property of the absent landlord. Outcasts wander into these houses and<br />
sleep on the stairs and in the passages, and no one is empowered to remove them. A resident in one of<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 3
these houses in Hanbury-street went down at five o’clock in the morning into a yard at the rear of the<br />
place and found the body of a woman lying between some stone steps and a wall adjoining the side of<br />
the house. Her throat was cut in the same way as in the previous cases, and the ‘ripping’ to which the<br />
Buck’s-row woman’s body had been subjected had been inflicted upon this one. Again, there was a stage<br />
of increased ferocity. The ripping was far more severe upon the Hanbury-street woman. She had been<br />
dead some hours. No one knew anything about her. She was one of the outcasts. No one had seen her,<br />
no one had heard a person shout. Not a word in the locality could afford us the slightest information.<br />
The body of the woman had again been slashed and hacked about in the clumsiest possible manner.’<br />
The next murder described by <strong>Reid</strong>, as the horrible photograph came in its turn into his hand, was the<br />
Berner-street murder. As to this case he said –<br />
‘In this case a woman was found under curious circumstances with her throat cut. A man named<br />
Darnschitz [sic] kept a Socialist club, now extinct, in Berner-street. At the side of the club was a<br />
gateway, leading to a very dark yard. One Sunday night – a very dark night it was – Darnschitz, who had<br />
been out driving, arrived home about half-past twelve, and turned his pony through this gateway. A<br />
little distance up the yard the pony reared and refused to move forward. It had seen something, and,<br />
looking down, Darnschitz saw something move on the ground. He leaped out of the pony-carriage and<br />
ran into the club by a side door and called to his wife, who was in charge, and others. Lights were<br />
brought, and the body of a woman was found, with the throat cut and still bleeding. The pony must<br />
have seen the man at the moment the murder was being committed. During the short space of time the<br />
club proprietor had been bringing lights the murderer had sped like a shadow. No person could be found<br />
who had noticed anyone leave the yard.<br />
While the police were engaged making their inquiries into this case information was received that<br />
another murder had been committed in Mitre-square in the City. In a quiet, dark corner of Mitre-square<br />
we found the body of a woman with the throat cut, and her body mutilated in the same horrible manner<br />
as in the other cases. This woman’s nose and ears had been cut off, and her face slashed. This murder<br />
was committed in September 1889 or 90. I forget for the moment which year.’<br />
Was not this the writing on the wall case?<br />
‘Yes. I was coming to that. There is no doubt that when the fiend was disturbed by the pony and fled<br />
the mania was still running through his blood insatiate. He appears to have gone straight down Bernerstreet<br />
to Commercial-street, passed along to the City, met this woman whom he mutilated in Mitresquare,<br />
and there expended his mania upon the second victim. Thence he came back by a triangular<br />
route, and on the wall of a passage leading to some model dwelling in Goulston-street he wrote the<br />
words in chalk –<br />
‘The Jews shall not be blamed for this.’<br />
That this was the murderer’s writing was proved by the fact that thrown down on the ground beneath<br />
the writing was a piece of the apron of the woman murdered in Mitre-square. This was the only<br />
trustworthy specimen of the man’s writing we ever obtained, and this was rubbed off before it could<br />
be photographed, contrary to my wishes and much to my regret.’<br />
Detective <strong>Reid</strong>’s next account was of the Dorset-street murder –<br />
‘This was a case in which a pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed, youthful girl was murdered. She rented a<br />
room in a house in Dorset-street, for which she paid 4s 6d a week rent. The room was badly furnished<br />
for the reason that her class of people always pawn or sell anything decent they ever get into their<br />
places. The curtains to the windows were torn and one of the panes of glass was broken. Kelly was in<br />
arrears with her rent and one morning a man known as ‘The Indian’ who was in the employment of the<br />
landlord of the house, went round about eight o’clock to see the woman about the money. Receiving<br />
no answer to his knock at the door, he peered through the window, and through the torn curtain saw<br />
the horrible sight of the woman lying on her bed hacked to pieces, and pieces of her flesh placed upon<br />
the table.<br />
I ought to tell you that the stories of portions of the body having been taken away by the murderer<br />
were all untrue. In every instance the body was complete. The mania of the murderer was exclusively<br />
for horrible mutilation. The landlord was brought round to the house by his man, and the sight of the<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 4
poor mutilated woman turned his brain. He became a perfect madman for weeks, and used to come at<br />
times and knock me up and cry out ‘Come on, come on, come out with me, we’ve got him, we’ve got<br />
the Ripper.’ Happily the man recovered his balance of mind in time, but the shock was terrible for him.<br />
The suggestion having been made that in the eyes of a murdered person a reflection of the murderer<br />
might be retained, we had the eyes of Kelly photographed and the photographs magnified, but the<br />
effort was fruitless. We tried every possible means of tracing if the woman had been seen with a man,<br />
but without avail.<br />
An example of the difficulty we had may be found in that women came forward who swore that they<br />
saw Kelly standing at the corner of the court at eight o’clock of the morning her body was found, but<br />
the evidence of the doctors proved this to be an impossibility. By that hour the woman had been dead<br />
not less than four hours.<br />
After the death of Kelly, which happened on Lord Mayor’s Day, by the way,’ said <strong>Reid</strong> who continued to<br />
make selections from his hideous photographs, ‘a year and eight months passed without our being again<br />
called out, and we began to hope the murders had ended. During this time, however, the new system<br />
of police patrol, which brought into use for the first time the India-rubber silent boots, and which<br />
necessitated one policeman always passing another, was continued. One morning about one o’clock an<br />
officer passing the Castle-alley from Whitechapel to Wentworth-street, paused under a lamp in the<br />
Alley to eat his supper. After eating his supper he walked down Castle-alley into Wentworth-street, a<br />
distance of less than a hundred yards. At the corner of Wentworth-street he met an officer coming in<br />
the reverse direction to pass over the same ground. They stood about a minute exchanging a word, and<br />
officer number two went up the alley. Number one had taken a few steps down Wentworth-street when<br />
he heard his mate’s alarm whistle. He ran back into Castle-alley and found his mate standing over the<br />
corpse of a woman who had been murdered and mutilated on the very spot where within the past five<br />
minutes he had stood.<br />
The alarm was continued. Other officers came upon the ground. A running search was made in every<br />
direction, but no sight or sound could be traced of the murderer, who had evidently not quite completed<br />
his work when the arrival of officer number two had disturbed him. Immediately above the spot where<br />
the body was found was the window of a room in which the keeper of some wash houses slept, and there<br />
was a light in his window. The keeper was roused. His wife came down to the door and said, ‘I have not<br />
been asleep. I was sitting reading to my husband, and we have heard no sound.’ The murderer and his<br />
victim had evidently followed officer number one into the alley and hidden in one of the entries leading<br />
into it while he was eating his supper. Probably they watched him until he got down to Wentworthstreet.<br />
The method followed by the murderer was to first cut his victims’ throats from right to left in a quiet<br />
way which killed them before they could make a sound, and which caused the blood to spurt out away<br />
from his hand and from his body. This is the secret doubtless of the left-hand theory, and it is most<br />
probable that the murderer never had a speck of blood upon his clothes. The bodies, life having ceased,<br />
would not spurt blood during the mutilation.<br />
The last murder displaying the same hand of the homicidal maniac, happened two years later in<br />
Swallow-gardens. The name belies the place, which is a very dark, dismal railway arch through which<br />
persons may pass from one street to another. The spot is one into which very few people ever dare to<br />
enter after midnight. A young constable, a Cornwall man, who had been a miner, and who had been in<br />
the force only six weeks, was on duty near the place, and hearing footsteps retreating rapidly as he<br />
entered the archway he ran forward in the direction of the sound. He stumbled over something lying<br />
on the ground, and on turning his light on to it found a woman with her throat cut and bleeding. Her<br />
eyes and lips were moving. The woman was just expiring. The policeman’s arrival at the entrance to the<br />
archway had disturbed the Ripper but a moment too late. However, he darted forward in the direction<br />
of the running footsteps, still to be heard. It was so dark he could see nothing. Yet he continued to run<br />
on, and was gaining on the sound when the pursued steps suddenly became silent.<br />
The officer turned on his light and searched in every possible direction round the spot where the<br />
footsteps had ceased, but he could find no one. For this murder a man was arrested, but he succeeded<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 5
in completely proving his innocence. That was the last Ripper murder.’<br />
And now tell me a few things. First, how do you account for the man so skilfully escaping you all?<br />
‘As I have explained, we never in one single instance found a person who had seen a man with any of<br />
the murdered women on the evenings they were murdered, so we never had a description of him. This<br />
is accounted for by the fact that every victim was a woman of ill-fame of the very lowest type, and that<br />
in every instance the woman took the man secretly, at a moment when no one was in sight, away to a<br />
quiet, hidden, secluded spot known by her, never frequented at night-time. Further, with the exception<br />
of the last two cases, the place of the murder was on private property; that is, in a place into which the<br />
law forbids that a policeman should enter. The victims themselves selected the hiding-place, the scene<br />
of their murder, and sought it in a stealthy manner which prevented them being seen. They selected<br />
their murderer, they selected the scene of their death, and provided their assailant with escape. They<br />
took care to render impossible evidence of their being seen taking a man to the scene of the murder.’<br />
And what is your own idea of the murderer?<br />
‘That he was a homicidal maniac there was no doubt, and had that cunning of insanity which defies the<br />
reason of sane persons is equally certain. I am satisfied that he was a man who did not seek victims. My<br />
notion is that he might never have committed a murder at all had he not been solicited and led away<br />
by the women; but that on every occasion when this happened to him the frenzy came upon him. His<br />
carrying a knife may be accounted for in dozens of ways. It is likely, too, that in every instance drink had<br />
much to do with the recurring mania. Every one of the murders was committed after the public-houses<br />
closed at night, most of them within an hour afterwards.’<br />
Have you the remotest idea who or what the man was?<br />
‘He was a vulgar man; that is, he was no scientist or medical man – not even a butcher – I should say,<br />
from the same clumsiness displayed in his frenzied work in each case. I have always believed that he<br />
lived somewhere in the neighbourhood of Berner-street. The first of the murders was in that district,<br />
and every one was committed within a radius of a quarter of a mile of the Princess Alice public house in<br />
Commercial-street. All of the women lived in that district, and so I believe did the murderer. There are<br />
similar women, and equally hidden spots in other parts of London, yet no Ripper murder was committed<br />
in any other part of London. Then, again, on the night of the Berner-street murder he went down Citywards,<br />
when he murdered the woman in Mitre-square and returned to Berner-street within an hour and<br />
a half, to the spot where the piece of the Mitre-square woman’s apron was found, thrown on the ground<br />
beneath the writing on the wall.’<br />
Now, what became of him?<br />
‘I believe he is dead. You see every case disclosed that with each recurring attack of the mania the fury<br />
of the frenzy was intensified. The greatest probability is that the effect on the murderer’s system was<br />
physical exhaustion of a kind which would destroy the system. Yes, I should say Jack the Ripper is dead.<br />
Most likely he died in a madhouse.’<br />
Among other things which <strong>Reid</strong> spoke of was the fact that though called Whitechapel murders, most of<br />
them were committed in Stepney and Spitalfields. He also said it was a mistake to fancy the murders<br />
made the Ripper feared by the class of people who alone had need to fear him.<br />
‘I have heard wretched women of that class, starving, homeless, unhappy creatures in the misery of<br />
their debased life, scream for Jack the Ripper, pray for him to come to them and end their misery. And<br />
I saw children in the street, when the scare was at its height, laughing and skipping, and enjoying life,<br />
playing at the game of the Ripper.’<br />
The journalist ended the interview by informing readers that:<br />
<strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong>, by the way, is still one of the most popular men in the East End, and an influential<br />
committee has been formed, of which Mr Solomon, of 18 Commercial-street, is the secretary, for the<br />
purpose of presenting him with a handsome testimonial from Whitechapel tradesmen, as a memento of<br />
his services among them. 2<br />
2 News of the World, 12 April 1896.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 6
As in other interviews given by <strong>Reid</strong> on the Whitechapel murders, this<br />
contains glaring and obvious errors, including getting the year of the Mitre<br />
Square murder wrong, saying that Emma Smith was killed by one man when<br />
she had described three attackers, claiming that no body parts had been<br />
removed and saying that nobody saw a man with any of the victims on the<br />
nights they were killed are just a few examples.<br />
from Lloyd’s Weekly News<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> repeated his belief that there were nine murders, that the murderer<br />
had no anatomical knowledge and was a homicidal maniac who was probably<br />
dead by 1896. He elaborates on his theory that the victims were largely<br />
responsible for their own deaths with the curious suggestion that Jack the<br />
Ripper had not been seeking victims and might not have killed anyone if<br />
he not been given the opportunity to do so and escape undetected. It is<br />
difficult to believe <strong>Reid</strong>’s story about John McCarthy’s mental breakdown,<br />
as immediately after the murder of Mary Kelly he was lucid enough to be<br />
interviewed by the Sunday Times newspaper and to give evidence at Kelly’s<br />
inquest a few days later.<br />
It is perplexing to read the remarks of a police officer who had worked so closely on the Whitechapel murders<br />
investigation for so long, making numerous errors just a few years after the crimes had been committed. Yet<br />
on other occasions <strong>Reid</strong> was accurate, such as still being able to remember exactly how much weekly rent Mary<br />
Kelly had to pay. Disappointingly, <strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong> has not proved to be the most reliable source on the subject of<br />
the Whitechapel murders. However, his ultimate conclusion that the identity of Jack the Ripper was not known<br />
is entirely reasonable.<br />
In 1902 <strong>Reid</strong> took umbrage when the Metropolitan Police offered retired officers a modest sum to assist at the<br />
Coronation of King Edward VII in London. <strong>Reid</strong> felt that it was rather insulting for retired sergeants and inspectors<br />
to receive ‘the same as a pensioned third-class constable. It is not a matter of sight-seeing with them, but hard<br />
work, many leaving a home and business for a time, travelling many miles; and, another thing, no matter how<br />
loyal one may be, he does not want to be out of pocket in the manner.’ 3<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> later added:<br />
I do not wish to egotise, but should like to say that I was a detective-inspector twelve years, both at<br />
the Yard and Whitechapel during the Ripper murders, and only left in 1896, and now am asked to offer<br />
myself for duty during the Coronation at the same price as a constable who has just managed to get a<br />
small pension with the skin of his teeth.<br />
I certainly think that some distinction should be made according to rank, and that all should be asked<br />
to assist. I do not intend to offer myself after the disrespect shown to an officer who also left with a<br />
good character. 4<br />
Despite this disagreement with his former employers it seems that <strong>Reid</strong> was still willing to do them a good<br />
turn. In 1912 and 1913 he advertised his services, free of charge, to advise young men who wished to join the<br />
Metropolitan Police Force. 5<br />
By the time of the Coronation <strong>Reid</strong> had left London for his native east Kent and in the early 20th century was<br />
registered as living at ‘<strong>Reid</strong>’s Ranch’ in Hampton-on-Sea, a tiny seaside hamlet of Herne Bay. He was simultaneously<br />
living at a house in Borstal Hill in the neighbouring town of Whitstable. There he joined the quoit club 6 and<br />
wrote letters to the local newspaper. In 1905 a Whitstable resident, writing under the name of ‘A Progressive’,<br />
complained in a letter to the Whitstable Times about the state of the town which ‘excels in untidiness. Many<br />
of the roads are overgrown with weeds and the water channels at the side of the roads are full with grit and<br />
manure.’ The seafront was in a ‘deplorable’ condition, and worst of all, a refuge dump had been established at<br />
the eastern entrance of the town, close to the main road. 7<br />
3 Daily Mail, 29 April 1902.<br />
4 Daily Mail, 12 May 1902.<br />
5 Whitstable Times, 14 & 28 December 1912; 4 January 1913.<br />
6 Whitstable Times, 14 October 1905.<br />
7 Whitstable Times, 15 July 1905.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 7
<strong>Reid</strong> was unsympathetic and wrote to the paper in characteristic style:<br />
Why, what ever is the matter with the anonymous writer who signs himself ‘A Progressive’ in your last<br />
week’s issue touching the above subject [‘Progressive Whitstable’].<br />
Why don’t he come and live up Borstal Hill way, where all is peace and joy? We ain’t got no troubles up<br />
our way like he writes about.<br />
We ain’t got no path to get out of order between ‘The Four Horse Shoes’ Hotel and the end of Whitstable<br />
District.<br />
We ain’t got no gas lamp that wants lighting to show us our way home on a dark night like they have at<br />
Tankerton.<br />
We ain’t got no scavengers coming and taking away our dust and putting it in a heap to annoy our<br />
visitors. We look after that ourselves.<br />
We ain’t got no trouble to<br />
read any acknowledgement<br />
to our applications for a<br />
gas lamp and a path to the<br />
end of Whitstable District<br />
(which we pay for), because<br />
they never send one.<br />
Cheer up, old boy, better<br />
days in store.<br />
Thanking you in anticipation<br />
for a good time coming,<br />
when we shall all know the<br />
boundary of Whitstable on<br />
the road to Canterbury by<br />
the erection of a gas lamp<br />
on a footpath. 8<br />
His practice of writing letters<br />
Postcard showing Whitstable from Borstal Hill, where <strong>Reid</strong> made his home<br />
to the press continued and, as in<br />
Herne Bay, a local councillor was<br />
the target of his chagrin. Councillor Church had remarked that he did not think that the gas company should be<br />
asked to extend their mains into the country. In response to this <strong>Reid</strong> wrote a long letter to the Whitstable Times<br />
which they declined to publish as it was ‘of too personal a character to be inserted in its entirety.’ 9 The gist of the<br />
letter was that <strong>Reid</strong> could not understand ‘how Councillor Church can show so much ignorance as not to know the<br />
extent of the district, adding that the boundary of the Urban District extends to just past the ‘Long Reach’ Tavern,<br />
and that there are several persons residing in the Councillor’s so-called country who would be only too pleased to<br />
burn gas in their houses if they got the chance.’ 10<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> had taken out a six-year lease of the unfurnished Borstal Hill house early in 1905, but in 1907 he was sued<br />
by his landlord, George Hall, for non-payment of a quarter’s rent of £5 10s, plus 5s in interest on the payment.<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> had always settled regularly up until that time, but now he claimed he was unable to pay and offered Hall an<br />
extra pound a year in rent if he could just wait a while longer for the quarterly payment. Hall was not interested<br />
and the case ended up at the Canterbury County Court in April 1907.<br />
Unfazed at being a defendant in a court case, <strong>Reid</strong> argued that the house was unfit to live in. He claimed that<br />
it was overrun with rats and that there was ‘not a room that the rain does not come in.’ George Hall was not<br />
impressed by his truculent tenant’s defence. He told <strong>Reid</strong> that he had ‘got it cheap enough’ at £22 a year and<br />
if there were any rats in the property it was through his own neglect. The judge pointed out that the alleged<br />
condition of the house was not a valid defence as <strong>Reid</strong> had already lived there for two years and was only now<br />
8 Whitstable Times, 22 July 1905.<br />
9 Whitstable Times, 21 July 1906.<br />
10 Ibid.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 8
<strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong> at Hampton-on-Sea<br />
making an issue of it. Furthermore, the tenancy agreement <strong>Reid</strong> had signed placed him under obligation to keep<br />
the house in a good state of repair. <strong>Reid</strong> countered this by asking why, if that was the case, Hall had paid for<br />
previous repairs to the house. The judge said this was irrelevant and even ‘if the roof fell in about your ears it<br />
would be no defence in law.’ <strong>Reid</strong> retorted that ‘It has been down twice and he has put it up again.’<br />
By now Hall’s patience had run out. He told <strong>Reid</strong> that he had another potential tenant who would take the<br />
house immediately, ‘but I won’t release you Mr <strong>Reid</strong>. Oh no!’ <strong>Reid</strong> replied ‘It is a hornet’s nest about my ears.’<br />
Hall seemed to relent and said ‘If you will compensate me I could let it tomorrow.’ The judge’s ruling was that<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> had to pay the outstanding £5 10s by the end of May, but not the 5s interest. Hall’s lawyer pointed out that by<br />
then another quarterly payment would be due, to which Hall said ‘And I will have him for it.’ Playing to the court,<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> glibly replied ‘You will have your pound of flesh.’ This raised a laugh, but Hall was unamused, responding<br />
‘Yes, I will.’ 11<br />
This episode shows <strong>Reid</strong> in a poor light. He had failed to pay his rent for a house which the landlord had<br />
maintained, despite it being <strong>Reid</strong>’s responsibility. Hall’s anger towards <strong>Reid</strong> is understandable and it is to his<br />
credit that he stood up to <strong>Reid</strong>, who he knew was a former Scotland Yard inspector as well as something of a<br />
local celebrity. And why was <strong>Reid</strong> keeping two houses at once? In 1912 and 1913 when offering to help potential<br />
Metropolitan Police recruits he again had an address in Whitstable while still living at ‘<strong>Reid</strong>’s Ranch.’ On that<br />
occasion it was 84 High Street.<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> owned the ‘Ranch’ at Hampton and when it was inspected for the 1910 Finance Act survey it was noted<br />
that: ‘The house is in a very dilaptd [sic – dilapidated] Condition’, and that the sea was rapidly encroaching. 12 It is<br />
not clear if this indicates that the interior of the house was dilapidated or if coastal erosion had started to attack<br />
the foundations and exterior of the ‘Ranch’. A number of properties in Hampton were lost to coastal erosion<br />
around 1910, although <strong>Reid</strong> did not leave the Ranch until 1916. An earlier visitor to the ‘Ranch’ said it was ‘a well<br />
arranged cottage.’ 13<br />
11 Whitstable Times, 13 April 1907.<br />
12 TNA, PRO IR58/17510.<br />
13 Herne Bay Press, 27 September 1902.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 9
In 1913 <strong>Reid</strong> wrote a series of articles on his ballooning exploits which had been hinted at in articles and his<br />
obituaries. They were written years after the events by <strong>Reid</strong>, so it remains to be seen how much of it is accurate<br />
and how much is <strong>Reid</strong> being a raconteur. His first balloon ascent came about after he made the acquaintance of<br />
the self-styled ‘Professor’ Thomas Lythgoe, an experienced aeronaut. 14 One evening he was chatting to Lythgoe<br />
over a pipe when he was asked ‘Ever been down in a diving bell?’ <strong>Reid</strong> replied that he had. Lythgoe then wondered<br />
if <strong>Reid</strong> had ever been up in a balloon. <strong>Reid</strong> had not, so Lythgoe offered to ‘arrange for a trip from the Crystal<br />
Palace.’ At a subsequent meeting on a Tuesday evening, Lythgoe told <strong>Reid</strong> to meet him at the Crystal Palace<br />
on Saturday at three o’clock in the afternoon when they would make an ascent with another balloonist named<br />
Thomas Wright. <strong>Reid</strong> told nobody about his forthcoming adventure and spent the rest of the week wondering if he<br />
would be alive the following week.<br />
Dark clouds began to appear shortly before the balloon was due to take off, so the three intrepid men got into<br />
the balloon car and took off before the rain made their balloon wet and heavy. <strong>Reid</strong> remembered:<br />
The world seemed to drop down from us. I felt no motion at all. It was not long before a dark cloud<br />
came all around us, then the cloud went down, and we were in the light again with the blue sky over our<br />
heads. But all at once there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and I began to think. I said<br />
to Mr Lythgoe ‘What’s that?’ He replied ‘Oh, that’s nothing.’ I said ‘You call that nothing.’ He replied<br />
‘Let the lightning flash and the thunder roar, it won’t hurt us as we are not attached to the earth.’ And<br />
it didn’t, or I should not be writing this now.<br />
A balloon ascent from the Crystal Palace. From Travels in the Air by James Glaisher (1871)<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> had been seated in the car<br />
and when he stood up he saw the<br />
dark storm clouds beneath him and<br />
a clear blue sky above. It was ‘one<br />
of the grandest panoramic views<br />
that I have ever seen.’ The Crystal<br />
Palace looked like ‘a little glass<br />
house standing on a carpet,’ while<br />
the River Thames resembled a<br />
narrow ditch. All pre-flight nerves<br />
disappeared as <strong>Reid</strong> marvelled at<br />
the splendour of the view and he<br />
felt completely safe and calm.<br />
The balloon was nearly two miles<br />
high and <strong>Reid</strong> was now thoroughly<br />
enjoying himself. The dizzying<br />
heights were ‘a nice place to live<br />
in, no tax collectors, nothing to<br />
upset the mind.’<br />
They were now floating over Gravesend. <strong>Reid</strong> mused:<br />
Why it looks to me like a lot of red bricks thrown into a field. Then I began to think – there are<br />
thousands of houses down there, and thousands and thousands of people, some walk about as if the<br />
world belong to them only; some that will sometimes condescend to speak to you under circumstances<br />
to suit themselves only; others that work hard to live, yet I cannot see one, then what am I when I am<br />
down there, nothing, not so much as a grain of sand. I think that if there is anything to take the pride<br />
out of anyone it is being up in a balloon. It teaches that the world can go on very well without us, and<br />
perhaps better, and whenever anyone tells you all about what is up here, that has never been, well to<br />
put it in a mild form, you can look at them and think. I have never heard the angels sing yet, and I have<br />
made many balloon ascents in my time. 15<br />
14 Thomas Lythgoe worked as a meter inspector to the Metropolitan Gas Company, retiring in 1885 to become landlord of the Duke<br />
Inn at St Albans. He later took over the Old Oak Inn in Hertford where he died in 1893 aged 61. He made 405 ascents over 43 years.<br />
(Hertfordshire Mercury, 1 April 1893). <strong>Reid</strong>’s memory was working reasonably well on this matter some twenty years later. He<br />
wrote that ‘After he [Lythgoe] gave up ballooning he kept ‘The Old Oak Hotel’ at Hertford, where he died a natural death.’<br />
However, <strong>Reid</strong> asserted that Lythgoe had made over 500 ascents. (Whitstable Times, 11 January 1913).<br />
15 Whitstable Times, 11 January 1913.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 10
This sounds similar to Yuri Gagarin’s alleged quote, ‘I see no god up here’, made during his pioneering 1961<br />
space flight. It is purely speculation, but could this have been the origin of <strong>Reid</strong>’s agnosticism? Having ascended<br />
to the heavens and finding nothing there, did <strong>Reid</strong> abandon any idea of a Biblical Heaven, or did he have doubts<br />
before then? He had been baptised at St Alphege Church in Canterbury city centre on 4th October 1846, but it is<br />
not clear how seriously he took religion in his youth.<br />
Lythgoe spotted a likely landing site by the railway station and the balloon descended at Shorne in Kent. <strong>Reid</strong><br />
‘saw the green grass grow into a wood, houses come up through the earth; people popped up out of holes, and<br />
the earth came up and hit the bottom of the car… when the gas was all gone out of the balloon we all got out,<br />
and then I said to myself ‘I have done it.’’ 16<br />
They packed the deflated balloon into the empty car, loaded it onto a cart and went to the nearest pub for tea.<br />
On the train back to London Bridge, <strong>Reid</strong> reflected on how much he had enjoyed the experience and thought that<br />
‘if I had been blindfolded in the car, I should not have known that the balloon had started as I felt no motion.’ 17<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> later wrote of another ascent he made from the Crystal Palace. He decided to amuse the crowds of<br />
children who were in attendance:<br />
I obtained a long piece of string and attached one end to the balloon car and laid the rest over the side<br />
so that it should not be entangled, then I made a small hole in the brim of my straw hat, and when<br />
everything was ready I tied the other end of the string to my hat and put it on my head, let go the<br />
liberating iron, when down went the world with the people in it, and as they were going down, I took<br />
off my hat and shouted ‘Hurrah,’ swinging my hat round and round, then let it drop down.<br />
I heard a general shout of laughter and cries ‘He’s lost his hat.’ When the hat had reached the length of<br />
the string I pulled the hat up and swinging it round again shouted ‘Hurrah,’ and I could hear the people<br />
laughing again at the fun of the thing. 18<br />
As <strong>Reid</strong> drifted over Chislehurst he shouted down to the residents, ‘You have got the grandest garden that I<br />
have ever passed over.’ <strong>Reid</strong> explained that by speaking loudly and distinctly it was possible to communicate with<br />
people on the ground from up to half a mile high. Over Hayes Common, <strong>Reid</strong> performed his hat trick again for a<br />
group of school children, then passed over some fields where he dropped a bottle of water over the side of the<br />
car, seeing it vaporise into a cloud of dust when it hit the ground.<br />
He later dropped some ballast on a strawberry picker who had responded to <strong>Reid</strong>’s request for some strawberries<br />
by saying, ‘Come down and break your neck.’ <strong>Reid</strong> eventually landed in a field in Westerham and bought drinks<br />
for the locals who had helped him pack up his balloon. As they entered the Pig and Whistle pub one of the helpers<br />
called out: ‘See what I have brought you, a gentleman from the clouds.’ 19<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> made another ascent from the Crystal Palace at a police fete with two friends. He had secretly obtained<br />
two bullocks bladders which he filled with gas and sealed with wax before fastening them with two pieces of<br />
string beneath the balloon car. As they took off <strong>Reid</strong> looked down and saw ‘about seven thousand policemen, their<br />
wives and sweethearts (or someone else’s).’ One of <strong>Reid</strong>’s friends had bought two pigeons, the first of which was<br />
released when the balloon was about half a mile high and the other at a quarter of a mile above that. They both<br />
fell some way before they were able to open their wings and safely fly off.<br />
Shortly afterwards, the bullocks bladders exploded:<br />
All of a sudden there was a loud report as of a cannon being fired off, when both my friends called<br />
out ‘What’s that: what’s the matter?’ I replied ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ when bang went another, somewhat<br />
louder than the first. That did it. They both looked as if they had been eating Whitstable oysters that<br />
had been crossed in love.<br />
I afterwards explained to them that it was only the two bladders burst owing to the expansion of the<br />
gas, the same as the balloon would burst if the mouth was not left open to allow the expanded gas to<br />
escape.<br />
16 Whitstable Times, 11 January 1913.<br />
17 Ibid.<br />
18 Whitstable Times, 25 January 1913.<br />
19 Ibid.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 11
From Travels in the Air by James Glaisher (1871)<br />
We put the matter right by having a sip of that which cheers the heart and gives us courage, and drunk<br />
to the health of those we left behind, and when we looked over the side of the car we found that we<br />
were passing over Forest Hill cemetery, a very healthy place to be buried. 20<br />
The wind dropped and it took the balloon over half an hour to float across the River Thames instead of the usual<br />
ten minutes, only for it to be blown back again and left stranded in mid-air as the boats below blew their whistles<br />
in greeting. The balloon eventually ended up over Barking in East London where it unceremoniously landed in an<br />
onion field and crowds of curious onlookers gathered around, trampling over the crops.<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> had a low opinion of Barking locals and felt that they had been watching the balloon as if it were ‘a ship at<br />
sea, watching to divide the spoil.’ He sent for the farm owner, only to be confronted by his bailiff who demanded<br />
£100 in compensation for the damage done to the fields by the mob. He had sent for the police and two officers<br />
arrived at the scene. <strong>Reid</strong> was unconcerned, arguing that the balloon itself had not caused any damage and had<br />
only landed there by accident. As this was going on, <strong>Reid</strong> and his friends were packing up the balloon as quickly<br />
as they could and his friends managed to leave the scene with the balloon as <strong>Reid</strong> was taken to Barking Police<br />
Station.<br />
Recognising the sergeant on duty, <strong>Reid</strong> explained that the ascent had been made for the benefit of the Police<br />
Orphanage and that the onion field was the only viable landing site, after having been stranded over the River<br />
Thames and three different cemeteries. The sergeant said that there could be no criminal charges against <strong>Reid</strong>,<br />
but suggested to the bailiff that he could take out a summons against him. The bailiff threatened to keep <strong>Reid</strong>’s<br />
balloon until he received the money, but <strong>Reid</strong> pointed out that the balloon had already been taken away, a fact<br />
that made the bailiff look like ‘he had been eating fried oranges that didn’t agree with him.’ <strong>Reid</strong> supplied<br />
his name and address to the bailiff should he wish to sue him and then threatened to counter-sue for false<br />
imprisonment, after which the bailiff left the station.<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> stayed to chat with the sergeant but was growing concerned about the mob that had gathered outside<br />
the police station who thought they were entitled to payment for helping the balloon down. Those that had<br />
20 Whitstable Times, 5 April 1913. It was said of <strong>Reid</strong> that he ‘never tasted intoxicants’ until he was 36 (Lloyd’s Weekly News, 4<br />
February 1912), so presumably this escapade occurred after 1882.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 12
just touched to guide-rope expected to be paid a shilling each. Then an inspector entered the station, having<br />
coincidentally just returned from the Crystal Palace where he had seen <strong>Reid</strong> take off. They came up with a plan<br />
to help <strong>Reid</strong> escape unseen. A police officer went out and found a horse-drawn brake which was taken back to<br />
the station. <strong>Reid</strong> concealed himself under a seat and the brake drove off through the oblivious crowd. <strong>Reid</strong> was<br />
reunited with his friends at the South London Music Hall.<br />
Deciding to settle the claim out of court, <strong>Reid</strong> eventually paid the<br />
onion farmer £20, but thought that if it had gone to court he would<br />
have won, or been fined less than £20. One thing he was certain of<br />
though was that he never wanted to go to Barking again. 21<br />
As a young man <strong>Reid</strong> had an interest in parachuting and had once<br />
made a small parachute which he attached to a mouse’s tail with<br />
cotton threads. He then dropped the mouse from a high building.<br />
The parachute worked and the mouse scurried off with the parachute<br />
still attached to its tail. <strong>Reid</strong> had also seen a monkey and a cat<br />
making parachute descents at the music halls.<br />
Without giving any specific details of his own parachute jumps,<br />
<strong>Reid</strong> explained his method:<br />
Now let us suppose I am about to make a parachute descent.<br />
The first thing I do is to see that the balloon is ready with the<br />
bag of ballast at its side. I may here mention that on the top<br />
of the parachute is a wire hook, and that has to be hooked into<br />
a ring. I told you of inside the canvas tube at the side of the<br />
balloon, and having seen that that is all right, and that all the<br />
cords attached to the parachute are clear, and not in a tangle,<br />
then I attach my basket to my seat which is fastened to the<br />
ropes that hold the net over the balloon, in such a way that I<br />
can slip in and release myself when I want to. Then I take my<br />
place on my seat, hold the ropes, and cry ‘Let go,’ and the men<br />
standing round holding the balloon down, let go, and the world<br />
appears to drop away from me.<br />
When I begin to lose sight of the people on earth, I slip into my<br />
basket and leave the rest to do its work; my weight releases<br />
the basket from the seat, the hook in the ring becomes straight and comes out of the tube and the<br />
parachute opens like an umbrella.<br />
When the balloon is released of its weight the bag of ballast pulls the top down, and the mouth up, and<br />
lets the hot air out, and the question is which reaches the ground first, you or the balloon.<br />
That is my style of parachuting, with a basket to stand in. In the case of a balloon you may sometimes<br />
pick the place for coming down, but with the parachute you must come down where it likes to drop you.<br />
When you are up in a balloon, or dropping with a parachute, there you are, don’t you know, you may<br />
call yourself professor, captain, or some other grand name, it’s all the same, you have got to get down. 22<br />
This eccentric detective, daring balloonist and notable man of Kent, whether up in the air, or with his feet on<br />
terra firma, remains one of the most interesting and unusual individuals associated with the Whitechapel murders.<br />
21 Whitstable Times, 5 April 1913.<br />
22 Whitstable Times, 20 April 1913.<br />
NICHOLAS CONNELL is the co-author of The Man Who Hunted Jack the Ripper: <strong>Edmund</strong> <strong>Reid</strong>-Victorian Detective.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 13
Brother Abberline and<br />
A Few Other Fellow Notable<br />
Freemasons<br />
By LINDSAY SIVITER<br />
Today the United Grand Lodge of England claims to have over a quarter of a million Freemasonic<br />
members. Worldwide there are approximately six million freemasons. 1 For many years, Ripperologists<br />
and indeed the wider public have been fascinated with the notion that the Freemasons were<br />
somehow involved in a conspiracy to conceal the truth about the identity of the perpetrator of the<br />
infamous Jack the Ripper murders. While this theory is very much currently in the news thanks to<br />
Bruce Robinson's They All Love Jack, much of it began back in 1976 with an intrigue convincingly<br />
weaved by the late Stephen Knight in his book, Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution. So powerful<br />
was the impact of this book that over the years several films have been heavily influenced by it,<br />
most notably Murder by Decree in 1978 and From Hell in 2001.<br />
However, before Knight's book was published, the premise had<br />
already been established in an episode of the six-part series Jack the<br />
Ripper in which two popular fictional TV detectives, Barlow and Watt,<br />
took a look at the Whitechapel murders through the eyes of two modern<br />
policemen. Towards the end of the series Joseph Sickert was seen briefly<br />
explaining an amazing tale. Joseph claimed the murders were done as<br />
a way of securing the silence of several women who had knowledge of<br />
Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor, having secretly married<br />
a shop-girl called Annie Crook.<br />
The secret wedding had apparently been witnessed by Mary Jane<br />
Kelly, the final of the Ripper's canonical victims, who had to be silenced<br />
after she threatened blackmail. Annie Crook, according to the story,<br />
subsequently gave birth to a baby girl called Alice, whom Joseph Sickert<br />
claimed to be his mother.<br />
Knight later met Joseph, who supplied further details, and the<br />
impressive tale was subsequently expounded on throughout Knight's<br />
book. Whole sections argued that a masonic cover-up of the Ripper<br />
murder had occurred, with several high-ranking freemasons being<br />
involved including Sir William Gull, Lord Salisbury and Sir Charles<br />
Warren.<br />
Prince Albert Victor<br />
As part of his research for the book, Knight spoke to John Hamill,<br />
the Librarian at United Grand Lodge Library & Museum in Great Queen<br />
Street, London, who told him that in actual fact only the latter of the<br />
three men previously mentioned was a freemason. However, for some<br />
reason, Knight chose to ignore this information, publishing several<br />
erroneous statements in his book about how Gull, Salisbury and others<br />
were freemasons despite official evidence to the contrary.<br />
1 See www.ugle.org.uk for statistics.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 14
Sir Charles Warren<br />
Over the years, there has been much speculation about those involved in the<br />
Ripper investigation and whether they were freemasons. Many of the characters<br />
involved were, their freemasonic histories being well publicised and freely<br />
acknowledged in their obituaries. The masonic careers of Sir Charles Warren<br />
(1840-1927), Prince Albert Victor (1842-1892) and Dr Thomas Horrocks Openshaw<br />
(1856-1929) are widely known. Indeed, Openshaw's vast and impressive collection<br />
of masonic medals have been on display for many years in the Royal London<br />
Hospital Museum as he was a founder of the London Hospital Lodge No. 2845,<br />
being initiated 14 March 1901. Openshaw was a member of several Masonic<br />
Lodges, including Hotspur Lodge No. 1626 (Initiated 1882), Old Concord Lodge No.<br />
172 (Initiated 1890), Lancastrian Lodge No. 2528 (Initiated 1894), The University<br />
of Durham Lodge No. 3030 (Initiated 1904), Foxhunters' Lodge No. 3094 (Initiated<br />
1908) and Robert Thorne Lodge No.3663 (Initiated 1913). 2<br />
At various times many researchers, including<br />
myself, have enquired at the United Grand Lodge Library & Museum about<br />
membership of some of those involved in the Ripper investigation. Thankfully,<br />
for all us historians, in November 2015 the United Grand Lodge of England finally<br />
released their Freemasonry Membership Registers after a huge digitisation project,<br />
and these are now searchable via ancestry.co.uk.<br />
These revealing records cover membership records in England 1751–1921 and<br />
Ireland 1733-1923, alongside various lodges in Commonwealth countries. There<br />
are now over two million records available, allowing us to explore and uncover<br />
membership details.<br />
Several times over the years I had enquired whether Sir William Gull had been<br />
a Freemason; the response was always negative, although the United Grand Lodge<br />
did say that not all their records had been properly indexed. I had always believed<br />
through my own research and meeting with his descendants that Gull had not been<br />
a Freemason, and a search in the new database confirms this. I can also confirm<br />
that neither was alleged Ripper coachman John Netley nor Prime Minister Lord<br />
Salisbury, proving Stephen Knight’s claims about these men were wrong.<br />
Det. Inspector Frederick George Abberline (1843-1929) was a Freemason,<br />
Dr Thomas Horrocks Openshaw<br />
however, and so was Sergeant George Godley (1857-1941), although they were not in the same lodge.<br />
Abberline was a member of Zetland Lodge, Lodge No. 511. The Register 3 entry showing Annual Dues paid from<br />
1888-98 informs us of the following:<br />
Date of Initiation: 1889 Dec 4th<br />
Passing: Feb 5 1890<br />
Raising: April 2 1890<br />
Surname: Abberline<br />
Christian Names: Frederick George<br />
Age: 46<br />
Residence: Scotland Yard<br />
Profession: Insp. Crim. Inv. Dept.<br />
Certificates: 11.4.90<br />
Abberline’s Date of Initiation in 1889 coincides with him finishing working on two of the biggest investigations<br />
in his career: the Whitechapel Murders (1888) and the Cleveland Street Scandal (1889). As a Candidate Abberline<br />
would have met most of the active members of his chosen Lodge before he was initiated, typically having been<br />
introduced by a friend within the Lodge, or at a Lodge open evening or social function. To become a Freemason,<br />
Abberline would have filled out a petition requesting that the Lodge admit him into its membership. After a<br />
2 Search results from Freemasonry Registers at www.ancestry.co.uk.<br />
3 Freemasonry Membership Registers via www.ancestry.co.uk.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 15
Entry for Frederick Abberline and Arthur Hare (highlighted) in the Zetland Lodge register<br />
process of investigation and getting to know him, the Lodge would have voted to decide whether to accept his<br />
petition or not. Once the Lodge voted in favour then Abberline would have been then invited to the next meeting<br />
to receive his Entered Apprentice degree. This is where candidates are initiated into the Fraternity. 4<br />
The few membership records of Zetland Lodge that survive inform us that Abberline was listed (abbreviated)<br />
as an Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department aged 46. He was initiated on the same day in 1889 as<br />
Mr Arthur Alfred Hare, a 34-year-old CID Inspector at Scotland Yard who had worked on the recent Thames Torso<br />
Murders and was probably good friends with Abberline. The two initiates would have done part of the rituals in<br />
the ceremony separately, and other parts would have been completed together.<br />
During the Ceremony of Initiation, the candidate is expected to swear (usually on a volume of a sacred text<br />
appropriate to their personal faith) to fulfil certain obligations as a mason. In the course of three Degrees, the<br />
new member promises to keep the secrets of their Degree from lower Degrees and outsiders. They also pledge to<br />
support a fellow mason in distress as far as the law permits. 5 The Degrees of Freemasonry retain the three grades<br />
of medieval craft guilds: those of Apprentice, Fellow (now called Fellow craft) and Master Mason. These three are<br />
what are known as Craft Freemasonry.<br />
The Masonic Lodge Freemasonry is an organisational unit of Freemasonry and it meets regularly to conduct<br />
formal business such as paying bills, organising charitable events and to elect new members. In addition to this<br />
formal business, meetings may be used to perform ceremonies to confer a masonic Degree or to present lectures<br />
on masonic history or rituals.<br />
Candidates are progressively initiated into freemasonry in the first Degree as an Entered Apprentice. They<br />
are then Passed into the second degree of Fellowcraft and are finally Raised to the Third Degree level of Master<br />
Mason. The registers tell us Abberline was Passed to the second Degree Freemasonry on 5 February 1890 and<br />
Raised to become a Master Mason on 2 April 1890. He progressed quite quickly through the three Degrees of Blue<br />
Lodge Freemasonry, as sometimes this can take many months to achieve.<br />
The column in the Registers saying the word Raised is as Mackey’s Encyclopaedia of Freemasonry explains:<br />
When a candidate has received the Third degree he is said to have been raised to the sublime Degree of<br />
Master mason. The expression refers materially to a portion of the ceremony of initiation, symbolically<br />
to the resurrection which it is the object of the Degree to exemplify… and also means the acceptance<br />
of the candidate officially by the fraternity. 6<br />
The Register also reveals that Abberline obtained his Certificates on 11 April 1890. This refers to a Grand Lodge<br />
certificate, which a member receives on completion of his three Degrees. Freemasonic certificates recognise<br />
a Master Mason’s special achievement of having been raised to the highest degree in Craft Freemasonry being<br />
rewarded in recognition of three main things.<br />
Firstly, your devotion to your Lodge, the Craft and the Brotherhood overall. Secondly, it represents your personal<br />
dedication and commitments to the principles which organise Freemasonry. Thirdly, it symbolises your continual<br />
journey in the quest for more (spiritual) light. 7 It is necessary for a mason to be certificated and the certificates<br />
themselves are regarded as a kind of Masonic passport to help gain admission to other Lodges.<br />
4 ‘What happens behind the scenes of a freemason’s initiation ceremony’ by Joel Montgomery, Master Mason on www.quora.com.<br />
5 www.wikipedia.org/freemasonry.<br />
6 Mackey’s Encyclopaedia of Freemasonry on www.masonicdictionary.com.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 16
The register also tells us how much, and for which years Abberline paid his membership fees. These Dues, today<br />
as in Abberline’s time, cover the annual operating expenses of the Lodge. They are paid as an annual subscription<br />
after an initial Joining fee has also been paid. Throughout their careers, members also have to find money to pay<br />
for their Degree ceremonies which includes paying for materials received by the Candidate including regalia such<br />
as an Apron and study guides. Members are also expected to cover the cost of dinners and are encouraged to give<br />
to charity offering what they can afford. 8<br />
Abberline was a fully-paid member from 1889 right up until he resigned from his membership of Zetland Lodge<br />
in November 1903. His leaving the Lodge coincides with him retiring down to Bournemouth, where he lived for<br />
many years until his death in 1929. It is interesting to note that he did not continue his Freemasonic career after<br />
he moved and did not join any local Lodges in the Bournemouth area.<br />
Interestingly, alongside the above membership details from the Registers there is also<br />
a reference to Brother Abberline in The Freemasons Chronicle dated February 1891,<br />
which mentions him being present at the Covent Garden Lodge of Instruction No 1614. 9<br />
Covent Garden Lodge’s date of Warrant of Constitution was 1876, it being consecrated<br />
in 1877. From 1877 the Lodge met at Clunn’s Hotel in Covent Garden, but the following<br />
year they moved to Ashley’s Hotel nearby and by 1880 they met at The Criterion in<br />
Piccadilly, 10 which presumably was where Abberline went in 1891.<br />
Lodges of Instruction are where masonic learning takes place. These type of Lodges<br />
are often associated with a specific Lodge but are not constituted separately. These<br />
Lodges provide the Officers, and those who wish to become Officers, an opportunity to<br />
rehearse ritual under the guidance of a more experienced Brother.<br />
Lodges of Instruction are also places where lectures on symbolism and ritual are given<br />
to develop the knowledge of its members.<br />
Frederick George Abberline<br />
In an email to the library at Grand Lodge London, historian Zeb Micic asked for any<br />
information about Abberline’s membership of Covent Garden Lodge after having found<br />
the above same online reference to the Detective Inspector in a search of Freemasonic<br />
periodicals which are available on the UGLE Library website. 11<br />
Assistant Librarian Peter Aitkenhead replied saying that “Lodges of Instruction draw their members from many<br />
different lodges and it is impossible to identify the lodges whence they came unless their names appear in the<br />
membership lists of the lodge to which the Lodge of Instruction is ‘attached.” 12 Therefore, because there are<br />
no records maintained centrally of Lodges of Instruction, the librarian sadly could offer no further information.<br />
However, thanks to the new registers available we can establish Abberline’s main lodge being Zetland.<br />
Zetland Lodge had its Date of Warrant issued on 3 May 1845, and was consecrated officially as a new Lodge on 9<br />
July 1845. Members originally held their meetings at various pubs in the Kensington area, but from 1868 onwards<br />
the lodge met at Anderton’s Hotel 13 at 160 Fleet Street, which is where Abberline would have gone. Although<br />
there was a pub present on that site since medieval times, the establishment only became known as Anderton’s<br />
in the 1820s. The building was rebuilt in 1880 and a design for the new building by architects Ford & Hesketh can<br />
be seen in an illustration from The Building News dated 12 December 1879. 14 With its red brick and stone facade<br />
and Dutch-style gabled roof elements, it must have been quite striking. It was largely demolished in 1939 after<br />
several buildings were built on the site, which today is now occupied by a branch of HSBC. Throughout the time<br />
when Abberline visited, the Post Office Directory tells us the landlord was a Francis H Clemow. 15<br />
7 www.masonic-lodge-of-education.com.<br />
8 Ibid.<br />
9 Freemasons Chronicle, February, 1891, p.9.<br />
10 See Lane’s Masonic Records: The Library & Museum of Freemasons website (www.hrionline.ac.uk/lane/record).<br />
11 Correspondence between Zeb Micic and Peter Aitkenhead dated 29 April 2015.<br />
12 Ibid.<br />
13 Lane’s Masonic Records: The Library & Museum of Freemasons website (www.hrionline.ac.uk/lane/record)..<br />
14 Article containing information on the building’s history can be seen on www.archiseek.com as well as an illustration from The<br />
Building News, 12 December 1879.<br />
15 ‘Andertons Hotel’ by Stephen Harris on www.pubshistory.com.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 17
In Abberline’s time, meetings took place several times a year and were held on Wednesdays at Anderton’s<br />
Hotel. Anderton’s Hotel was by coincidence also the location where Doric Lodge No 933 used to meet whose<br />
membership included George Lusk, recipient of the famous 'From Hell’ letter. Lusk, listed as a ‘Builder’, was<br />
initiated on 14 February 1882, aged 41, and became a Master Mason a few weeks later on 11 April 1882. (I hope<br />
to publish an exclusive article for Ripperologist on George Lusk in 2016, as I recently met his descendants and<br />
obtained a lot of new information on him including photos of him and his family!).<br />
Today, Zetland Lodge meets at Freemason’s Hall, Great Queen Street and I made contact with a current<br />
member of the Lodge who kindly searched the historical Minutes of Zetland Lodge for the relevant dates and<br />
supplied the copies of pages containing Abberline's name shown in this article. 16<br />
The Minute records for each meeting list firstly those members attending who held official positions of office in<br />
the Lodge together with their abbreviated titles, which I will now decode for us non-freemasons!<br />
The highest role/rank/office is WM (Worshipful Master) followed by the IPW (Immediate Past Master), the SW<br />
(Senior Warden), the JW (Junior Warden), the Treas (Treasurer), the SD (Senior Deacon), the JD (Junior Deacon),<br />
the DC (Director of Ceremonies) and the IG (Inner Guard). Finally are the Stewards and the Organist.<br />
I ascertained that Frederick Abberline achieved the position of Assistant to at least one of the main Officer<br />
roles, and will elaborate on this new information shortly.<br />
Next in the Minutes we see a list of fellow Lodge Brothers who attended, followed by a list of visiting Brothers<br />
from other Lodges. Proposals for new members can also be seen. The Minutes include news relevant to the Lodge,<br />
and I am hoping to see the original books next year rather than the extracts I have accessed for the purposes of<br />
this article.<br />
On 1 October 1902, Brother Abberline is recorded<br />
as attending a meeting at Zetland Lodge No. 511<br />
and proposing the membership of a new person, Mr<br />
Edgar Kirchner, Officer with P&O Steamboat Company<br />
residing at 173 Eadesfield Road, Wandsworth. However,<br />
it was the name of the person who seconded this new<br />
member which surprised me… Brother Littlechild!<br />
I then looked at all the pages I had been given<br />
which had mentioned Abberline’s name and discovered<br />
that John George Littlechild (1848-1923), the first<br />
commander of the Metropolitan Police Special Irish<br />
Branch was also listed several times having been in<br />
the same Lodge as Abberline! 17 Although Littlechild is<br />
not thought to have had any direct involvement in the<br />
Ripper investigation, he clearly took an interest as is<br />
revealed in the famous Littlechild Letter of 1913, in<br />
which he wrote to journalist George Sims identifying<br />
“a Dr. T”, an American quack doctor called Tumblety,<br />
who he said was a likely suspect.<br />
Perhaps Abberline knew Littlechild more than has<br />
been previously known? Both men subsequently went<br />
to work as Private Detectives for Pinkerton’s Detective<br />
Agency, and Littlechild had apparently also established<br />
his own private detective agency by 1902, 18 so perhaps<br />
Abberline worked for him also.<br />
16 Copies of various pages from the Minutes of Zetland Lodge,<br />
No. 511 courtesy of W. Bro. Barry Mitchell.<br />
17 Ibid.<br />
18 Oswego Daily Times, 30 July 1902 and Utica Herald-Dispatch,<br />
30 July 1902 as seen on www.kpoulin1.wordpress.com.<br />
Minutes of a meeting of Zetland Lodge meeting held on 1 October 1902,<br />
attended by John Littlechild and Frederick Abberline<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 18
John George Littlechild was Initiated as an Entered Apprentice in Zetland Lodge on 7 November 1894 and is<br />
listed as a “Retired Inspector Police C. I. Dept.” He Passed into Fellowcraft on 5 December 1894 and was Raised<br />
as a Master Mason on 6 February 1895. 19 He resigned from Zetland Lodge on 11 March 1912.<br />
By 1902, Littlechild must have been a member of Zetland Lodge for several years as he was rising through the<br />
official positions in the Lodge, and was at this time Junior Warden. He remained at this rank by 5 November 1902,<br />
when the next Minutes are recorded. Abberline is also listed as attending. However, by February 1903 Littlechild<br />
had been promoted to the next rank of Senior Warden, one rank away from becoming Worshipful Master of the<br />
Lodge. Brother Abberline is again listed as attending.<br />
On 1 April 1903 Abberline attended the meeting and<br />
Bro Littlechild is still Senior Warden. This same status is<br />
also subsequently recorded in the Minutes of 4 November<br />
1903. 20 Littlechild most likely became Worshipful Master<br />
in 1904 when Abberline left. Hopefully, a perusal of the<br />
original records next year will confirm this and indeed<br />
who proposed both Abberline and Littlechild as members<br />
initially.<br />
Minutes of a meeting of Zetland Lodge meeting held on 1 April 1903<br />
Strangely, no initials are listed next to Bro Abberline’s<br />
name in any of the Minutes to indicate an official rank<br />
in the rise to become head of the Lodge (seven or eight<br />
ranks/positions have to be worked before top role can be<br />
achieved). Therefore, while one might presume Abberline<br />
did not wish to go through the Officer ranks, this is not<br />
the case, as confirmed by a reference I discovered in an<br />
issue of the Freemasonic periodical The Freemason dated<br />
14 November 1896. 21 In this journal, within the latest<br />
information pertaining to Zetland Lodge No 511 we are<br />
told “the newly installed Master Brother Thwaites then<br />
invested his officers to their various roles.” 22 F G Abberline<br />
was created A.D.C., which stands for Assistant Director<br />
of Ceremonies. This was an important masonic post,<br />
which even today is held by someone who has been a Past<br />
Master of a Lodge, as the role involves knowing in-depth<br />
knowledge of Lodge rituals, and being well-versed in the<br />
rules of procedure laid down in the Book of Constitutions.<br />
As an Assistant Director of Ceremonies it would have been<br />
Abberline’s duty to assist the Director in ensuring that<br />
ceremonies were conducted properly.<br />
Also in the above article we are told that Bro J G Littlechild took part in “a most excellent programme of<br />
music”. 23 What exactly Littlechild’s role was is not specified, but most likely he was a musician or a singer. 24 His<br />
musical talents would seem to be confirmed through his membership of Mendelssohn Lodge No. 2661, which he<br />
joined in 1902. The register lists his Initiation date as 6 December 1902 and his Profession being a ‘Confidential<br />
Agent’. His address is listed as No. 8 The Chase, Clapham Common. 25 At the time of his membership, meetings were<br />
held in the Holborn Restaurant, High Holborn. 26 He paid his dues to at least 1921, the last date of the registers.<br />
19 See Freemasonry membership records on www.ancestry.co.uk.<br />
20 Minutes of Zetland Lodge, W. Bro Barry Mitchell op.cit.<br />
21 The Freemason, 14 November 1896, p.9.<br />
22 Ibid.<br />
23 Ibid.<br />
24 Littlechild was a prominent member of the Metropolitan Police Minstrels, a troupe giving concerts in aid of police charities.<br />
25 Freemasonry membership records at www.ancestry.co.uk.<br />
26 Lane’s Masonic Records: The Library & Museum of Freemasons website (www.hrionline.ac.uk/lane/record).<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 19
Brother Littlechild was also a member of Justicia Lodge No. 2563, being Initiated in 1905; the title of which<br />
clearly reflects his law enforcement career. At this time, meetings were held at Freemasons' Hall, though today<br />
they meet at a Twickenham location. 27 His fees were paid up until 1921, but sadly no other information about his<br />
membership in this Lodge is currently known. In 1906 Littlechild was initiated into Lavender Hill Lodge No. 3191,<br />
on 21 October. He is listed as one of thirty Petitioners for the creation of this new Lodge, which had achieved its<br />
Warrant of Constitution just two weeks earlier. His fees were paid up until at least 1921. He died just two years<br />
later.<br />
Once I had discovered information on Frederick Abberline's Freemason career I visited the library at United<br />
Grand Lodge and asked the very helpful Librarian and Archivist Martin Cherry whether there were any group Lodge<br />
photographs. I was informed that there were around a dozen huge, heavy boxes which were un-catalogued. The<br />
Holy Grail of Ripperology considered by many is a photograph of Abberline, and I thought now might be my chance<br />
to find one! I spent several hours going through all the boxes closely examining each and every image, but sadly<br />
no picture of the elusive famous Inspector, or indeed Zetland Lodge, was discovered but at least these have now<br />
been checked.<br />
Abberline’s famous sidekick in several Hollywood films, Sergeant George Godley was, as mentioned earlier, also<br />
a Freemason. Godley was Initiated into Borough Lodge No. 2589 on 21 October 1903, just a few months after the<br />
conclusion of his involvement in the infamous George Chapman case. He Passed to Fellow craft on 18 November<br />
1903 and was Raised to Master Mason on 20 January 1904. Meetings took place from 1895 at the Bridge House<br />
Hotel by London Bridge, and then from 1909 onwards at the Criterion Restaurant, Piccadilly. Today his Lodge<br />
meets in Penge in Buckinghamshire. 28 Godley retired on 20 January 1908, by which time he had reached the rank<br />
of Inspector in K Division of the Metropolitan Police. He resigned from his masonic membership on 16 January<br />
1913. Godley died in 1941.<br />
So there we have it. Proof finally that several of the key people allegedly involved in the Ripper case were<br />
not Freemasons. However we now know some of the key officers involved in the case were, including the famous<br />
Inspector Abberline. Now we just need to find a photograph of him….<br />
Acknowledgements<br />
The author would like to say special thanks to Zeb Micic, W.Bro Barry Mitchell, UGLE Librarian Martin Cherry<br />
and Adam Wood.<br />
Sources<br />
Stephen Knight: Jack The Ripper: The Final Solution, 1976; Freemasonic Membership Registers via www.<br />
ancestry.co.uk; Private email from Peter Aitkenhead to Zeb Micic dated 29 April 2015; The Freemasons Chronicle,<br />
February 1891 p.9; Lane’s Masonic Records: The Library & Museum of Freemasons website (www.hrionline.<br />
ac.uk/lane/record); The Freemason, 23 November 1895 p.10; The Freemason, 14 November 1896 p.9; Minutes<br />
for Zetland Lodge 1902-03; www.freemasonry.london.museum; www.masonicdictionary.com; www.wikipedia.<br />
org/freemasonry; www.masonic-lodge-of-education.com; www.ugle.org.uk; www.quora.com; www.kpoulin1.<br />
wordpress.com; www.pubhistory.com and www.archiseek.com.<br />
27 Lane’s Masonic Records: The Library & Museum of Freemasons website (www.hrionline.ac.uk/lane/record).<br />
28 Ibid.<br />
LINDSAY SIVITER is a trained historian who has worked for over thirty years in museums and archives throughout<br />
the UK, and since 2013 as a volunteer assistant to the Curator at the Crime Museum at Scotland Yard. Lindsay is the<br />
youngest Committee member on both The Metropolitan Police History Society and the Police History Society and is<br />
also a member of The British Society of Criminologists. Lindsay has been researching the Jack the Ripper case for<br />
over twenty years and is an active member of The Whitechapel Society, and since 2001 has worked for Discovery<br />
Tours as one of their Ripper tour guides. She continues to research, as his official biographer, the first ever biography<br />
of Ripper suspect Sir William Gull and in 2011 was the first researcher granted privileged access to his private papers<br />
and personal possessions and travelled to Cape Town, South Africa to stay with his descendants to examine these.<br />
Lindsay has contributed articles to Ripperologist and The Whitechapel Society Journal, and regularly gives lectures<br />
and presentations and has been a guest speaker at many conferences. As an historical adviser and consultant to<br />
companies including the Museum of London and the BBC, Lindsay has also appeared in over twenty television<br />
documentaries including Unmasking Jack the Ripper (2005), The World Ripperologist of Jack 147 the Ripper December (2008) 2015 and Jack 20 the<br />
Ripper: The Definitive Story (2011).
JTRForums:<br />
A Decade of Dedication<br />
By HOWARD BROWN<br />
I was asked by Adam Wood to prepare a brief history of JTR Forums, now entering its eleventh<br />
year, for the readers of the Rip.<br />
Back in the Fall of 2005, Tim Mosley and I took the original domain name which he had established in 2003 and<br />
applied it to software he had at his disposal. The current version of the Forums was born on 19 September 2005.<br />
At first, we laid the foundation... sections for victims, suspects, aspects of the case, etc. A labor of love, we<br />
quickly filled the main page with a wide of assortment of topics for newcomers and long time researchers and<br />
aficionados.<br />
Membership numbers were slow in accumulating. The majority of Ripper-related discussion took place on<br />
Casebook, the pioneering effort of Stephen Ryder in the mid-1990s and one of, if not the most important<br />
developments in the history of Ripperology. Although social media Ripperology such as Facebook might have given<br />
any message board a run for its money in terms of being the most frequented, had it been available in the late<br />
'90s, Casebook had the finest collection of newspapers and archival material for public consumption anywhere,<br />
which remains that site's most valuable asset.<br />
The question became: What could the Forums do which would establish itself as a viable entity at that time?<br />
I had had a considerable number of ideas which I considered testing on Casebook (one of which was Trivia Night,<br />
a weekly online game which involved teams of players in Casebook's chat room... another was an organized,<br />
coordinated section on Ripper suspect Robert D'Onston Stephenson, which, unlike the Trivia Night idea, didn't take<br />
off and fly), but I felt it would be a little too intrusive, along with the fact I wasn't sure they would be embraced<br />
by Casebook's membership. I felt that there were quite a few concepts that hadn't been explored, but which<br />
should be.<br />
I set those ideas up on JTRForums, beginning in late 2005, some of which remain to this day:<br />
Five Questions With...<br />
A set of questions provided to a Forums member or to someone within the field, or sometimes not, such as<br />
James Badal (Cleveland Torso Killer expert) and Tom Voigt (Zodiac webmaster). It's been popular since its first<br />
appearance. The contribution of well known researchers such as Martin Fido, Rob House, John Malcolm and Paul<br />
Begg, to name but a few, on often important points of view making their appearance anywhere for the first time<br />
is a favorite of our membership.<br />
Topic of the Month<br />
Self-explanatory: each month a new idea or perhaps an old one would be revisited for group discussion.<br />
Book of the Month<br />
Forums members review books from the present day as well as older works, usually, but not always, from within<br />
Ripperology.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 21
Weekly Caption Contest<br />
Each week members would provide a caption to a photo provided by any number of Forums members. The most<br />
popular non-Ripper area of the boards, its still going strong. Steve 'String' Moore has been a valuable contributor<br />
to the WCC.<br />
Individual Forums Section<br />
Members may use this section to establish threads on any subject they wish, under their control. Several areas<br />
of case study will attract passionate debate, which often turns into a bar-room brawl. With the Individual Forums<br />
Section, the member can present his viewpoint without any criticism, positive or negative. It is up to the reader<br />
to decide whether the theory has merit or not and ask the thread's creator for permission to participate. It is up<br />
to the thread creator to decide whether he or she wants to engage in discussion on his or her point of view.<br />
Registration Policy<br />
Most websites in any field of endeavor, not just Ripperology, find people usually registering under aliases or<br />
unusual handles. On the Forums, it was decided that we'd register people under their full names to avoid the<br />
silly screen names and spammers. Of the latter pestilence I will give a graphic example as to why our registration<br />
policy is different than almost every site in any field you'll come across. I temporarily lifted the disabling feature<br />
which allowed people to register without any further requirements from management. Within ten minutes, more<br />
than ten spammers had registered. I immediately removed those screen names and disabled the feature. Besides,<br />
unless you are an SPE or CGP, letters to people's names which are familiar to everyone in the field, using one's full<br />
name carries a certain responsibility which I believe manifests itself in how members conduct themselves, if not<br />
all the time, then nearly all.<br />
Points To Ponder<br />
A section of the boards where members vote on the most likely scenario or answer to the question presented<br />
to them. They include retrospective questions such as 'What would you do if you were in charge?' and other<br />
provocative theories.<br />
These are the major site features which stand out in my mind.<br />
Now, on to the major players who have helped build the boards.<br />
JTRForums, it can be said, took it up a major notch when we obtained a copy of the O'Donnell Manuscript, the<br />
never-released 350-page work written in 1959 by British journalist Bernard O'Donnell entitled This Man Was Jack<br />
The Ripper.<br />
The manuscript, which attempts to pin the murders on writer and fantasist Roslyn D'Onston, was made available<br />
through the generous efforts of Andy Aliffe, talented researcher and BBC personality, in October 2006. After<br />
struggling with the technical side of putting the massive work on the boards, it finally appeared in the latter part<br />
of October and early November of the same year. This was the first major step in the rise of JTRForums.<br />
Other individuals who helped the Forums getting established include researcher and asylum history expert Mark<br />
Davis of Bradford. Mr Davis helped me in acquiring some otherwise inaccessible sources. Stewart Evans provided<br />
scans of hundreds of his personal files which have been of importance to researchers in that the documents he<br />
shared would otherwise not have been seen and therefore not used in future books and articles. Mike Covell,<br />
whose efforts in the area of D'Onston-related research have been instrumental in making the site the foremost<br />
repository of D'Onston-related material anywhere.<br />
Recently added members to the cadre like Jerry Dunlop, Anna Morris, Gary Barnett and Sean Crundall, have<br />
augmented the Forums with their approach, intelligence and insights, which combined with Rob Clack, Mark<br />
Ripper, Tom Wescott, Chris Phillips and others make the Forums an ideal place for researcher participation.<br />
Newcomers are always welcome, some of whom have taken the bull by the horns and entrenched themselves on<br />
the boards.<br />
Above all, if there was a Most Valuable Ripperologist award, that would go to Debra Arif, whose name is<br />
synonymous with Ripperological research. There isn't enough time to list her Forums contributions on LeGrand,<br />
Brodie, D'Onston etc, to name but a few, and help in acquiring new sources and helpful assistance in numerous<br />
other capacities.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 22
I've been focused on newspapers for the past eight years almost entirely as a result of a fortuitous 3:00am chat<br />
room conversation with the late, great Chris Scott. Chris discussed his experiences as a newspaper trawler and<br />
put the fire and passion back into a researcher at the crossroads (me) who wasn't sure which road he would take<br />
in Ripperology.<br />
One area in which the Forums needs to step up is exposure. We aren't as visible as Casebook is, although we're<br />
usually mentioned in the credits of recent book releases, far more often than not. That will be an area I need to<br />
shore up on during the next ten years. I had tried to institute a JTR 's.i.g.' ( special interest group) in MENSA, even<br />
rejoining to do so, but that didn't shape up as planned. Word of mouth is fine, but to reach younger people and<br />
other curious civilians, I need to do more.<br />
Most of the active Forums members (numbers fluctuate from 106 to 96 active) are authors... all of the current<br />
Forums Moderators (myself, Nina Brown, Tim Mosley, Robert Anderson and Jon Rees... not to forget former<br />
Moderators Jules Rosenthal, Mike Covell, and Adam Went) have had their written work published in one or more<br />
of the Ripper magazines. Jon Rees and I handle JTRForums on YouTube, while Robert Anderson, Jon and myself<br />
handle the Forums on Facebook. We're an active group of people, not just a bunch o' pretty faces.<br />
As to future goals, it's our desire and my priority to keep JTRForums at the forefront of current developments...<br />
making sure the membership and the people who depend on the Forums for Ripper news get it almost as soon as it<br />
happens. In today's world, we have an extraordinary advantage over the pioneers in Ripperology, in that we have<br />
instant, on-the-spot capabilities to relay information in a manner few thought technologically possible. We're<br />
trying to make sure we take advantage of that ability. The reader should look in every day to see what's new in<br />
our fast moving field.<br />
I am very grateful to each and every member of the Forums, past and present. I hope our collective relationship<br />
will continue for many years ahead.<br />
I appreciate the opportunity afforded me to share this information with Ripperologist magazine's readership.<br />
Should you decide to become involved with the Forums, contact me at your leisure at one of these two addresses:<br />
howard@jtrforums.com or donston1888@aol.com.<br />
Thank you.<br />
Howard Brown<br />
Proprietor, JTRForums.Com<br />
Eagleville, Pennsylvania<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 23
From the Archives<br />
Sweated London<br />
by George R Sims<br />
From Living London, Vol I (1901)<br />
One would have thought that the meaning of the word "sweating" as applied to work was<br />
sufficiently obvious. But when "the Sweating System" was inquired into by the Committee of the<br />
House of Lords, the meaning became suddenly involved. As a matter of fact the sweater was<br />
originally a man who kept his people at work for long hours. A schoolboy who "sweats" for his<br />
examination studies for many hours beyond his usual working day. The schoolboy meaning of the<br />
word was originally the trade meaning.<br />
But of late years the sweating system has come to mean an unhappy combination of long hours and low pay.<br />
"The sweater's den" is a workshop - often a dwelling room as well - in which, under the most unhealthy conditions,<br />
men and women toil for from sixteen to eighteen hours a day for a wage barely sufficient to keep body and soul<br />
together.<br />
The sweating svstem, as far as London is<br />
concerned, exists chiefly at the East End, but<br />
it flourishes also in the West, notably in Soho,<br />
where the principal "sweating trade," tailoring,<br />
is now largely carried on. Let us visit the East<br />
End first, for here we can see the class which<br />
has largely contributed to the evil - the destitute<br />
foreign Jew - place his alien foot for the first time<br />
upon the free soil of England.<br />
Some of the steamers arrive in St Katharine's<br />
Docks, and the immigrants - principally Russian,<br />
Polish, and Roumanian Jews - have the advantage<br />
of stepping straight from the ship in which they<br />
have been cooped up for two days and two nights<br />
under conditions which, if it be rough weather,<br />
cannot be conducive to comfort.<br />
Many of them, especially those who have come<br />
from Russia, have already been despoiled of the<br />
little money they had. At the frontier they are<br />
sometimes detained for two or even three days, in order that they may be robbed by harpies in collusion with<br />
certain subordinate officials. In some cases a man when he asks for a ticket at<br />
the frontier railway station is refused by the booking clerk. He is told that tickets<br />
can only be issued to emigrants through an agent. The agent then introduces<br />
himself, and on one plea or another succeeds in invoking the immigrant in<br />
expenses which leave him with scarcely a rouble in his pocket at the journey's<br />
end.<br />
If he escapes the foreign harpies the immigrant is not even safe when he<br />
has reached London. Men, frequently of his own faith and country, wait for<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 24
him outside the docks, and because he is ignorant and<br />
friendless in a strange land, and speaks only his own<br />
language, seize upon him and convey him to a shark's<br />
boarding house, and keep him there on some pretence or<br />
other until he is penniless. Then the "shark" lends him a<br />
few shillings on his luggage, and when that is gone turns<br />
him into the street with only the clothes he stands up in.<br />
That is how hundreds of Jewish immigrants commence<br />
their career as units in the densely-packed population of<br />
East London and begin "to look for work" destitute.<br />
The Jewish community, fully aware of these evils,<br />
does its best to guard against them. They have agents<br />
who meet every boat, and, addressing the poor aliens<br />
in their own language, help them to get their scanty<br />
belongings from the docks, and advise and direct them<br />
as to lodgings and homes and shelters where they will be<br />
honestly dealt with.<br />
Let us meet a ship from Hamburg, laden with men and<br />
women who will presently be working in the dens of the<br />
sweaters.<br />
It is a pouring wet day. The rain is coming down in<br />
torrents, and one has to wade through small lakes and<br />
rivulets of mud to reach the narrow pathway leading to<br />
Irongate Stairs, where the immigrant passengers of the<br />
vessel lying at anchor in the Thames are to land. This is a<br />
river steamer, and so the wretched immigrants are taken<br />
off in small boats and rowed to the steps. Look at them,<br />
the men thin and hungry-eyed, the women with their<br />
heads bare and only a thin shawl over their shoulders,<br />
the children terrified by the swaying of the boat that lies off waiting to land when the other boats have discharged<br />
their load!<br />
What must these people feel as they get their first glimpse of London? All they can see is a blurred and blotted<br />
line of wharves and grim buildings, and when at last they land it is in a dark archway crowded with loafers and<br />
touts all busily trying to confuse them, to seize their luggage, almost fighting to get possession of it.<br />
Fortunately Mr Somper, the Superintendent of the Poor Jews' Temporary Shelter, is here also. As the scared<br />
and shivering foreigners step ashore he speaks to them either in Yiddish or Lettish, and finds out if they have an<br />
address to go to. Most of them have something written on a piece of paper which they produce creased and soiled<br />
from a pocket. It is the address of a friend or relative, or of a boarding-house. Others have no idea where they<br />
are going. Many, asked what money they have, confess to twenty or thirty shillings as their entire fortune. Others<br />
at once begin to unfold a tale of robbery at the frontier, and moan that they have scarcely anything. These are<br />
at once taken charge of and housed in the shelter until their friends can be found for them. For most of them<br />
have friends "somewhere." It may be a brother, it may be only a fellow townsman or fellow villager, who came to<br />
London years ago. In the shelter they are taken care of with their money and their "baggage" until their friends<br />
can be communicated with or employment obtained.<br />
Here, stepping from the boat, are two young Germans. They are going on to America. Here are two Russians<br />
in long coats, high boots, and peaked caps. These also are for America. But the rest of the pale, anxious, and<br />
dishevelled crowd are for London. This Russian lad, still wearing the red embroidered shirt of his Fatherland,<br />
has been sent for by his brother, a tailor. This young fellow with a wife and two children has nowhere to go. He<br />
has come to escape military service and to look for work. Under the dark archway, wet and miserable, there is a<br />
crowd of sixty-four men, women, and children huddled together gesticulating and shrieking, and always in mortal<br />
terror that some unauthorised person is going to lay hands on the little bundles and sacks which contain their all.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 25
The nervous hysteria of a downtrodden people escaped<br />
from bondage is writ large in the high-pitched voices. Some<br />
of the women speak in a scream. Some of the men, disputing<br />
as to the payment of the sixpence demanded by the boatman,<br />
yell and shout as though they were Iunatics in a padded cell.<br />
Two English policemen, stolid and self-possessed, listen<br />
to the complaints poured into their ears in half a dozen<br />
languages and say nothing. When I explain to one that a<br />
gesticulating Pole wants to give the boatman into custody for<br />
refusing to give up his bundle without the sixpence is paid,<br />
the policeman grins and says, "Lor now, does he?" A young<br />
Roumanian Jewess, with two crying children clinging to her<br />
skirts, asks me a question in a voice that sounds as though<br />
she was calling down the vengeance of Heaven upon me. But<br />
Mr Somper comes to the rescue. She is asking me if I know<br />
somebody with an impossible name. He is her cousin and<br />
came to London last June with 172 other Roumanian Jews<br />
driven out by the action of the Government.<br />
But presently the shouting and gesticulating cease. A covered cart is driven up to the entrance of the archway.<br />
In this the aliens, directed by an agent, proceed to pile their scanty luggage. A few will not trust their bundles<br />
out of their own hands, and carry them. The cart starts, the men, women and children fall into procession, and<br />
then move slowly off, tramping in the mud and slush of the roadway through the pouring rain. I forget that I am in<br />
London. This melancholy file of men and women carries me to Siberia. With their faces woe-begone, their heads<br />
bent, they appear more like a gang of convicts marching to the mines than free men and women making their<br />
first acquaintance with the capital of the British Empire, in which they are henceforward to dwell and earn their<br />
living. For the bulk of the people I have introduced you to, these scantily-clad, almost penniless Russians, Poles,<br />
and Roumanians, will presently be working as tailors and boot-makers in the den of the sweater. Some of the men<br />
have handicrafts, but the majority will be taken on as "greeners," or beginners.<br />
It is the Sunday morning following the arrival of the immigrants at whose disembarkation we assisted. We are<br />
in Goulston Street, Whitechapel. To the man of the West the scene is like a weekday fair. Everywhere are stalls<br />
and hawkers, and business at the shops is in full swing. Even the money changer's close at hand is open, and the<br />
clerks sit at their open ledgers. Half way down Goulston Street stands a group of shabby, careworn, silent men.<br />
Foreigners every one of them, you can see at a glance. They are mostly tailors who want a change of masters, but<br />
among them are several of their "friends," new<br />
arrivals who have as yet failed to find work.<br />
Presently a man approaches. He has a little<br />
book in his hand. Some of the men recognise<br />
him, and the group falls into an attitude of<br />
expectancy. The alien slaves of labour have<br />
assembled in the slave market to pass into<br />
bondage. The man with the book is the slave<br />
dealer. He looks the group over, then calls out<br />
in Yiddish the special kind of workers that he<br />
is in need of. As he calls the men who answer<br />
his requirements hold up their hands. He says<br />
a few words to them and enters their names in<br />
his book. They will follow him presently to his<br />
"den." If he wants "greeners" he turns to the<br />
new arrivals. He selects three or four. Then<br />
he tells one of the men who know his place to<br />
take the "gang" with him. The slaves fall in and<br />
slouch away silently to their new bondage.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 26
We have seen the sweater engaging his hands in the slave market. Let<br />
us follow them to the den. But first it will be as well to remove a false<br />
impression with regard to the sweater himself. He is not always the wealthy<br />
spider sucking the life-blood from the flies he has caught in his web. He is<br />
not a gorgeous Hebrew with diamond rings and a big cigar. He is frequently<br />
a worker also, a man sweating because he is himself sweated. His one<br />
advantage is that he generally knows the whole of his trade. That is to say<br />
he can, if he is a tailor, make the whole of a garment; if he is a bootmaker,<br />
a complete pair of boots. The foreigners who come to be sweated generally<br />
make one part only of the article they work at. They learn that one portion<br />
of the process and no other. In this they differ from an Englishman, who, if<br />
he does tailoring, is a tailor. The foreign tailors represent not trained labour<br />
but unskilled labour; very few of them could make a complete article.<br />
There are, according to a witness before the House of Lords Committee,<br />
twenty-five subdivisions of labour in the sweating trade in making a suit of<br />
clothes.<br />
There are more than two thousand sweaters in the East of London.<br />
Some have workshops, others use their own dwelling rooms. Let us enter<br />
a "dwelling" workshop. It is a room nine feet square. In it fourteen people<br />
are at work. There is a coke fire, and seven or eight gas jets are burning.<br />
Ventilation there is none. The sweater is at work himself. Hollow-eyed, gaunt-visaged men and women are toiling<br />
in various ways. Some have a sewing machine, others are doing handwork. It is evening when we enter. The poor<br />
wretches have been at work since six o'clock in the morning. They will go on probably till midnight, for it is the<br />
season, and the sweater has his hands full. The wages these poor foreigners can earn by their ceaseless toil<br />
will perhaps be eighteen shillings at the week's end. For that they will work on Sunday also. All the gold of the<br />
Rothschilds could not tempt us to stay an hour in this place, for life is sweeter than gold. Let us hurry out into<br />
the air.<br />
Here is another den. In this boot-making is going on. The men are mostly "greeners" who have been hired in<br />
the slave market. It is a double room knocked into one. In this ten men, and a man and his wife and six children<br />
work and sleep.<br />
The Russian "greener" lies on next to nothing. A cup of tea and a herring are frequently all the food he will have<br />
in the twenty-four hours. How can he afford more on the starvation wages he receives from the sweater? Not<br />
long ago a Russian who appeared before the Sweating Committee said he had that week worked from 6.30a.m.<br />
to 2.30a.m. on the following day with only one hour for dinner. He worked harder in London than in Warsaw and<br />
made less. But the emigration agent had painted London as a land of gold and tempted him to invest all he had<br />
in the world in a ticket.<br />
The struggle is sometimes even too terrific for a Russian jew. Recently a young "greener" hanged himself. He<br />
had brought his newly-wedded wife from Russia to London, thinking he would get a living. He learnt boot finishing<br />
and earned 12s to 15s a week. To earn £1 a week twenty-two hours he would have to work twenty-two hours out<br />
of the twenty-four. At the inquest it was proved that he had tried to do this and his brain had given way. In a fit<br />
of madness and despair he hanged himself in the room he occupied with his young wife.<br />
There are various other sweating trades carried on East, and West, such as furriery, shirtmaking, mantle-making,<br />
and dressmaking. In the West tailoring and dressmaking are the sweated trades. Here the work is irregular. Half<br />
the year the men and girls are unemployed, the other half they are working night and day.<br />
English girls are occasionally sweated at the West in the dressmaking and millinery by wealthy Christian<br />
employers. With the blinds drawn and the workrooms apparently closed for the day dressmakers work on long<br />
beyond the hours allowed by the Factory Acts during the season. Sometimes the inspector gets wind of what is<br />
going on and makes a sudden descent on the premises. Then all is consternation. Madame is summoned, and<br />
puts the blame on duchesses who want the dresses in a hurry. The Factory Act applies to these workrooms, and<br />
consequently the condition of things is far better than in the East End dens. There the Factory Inspector can only<br />
enter on a warrant, because the bulk of the dens are in dwelling-houses. The sanitary inspector can enter, but the<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 27
only result of his occasional interference is that the sweater makes promises which he never performs. Many of<br />
the crying evils of the sweating system would be redressed if the factory and the Sanitary Inspectors had greater<br />
powers and worked more harmoniously together.<br />
In the West End the laundry women are "sweated," and in the small or hand laundries the conditions and the<br />
hours are as bad as can be. The cabinet trade has its own sweaters' dens in the homes of the "garret masters," and<br />
here again the sweaters and the victims are largely aliens.<br />
This is but a brief glance at Sweated London. But it may suffice to bring home to the reader some of the<br />
pressing problems of the day. Is it right that in our England we should permit a trade which is little better than the<br />
importation of foreign slaves? For you must remember that though some of these people come with a fair chance<br />
of bettering themselves, and do in many cases succeed, and in process of time become owners of property and<br />
employers of labour - generally the property is bad and the labour is sweated - yet a vast number are lured to this<br />
country by the misrepresentations of interested parties.<br />
Arguments are constantlv adduced on both sides of the question. Parliamentary Committees have gathered<br />
evidence on "Sweating;" the friends of the alien worker have come forward to proclaim his usefulness to the State<br />
and to the community. Between friend and foe Time will eventually pronounce judgment.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 28
From the Casebooks of<br />
a Murder House Detective<br />
Murder Houses of Ramsgate<br />
By JAN BONDESON<br />
The Ramsgate Society has published<br />
a short pamphlet about ‘Blue Plaques<br />
in Ramsgate’: houses in that town<br />
where famous people had once been<br />
staying. Viscount Wellesley lived at<br />
No. 1 Chatham Place, Charles Darwin<br />
at No. 8 Paragon, and Wilkie Collins<br />
at No. 14 Nelson Crescent and No. 27<br />
Wellington Crescent. Samuel Taylor<br />
Coleridge lodged with a certain<br />
Dr Gillman, who was treating him<br />
for his addiction to opium, at No.<br />
3 Wellington Crescent. It is not<br />
generally known that Vincent van<br />
Gogh taught school at No. 6 Royal<br />
Road for a while in 1876, and lodged<br />
A general view of Ramsgate, a postcard stamped and posted in 1905<br />
at No. 11 Spencer Square. Karl Marx<br />
stayed at No. 62 Plains of Waterloo for a while in 1879, to be near his eldest daughter Jenny, who<br />
lived at No. 6 Artillery Road and gave birth to a baby there. Ripperologists will appreciate that<br />
Major General Sir Charles Warren was a Ramsgate resident between 1901 and 1914, living at No.<br />
10 Wellington Crescent.<br />
Historically, Ramsgate has never been known as a hotbed of crime, but over the years, the Thanet fishing metropolis<br />
has been the site of a number of celebrated murders, several of them unsolved. This article will tell the story of the<br />
‘Black Plaques in Ramsgate’: the still remaining houses where the most famous Ramsgate murders took place.<br />
In the Footsteps of Stephen Forwood, 1866<br />
Stephen Forwood was born in St Lawrence, Kent, in 1829. He was apprenticed to a Ramsgate baker, and spent his<br />
youth in hard graft and honest toil. The 1851 Census lists him as a journeyman baker, apprenticed to the master baker<br />
Richard Woodbury. In the early 1850s, he took a baker’s shop in King Street, and in 1854, he married Mary Ann Edwards.<br />
They had a daughter named Emily. Stephen Forwood went bankrupt in the mid-1850s, however, and all his property was<br />
sold for the benefit of his creditors. Undeterred by this calamity, he left his wife and child and went to London to start<br />
a new life. He called himself Ernest Walter Southey, and worked as a commission agent, or a writer in a law office. He<br />
had an affair with a certain Mrs Maria White, who gave birth to three children fathered by him, at a time when she was<br />
still living with her husband William White, a Holborn schoolmaster.<br />
In the 1860s, Stephen Forwood mixed in London society, making use of the name Southey to prevent his Ramsgate wife<br />
from tracking him down and demanding maintenance money for her daughter. He was living in sin with Mrs White, who had<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 29
left her husband, and tried various stratagems to get rich quick. He wanted to become an author, and submitted several<br />
articles to All the Year Round, but Charles Dickens rejected them. A useful billiards player, he became a professional<br />
gambler, frequenting various billiard rooms and challenging other players to matches, for a bet. He claimed that he had<br />
once won £1,000 from the Hon Mr Dudley Ward, the younger brother of the Earl of Dudley, but the thoughtless young<br />
man could not pay, and the Earl refused to settle the debt, to teach his brother a lesson about his gambling habits. This<br />
setback preyed on Stephen Forwood’s mind, and he spent much time trying to extract the money from the wealthy Earl.<br />
When he sent Mrs White to negotiate with Lord Dudley on his behalf, she was forcibly ejected from his residence; she<br />
summoned his Lordship before the Bench at Worcester for assault, but the complaint was dismissed by the magistrates.<br />
Forwood wrote begging letters to Lord Palmerston, Mr Gladstone, Sir Richard Mayne and various Members of Parliament,<br />
but without much success, although Lord Russell once gave him £1.<br />
In 1865, Stephen Forwood seemed to be losing his reason altogether. Money was running out, and he was living in<br />
the direst poverty. The flighty Mrs White was threatening to leave him, and go to Australia with her children. He spoke<br />
confusedly about the £1,000 he was owed, and threatened that if the debt was not paid, he would commit suicide,<br />
murder Lord Dudley, or commit some great and horrible crime. People did not take him seriously, but on 7 August, he<br />
turned up at the Star Coffee-House in Red Lion Street, Holborn, bringing with him his three illegitimate sons Henry,<br />
Thomas and Alexander, aged between ten and six years. He booked two rooms for the children, and said that he would<br />
be back to fetch them the following morning. When<br />
he did not turn up, the keeper of the coffee-house<br />
went up to see the three little boys. He found them<br />
all dead, poisoned with prussic acid.<br />
Red Lion Street, Holborn, as it looks today, showing the old houses at No. 25-27<br />
In the meantime, the desperado Stephen Forwood<br />
had travelled post-haste to Ramsgate, to settle the<br />
score with his estranged wife. Her reaction when her<br />
long-lost husband turned up out of the blue has not<br />
been recorded. Mary Ann Forwood had faced hard<br />
times after he had deserted her, but a certain Mr Ellis<br />
had helped her, and she lodged in his house at No.<br />
38 King Street. Demanding to speak to his wife and<br />
daughter alone, Stephen Forwood shot them both<br />
dead, once Mr Ellis had left the room. He did not try to<br />
escape, and was promptly arrested and brought before<br />
the magistrates. He freely confessed to murdering<br />
the three children in the Holborn coffee-house, and<br />
seemed quite proud to have exterminated his entire<br />
family. The reason for the five-fold murder was that<br />
he could no longer maintain his children, he said, due<br />
to the conduct of Lord Dudley, Lord Palmerston, Sir<br />
Richard Mayne, and various other personages, whose<br />
names he could mention. Rather surprisingly given<br />
his extraordinary conduct, Stephen Forwood was<br />
considered sane and fit to stand trial, which he did at<br />
the Maidstone Assizes. He was found guilty, sentenced<br />
to death, and hanged on 11 January 1866, the last<br />
person to be publicly executed at Maidstone Gaol. 1<br />
The former site of No. 21 Red Lion Street<br />
1 On Stephen Forwood, see NA MEPO 3/79; A. Grey,<br />
Crime and Criminals in Victorian Kent (Gillingham<br />
1985), 18-24, R. Ingleton, Kent Murder & Mayhem<br />
(Barnsley 2008), M. Charlton in Bygone Kent July-Nov<br />
2010 and mcharlton.blogspot.co.uk, entry 19 August<br />
2011; contemporary newspapers.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 30
As for murder house detection aspects on the fivefold murderer<br />
Stephen Forwood, the complete address of the Star Coffee-<br />
House in Red Lion Street was not published in the contemporary<br />
newspapers. The keeper of the coffee-house was named as Mr<br />
Henry Clifford, however, and a person of that name is listed as<br />
the proprietor of “coffee rooms, 21 Red Lion Street” in the 1865<br />
Post Office Directory of London. The police file on the Forwood<br />
case verifies this address. There are some remaining Georgian<br />
houses in Red Lion Street, but alas! the murder house has gone,<br />
buried underneath a large modern monstrosity. Nos. 25, 26 and<br />
27 Red Lion Street survive in good order, and they probably give<br />
an idea of what the old coffee-house at No. 21 once looked like.<br />
Having narrowly failed to add a historic Holborn house to the<br />
still standing Murder Houses of London, it was time to follow in<br />
the footsteps of Stephen Forwood, and board the fast train to<br />
Ramsgate from St Pancras, to ‘detect’ the murder house there.<br />
There has been discord among earlier writers concerning the<br />
situation of the Forwood murder house in King Street, Ramsgate.<br />
Mr Roy Ingleton, in Kent Murder & Mayhem, puts it at No. 77<br />
King Street, and reproduces a photograph of the ramshackle<br />
old house. Mr Martin Charlton, who wrote about the Ramsgate<br />
mass murderer in Bygone Kent magazine of 2010, put the murder<br />
house at No. 61 King Street, although he changed the number to<br />
No. 38 in a later Internet account. The number of the Ramsgate<br />
murder house is not recorded in the Stephen Forwood police file,<br />
but two independent contemporary newspaper accounts put it The late Victorian house at No. 38 King Street, Ramsgate<br />
at No. 38 King Street. There is a No. 38 King Street today, with<br />
the ‘Super King Pizza’ fast food outlet on the ground floor, and<br />
two upper floors. It looks rather late Victorian in character, however, and it is very questionable whether it represents<br />
the proper murder house from 1865, particularly since King Street has some houses that are undoubtedly Georgian in<br />
character.<br />
The Ramsgate Mystery, 1893<br />
William Noel was born in 1860 and became a journeyman butcher in Whitechapel, before moving on to Southsea.<br />
Here he met Miss Sarah Dinah Saunders, a woman of independent means who ran a lodging-house. Although Sarah Dinah<br />
was ten years older than the sturdy, bearded young butcher, they began ‘walking out’, and married in 1878. After some<br />
debate whether to stay in Southsea, or perhaps move to London, Noel made use of his wife’s money to purchase a<br />
butcher’s shop at No. 9 Adelphi Terrace, Grange Road, Ramsgate. The butcher’s shop had a large display window to the<br />
front, and a smaller window to an alley on the side. Behind the shop was a small sitting room, with a door to the side,<br />
and another door to the kitchen and scullery. A small yard separated the house from the stables and workshops where<br />
Noel and his assistants butchered various animals, and prepared their meat for sale.<br />
Initially, William Noel’s butcher’s shop met with difficulties, and he had to borrow £150 from his wife’s father to keep<br />
it running. A steady, industrious man, Noel worked hard to make his business a success, travelling into the countryside<br />
to buy livestock, and employing two journeymen and a lad. The borrowed £150 was soon repaid, and Noel was able to<br />
save some money. The two Noels were very respectable people, and pillars of Ramsgate lower-middle-class society. They<br />
were strict Wesleyans, and active members of their church community. There was of course gossip about this out-oftown<br />
childless couple, with the husband being ten years younger than the wife, but although mischievous people were<br />
whispering that William Noel was fond of chasing the country lasses when he was out buying livestock, the two Noels<br />
appeared to be getting along perfectly well.<br />
On the afternoon of Sunday, 14 May 1893, everything seemed perfectly normal in the Noel household. After having<br />
had his luncheon, William Noel sat in the downstairs parlour and read through the lessons, since he was a society steward<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 31
The murder shop, and portraits of the main players in the Ramsgate Mystery,<br />
from the Illustrated Police News, 27 May 1893<br />
at the St Lawrence Wesleyan Sunday School. The Noels had a servant girl named Nelly Wilson, but she was given Sunday<br />
afternoon off. Sarah Dinah Noel counted the morning’s collection from church, which amounted to ten shillings, and<br />
went to lock the money away. At around 2.15 pm, William Noel went off to the Sunday school, leaving his wife behind<br />
in the company of the family dog Nip, a large and sturdy black retriever. Nip was something of a disreputable dog, who<br />
had savaged a number of smaller dogs, and bit one or two children as well. His guarding instinct was in good working<br />
order, and when a man had tried a retrieve a chair he had deposited in the Noels’ back yard, the angry and powerful<br />
Nip had kept him out.<br />
At 2.20 pm, the neighbour Lavinia Squires saw William Noel walking past her house on his way to the Sunday school.<br />
He arrived there at 2.25 and took part in the teaching until 3.45 pm, being observed by many people, and behaving<br />
just like he usually did. When leaving the Sunday school, he was accompanied home by some of his pupils, enjoying a<br />
theological debate with these juvenile Wesleyans. When he knocked at the door at No. 9 Adelphi Terrace, there was no<br />
response, although he could hear the dog barking. Noel went to see some of his neighbours, and with some difficulty, he<br />
entered the back yard and forced open the parlour window. Sarah Dinah Noel was lying on the floor in a pool of blood,<br />
quite dead and with a bullet wound to the head. The dog Nip was keeping vigil next to the corpse.<br />
The murder house had been ransacked for money, and the cash-box had been broken into and its contents stolen.<br />
The murdered woman was wearing five rings and a watch and chain, but these had not been touched. Chief Constable<br />
Bush and Inspector Ross were soon at the scene, to take charge of the murder investigation. They found it curious that<br />
although the dog Nip was considered to be of a ferocious disposition, none of the immediate neighbours had heard<br />
any barking from the house. Mrs Noel had been shot at close range, the bullet passing through the head and killing her<br />
instantly. When a party of five police constables was detailed to search the murder house, Inspector Ross gave them two<br />
bottles of beer from Noel’s cellar for them to be in good cheer. At the coroner’s inquest on Sarah Dinah Noel, the dog<br />
Nip was exhibited in court: he showed no appearance of ferocity, but wagged his tail amiably and made friends with<br />
some of the bystanders. Nelly Wilson, the servant girl employed by the Noels, had never heard her master and mistress<br />
utter an angry word at each other. The day of the murder, they had both appeared exactly as usual. The dog Nip was in<br />
fact quite timid, she said, and sometimes retreated into the corner of the room on hearing an unusual noise. She had to<br />
admit, however, that the dog had once flown at her and bitten her hard. William Noel himself was grilled at length by the<br />
coroner and the jury: his wife had been alive and well when he left for the Sunday school; he had never possessed any<br />
firearm and did not understand their use; his wife’s life had not been insured. An important witness was Mrs Sarah Dyer,<br />
the wife of a chemist who lived not far from Noel’s shop: at 2.45 pm the afternoon of the murder, she had heard Noel’s<br />
dog bark and growl, and then a loud report. The dog ceased barking once the shot had been fired, but recommenced at<br />
around 4 pm, when Noel was returning home.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 32
Inspector Ross decided to try a few<br />
experiments to investigate whether<br />
the dog Nip was gun-shy. The results<br />
were wildly divergent: when a blank<br />
revolver shot was fired, the dog<br />
merely wagged his tail, but when an<br />
alka-seltzer bottle was opened with<br />
a pop, the timid canine yelped with<br />
fear and ran out into the yard. At the<br />
coroner’s inquest, Dr Fox testified that<br />
the assailant had probably stood just<br />
four feet away when he shot Mrs Noel;<br />
the bullet was a large one, probably<br />
emanating from a revolver or pistol of<br />
large calibre. Rigor mortis had begun<br />
to set in when the body was at the<br />
mortuary at 7.30, indicating that she<br />
had been murdered five or six hours<br />
earlier. A number of witnesses swore<br />
to the impressive alibi of William Noel<br />
between 2.20 and 4.00 pm: he had been<br />
seen by many people walking to the<br />
Sunday school, looking quite jolly and<br />
contented, and later returning home<br />
accompanied by some of his pupils.<br />
Miss Martha Saunders, the spinster<br />
sister of Mrs Noel, produced a letter,<br />
written in the last month, in which the<br />
deceased had referred to her husband:<br />
“William, I think, if possible, is more<br />
fond of me than ever.” Two days before<br />
the murder, when the two sisters<br />
had been at Hastings, Mrs Noel had<br />
expressed herself in a similar strain.<br />
There was much newspaper interest<br />
in the ‘Ramsgate Mystery’, which held<br />
its own among the celebrated murders<br />
of the day, even in the large London<br />
newspapers. A worried local, who<br />
despaired of the Ramsgate police’s<br />
ability to solve the crime, appealed to<br />
Dr Conan Doyle to come to Ramsgate<br />
Mrs Noel and the dog Nip, and Noel before the magistrates,<br />
from the Penny Illustrated Paper, 10 June 1893<br />
and make use of his Holmesian powers of deduction, but all he received was a polite reply that Conan Doyle was too<br />
busy with his professional duties to have time for any seaside crime-solving excursions.<br />
But Inspector Ross did not agree with this benign picture of William Noel. Since a number of valuables had been left<br />
at the murder house, he felt convinced that the robbery had been ‘staged’ by the murderer. Since Mrs Noel did not seem<br />
to have any enemies, and since the dog had not barked much at the time of the murder, he thought William Noel the<br />
prime suspect: he had shot his wife just before leaving for the Sunday school, and then successfully played the innocent<br />
husband. Inspector Ross lent a willing ear to the Ramsgate gossips who spoke of Noel’s immoral activities. The lustful<br />
butcher had once employed a young lady book-keeper named Miss Miller, and an old woman had once seen these two in<br />
a compromising position, lying together on the floor. A farm labourer had once met Noel, who was coming to purchase<br />
some lambs; he had been accompanied by a young woman, for whom he gathered a bunch of wild flowers. Several other<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 33
Ribald drawings showing Noel wooing his lady friends, and the haughty dog Nip snubbing his imprisoned master,<br />
from the Illustrated Police News, 1 July 1893<br />
rustic witnesses had also seen Noel<br />
chasing the lasses when out in the<br />
countryside purchasing livestock. The<br />
coroner’s inquest returned a verdict of<br />
murder against some person or persons<br />
unknown, but nevertheless, Inspector<br />
Ross decided to act decisively. At the<br />
end of the inquest, he arrested Noel<br />
and brought him before the Ramsgate<br />
Magistrates, charged with murdering his<br />
wife.<br />
In long and gruelling examinations,<br />
the magistrates put William Noel under<br />
considerable pressure. He vehemently<br />
denied having murdered his wife,<br />
and called the Almighty as a witness<br />
as to his innocence. The Ramsgate<br />
Wesleyans showed praiseworthy loyalty<br />
to Noel, pointing out that he was a<br />
very respectable tradesman, who had<br />
promised to subscribe £50 for a new<br />
chapel at St Lawrence. Noel was allowed<br />
to have his meals sent to him in his cell,<br />
brought by his niece Alice Simmons;<br />
the dog Nip sometimes accompanied<br />
her, but this extraordinary dog is said<br />
to have shown the utmost indifference<br />
to the plight of its master. A number of<br />
witnesses told all about the immoral<br />
butcher’s many young lady friends,<br />
and a treacherous Wesleyan testified<br />
that Noel had once been accused of<br />
indecently interfering with one of his Sunday school pupils, although he had indignantly denied this offence at the<br />
time. When cross-examined, Inspector Ross declared himself convinced “that the alleged robbery was a bogus one, and<br />
Noel the author thereof.” Defending William Noel, Mr Hills deplored that “The whole country had been scoured to find<br />
something against the prisoner’s moral character, and it was a monstrous thing that a man should be branded in this<br />
way for incidents in his career which had nothing to do with the alleged offence under notice.” There was no motive for<br />
Noel to murder his wife, and the police would have been well advised to track down the intruder, and find the murder<br />
weapon, instead of listening to malicious gossip about his client. But the outcome of the magisterial inquiry was that<br />
Noel was committed to stand trial for murder at the Maidstone Assizes.<br />
When charging the Grand Jury at Maidstone, Mr Justice Grantham paid particular attention to the Noel case. He<br />
boldly declared that the evidence against William Noel was wholly inadequate. Indeed, “In the whole course of his<br />
experience he had never met with a case in which there was, on the part of the prosecution, so much incompetence,<br />
impropriety, and illegality. During the sixteen days the case was before the Magistrates there was not adduced more<br />
evidence than might be compressed into one small piece of paper.” The police had been guilty of vastly exaggerating<br />
the case against Noel, and the gullible magistrates had willingly played along. Of course, it remained possible that Noel<br />
had committed the crime, but his own task was to evaluate the quality of the evidence against him, and the facts of<br />
the case did not at all support the guilt of the Ramsgate butcher. After such an angry juridical tirade from Mr Justice<br />
Grantham, the only action open for the Grand Jury was to throw out the bill against William Noel; the butcher was set<br />
at liberty, and reunited with his niece Alice Simmons and the dog Nip.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 34
The murder house at No. 9 Adelphi Terrace [today No. 20 Grange Road]<br />
as it stands today<br />
There was dismay in Ramsgate when Mr Justice Grantham<br />
and the Grand Jury threw out the bill against William Noel,<br />
and the butcher was set free. Over £50 was subscribed to<br />
a testimonial to Inspector Ross, who had been so severely<br />
criticized by the judge. Local opinion was very much against<br />
William Noel, and he never returned to Ramsgate: the<br />
butcher’s shop was sold, and Noel’s name erased from the shop<br />
front. Did Noel change his name to William Jolly, and did he<br />
open another butcher’s shop in a different part of the country,<br />
and marry another wife; on a quiet Sunday afternoon, did he<br />
sit contentedly in his parlour, having a swig from his tankard<br />
of beer, and giving the dog Nip a nice meaty bone? Or did<br />
he become William Furtive, a Ramsgate Ahasverus wandering<br />
from town to town pursued by his notoriety, accompanied only<br />
by the Black Dog of Guilt; and was he fearful that his sinister<br />
companion, the sole witness to the murder of Sarah Dinah<br />
Noel, would one day become a formidable Dog of Montargis,<br />
bent on vengeance for the dead, and devour him?<br />
The evidence against William Noel for murdering his wife<br />
largely rests on the persistent local gossip that he was a<br />
philanderer who indulged in immoral conduct with various<br />
floozies, behind the back of his wife. It may be speculated that he was tired of his much older spouse, and wanted to<br />
get rid of her to be able to remarry and have children. Experienced policemen suspected that the burglary was staged,<br />
and the dog Nip would not appear to have barked at the murderer, perhaps because it was his own master. And would a<br />
burglar have shot the woman dead and allowed the large and powerful dog to live? In defence of William Noel, it must<br />
be pointed out that he had a rock-solid alibi from 2.20 pm, when he was seen walking to the Sunday school, until 3.55<br />
pm, when he was seen returning to No. 9 Adelphi Terrace. If the woman Sarah Dyer, who claimed to have heard the<br />
dog growling and barking at 2.45 pm, and then the report of a shot, was telling the truth, then Noel must be innocent.<br />
Noel did not have a criminal record, he had no access to firearms, and he was not taken in any lie or contradiction by<br />
the police. And what kind of hypocrite would murder his wife in cold blood,<br />
before going to the Sunday school to disseminate his unctuous sentiments<br />
to the wide-eyed scholars? The evidence against William Noel was clearly<br />
not sufficient for him to have been found guilty in a court of law, and Mr<br />
Justice Grantham did the right thing when he threw out the bill against him.<br />
The forthright Judge was also right to criticize the Ramsgate police, who<br />
made their minds up that Noel was guilty from an early stage, and failed<br />
to investigate alternative suspects; quite inexperienced when it came to<br />
investigating mysterious murders, they would have been well advised to<br />
apply for an experienced Scotland Yard detective for assistance.<br />
According to Ramsgate directories from the 1880s, Adelphi Terrace had<br />
originally been a terrace of eight Victorian houses in Grange Road, between<br />
St Mildred’s Road and Edith Road, with shops on the ground floor and two<br />
upper stories. Separated from the others by a small alleyway, No. 9 and<br />
No. 10 were later additions. The houses were later incorporated into the<br />
numbering system for Grange Road, No. 9 Adelphi Terrace becoming No. 20<br />
Grange Road. The former butcher’s shop is today the ‘China City’ takeaway,<br />
but the building looks virtually unchanged since 1893, except that the side<br />
door has been moved to the rear extension. At the bottom of the yard<br />
behind the house, William Noel’s stables still remain, albeit in a dilapidated<br />
condition. 2<br />
2 P MacDougall, Murder and Mystery in Kent (London 1995), 59-84;<br />
contemporary newspapers.<br />
Noel’s stables at the rear of No. 20 Grange Road<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 35
The Strange Case of Samuel Henson, 1903<br />
Samuel Henson was a 59-year-old Ramsgate<br />
man who worked as a ganger for various road and<br />
railway building companies. He had a wife and<br />
two sons, but in 1902, they left him and went<br />
to live in a small terraced house at No. 14 Flora<br />
Road. Samuel Henson, who was an angry, shorttempered<br />
man, did his best to get his family<br />
back, but they did not want anything to do with<br />
him. Henson was quite familiar with explosives,<br />
being occupied with various blasting operations<br />
in his daily activities. At Christmas 1902, Samuel<br />
Henson went to the Ramsgate police to make a<br />
complaint against his wife and son for stealing<br />
some of his property. Police Sergeant Creedy<br />
advised him to make an appeal to the magistrate,<br />
but the truculent Henson, who did not appreciate<br />
his advice, angrily growled “I will settle the job<br />
myself! I will show them all! Blow them all to<br />
Hell!”<br />
On 25 February 1903, Samuel Henson went to<br />
confront his wife and son at No. 14 Flora Road.<br />
A lodger named Wells heard him quarrelling<br />
angrily with his wife. The 20-year-old son<br />
William Henson, who was a footballer playing for<br />
Ramsgate Town FC, stood by to rescue his mother<br />
if the demented Samuel Henson became violent.<br />
“Is this to be the finish!?” roared the furious<br />
navvy, shaking his fists at his wife. “Yes!” replied<br />
Mrs Henson and her son. “Well, then!” exclaimed<br />
Samuel Henson, pulling a large bomb out of his<br />
bag and lighting the fuse! The agile young William<br />
Henson managed to snatch the infernal machine<br />
away, and desperately ran through the kitchen<br />
to throw it into the garden. When he was in the<br />
scullery, the powerful bomb exploded, blasting<br />
him into little pieces and reducing the rear part<br />
of the house to rubble.<br />
William Henson is blown up,<br />
from the Illustrated Police Budget, 7 March 1903<br />
Mrs Gardner, an elderly woman living next doors at No. 12 Flora Road, felt the house shaking and heard the tremendous<br />
explosion. Her own scullery had been damaged by the blast, and when she went to inspect it, she heard a cracked voice<br />
calling for help. She saw that William Henry Wells, the young man who lodged with the Hensons, had been blown straight<br />
out of his bed when the house exploded: dressed only in his nightshirt, he was desperately clinging to a downpipe. Mrs<br />
Gardner let the shaken lodger in through her bedroom window. When a police constable and four neighbours entered<br />
No. 14 Flora Road, the wrecked house was filled by a choking, sulphuric odour. The rear of the house had been entirely<br />
blown away, and the front of the house was full of debris: furniture, pictures, bricks and woodwork thrown about by the<br />
explosion. Samuel Henson was still alive, although he had a wound in the throat. Mrs Henson was pinned against the wall,<br />
underneath an overturned sofa, with deep wounds to her head and throat. After the two Hensons had been removed to<br />
the hospital, on stretchers, the search of No. 14 Flora Road continued. Back in the scullery, the scattered remains of<br />
William Henson were found, amidst much rubble and bricks from the explosion.<br />
A Ramsgate correspondent to the rather disreputable crime weekly Illustrated Police Budget went to have a look at<br />
No. 14 Flora Road the morning after the explosion. Windows were broken in houses within 300 yards from the explosion,<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 36
Portraits in connection with the Ramsgate explosion, from the Illustrated Police News, 7 March 1903<br />
and the knockers had been blown off the front doors of many houses in Flora Road. In the ruined scullery of No. 14, full<br />
of debris from the explosion, a large framed portrait of Queen Victoria rested on a ledge, its glass perfectly unharmed.<br />
Old Mrs Gardener at No. 12 described how she had helped rescue the lodger Wells. Mrs Newby at No. 16 said that at the<br />
time of the explosion, her children had screamed, and she had been too terrified to venture outdoors. She had several<br />
times heard Samuel Henson quarrelling with his wife, who was 14 years younger than him, and accusing her of consorting<br />
with other men when he was away working at the building sites. No. 10 Flora Road had a henhouse in the garden, and the<br />
hens had been blown off their perches by the explosion, the wretched birds remaining on the ground all morning, like<br />
if paralyzed. There was grief among the many friends<br />
of young William Henson, who worked as a bricklayer,<br />
and also in Ramsgate Town football club, where he<br />
was centre-forward in the ‘A’ team. Rather ironically,<br />
William Henson left all his effects, value of £100, to<br />
his father Samuel the railway-ganger. “The Ramsgate<br />
Horror! – Terrible Triple Tragedy! – Attempted Wife<br />
Murder and Suicide! – Heroic Son Killed by Dynamite!”<br />
exclaimed the breathless headline of the Budget,<br />
accompanied by lurid illustrations of the bomb<br />
exploding, and the two injured Hensons found in the<br />
half-destroyed house.<br />
In hospital, Samuel Henson expressed regret that<br />
his son had been killed, and dismay that his wife, the<br />
intended victim of his murderous attack, had survived.<br />
The coroner’s inquest on William Henson returned a<br />
verdict of wilful murder against his father Samuel,<br />
and the Ramsgate desperado was committed to stand<br />
trial at the Kent Assizes at Maidstone on July 18. The<br />
A postcard showing the rear of No. 14 Flora Road, after the explosion<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 37
evidence against him appeared rock solid: he had stolen dynamite<br />
used for blasting stone at his workplace in Derby, made the bomb<br />
and brought it to No. 14 Flora Road to teach his wife a hard<br />
lesson. After young William Henson had run off with the bomb,<br />
Samuel had cut his wife’s throat, and then his own, although he<br />
had been more squeamish in his suicidal ambitions, and caused<br />
only minor injuries. The wife had also survived the attempt on<br />
her life, without permanent injury. On trial, Samuel Henson<br />
claimed that he had bought the dynamite from a man named<br />
Harry Green in Chatham, and brought it to Ramsgate where he<br />
thought it would be needed in his work. When lighting a cigar,<br />
he had misadvertently ignited the fuse of the bomb, and after<br />
accidentally killing his son, he had been so upset that he had cut<br />
his own throat with a knife. He denied attacking or injuring his<br />
wife.<br />
The Ramsgate desperado’s story was not believed, however,<br />
and the man Harry Green could not be tracked down to testify<br />
in court. In his summing-up, Mr Justice Darling said that this was<br />
the first time that Samuel Henson had suggested that his son’s<br />
death had been an accident, and he asked the jury if they could<br />
really accept this explanation. He reminded the jury that if a<br />
person in committing a felony killed some other person than the<br />
one he intended to dispatch, he was still guilty of murder. After<br />
deliberating for just ten minutes, the jury returned a verdict<br />
of ‘Guilty’ and Mr Justice Darling sentenced Henson to death.<br />
Henson was quite unmoved, commenting that he quite approved<br />
of the verdict. After he had attempted to cheat the hangman<br />
through dashing his brains out against the wall of his cell, he<br />
The murder house at No. 14 Flora Road today,<br />
with all scars from the explosion back in 1903 eradicated many years ago<br />
was kept under a strict ‘suicide watch’. The execution was planned for August 4, but Henson received a late reprieve,<br />
the sentence being commuted to imprisonment for life, following the receipt of a petition for clemency, on grounds of<br />
insanity. The murder house at No. 14 Flora Road was repaired after the explosion, and it still stands today. 3<br />
3 Illustrated Police News, 7 March 1903, Illustrated Police Budget 7 March 1903, Dover Express, 17 July 1903, Press 16 July 1903,<br />
Star, 15 July and 12 September 1903.<br />
The Sad Case of Will Pitcher, 1914<br />
Will Pitcher in the dock, from Daily Mail, 21 February 1914<br />
William Hearne Pitcher was born in Ramsgate in 1894.<br />
In 1910 and 1911, he served in the Royal Navy as a ship’s<br />
boy on board HMS Ganges and HMS Leviathan, but since his<br />
disciplinary record was very poor, he was dismissed from the<br />
service. The 1911 Census lists him as a seaman, living at No. 15<br />
Montage Road, Ramsgate [the house still stands]. Will Pitcher<br />
trained as a bricklayer, but he was not the most energetic of<br />
men, and in 1914 he was unemployed. He had a sweetheart,<br />
the 26-year-old laundry maid Alice Brockman, whom he had<br />
been courting for two years. Alice lived with her mother, the<br />
63-year-old widow Sarah Brockman, in the end-of-terrace<br />
cottage at No. 24 Seafield Road, Ramsgate. Sarah Brockman<br />
thought Will Pitcher a very bad hat, unemployed and without<br />
any prospects in life, and not good enough for her daughter.<br />
Will very much resented the spiteful old woman, particularly<br />
since Alice seemed to be quite impressed by her mother’s<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 38
tirades against himself; he was worried that soon, she would<br />
leave him, for good.<br />
On the evening of 18 February 1914, Will Pitcher decided<br />
to act. He made his way to No. 24 Seafield Road, where Sarah<br />
Brockman was unwise enough to let him in. Whether she had<br />
provoked him by one of her sarcastic jibes is not known, but<br />
Will grabbed one of the dining room chairs and belaboured<br />
her head with such force that later, splinters were found<br />
embedded in the soft felt hat she was wearing. When she had<br />
fallen to the floor, he used her apron to gag her, and a rope<br />
to tie her up. She died from suffocation aggravated by severe<br />
shock and multiple injuries to the head.<br />
When Alice Brockman returned home, the demented Will<br />
Pitcher was ready for her. He wrapped a paraffin-soaked cloth<br />
round her head, tied her up, dragged her upstairs and raped<br />
her. He then showed her the body of her mother, gloating that<br />
she was dead. He asked Alice if she would go on the run with<br />
him, but understandably given the treatment she had been<br />
given by the frenzied murderer, she refused. When Will was<br />
unlocking the front door, Alice ran through the kitchen and out<br />
of the back door, to take refuge with a neighbour. Will also left<br />
the murder house, but since he did not have any money, he did<br />
not fancy his chances escaping. When Constable Champion of<br />
the Ramsgate Borough Police came up to the murder house,<br />
Will meekly gave himself up, and confessed to the murder.<br />
When Will Pitcher appeared at the Maidstone Assizes on 21<br />
June, before Sir Charles John Darling who had sentenced the<br />
desperado Samuel Henson to death eleven years earlier, there<br />
The murder house at No. 24 Seafield Road<br />
was no doubt that he was the guilty man. The only thing his defence team could try was playing the ‘insanity card’: they<br />
had got hold of a ‘tame psychiatrist’ who testified that there was insanity in the family, and that one of Will Pitcher’s<br />
sisters was an epileptic and a mental defective. With must have been a very narrow margin, the jury returned a verdict<br />
of Guilty but Insane, and Will Pitcher was committed to Broadmoor until His Majesty’s pleasure be known. This would<br />
not happen in a hurry: Will remained at Broadmoor for many decades, but it appears that he was either released or<br />
transferred to another asylum in his old age, since he is recorded to have died in Canterbury in 1975, aged 80. 4<br />
4 W H Bishop in Bygone Kent, December 1990, W H Johnson, Kent Murder Casebook (Newbury 1998), 42-51;<br />
Times 20 and 24 February 1914.<br />
The Murder of Margery Wren, 1930<br />
Margery Wren was born at No. 3 Charlotte Street, Broadstairs, in 1850, daughter of the house-painter William Wren<br />
and his wife Elizabeth. She had at least one sibling, the five years older sister Mary Jane. Margery Wren went to London<br />
to become a servant, and the 1871 Census lists her as being in service in Islington, whereas the 1881 Census finds her<br />
living with her parents at No. 42 Spencer Street, Clerkenwell, and working as a maidservant. In 1891, she was still<br />
servant to a London merchant, but a few years later, an old lady named Mrs Wroughton died in Ramsgate. She was<br />
related to the Wrens, and Mary Jane and Margery inherited a sum of money and an old confectioner’s shop at No. 2<br />
Church Road, Ramsgate.<br />
Mary Jane and Margery were quite happy to escape the London drudgery, and they set themselves up in their new shop.<br />
The Church Road house was far from a luxury dwelling, containing the shop and a small parlour on the ground floor, and<br />
two bedrooms on the first floor, but the two Wren sisters were used to cramped and insalubrious living conditions. There<br />
was no bathroom, and the toilet was out in the yard. The 1901 Census lists Mary J. Wren as a Confectioner, and head of<br />
the household, and the younger sister Margery as cook. In 1911, the Wren sisters were 65 and 60 years old, respectively,<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 39
ut they still tended their “Cottage<br />
sweets and General shop” at No.<br />
2 Church Road. Mary Jane Wren<br />
died a spinster on 31 January 1927,<br />
leaving the shop and £921 12s 7d to<br />
her sister. Margery Wren did not use<br />
this money to lead a life of luxury, or<br />
make any effort to improve her living<br />
conditions; she stayed in the old<br />
shop, which had been old-fashioned<br />
already in the 1890s, and which had<br />
become obsolete by the late 1920s.<br />
She dressed in archaic attire, with a<br />
woollen cap protecting her balding<br />
head, and wearing very long skirts.<br />
Margery Wren and the murder shop, from the Illustrated Police News, 2 October 1930<br />
with a red hat came calling at the shop, leaving a perambulator outside.<br />
On Saturday 20 September 1930,<br />
the 80-year-old Margery Wren was<br />
tending her little shop at No. 2 Church<br />
Road, just as usual. There were a few<br />
customers from the nearby St George’s<br />
School, the children remaining loyal<br />
to their local ‘tuck shop’, in spite<br />
of its elderly owner and insalubrious<br />
interior. As the children returned after<br />
their luncheon break, masticating the<br />
rock-hard sweets from Miss Wren’s<br />
glass jars, calm and quiet returned<br />
to the little shop and its octogenarian<br />
owner. Half an hour later, the coaldealer<br />
Reuben Beer delivered half<br />
a hundredweight of coal at No. 2<br />
Church Road, and Miss Wren paid him<br />
a shilling and twopence for it. At 5.15<br />
pm, Margery Wren was seen by some<br />
children, sweeping leaves away from<br />
the front of the shop. At about the<br />
same time, a well-dressed woman<br />
At shortly after 6 pm, the 11-year-old Ellen Marvell came up to the shop at No. 2 Church Road, on an errand from<br />
her mother, to purchase some blancmange powder. Since Miss Wren was known to keep her shop open at late hours,<br />
Ellen was surprised to find the door to the little shop locked, and she knocked it hard to alert the elderly shopkeeper. It<br />
took quite a while for Miss Wren to answer the door, and when she finally opened, Ellen could see that she was looking<br />
quite bedraggled, and that she was bleeding badly from the head. Although frightened by the appearance of the old<br />
woman when she came staggering up to open the door, Ellen’s main thought was the blancmange powder, and she finally<br />
managed to get through to the dazed shopkeeper what she wanted. Miss Wren had quite a supply of blancmange powder<br />
on the premises, and she had Ellen select what flavour she wanted. Ellen Marvell ran home and told her father what had<br />
just happened. When he went to the shop, he found Margery Wren collapsed on the floor, and he sent his two daughters<br />
for a doctor and a police constable.<br />
When Margery Wren regained consciousness, she explained to Mr Marvell that she had fallen down hard and hurt her<br />
head. When Dr Richard Archibald, a veteran Ramsgate practitioner who had been looking after the medical needs of<br />
the Wren sisters for many years, came to the shop, he could see that the old lady’s extensive injuries were clearly not<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 40
Newspaper photographs of Margery Wren, and the murder shop at No. 2 Church Street<br />
the result of a fall, but to multiple lacerations of the head by some blunt instrument. A pair of blood-stained fire tongs,<br />
which were laying on the floor, were a prime candidate for being the blunt instrument in question. Miss Wren told Dr<br />
Archibald that she had been assaulted inside the shop: “He caught me by the throat, and then he set about me with the<br />
tongs.” When the doctor asked her to name her assailant, she just said “You will never get him, doctor. He has escaped.”<br />
Dr Archibald found it strange that for some reason or other, Miss Wren did not want the name of her attacker to become<br />
known.<br />
Margery Wren was taken to the Ramsgate Hospital, where she lingered for five days. She spoke confusedly about<br />
what had happened to her, telling Dr Archibald, a policewoman and various other people that “They were two of them<br />
set about me. If I had not had my cap on they would have smashed in my brain-box.” She then said that there had<br />
been three, or even four, assailants. She accused an elderly man named Albert Williams of having been the man who<br />
attacked her, but then pointed the finger at “Hamlyn of No. 19”. Several times, she said “Hope did it!”, once adding<br />
“Hope of Dene Road!” Mr S F Butler, the Chief Constable of Ramsgate, communicated with Scotland Yard, and Chief<br />
Inspector Walter Hambrook was dispatched to Ramsgate to take charge of the murder investigation. When he arrived on<br />
24 September, Miss Wren had become comatose, so it was impossible for him to question her in person. Hambrook was<br />
quite baffled by the contradictory statements from the dying woman, accusing a number of respectable, elderly people<br />
of having attacked her. When the magistrate had come to take her dying depositions, she had merely said “I do not wish<br />
him to suffer. He must bear his sins. I do not wish to make a statement.” The local vicar had been equally unsuccessful<br />
in getting Miss Wren to denounce the identity of her attacker; after he had left frustrated, Miss Wren said, with a note<br />
of satisfaction, “I did not tell him anything, see”. The badly injured old woman died on Thursday, 25 September, and the<br />
case was now one of murder.<br />
Walter Hambrook went to see the murder shop, which was quite a dismal sight, the premises being in a very dirty<br />
and verminous condition. There was not much stock in the gloomy old shop, and he got the impression that very little<br />
business was done in there. The shelves contained a variety of archaic merchandise: a variety of fly-papers, Sunlight<br />
soap, Zebo for cleaning the grate, and Bird’s custard powder, along with a selection of rather unappetizing sweets<br />
kept in old-fashioned glass jars. Miss Wren had told some people that she was the owner of valuable house property in<br />
London, but she had told others that she was very poor, and had even had her meals at a soup kitchen for the destitute.<br />
Hambrook thought it likely that Margery Wren knew the man who had assaulted her, but that for some strange reason,<br />
she had wanted to keep his identity a secret. The beneficiaries in her will were two elderly cousins: Mrs Hannah Cook,<br />
72, and Mrs Ann Wilson, 84 and an invalid. Neither of these two were physically capable of committing a violent assault,<br />
but the police were interested in Hannah Cook’s son, Police Constable Arthur Cook, but he had an unblemished record,<br />
and his clothes were free from blood stains. There was brief optimism when a prisoner named John Lambert confessed<br />
to committing the murder, but when questioned by Walter Hambrook, he told many untruths, and was incapable of<br />
describing the topography of Ramsgate. On her deathbed, Miss Wren had mentioned the name of Albert Williams, a<br />
69-year-old man from Dover, who had visited her at 1 pm the day of the murder, to complain that his nephew was<br />
leaving him and his wife, to find lodgings elsewhere, but nothing transpired to link him with the murder. Miss Wren had<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 41
also mentioned ‘Hamlyn of No. 19’, and there was a young butcher’s assistant named Arthur Hamlyn at No. 19 Church<br />
Road, who had once accidentally nearly run Miss Wren down on his motor bicycle, but he had an alibi for the time of<br />
the murder.<br />
The coroner’s inquest on Margery Wren was opened by Dr F W Hardman on Friday, 26 September, at the police station<br />
parade room. It would go on for many weeks to come, with scores of witnesses examined, although at the advice of Chief<br />
Inspector Hambrook, none of the people denounced by Miss Wren on her death-bed were named in court. Hannah Cook<br />
the cousin gave evidence about the hermitical habits of the deceased, and her neglect of the house and shop, which<br />
were never cleaned. She was supposed to have kept some of her money and valuables in a small black bag, but although<br />
the bedroom at No. 2 Church Road was found to contain a bag with £8 10s in notes, and another full of buttons, none of<br />
these bags was black. Dr Gerard Roche Lynch and Sir Bernard Spilsbury recounted the medical evidence: Miss Wren had<br />
been seized hard by the throat in an attempt to strangle her, and then beaten down with repeated blows to the head<br />
with the iron tongs. A policewoman, who had been present in Miss Wren’s room at the hospital, gave a lengthy account<br />
of the dying woman’s confused mutterings on her death-bed. In spite of a police appeal, the woman in the red hat, who<br />
had visited Margery Wren’s shop shortly before the murder, was never identified. The coroner’s inquest went on until 24<br />
October, returning a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown.<br />
Since Miss Wren had more than once said ‘Hope did it! Hope was the one who did it!’ every person in Ramsgate by<br />
that name was investigated. There was a man named Hope living in Dene Road, but he was 84-years-old and his two sons<br />
had both been in Tunbridge Wells at the time of the murder. The police were interested to find another suspect living at<br />
No. 88 Church Road, namely the 20-year-old thief Charles Ernest Hope. He had once been a private soldier in the Royal<br />
Corps of Signallers, but had been discharged for larceny. After spending some time in Borstal, he was arrested in London<br />
on 27 August 1930, for stealing jewelry worth £10 from a bag in the luggage compartment of a train. The police found<br />
out that Charles Ernest Hope had spent 18 and 19 September at the Salvation Army Hostel in Euston Road, but on the<br />
following day, he had travelled from Victoria to Ramsgate by train, arriving at 4 pm and reaching the house of his parents<br />
in Church Road at 4.20. There were bloodstains on his jacket, trousers and kit bag, which he explained by claiming to<br />
have injured himself when cutting the bag open during the robbery back in August, but the police inspector who had<br />
arrested him denied that he had any fresh cuts on his hands at the time. Hope also lied about his movements the day of<br />
the murder, claiming to have left the train at Dumpton Park rather than at Ramsgate. He was clearly a petty crook, and<br />
perfectly capable of robbing Miss Wren, who was reputed locally to be hoarding money and valuables in her little shop.<br />
As time went by, and the police detectives were baffled, there was several unverified newspaper anecdotes about the<br />
two Wren sisters. According to one version, they had been servants in a wealthy London household when the daughter of<br />
the householder, a person of quality, had given birth to an illegitimate child. The two Wren sisters had taken care of the<br />
little girl, and brought her up, for a liberal allowance. This story disregards that no person had seen any little girl at No.<br />
2 Church Road. Another newspaper story said that the two Wren sisters had once been servants to a wealthy Admiral who<br />
lived in Portman Square, and that he had rewarded them well for their work, and given them his framed photograph,<br />
which was hanging in the parlour of the murder house. No Census record supports this version, however: although the<br />
two sisters were in service in London for some considerable period of time, their masters were gentlemen without any<br />
nautical ambitions. A more adventurous version said that the two sisters were related to none less than Sir Christopher<br />
Wren, and that the portrait of another distinguished member of the family, Admiral Wren, was hanging in the parlour.<br />
Unfortunately for this version, there does not appear ever to have been a British admiral by that name. Finally, the<br />
most sensational story told that Margery Wren had once herself given birth to an illegitimate son, and that it was this<br />
individual who had returned to Ramsgate to murder her. Once more, there was no medical evidence that the Ramsgate<br />
murder victim had ever given birth to a son, and no person had seen a little boy at No. 2 Church Road; the police file on<br />
the murder makes no mention of either of these newspaper concoctions.<br />
Although no person was ever charged with the murder of Margery Wren, the police file makes it clear that there was<br />
a main suspect, namely Charles Ernest Hope, for some obscure reason called by the police ‘Ernest Charles Hope’. He<br />
lied to the police about his activities the day of the murder, and his clothes were stained with blood. As a petty crook,<br />
it would not have been out of character for him to try to rob the shop at No. 2 Church Road, to steal the money he had<br />
presumed Miss Wren had been hoarding; nor would it have been beyond him to try and strangle her, and then beat her<br />
down, when he was caught searching the house. According to his birth certificate, Charles Ernest Hope was born on 1<br />
October 1910, at No. 88 Church Road, Ramsgate, son of the journeyman house-painter Charles Hope and his wife Louisa.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 42
An unexpected survivor: the little murder house at No. 2 Church Road, Ramsgate<br />
He was never named as a suspect in the Wren murder<br />
investigation, and his sole newsworthy exploit would<br />
appear to have been the following one, from the<br />
Hartlepool Mail, 16 August 1930:<br />
‘EXCEEDINGLY MEAN’<br />
Ernest Charles Hope, a private in the<br />
Royal Corps of Signals, was bound over at<br />
Scarborough for what the chairman of the<br />
magistrates described as an exceedingly mean<br />
trick. He collected for Scarborough Hospital on<br />
Rose Day, and, it was alleged, stole 3s 11d.<br />
This may well have been the caper that earned<br />
Hope the sack from the military. For the remainder<br />
of his life, he would appear to have stayed out of<br />
serious trouble, and the online newspaper archives<br />
mention nothing about his activities. Charles Ernest<br />
Hope married his wife Mary Rosamund, turned his<br />
back on his former life of petty crime, became a<br />
foreman carpenter, and moved to Langley near<br />
Slough. He died from a burst duodenal ulcer in<br />
January 1983, surviving Miss Wren by 53 years.<br />
Chief Inspector Hambrook had occasion to<br />
question the parents of Charles Ernest Hope, and<br />
they told him that Margery Wren knew both them<br />
and their son. Thus, if Hope had been the man who<br />
assaulted Miss Wren, then she would probably have<br />
recognized him, although the shop was very dark. It<br />
is natural for a person who has just been subjected<br />
to a murderous assault to make sure that the culprit<br />
is identified, but although Miss Wren more than<br />
once spoke of ‘Hope’ as the guilty man, she never<br />
mentioned his first name or called him ‘young Hope’;<br />
instead, she spoke of ‘Hope in Dene Road’ although this referred to an octogenarian acquaintance of hers. If the young<br />
thug Charles Ernest Hope had been the guilty man, there is no particular reason for Miss Wren to protect him from the<br />
police: he was clearly an objectionable person, for whom she could feel little sympathy. Perhaps the true solution to the<br />
murder of Margery Wren lies in the speculation about hidden fortunes, mysterious adoptions and illegitimate children,<br />
but these variants of the story are never discussed in the matter-of-fact police file. The murder house at No. 2 Church<br />
Road still stands, although it is no longer a shop but a private residence: this rather shabby-looking little house is a<br />
monument to a most intriguing Ramsgate murder that never will be satisfactorily solved. 5<br />
5 On the Wren case, see the capacious police file, NA MEPO 3/1657; H L Adam, Murder Most Mysterious (London n.d.), 60-75, W<br />
Hambrook, Hambrook of the Yard (London 1937), 237-44, B Lane, The Murder Club Guide to South-East England (London 1988),<br />
83-90, W E Johnson, Kent Tales of Mystery & Murder (Newbury 2003), 65-71; East Kent Times, 27 September – 25 October 1930,<br />
Illustrated Police News, 2 October 1930.<br />
JAN BONDESON is a senior lecturer and consultant rheumatologist at Cardiff University. He is the author of<br />
Murder Houses of London, The London Monster, The Great Pretenders, Blood on the Snow and other true<br />
crime books, as well as the bestselling Buried Alive.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 43
A Fatal Affinity:<br />
Marked for a Victim<br />
Chapter Five: An Emissary of Darkness and<br />
Chapter Six: Shadow of the Dagger<br />
By NINA and HOWARD BROWN<br />
126 years ago this month, the noted<br />
‘thought reader’ Stuart Cumberland’s<br />
Whitechapel murders-influenced fiction<br />
novel, A Fatal Affinity, was serialized<br />
in issues of the South Australian Weekly<br />
Chronicle (Adelaide). Cumberland’s book<br />
was just one of several Ripper-related<br />
works which appeared contemporaneously<br />
to the East End murders. In the last issue of<br />
Ripperologist we published Chapter Four;<br />
here, we give Chapters Five and Six.<br />
* * * * *<br />
Chapter V<br />
An Emissary of Darkness<br />
It was midnight - midnight in the heart of London. Big Ben was just striking the hour, and its sonorous notes were<br />
being wafted across the dark running Thames, when Colonel Mansfield entered his chambers in the Temple. He struck a<br />
light on entering, and seated himself in an armchair, burying his face in his hands as if in deep thought.<br />
For several minutes he sat thus without moving; then he raised his head. Upon his face was an expression of marked<br />
determination and a strange far off look was in his eyes. “For her sake I have done it; for her sake,” he muttered to<br />
himself. He opened a cabinet close at hand and took from it a miniature. It was the portrait of a beautiful girl. He looked<br />
at it fondly and kissed it several times. “How very like her daughter. Evie has her eyes, her look - her soul,” he said,<br />
gazing at the portrait with rapt attention.<br />
“For your sake I will brave all,” he continued. “In life we have been separated; in death we should be united - in<br />
death, which is the life beyond, our souls would come together. So be it.” He returned to the miniature to the cabinet.<br />
“The night has waned, the hour for putting the matter to the test has arrived,” he said, looking out his window upon<br />
the silent garden below. With this he entered his bedroom. In about ten minutes he returned dressed in a long flowing<br />
robe of white. His appearance was entirely altered, and he looked more like the figure of a Persian magi than an English<br />
officer. In his hand he carried a scroll and an ebony rod carved with numerous symbols. He stood in the center of the<br />
room, where he lifted up his eyes as if in prayer, although no words escaped his lips. Then he blew out the light, but he<br />
was not in darkness, for a most remarkable thing happened; the scroll when opened appeared to be illuminated with<br />
some luminouis substance, and, as he held it up to read, the light therefrom shone upon his face.<br />
Slowly and impressively he read in a strange tongue from the pages he held. Then taking the rod in his right hand, and<br />
drawing a circle round him where he stood, her commenced the following incantation:- “MASTER, HEAR ME! BROTHERS,<br />
HEAR ME! I WHO HAVE DRUNK THE WATER OF PURITY AND HAVE EATEN OF THE FRUIT OF ETERNITY; I WHO AM EVEN AS<br />
THOU ART, NEED THY GUIDANCE, DENY IT ME NOT, MY MASTER; DENY IT ME NOT, MY BROTHERS. BY THE SIGN OF OUR<br />
BROTHERHOOD I ADJURE YE.”<br />
Ripperologist 146 October 2015 44
He bared his breast and exposed the sign of a heart, in the centre of which a blazing gun was punctured. Upon the<br />
stillness came the answer in solemn tones - “By the sign of thy Brotherhood what thou askest shall be answered; what<br />
thou wishes shall be done.” No one was visible, and the voice suddenly ceased. “Master I thank thee,” said Mansfield<br />
fervently, bowing low before him.<br />
Then he continued - “O MASTER! OH BROTHERS! TO WHOM EVERYTHING IS KNOWN-BE IT OF EVIL OR BE IT OF GOOD<br />
- WHO CAN DIVINE OUR INNERMOST THOUGHTS AND INTERPRET ALL OUR MOTIVES, BE WE WHERE WE MAY, LIFT, I PRAY<br />
YE, THE VEIL THAT IS NOW BEFORE MY EYES.HER I WOULD DEFEND- AYE, EVEN UNTO THE SACRIFICE OF MY OWN LIFE.<br />
“HEAR ME, THE O MASTER! HEAR ME, THEN. O BROTHERS! SEND THIS SHADE OF DARKNESS UNTO ME SO THAT I MAY SEE<br />
HIS FACE, AND KNOW WHOM IT IS THAT HE THREATENS.”<br />
“IT SHALL BE AS THOU WISHEST, O BROTHERS,” came the reply in the same solemn tones as the first. Mansfield bowed<br />
low again.<br />
“MASTERS, I THANK THEE: BROTHERS, I THANK YE.” he said; then, waving his stick three times, he called out in a loud<br />
voice: “COME FORTH, THOU SLAVE OF EVIL! COME FORTH, THOU SHADE OF DARKNESS!”<br />
“STAND BEFORE ME, THOU WHOSE GANS IS RED WITH THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT, SO THAT I MAY KNOW THY<br />
PURPOSE AND STAY THY HAND, BY THE POWERS OF LIGHT AND THE WILL OF THE ONE MASTER, I COMMAND THEE.” The<br />
room grew suddenly darker, and a thick fog-like atmosphere arose around Mansfield, whose face and form, however,<br />
lit up by the magic scroll, stood out clear and distinct. Mansfield’s word echoed strangely in the room, and they barely<br />
ceased when another voice was heard. It was harsh and gurrutal; and this what it said - “WHAT DOES THE BROTHER OF<br />
LIGHT WISH OF THE SLAVE OF DARKNESS?<br />
“AS THE POWER OF LIGHT COMMANDS SO DO I OBEY. BEHOLD, O BROTHER OF LIGHT, I STAND BEFORE THEE. WHAT IS<br />
THY WISH?” Out of the foul, dank atmosphere the figure of a man seemed to form itself, and the room growing suddenly<br />
lighter it stood revealed facing Mansfield. The face of the man was hard stone-like, the lips were wreathed with<br />
malevolent smile, whilst the expression of his eyes was horrible in the extreme. In his right hand the man held a dagger,<br />
shaped like a serpent. “What, you?” said Mansfield, drawing afresh the circle with his rod. “Yes, I,” replied the form,<br />
opening his close-fitting tunic of black, and exultantly pointing to a mystic sign punctured on his breast. It was that of a<br />
crescent over which trailed a loathsome serpent, black as night, and with pale, dilated eyes. Mansfield shuddered as he<br />
saw it, and read some words from the scroll he held. When he looked up again he was alone. The form had disappeared.<br />
Chapter VI<br />
The Shadow of the Dagger<br />
It was some hours past midnight. A great silence was over the earth. Not a sound was heard in the streets, not even<br />
the footsteps of the policemen on beat. Evelyn Hardcastle lay in bed sleepless and restless.<br />
Once she had closed her eyes and had dreamed a horrid dream. Dark figures with evil eyes surrounded her. They<br />
sought to clutch her and tear her limb from limb. Then came to lithe form of a man with a dagger in his hand. His face<br />
was dark, but his eyes were like coals on fire. He approached her bed and muttered some incantation over her. She<br />
could neither move nor cry out. All power of resistance was subdued in her. Nearer came the man, and then he raised<br />
his dagger-formed like a serpent with pale, flashing eyes - and held it over her. Down it came, and a pain like the thrust<br />
of a red-hot iron smote her in the region of the heart. She awoke with a start, bathe in perspiration.<br />
“How horrible.” she said, looking tremblingly around the room.<br />
She was not a superstitious girl, but the circumstances seriously impressed her. What if it should be a warning of<br />
her approaching end? She remembered that the night before Geraldine Ulverstone was murdered her friend had had a<br />
somewhat similar dream. Could it be that she was to die in a like manner?<br />
“Oh! Fred, Fred, what will happen to you if I am killed?” Her first thoughts were of her lover. “And, father dear, you<br />
would be so lonely if I were dead; you have no one but me since poor mother died and dear old Uncle Lal, he would<br />
miss me too. And I am so young to die. O Father in Heaven, have mercy on me. For their sakes protect me this night.”<br />
She prayed long and fervently, and at the conclusion was considerably calmed. Once she thought she heard mocking<br />
voices, and flapping of the window blind made her heart leap with fear. She tried to sleep, but her thoughts were too<br />
active.<br />
Presently she arose and looked at her watch. It was close upon 5 o’clock. “I was born at 5, they tell me; so now I am<br />
21. To-day, too, the new moon is born.”<br />
Ripperologist 146 October 2015 45
She went to the window and looked out. Below her, lying on the doorstep, was the form of a man. It was Harvey, who<br />
had fallen asleep on his watch. She did not see him, and she had no idea that her faithful lover had to keep watch and<br />
guard over her.<br />
All was still without. The stars were palling to extinction, and the red flush of morn was in the skies.<br />
“Everything seems born afresh today,” she said, looking towards the east, where the sun was chasing away the night<br />
clouds. As she stood there a shadow fell across the window. It was that of a hand holding a dagger.<br />
“Merciful God, What is that?” she shrieked, drawing back.<br />
The hand was followed by the shadow of a man. The face, the form, were those of the fiend of her dream. She tried<br />
to scream, but her tongue clove to her mouth. She attempted to move, but her limbs refused to act. She was as one<br />
under the fascination of a snake. And nearer and nearer came the dread form with the glittering, baneful eyes. Oh, the<br />
horror of those eyes.<br />
The hand was raised at the point of the dagger, which seemed to writhe like a live snake in its grasp, was pressing upon<br />
her heart. The form of the fiend as it bent over her looked like a distorted shadow - like the outcome of a hallucination.<br />
The dagger alone appeared real and substantial. As its point was level with her breast the terror-stricken girl<br />
remembered Mansfield’s words, and by a superhuman effort she clutched at the chain around her heart. Then she was<br />
struck.<br />
She felt the dagger glide off the locket. A yell of baffled rage, of agonised despair rang in her ears. The room swam<br />
round her, the awful figure vanished- she remembered no more.<br />
With a shriek she fell fainting to the ground.<br />
To be continued in the next issue of Ripperologist<br />
NINA and HOWARD BROWN are the proprietors of JTRForums.com.<br />
With thanks to Zenaida Serrano.<br />
Ripperologist 146 October 2015 46
Victorian Fiction<br />
The Last House in C-- Street<br />
By Dinah Maria Mulock (Mrs Craik)<br />
Edited with an Introduction and Notes by Eduardo Zinna<br />
Introduction<br />
During the first decades of the nineteenth century, Gothic fiction, which had ruled unopposed since 1764, when<br />
Horace Walpole published The Castle of Otranto, started losing some of its supremacy to a humbler newcomer,<br />
the ghost story. The world was changing, and the creatures of the night changed with it. They moved from<br />
the dungeons of decrepit castles and the secret passages of ruined abbeys to the comfortable sitting-rooms<br />
and manicured gardens of the emerging bourgeoisie. Their apparitions were no longer reported in three-volume<br />
Gothic novels but in the pages of the monthly magazines. Still they came; and where they passed, they were not<br />
forgotten.<br />
Charles Dickens played a major role in the development of the<br />
ghost story and its association with Christmas, both through the<br />
stories he wrote and the stories he published in the magazines<br />
for which he served as editor. In 1843, he subjected the miser<br />
Ebenezer Scrooge to the ministrations of a parade of restless spirits<br />
in A Christmas Carol. In 1851, he launched a special Christmas<br />
supplement of his magazine Household Words and invited<br />
writers to contribute to it. In subsequent years, he continued to<br />
write ghost stories and to release Christmas supplements to his<br />
magazines. When he started All the Year Round in 1859, he made<br />
sure ghosts were not left out of its pages; he ran stories by Amelia<br />
B Edwards, Rosa Mulholland, Charles Collins, R S Hawker and, in<br />
particular, the early master of the ghost story, Joseph Sheridan<br />
Le Fanu.<br />
Many of the authors who supplied the magazines with<br />
supernatural fare were women. Among them were Mary Elizabeth<br />
Braddon, Mrs Henry Wood, Charlotte Riddell, Margaret Oliphant<br />
and Rhoda Broughton in the 1860s and 70s, later joined by Vernon<br />
Lee, Edith Nesbit, Louisa Baldwin, Mary Cholmondeley and Violet<br />
Hunt. Although they excelled as authors of ghost stories, women<br />
had no special affinity with them. In many cases, educated<br />
women who needed to support themselves and, sometimes, their<br />
families, found in authorship lucrative opportunities which at<br />
the time were not available to them in other fields. The work<br />
of some of these women has already appeared in the pages of<br />
Ripperologist; the work of others will not fail to follow.<br />
Dickens’s A Christmas Carol<br />
Dinah Maria Mulock, afterwards known as Mrs Craik, was a<br />
novelist, poet and essayist. The eldest daughter of Thomas Mulock, a nonconformist minister, and his wife, Dinah<br />
Mellard, she was born on 20 April 1826 in Stoke-on-Trent. In 1839, an inheritance allowed the family to move to<br />
London. A few years later, in 1844, Thomas Mulock, a charismatic but emotionally unstable man, deserted his<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 47
Dinah Maria Mulock<br />
family. When her mother died in 1845, Dinah became<br />
responsible for her needs and those of her brother. She<br />
started writing stories for children which provided her<br />
with a modest income until she achieved success with<br />
her novel, The Ogilvies (1849), which was favourably<br />
received by the critics and facilitated her entrance<br />
into the literary world. A number of novels followed,<br />
culminating with the great success in 1856 of her novel<br />
John Halifax, Gentleman, which chronicles the rise of<br />
the title character from poverty to wealth during the<br />
Industrial Revolution.<br />
Now rich herself and commanding £2,000 per novel,<br />
Dinah Mulock bought a cottage at Hampstead and joined<br />
an extensive social circle. She continued to write both<br />
fiction and non-fiction such as A Woman’s Thoughts<br />
about Women and Sermons out of Church. In 1864, she<br />
was awarded a Civil List pension which she set aside for<br />
authors less fortunate than herself. One year later, in<br />
1865, she married George Lillie Craik, a partner in the<br />
publishing house of Macmillan & Company. From then on<br />
she signed her work Dinah Maria Craik or Mrs Craik. Since<br />
she was considered as being too old for bearing children,<br />
the couple adopted a child, Dorothy, in 1869. Dinah<br />
Mulock Craik died of heart failure on 12 October 1887<br />
during a period of preparation for Dorothy’s wedding. It<br />
was said that her last words were ‘Oh, if I could live four<br />
weeks longer! but no matter, no matter!’<br />
Our Victorian Fiction offering for December, Dinah<br />
Mulock’s The Last House in C—Street, is a true ghost story, thoroughly deserving of publication in our Christmas<br />
issue, although it first appeared in Fraser’s Magazine not at Christmas but in August 1856. Despite its title,<br />
reminiscent of gory exploitation films, this is a gentle story and its ghost is not of the malevolent kind. But don’t<br />
let that discourage you. Few stories represent better the Victorian ghost story, with its limitations and its virtues,<br />
than this one.<br />
COMING SOON<br />
The Master Ghost Hunter<br />
A Life of Elliott O’Donnell<br />
By Richard Whittington-Egan<br />
A dapper figure - gold-rimmed pince-nez, scarlet-lined cloak, silver-knobbed cane - Elliott<br />
O’Donnell was the world-famed prince of ghost hunters. His life spanned 93 years, 1872-<br />
1965.<br />
He remembered Jack the Ripper, the ghost of whose victims he sought, and Kate Webster, the<br />
savage Irish cook of Richmond, who slaughtered her mistress, Mrs Julia Thomas, and boiled<br />
her head up in a saucepan. Other phantoms ranged from poltergeist, weird box-headed<br />
elemental spirits with eyes that glowed like yellow moons, sweet-visaged old ladies in bonnets<br />
and crinolines, to an evil Dublin ghost that tried to strangle him. He hunted the haunted and<br />
the haunters throughout England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Further afield, he came face<br />
to face with supernatural horrors in New York, and San Francisco, and we accompany him on<br />
a horse-ridden expedition into the heart of a haunted American forest.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 48<br />
www.mangobooks.co.uk
The Last House in C-- Street<br />
By Dinah Maria Mulock (Mrs Craik)<br />
I am not a believer in ghosts in general; I see no good in them. They come - that is, are reported to come<br />
- so irrelevantly, purposelessly - so ridiculously, in short - that one’s common sense as regards this world,<br />
one’s supernatural sense of the other, are alike revolted. Then nine out of ten ‘capital ghost stories’ are<br />
so easily accounted for; and in the tenth, when all natural explanation fails, one who has discovered the<br />
extraordinary difficulty there is in all society in getting hold of that very slippery article called a fact, is<br />
strongly inclined to shake a dubious head, ejaculating, ‘Evidence! a question of evidence!’<br />
But my unbelief springs from no dogged or contemptuous scepticism as to the possibility - however great<br />
the improbability - of that strange impression upon or communication to, spirit in matter, from spirit wholly<br />
immaterialized, which is vulgarly called ‘a ghost’. There is no credulity more blind, no ignorance more<br />
childish, than that of the sage who tries to measure ‘heaven and earth and the things under the earth’, 1<br />
with the small two-foot-rule of his own brains. Dare we presume to argue concerning any mystery of the<br />
universe, ‘It is inexplicable, and therefore impossible’?<br />
Premising these opinions, though simply as opinions, I am about to relate what I must confess is to me a<br />
thorough ghost story; its external and circumstantial evidence being indisputable, while its psychological<br />
causes and results, though not easy of explanation, are still more difficult to be explained away. The ghost,<br />
like Hamlet’s, was ‘an honest ghost’. 2 From her daughter - an old lady, who, bless her good and gentle<br />
memory! has since learned the secrets of all things - I learnt this veritable tale.<br />
‘My dear,’ said Mrs MacArthur to me - it was in the early days of table-moving, when young folk ridiculed<br />
and elder folk were shocked at the notion of calling up one’s departed ancestors into one’s dinner-table,<br />
and learning the wonders of the angelic world by the bobbings of a hat or the twirlings of a plate. ‘My dear,’<br />
continued the old lady, ‘I do not like playing at ghosts.’<br />
‘Why not? Do you believe in them?’<br />
‘A little.’<br />
‘Did you ever see one?’<br />
‘Never. But once I heard -’<br />
She looked serious, as if she hardly liked to speak about it, either from a sense of awe or from fear of<br />
ridicule. But no one could have laughed at any illusions of the gentle old lady, who never uttered a harsh<br />
or satirical word to a living soul; and this evident awe was rather remarkable in one who had a large stock<br />
of common sense, little wonder, and no ideality.<br />
I was rather curious to hear Mrs MacArthur’s ghost story.<br />
‘My dear, it was a long time ago, so long that you may fancy I forget and confuse the circumstances. But<br />
I do not. Sometimes I think one recollects more clearly things that happened in one’s teens - I was eighteen<br />
that year - than a great many nearer events. And besides, I had other reasons for remembering vividly<br />
everything belonging to this time, - for I was in love, you must know.’<br />
She looked at me with a mild, deprecating smile, as if hoping my youthfulness would not consider the<br />
thing so very impossible or ridiculous. No; I was all interest at once.<br />
‘In love with Mr MacArthur,’ I said, scarcely as a question, being at that Arcadian time of life when one<br />
takes as a natural necessity, and believes as an undoubted truth, that everybody marries his or her first<br />
love.<br />
1 Cf. ‘That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth’,<br />
Philippians 2:10 (King James Version).<br />
2 Cf. ‘Touching this vision here, It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you’, Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 1. Scene V.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 49
‘No, my dear; not with Mr MacArthur.’<br />
I was so astonished, so completely dumb-foundered - for I had woven a sort of ideal round my good old<br />
friend - that I suffered Mrs MacArthur to knit in silence for full five minutes. My surprise was not lessened<br />
when she said, with a little smile -<br />
‘He was a young gentleman of good parts; and he was very fond of me. Proud, too, rather. For though<br />
you might not think it, my dear, I was actually a beauty in those days.’<br />
I had very little doubt of it. The slight lithe figure, the tiny hands and feet, - if you had walked behind<br />
Mrs MacArthur you might have taken her for a young woman still. Certainly, people lived slower and easier<br />
in the last generation than in ours.<br />
‘Yes, I was the beauty of Bath. Mr Everest fell in love with me there. I was much gratified; for I had<br />
just been reading Miss Burney’s Cecilia, and I thought him exactly like Mortimer Delvil. A very pretty<br />
tale, Cecilia; did you ever read it?’ 3<br />
‘No.’ And, to arrive at her tale, I leaped to the only conclusion which could reconcile the two facts of<br />
her having had a lover named Everest, and being now Mrs MacArthur. ‘Was it his ghost you saw?’<br />
‘No, my dear, no; thank goodness, he is alive still. He calls here sometimes; he has been a good friend<br />
to our family. Ah!’ with a slow shake of the head, half pleased, half pensive, ‘you would hardly believe, my<br />
dear, what a very pretty fellow he was.’<br />
One could scarcely smile at the odd phrase, pertaining to last-century novels and to the loves of our<br />
great-grandmothers. I listened patiently to the wandering reminiscences which still further delayed the<br />
ghost-story.<br />
‘But, Mrs MacArthur, was it in Bath that you saw or heard what I think you were going to tell me? The<br />
ghost, you know?’<br />
‘Don’t call it that; it sounds as if you were laughing at it. And you must not, for it is really true; as true<br />
as that I sit here, an old lady of seventy-five; and that then I was a young gentlewoman of eighteen. Nay,<br />
my dear, I will tell you all about it.’<br />
‘We had been staying in London, my father and mother, Mr Everest, and I. He had persuaded them to<br />
take me; he wanted to show me a little of the world, though it was but a narrow world, my dear - for he<br />
was a law student, living poorly and working hard. He took lodgings for us near the Temple; in C - street,<br />
the last house there, looking on to the river. He was very fond of the river; and often of evenings, when<br />
his work was too heavy to let him take us to Ranelagh or to the play, he used to walk with my father and<br />
mother and me, up and down the Temple Gardens. Were you ever in the Temple Gardens? It is a pretty<br />
place now - a quiet, grey nook in the midst of noise and bustle; the stars look wonderful through those<br />
great trees; but still it is not like what it was then, when I was a girl.’<br />
Ah! no; impossible.<br />
‘It was in the Temple Gardens, my dear, that I remember we took our last walk - my mother, Mr Everest,<br />
and I - before she went home to Bath. She was very anxious and restless to go, being too delicate for<br />
London gaieties. Besides, she had a large family at home, of which I was the eldest; and we were anxiously<br />
expecting the youngest in a month or two. Nevertheless, my dear mother had gone about with me, taken<br />
me to all the shows and sights that I, a hearty and happy girl, longed to see, and entered into them with<br />
almost as great enjoyment as my own.<br />
‘But tonight she was pale, rather grave, and steadfastly bent on returning home.<br />
3 Cecilia, or Memoirs of an Heiress, is a novel by English author Fanny Burney (1752–1840), published in 1782. It recounts<br />
the trials and tribulations of Cecilia Beverley, a beautiful heiress who moves to London. Mortimer Delvile [sic] is a tall<br />
and athletic young man, more seductive than handsome. Cecilia falls in love with him, but is unsure of his affections and<br />
his pride may keep them apart. A passage in Cecilia: ‘…if to pride and prejudice you owe your miseries, so wonderfully is<br />
good and evil balanced, that to pride and prejudice you will also owe their termination’ may have inspired the title of Jane<br />
Austen’s celebrated novel Pride and Prejudice.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 50
‘We did all we could to persuade her to the contrary, for on the next night but one was to have been the<br />
crowning treat of all our London pleasures: we were to see Hamlet at Drury Lane, with John Kemble and<br />
Sarah Siddons! 4 Think of that, my dear. Ah! you have no such sights now. Even my grave father longed to go,<br />
and urged in his mild way that we should put off our departure. But my mother was determined.<br />
‘At last Mr Everest said - (I could show you the very spot where he stood, with the river - it was high<br />
water - lapping against the wall, and the evening sun shining on the Southwark houses opposite.) He said<br />
- it was very wrong, of course, my dear; but then he was in love, and might be excused, -<br />
‘“Madam,” said he, “it is the first time I ever knew you think of yourself alone.”<br />
“‘Myself, Edmond?”<br />
“‘Pardon me, but would it not be possible for you to return home, leaving behind, for two days only, Mr<br />
Thwaite and Mistress Dorothy?”<br />
‘“Leave them behind - leave them behind!” She mused over the words. “What say you, Dorothy?”<br />
‘I was silent. In very truth, I had never been parted from her in all my life. It had never crossed my<br />
mind to wish to part from her, or to enjoy any pleasure without her, till - till within the last three months.<br />
“Mother, don’t suppose I<br />
‘But here I caught sight of Mr Everest, and stopped.<br />
“‘Pray continue. Mistress Dorothy.”<br />
‘No, I could not. He looked so vexed, so hurt; and we had been so happy together. Also, we might not<br />
meet again for years, for the journey between London and Bath was then a serious one, even to lovers;<br />
and he worked very hard - had few pleasures in his life. It did indeed seem almost selfish of my mother.<br />
‘Though my lips said nothing, perhaps my sad eyes said only too much, and my mother felt it.<br />
‘She walked with us a few yards, slowly and thoughtfully. I could see her now, with her pale, tired face,<br />
under the cherry-coloured ribbons of her hood. She had been very handsome as a young woman, and was<br />
most sweet-looking still - my dear, good mother!<br />
“‘Dorothy, we will no more discuss this. I am very sorry, but I must go home. However, I will persuade<br />
your father to remain with you till the week’s end. Are you satisfied?”<br />
‘“No,” was the first filial impulse of my heart; but Mr Everest pressed my arm with such an entreating<br />
look, that almost against my will I answered “Yes.”<br />
‘Mr Everest overwhelmed my mother with his delight and gratitude. She walked up and down for some<br />
time longer, leaning on his arm - she was very fond of him; then stood looking on the river, upwards and<br />
downwards.<br />
“‘I suppose this is my last walk in London. Thank you for all the care you have taken of me. And when I<br />
am gone home - mind, oh mind, Edmond, that you take special care of Dorothy.”<br />
‘These words, and the tone in which they were spoken, fixed themselves on my mind - first, from<br />
gratitude, not unmingled with regret, as if I had not been so considerate to her as she to me; afterwards -<br />
But we often err, my dear, in dwelling too much on that word. We finite creatures have only to deal with<br />
“now” - nothing whatever to do with “afterwards”. In this case, I have ceased to blame myself or others.<br />
Whatever was, being past, was right to be, and could not have been otherwise.<br />
‘My mother went home next morning, alone. We were to follow in a few days, though she would not<br />
allow us to fix any time. Her departure was so hurried that I remember nothing about it, save her answer<br />
to my father’s urgent desire - almost command - that if anything was amiss she would immediately let him<br />
know.<br />
‘“Under all circumstances, wife,” he reiterated, “this you promise?”<br />
‘“I promise.”<br />
4 John Philip Kemble (1757–1823) was an English actor who often appeared with his elder sister, Sarah Siddons, on the stage<br />
of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 51
‘Though when she was gone he declared she need not have said it so earnestly, since we should be at<br />
home almost as soon as the slow Bath coach could take her and bring us a letter. And besides, there was<br />
nothing likely to happen. But he fidgeted a good deal, being unused to her absence in their happy wedded<br />
life. He was, like most men, glad to blame anybody but himself; and the whole day, and the next, was cross<br />
at intervals with both Edmond and me; but we bore it - and patiently.<br />
‘“It will be all right when we get him to the theatre. He has no real cause for anxiety about her. What a<br />
dear woman she is, and a precious - your mother, Dorothy!”<br />
‘I rejoiced to hear my lover speak thus, and thought there hardly ever was young gentlewoman so<br />
blessed as I.<br />
‘We went to the play. Ah, you know nothing of what a play is, nowadays. You never saw John Kemble and<br />
Mrs Siddons. Though in dresses and shows it was far inferior to the Hamlet you took me to see last week,<br />
my dear - and though I perfectly well remember being on the point of laughing when in the most solemn<br />
scene, it became clearly evident that the Ghost had been drinking. Strangely enough, no after events<br />
connected therewith - nothing subsequent ever drove from my mind the vivid impression of this my first<br />
play. Strange, also, that the play should have been Hamlet. Do you think that Shakespeare believed in - in<br />
what people call “ghosts”?’<br />
I could not say; but I thought Mrs MacArthur’s ghost very long in coming.<br />
‘Don’t, my dear - don’t; do anything but laugh at it.’<br />
She was visibly affected, and it was not without an effort that she proceeded in her story.<br />
‘I wish you to understand exactly my position that night - a young girl, her head full of the enchantment<br />
of the stage - her heart of something not less engrossing. Mr Everest had supped with us, leaving us both in<br />
the best of spirits; indeed my father had gone to bed, laughing heartily at the remembrance of the antics of<br />
Mr Grimaldi, 5 which had almost obliterated the queen and Hamlet from his memory, on which the ridiculous<br />
always took a far stronger hold than the awful or sublime.<br />
‘I was sitting - let me see - at the window, chatting with my maid Patty, who was brushing the powder<br />
out of my hair. The window was open half-way, and looking out on the Thames; and the summer night being<br />
very warm and starry, made it almost like sitting out of doors. There was none of the awe given by the<br />
solitude of a midnight closed room, when every sound is magnified, and every shadow seems alive.<br />
‘As I said, we had been chatting and laughing; for Patty and I were both very young, and she had a<br />
sweetheart, too. She, like every one of our household, was a warm admirer of Mr Everest. I had just been<br />
half scolding, half smiling at her praises of him, when St Paul’s great clock came booming over the silent<br />
river.<br />
‘“Eleven,” counted Patty. “Terrible late we be, Mistress Dorothy: not like Bath hours, I reckon.”<br />
‘“Mother will have been in bed an hour ago,” said I, with a little self-reproach at not having thought of<br />
her till now.<br />
‘The next minute my maid and I both started up with a simultaneous exclamation.<br />
‘“Did you hear that?”<br />
“‘Yes, a bat flying against the window.”<br />
‘“But the lattices are open, Mistress Dorothy.”<br />
‘So they were; and there was no bird or bat or living thing about - only the quiet summer night, the river,<br />
and the stars.<br />
‘“I be certain sure I heard it. And I think it was like - just a bit like - somebody tapping.”<br />
5 Joseph Grimaldi (1778–1837) was an English actor, comedian and dancer who became the most famous and popular of all<br />
the clowns in harlequinade and pantomime. He was the original ‘Clown Joey’ and created many popular catchphrases such<br />
as ‘Here we are again.’ At Drury Lane In the early 1800s he played the Second Gravedigger in Hamlet, alongside John<br />
Kemble.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 52
‘“Nonsense, Patty!” But it had struck me thus - though I said it was a bat. It was exactly like the sound<br />
of fingers against a pane - very soft, gentle fingers, such as, in passing into her flower-garden, my mother<br />
used often to tap outside the school-room casement at home.<br />
“‘I wonder, did father hear anything. It - the bird, you know, Patty - might have flown at his window,<br />
too?”<br />
“‘Oh, Mistress Dorothy!” Patty would not be deceived. I gave her the brush to finish my hair, but her hand<br />
shook too much. I shut the window, and we both sat down facing it.<br />
‘At that minute, distinct, clear, and unmistakable, like a person giving a summons in passing by, we<br />
heard once more the tapping on the pane. But nothing was seen; not a single shadow came between us and<br />
the open air, the bright starlight.<br />
‘Startled I was, and awed, but I was not frightened. The sound gave me even an inexplicable delight.<br />
But I had hardly time to recognize my feelings, still less to analyse them, when a loud cry came from my<br />
father’s room.<br />
“‘Dolly, Dolly!”<br />
‘Now my mother and I had both one name, but he always gave her the old-fashioned pet name - I was<br />
invariably Dorothy. Still I did not pause to think, but ran to his locked door, and answered.<br />
‘It was a long time before he took any notice, though I heard him talking to himself, and moaning.<br />
He was subject to bad dreams, especially before his attacks of gout. So my first alarm lightened. I stood<br />
listening, knocking at intervals, until at last he replied.<br />
‘“What do’ee want, child?”<br />
‘“Is anything the matter, father?”<br />
“‘Nothing. Go to thy bed, Dorothy.”<br />
“‘Did you not call? Do you want anyone?”<br />
“‘Not thee. O Dolly, my poor Dolly,’ - and he seemed to be almost sobbing, “Why did I let thee leave<br />
me!”<br />
‘“Father, you are not going to be ill? It is not the gout, is it?” (for that was the time when he wanted my<br />
mother most, and indeed, when he was wholly unmanageable by anyone but her.)<br />
‘“Go away. Get to thy bed, girl; I don’t want ‘ee.”<br />
‘I thought he was angry with me for having been in some sort the cause of our delay, and retired very<br />
miserable. Patty and I sat up a good while longer, discussing the dreary prospect of my father’s having a<br />
fit of the gout here in London lodgings, with only us to nurse him, and my mother away. Our alarm was so<br />
great that we quite forgot the curious circumstance which had first attracted us, till Patty spoke up, from<br />
her bed on the floor.<br />
“‘I hope master beant going to be very ill, and that - you know - came for a warning. Do ‘ee think<br />
it was a bird, Mistress Dorothy?”<br />
‘“Very likely. Now, Patty, let us go to sleep.”<br />
‘But I did not, for all night I heard my father groaning at intervals. I was certain it was the gout, and<br />
wished from the bottom of my heart that we had gone home with mother.<br />
‘What was my surprise when, quite early, I heard him rise and go down, just as if nothing was ailing him!<br />
I found him sitting at the breakfast-table in his travelling coat, looking very haggard and miserable, but<br />
evidently bent on a journey.<br />
“‘Father, you are not going to Bath?”<br />
‘“Yes, I be.”<br />
‘“Not till the evening coach starts,” I cried, alarmed. “We can’t, you know?”<br />
‘“I’ll take a post-chaise, then. We must be off in an hour.”<br />
‘An hour! The cruel pain of parting - (my dear, I believe I used to feel things keenly when I was young)<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 53
- shot through me - through and through. A single hour, and I should have said goodbye to Edmond - one of<br />
those heart-breaking farewells when we seem to leave half of our poor young life behind us, forgetting that<br />
the only real parting is when there is no love left to part from. A few years, and I wondered how I could<br />
have crept away and wept in such intolerable agony at the mere bidding goodbye to Edmond - Edmond,<br />
who loved me.<br />
‘Every minute seemed a day till he came in, as usual, to breakfast. My red eyes and my father’s corded<br />
trunk explained all.<br />
“‘Doctor Thwaite, you are not going?”<br />
‘“Yes, I be,” repeated my father. He sat moodily leaning on the table - would not taste his breakfast.<br />
‘“Not till the night coach, surely? I was to take you and Mistress Dorothy to see Mr Benjamin West, the<br />
king’s painter.”<br />
“‘Let kings and painters alone lad; I be going home to my Dolly.”<br />
‘Mr Everest used many arguments, gay and grave, upon which I hung with earnest conviction and hope.<br />
He made things so clear always; he was a man of much brighter parts than my father, and had great<br />
influence over him.<br />
‘“Dorothy,” he whispered, “help me to persuade the Doctor. It is so little time I beg for, only a few hours;<br />
and before so long a parting.” Ay, longer than he thought, or I.<br />
‘“Children,” cried my father at last, “you are a couple of fools. Wait till you have been married twenty<br />
years. I must go to my Dolly. I know there is something amiss at home.”<br />
‘I should have felt alarmed, but I saw Mr Everest smile; and besides, I was yet glowing under his fond<br />
look, as my father spoke of our being “married twenty years”.<br />
“‘Father, you have surely no reason for thinking this? If you have, tell us.”<br />
‘My father just lifted his head, and looked me woefully in the face.<br />
‘“Dorothy, last night, as sure as I see you now, I saw your mother.”<br />
‘“Is that all?” cried Mr Everest, laughing; “why, my good sir, of course you did; you were dreaming.”<br />
‘“I had not gone to sleep.”<br />
“‘How did you see her?”<br />
“‘Coming into the room just as she used to do in the bedroom at home, with the candle in her hand and<br />
the baby asleep on her arm.”<br />
‘“Did she speak?” asked Mr Everest, with another and rather satirical smile; “remember, you<br />
saw Hamlet last night. Indeed, sir - indeed, Dorothy - it was a mere dream. I do not believe in ghosts; it<br />
would be an insult to common sense, to human wisdom - nay, even to Divinity itself.”<br />
‘Edmond spoke so earnestly, so justly, so affectionately, that perforce I agreed; and even my father<br />
became to feel rather ashamed of his own weakness. He, a physician, the head of a family, to yield to a<br />
mere superstitious fancy, springing probably from a hot supper and an overexcited brain! To the same cause<br />
Mr Everest attributed the other incident, which somewhat hesitatingly I told him.<br />
“‘Dear, it was a bird; nothing but a bird. One flew in at my window last spring; it had hurt itself, and I<br />
kept it, and nursed it, and petted it. It was such a pretty, gentle little thing, it put me in mind of Dorothy.”<br />
‘“Did it?” said I.<br />
‘“And at last it got well and flew away.”<br />
‘“Ah! that was not like Dorothy.”<br />
‘Thus, my father being persuaded, it was not hard to persuade me. We settled to remain till evening.<br />
Edmond and I, with my maid Patty, went about together, - chiefly in Mr West’s Gallery, and in the quiet<br />
shade of our favourite Temple Gardens. And if for those four stolen hours, and the sweetness in them, I<br />
afterwards suffered untold remorse and bitterness, I have entirely forgiven myself, as I know my dear<br />
mother would have forgiven me, long ago.’<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 54
Mrs MacArthur stopped, wiped her eyes, and then continued - speaking more in the matter-of-fact way<br />
that old people speak than she had been lately doing.<br />
‘Well, my dear, where was I?’<br />
‘In the Temple Gardens.’<br />
‘Yes, yes. Well, we came home to dinner. My father always enjoyed his dinner, and his nap afterwards;<br />
he had nearly recovered himself now: only looked tired from loss of rest. Edmond and I sat in the window,<br />
watching the barges and wherries down the Thames; there were no steamboats then, you know.<br />
‘Someone knocked at the door with a message for my father, but he slept so heavily he did not hear. Mr<br />
Everest went to see what it was; I stood at the window. I remember mechanically watching the red sail of<br />
a Margate hoy that was going down the river, and thinking with a sharp pang how dark the room seemed,<br />
in a moment, with Edmond not there.<br />
‘Re-entering, after a somewhat long absence, he never looked at me, but went straight to my father.<br />
‘“Sir, it is almost time for you to start” (oh! Edmond). “There is a coach at the door; and, pardon me,<br />
but I think you should travel quickly.”<br />
‘My father sprang to his feet.<br />
‘“Dear sir, indeed there is no need for anxiety now; but I have received news. You have another little<br />
daughter, sir, and -”<br />
“‘Dolly, my Dolly!” Without another word my father rushed away without his hat, leaped into the postchaise<br />
that was waiting, and drove off<br />
“‘Edmond!” I gasped.<br />
“‘My poor little girl - my own Dorothy!”<br />
‘By the tenderness of his embrace, not lover-like, but brother like - by his tears, for I could feel them on<br />
my neck - I knew, as well as if he had told me, that I should never see my dear mother anymore.’<br />
‘She had died in childbirth,’ continued the old lady after a long pause - ‘died at night, at the very hour<br />
and minute when I had heard the tapping on the window-pane, and my father had thought he saw her<br />
coming into his room with a baby on her arm.’<br />
‘Was the baby dead, too?’<br />
‘They thought so then, but it afterwards revived.’<br />
‘What a strange story!’<br />
‘I do not ask you to believe in it. How and why and what it was I cannot tell; I only know that it assuredly<br />
was so.’<br />
‘And Mr Everest?’ I enquired, after some hesitation.<br />
The old lady shook her head. ‘Ah, my dear, you will soon learn how very, very seldom one marries one’s<br />
first love. After that day, I did not see Mr Everest for twenty years.’<br />
‘How wrong - how -’<br />
‘Don’t blame him; it was not his fault. You see, after that time my father took a prejudice against him<br />
- not unnatural, perhaps; and she was not there to make things straight. Besides, my own conscience was<br />
very sore, and there were the six children at home, and the little baby had no mother: so at last I made up<br />
my mind. I should have loved him just the same if we had waited twenty years: but he could not see things<br />
so. Don’t blame him - my dear - don’t blame him. It was as well, perhaps, as things turned out.’<br />
‘Did he marry?’<br />
‘Yes, after a few years; and loved his wife dearly. When I was about one-and-thirty, I married Mr<br />
MacArthur. So neither of us was unhappy, you see - at least, not more so than most people; and we became<br />
sincere friends afterwards. Mr and Mrs Everest come to see me, almost every Sunday. Why you foolish child,<br />
you are not crying?’<br />
Ay, I was - but scarcely at the ghost story.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2014 55
Reviews<br />
END OF THE YEAR ROUNDUP<br />
Let’s be frank, 2015 has been a poor year for Ripper books. It opened with a conspiracy theory book and it finished<br />
with a conspiracy theory book and in between there was a conspiracy theory book. Discounting the ebook of The<br />
Complete Jack the Ripper A to Z, on which it would be unfair of me to comment, nothing much else of distinction came<br />
along.<br />
Back in January and looking at the year ahead, I forecast that Simon Wood’s Deconstructing<br />
Jack was likely to be the best offering of the year. It isn’t an especially good book, the biggest<br />
downside being the sheer improbability of its incomplete conspiracy theory. However, the<br />
extensive research was commendable and it caused one to look at the case from different<br />
perspectives, which is always a good thing.<br />
The two dark horse books which might easily have knocked Simon Wood’s<br />
book from its number one position were Wynne Weston-Davies’ The Real Mary<br />
Kelly and Bruce Robinson’s They All Love Jack. The Real Mary Kelly turned<br />
out to be interesting and entertaining reading, but relied far too heavily on<br />
supposition, and Bruce Robinson’s They All Love Jack cast aside the normal<br />
standards of historical research, proffered a cock-and-bull theory, and could<br />
be a contender for the worst Ripper book ever, thought the competition for that is very stiff.<br />
Otherwise, nothing memorable appeared and the Ripper year was mostly dominated, not by a<br />
book, but by a load of overblown nonsense about the Jack the Ripper Museum in Cable Street. What<br />
came as a surprise was J J Hainsworth’s Jack the Ripper - Case Solved, 1891 (reviewed below).<br />
It’s the third conspiracy theory of the year, but on a very small scale. Jonathan Hainsworth would<br />
have you believe that Sir Melville Macnaghten wanted it known that the police knew the identity<br />
of Jack the Ripper, but at the same time didn’t want anyone to discover who it was, so he dribbled<br />
information and misinformation to cronies like George R Sims.<br />
The theory doesn’t really hold together, I’m afraid, but Hainsworth provides a makings of a<br />
biography of an Eton-obsessed, schoolboy-minded Macnaghten, and it’s the first book about Montague<br />
John Druitt to have appeared in many a long year - and a lot of new information has emerged in that<br />
time which has desperately needed to be brought together in a single volume. Hainsworth’s book<br />
isn’t the one I’d have wished for to do this, but in this case Begg can’t be a chooser. However, I think<br />
Hainsworth’s book is probably the best Ripper book of the year, pipping Simon Wood at the post.<br />
But if 2015 has been a bit on the bleak side, 2016 looks is a positively wintery wasteland. As of<br />
writing, there’s not a single new Jack the Ripper title announced for publication!<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 56
Jack the Ripper- Case Solved, 1891<br />
Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland and Company, 2015<br />
http://www.mcfarlandbooks.com<br />
www.jjhainsworth.com<br />
ISBN: 978-0786496761<br />
Softcover; 219pp; Illus; notes; biblio; index<br />
£31.95 softcover/£12.56 Kindle<br />
Every week a corpse is pulled from the water somewhere along the River Thames’ 213 miles.<br />
I don’t know how many corpses were pulled from the Thames in the 1880s. Peter Ackroyd, in<br />
his excellent Thames: Sacred River, says that it is estimated that 3-4 bodies were pulled from<br />
the river every week. That’s just over 200 a year. Mei Trow, in The Thames Torso Murders, says<br />
that 544 bodies were recovered from the Thames in 1882, that’s about ten a week. In 1889<br />
the Gloucester Citizen newspaper indicated that one person a fortnight flung themselves from<br />
Waterloo Bridge, so popular a place for suicides that among its nicknames was ‘Arch of Suicide’.<br />
On the last day of December 1888 a waterman dragged the body of Montague John Druitt from the water off<br />
Thorneycroft’s Torpedo Works in Chiswick. It was an unremarkable suicide that barely made the newspapers, but in 1894<br />
the Chief Constable of the C.I.D. at Scotland Yard, Melville Macnaghten, wrote a report in which he ventured his opinion<br />
that Druitt was Jack the Ripper. For some reason Macnaghten described Druitt as a 41-year-old doctor. In fact he was a<br />
31-year-old barrister/schoolmaster. Macnaghten added a few details in his 1913 memoirs, not, of course, naming Druitt,<br />
but claiming that ‘certain facts’ pointing to Druitt’s guilt were not in the possession of the police until some years after<br />
June 1889. He added that Druitt lived ‘with his own people’ (either his nuclear family or just possibly with his class of<br />
people) and absented himself from home at certain times’. He had never been in an asylum. The theory advanced by<br />
Jonathan Hainsworth in this book is that Melville Macnaghten used writer friends Sir Arthur Griffiths (who wrote of the<br />
drowned doctor theory in 1898) and George R Sims (from 1899) (and latterly his autobiography) to make public that the<br />
police almost certainly knew the identity of Jack the Ripper, but at the same time did everything he possibly could to<br />
prevent anyone from identifying the suspect as Montague Druitt.<br />
The question is why Macnaghten would have done this, and sadly it’s a question Hainsworth struggles to convincingly<br />
answer. One can understand that Macnaghten may have wanted to make it public that the police knew who Jack the<br />
Ripper was, and it is also reasonable that he might have wanted it known that it was on his watch that the information<br />
identifying Druitt came to light and that Macnaghten (rather than, say, Anderson) recognised its significance. But if that<br />
was the case, why provide Griffiths and Sims with sufficient information to make an identification possible.<br />
Peter Ackroyd says that at the headquarters of the River Police in Wapping there is a “Book of the Dead” or “Occurrence<br />
Book”, otherwise a registry of bodies pulled from the river. I don’t know whether this book existed in the late 1800s, but<br />
I assume something like it must have done and that it would have been a relatively simple task for any journalist worthy<br />
of the name to have checked for bodies pulled from the Thames on the last day of December 1888. The misidentification<br />
of Druitt as a 41-year-old doctor would surely have been no obstacle to identifying Montague Druitt as the man of whom<br />
Griffiths, Sims or Macnaghten wrote.<br />
The other possible problem for Hainsworth’s theory is that we must allow for the possibility that Macnaghten was not<br />
responsible for the Thames suicide being identified as Jack the Ripper. In 1891 a member of parliament named Richard<br />
Farquharson was telling people about a doctor who committed suicide and who he believed was Jack the Ripper. The<br />
scant details suggest that he was referring to Druitt, although it is not known whether he was naming him. Farquharson<br />
could have been Macnaghten’s source or he and Macnaghten could have shared a common source. Seventeen years later<br />
a writer named Frank Collins Richardson referred to the Whitechapel murderer as having flung himself into the Thames<br />
and being named Dr Bluitt.<br />
Assuming this was a thinly-veiled reference to Druitt, the name was presumably in the public domain by 1908. I know<br />
that rumours circulate about people for decades before eventually appearing in print. Both Jimmy Saville and Cyril Smith<br />
were known about long before their posthumous exposure, especially among journalists, so I see no reason why Druitt’s<br />
name couldn’t have been linked with the Ripper murders without ever having made it into print, especially as journalists<br />
back then seem honourable and lacking curiosity - nobody, it seems, bothered to follow up on the Farquaharson story,<br />
for example, and later a vicar claiming that the Ripper had admitted to his crimes under seal of the confessional asked<br />
that a national newspaper not reveal his name because it could help identify the killer, and the newspaper agreed. No<br />
other journalists seem to have followed up that story either. Different days, different ways.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 57
Overall, then, Hainsworth’s theory seems to me to stumble at the very first hurdle. In the first place, Macnaghten<br />
could have stated that the identity of the murderer was known and that he committed suicide without giving the<br />
potentially identifying details about when and how he died.<br />
Setting aside Hainsworth’s theory, off the top of my head the last book about Druitt was D J Leighton’s Ripper Suspect<br />
in 2006, and so much interesting information has come to light since then that a book bringing it together between two<br />
covers has been long overdue. I’ve already mentioned some of this information, namely Farquharson and Richardson. In<br />
1892 an East End Catholic priest allegedly left a sealed packet addressed to Sir Edward Bradford in which was revealed<br />
the identity of Jack the Ripper, information apparently received under seal of the confessional.<br />
Hainsworth also examines the “North-country Vicar” story; a north-country vicar claimed that a fellow clergyman<br />
had received under seal of the confessional an admission to having committed the Jack the Ripper murders. The vicar<br />
had agreed to make the admission public, but in a form so heavily fictionalised that the murderer’s identity could never<br />
be learned. The vicar himself apparently bore a name which would help identify the killer and he asked the newspaper<br />
not to publish it, a request to which the newspaper remarkably agreed and did nothing further to pursue the story.<br />
Hainsworth suggests the identity of the vicar.<br />
Jonathan’s discovery of the family connection between Montague John Druitt<br />
and Col. Vivian Dering Majendie (1836-1850), the Home Office’s first and muchrespected<br />
explosives expert, is new and interesting and evidently something to<br />
which he attaches great importance, believing him to be the conduit between<br />
Druitt’s immediate family and Macnaghten and Sims. This is a possibility: knowing<br />
the importance of the case and the way in which the failure of the police to catch<br />
the Ripper had badly tarnished the reputation of Scotland Yard worldwide, we<br />
may assume that Majendie, himself a Scotland Yard man and a friend of senior<br />
policemen, may have put the good name of the Metropolitan Police above his<br />
family name and conveyed family suspicions about Montague to Macnaghten. But<br />
what would he have expected Macnaghten to do - keep the information quiet<br />
and do nothing? Investigate the suspicions as would have been his duty, thereby<br />
bringing other people of different ranks in on the “secret”?<br />
Undertake no investigations, but leak the story to the press via journalist and<br />
writer friends like Griffiths and Sims, providing just enough information to set<br />
any self-respecting investigative journalist on the trail of the suspect’s identity?<br />
There’s not enough information to allow comfortable theorising, but the fact<br />
is that Macnaghten gave away sufficient information for Druitt to be identified,<br />
and if journalists had been more aggressive newshounds than they appear to have<br />
been, his identity would surely have been known. It is difficult to believe that he<br />
was really trying to protect anyone. Indeed, it is entirely possible that Druitt’s<br />
name was already in or making its way into the public domain, albeit not in print.<br />
Finally, Hainsworth has uncovered assorted stories which he believes to be<br />
based on the Thames drownee. Marie Belloc Lowndes classic The Lodger comes<br />
under scrutiny, as does a tale by Guy Logan.<br />
Also, three short stories by G R Sims. Like a lot of Hainsworth’s material, much of this material has been discussed<br />
on the forums, but this is the first time it has appeared in a book. It deserves close analysis. In fact, it’s a pity that<br />
Hainsworth has discussed his theory so extensively on the forums, where it must be said that his theorising has generally<br />
been greeted with disagreement and, it is sad to say, occasional vile comments.<br />
Jonathan Hainsworth comes close to writing a biography of the Eton-obsessed Macnaghten, a grown man embracing a<br />
little boy’s love of manly sports like cricket and a sense of adventure. He doesn’t achieve it - and a biography was never<br />
his intention - but his efforts to delve into the mind of the man to explain his view of the world and why he wrote what<br />
he did are well worth reading.<br />
Finally, there are some great new photographs in this book too.<br />
Overall, Jonathan’s book is a conspiracy theory and one that probably goes way over the top, Macnaghten being<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 58
portrayed as a super-cop and Druitt as a super-suspect,<br />
a sort of Holmes and Moriarty, but with Holmes<br />
commanding a web of intrigue as he manipulates the<br />
likes of Sims and Griffiths, dribble information here and<br />
there, guiding them towards and moving them away,<br />
until his retirement gave him his own voice. It all seems<br />
too improbable to be true. But something may lay<br />
behind Hainsworth’s grand theorising and web-weaving.<br />
It’s not been easy to subject it to proper analysis when<br />
discussed piecemeal on the forums, now it is set forth<br />
calmly in a book it can be considered carefully.<br />
Overall, Jonathan Hainsworth’s book must be<br />
considered on three levels. First and foremost, it brings<br />
together all the new information relating to the Thames<br />
suicide/Druitt suspect that has emerged in recent years.<br />
Secondly, it paints a mini portrait of Macnaghten which<br />
goes a little way to creating a more rounded figure. And<br />
thirdly, it presents Jonathan’s theory, which put in its<br />
simplest form, is that Macnaghten wanted it known that<br />
the Ripper was caught, but didn’t want it known who he<br />
was. One doesn’t have to agree with all or any of this,<br />
but it’s great food for thought.<br />
We’ve needed a new book about Druitt for quite<br />
some time and whilst one might have wished that it<br />
wasn’t this one, venturing a contentious theory that’s<br />
difficult to attach credence, it is nevertheless good to<br />
have. Hainsworth has done some excellent research and<br />
the new photographs are great. The biggest downside to<br />
this book is the outrageous cover price, but take a look<br />
round and you can get it at least £10 cheaper.<br />
Overall, 2015 kept the best for last. If you had to buy<br />
one Ripper book this year, this would be it.<br />
Partners in Blood: Media & Jack the Ripper<br />
Craig Fraley<br />
CreateSpace Independent Publishing, 2015<br />
ISBN: 9781519716446<br />
Softcover and ebook; 412pp;<br />
Softcover £9.95, Ebook £1.99<br />
Rip-off time again.<br />
But at least Craig Fraley is honest about it. “All the information in this book can be found online”<br />
he says in his introduction, or “Disclaimer” as he calls it. And the emboldened emphasis is his too.<br />
He even admits that the newspaper reports can be found on Casebook.org.<br />
Quite a few books reprinting press reports have appeared over the past few years and the<br />
majority mercilessly plunder the transcribed newspaper reports freely available on Casebook. Most<br />
add nothing. Fraley is different. He has written his own text, then, whenever he seems able, he<br />
quotes from the newspapers, often very long extracts from the inquest reports in the Times.<br />
We’ve seen it all before.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 59
Jack the Ripper: The Facts<br />
Philip Holbrook<br />
Kindle ebook<br />
£1.99<br />
Don’t bother with this book, even if you can download and open it and have the eyesight capable<br />
of reading the tiny print. It’s another rip-off, this time it’s lifted the Wikipedia entry on Jack the<br />
Ripper and lazy Philip Holbrook couldn’t be bothered to disguise the fact. It even includes the same<br />
illustrations. And, perhaps the biggest sin, it pinches the title of my book.<br />
Policing the Victorian Community:<br />
The Formation of the English Provincial Police Forces, 1856-1880<br />
Vol: 9 in the Routledge Library Editions: The History of Crime and Punishment<br />
Carolyn Steedman<br />
London: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 2016<br />
www.routledge.com<br />
First Published: London: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1984<br />
ISBN: 9781138943728<br />
£90.00 Hardcover/£26.99 ebook<br />
The very hefty price tag means that this isn’t likely to be a book you’ll buy for your personal<br />
library, but it’s one you might want to source from your local library. Also, it’s worth noting that it<br />
was originally published in 1984, so it might not be as up-to-date as you’d like.<br />
As the cover price indicates, this is an academic book, written in an academic style, and<br />
unfortunately for some reason printed in a typewriter typeface that I found frustratingly awkward to read. Nevertheless,<br />
it was and remains an interesting examination of the development of provincial police forces following the passing of<br />
the County and Borough Police Act in 1856, which made it compulsory for any county in England (and Wales) which had<br />
not already established a police force to do so.<br />
The book has two parts, “Government and Policing” and “Men and Policemen”, the latter being a particularly<br />
interesting analysis of the places and occupations from which policemen were recruited, the possible reasons why some<br />
men saw policing as an attractive opportunity, and how and why recruits very often failed to make it through their first<br />
year on the beat.<br />
At first the bulk of recruits were men in their mid-20s, but soon they were in their early-20s, and a good many had<br />
worked the land before joining the police. Farm labourers worked hard for little pay, so police work seemed immediately<br />
attractive, but many found the police to be less appealing than it had first appeared. Roughly half of those who joined<br />
the police survived a year in the job and a mere 12% made it through to receiving their pensions. These figures remained<br />
pretty much the same throughout the period covered by the book. Interestingly, of those who left in their first year, 47%<br />
resigned and 53% were dismissed. The dismissal rate dropped quite dramatically as the years of service increased, but<br />
the chance of dying whilst in harness increased.<br />
What we often overlook is that policemen were almost exclusively working-class, whilst those they policed and over<br />
whom they had to exercise a degree of authority were middle- and upper-class. It was therefore psychologically difficult<br />
for a man to become a policeman, stepping out of his class, and having to deal with people who considered him his social<br />
inferior. It’s something which may have had an unappreciated impact on the Ripper investigation.<br />
I enjoyed this book. I can’t recommend that you rush out and buy it, but if you’re interested in the history of the<br />
police you should certainly see if your local library can source it for you.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 60
London Fog: A Memoir<br />
Christine L Corton<br />
Cambridge Massachusets: Harvard University Press, 2015<br />
ISBN:9780674088351<br />
Hardcover; 391pp; illus; notes; index<br />
£22.95<br />
“Even now I can recall the foggy evenings, and hear again the raucous cries of the newspaper<br />
boys: “ Another horrible murder, murder, mutilation, Whitechapel.” Such was the burden of their<br />
ghastly song.”<br />
So wrote Sir Melville Macnaghten. But, of course, the nights when Jack killed were not foggy.<br />
The image of Jack disappearing wraithlike into a swirling pea-souper is one of the enduring canards<br />
about Jack, but the famous London fog - or smog, a mixture of smoke and fog - is so ingrained in<br />
both Ripperlore and London history that it’s almost impossible to escape it. It’s been gone now for<br />
fifty-three years, but even today non-Londoners still refer to the capital as “the smoke”.<br />
Christine Corton discusses Jack the Ripper and the fog, but in a chapter about the danger the fog presented for<br />
women. The chapter opens with reference to the closure by Richard Mansfield of his play Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and<br />
moves on to Marie Belloc Lownde’s masterful The Lodger, which opens on a day “so cold, so foggy, so-so drizzly”, and<br />
a knock on the door that heralds the peculiar presence of a desperately needed lodger, Mr Sleuth. She also mentions<br />
William Hardinge’s novel Out of the Fog, published in 1888 though it had been serialised the previous year. This story<br />
portrays the fog as a prison, which it must have been for a great many women, its thickness determining how far she<br />
dare walk outside, if she dare walk outside at all.<br />
Lots of authors referred to the dangers<br />
that coud lay in wait in the fog. In Love<br />
and Mr Lewisham H G Wells painted a<br />
picture of the fog - “…the street lamps,<br />
blurred smoky orange at one’s nearest,<br />
and vanishing at twenty yards into dim<br />
haze, seemed to accentuate the infinite<br />
need of protection on the part of a<br />
delicate young lady who had already<br />
traversed three winters of fogs, thornily<br />
alone.” I’d always thought - when I had<br />
thought about it at all - that the London<br />
fog was a side effect of the Industrial<br />
Revolution, was born in the 19th century<br />
and lasted into the 1950s. The geography<br />
would always have made London a little<br />
prone to mists - the Thames basin is<br />
surrounded by low hills, a mist making<br />
environment, especially in the early<br />
morning. But smog - the smoke from<br />
fires burning wood and sea-coal (brought by boat from Newcastle) mixing with the fog - was in fact a problem during<br />
the Elizabethan period. Elizabeth I complained of it, saying she was “greatly grieved and annoyed with the taste and<br />
smoke of sea-coales”.<br />
The diarist John Evelyn, who thought the sulfurous clouds caused by the burning of sea-coal had turned London into<br />
a “hell upon earth”, proposed moving industry elsewhere and surrounding London with flowers and hedges. His idea met<br />
with the enthusiastic approval of Charles II, but nothing was done. Nor would anything be done until the 1950s. On 4<br />
December 1952 a thick yellow fog hung over London and everywhere up to 20 miles from the centre, and this unwanted<br />
guest stayed for a week, even penetrating buildings. This “Great Killer Fog” claimed 12,000 lives. It was an MP named<br />
Gerald Nabarro who eventually got the Clean Air Act pushed into law.<br />
It was in Victorian times that the thick, yellow fog that lay heavy beyond the Bunting’s red damask curtains really<br />
became a feature of London. Some sixty of these fog occurred every year. East London invariably copped the worst of it,<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 61
the prevailing westerly wind driving the fog to swirl thickly through its streets. So, as ever, the poor suffered, their lives<br />
sacrificed to indutry. But the end of the 19th century the fogs were diminishing somewhat, but numerous attempts were<br />
made to regulate the amount of smoke cause by industry, but always the business interests prevailed.<br />
The book isn’t all doom and gloom. Ms Corton has managed to gather some highly memorable little stories, such as<br />
the time when an opera at Sadlers Wells had to be abandoned, the fog being so thick in the theatre that the audience<br />
couldn’t see the stage. Or when a a heavy, thick fog joined the congregation inside St Paul’s Cathedral and obscured the<br />
pulpit from which the sermon was delivered, the text being “I am the Light of the World”.<br />
I thoroughly enjoyed this very handsome book. Having struggled through some almost impenetrably written academic<br />
titles and fearing the same from this offering another university press, I was delighted to find that this was a clearly<br />
written, superbly researched, very detailed, and, to me at least, original investigation of the London fog.<br />
Highly recommended.<br />
Original Spin: Downing Street<br />
and The Press in Victorian Britain<br />
Paul Brighton<br />
London: I.B. Taurus, 2015<br />
ISBN: 9781780760599<br />
Hardcover; 280pp; illus; notes; biblio; index<br />
Hardcover £25<br />
The use of the word “spin” to mean putting an event in a favourable light is uncertain. I’ve read<br />
that it comes from baseball, where pitchers put a spin on a ball to control its direction, but it is<br />
far more likely to come from spinning a yarn, an expression which itself derives from the textile<br />
industry. It means telling (an often tall) story. As for the term “spin doctor”, it dates back to 1984.<br />
To the 7th August in fact. The New York Times using the expression for the first time in print -<br />
“Today the competing camps engaged in a game of persuasion and perception: ‘spin doctoring’, as<br />
the craft of explaining to reporters what really happened is known in political circles.”<br />
People of importance have probably always worried about how their contemporaries perceive them, and a few with<br />
an awareness of history will have worried about how future generations would see them - a classic example being the<br />
way in which Henry VII had his predecessor’s reputation blackened, even attributing to Richard III the murder of the<br />
princess in the Tower. With the removal of the “tax on knowledge” and growing literacy among the working classes, the<br />
number of newspapers grew and politicians had more to worry about than how they would be remembered after they<br />
were dead. The newspapers could lose them votes or win them. Quietly, but with determination, it became necessary<br />
to manipulate the truth, to make the unfavourable appear favourable.<br />
It’s often said that newspapers and journalists in in 19th century were fairly low on the status scale. Towards the<br />
end of the 19th century journalism changed. The “New Journalism” catered for a popular audience, the newly literate<br />
man in the street. It didn’t simply report the news, it delivered interpretation and ready made opinion. W T Stead is<br />
often cited as its prime moving force, and Stead also wanted to deliver the story behind the news and so gave birth<br />
to investigative journalism. This was a wholly new phenomenon that politicians, businessmen, and other prominent<br />
individuals did not like. They were used to making statements, not to being probed and questioned and having their<br />
foibles and mistakes exposed to the world.<br />
The “new journalism” flowered with the launch of Alfred Harmsworth’s hugely successful Daily Mail, which Lord<br />
Salisbury described as “written by office boys for office boys”. Lord Palmerston (1784-1865) was probably the first prime<br />
minister to use the press to his own advantage, passing on information in return for favourable reporting and support.<br />
He invited journalists to pleasant social gatherings, he leaked information, wrote anonymous articles, and bestowed<br />
sinecures on newspapermen. His association with The Times’s editor John Thadeus Delane (1817-1879) was described<br />
by Lord Brougham as “devil-worship”. All Victoria’s prime ministers did the same, but most were a little more adept<br />
at pretending otherwise, hiding behind a not altogether untrue disdain for the grubby journalists and newspapers<br />
whilst feting them behind closed doors. Balfour even claimed that he never read the newspapers, which in fact he did.<br />
His uncle, Lord Salisbury, the prime minister at the time of the Ripper murders, also gave an outward appearance of<br />
disdaining newspapers, but in the early part of his career, before he inherited the title and estate and family fortune,<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 62
he made his living by writing anonymous articles for the reviews and as<br />
prime minister he used the press quite skilfully.<br />
Paul Brighton, a lecturer in media studies, has written a fascinating<br />
book. It’s well researched, well informed, and very readable, but<br />
somewhat dry and unexciting, and it’s a bit plodding to begin with,<br />
but from Palmerston it gets better. The beginning of the book is scene<br />
setting, starting with Pitt the Younger.<br />
Chapters then look at Liverpool and Wellington, Grey and Melbourne,<br />
and Peel and Russell, before prime ministers get their own chapters.<br />
These are Lord Derby, Lord Aberdeen, Lord Palmerston, Bjamin Disraeli<br />
and William Gladstone. For the final chapter Lord Salisbury shares the<br />
stage with Lord Rosebery. Lord Salisbury’s attempts to manipulate the<br />
press was most visible in the “Parnellism and Crime” debacle which did<br />
great damage to the reputation of The Times and to Salisbury and his<br />
government. The series of articles were a blatant attempt to discredit<br />
Charles Parnell and the Irish Party, as well as do damage to Gladstone<br />
and those Liberals who supported Irish Home Rule. The center-piece was<br />
a letter supposedly written by Parnell in which he supported the murder<br />
of two officials in Dublin’s Phoenix Park. Brighton describes the whole<br />
thing as “a sophisticated ‘spin’ operation”. Brighton says that Salisbury”<br />
did not much mind if the letters turned out to be forgeries, as they did,<br />
so long as the overall impression of Parnell and his supporters left more<br />
than a trace of negative feeling in the minds of voters in the rest of<br />
Britain.” Afterwards, Salisbury tried - with some small justification, to<br />
play down the forgery and play up the fact that Parnell wasn’t altogether<br />
cleared of supporting violence and violent men. How the whole mess might have played out can’t be known because<br />
Parnell’s affair with Kitty O’Shea became common knowledge and shattered his political future. He died soon after.<br />
I’d have liked to have had more about Lord Salisbury and particularly the ramifications of “Parnellism and Crime”.<br />
It must have been from Salisbury, or those close to him, who fed information to The Times, sanctioned its journalists<br />
access to the files and secret papers at Dublin Castle, and even drew in the complicity of the Metropolitan police and<br />
perhaps even encouraged Anderson’s articles.<br />
I enjoyed Paul Brighton’s book, but found it a little thin in parts and the closing years of Victoria’s reign, so important<br />
in the history of British newspapers, seemed rushed. Overall, though, it was interesting reading.<br />
Alice Diamond and the Forty Elephants:<br />
The Female Gang That Terrorised London<br />
Brian McDonald<br />
Preston: Milo Books, 2015<br />
www.milobooks.com<br />
ISBN: 9781908479846<br />
softcover; illus; biblio; index.<br />
£8.99<br />
She was young, had distinctive dark, close-cropped hair, known as an Eton-cut. She was described<br />
as good-looking, and although no-one saw it, she also carried a jemmy with which she forced open<br />
the front door of a house in Raleigh Drive, Claygate, Surrey. After a while the young woman and<br />
her male companion left the house, returned to the four-seater open touring car in which they’d<br />
driven to the house, and left. It was broad daylight, the afternoon of 23 August 1926. When the<br />
owners returned they discovered that the house had been ransacked, jewellery, clothing, and other<br />
valuables stolen. According to the newspapers, the police believed the Eton-cropped girl was the new leader of the<br />
Forty Elephants, a female gang which the police thought they’d smashed in 1925 when most of its prominent leaders<br />
had been sent to prison.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 63
I was searching a newspaper archive for something or other when I came across<br />
this story, my eye being caught by the headline ‘Girl Motor Bandit’. I read a little<br />
more about the Forty Elephants back in 2013 in Brian McDonald’s Gangs of London:<br />
100 Years of Mob Warfare (2010), but other things conspired that year to giving the<br />
book more than a glance through. Anyway, the Forty Elephants stuck somewhere in<br />
my mind and a very, very faint bell rang when I read the title of this book, and much<br />
to my pleasure it tells the story of the ‘Eton-Bobbed Bandit’, as the newspapers<br />
dubbed the supposed gang leader.<br />
Her name was Lillian Rose Kendall, born in Wandsworth in 1902, indicted into the<br />
Forty Elephants, and by 1920 prostituting herself in the East End for a man named<br />
Henry ‘Harry’ Goldstein, who went to prison for living on immoral earnings.<br />
Brian McDonald, who also authored a family memoir, Elephant Boys (2000),<br />
about Charles McDonald and the south London McDonald gang, tells the full story<br />
of the mainly female Elephant and Castle-based Forty Elephants, sometimes called the Forty Thieves. The leader was<br />
called the ‘queen’ and the first is generally thought to have been Charlie Pitts. By 1896 it was a woman named Mary<br />
Carr. By the 1920s it was Alice Diamond (aka Diana Black). A junior lieutenant in Alice’s gang was Maggie Hill, who would<br />
succeed her as ‘queen’ in the 1930s. Maggie’s 13-year-old brother was Billy Hill, who later claimed to be Boss of Britain’s<br />
Underworld. The gang initially targeted shops and department stores, shoplifting a staggering amount of booty, the<br />
organised getaway involving hoisters, who did the actual thefts, boosters, to whom the stolen goods were passed, and a<br />
third group who discouraged pursuers.<br />
When London got too hot, the gang moved into the provinces and seaside towns,<br />
often organising a ‘blitz’ attack on a large number of businesses in one town. When<br />
shoplifting became too difficult, the gang moved into smash and grab raids and<br />
housebreaking. She was born in 1896. She acquired a record as a juvenile, came to<br />
police attention when in her late teens, having been arrested in 1912 for stealing<br />
chocolate, in 1913 for stealing a blouse, and in 1914 she received 12-months with<br />
hard labour for assorted thefts. By 1926 was the accepted ‘queen’. She had light<br />
brown hair, green eyes, a dimpled chin, and stood 5ft 10ins in her stockinged feet,<br />
which was remarkably tall for the time, and her diamond rings were as effective<br />
as a brass knuckle-duster. She was also in and out of prison, her last conviction<br />
being in 1929. Alice Diamond was not mad, but to paraphrase Lady Caroline Lamb’s<br />
description of Lord Byron, eh was most certainly bad and dangerous to know. For<br />
example, just before Christmas 1925 Alice and a gang of men and women raided the<br />
home of William Britten. It was a brutal attack, Britten being badly injured, his son<br />
hurt and his wife threatened with a gun. These were definitely not nice people. Alice<br />
received 18-months.<br />
Alice Diamond and the Forty Elephants isn’t the easiest of books to read. There are a lot of names and relationships<br />
to remember, and the narrative does follow a sequential dates, but sometimes skips about a bit. But once you settle into<br />
the book it’s easy enough.<br />
The book isn’t all about Alice Diamond, who died in<br />
the 1950s, but begins with female criminals, starting<br />
with Moll Cutpurse and the highway-woman Lady<br />
Katherine Ferrers (1634-1660), allegedly the real-life<br />
model for the ‘Wicked Lady Skelton’ in Magdalen King-<br />
Hall’s novel upon which the classic Margaret Lockwood<br />
movie, The Wicked Lady (1945), was based. It comes<br />
pretty much up-to-date. I thoroughly enjoyed this<br />
book, which opened a window on a criminal history of<br />
Britain that I’d hitherto pretty much overlooked.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 64
The Ice Cream Blonde: The Whirlwind Life and<br />
Mysterious Death of Screwball Comedienne Thelma Todd<br />
Michelle Morgan<br />
Chicago, Illinois: Chicago Review Press, 2016<br />
ISBN 978-1-61373-038-6<br />
hardcover; 264pp; illus; notes; biblio; index.<br />
£17.76 hardback/£16.68 ebook<br />
The beautiful young woman was dead. She’d turned on the engine of her car, maybe to use the heater<br />
or maybe just to warm the vehicle prior to driving somewhere, but she’d she’d fallen asleep, and in<br />
the almost airtight garage she had been overcome by the exhaust fumes. She was known by a couple<br />
of nicknames, the Ice Cream Blonde and Hot Toddy. Her name was Thelma Todd. She was a movie star.<br />
Born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, Thelma Todd was an intelligent woman destined to become a<br />
housewife and a teacher, but her mother encouraged her to enter beauty pageants and after winning the Miss Massachusetts<br />
title, she was recognised by a Hollywood talent scout and quickly became a star. A distinguished comedienne, she made<br />
roughly 120 movies between her first, Fascinating Youth, in 1926 and her last, The Bohemian Girl with Laurel and Hardy,<br />
in 1935. They were mostly shorts, but she was one of the lucky silent screen actresses to successfully make the transition<br />
to talkies.<br />
Away from the screen, Todd displayed an appalling choice in men, but a good business sense, running a successful<br />
restaurant, the Sidewalk Cafe, which she co-owned with Roland West and his ex-wife.<br />
The morning of Monday, 16 December 1935, Thelma Todd was found slumped in her Lincoln convertible inside the<br />
garage of Jewel Carmen, the former wife of Todd’s lover and business partner, Roland West. She was dead from carbon<br />
monoxide poisoning, apparently a suicide. On Saturday night, 14 December, she had had an unpleasant exchange with<br />
her ex-husband, Pat DiCicco, at a party at the Trocadero, but had left the party in good spirits. LAPD detectives<br />
concluded that Todd’s death was accidental, a Coroner’s Inquest jury decided the same, as did a grand jury, but there<br />
was no motive for suicide and no suicide note, and speculation that Todd was murdered, either by Roland West or by<br />
gangsters has continued. In her book Hot Toddy (1991), Andy Edmonds suggesting that the hit was ordered by mobster<br />
Charles “Lucky” Luciano, who wanted to open an illegal casino on one of the Cafe’s floors, possibly with the intention of<br />
luring studio bosses into getting huge gambling debts which would give Luciano a way of taking over the studios.<br />
Other commentators have questioned<br />
the factual accuracy of Andy Edmonds’<br />
book, claiming in particular that there is no<br />
evidence that Luciano had any involvement in<br />
Todd’s death. Most notable of these is William<br />
Donati’s The Life and Death of Thelma Todd<br />
(2012). Unfortunately, it was published by<br />
McFarland, so it has a high price tag, putting it<br />
beyond the reach of the interested but casual<br />
reader, but he returned to original sources<br />
and had access to previously unseen material,<br />
footnoting his sources, and eschewing<br />
fabricated dialogue. Donati had previously<br />
written Lucky Luciano: The Rise and Fall of<br />
a Mob Boss and he dissected Edmonds theory<br />
with surgical skill.<br />
Michelle Morgan, who authored the<br />
Mammoth Book of Hollywood Scandals and<br />
has otherwise written about Monroe and<br />
Madonna, tells the story of Todd’s life and<br />
recounts the circumstances leading up to her death. she discounts any involvement with Luciano, either romantically or<br />
in business, but she does home in on Anthony Cornero Stralla, a booze-runner supplying alcohol imported from Canada<br />
to the thirsty Prohibition club and restaurant goers of Los Angeles. However, Morgan doesn’t come down on any sides,<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 65
ut presents the facts and theories and leaves you to decide for yourself. Mind you, as Morgan says, ‘piecing together<br />
information about Thelma Todd’s death is like putting together a five-thousandpiece jigsaw puzzle of the sky at night…’<br />
One things seems fairly certain, she didn’t die accidentally. She committed suicide or she was murdered.<br />
The book is well served by notes, bibliography and index. There’s a good but unexciting selection of images. Overall,<br />
I thoroughly enjoyed Michelle Morgan’s book. Thelma Todd was a star who doesn’t twinkle in the Hollywood firmament<br />
as brightly as it did in the early days of the talkies, but the manner of her death is a real mystery. Highly recommended.<br />
reasonable nine.<br />
The Life and Death of Kid Curry:<br />
Tiger of the Wild Bunch<br />
Gary A. Wilson<br />
Roman and Littlefield, 2015<br />
www.rowman.com<br />
ISBN: 9781442247390<br />
Softcover/ebook; 230pp; biblio; index<br />
Softcover £12.95, Ebook £11.67<br />
“He has not one single redeeming feature. He is the only criminal I know of who does not have<br />
one single good point.” So said William Pinkerton of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. He was talking<br />
about Harvey “Kid Curry” Logan, one of the most vicious outlaws in the American West. Logan was<br />
credited with fifteen killings. Some people say he killed twice that number. Others say it was a more<br />
Back in the early 1970s there was a television series I was fond of called Alias Smith and Jones, which wasn’t the last<br />
western series but feels like it. In case you didn’t see it or haven’t caught the re-runs, it was about two outlaws who<br />
were granted an amnesty, but only if they could go straight for a year. The hitch or catch was that nobody could know<br />
about the deal, which meant that the boys still had a reward on their heads and that sheriffs and bounty hunters would<br />
still be after them. One of the outlaws was called Hannibal Hayes. The other was Jed “Kid” Curry and he was very fast<br />
with a gun, but he was very reluctant to draw.<br />
There never was a Hannibal Hayes, but Kid Curry was real enough. His real name was Harvey Logan and like the TV<br />
character he was fast with his gun, but had no reluctance about pulling the trigger. He was a cold-blooded killer, possibly<br />
the most feared fugitive in America.<br />
From 1894 to 1904 he robbed banks and trains and eluded the posses that rode after him. He rode with his own<br />
gang, with such famed outlaws as Thomas “Black Jack” Ketchum and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In a famous<br />
photograph known as the “Fort Worth Five” of the Wild Bunch in their Sunday best, he stands on the right, his hand<br />
resting on Butch Cassidy’s shoulder.<br />
He was the third son of William Logan and Eliza (nee Johnson). His brothers were James, Henry (Hank), John, and<br />
Lorenzo (Lonie). He also had a sister named Arda. When their mother died all the children (except the eldest boy) went<br />
to live with an aunt in Dodson, Missouri . He moved around a bit and it was when breaking horses on a ranch in Texas<br />
that he met George “Flat Nose” Curry, whose surname he and his brothers adopted. Harvey Logan was a hard worker,<br />
mild-mannered, likable, and loyal, but when he had sufficient money in his pocket he liked to indulge in prostitutes and<br />
alcohol. He wasn’t particularly likeable when drunk.<br />
It was in 1894 that Curry ran across Powell “Pike” Landusky in Jake Harris’s saloon in Chouteau County, Montana.<br />
Landusky drew his gun and fired, but the gun jammed. Curry’s borrowed gun fired and Landusky died. Curry didn’t<br />
believe he’d get a fair trial, so he fled and in due course joined up with Thomas “Black Jack” Ketchum. His life from<br />
then on consisted of riding the outlaw trail, a glamorous adventure in these declining years of the wild west, but which<br />
in reality was a succession of robberies, some killings here and there, and eating a lot of dust as the gang fled posses.<br />
The Life and Death of Kid Curry isn’t the first book to chronicle the career of Kid Curry, but it can probably lay claim<br />
to being the most meticulously researched. It isn’t particularly well-written and there are some typos here and there,<br />
but Wilson manages to hold your interest as he recounts the succession of crimes and escapes. What one really wants<br />
to get to is Curry’s death.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 66
Scholars of the wild west seem agreed that Kid Curry was one of three men who robbed a train near Parachute,<br />
Colorado, and were pursued by a posse that one newspaper said numbered 100 men. One of the cowboys shot and<br />
wounded one of the robbers, who fell from his horse. Accounts differ as to what happened next. One is that the wounded<br />
robber stood up from behind some rocks and was seen to shoot himself through the head, the other is that his body was<br />
discovered behind some rocks, it being clear that he’d shot himself through the head. Either way, the robber was dead<br />
by his own hand. Furthermore, in due course the body was identified as that of Kid Curry. The date was 9 June 1904.<br />
But all is not quite that clear cut. Doubts that it was Kid Curry began to mount until it was decided to exhume<br />
the body. Curry had scars on the right wrist and arm and one newspaper reported that these were not visible on the<br />
corpse, but another newspaper reported that the body was so badly decomposed that identification was impossible. The<br />
Pinkertons were happy to declare that the body was that of Kid Curry.<br />
There are quite a lot of reported sightings of Kid Curry by friends and others in the years that followed. It was even<br />
claimed that Curry had never been involved in the robbing of that train near Parachute, but that he’d joined Butch<br />
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in Argentina. The truth will probably never be known.<br />
As said, this book isn’t particularly wellwritten and it was sometimes difficult to sort out who was who and where was<br />
where, but I thoroughly enjoyed Gary A Wilson’s account of the life and criminal career of Kid Curry. It is the result of a<br />
decades research by Mr Wilson and some of the information here is apparently published for the first time, and Wilson<br />
should be congratulated for the final result.<br />
All reviews by Paul Begg<br />
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Ripperologist 147 December 2015 68
Ripper Fiction<br />
with DAVID GREEN<br />
There was Mary.<br />
She didn’t look like much of a person at all, the way she was carved up. It was so awful, if I did any<br />
kind of job telling you about it here, you might get so revolted you’d quit reading my book. Besides, I’d<br />
feel guilty for putting such pictures into your head. My aim is to inform you and entertain you with the<br />
tale of my adventures...<br />
* * * * *<br />
The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper Stories<br />
Maxim Jakubowski (ed.)<br />
Robinson (2015)<br />
ISBN-978-1-4721-3584-1<br />
Paperback 562pp<br />
£9.99<br />
from Savage by Richard Laymon (1993)<br />
Editor Maxim Jakubowski has assembled a wonderful collection of 40 all new stories about Jack the<br />
Ripper. Mostly they are tales of mystery, suspense, science fiction or horror, often with a counterfactual<br />
twist thrown in for good measure. The East End territory will be largely familiar, but just around the<br />
corner you’ll find yourself in strange, dark places - a bordello stocked with the living dead, a hi-tech<br />
office suite equipped with Jack the Ripper simulators, and a twenty-first century hotel where a Jack<br />
the Ripper conference quickly degenerates into bloody massacre… You’ll know many of the characters<br />
who skulk in the rookeries and gas-lit courtyards, but from time to time you’ll also come across other folk - psychic detectives<br />
and kitchen offal workers, seafaring lunatics and cross-dressing Metropolitan police officers in padded bustles and chignon wigs.<br />
And of course, you’ll bump into Jack the Ripper in a multitude of shapes and forms.<br />
At the crudest level, this is an anthology of serial killer stories. But Jakubowski’s selections are broad and wide-ranging, keen<br />
to explore the myriad ways in which victims and assailants interact and respond to violence. This diversity is welcome, and it<br />
serves to demonstrate how far Ripper fiction has matured from the stalk-and-slash yarns of old.<br />
Naturally, the stories vary in style and quality, and readers will need to find for themselves the entries that work best for<br />
them. Perhaps a couple of the stories have been too arduously crafted, while others seem to me to offer little beyond a ‘shock’<br />
revelation about the Ripper’s identity.<br />
Overwhelmingly, though, this is a very strong collection. What distinguishes the best stories is a willingness to take risks coupled<br />
with a clear commitment to the Ripper theme in its purest form. Standouts include Adrian Ludens’s supernatural horror tale<br />
‘The Monster’s Leather Apron’, which follows Jack the Ripper out into the Yukon goldfields for a savage encounter with an Innuit<br />
monstrosity. Equally successful is Sally Spedding’s creepy and menacing look at Aaron Kosminski’s troubled schooldays in Congress<br />
Poland. Catherine Lundoff contributes a tense domestic drama about patriarchal violence, focusing on the Ripper’s terrorizing<br />
influence over the cowed female members of his household. In ‘A Small Band of Dedicated Men’ Andrew Lane shows what happens<br />
when a group of men unfairly accused of being the Ripper - Ostrog, Tumblety, Seweryn Kłosowski, Francis Thompson, etc – join<br />
forces to hunt down the real killer: it’s a fantastic story with absolutely the best nasty twist in the book. Interestingly, there is<br />
tale called ‘They All Love Jack’ by Nick Sweet featuring Michael Maybrick as the Ripper.<br />
This anthology is crammed with intelligent and consistently entertaining fiction that will appeal to even the most jaded souls.<br />
It’s a fitting high point on which to end what has been an outstanding year for Ripper fiction.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 69
Gideon Smith & The Mask of the Ripper<br />
David Barnett<br />
London: Snowbooks (2015)<br />
ISBN-978-1-9096-79559<br />
Paperback 379pp<br />
£8.99<br />
London, 1890. For more than two years a monster called Jack the Ripper has been preying on<br />
prostitutes in the End East, sawing open their skulls and removing handfuls of brain tissue. The police<br />
have run out of ideas. The unfortunates have gone on strike. The country is on the brink of riot and<br />
civil disobedience. It’s time to call in Gideon Smith, the dashing young penny dreadful adventurer and<br />
pulp superhero of the Empire. But things don’t quite go to plan when a despicable villain – Markus<br />
Mesmer - steals Gideon’s memory, leaving him to wander forlorn and adrift around the dangerous<br />
streets of Whitechapel. Who will catch the Ripper now? Who will save the Crown?<br />
This is the third instalment in David Barnett’s energetic, rip roaring steampunk adventure series set in an alternative<br />
British Empire where the American Revolution never took place and where airships traverse the skies piloted by cyborgs.<br />
The novel is chock-a-block with steampunk motifs - brass dragons, dinosaurs in the sewers, hydraulic police truncheons,<br />
clockwork bloodhounds, and best of all, Maria the Mechanical Girl with a body made of coils, gears, pistons and cogs but the<br />
emotions of a woman. Add Jack the Ripper to the stew, and you have a colourful, action-packed drama, variously decadent and<br />
swashbuckling, blood-curdling and goofy, full of weird and wonderful and abominable characters. Hugely enjoyable.<br />
The Night in Question<br />
Laurie Graham<br />
Quercus (2015)<br />
ISBN-978-1-78206-9751<br />
Paperback 368pp<br />
£13.99<br />
Heard the one about Jack the Ripper and the female comic from the Black Country? Laurie<br />
Graham’s magnificent new novel is set in the world of East London variety theatre at the time of the<br />
Jack the Ripper murders. It tells the story of Dot Allbones, who has risen from humble beginnings in<br />
Wolverhampton to become the darling of music hall audiences, a lioness comique playing venues in<br />
Hoxton and Mile End. But Dot is getting on a bit and struggling to keep her top billing as theatre-goers<br />
clamour for younger artistes and new speciality acts.<br />
One evening, outside the Griffin Hall in Shoreditch, she meets up with a childhood friend she hasn’t seen in over twenty<br />
years - Kate Eddowes, now fallen on hard times and eking out a piteous existence on the streets of Whitechapel. At the same<br />
time, a peculiar American herbalist enters Dot’s life - a Dr Frank Townsend, who may be a Fenian terrorist, or a pervert. Or<br />
something far worse… It’s the autumn of 1888 and Jack the Ripper is about to begin his murder spree.<br />
Readers of this journal will have a fairly good idea where the story is heading, and if this dark, elegantly written, funny novel<br />
has a minor fault it is only that there are so few surprises plot-wise. Even so, it is Laurie Graham’s probing of the underside of<br />
East End Victorian life - the doss houses, the cellar kitchens, the despair and the squalor - that gives her novel real depth and<br />
substance. It sparkles with a touching, heartfelt portrait of Kate Eddowes, depicted not as a mutilated cadaver but as a warm,<br />
living human being with memories and hopes for the future.<br />
Dot Allbones is a strong female character with an engaging voice full of acid wit and melancholy observation, and she makes<br />
a perceptive commentator on the growing public hysteria surrounding the murders. One of her admirers is the journalist Tom<br />
Bullen, who provides her - and us - with extra inside information on the atrocities.<br />
The fellowship of backstage music hall life is thrillingly evoked. Readers will enjoy the front row seat and marvel at the<br />
antics of Randolph the Cycling Trumpeter, Dickie Dabney and his Mathematical Crows, the Infant Prodigy, and Valentine the<br />
male soprano. Yet beneath the greasepaint and behind the stage scenery lies a whole universe of pain and sorrow, rivalry and<br />
thwarted ambition, lust and secret desire.<br />
The Night in Question is a deeply moving novel about men and women, about the power of female friendship, and the way<br />
chance and ill-fortune can intercede in life. It’s an absolutely exceptional novel, worldly and passionate, and my favourite<br />
work of fiction in 2015.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 70
Proper Red Stuff: Ripper Fiction Before 1900<br />
In this series we take a look at forgotten writers from the 1880s and 1890s who tackled the Jack the Ripper theme in their<br />
novels and short fiction.<br />
No 2: Fred W Rose: I Will Repay (1892)<br />
Frederick W Rose (1849-1915) was born in Paddington, the second son of a Highland army officer.<br />
He entered the Civil Service at the age of eighteen and remained there till his retirement more<br />
than forty years later. So far as we know he enjoyed a happy and busy career, full of diverting civic<br />
incident. For most of his adult life he lived at No. 4 Cromwell Crescent in South Kensington. In 1870<br />
he married Catharine Gilchrist, also of Scottish descent, but filed for divorce in 1891, citing his wife’s<br />
adultery. He fathered three sons.<br />
Rose was a great European traveller and an accomplished artist and illustrator. His hugely influential<br />
political cartoon maps are still very popular today. He also had a life-long interest in murder and true<br />
crime, becoming an early member of Our Society (later the Crimes Club).<br />
When he was forty-three, Frederick Rose published his second novel, I Will Repay (Eden, Remington & Co, 1892). Set in<br />
Pimlico, it’s a grim, rather horrific tale based on the Jack the Ripper murders. It advances the theory that the killer was an<br />
epileptic suffering from religious mania who believes he has received instruction from the Almighty to punish prostitutes.<br />
The novel contains a fair amount of autobiographical detail in its descriptions of middle class and bohemian party life,<br />
but it is the darker material that really impresses. Early on, we watch as the antagonist Wargrave Leinster learns to savour<br />
the culling and gralloching of deer on the moorland estates around Perth. An old Spanish bull-fighter teaches him the art<br />
of severing the buck’s spinal cord with a single slice of the knife. Later, there are several spectacularly grisly scenes where<br />
Leinster dismembers his first female victim using his father’s surgical implements, disposing of the torso and body parts in<br />
Epping Forest, Woking, and stations along the suburban East London line. There are episodes, too, verging on necrophily, where<br />
Leinster drools over the contents of his large carved oak chest wherein are stored the dead bodies of his victims. One wonders<br />
where the author’s venom came from to produce all of this, and it is tantalising to reflect that at the time Rose was writing I<br />
Will Repay he was embroiled in an ugly divorce and a bitter public dispute over the custody of his children.<br />
I Will Repay is certainly a macabre affair, but it has great merit and significance as perhaps the first serious fictional attempt<br />
to understand the psychopathology of the Whitechapel serial killer: by presenting a credible scientific rationale for the Ripper<br />
crimes, Rose’s novel stands apart from the shilling shockers and supernatural thrillers that typified most Ripper fiction in the<br />
first quarter of a century after the murders.<br />
Not unexpectedly, his novel provoked controversy. A reviewer for the Manchester Courier complained that ‘The public does<br />
not wish to know about these ghastly horrors, and will decline to go back to the atrocities of the Whitechapel murders, even<br />
when presented under the thin disguise of ‘Pimlico’ as the locality.’ The Freeman’s Journal regretted that the author’s obvious<br />
literary talent had been wasted on such a ‘gruesome and somewhat undesirable subject’, while The Yorkshire Post dismissed<br />
it as an ‘unpleasant novel of which little or nothing can be said in praise.’<br />
Possibly Rose was stung by these hostile reactions, for he gave up fiction writing altogether. Yet it seems likely to me that<br />
Rose will have returned to his speculations on epilepsy and murder twelve years later, when he and his fellow enthusiasts at<br />
the Crimes Club met over lunch and drinks to debate celebrated murder mysteries such as the Jack the Ripper case.<br />
References: For details of Rose’s membership of Our Society, see Arthur Lambton’s article ‘The Crimes Club’ in the London Magazine for<br />
March 1923. Rose’s contribution to map-making is briefly covered in Gillian Hill’s Cartographical Curiosities (British Library Publishing, 1978,<br />
pp. 46-49). For contemporary reviews of Rose’s novel see ‘Manchester Courier’, January 9, 1892; Freeman’s Journal, January 23, 1892; and<br />
The Yorkshire Post, January 27, 1892. A biography of Rose has been announced by Rod Barron, the antiquarian map dealer. There is a copy of<br />
I Will Repay in the British Library (shelf mark lsidyv3aed10a0).<br />
IN THE NEXT ISSUE we take a look at the new three-part English language translation of Philippe R Welté’s novel<br />
Jack the Ripper: The Secret of Mary Jane K., which was a best seller when released in France in 2006. Plus all the<br />
latest Ripper fiction.<br />
DAVID GREEN lives in Hampshire, England, where he works as a freelance book indexer. He is currently writing<br />
(very slowly) a book about the murder of schoolboy Percy Searle in Hampshire in 1888.<br />
Ripperologist 147 December 2015 71