A Mix of Murders: Fifteen Historic English Cases from the Twentieth Century

A Mix of Murders

Fifteen Historic English Cases

from the

Twentieth Century

by

Grahame Farrell

Published by Kembra Publications Ltd.

ISBN 978-0-9928356-1-3

All content in this publication is copyright © K G Farrell 2012 all rights reserved.

First Publishing Date: May, 2012.

Second Impression: August, 2012.

Third Impression: December, 2012.

Fourth Impression: April, 2014.

Beyond the scope of fair-use, and without the express written consent of the author, this publication may not be reproduced, transmitted or stored in whole or in part by graphic, electronic, or other means.

Cover art, copy-editing and e-book file-generation by Richard Vaughan of Dodeca Technologies Ltd., for which the author is grateful.

Cover-art text set in Conviction, a free typeface created by Hasbarak that is available through www.dafont.com.

Cover-art depicts sunset over trees on Wandsworth Common in South-West London, within only a few miles of where Eileen Emms was murdered. See Chapter Fifteen, The Quiet Killer.

Praise for Grahame Farrell

A Mix of Murders is an e-book released for Kindle [in May 2012] that features British murder cases from the twentieth century, from the early years of the century to the 1980s.

Author and librarian Grahame Farrell covers a really interesting mix (as the title suggests) of 15 crimes. The latest crime in the book is a chapter on Kenneth Erskine, known as The Stockwell Strangler who murdered elderly people in South London in the 1980s. This is a particularly disturbing chapter as Erskine was simply so brutal and dangerous. His victims so vulnerable.

Another intriguing case is the 1955 murder of Elizabeth Currell in the quaint and respectable commuter village of Potter’s Bar, South Hertfordshire. Mrs Currell was on her regular evening stroll on the local golf course when she was brutally attacked and murdered.

I enjoyed this book because the murder cases are ones that are lesser known and have a touch of Midsomer Murder to them. The book is Farrell’s true crime debut and it’s definitely worth a read.

truecrimereader.com

...Fascinating studies of human behaviour. Each story is well written and detailed, and progresses logically through the crime, arrest, trial to the final outcome. It was a book I enjoyed reading.

capitalpunishmentuk.com

Also by Grahame Farrell

Gaslight Villainy: True Tales of Victorian Murder

Dedicated to my father, Ken Farrell of Overton, near Wrexham

Table of Contents

The Departure of Winifred Mitchell

A Killing for Christmas

The Outlaw of Bulford Camp

The Clue of the Crumbs in the Suitcase

The Man who Slept in Cupboards

The Long Arm of the BBC

The Old Man and the Gypsy

Murder For Sale

Murder at the Seventeenth Hole

Suicide or Murder?

West Drayton 2101

Requiem for a Writer

Murder by Prescription

Testimony in Blood

The Quiet Killer

The Departure of Winifred Mitchell

Life was lived at a slow and gentle pace in the Dorset hamlet of Gussage St. Michael early in the last century. To reach the nearest main road, from Blandford Forum to Salisbury, required a two-mile walk along a narrow lane. A twice-weekly bus service to Blandford and Dorchester was the only regular link with the outside world. The nearest town, Wimborne, was ten miles away, and although only fifteen miles separated the village from the outskirts of Bournemouth, the overall feeling was of quiet rural isolation. With a population of only one hundred and sixty, this was an insular community in which everybody knew their place and the horizons of most people were limited by their relatively low position in the social hierarchy, while a strict moral code held sway over their lives in sexual matters. It is hard to conceive of a semi-feudal society like Gussage St. Michael surviving into the second decade of the twentieth century, but most rural communities of the period bore these archaic features to a greater or lesser degree.

Despite its small size and sleepy character, Gussage boasted both a school and a post office. The standard of education in rural schools of the period can be gauged from the fact that the village postmistress, Mrs. Lillian Burton, was also the assistant schoolteacher.

The largest landowner in the village, and the local squire, was George Good, a gentleman farmer, of Gussage Manor. Among his staff was Mrs. Burton’s husband William – known as Bill – who was employed as groom, gardener and rabbit-trapper. Mr. Burton, a well-built man with a clear complexion and a striking sandy-coloured moustache, was, at twenty-nine, a good twelve years younger than his wife. They had married in 1907, and had one daughter. Although the marriage provided him with the benefits of his wife’s two incomes as well as the post office accommodation, she was, in his eyes at least, losing her sexual appeal, and he gradually acquired a reputation both for pursuing younger women and for bragging about his conquests. Several scandals resulted, but confrontations with irate husbands and angry fathers did nothing to encourage Burton to abandon his adopted role as village roue.

Eventually, along came yet another target, Winifred Mitchell – tall, dark-haired, independent-minded (if a little naive), and twenty-four years old. She was the cook at Gussage Manor and therefore a workmate of William Burton. She was also a distant relative of his on her mother’s side, and numbered his wife among her many friends and acquaintances in the village. After having previously been in service in Wimbourne, she had been taken on by Mr. Good in October 1912. On account of her job-title at Gussage Manor, she was known by the staff as ‘Cookie’, but by most other people as Winnie. Clearly, marriage to a local man had thus far held no appeal for her, and consequently she still lived with her parents in her birthplace, the village of Manswood, about one and a half miles from Gussage. It might be more accurate, in modern terminology, to denote the strong-minded Winnie by the term ‘single woman’ than by the archaic and stuffy ‘spinster’. Burton judged her as being ripe for an affair.

Annoyingly for the rabbit-trapper, Miss Mitchell proved to be anything but a pushover, and for four months she played hard-to-get before finally yielding to his blandishments, whereupon, unbeknownst to Mrs. Burton, the two became lovers, with Winnie surrendering her virginity in return for promises of a new life with Burton in Canada.

In the Edwardian English countryside – untamed, undiminished by suburbia – privacy was even easier to find than today. On Squire Good’s estate, and close to the Manor Farm itself, was a low hill on which lay a small wood called the Sovel Plantation. Mr. Burton’s rabbit-trapping duties took him there every day, and he was very familiar with its layout. It was the perfect location for illicit sex with the now-willing Miss Mitchell, and they made good use of it.

Although a number of people had for a while been aware of Burton’s interest in the young cook, no-one in the village knew the extent of their intimacy, with the exception of one person, Winifred Bailey – friend and confidante of Winnie Mitchell. She was the parlour-maid at Gussage Manor, and acted as go-between for the two lovers, passing letters from one to the other, and helping to arrange their secret meetings.

Miss Mitchell may have regarded herself as Burton’s mistress, and, with no marital ties herself, she was content to continue their clandestine relationship indefinitely, culminating in their life together in Canada, but as far as Bill Burton was concerned, she was just his current bit on the side. Things ticked along nicely, however. That is, until the day in March 1913 when Winnie came to him with bad news: she was showing signs of being pregnant.

This was an unwelcome development from Burton’s point of view, and almost immediately his passion for the girl was extinguished. He was no wealthy Don Juan who could afford to keep a woman and her child hidden away in a comfortable apartment in some fashionable location. Nor could he confess his transgression to his wife. If she should throw him out, he would lose not only his home but also her wages. He risked also the opprobrium of the whole village, and in a place as small as Gussage St. Michael, where everybody knew everybody else, it would be hard to keep a low profile until his infidelity had ceased to be headline news among the village gossips. And if Winifred Mitchell had any male relatives, they might take it upon themselves to mete out their own form of justice against the man who had ruined her. Worst of all, Squire Good might decide to adopt a censorious attitude and terminate Burton’s employment. The workhouse suddenly loomed large on his horizon. Homeless, jobless, ostracised and under threat of violence – it was a worst-case scenario and possibly wouldn’t entail quite such a catalogue of hardships, but at the very least he would have to pay maintenance to Winnie for many years to come, while his wife, if she didn’t reject him, would no doubt endeavour to make sure that his philandering days were over.

He weighed up his alternative courses of action. Perhaps Winnie had been two-timing him with another man. If so, Burton decided, he would try to prevail upon this rival to take the blame, through physical threats if necessary – that wouldn’t be difficult for a man of his size and strength. But he knew of no such rival, and the affectionate letters which Winnie had written to him suggested that he alone had enjoyed her favours.

An abortion was out of the question. Who could be found in Gussage St. Michael to perform one – assuming Winnie would agree to it? And if Burton looked further afield, to a back-street abortionist in, say, Bournemouth, it would cost him considerably more than he could afford.

There was one other option, and to Burton it seemed the perfect solution. Winnie had spoken on a number of occasions of her desire to leave the village and to move either to London, where her brother lived, or, preferably, to Canada with Burton (he had made the suggestion as part of his wooing technique early in his seduction campaign). He would now offer to elope as soon as possible with her. First, though, he had a secret task to perform. Accordingly, he went to the Sovel Plantation and dug a hole two and a half feet wide by seven feet long…

When next he saw Winnie Mitchell, he introduced her to his plan; they could start a new life together in Canada, and she could have the baby with no fear of condemnation from relatives and neighbours. She was, however, to tell absolutely no-one about the plan, but she could tell her mother that she intended to take up a job in London, with no mention of Canada; and under no circumstances should she reveal his part in the arrangement. She should also prepare herself by transferring any belongings she had at Manor Farm to her parents’ home.

Winnie couldn’t have wished for better news. She agreed enthusiastically to the idea, and they set 29th March as their departure date. She was to cycle to the Sovel Plantation, leave her bicycle there and walk to the main road where Burton would be waiting for her. A motorist friend of his would pick them up and drive them away together. Unfortunately, it rained on 29th and, despite her original enthusiasm, Winnie couldn’t bring herself to leave her house! After profuse apologies from the still-eager Winnie, the elopement was postponed until – so Burton informed her – a new date could be arranged with the driver.

Two days later, at about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Burton called on a young boy from the village, Leonard Mitcham, who, although he was too young to have a firearms licence, nonetheless owned a shotgun – an accessory which was normally the preserve of landowners, farmers and gamekeepers. Explaining that he wished to kill a cat which had been doing some minor damage, Burton asked if he could borrow the weapon, as well as some cartridges. The boy agreed, and Burton tried the gun out in his presence, using the two cartridges given to him.

Len, do you think if I got close up, close to anybody, it would kill them? asked the trapper casually.

Of course it would.

It would blow their head off, I suppose! rejoined Burton in a tone of contrived machismo.

Len was sent to fetch another cartridge. As soon as he received it, William Burton took his leave.

At half-past two in the afternoon, a smartly-dressed Winnie Mitchell cycled up to the common to keep a rendezvous with Burton. The move to Canada still occupied her thoughts, and the previous day she had packed a box of trinkets which her sister was to take to Gussage Manor for Winnie to pick up before her departure. Today, however, was for love-making, and as she and Burton talked, they made their way into the Sovel Plantation. He led her along a wooded path. Winnie was by now walking in front of him and didn’t see him bend down to pick something up out of the undergrowth. It was Len Mitcham’s shotgun. Standing about two paces behind her, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger; the shot hit her in the back of the head, the force of the blast throwing her forward; she was dead before she hit the ground.

Burton dragged her the eighty yards to the hole which he had dug a week previously, and dropped her in, but not before divesting her of her feather boa, which he intended to sell at some future date. He shovelled the soil back into the grave until it covered the body, then walked the half-mile to some familiar rabbit-holes, in one of which he buried the feather boa. His task completed, he made his way to Leonard Mitcham’s house.

He handed the gun back, saying that the cat would no longer be seen, and, with a word of warning to the boy to say nothing about lending him the weapon, he left.

That evening, he went back to the plantation with a local man, Fred Boyt. Several days before the murder, Burton had deliberately let it slip to Mr. Boyt that he and Winnie were planning on running away together to Canada. When Winnie’s absence was eventually noticed, reckoned Burton, Boyt would divulge the misinformation about Canada to her family, who would assume that she had left in advance of Burton. This would hopefully dispel any fears that she had come to harm. Fred Boyt had believed Burton’s lie, and had in fact tried to dissuade him from eloping with the girl. Now, in the Sovel Plantation, Burton told him that Winnie had indeed left by herself, and was currently in London; he had come, he said, to collect her bicycle from the plantation in accordance with her wishes. They found it where she had left it, and as Burton lifted it up, his face suddenly took on a menacing look. Glaring at Fred Boyt, he warned him, If you mention about my pushing the bike back it’ll be a bad job for you! Boyt – not the bravest of men – knew he would be no match for Burton if the rabbit-trapper came looking for him. He took the threat very seriously.

Burton then rode to the Mitchell cottage in Manswood, where, under cover of darkness, he crept into the garden, propped the bicycle up against a tree, then made his way surreptitiously home.

The cycle was discovered the next morning by Winnie’s mother, Rose. Why, she wondered, had Winnie bothered to bring her bike home but not come into the house herself for the night? Nonetheless Rose was not at first unduly concerned. She was well-acquainted with her daughter’s independent spirit. She knew of Winnie’s intention to leave Dorset, and she was also aware that her daughter planned to go without handing in her notice at Gussage Manor. Perhaps she had finally left for London. Even so, it was very strange indeed that the girl had gone without saying goodbye to the family.

By the next day, she was more than a little concerned, but hardly in a state of panic. Then she received a visitor. It was Bill Burton. He was inquiring whether anyone had seen Winnie. Mrs. Mitchell told him that her daughter hadn’t come home the previous night, and that she was thinking of reporting her absence to the police.

Yes, said Burton soliticously, That’s the best thing you can do.

For reasons best known to herself, Rose Mitchell waited three days before going to the police, and even then it was only to say that she thought her daughter had moved to London.

Throughout April, 1913, Burton kept up his bogus interest in the missing girl’s whereabouts while going about his daily duties on the estate. He could be forgiven for feeling more secure with each passing day, even though Winnie’s vanishing act was the talk of the village. Nobody, not even her parents, seemed to view her disappearance with suspicion, and Burton reinforced whenever possible the rumour of her move to the capital. His conversation with Frank Christopher on 12th April was typical. After delivering beer to Gussage Manor, Mr. Christopher gave Burton a lift to the post office. On the way, Burton asked, What do you think of Cookie?

I don’t know. Hasn’t she come back?

No.

Where do you think she’s gone? asked Mr. Christopher.

Maybe up in London with someone who’s got more money than thee or I, answered Burton.

Thus did the rumour of Winnie’s move to London begin to acquire the status of an established fact.

Then suddenly, things began to go wrong with Burton’s carefully-crafted plan.

In the last week of April, the local rector walked into Cranbourne Police Station and told the officer in charge, Sergeant Stockley, a rather worrying piece of gossip that had just reached the ears of his wife. Earlier that month, a local dairyman named Gillingham had found a set of false teeth in the Sovel Plantation; far from thinking them in any way suspicious, he had pocketed them, taken them home, and placed them on his mantlepiece, presumably in the belief that they might one day come in handy! The rector explained that during Winnie Mitchell’s time as a domestic servant in Wimborne, her employer had given her a set of dentures, and it was common knowledge that she never went anywhere without them. What if the dentures found in the wood belonged to Winnie? And if so, what were they doing there? Bearing the false teeth, Sgt. Stockley spoke to his superiors, who instructed him to make immediate inquiries into Winnie Mitchell’s disappearance.

On hearing of this, William Burton began to get decidedly nervous. He lost not merely some of his composure, but also, it would seem, some of his artfulness, and started to give totally different explanations to different people whenever the subject of Winnie Mitchell was raised. To some, he reaffirmed his assertion that she was in London.

Cooky has been in London, he told neighbour Ernest Fry. I didn’t think she was gone to Canada. I wouldn’t be surprised to see her back before long.

To Reginald Moon, a former workmate at Gussage Manor, he told a fabricated tale about Mrs. Mitchell receiving a letter from her son in London saying that Winnie was alright. But to George Latter, the Gussage Manor carpenter, he said that Winnie had gone away with a Mr. Hill to join the Salvation Army and had subsequently gone to Canada with that organisation. Slowly, Burton was losing himself in a maze of contradictions.

At the beginning of May, a second piece of important evidence came to light. In the course of his enquiries, Sgt. Stockley learned that on 30th March – the day before Winnie’s disappearance – some boys who had been picking primroses in the Sovel Plantation had come across signs of recent digging. With the curiosity typical of all small boys, they had looked around the site and come across the hole which Burton had recently dug. When they went back a few days later, the hole had been filled in. They had casually mentioned it to one or two people, and with typical schoolboy sensationalism (and unerring accuracy) they had described it as looking like a grave. They were told that the hole had probably been dug by Bill Burton on the orders of Mr. Good for the purpose of burying rabbit carcases. Now it suddenly acquired a sinister significance.

On 2nd May, accompanied by a constable, Sgt. Stockley went to investigate the boys’ discovery. The constable prodded the loose soil with his stick and unearthed some human hair. He and Stockley started digging out the soil. At a depth of one and a half feet they found the body of Winifred Mitchell. Lying face down with her arms by her side, she was fully dressed, with her skirts tucked neatly around her, and her hat still pinned to her hair.

The body was removed from the grave and taken to an outbuilding where it was examined by Dr. Claude Watts of Cranbourne. Very little decomposition had taken place, and the face was clearly recognisable as Winnie’s, though for good measure the body was identified by her mother on the strength of a button on her coat. There were severe gunshot wounds in the head and neck. The force of the blast had knocked her false teeth out. But for their discovery, the murder might never have come to light; the police now turned their attention to finding her killer.

News of the discovery of the body drastically altered William Burton’s perception of the situation. He was now a scared man, but he was determined to brazen it out until the investigation went stale, which he felt sure it would, provided Fred Boyt and young Mitcham could be intimidated into keeping quiet. He went to see Leonard Mitcham. Looking